Nine
Graciella took the shortsword Yavi selected for her from the rack, gripping it by the hilt and giving it a few swings.
“How does that feel?” he asked. “Too heavy?”
“No, this one is very light.”
“It’s made of iridium. It’s lighter than steel.”
Graciella admired the carvings in the pommel and crossguard. “It’s a beautiful sword.”
His lips gave a hint of a slight smile, the first one she’d seen that day. “Keep it if you like.”
“Really?”
“Yes—it’s only collecting dust down here.”
“Thank you!”
“I’ll even sharpen it for you so you can do more damage to the cave trolls when they invade the palace.”
She looked up. His grin told her he was teasing, and she smiled in return. “Those cave trolls won’t stand a chance.”
He selected a similar-sized sword for himself from the rack, then led her to the center of the large, echo-y chamber. Light streamed down on them from the intricately designed windows in the domed ceiling high above.
“All right, let’s work on holding the sword properly. Let me see your grip.”
She held up the sword as if she were threatening someone with it.
He laid his sword down, grasped hers by the blade, and moved her hand up closer to the crossguard. “Grip it here, so the crossguard will stabilize your grip and help you control the sword’s movements better.” He stepped back. “Now swing it around.”
She did. “Yes, that is much better.”
“All right. Let me see your fighting stance.”
She crouched and raised the sword again, balancing with her other arm out.
“Good, but straighten your back.” He stepped closer and placed a palm against her lower spine. “Don’t hunch forward.”
She pulled her shoulders back, lifting her chest. She noticed his gaze slipping down to her breasts momentarily, which sent an unexpected shiver through her body. Her nipples hardened against the fabric of her chemise, and her face flushed a little.
Whoa! Is it…warm in here?
“Bend your knees a little more.”
She did, glancing at his face to see if he approved.
“That looks good. Now what you want to do…” He scooped up his sword from the floor and modeled a stance next to her. “…is move this left leg back a little for firmer support as you attack or defend.”
“Like this?” She scooted her left foot back.
He put his sword down again. “Put your foot out more to the side, like this.” He reached down, grasped her calf through her skirt, and moved her leg into position. The touch sent another shiver through her, and again she felt unusually warm and tingly. Every cell in her body was suddenly hyper-aware of Yavi—of his height, his wide shoulders, his silvery gaze, his steady breathing, his deep voice, his masculine scent. She almost felt as if she could taste him, and she definitely wanted to.
Oh, dear. This is way worse than normal. I wonder if the petal I ate is having some effect?
He had her practice some thrusts with the sword, and Graciella did her best to focus her heightened senses and aroused energy on her technique rather than on his sexy lips.
“Good. I can see you remember some things your father taught you. Now face me, and we’ll work on your aim.”
She did, getting into the stance he’d taught her and raising her sword.
He crouched and readied his sword to defend himself. “All right, thrust at me. You want to aim right here.” He indicated a spot below his left pectoral muscle, along his ribcage. “It will be harder for me to deflect if you aim here, because you’re shorter than I am, and you will have more power at that height than I do having to reach down.”
“I don’t want to accidentally stab you.”
He chuckled. “You won’t.”
She thrust forward gently, and he tapped her blade aside.
“Good. Keep your shoulders back and thrust harder.”
“Harder? Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He slapped the spot on his armor that he wanted her to aim for. “As hard as you can, right here.”
She took a deep breath, thrusting at him. He gently deflected the blow to the side.
“Again. Harder, Graciella. Put your weight into it.”
She tried again, her nipples distracting her because they were still hard as little pebbles and scraping against the fabric of her dress as she moved.
Again he deflected her easily. “Come on, Graciella. I am a vicious, ugly, smelly cave troll. I’ve broken into the palace, and I’ve come to eat you up. If you don’t sink your sword into my torso as hard as you can, I’ll be roasting you up for dinner and feasting on your flesh.”
