The Arrows of the Heart

by Jeffe Kennedy

  Zyr didn’t scold me again. He didn’t need to, I felt so glum at the failure. When he jerked his beak at the sky in a clear signal that we should go, I slipped the arrows I’d retrieved from hither and yon back into the quiver with relief and mounted.

  He galloped to the edge of the hill, leaping off and plunging perilously near the ground before his laboring wings caught the air and lifted us up. One benefit of his relentless drilling—and mischievous prancing and twisting to challenge me—my seat had gotten better. In worrying about trying to aim around his wings, I’d forgotten to be self-conscious about gripping him with my inner thighs, so now I sat deeper and tighter against his back. Which hurt like the devil, from chafing and riding so long yesterday, but I ignored that pain, along with the sting on my forearm from snapping the bowstring on the tender skin there. It had been a long time since I’d been careless enough to do that, but then all my technique had dissolved with the new challenges.

  I sighed, rubbing my arm as Zyr flew to the coast. It would be nice if I had one of my old vambraces, especially if I was going to keep making that mistake as I tried to learn this new skill. Those were, of course, back home on the Hardie estates with virtually everything else I’d owned—and the rest in the seraglio at the Imperial Palace. Even this bow wasn’t mine, but one Kral had grabbed off a guard for me. The draw was more than I could comfortably pull for long periods, which meant my shoulder and arms ached from the intensive practice, too.

  It would be nice to find a bow with a sweet draw like I’d had back home. More arrows, too. Maybe a second quiver, so I could keep my best and second-best arrows separate. A crossbow would really be ideal for shooting from Zyr’s back, especially in a fight. With a mental start, I realized I’d started planning for an extended fighting partnership with Zyr.

  No doubt a result of his trickery and browbeating.

  The first stint of mapping went easily as I only had to hand Zyr the mapstick we hadn’t quite finished following the night before. As he flew, I smoothed my skirt into a basin of cloth over my stretched thighs, laying out the most likely next sticks in one row and pulling out the three already identified mapsticks to sit in another. If I were making something like mapsticks for other people to use, I’d have a way to indicate which came next.

  Before I expected, Zyr swooped into a circle, handing the mapstick back to me and I gave him another. He quickly gave it back. Curse it. This part of the coastline didn’t have much in the way of nearby islands or distinctive features. I put another in his impatiently clacking beak. Another dud. Picking one at random, I tried another. Which he gave back immediately with a heavy sigh.

  I didn’t know how he could see it so quickly and easily—they all looked much the same to me. Giving him another, I held my breath, hoping. He grunted in approval and struck out. That should give me a couple of hours to figure out the next one.

  I knew the order of the identified mapsticks, but putting them end to end didn’t lock them together like a puzzle piece. That annoyed me, as it seemed like the most logical thing to do. If these map makers were so clever, why didn’t they think of this?

  Pulling out the mapstick Zynda had identified as being for Nahanau, I examined it, too. Dafne had marked it on the flat side, scratching on the name of the island in three different scripts—none of which I could read—and inking in the characters. A good system, I supposed, though I only knew which it was because it was the only one marked like that. The limitations of language, that you can write stuff down, but if people can’t read it, that does only so much good. And even the scratches would smooth out over time, long after the ink wore off. Careful as Zyr was with his claws, he still marked the ones he’d held. Only the fact that the mapsticks were made of such hard wood kept him from knocking chips off the sharper spurs.

  Maybe the puzzle-piece idea wouldn’t work well because the ends of the sticks frayed too much, being cut across the wood grain. Though polished smooth as the rest, the ends had become rounded over time.

  Frustrated, I tried placing two mapsticks end to end that I knew were a mismatch. And they clearly didn’t align. So, that was something. I put two together again that should align. They didn’t lock together like I wanted, but… they were more congruent. The coastline obviously followed from one to the next, even if the ends didn’t match.

  Maybe that’s how Zyr could see so quickly when one wasn’t right. Maybe his shapeshifter eyes gave him an advantage. Raptors could see really far, after all, like the falcons my brothers used for hunting, who could fly so high that they looked like dots in the sky, but could spot a hare on the ground and dive for it with perfect accuracy.

