fter dinner, Nash joined Marla and Bylinda for a walk in the gardens. Enclosed on three sides by the palace walls and the high granite defensive wall on the fourth side, the carefully laid out palace gardens were the only slice of greenery to be had in the inner circle of the city.
Having grown up at Highcastle with the majestic Sunrise Mountains all around her, Marla found the gardens the only real escape in the palace and treasured any chance she had to lose herself among the scattered grottoes. Jeryma had also enjoyed the gardens when she was mistress here and spent quite a bit of her late husband’s money having them redesigned and maintained. Before leaving for Cabradell she had made Marla promise to ensure the gardens would not be let go in her absence. Jeryma had put so much emphasis on her precious gardens, Marla got the impression she could allow almost any other calamity to befall Krakandar and her mother-in-law would forgive her, provided the gardens remained unscathed.
Nash offered Bylinda his arm with a sympathetic smile as they stepped out of the solar onto the lawns. “Allow me,” he said, helping her down the steps.
Bylinda blushed. Marla couldn’t help but smile. Nine months pregnant and awkward as a beached water dragon, yet Nash still managed to make Bylinda think she was worthy of a man’s attention.
“Thank you, Lord Hawksword,” her sister-in-law muttered self-consciously.
“The pleasure is all mine,” Nash assured her. “And it is I who should be thanking you, my lady. How often does a man get to stroll around the Krakandar palace gardens in the starlight with a stunning woman on each arm?” He smiled at Marla and offered her his left arm. “Shall we?”
Seeing no harm in it, Marla took his arm and fell into step with Nash and Bylinda. They walked along the gravelled path between the flowerbeds, enjoying the crisp spring evening. An earlier breeze had died down, leaving the air sharp and clean.
“How much longer until your confinement, Lady Bylinda?” Nash enquired after a few moments of companionable silence.
“The midwives say any day now.”
“Well, if my opinion counts for anything, I think you’ll make a wonderful mother,” he told her. “You have that glow about you.”
“What glow?” she asked, obviously flattered.
“You know, that . . . that glow women get about them when they become mothers. It’s very attractive, I can tell you.”
Marla nudged Nash warningly.
“What?” Nash asked with an innocent look.
“Don’t listen to him, Bylinda,” she ordered. Bylinda was heavily pregnant and very vulnerable at the moment. She didn’t need a man teasing her, even if he meant no harm by it. “Lord Hawksword is an outrageous flirt and he’s just trying to embarrass you.”
“You wound me, your highness,” Nash declared.
Bylinda laughed. “I think she’s right, though. You are a terrible flirt, Lord Hawksword.”
“And now she has turned you against me, too!” he wailed, as if he’d just learned his best friend was dead. “What am I to do?”
“Shut up, for starters,” Marla laughed. “Or you’ll bring the guards out wondering what is going on down here.”
Nash opened his mouth to object but before he could say a word, Bylinda doubled over with a sharp cry.
“Bylinda?” Marla cried, hurrying to her side. “Has it started?”
The young woman shook her head, pushing both Nash and Marla aside. She ran into the bushes and a few moments later the unmistakable sound of someone throwing up announced what was wrong with her.
Nash shook his head in amazement. “And women do this? Get pregnant, I mean? On purpose?”
“It’s your sex that makes us that way,” Marla reminded him, as the sounds of Bylinda retching in the bushes continued.
“Will she be all right?”
Marla nodded. “She’s been doing this for the past month or so. Bylinda’s carrying the child very high and it’s pressing on her stomach. If she has a big meal . . .”
“Poor girl. What should we do?”
“Let her be until she’s done and don’t make a fuss,” Marla advised. “She’ll be embarrassed enough without you making it worse.”
A few moments later, Bylinda emerged from the bushes, wiping her mouth. She looked down at her spattered skirts with an expression of utter humiliation. Marla hurried to her, but the young woman pushed her aside. “No. I’m fine, Marla, really. Why don’t you continue your walk with Lord Hawksword. I’ll go back to the palace and get changed.”