She chuckled throatily, then resumed her stance. She drove the tip of her sword toward his ribcage as hard as she could. “Hah!”
He deflected her thrust, then straightened, smiling. “That’s more like it.”
She grinned and reached up to swipe at the dampness on her forehead with her forearm.
He cleared his throat. “Let me show you a trick for defending yourself from a sword thrust.”
“Yes. Please.”
“When I come at you like this,” he moved toward her with a slow thrust, “I want you to try to catch my blade against your crossguard. Catch it now to get a feel for how it’s done. Use both hands on the hilt for more power.”
She raised her sword, and he stepped forward to place his hand over hers on the hilt, helping her catch his sword at the right spot. “See? Catch it right here.” He backed up. “Okay, get ready to catch it just like that.”
She did.
“Perfect. Okay, then what you want to do is parry the sword away from your body to deflect my blow. Twist your wrist to the left.”
She tried to follow his instructions.
He laid his sword down. “Let me show you the move. Here. Turn around.”
She turned her back to him, and he moved close behind her, put his arms around her, and grasped the hilt of the sword over her hands to show her the move. He pressed his chest against her back, using his hands over hers to force her to stab forward with the sword. She held her breath, shivering at his nearness.
“Turn your wrists this way, loop your blade over mine, and push my sword to the right so I can’t hit you. Then what I want you to do is go in for the kill while my sword is out of the way and my torso is vulnerable.” He let her go and backed away. “Got it?”
Gabriella released the breath she’d been holding and nodded. “Yes. Got it.”
He scooped up his sword. “Okay. Get ready. We’ll go slow.”
He thrust; she parried the blade away and thrust toward his ribcage. He performed some lightning-quick flick of the wrist to deflect the blow, grinning. “Well done. Gods willing, your opponents aren’t as practiced at swords as I am, and your blade runs them through.”
“You’re a good teacher.” She swiped at the strands of hair that were stuck to the perspiration on her face.
“Are you feeling overheated?”
Yessss. “A little. I guess I’m getting more accustomed to the chilly climate up here. I haven’t been this warm since I got to Nandala.”
“I think that’s enough for today.”
Nooooo! “All right…as you wish.”
“I’ll take my leave, then, Miss Stovy.” He strode to the weapons rack and replaced his sword, then headed for the door.
Graciella watched him go, fanning herself with one hand.
At the door, he turned back to her. “Same time and place tomorrow for more lessons?”
Her heart surged in her chest. “Yes, that would be lovely.”
He inclined his head to her, then left.
§
Lovely indeed. He enjoyed how flushed and healthy she looked when she worked in the kitchen, but she was even more beautiful when she was taking exercise in the armory. He was pleasantly surprised that she was more agile and physically stronger than he’d thought she would be, never complaining about the weight of the sword or letting it drop down to rest her arms.
It was all he could do not to stare at her hard nipples pushing against her chemise, but he’d managed reasonably well by focusing on the sword lesson itself, on explaining things well and watching for the proper technique. When it came to sword skills, he was completely in his element, and it gave him something to channel his nervous energy into while he was in her presence. He congratulated himself, in fact, as he left the palace and headed for the stables to check on Sikar. Perhaps he was getting stronger, more able to control his lust in her presence. Tonight he wouldn’t have to flee the dinner table, if all went well. He could stay and enjoy her company. Think of her and treat her as a younger sister.
A younger sister with the most delectable, enticing, tempting breasts you’ve ever seen? There is something wildly wrong about this, Yavi.
“I know,” he whispered aloud to himself in Nandalan, sighing as he swung open the stable door.
§
Graciella requested a hot bath be drawn in her room that afternoon while Yavi was in his meeting. She and Wilten had prepared the spice cakes for dinner that night, one with the ground aphrodisiac herb in it for Yavi, and four others without it for the staff. They glazed the tops with a cinnamon glaze, swirling the glaze in a spiral design on the cake laced with the herb so they wouldn’t get them mixed up.
