Part 8 (1/2)
Again he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. This time, shyly, she returned his kiss, then pulled away. ”You have said too much. Stop now. We must both stop now.”
”A condemned man can say all he wants,” Caelan told her thickly.
He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her deeply, pa.s.sionately until her breath was his breath and their hearts beat in rhythm. He touched her with sevaisin, sevaisin, rejoining their spirits, their hearts, their minds. rejoining their spirits, their hearts, their minds.
When they fell apart for breath at last, she was crying.
Aghast at what he had done, he wiped away her tears with her fingers. They were warm on his skin, and he realized he had let his emotions carry them both too far.
”Please don't cry,” he said. ”I am sorry. I am sorry.”
She clung to him, weeping harder. ”You don't understand,” she whispered. ”I cannot explain.”
In silence he held her, and her tears cooled his ardor. As his head cleared, he realized he had been a fool. In a moment he had swept aside all his good and n.o.ble intentions. He had rushed her like a beast and frightened her. He had done everything he had sworn to himself he would not do. Now it lay in the open, and they would have to deal with it, or have it dealt with by others.
He rocked her in his arms like a child, loving her, adoring her, knowing they had no time for this, aware that their danger increased with every pa.s.sing second. Yet this moment had come to him like a gift, a single opportunity impossible to relinquish. He had stolen it, and he gloried in it even as it faded for them both.
”I am sorry,” he whispered again. ”I would not cause you a moment's pain. Yet I have broken my vow never to reveal my heart to you.”
She buried her face against his shoulder. How good she felt against him like this. How perfectly she fitted in his arms. He felt protective and invincible. All his strength seemed made only for the purpose of s.h.i.+elding her from harm.
”You are good and courageous,” he told her. ”You are brave and wonderful and infinitely precious. I honor you with all my heart, and I do not wish to bring you grief or unhappiness. Yet here I have made you cry. And now you are wondering what we will do, and all I can offer is myself. Is that not arrogance?” He almost laughed from the bitterness that suddenly filled his mouth. ”I am a big fool, hoping you will finally say you love me.”
She drew in a sharp breath and touched his cheek. ”I-I cannot.”
Pain cut through his heart. He shut his eyes against it. ”I know.”
”I am not free. I belong to Kostimon.”
”Is your heart his?” he asked fiercely, suddenly furious. ”Is it?”
At first she was silent; then she said very quietly, ”You know that does not matter. My vows were spoken. I belong to him.”
”But not forever,” he said grimly.
”Don't speak of that,” she said in sudden fear. ”Don't foretell his death. Let that not be between us, ever.”
His arms tightened around her in hope. ”Then you do care?”
She remained silent, but she did not resist when he kissed her forehead and eyes. Her tears tasted warm and salty on his lips.
”You are too stubborn,” she said unsteadily. ”As my official protector you could have been with me daily, hourly.”
”No.”
She pulled back to look into his eyes. Her own were frowning. ”You say it would not have been honorable. Is this better, when you seize me like a bandit?”
”It is on my terms,” he said angrily. ”As a man, not your adoring servant.”
Her eyes dropped, and she seemed to shrink a little. ”Oh.”
He let her go then, and stepped back from her. She continued to look at the ground, her hair half across her face.
After a moment she said in a soft, shy voice, ”Then some day ... perhaps ... you would be my consort?”
His heart tightened. She had just offered him everything ... and nothing. After all he had said to her, she still did not understand. Regretfully he shook his head. ”No,” he said with pride, ”I will not.”
They stood in the shadows, facing each other, trying to find a way to cross the barriers.
”Because you cannot serve an empress?” she said softly, un-happiness layered in her voice. ”Am I so horrible? Does my offer insult you so greatly?”
It was Caelan's turn to avert his face from her gaze. ”No, there is no insult. You are wonderful.”
”Then why? You know who and what I am. My destiny has brought me to the throne. Unless the empire is truly lost, I will rule after Kostimon. What do you ask of me?”
”Nothing,” he said swiftly. ”Nothing ... except your heart.”
”And if I gave it to you ... someday,” she said hesitantly, ”you still would not stand with me?”
His heart thudded with anger. He did not want to explain. There was too much confusion still inside him, too much new ambition, too much stubbornness. Why could she not leave well enough alone? She always pushed him, goaded him. Perhaps it was time she heard the truth.
”First protector, now consort,” he snapped. ”I can carry a sword or I can wear a little crown. Either way, Majesty, the position you offer is still the same one. No, thank you.”
Looking as though he had struck her, she drew back. Inside, Caelan's entrails felt as though they were being twisted into a knot. She had offered him a future beyond what most men dreamed of, and he had flung it back in her face. She would hate him now. Could he blame her?
”I see,” she said. Humiliation burned in her voice. ”You have made things quite clear.”
He sighed. ”Please. I didn't mean-”
”You have said enough,” she told him with a gesture of dismissal. ”This incident is best forgotten. We will not discuss it again.”
His dismay grew. ”I'm sorry I hurt you. I-”
”Please do not apologize,” she broke in, her voice cool and haughty. ”As you said, you are no longer my guardsman, or my protector, or my friend.”
”That isn't what I meant-”
”I think it was precisely what you meant.”
He opened his mouth to protest when he heard a sound, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him. It was a voice, calling to him.
His blood froze in his veins. Turning his head, he looked down at the ruins and saw the mist curling back, parting to reveal an enormous mound of earth in the heart of the city. Fragments and rubble lay strewn around it.
Caelan's vision suddenly leaped. Disoriented, he realized he could see every detail of those fragments as clearly as though he stood next to them. He found himself staring at a broken chair- no, a throne. It was immensely large, too large for any man to sit on. The pieces were made of gold, unblackened even by fire and age. The sides had once been solid slabs of the precious metal, with monsters carved to flank the throne on either side. One half of a snarling visage remained, its lifeless eyes staring back at Caelan.
He stood there as though his feet had frozen, and had an unwanted vision of Beloth sitting on that throne, towering over his suppliants. Dark coils of smoke belched forth from openings in the ground. Shyrieas Shyrieas perched on the tall back of the throne like pets, their wings folded, talons dark against the bright gold. A gaming table stood before the shadow G.o.d, and tiny humans stood upon the squares, crying piteously. perched on the tall back of the throne like pets, their wings folded, talons dark against the bright gold. A gaming table stood before the shadow G.o.d, and tiny humans stood upon the squares, crying piteously.