Kyra’s eyes flew open, and she swallowed the lump in her throat. “I knew how he felt about me,” she whispered. “I should have told the elders, made sure he didn’t come to Kashgar with us.”
“Shurik is a Marksman,” said Rustan harshly. “We all choose how we act. He chose to break the law, and he will be punished for it.” He paused and said in a different tone, “I knew something was wrong with him last night, but I couldn’t figure out what. I woke at some point and sensed you both out in the corridor. I followed as quickly as I could. I . . . I don’t want you to think I was testing you in any way, Kyra, when I asked you where your katari was. There were a number of ways the scene could have played out, and I wanted to do it with the least possible damage.”
Despite herself, Kyra gave a tentative smile. “Least damage?” She pointed to his shoulder. “He almost killed you.”
Rustan’s face relaxed and he almost smiled himself. “I was never in danger. Shurik has terrible aim. Besides, he didn’t really want to kill me.” He shook his head. “No, the real danger once I arrived was to Shurik. I needed to free you without harming either of you. Ultimately, you freed yourself, and I did not have to use my blade. I have learned, the hard way, to stay my hand.”
“Well, I have not,” said Kyra fiercely. “If I’d had my katari, I would have stabbed him.”
“You are right to be angry,” said Rustan. “I don’t expect you to forgive him.”
“What will happen to him?” asked Kyra.
“He has gone to Barkav to confess,” said Rustan. “I imagine he will be sent back to Khur, and the elders will pass his sentence after the meeting in Sikandra.”
Kyra shivered as she thought of how the Maji-khan could crush a person with a single dark look. She wouldn’t want to be in Shurik’s boots for anything. On the other hand, she would never be stupid or cruel enough to try to do what he had done.
“I should go now,” said Rustan. “The elders will want my version of what happened.”
But he lingered in the room, his eyes resting on her face, as if reluctant to leave.
Then don’t leave.
“What’s the third thing?” said Kyra hastily, wanting to hide that thought.
“What?” said Rustan, as if his mind was elsewhere. The way he was looking at her made her feel hot and cold all at once.
“You said ‘three things’ when you entered my room,” said Kyra. “You’ve only told me two of them.”
“Ah yes, the third thing,” said Rustan. “When Shurik called me a hypocrite and a coward, he was right.”
They stared at each other across the room and something ignited between them. He took a step toward her, and the blaze of desire in his eyes almost made her stumble back over the bed. He caught her with one hand and pulled her to him, tracing her face with his fingertips, down to the hollow of her neck and up to her lips. Kyra stood still, heart thudding inside her chest, his fingers leaving trails of goose bumps on her skin.
Slowly, never taking his eyes from hers, Rustan leaned down and pressed his lips against hers.
Kyra closed her eyes and swayed. The world turned, the moment stretched. Rustan smelled of the desert, the hot sun, the cold wind. She could not breathe, she could not think. Unable to stop herself, she parted her lips and reached for him, twining her fingers in his hair. She heard him gasp, and his arms encircled her.
But the next moment he released her and stepped away, breathing hard.
She felt bereft. Don’t stop, she wanted to shout. Don’t leave. He must have known what she was thinking, what she wanted, and yet he made no move toward her. She could have wept with disappointment.
“Kyra . . .” he said, a plea entering his voice.
“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t say anything.” She couldn’t have borne it if he had apologized.
Rustan looked at her, his face tight with suppressed emotion. He turned and left, as abruptly as he had come.
Kyra sat down on the bed and exhaled the breath that had been trapped in her chest while Rustan was in the room. She had never been so utterly in someone’s power before, not even when Shurik laid the bonds of Inner Speech on her.
A tight band of pain encircled her heart. Was this what it was like to love someone? She was glad, glad that the meeting in Sikandra was only two days away.
The dam broke and she cried, sobbing into the pillow to muffle the sounds.
Chapter 29
Live Long and Die Well
Kyra splashed cold water on her face and got dressed. It was time to leave the Jewel of Kashi. She dragged out the little bundle of clothes from underneath the bed and withdrew Shirin Mam’s katari from its scabbard. She touched it to her lips. Time to say goodbye.
She had given up hope of meeting Shirin Mam in Anant-kal again, but at least while she carried the blade, she could imagine that her teacher was somehow still with her. It was a wrench to give it up, but Shirin Mam had been quite clear in her instructions. Rustan was to have the katari before Kyra left for Sikandra, and now she had the chance to give it directly to him. She had known from the beginning that she would not be able to keep it for long.
She donned her brown Markswoman robe with the symbol of Kali. She didn’t want to hide who she was anymore, but Barkav had insisted she wear a hooded cloak over the robe until she declared herself in the Hall of Sikandra. Kyra had agreed, knowing that the longer she could keep her identity a secret, the stronger the element of surprise for her enemy.
She glanced at the window and was startled to see how light it had become. She would have to hurry if she wanted to catch Rustan before he went down for the morning meal.
She slipped out the door and went down the corridor to the last room but one, hoping none of the elders would notice her, and trying to quell the nervous flutter of anticipation that rose in her chest. She hadn’t seen Rustan alone even once after that kiss. This would be the first time—and probably the last, she reminded herself.
Again and again she had been drawn into a wretched argument with herself. What had happened in the room between them that day? Why had he kissed her? Why had it hurt so much when he stepped away from her and left the room?
She hardly knew him. He should mean less to her than Nineth or Elena did, less than the memory of those she had loved and lost. Why did thoughts of him consume her waking moments? She longed to be alone with him again; at the same time the force of her feelings frightened her. Such feelings were surely a sign of weakness in a Markswoman. Would they be what broke her during the duel with Tamsyn?