When her tub was filled and the servants gone, Graciella stripped down and sank into the steamy water with a blissful sigh. She leaned her head back against the side of the tub and closed her eyes, remembering the feel of Yavi’s strong arms around her during the sword lesson. She could picture him coming up behind her while she was cooking and holding her like that, kissing her neck, caressing her waist…
A window beside her bed creaked, and when Graciella looked up at it, the curved latch seemed to move. Thinking she was imagining it, she watched as the latch slowly unhooked itself, and the glass pane flew open. A cold blast of wind blew in.
Father!
Graciella sat bolt upright, grabbing her washcloth and pressing it to her chest over her breasts. It was the same ghostly voice she’d heard before. “Who’s there?”
Wind whistled in from the open window, but there was no other sound. She rose from the water, wrapped herself in a towel, and went to close the window. She pushed down on the latch as hard as she could to make sure it was secure, then glanced around the room. No one was there, so she decided it must have been her mind playing tricks on her again. She didn’t want to waste her hot bathwater, so she got back in the tub to quickly finish washing up, keeping a wary eye on the windows.
§
Yavi dressed for dinner in black leather trousers and a white lawn shirt, then pulled on his boots. He washed his hands at his washstand, then patted his face with the cool water and ran his fingers through his short, spiky hair. He dried his hands on a towel, then stared at his face in the mirror a moment.
“You keep your hands to yourself tonight,” he ordered his reflection, giving himself a stern look.
When he descended the staircase into the dining hall, Graciella was already there, dressed again in her pink gown, the one that accented the shape of her breasts so excruciatingly well. By Tejeshwar—didn’t she own any other gowns? He pressed his lips in a firm line, then offered her a taut smile as he took her hand to press a kiss to it.
“Good evening, Miss Stovy.”
She curtsied prettily. “Good evening, Emperor.”
He turned his attention to the bottle of wine he’d ordered for dinner, studying the label. He’d told Liel to just choose something at random. “It looks like we’re having a blended white wine tonight.”
“Good, because I found some dried salmon in the larder and made salmon cakes for dinner.”
“Oh?” He loved salmon. “I didn’t know we had dried salmon.”
“I didn’t either. It was hanging inside a barrel in the very back.”
“Well, then. Would you like a goblet of wine?”
“Yes, please.” Her smile warmed his soul.
He poured them each a goblet, then raised his to her. “Here’s to a very apt pupil at swordplay.”
She chuckled and raised her glass. “Here’s to the best sword teacher in the land. Probably in several lands. I’d pit you against Villeleia’s or Xilaterra’s best any time.”
He touched his goblet to hers, and sipped his wine. “Well, shall we have our dinner now?”
“Yes.”
He pulled her chair out to seat her, glancing down the front of her neckline as she sat down, as was his custom—or compulsion, rather—and then ordered Tinni to tell Kitran to serve the meal. Out came a platter of crispy salmon cakes laced with green herbs, a large bowl of mashed potatoes with melted butter drizzled over the top, and roasted cabbage. As usual, Graciella’s food was exquisite, as were her bewitching hazel eyes, her arching dark brows, and her shiny hair. It was braided and pinned on top of her head, with a few escaped strands falling beautifully over her cheeks and neck.
“Yavi,” she asked, setting down her goblet, “do you know if this palace is haunted?”
He raised an eyebrow, surprised by her question. “Not to my knowledge. I have never seen anything out of the ordinary. Why do you ask?”
“Well, it’s probably just my foolish imagination, but twice now I have thought I heard a voice in my room.” Her expression told him she wasn’t joking.
“What kind of voice?”
“It sounds like a child, a boy, saying ‘Father.’ I’ve heard it two times when the window blew open. It happened the other day, when the window blew open the first time, and again this afternoon while I was taking a bath.”
He frowned. “You didn’t tell me about the voice when you mentioned the window blowing open the other night.”