“Are you sure, Bylinda?”
She nodded and picked up her skirts, fleeing the scene as fast as she was able. Marla watched her leave, shaking her head, then turned to Nash. “Poor thing. She’s not having a very good time of it.”
“As I recall, you were quite the opposite when you were having Damin. I remember thinking you looked very . . . robust.”
Marla smiled and slipped her arm through Nash’s as they walked on. “You tell Bylinda she’s glowing and I’m robust? Some flatterer you turned out to be.”
Nash glanced over his shoulder before answering, perhaps checking that Bylinda was truly out of earshot. Then he took Marla’s hand and drew her off the path into the shelter of the tall bushes. He took both her hands in his and raised them to his lips.
“Would you like me to tell you what I really think of you, Marla?” he asked in a voice laden with promise.
Acutely aware that they were in a very public place, albeit hidden from view temporarily, she tried to extricate her hands from his. “I think, Nash, that it might be better for both of us if you don’t tell me.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you trembling?”
“I’m cold. Please let me go, Nash.”
“Do you love me, Marla?”
His question startled her sufficiently that she found the strength to break free of him. “What?”
“Alija seems to think you love me.”
“She had no right to say something like that!” Marla gasped, infuriated that her cousin would spread such vicious gossip. “And when were you talking to Alija Eaglespike, anyway? I thought you didn’t trust her.”
“It seems I’m on the summer hunting season guest list in Dregian Province these days,” he shrugged. “But that’s not the point. Is it true?”
“Don’t be absurd!” she snapped, crossing her arms and turning her back to him.
Nash came up behind her and slipped his arms around her. “It’s the Feast of Kalianah, Marla,” he whispered in her ear. “There’s nothing wrong with honouring the Goddess of Love.”
Trying very hard to ignore the shiver his words sent down her spine, she turned to face him, pushing him away and stepping out of his embrace. “Making love to you wouldn’t be honouring the Goddess of Love, Nash. I’d be honouring the God of War. Because that’s what there’d be if Laran thought I was having an affair with his best friend.”
“Laran doesn’t care if you have an affair,” Nash scoffed. “He probably expects it. You both know the reason you married and it had nothing to do with love. Hell, he lets you keep your own court’esa, doesn’t he?”
“Elezaar hardly constitutes a threat to him. For one thing, he’s a Loronged court’esa. For another, I’ve never . . .” She hesitated, thinking it was really none of Nash’s business who she shared her bed with. Just so long as it wasn’t Nash, no matter how much she might wish otherwise. It wasn’t moral strength that stayed her hand. It was Elezaar’s voice in her head reminding her of the Rules of Gaining and Wielding Power. Rule Number Ten to be exact. Your reputation is like a virgin—once violated it can never be restored. Marla couldn’t risk damaging her reputation. Not when she was still so uncertain of her place here in Krakandar.
But Nash was not so easily deterred. “Not even Laran expects you to deny yourself love just for the sake of Hythria’s throne, Marla. Why impose such a burden on yourself? You’re only eighteen years old, for the gods’ sake! Are you going
to spend the rest of your life in a loveless, gilded cage?”
“I have all the love I need,” she retorted. “I have my son.”
“That may do you for now,” he agreed. “But some day your son will leave the nest. He’ll find someone of his own to love. Then where will you be?”
“Content that I didn’t betray my husband.”
“But I haven’t asked you to betray Laran, have I? I’m not asking you to leave him. Or publicly embarrass him. All I’m asking is ‘do you love me’, Marla? And if you do, why should the inconvenient fact that you’re married to one of my oldest friends get in the way of you being happy?”
Marla suddenly smiled. “Are you serious, Nash? Gods! What goes on in that head of yours that you can see things so . . . conveniently?”
He stepped closer to her and took her hands in his again. “Kiss me.”
“No.”
