47
Seeing Count Drake, Kylar slipped through Queen Graesin’s entourage, but for once the casual invisibility of ordinariness failed him. A woman’s hand touched his elbow. He turned and found himself staring into Terah Graesin’s eyes. Those deep green Graesin eyes were breathtaking, especially as Kylar involuntarily stared deeper.
In another place, another time, born to different parents, Terah Graesin’s evils would have been meaningless, for she was merely obliviously selfish. She had desires, and others existed to fulfill them. Her betrayals were casual because she barely gave them a thought. Had she been born a miller’s daughter, the damage she did would have been confined to jilted lovers and cheated customers.
“I thought Logan and Rimbold had told me everything about you, Kylar Drake, but they could have warned me how handsome you are,” Terah said, flashing white teeth that somehow reminded Kylar of a shark.
For some reason, the comment flustered Kylar. He’d always considered himself very average-looking, but looking into her eyes, he knew—knew—that she meant what she said, even if she was saying it aloud to flatter him. He blinked and began blushing and whatever it was that made him see into Terah faltered and disappeared. She chuckled, and it was a low, acquisitive sound.
“And such beautiful eyes,” she said. “You’ve got eyes that make a girl think you can see right through her.”
“I can,” he said.
“Is that why you’re blushing?”
That, of course, made him blush harder. He glanced back to Terah’s ladies-in-waiting. They had dropped back. Apparently they knew that when Terah approached a man she wished to do so alone, but they were laughing prettily, no doubt at his expense. He caught a glimpse of one of them who didn’t seem to be enjoying the comments, but then he lost her.
“Tell me, marquess, what do you see when you look in my eyes?” Terah asked.
“It would be highly indiscreet for me to say, Your Highness,” Kylar said.
For an instant, her eyes filled with hunger. “Marquess,” she said gravely, “a man risks his tongue for speaking indiscreetly to a queen.”
“Tongues should be used to commit indiscretions, not to discuss them.”
Terah Graesin gasped. “Marquess! You’ll have me blushing.”
“I’d be content with having you.”
Her eyes dilated, then she pretended to cool. “Marquess Drake, I consider it my duty to know the nobles who serve me. You will attend me in my chambers.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Her voice softened. “Wait ten minutes. The guards will allow you through the door. I expect your . . . discretion.” He nodded, smirking, and she paused. “Have we met? There’s something about you that seems so familiar.”
“Actually, we did meet once.” During the coup. “I’m sorry I didn’t make more of an impression on you.” Six inches into your heart would have been about right.
“Well, we’ll remedy that.”
“Indeed.”
She slipped away and Kylar saw Lantano Garuwashi fifteen paces away, staring at him. Kylar’s throat constricted, but though he didn’t look pleased, Garuwashi made no move toward him. Kylar looked around the room blankly, forgetting why he’d come in here in the first place. A girl broke away from Terah Graesin’s circle and whispered to the guards at one of the doors. She turned. His eyes took in the large eyes, perfectly coifed hair, clear skin, full lips, narrow waist, and lean, firm curves. It was Ilena Drake. She was one of the queen’s handmaidens. Kylar had the sense of dislocation. He’d looked away from a little girl for a moment and found a woman in her place. Ilena Drake was stunning. As she pointed him out to the guards to tell them to let him through to see the queen, her eyes suddenly met his. Her face was a mask of disappointment and disgust.
She thought she was being used to help her big brother cheat on her friend, Elene. She thought he’d become a marquess and was so enrapt by the idea of bedding a queen that he’d left everything else behind. Worse than the anger was the monumental disappointment in her eyes. Until now, Kylar could do no wrong in Ilena’s eyes. He had been the slam. Until now.
Queen Graesin, having made her excuses, left the room. Kylar turned away.
Rimbold Drake disengaged from a conversation and was limping toward Kylar, leaning on his cane. His eyes went from Kylar’s face to his hands, and the rings that weren’t there.
“She’s beautiful,” Kylar said.
“She looks like her mother Ulana did twenty years ago. Albeit with more fire,” the Count said, proud despite his grief. Ulana Drake had been as much of a mother to Kylar as he had allowed. She had been a woman unfailingly graceful. She had seemed to grow only more beautiful as the years had passed. Kylar told the Drake as much.
The Count’s jaw tightened, and he closed his eyes, mastering himself. A few moments later, he said, “It’s enough to tempt a man to curse God.” His eyes were stony.