“I thought I was imagining it. I still think I might be imagining it.”
A disturbing thought occurred to Yavi. Thakur had a perverted taste for adolescents, particularly boys. If any young boy’s spirit had cause to haunt Thakur’s wing of the castle, it was probably one of the young male concubines Thakur kept there.
She was studying his face with those enchanting eyes of hers. “Do you believe in ghosts?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Have you ever seen or heard one?”
“Yes, once, when I was ten. Yajna and I were playing in the forest near our house late one afternoon and wandered away from our farm a little farther than usual. As it grew dark, we saw a woman walking in the woods. She was glowing white, floating along the ground. We followed her to an abandoned cabin in the woods, where she disappeared right before our eyes.”
“Did she say anything?”
“No. She never gave any indication she noticed we were there.”
“Weren’t you scared?”
“A little, but we were too curious not to follow her and see where she went.”
“Did you ever go back to the cabin later, try to figure out its history?”
“Yes, many times. It was leaning over, about to crumble to the forest floor. There was nothing inside but for a few broken pieces of furniture and a half-rotted rag doll that we found under some old moth-eaten clothes. We wondered if the woman had lived there, and if she’d perhaps had a daughter she was searching for.”
“How sad,” Graciella murmured.
“Yes.” He turned his gaze to his plate, avoiding looking at her as a feeling of intimacy surged in his chest. That feeling arose in him often when they talked, he realized. She was easy to converse with, and since they shared similar sentiments on a variety of topics, he felt a natural kinship with her.
Which didn’t make it any easier to avoid leaning across the table and kissing her delectable-looking lips.
“Anyhow,” he cleared his throat and served himself another salmon cake, “if you hear anything else, let me know. I won’t think you’re foolish or imagining it.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
A sudden thought occurred to him. “Did you see or hear something strange in your bedroom last night?” Maybe that was why she’d gone to his room.
“No. Last night all was quiet.”
He kept his gaze glued to his plate as he cut off a bite of salmon cake. “Did you…sleep well, then? Last night, that is?”
“Yes, perfectly. The bed is so comfortable and warm now with the filstoc fur.” She ate a roasted sprout, her expression one of pure innocence.
Why were you in my room? he wanted to ask. And why did you leave? He clenched his jaw and washed down the salmon with a long drink of wine, willing his thoughts to take a different direction besides how desperately he’d wanted her to join him in his bed last night, and all the things he would have loved to do to her once she was there.
Kitran brought out dessert, which looked like some sort of glazed cake.
Graciella looked startled when she saw it. “Oh, no, Kitran. This is the wrong cake. Take it back.” She turned to him before getting up. “Excuse me a moment.”
He watched as she followed Kitran back to the kitchen, then returned a moment later with a cake that looked the same to him.
“What’s wrong with the other cake?” he asked as she set it down.
“Oh, that one didn’t have enough spice for my taste, so I made another cake with more. I hope I didn’t overdo it the second time.” She chuckled nervously and seated herself. The scent of fragrant spices in the freshly baked cake filled his nostrils pleasantly as she cut and served him a large piece.
He picked up his fork, noticing she didn’t take a piece for herself. “Aren’t you having some?”
“No. I tested so much of it while I was baking, I’m just not hungry for it anymore.”
He ate a mouthful. “It’s delicious. I think you got the spice just right.”
“Oh, good.” She sipped primly of her wine and watched him eat.
The cake was moist, deliciously sweetened with honey, and redolent with cinnamon, ginger, cloves, and other unidentifiable spices. He quickly finished it off and dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his napkin.
“More?” She held up the plate of cake, flashing him a charming smile.
“Yes, I suppose I have room for more. I haven’t had this type of cake before. What do you call it?”
“I call it Spice Delight Cake.” She deftly cut him another huge piece.
“Delight, indeed.” He put a forkful in his mouth. “It’s wonderful. I think you could open a bakery with this recipe. This cake, plus your delicious breads.”