“Just once,” he insisted. “Kiss me once, and then I’ll walk away and never mention it again.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I promise,” he said seductively, drawing her near. “One kiss and I swear by Kalianah herself, I’ll never mention anything about loving you again.”
“Really?” she asked sceptically.
“Not unless you bring up the subject first,” he promised softly, his voice like liquid velvet.
“Sec, already you’re putting conditions on your word.”
“One kiss,” Nash whispered, their lips hovering a hair’s breadth apart. “Just one kiss that won’t mean a thing if you truly don’t love me.”
The reasonable part of Marla’s mind was screaming that this was both dangerous and futile, but it was drowned out by the roar of blood in her ears. All the logic, all the reasoning in the world, seemed a pale shadow compared to the notion that Nash wanted her. He wanted her kiss. Just one little kiss that wouldn’t mean anything, she told herself. And then she could stop wondering. She could stop trying to imagine that Laran was Nash when she lay with him. Stop living with the torment of being married to one man whilst loving another . . .
After this, he said he would leave me alone, she quickly convinced herself. One kiss and then Nash might stop looking at her the way he did. Maybe he’d stop smiling at her in that intimate way. Stop visiting the palace when he knew Laran would be away . . .
Don’t be stupid! she told herself firmly. He flirts with every woman he meets, remember?
“Just one kiss?” she asked, horrified to hear her voice come out in a tremor. “And then you’ll leave me alone?”
“If you want me to,” he promised.
Marla nodded, unable to speak without betraying her inner turmoil, and then she closed her eyes, thinking it was better this way.
Nash kept her waiting a tantalisingly long time before she felt him gently brush her lips. When he did finally lower his face to hers it wasn’t a kiss. It was the mere whisper of a promise. She whimpered in protest. Then he brushed her lips again, taking her face in his hands. Then he kissed her lightly again. And again. Each time a little more desperately. A little more urgently. Every time she felt his lips on hers, she leaned closer until Marla thought she might go mad with the torment. He was making her want him. And it wasn’t as if she didn’t know what he was doing. She was court’esa trained. So was Laran. In fact, like most noblemen in Hythria, her husband was an accomplished lover. So, it seemed, was Nash.
But this was different to kissing Laran. This wasn’t the considerate caress of a thoughtful husband wishing to do his duty. This was dangerous. It was wrong. It was wanton. It was everything Marla had ever dreamed of and like nothing she had imagined all in the one breath. It was torment. It was ecstasy . . .
And then he let her go.
Marla staggered with the suddenness of his withdrawal, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Nash stared at her, waiting, perhaps even hoping. But there was a glint of something in his eyes. Was it triumph? Was his smile just a little too smug?
He knew the effect he’d had on her. And, she realised with despair, he was gloating about it, ever so slightly. Nash didn’t love her. He was doing this because Alija had told him that Marla was in love with him and he wanted to see if it was true.
“You bastard,” she said, rubbing away his kiss, sorry now that she’d ever let him lay a hand on her.
“Marla . . .” he began, holding his hand out to her.
“Don’t touch me!” she hissed and then she fled the clearing and that smug, self-satisfied smile and ran back towards the palace as if she could somehow outrun her destiny.
chapter 65
T
he day nursery of Krakandar Palace took up much of the ground floor of the south wing and opened onto the gardens. Brightly painted with glorious Harshini murals on the walls and a tiled floor that was a puzzle in itself, it was a wonderful playground and schoolroom for the children of the palace. When Marla arrived it was just past breakfast. Travin and Xanda should have been at their lessons with Elezaar; Damin quietly playing with his toys. Instead, she arrived to find Travin and the dwarf on their hands and knees being ridden by Damin and Xanda wielding toy wooden swords, the four of them locked in a mock battle that seemed to involve a great deal of yelling, screaming, falling about and laughing. There was no sign of either Lirena or Veruca, the two nurses responsible for the boys.
