I fought the urge to cover myself, to turn away, even to avert my eyes. He unbuttoned his shirt and threw it to the side. His breeches followed, and he covered me, skin on skin, his forearms bracketing my head, his lips hovering over mine. I sent up a grateful prayer to my mother and the God of Words that my lips could not whimper or beg. Because I would have done both.
“Let me in, Lark,” he whispered.
I knew he didn’t just refer to my body or my mouth, though the heavy press of his flesh urged surrender, and the wet heat of his lips pled submission. He wanted me to give him my words.
Body. Not soul, I told him, rebellious to the end.
“Both.” His kiss seared his demand on my tongue, and for a moment I forgot to resist as our mouths moved and our bodies conversed, exchanging secrets without sound. My hands pulled him closer, and his fingers tangled in the length of my hair, wrapping the long strands around our bodies as he rolled to his back, taking my weight with him.
“Let me in,” he demanded, and I could feel his yearning rise again, the yearning that had an origin separate from us. From me. From him.
Tiras.Tiras.Tiras.
It was the only thought in my head, and it seemed to satisfy him, though I felt sorrow rise from his skin, like a cloud had drifted across the moon.
When I awoke the next morning he was gone, and my body felt like a wanton stranger. I was sore in places I had never been sore and happy in ways I had never known before. The act of consummation, both strange and wonderful, had literally consumed me, and I was no longer myself.
The pain had made the pleasure all the greater, searing the moment into being, imprinting Tiras into my heart and onto my body. I had felt his desire to claim, even as he kissed me softly and swallowed my hurt, soothing it with gentle hands and tender words. The words had risen from his skin even when he wasn’t speaking, and I had called them to me, collecting them like falling leaves, pressing them between the heavy pages of my memory so I could keep them.
My maids brought water for a bath, but after they filled the tub I turned them away, not wanting curious eyes on my skin. I felt different, as if I’d shed my old scales and was reborn, and I needed to be alone with this new me.
I braided my hair and pinned it around my head to keep it out of the water, and slid into the welcoming heat, closing my eyes and drifting off into the solitude behind my lids.
I didn’t hear the door or the soft tread of his boots over the thick rugs, but I felt him when he drew near, and I opened my eyes to see Tiras watching me, his brows drawn in a perplexed V. He crouched down at the edge of the huge iron tub so our eyes were almost level, and he reached out and pressed a thumb to the bow of my top lip.
“You pout even when you smile,” he commented softly. “It’s this full top lip.”
Does it not please you?
His own lips twitched, and his hand fell away, drifting across the point of my chin, down the long column of my neck to rest on the water lapping at my breasts.
“It pleases me,” he whispered. “You please me. And you surprise me.”
You are a fine teacher. I meant to mock, to protect my vulnerable heart with nettles and barbs, but it was the truth, and it rang as such. I swallowed and looked away, but his voice drew me back in.
“When I changed from bird to man yesterday morning, someone was waiting for me.”
I stared at him, waiting. When he seemed lost in thought, I urged him on.
Who?
“I don’t know.” He shook his head, as if clearing it.
“As I shift I am unaware. I can’t hear or see. It’s as if I’m not present at all, caught somewhere between the two sides of myself. I flew to the balcony wall and through the doors and began to change. That is all I remember. When I woke, I was naked in the dungeon, my hands and feet in chains.”
I could only gaze at him in horror, my mind tripping over who and how and most importantly, why?
“Someone knows about my gift. Someone knows when I am vulnerable. And someone knew where to wait for me,” Tiras added gravely.
The ramifications of such knowledge rendered us both silent, our eyes sightless, our thoughts heavy. Then I began to shake my head, not able to make sense of it.
If my father knew you could change, he would have exposed you immediately. He wouldn’t play these games.
“I know. The lords may have known something, but if they knew I was Gifted, they would not be wasting their time interfering with a wedding.”
A treacherous thought wormed its way to my consciousness, and I shared it without considering how it might be interpreted.
Maybe Kjell was trying to protect you . . . from me. What better way than to make sure I can never be queen?
Tiras gazed at me in stunned horror then closed his eyes as if pained by the thought.
“Do you believe it was Kjell?” he asked, and his vulnerability suddenly matched my own. I thought about his brother, his only friend. Kjell didn’t like me. But he loved Tiras. I had no doubt about that.
If it was Kjell . . . his motives are pure.
Swift relief rippled across the king’s face before his jaw hardened and his eyes tightened.
“If it was Kjell, he will answer for it.”
I hope it was him.
“Why?” Tiras gasped.
Because he would never harm you. If it was someone else . . .
“Our troubles are just beginning,” he finished my thought.
I nodded.
“There is a small grate high on the wall that leads to the courtyard, and through the slats I could hear the trumpets signal the procession, but no one could hear me when I called out, and no one ever came all the hours I was locked away.”
How did you escape?
“Every cage and every tree, set the birds of Jeru free,” he quoted softly.
You heard me?
“At dusk, the grate suddenly sprang open, and I could hear the birds shrieking outside. So many birds. I changed into an eagle, and the manacles fell from my talons and my wings, far too large for a bird. I flew out through the grate and became one of a thousand birds descending on the cathedral, heeding your call. I thought I was too late.”
I thought you couldn’t change. So I decided to wait . . . until you could.
“Stubborn woman,” he murmured, but the tightness in his features had eased, and his eyes were warm on my face.
I didn’t know what else to do. The lords were angry. The people . . . mocked me, and I wished to be invisible, the way I usually am.
Tiras lifted his hand from the water and touched my jaw with the tips of his fingers.
“You are easy to overlook. Slim and pale and so quiet. But now that I’ve studied your soft grey eyes and traced the fine bones of your face, now that I’ve kissed your pale pink mouth, I don’t want to look anywhere else. My gaze is continually drawn back to you.”
Without hesitation I gave him another truth.
You . . . are . . . impossible . . . to overlook.
His breath caught, and for the first time, I was the one who leaned in, the one who pressed my lips to his, the one who cradled his face in my hands. He allowed me to lead for several long seconds, letting me taste him and test him. Then he rose and brought me with him, scooping me from the water like a nymph from the sea.
And I was consumed once more.
My father left Jeru City without a word. Maybe he was resigned to the fact that he would never be king, or maybe he simply went home to plot and plan beyond the king’s easy reach.
The lords from Enoch, Janda, and Quondoon left two days after the wedding, but Lady Firi, Lord Gaul, and Lord Bin Dar remained in Jeru City for a week, making everyone uncomfortable and making Tiras take precautions with my safety and his own that he would not otherwise take.
Why must we tolerate them at all? I asked Tiras, sitting at his side, watching Jeruvians dance and minstrels perform the evening’s entertainment, wishing I were free of my crown and the secret looks and the words that slid around the lords like snakes.