She tried to serve him a third piece before he finished the second, but he shook his head no. He was starting to feel full, and a little strange. Warm, and drunk. Fuzzy around the edges. Had he really drunk that much wine? He picked up the wine bottle to examine it.
“What’s wrong?” Graciella asked, the sexy lilt of her voice sending pleasurable chills up his spine.
“Oh, nothing, I—do you want more wine?” He held up the bottle.
Her thick black lashes seemed to move in slow motion, fluttering prettily over her mesmerizing hazel eyes as she blinked. “No, I still have some in my goblet.”
He swallowed, staring at her face. Before he could stop himself, his gaze was drawn to her neckline. Heat crept up the back of his neck at the sight of the enticing swell of her breasts, and he went hard as a rock inside his trousers. He forced his gaze away and took another bite of cake.
Wait—is that Tongkat Ali I’m tasting? He frowned as he chewed the bite slowly, trying to discern the sage-like flavor of the Nandalan herbal remedy for impotence.
“Something wrong?” Her face was the picture of innocence.
“No, I—” His erection throbbed. “I just realized how full I am. I may not be able to eat my last couple bites of cake.” Spice Delight, my arse! She’s poisoned me, the little sneak. That’s why she had to get the other cake. A slow smile spread across his face at her daring, and he couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Are you sure you’ve had enough?”
“Oh, I’m sure.” Blood was pumping through every sinew of his body, fueling his thick arousal. “What spices did you say were in that cake?”
He stared at her lips as she answered. “Cinnamon, ginger, cloves, and a pinch of sage.”
“Sage?” So it wasn’t Tongkat? No, that couldn’t be right. He didn’t feel normal at all. She was a bald-faced liar. A beautiful, enchanting, bald-faced liar.
“Yes, just a pinch.”
A pinch? He’d like to pinch her nipples with his finger and thumb right now, while devouring her soft, plump lower lip with his mouth and tongue. He shut his eyes and pressed his fingers over his eyelids, trying to fend off an intense wave of lust, but it wasn’t working. He needed to get away from her before he did something he would deeply regret later, but how? He was certain that if he stood up right now, the enormous bulge in his pants would be painfully obvious. He had to figure out an escape, fast.
“Graciella, I’m not feeling well. Would you go ask Kitran to make me a cold compress for my head?”
Her eyes widened in dismay. “Oh dear…yes, yes, I’ll get her to make a cold compress right away!” She rose from her chair and hurried to the kitchen.
When she was out of sight, he shoved back from the table, nearly knocking over his chair, and turned to dash up the stairs before she returned.
Safely in his own darkened, chilly chambers, he barred the door and stripped off his shirt, then freed his swollen cock from the confines of his trousers. Cold air from a window wasn’t going to do the trick. He stood before the mirror on his washstand, bracing one hand on the wall behind it, and stroked himself urgently with his other hand. In a few seconds, he grabbed his damp towel to cover the tip as he climaxed. The erection only subsided a tiny bit, then immediately returned full-force. Damn it, Graciella. As her face floated in his mind’s eye, his cock throbbed, straining up towards his belly. He massaged it, closing his eyes, shivering with the need for another release.
There was a light tap at the door. “Yavi?” the lovely little liar’s voice came through the oak.
“Just a moment,” he bit out.
“Are…are you all right?” She sounded terrified.
“Give me just a second.” He stroked himself harder, until he came a second time, and then wiped his hands on the towel and re-fastened his trousers. He threw his shirt back over his head but left it untucked to hide his groin area, and strode to the door.
He moved the bar out of the way and opened the door to find her standing there holding a wet compress. He forced a smile. “I’m doing a little better now.”
“Did you—” She tried to see around him into his room, then glanced up at his face. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I think there must have been something in the cake,” he said, watching her reaction.
“Oh…something in the cake made you…sick?”