Kylar opened his mouth to ask a question, then closed it. In the next room, through the crowd listening to the bard, he saw a gorgeous blond in a blue silk dress cut so low in back it barely covered her butt. Kylar’s breath caught. For a mad moment, he thought it was Elene. Damn guilty conscience. Daydra and her perfect ass moved deeper into the crowd as if looking for someone. And you told me you gave up working the sheets.
Drake seemed to come back to himself. He cocked an eyebrow at Kylar. “Yes?”
Coming back to himself, Kylar realized another good reason to keep his mouth shut. “Nothing.”
“Kylar, you’re my son—or can be, if you say the word. I give you permission to be tactless.”
Kylar wrestled with that. “I wondered if it’s harder for you when this shit happens. Sorry. I mean, I think what happened with Serah and Mags and Ulana is awful and senseless, but I don’t expect the world to make sense. I wondered if it was harder for you, since you think there’s a God out there who could have stopped it but didn’t.”
Count Drake frowned, pensive. “Kylar, in the crucible of tragedy, explanations fail. When you stand before a tragedy and tell yourself that there is no sense to it, doesn’t your heart break? I think that must be as hard for you as it is for me when I scream at God and demand to know why—and he says nothing. We will both survive this, Kylar. The difference is, on the other side I will have hope.”
“A naive hope.”
“Show me the happy man who dares not hope,” Drake said.
“Show me the brave man who dares not face the truth.”
“You think I’m a coward?”
Kylar was horrified, “I didn’t mean—”
“I’m sorry,” the Count said. “That wasn’t fair. But come, if she’s following the usual routine, Her Highness will be expecting you soon.”
Kylar gulped. Drake knew? “Actually, I uh, did kind of want to ask. . . . How much do you know about my gifts?”
“Is this the place to speak about that?” Drake asked.
“It’s the time,” Kylar said. There were three men, six women, and two servants eyeing him. Of those, only one servant—certainly a spy, though whose was anyone’s guess—was within earshot, and he couldn’t remain within it for long without rousing suspicions. Kylar caught the man’s eye and the force of his stare sent the servant scurrying for another plate of canapés. “I see guilt,” he said quietly. “Not always, but sometimes. Sometimes I can even tell what a man did.”
Count Drake blanched. “The Sa’kagé would kill for such a power.” He raised a hand to forestall Kylar’s protest. “But given that you’re not interested in blackmail, to me it sounds like a terrible burden.”
Kylar hadn’t thought of it that way. “What I want to know is what it means. Why would I have such a power, or gift, or curse? Why would the God do such a thing?”
“Ah, I see. You’re hoping I can give you some kind of justification for regicide.”
Kylar glared bloody daggers at the spy returning with a full platter of hors d’oeuvres. The man abruptly changed course, nearly dropping the platter. “The existence of such an ability suggests something about my purpose, doesn’t it?”
Drake looked pensive again. “That depends on what you see. Do you see crime, or sin, or simply feelings of guilt? If crime, do you see all crimes from murder to setting up a market stand without permission? If you’re in another country where an action that’s illegal here isn’t illegal, will a man crossing the border look different? If you see sin, you’ll have to figure out whose definitions of sin apply, because I guarantee that my God and the hundred gods don’t agree, or even Astara with Ishara. If what you see is feelings of guilt, does the madman without a conscience appear cleaner than the girl who believes that her parents died in an accident because she lied about finishing her chores?”
“Shit,” Kylar said. “How come everyone I know is smarter than me? Whatever it is, I see the unclean. I want to know if that implies that I have a duty to do something about what I see.”
“Trying to derive ought from is, are you?” Drake asked, smirking.
“What?”
“She may deserve to die, Kylar, but you shouldn’t kill her.”
“Everyone will be better off if I do.”
“Except you, and me, and my daughter, and Logan, and Momma K, and everyone who loves you.”
“What do you mean?” Kylar was caught off guard.
“Logan will put you to death, and losing you will hurt us deeply.”
Kylar snorted. Some loss. “Sir, thank you for everything you’ve done for me, and everything you tried to do. I’m sorry I cost you so much.”
Count Drake bowed his head and closed his eyes, leaning heavily on his cane. “Kylar, I’ve lost my wife and two daughters this year. I don’t know if I can bear to lose a son.”
Kylar squeezed the man’s shoulder, marveling how fragile it felt. He looked into the count’s eyes. “Just so you know,” Kylar said, “you pass.”
“I what?”
Kylar gave the man who’d once single-handedly introduced and abolished slavery in Cenaria a lopsided grin. “Whatever I see—guilt or whatever—you don’t have it. You’re clean.”
A look of stunned disbelief shot across Drake’s face, followed by something akin to awe. He stood transfixed.
“May your God bless you, sir. You certainly deserve it.”