Evermine: Daughters of Askara, Book 2 Page 7

  “And let me guess, even if you didn’t eat or drink, you got sick on the way home or shortly after.” He sounded certain enough, I glanced up at him.

  “Yes.” I scanned his face as I refolded the letter. “How did you know?”

  He shared a look with Dillon before answering. “Sereian glamour has side effects.”

  “Such as?” I expected him to say skin rash or migraines.

  He crossed his arms. “Addiction.”

  I saw where this was headed. “So this morning—you think I was going through withdrawal?”

  “All things considered, yes.”

  “I’ve done addiction.” Hadn’t we covered this? I swept an arm down my body. “This didn’t feel that way.”

  “You’d been away from Roland for several hours. The contact high was gone.” He touched my arm. “You’d moved into the withdrawal phase.”

  I shook him off me. His concern grated on my nerves. I was not an addict. Not anymore. “That’s not how glamour works.” A thought occurred to me. “Are you jealous? Is that why you’re saying this?”

  He rubbed his eyes. “You’re making my case for me, and you don’t even realize it.” He tapped the paper in my hand. “What does he want with you?”

  My scalp prickled. “He asked me to visit him, in Rihos.” I offered Harper the letter. I didn’t care if he saw it, but he brushed it aside. “He said he can’t make any promises, but if I meet him at the summer castle, he’ll see what he can do about getting me an audience with Nesvia.”

  “I don’t like it.” Behind Harper, Dillon shifted. “I don’t trust Sereians, and this one already has his hooks in her. It smacks of laying groundwork, but for what?”

  “What choice do we have?” Harper asked, and for once, Dillon had no answer.

  “No one has their hooks anywhere near me.” I glared between them. “Wait—what do you mean what choice ‘we’ have?”

  Both males turned toward me. “We’re going with you,” Harper said.

  Had I doubted they would, even for a moment? “Harper can’t go to Rihos.” Already his lips parted in his defense, but I’d heard enough from him for one night. “No. I don’t want to hear it. There’s no excuse for tempting fate.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I’m going, with or without you.”

  “I’m the one who was invited in the first place.” I stepped into his space and jabbed his chest with my finger. “You shouldn’t have left the colony without protection.” Dillon growled. “And I don’t mean your rabid watchdog, and you know it. You should have asked me to arrange proper paperwork.” I poked him again. “Then we could have gone together and handled this.”

  “There was no time.” His glare should have worried me, should have done more than quicken my pulse and tempt my finger to linger on the thick pad of muscle where it pressed.

  “You’re about to make time.” I called to Aaron, “Find Isabeau and have her draft a letter for me. Lord Delaney needs a patron. One of the nobles will have to vouch for his safety.” I wished for another way, but failed in finding one. “Find out if Lord Bernhard is up to the task.”

  “Trusting a Sereian is foolish,” Harper snarled at me. “Dillon, prepare the horses. We’re leaving.”

  “No,” Dillon sounded sick to admit. “She’s right. You’re too important to risk.” He cast me as condescending a look as he could muster and still make use of my roof and food, let alone my help. “It takes time to convert enough salt to make the trek worthwhile. The raiders know that. They may wait us out at the border, but they won’t come inside the colony. We have time.”

  “Unbelievable.” Harper turned on Dillon. “You’re taking her side?”

  “We’re all on the same side,” I said. “Think about it, you can slip through lesser cities wearing glamour and a smile, but not Rihos. They know you there. They know what you did.”

  “And they’re more likely to turn you in for the reward than ask questions about just how far your immunity extends beyond the colony.” Dillon shook his head. “It would be suicide.” The males shared a dark look. “As far as trusting Sereians go…at least we know what we’re up against.”

  Harper spun away and growled, “Fine.” Then he headed inside and left me with Dillon.

  “Thanks for backing me up.” Odd to think he would when it mattered.

  “You were right this time.” He took a step. “Don’t make too much of it.”

  “Hey.” I grabbed his arm, made him face me. “Since we’re being all open and honest, the next time you lead me into a confrontation with him, the next time you make me hurt him to prove some twisted point to yourself, we’ll settle whatever your problem is right out here.”

  “You don’t need my help to hurt him.” He glared. “You do just fine on your own.”

  What stung most was how right he was.

  Chapter Eight

  Crunch. I stopped, picked a sliver of shell from my mouthful of omelet and swallowed. Sharp edges scraped down my throat, and the citrus juice in my cup only made the burn worse. One or two fragments, I could dismiss. It was the sixth and seventh that threw me. Now I scanned the plate, checking for feathers or signs Lindsay had tossed the entire chicken in with its eggs.

  I wished I could scrape my plate’s contents onto the floor, but fat lot of good it would do me since I had no dog to lap up the yellow crumbles. I wondered if Figment could visit me. Maddie’s fluff of a dog ate anything. She was a little russet garbage disposal, and I missed her.