  Struck by a thought, I looked at the end of the mapstick, holding it up to the bright sunlight to help me see better. Several pinprick holes penetrated the wood. I’d taken them for part of the aging of the wood, but now I wondered. Examining the mapstick I knew was its sequel, I found the same pinpricks, in the same pattern. Excited by my discovery, I checked the other identified mapsticks, finding similar matching patterns of tiny holes, bored so deep that wear wouldn’t rub them out until the stick itself had disintegrated.

  I laid out my candidate mapsticks for the next leg, I needed to see the one Zyr held before I could pick the next. When he circled and handed the mapstick back to me, I examined the pattern of holes. Though I felt I had them all memorized from the wait, it took me a moment to be sure of the next one. Those tiny holes weren’t easy to see.

  Zyr clacked his beak at the delay.

  “Be patient, you daft bird,” I snapped. “I’m testing a theory.”

  He subsided with a very human-sounding snort. I rolled my eyes at him. He couldn’t see it, but it made me feel better. “Here,” I said, giving him what had to be the right one.

  He took it, surveyed, and zoomed out of the circle to fly along the coast.

  I allowed myself a congratulatory wiggle, pleased and proud that I’d intuited the correct choice. A purr welled up through him in response, sending that shiver of delight through me. Curse it—I’d forgotten to find a pad to put between us, and my deeper, firmer seating only meant I felt the vibration better than before. Longing pulsed through me, and I had to take a breath against it, cooling and settling the urges that rose in me with fierce and unaccustomed hunger.

  It made no sense that I’d be feeling these sexual cravings now. I’d never really missed that aspect of my marriage with Kral. While I’d found him so handsome, powerful, and dashing—as any girl would—I’d also been a little frightened at the prospect of bedding him.

  There it was again: fear. Not unreasonable, as tales like Jenna’s circulated in the gossip of the seraglios when the women retired for the evening. Some men were cruel in their lust and women must learn to bear it.

  Thus, when my father had explained the emperor’s edict that I would remain a virgin, the news came as a relief. Only later did I really mind what I missed—mainly that I’d never have children or that normal life Zyr had scoffed at. Never had that longing manifested this way, as a physical craving, like hunger.

  You’d enjoy yourself in my bed. Zyr’s sensual promise echoed in my head with tantalizing images. Now I knew how it felt to have him hold me, his body so warm and strong, his scent both wild and comforting, I wanted to know what else there could be.

  I needed to take a big mental and emotional step back, though, because as offensive as that offer had been to a woman of my station—even if it had been a miscommunication—it still had spoken to that frightened core of me. That word again. Deep down, I wanted a man to take care of me. There. I’d admitted it to myself. And I wanted that because I was afraid to be on my own.

  Even if Zyr would be willing to take care of me, to feed and protect me—which he’d been very clear that he wouldn’t—I’d still be acting out of fear.

  Don’t let the fear win. You’re giving up before you’ve even started.

  Resolved, I cleared my mind of the erotic haze and focused again on the mapsticks. I discov
ered some I’d set aside as too featureless to be of much use—pretty much just straight sticks with no bumps or grooves—had pinprick holes on the sides, too. By matching several of those together, I ended up with a series of sticks, finishing with one flat on one side—and carved with a deep curve on the other.

  My heart pounding with the thrill of discovery, I found another stick to match to the end of the one with the big curve. It had bigger notches and a jutting thumb that could be a peninsula.

  Had I found a lost continent, out across the vast stretch of open water?

  I bounced a little in my excitement, unable to contain myself, and Zyr glanced back, giving me a jaundiced stare. “I think I’ve made a discovery!” I shouted over the rush of wind.

  The fierce blue eye of the gríobhth took on an interested gleam and I could imagine Zyr raising an eyebrow.

  “Maybe when we finish this mapstick, we could land and I’ll explain,” I yelled.

  But he turned inland immediately, striking for a set of high cliffs that dropped sheer into the water, where the sea dashed itself in foaming waves against the rock. I sighed to myself, knowing that soon we’d be doing the drop of doom off of them again. I put my mapsticks back in their bags. It would be nice if I could keep them in order, but so it went.

