CHAPTER TEN
“What happened down there?” Terran asked for the fifth time in as many minutes. His long, loping strides kept up with mine even though I was pretty much bolting through the grittier areas of Attalos market shops. “Did that woman do something to you? Are you hurt?”
“Do I look hurt, Terran?” I whirled on him, fighting the urge to slap him. It wasn’t his fault. I knew that. I did. It wasn’t his fault that I was some kind of Franken-Faery, but really. “Can I have a minute to myself without you nagging? What Sera told me is my business. My life. Do you mind?”
The edge in my voice astonished even me.
The warmth leached out of Terran’s expression. “Forgive me, Princess, I overstepped.” With that, Terran fell behind me, straightened his stride, and assumed a soldier persona.
Shit. I really could be a bitch at times, but could a girl catch her breath between one catastrophe and another? We walked on, the afternoon waning into evening. The blue sky above and beyond the iridescent field glittered in brilliant gold and fuchsia swirls.
Red sky at night, sailors delight. Yeah right.
The scent of coal smoke mixing with the salty sea air had me searching for an exhaust chimney. The k’tang, k’tang of hammer falling upon metal echoed from a distance. “Terran, there’s a blacksmith shop around here. Do you know where?”
The reservation in his normally warm gaze stole my breath. “Yes, Princess, follow me if you will.”
“Terran, wait . . . Terran, stop.” I jogged behind him, but his long legs propelled him along the streets, around one corner and the next. Straight backed and stiff shouldered, he didn’t turn nor give me the chance to apologize.
“There.” He pointed, then clasped his hands behind his back and stood at attention.
He’d led us to another of those futuristic bronze buildings with sweeping arcs and ornate scrollwork details. The one-story structure had huge wall panels folded back on three of the four sides. It gave the impression of an open-air building. The exhaust from the forge vented straight up from the chimney in the center of the building and out the hole in the roof. It rose in a swirl of charcoal smoke toward, but not nearly high enough to reach, the arch of the dome above.
As we closed the distance, I checked out the solid back wall. Covered in cut stone, it was cluttered with forge tools and a stunning array of custom weapons. There was something indescribably sexy about the sharp edges, spikes and barbs of new weapons. Having never been swung or struck, the line of the metal and the slice of the cutting edge remained perfectly unmarred.
With the walls open, the scorching heat crept along the paved street and met us like a cloying blanket. The forger, his back to us, set down his hammer, rose from his stool and stepped away from the flames. Pulling on the tie of the heavy leather apron he wore, he stripped off the protective layer and then his shirt. As he strode to the workbench on the back wall, he wiped his skin with the balled-up fabric.
Oh. Wow. The muscles on his back glistened and pulled as he retrieved a bottle and uncorked the neck. His shoulders and lats were thick in all the right places and tapered to a glorious ass cradled in a tight pair of jeans. At the small of his back, a silver buckle fastened the worn pair of leather chaps that protected his legs from flaring embers.
Heaven.
I swallowed hard as he tipped the bottle back and drank deep. Firelight danced along the smooth surface of the glass bottle and he turned to lean against the bench. My eyes were glued to the sweat-glistening definition of his abs. They plunged me into chiaroscuro bliss and the way his jeans hung low on his hips . . . yummm.
“Slumming it, Princess?” The low, velvet amusement in the voice snapped me out of my haze.
I abandoned the sightseeing sexpedition and met Rowan’s smug stare. His gaze stayed locked on mine, the intensity of those shadowed hazels warming me inside and out. I prayed to Castian and his dim-witted nieces that it was dark enough to hide the flush of my cheeks as I straightened. “I . . . uh, what are you doing?”
“Being ogled?”
I stepped toward the forge and examined the billet he’d been working on. He was in the beginning stages of tapering the edges. Without touching the glowing metal, I let my hand hover above it and traced its length. The tingling in my palm climbed over my skin as it had twice already today. “You’re using orichalcum for the flexibility within the core?”
“You know smithing?”
“A bit. Mostly I know swords. And I teach Spathology.”
His mouth lifted in a crooked smile. “An Attalosean Eligible who thinks beyond the color of her nails and gown? Who could have guessed.”
I pulled my hand from the singeing heat and stepped back. Sweat glistened on my own forehead and my lavender gown was starting to cling. “I’ve been misjudged before and, no doubt, will be again. I thought you were a doctor.”
“Surgeon, actually. You could say I work with blades of all sizes.” My skepticism must have shown because he cast me an impatient glance.
“Did you study medicine in the Modern Realm?”
Rowan kicked up his chin a notch. “Believe it or not, Attalos has a strong and modern infrastructure of its own. Whatever the shortcomings of our government, everyone, including the Noble Council and the Queen, work to ensure Attalos thrives.”
“Considering the Nobles and Queen think arranged marriages and systematically eliminating cultural diversity is a good thing . . . well, friends can disagree.”
A look of hostility crossed his face. “Don’t flatter yourself, Princess. We’re not friends.”
His tone stung. The truth of those words was as solid as the scowl etched on Terran’s face. Bruin always said we worked better in a pack than as lone wolves, but apparently, no one in Attalos wanted to join my pack.