As soon as Elezaar spotted her, he guiltily scrambled to his feet. Travin glanced over his shoulder and pulled his cousin off his back, hastily standing up when he saw his aunt’s expression. They made an odd pair, standing side by side, the dwarf and the boy. At nine, a handsome, slender lad, dark and olive-skinned like his mother, Travin towered over Elezaar. Xanda and Damin seemed much less concerned that they might have been caught doing something they shouldn’t. Xanda was still laughing as he climbed to his feet.
Not even two years old yet, Damin was the least concerned of all. He spied his mother and ran to her happily. “Mama! Mama! Tabin horsey! Tabin horsey!”
Trying very hard not to smile at his baby talk, she picked him up and glared at the court’esa. “Is this your idea of education?”
“Would you believe we were studying . . . battle tactics?” Elezaar ventured with a cautious smile.
“You’re supposed to be teaching the boys about history and politics, Elezaar. I don’t pay you to teach them the arts of war.”
“I’m a slave, your highness,” the dwarf reminded her with an insolent grin. “You don’t actually pay me at all.”
Marla frowned. “You’re a bigger child than they are, Fool.”
“But at least I’ve stopped growing,” he pointed out reasonably.
There was really no answer to that. She kissed Damin’s fair curls and set him down. “Go play outside with your cousins for a while. I need to talk to Elezaar.”
“Tabin horsey?” he enquired.
“Yes, I’m sure, if you ask him nicely, Travin will play horsey.”
She glanced across at her elder nephew, who understood immediately. He nodded and held out his hand to Damin.
“Come on, Damin,” he said. “You too, Xanda. Let’s play outside for a bit.”
Damin trotted off happily with Travin and Xanda each holding one of his hands. Elezaar turned to her, nodding approvingly. “Travin is going to turn into a fine young man, some day.”
“I suspect you’re right,” she agreed. Then she added sternly, “Of course, he’ll be illiterate, because his tutors only taught him how to play horsey, but I’m sure that won’t hold him back.”
Elezaar smiled. “My, we’re in a bit of a mood this morning, aren’t we?”
“I could have you flogged for speaking to me like that.”
Realising he might have pushed her too far, the dwarf bowed apologetically. “Forgive me, your highness. How may I be of service?”
Marla hesitated, suddenly unsure about confiding in the court’esa. But who else did she have? This was hardly something she could discuss with Bylinda. And it was certainly not a subject she cou
ld comfortably raise with Laran when he got home. Hugging her arms across her body, she walked to the window. Damin was chasing Travin and Xanda across the lawn. His older cousins were letting him almost catch them and then darting away at the last moment. Damin was squealing with laughter, caught halfway between delight and frustration.
“I let Nash Hawksword kiss me last night.”
Elezaar didn’t answer immediately. Marla still had her back to him so she couldn’t see the expression on his face. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see it, anyway.
“Did you enjoy it?”
“That’s not really the point.”
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. What did you do afterwards?”
She turned to look at him. “He was gloating. I called him a bastard. And then ran away.”
“You say you let him kiss you? Then you insulted him and fled?”
“Yes.”
“There’s a name for girls like you.”
“I’m in no mood for your jokes, Elezaar.”
“Actually, I wasn’t joking. What do you want from me?”
“I want you to tell me what I should do.”
“Why, your highness, when it’s clear you’ve already decided?”
“What do you mean?” Marla was quite certain she hadn’t decided anything. All she’d done was lie awake all night, tearing herself apart in a torment of guilt, desire and indecision.
“If the way was clear, you wouldn’t need my advice to do anything,” he said. “You want my advice because you’ve decided to take the riskier path, and if I tell you it’s a good idea then it’ll be my fault when it all comes crashing down around you, not yours.”
She was horrified by what he was implying. “You think I’m planning to betray my husband?”
“I remember leaving Highcastle, your highness. I remember you demanding Corin teach you everything he knew, because you thought Nash Hawksword was waiting for you. So I wouldn’t be too concerned about betraying your husband, if I were you. You’ve been betraying him in thought since the day you married him,” the dwarf pointed out. “It doesn’t seem that big a step to do it in deed, as well.”
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