“A Jorat girl,” Teraeth repeated in a thick voice. “With hair the color of midnight or sunset, worn in the old center-cut style of Jorat’s god-touched. Perfect chestnut-red skin and coal-black socks on her hands and feet. Her eyes are like rubies reflecting flame, glittering with all the colors of a bonfire. Lips like berries, ripe and so sweet—”
I couldn’t hide my shock or horror. How did he know? How could he know about her? The only two individuals who had known about her were the demon who had placed the image in my mind and Morea. It was conceivable that the mimic who had murdered and eaten Morea also knew, but that meant …
“Get off me!” I pushed again, and this time he didn’t resist.
He rolled off and tumbled onto the grass, landing with a leg crossed over the other and his head supported on one arm.
I stood, drawing shaky, gasping breaths. “I didn’t tell Kalindra about her. I didn’t tell anyone on this island about her. You tell me how you know about her, and you tell me right now.”
Teraeth ignored me and continued the description. “She smells like apples and dark, smoky musk and when she smiles at you it’s like looking at a small piece of the sun…”
I growled, “Tell me, damn it…”
“And you’d think she’d have a fiery humor, but instead all that flame has tempered her…”
I grabbed Teraeth by the shirt, pulled him into a half-sitting position, and pushed him back against the nearest tree. “You’ve seen her. You know who she is. Tell me. Tell me right now!”
Teraeth smiled. “But I thought you wanted to spend the rest of your life with Kalindra?”
I stared at him.
Simultaneously, I became aware of him. Aware of his sweat, aware of how I was pressed up against him, aware of how very little space existed between our bodies. I’d meant to threaten him, meant to intimidate him, but his hands rested lightly on my hips.
The look in those green eyes was not fear.
I let go of his shirt and stepped away. Embarrassment brought all the blood to my face. I felt torn to pieces by my emotions, shame and lust and my anger at Teraeth for being, once again, right. As soon as he’d described the Jorat girl, I’d stopped even thinking about Kalindra, and damn it, I knew Kalindra. She was real; she made me happy. I didn’t want her to leave. I definitely didn’t want Kalindra to leave—but I didn’t want to let go of Xaltorath’s fantasy girl either.
Teraeth straightened his tunic. “I didn’t think so.”
“How did you know? How did you find out about the Jorat girl, Teraeth?”
The briefest sympathy flashed over his features. I don’t know, maybe I imagined it. “The ship’s leaving soon. Head down to the harbor to meet your new teacher.”
I wasn’t about to be distracted so easily. “I swear by all the gods I will never trust you again if you don’t answer me.”
The snake statues lining the temple entryway showed more emotion than he did in that moment. Almost imperceptibly, he shook himself. “That’s also your choice, but I wouldn’t be so free with that sort of vow if I were you.”
“To hell with you! There are only two creatures in the whole world who knew about that girl: one’s a demon and the other’s a mimic. How am I supposed to trust you?”
Teraeth looked angrier than I can ever remember seeing him. Not just angry, but hurt. He tilted his head, stared at me like he was contemplating exactly which of several hundred different options would be best used for my immediate execution.
Teraeth said, “I’m an assassin. Only a fool would trust me.”
He stood up and walked back to the training ground, red flag in his hand.
36: TESTING THE LOCK
(Talon’s story)
All Kihrin’s hopes of escape drowned the first time he tried.
He planned his escape for a full day after the revelation of his new status. If he stayed with the D’Mons, he would be a danger to everyone around him. If he fled, Darzin would have no reason to hurt anyone else. The best way out of the situation was to vanish.
Kihrin’s plan was simple: walk out the front door. The servants of the D’Mon family suffered from the ancient habit of obeying anyone giving orders. Combined with his own ability to pass unnoticed, he was confident he could stroll right out of the palace grounds.
That morning he asked the servants to dress him in the nicest clothing in his wardrobe, pocketed a few valuable items, and walked down to the stables of the Private Court.
He cleared his throat at a groom to catch his attention. Kihrin nodded to the man, his expression light. “I’ll need a coach.” He explained nothing more.
“Right away, my lord.” The groom nodded at a runner, who took off toward the stables.
Kihrin breathed a sigh of relief. The man hadn’t known his name. No instructions to keep “the yellow-haired boy” inside. From here, all Kihrin had to do was go down to the waterfront, ditch the coach, and contact the Shadowdancers. Once he was safe, he would find Ola and they would both vanish.
Darzin would never have a chance to summon another demon.
Kihrin waited while the stable hands readied the horse and carriage for him. During those agonizing seconds, the huge iron gates of the Private Court opened, and another coach entered the courtyard.
Taja! Just act like I belong. I’m not doing anything I shouldn’t be doing. He hid his shaking hands behind his back. And please let that be anyone but Darzin.
The coach stopped in front of the steps. The doorman rushed forward to relieve the carriage of its passenger—a woman of middle age. She wore an elaborate teal bodice and an agolé satin wrap covered with diamonds. The diamonds did a fine job of making her the sparkling center of attention wherever she traveled. They didn’t do such a good job of concealing the fact she no longer possessed a maiden’s figure. The color of her gown drew attention to her bright vermilion hair. The hair drew attention to her face, covered with enough makeup to plaster the walls of the Upper Circle. Her countenance creased with distaste for everything her eyes fell upon.
Finally, those eyes fell upon Kihrin.
“What is he doing here?” She lashed out at the groom, ignoring the young man.
“His lordship was waiting for a coach to be made ready, my lady. Welcome back home, Your Ladyship.” The man bowed.
“His Lordship?” An ivory fan whipped against the doorman’s face and just as quickly vanished back into the cavernous recesses of the woman’s purse. “Idiot!”
She stared at Kihrin with unconcealed hostility. “Waiting for a coach? Where were you going, boy?”
Kihrin bowed, swallowing his anxiety. “My lady, I was going to retrieve a present given to me. Lord Darzin thought it might be a good idea.”
“Lord Darzin thought so? Fetch a present?” The lady snorted in disgust. “Did someone give you a new ribbon for that pretty yellow hair?” She grabbed his hair and yanked him down until they were eye to eye.
“Ouch! Damn it. Stop that.” He tried to extricate himself, but found he couldn’t without resorting to outright violence.