“Queasy, yes. But I splashed water on my face, and I think it’s passing now.” Bloody hell, Yavi, either grab her by the waist and kiss her right now, or make an excuse to get rid of her so you can breathe again. One or the other.
She blinked, her eyes reddening a little. “I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, don’t apologize. I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.”
She looked even more mortified, swallowing.
He pushed the door partially closed. “Anyway, I think I’ll retire early tonight. See you at breakfast?”
She looked down at the compress in her hands. “Yes. See you at breakfast. Sleep well. I’m sorry about the cake.”
It took everything in him not to throw the door open wide, scoop her into his arms, and soothe her guilt and fear with reassuring words, gentle caresses, and soft kisses. But if she’d dosed him up with Tongkat, it could only have been for one purpose, and that was exactly the purpose he wanted so desperately to avoid, for her sake.
“Please don’t worry about it. Good night.” He closed the door and left her standing there, his heart twisting into a painful knot. He barred the door to keep her from sneaking in again, and went to pour himself a cup of cool water. Perhaps he could flush out the Tongkat if he drank enough water tonight.
A few minutes and several cups of water later, he got a better idea. Katsuri. Drown this raging lust in sweet katsuri. Or at least get drunk enough to relax and find more humor in it. He unbarred the bedroom door, poked his head out to see if the coast was clear, then slipped into the hallway to head for his study and fetch the blue bottle.
§
Graciella threw herself on her bed, sobbing. She was humiliated, ashamed, and utterly horrified by what she’d done. He hadn’t gotten more amorous; he’d become physically ill, and all because she’d put too much of that wretched herb in his cake!
Shame on you, Graciella. You’re a terrible houseguest, a scheming conniver, a desperate trollop, and a liar. She’d fibbed to his face when he’d asked what was in the cake. The poor man knew there was something off about it. Why hadn’t she just confessed right then and accepted his disdain, his anger, and his disgust?
“Because I love him!” she cried into the filstoc fur.
Do you? a voice accused in her head. Does true love try to manipulate a man’s emotions like this?
“Oh, Gods.” She sat up, shocked and repulsed by that thought. “Maybe I don’t love him at all. Maybe I’m just a selfish, sexually deranged pervert.”
Tears streaming down her cheeks, she moved off the bed and sank onto her knees on the rug beside it, folding her hands in prayer. “Lord Zehu, if you can hear me, please forgive me. Help me be brave enough to admit to Yavi what I’ve done and strong enough to accept his disappointment and mistrust.” For how could he ever trust her again once he knew the truth?
Master Volkan’s words now echoed mockingly in her mind. Grace and light, he’d called her. Bringing hope to Nandala, he’d said. And what had she done? Had she brought anyone any hope? No, only pain. Poor Yavi was just beginning to come out of his shell and smile a bit, even laugh occasionally, and now he lay in his room, sick off the herb she’d poisoned him with.
She pictured her utter shame at having to tell him the truth, and decided it was her just punishment. But what if he decided that she should be sent back to Villeleia right away? Her heart would break at having to part with him so soon, especially under such foul circumstances. Jiandra would be upset with her, too. And her sister would have to bear her little child without Graciella’s help or moral support.
Jiandra has Yajna, who’s true and honest. She doesn’t need her conniving little sister here when she gives birth.
Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks as she realized that whatever the consequences, she had to confess her crimes to Yavi. Tomorrow, preferably before her sister and Yajna returned.
She got ready for bed, blew out her candle, and crawled under the covers to cry herself to sleep.
§
Father!
Graciella sat up straight in bed. Had she dreamed the voice had returned? The room was completely dark except for the shaft of moonlight pouring in through an open window. She lowered her feet over the side of the mattress, slipped on her house shoes, and hurried to close the window and latch it.
Father, he killed me.
“Who’s there?” She whirled around, trying to see in the dark shadows of her bedroom. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she made out a pale figure, a boy about ten or eleven, standing by her armoire.