  Zyr came in fast, running as he slowed, wings arched high against a buffeting wind that yanked at tendrils of my hair that escaped the braid, lashing them against my face. When he came to a stop I slid off, surprised at the stiffness and aching in my joints. The sun tipped a fair amount past midday. It was late spring here, so the days would be getting longer. Even so, we’d been flying for hours. No wonder I ached. How could Zyr sustain that?

  I turned to unbuckle the packs and found Zyr had already shifted back to human form. As always when he did that, he looked as fresh and neat as if he’d stepped out of the bathing chamber. But he sat on the sparse grass of the rocky ground, so heavily that he almost collapsed. Then he fell back with a groan, dramatically splaying his arms wide, staring up at the sky.

  “Zyr?” I asked cautiously. His eyes were open, so he shouldn’t be sleeping. Had something struck him down—maybe some kind of magic I couldn’t see? I moved over to him, but he didn’t seem to see me, staring glassily past me at nothing. “Zyr?” I asked again, louder, but he still didn’t stir.

  So I knelt down beside him and placed careful fingers on the pulse at his throat. It leapt fast and strong, his skin hot and slightly slick with sweat. Velvety, too. Unable to resist, I stroked him a little, fascinated by the play of muscle and sinew under his skin.

  His eyes rolled over to my face, brows drawing together. “I’m not dead.”

  I snatched my fingers away, tempted to shake them to sluice off the tingle of temptation. “I didn’t think you were,” I replied, sounding prim. My cheeks burned and I knew I blushed.

  “Do you always check the pulse of people you’re sure aren’t dead?” he inquired, sounding politely interested, but I didn’t mistake the teasing sparkle in his eyes.

  “I wasn’t sure what was wrong with you. I’m sorry I bothered now.” I drew back, but his hand snagged my braid where it had fallen on his chest, keeping me there.

  “I’m just tired,” he replied, sounding weary indeed. “That was a lot of sustained flying. More than I’ve done in a long time. I need a few moments to rest.”

  “Oh.” Chagrined that I hadn’t been solicitous of his health and strength, I glanced to the packs. “Shall I fetch you some food and water?”

  “My Lord,” he said, chuckling a little. “Even when you don’t say it, you say it.”

  “You can’t fault me for what I don’t say.”

  “I suppose not.” His gaze went to my mouth. “How about a kiss? That would make me feel better.”

  “I seriously doubt that,” I replied as crisply as I could, though the suggestion made me breathless, the need surging again as if it hadn’t ever receded.

  “Oh, I seriously disagree.” He smiled, that sensual curve, and I couldn’t pull my gaze from his mouth. “I like the way you feel on my back,” he continued, his voice an echo of the purr. “The clasp of your thighs, your scent. I can feel your sex, hot and wet through—”

  I clapped a hand over that wicked mouth, silencing his salacious words, my face burning hot. “You mustn’t say such things,” I hissed, utterly mortified.

  His eyes gleamed over my hand—and he licked my palm, a slow, erotic caress.

  I snatched my hand back, holding it against my breast as if he’d burned me. “Zyr!”

  “Don’t be embarrassed,” he murmured, winding my braid around his hand so it tightened a bit. “There’s only you and me here. I love that my purr arouses you. It drove me wild with wanting you.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, remembering all those cautions. He’d been the panther all night, and the gríobhth most of the day. Animal passions rode strong in him at the moment. The problem was, I didn’t know what to do about it.

  “One kiss.” Zyr wound another loop of my braid around his hand. I braced a hand on his chest with half an idea of using it to lever myself away—but the enticing flex of his muscles under the fine silk arrested me, and I curled my fingers into the sensation instead. His heart thumped under my palm, which seemed sensitized to him now, my heart an echo of his.

  “It’s a not a good idea.” I sounded far too breathless, felt much too tempted.

  “Why not—what can one kiss hurt? Surely even Dasnarian virgins get to have kisses.”

  I had a hard time remembering how to talk. “Not so much.”

  “No?”

  “No, because kisses lead to … other things.”