“My mistake.” I eyed the showcase of weapons hanging on the stone wall. “I’ll leave you to your work.”
I turned to leave and almost tripped over a child. The boy looked up at me with the darkest pair of eyes I’d ever seen. Maybe it was my sense of isolation or maybe the effect of the firelight on his dirty little face, but Zale’s servant boy had the haunted look of someone who’d lived through far too much. And he couldn’t have been more than eight years old.
“Hello again,” I said, accepting the note he handed me. “What’s this?”
The child plunged his hands deep into his torn pockets.
“The boy doesn’t speak, Princess.” Terran growled. “He can hear. He just can’t speak.”
“Oh,” I said, my voice catching. “Well, don’t let that slow you down, hon. I have a friend who can’t speak either. He’s the fiercest warrior I’ve ever fought with, other than my father. No one messes with Savage. Voice or not, he’s a respected warrior and many of us would die for him in battle.”
“Truth or tease?” Terran moved forward, starting to thaw in the heat.
“Truth, I swear.” The little guy listened intently, a million questions swirling in his eyes. “Would you like to hear stories about Savage some time?” A mass of matted, ginger hair bounced as he nodded. “Good. Then let’s do that.”
Before I could say any more, he nudged my hand and pointed at the letter.
“Oh, right, and what’s your name, buddy?”
His round little face blanked out as his coal black eyes filled with anxiety. I looked up to Terran. “What did I say?”
“He hasn’t got a name. He’s a fire orphan and indentured servant. He probably was born into it. Many Fire were taken as slaves after the uprising.”
“What?” No wonder the poor bugger looked lost and alone in the world. I knew what that felt like. I’d be damned if I let this boy feel tossed away and unwanted. “Well, everyone needs a name. I’ll give you one . . . if that’s all right.”
The surprise in those dark eyes made my chest tighten. “Coal. I’d call you Coal. You’re a Fire Faery and your eyes are dark black. Do you like it? I’ll think of something else—”
He shook his head, his tiny hand patting his chest and then pointing to his eyes.
“You like it?”
He nodded.
“Okay then, Coal, let’s see what you brought me?” I angled the linen letterhead toward the light of the fire and smiled. Jade was the one born with the Rosetta Stone embedded in her cranium. I was the one who copied off her tests. Yet, since Sera had touched my forehead, memories of Balor and my childhood had started coming back.
I could read Attalosean. Freaky.
Princess Grace
Her Majesty requests your immediate presence in her private study. Your refusal regarding your allocation to be my bride has been deemed an unfortunate miscommunication due to a lack of understanding of Attalosean tradition.
In anticipation of a new understanding between the three of us, she has arranged for a gift of betrothal which she believes will clarify any further miscommunication.
Yours in affection,
Lir-Zale
Son of the seventh house.
I snorted and tossed the letter into the fire. “Yeah, like a crystal punch bowl is going to convince me to marry that polygamist worm.” Coal stared up at me, his eyes far too glossy in the firelight. “Gods, I’m sorry, Coal. I shouldn’t say rude things about your master.”
He shook his head, picked up my hand and after a sequence of frustrating charades, I finally understood. “You want me to marry him? Why on earth would I do that?”
He looked thoroughly deflated and pointed first from himself to me and back to himself.
“Married or not, I’m your friend, honey. And one thing you should know about me is that I’m a very loyal and trustworthy friend. We don’t need your master’s permission for that. Now, I suppose we should go and get this over with.”
“You’re out of your depths, Princess,” Rowan scoffed. The copper in his brown hair caught the glow of the fire as he shook his head. “You spit in the face of the Queen’s plans and expect to just get it over with? That’s naivety talking.”
I pushed my chin out and straightened. “What do you care? You just finished saying we’re not friends.”
Rowan scrubbed his palm across the stubble of his five o’clock shadow. “You underestimate the lengths the Queen will go to ensure control over her city. If you flounce your independence, she will squash you.” The vehemence in his voice had me dumbfounded.
“What did I do to piss you off? I’ve been nothing but—”
He stepped away from the back bench and stalked forward. “You stood in a crowd of disgruntled citizens and declared opposition to the Queen. Attalos isn’t a democracy. Rumors fly to her like traitorous little birds.”
“And this is your business, how?”
Coming around the forge, with his shirt off and his lithe body moving in angry strides, his movement was better than a strip show. “Look,” he said, his voice lowered. “The Queen rules with fear and with violence. Your recklessness is going to get you, or those around you, killed.”
“I’m not reckless. I’m honest.” My thoughts stopped being logical the moment all that rippled, tawny flesh was close enough to touch, or nip, or lick. He smelled like sweated-out male and didn’t that make my heart beat faster. “Besides, as much as I appreciate you highlighting everything I’m doing wrong, I’ve had enough of that. Fingers pointing. Judgement. Disappointment. That dance card is full.”
I stepped back and opened my hand to the side. Coal slipped his little fingers against my palm and my pounding heart warmed. He might be tiny, but that gesture of trust was huge in this hostile world. Zale might think he owned me like he owned this boy, the Queen might think she owned this city, but neither of them knew me. “Thanks for the warning, Doc. I’ll take it under advisement. And just as an FYI . . . I don’t flounce. I fight.”