“Who are you?” she asked.
He killed me.
“Who killed you?”
Uman.
Graciella crept a little closer, to confirm whether he was real or imagined. “Who’s Uman?” she asked gently.
My brother. Suddenly the boy’s face altered, changing to a leering, demonic grin with glowing yellow eyes and sharp, blackened teeth.
Graciella screamed and jumped back.
He laughed, a gravelly, chilling laugh, and she ran past him to throw open the door.
She slammed the door shut behind her and ran as fast as she could down the hallway toward Yavi’s wing. There were no guards or servants in sight, so she kept running until she reached the Emperor’s door.
She pounded on it with both fists, looking over her shoulder, praying the evil spirit wasn’t standing right behind her. “Sire, it’s Graciella. Something’s in my room!” She pounded again.
The door opened. He stood there in his slippers and a hastily thrown-on dressing robe, the emperor’s ruby dangling against his muscular chest. “What is it?”
“It’s—it’s the child who was saying ‘Father.’ He was standing right by my armoire. He claimed someone named ‘Uman’ killed him. Then he transformed into a gruesome demonic spirit of some sort, right before my eyes.”
“Uman?” He stepped into the hallway and grasped her hands in his. “You’re shaking like a leaf. Here, wait inside my room while I go inspect.”
“No! I don’t want to be alone in here either.”
“Would you rather come with me?”
“Yes.”
He closed his door and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. “All right. Let’s go see if he’s still there and find out what he wants.”
She nodded, hoping he couldn’t feel her heart pounding as if it were about to break free from her chest as they walked.
Once they arrived at her door, she hung back. “He was standing right beside my armoire. I swear it wasn’t a dream, Sire. I’m…I’m not lying.” This time, she thought ruefully.
“I know you aren’t lying, because you mentioned the name Uman.”
“Who’s Uman?”
“It’s a long story.” He opened her door, poking his head in to look around. “I don’t see anything. I’ll go in and light a candle.” He looked back over his shoulder at her. “You coming in, or staying out?”
“I’ll stay out here.” She grabbed the sleeve of his robe. “But don’t close the door, so I can see you.”
“I won’t.” He swung the door open wide and went in to find her candle and the tinderbox beside her bed. He looked over his shoulder at her. “Hey, did you know all your windows are open?”
“All of them?” The hair stood up on the back of her neck. Suddenly her bedroom door slammed shut in her face, and she yelped.
Yavi opened it. “That was the wind blowing in. Hold the door open while I close the windows.”
She braced a hand against the door and peered into the room. “They were all closed when I left my room just now. One blew open when the spirit came in, but I shut and latched it. Those windows were all shut when I left.”
“These latches are in perfect shape. I don’t see how they could be working loose on their own.” He finished latching the last window and struck a flint to light the candle. He held it up as he searched all around the room. “Whoever your visitor was, he’s not here now.”
Graciella ventured inside the room, darting nervous glances at all the shadowy nooks and crannies in the room, especially around her armoire. She bent low to look underneath her bed, then straightened, wringing her hands. “Sire, I wonder if…there is someplace else I could sleep tonight?”
“Of course. Do you want to use Yajna and Jiandra’s room tonight, until we can prepare another suite for you tomorrow?”
“Honestly, I don’t want to be alone on this side of the palace.”
“I can understand that.” He glanced down at the flame of the candle. “Would you…like to stay in my room?”
She took a deep, shaky breath. “Do you have any other bedrooms on your side?”
“Not with furniture.”
“Could I get a cot?”
“A cot, in an empty room?”
“Yes, just a servant’s cot would be fine for tonight. I’ll bring the filstoc fur with me.” She turned to gather it up from her bed. “Should I bring my own pillow?”
“If you wish.”
She scooped up the most comfortable one, then hurried to his side. “Can we go now? This room is making my skin crawl.”
“Of course,” he said, and she followed him outside.