  “Oh, do tell.” His voice caressed me, strumming my nerves as his purring had vibrated against my sex—which had indeed gone hot and wet again with wanting. If mere words, a purr, a stroke of his tongue on my palm, had me so full of this new craving, how would it feel if I kissed him?

  If he touched me elsewhere? Just the idea scattered my thoughts to the wind.

  “What other things do kisses lead to?” he coaxed, then licked his lips, unbearably enticing.

  “You know perfectly well,” I breathed.

  “Yes, but do you?”

  I couldn’t reply. My head swam and I could only think about how badly I wanted this. One kiss. What could it hurt?

  “Gréine, have you ever kissed a man at all?”

  Mutely I shook my head. I licked my own lips and he groaned, clearly as affected by the sight as I was.

  “I want to be the one,” he murmured. “Your first kiss. Will you at least give me that?”

  “Do you promise to stop there?” I asked.

  His eyes, always so full of light, flared with the ferocity of desire. “Yes.”

  “I mean it,” I cautioned him. His answer had been so easy and immediate that I didn’t trust it.

  “I promise, sweet Karyn. For one kiss with you, I’d promise much more than that.”

  I laughed, but he remained perfectly serious, expression fierce, reflecting my own longing. “Don’t tease me,” I said, my mouth dry.

  “I wouldn’t and I’m not. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more in my life.”

  “One kiss,” I repeated, attempting to sound firm.

  “Yes.” He drew me down and I let him, my eyes drifting closed. But he stopped, our lips a breath apart. After a long, heart-stopping moment, I opened my eyes. He was so near, those bright eyes filling all my world. “I should be honest with you, gréine,” he said, so quietly, and his breath moved over my lips, tingling. “I can make one kiss last a very long time.”

  That should’ve alarmed me, but I couldn’t muster the outrage. All those years of the rules safeguarding my virginity, never being allowed in the company of a man not my brothers or father, of being so careful every moment… All of that seemed to have happened to someone else. This, this was real. And I was brilliantly alive.

  I closed that last whisper of distance, and his lips b
rushed mine.

  Shocking and delightful. The sensation rolled through me, making me moan, and he seemed to drink in the sound, turning it into a hmm of answering harmony. The light, almost butterfly wing caress deepened, with his lips moving against mine, drawing me in. His hands moved to cup my head, changing the angle of our mouths so they fit even more precisely, sealing us together. He tasted … like nothing I’d ever known. Hot and spicy like his scent, but richer, like a draught of excellent liquor. I could get drunk on his flavor, on his kisses.

  Already lost in the drugging kiss, I opened my mouth for more, and he made a sound like a soft growl, his tongue sliding to touch mine. Startled, I shuddered, and his arms slid to my back, stroking and soothing, the other hand threading fingers into my hair. Vaguely some part of me registered that my braid had somehow come loose—the heavy weight of my hair an unaccustomed sensation on my back and arms—but I lost the thought in the ongoing kiss. His tongue traced the tender inside of my upper lip, and I dissolved, melting into him, so I draped over him like a blanket, the sun hot on my hair, the scent of sea grass, ocean salt, and Zyr filling my senses.

  Then he tore his mouth from mine with a groan, closing his eyes and setting his jaw. “We should stop there.”

  Bleary, dazed, I nearly asked why. Then remembered I’d made him promise. Hastily I sat up, disentangling myself from him, and he turned his head to watch me. He looked different. More sensual than ever, with his lips parted, gleaming from our kiss, the blue of his eyes like the dusk of the sky just after sunset. Still lying on his back, he seemed like a feast laid out entirely for me.

  One I didn’t dare indulge in. More than I already had.

  “I think that was more than one kiss,” I asserted, shakily, combing my fingers through my tangled hair. The ocean humidity plus Zyr’s attentions had it curling in wild abandon. I looked around for the ribbon for my braid, and Zyr held it out, dangling from his long fingers as his lips quirked in mischief. I yanked it away, scowling at him.

  “Technically, no,” Zyr said, and it took me a moment to realize he was replying to me. “Once we started kissing, our lips never lost contact, thus it was one kiss and one kiss only, as promised. Just a very long one. I did warn you,” he added, his expression full of masculine pride.