  “Lindsay, the eggs are much improved this morning.” Isabeau coughed into a napkin.

  “Do you think so?” Lindsay, a halfling Askaran like me, beamed. “I did try not to crush the shells this time.” She frowned. “They’re such delicate things. Sometimes I squeeze too hard.”

  “You’ll get the hang of it.” I drank from my cup and let the juice wash away the grit.

  Dillon mumbled, “Or we’ll all die from food poisoning while she tries.”

  Wood snapped, and I turned toward the sound. Broken spoon halves dangled from either side of Lindsay’s fist, dripping egg on the floor. Fat tears swam in her eyes. “I did try my best.”

  “Of course you did.” Isabeau reached for her, but Lindsay stumbled from the room and down the hallway. “That was cruel.” She shoved from the table and leveled a glare at Dillon. “She’s trying. Who are you to criticize her?”

  My eyes widened. Not so much from Isabeau’s defense of Lindsay, but the quick rush of color into Dillon’s cheeks. He must be angry she called him out. He couldn’t be embarrassed.

  He shifted, staring after Isabeau as if she’d sprouted a second head.

  “You’re starting your day off on the wrong foot. I guess it can’t be helped.” I chuckled. “Considering how you have a matched pair.”

  He pointed his fork at me. “Shut. Up.”

  Harper plucked the weapon from his fingers. “Play nice or go outside.”

  I smiled at Dillon, pleased for him to get called on his antics.

  “And you can wipe that grin off your face.” Harper turned on me. “Behave, Emma.”

  Some things never changed. If I had an ounce of salt for every time someone said that to me, Harper wouldn’t need to mine. He could sell the powdered residue from my coat pockets.

  Tossing the fork to clatter on his plate, he asked, “What’s on your agenda for today?”

  “Paperwork, it’s always paperwork.” I stretched my arms overhead, hissing when my spine popped. “What about you?” Then I realized he could only have one answer. “Oh. Sorry.”

  “Waiting,” he said, in case I had forgotten. “Still, it’s nice to be somewhere solid.” He patted the closest wall. “I have got to get me some of these.”

  “Oh, yes,” I teased. “I’d forgotten you were the infamous prince of the tented kingdom.”

  “Tent city,” he corrected. “And I’m not a prince. I think we both know that.”

  His easy dismissal of his achievements tempted me to list his finest attr
ibutes on paper, so he could read them and remember what a remarkable male he was, that he always had been.

  “Perhaps not in name,” I said gently, “but in deed?”

  Doubt soured his expression, and the temptation to kiss his eyelids, run my lips over the feather softness of his lashes while telling him I knew his worth, filled me. So easy I fell into my old habits. Had I thought even for a moment he could be so near me and I could resist?

  Before he answered or I humiliated myself by offering to check his wounds, when he must realize I used it as a means to touch him, Isabeau returned. “Our day is ruined.”

  Tearing my gaze from Harper, I asked, “What do you mean? I know Lindsay’s upset, but she must make allowances. Dillon is just one ill-mannered demon, and he isn’t worth her tears.”

  “Well, yes, but I don’t mean her bruised feelings. Have you taken stock of things?” Isabeau gestured around the kitchen. “We have a full house. With a spare halfling to feed, as well as the males, the house staff, the mated couple, plus unexpected visitors, you’ve either got to tighten your kitchen policies or pen another market day onto the schedule.”

  I would never limit food or drink so long as I could afford the mouths I was feeding. No one under my roof would ever horde or fear they would starve. “A second market day it is.”

  “As you like.” She sounded exhausted. “Who should I send in Lindsay’s stead?”

  “What happened to the list?” We kept tabs on who was available to go and when.

  She glanced away. “It’s the end of the month and I haven’t scheduled the next.”

  I thought back on the past few days and winced in sympathy. “I’ll do it.” I stood, grabbed her narrow shoulders and seated her at the table. “You’ve earned a day off. Take it.”

  She jumped from her chair like a coiled spring. “I can’t do that. We have guests.” She sneaked a peek at Dillon. “I planned on going with Lindsay. I’ll go with you instead.”

  “You’re exhausted.” I tried not to roll my eyes when Dillon’s head lifted at my comment. “You should rest. Besides, you were going with Lindsay to teach her the ins and outs of marketing. I know them, and I’m plenty strong enough to manage the handcart on my own.”

  “I’ll go too,” Harper volunteered.

  I shut my eyes, praying for patience. “Can you two give us a moment?”

  When my eyes opened, Harper and I were alone together with a table between us.

  “You’re not leaving this house until Aaron returns.” I planted my feet, folding my arms.

  He stood. “You said it yourself. I can slip through this city wearing glamour and a smile.”

  “I meant figuratively,” I said as he flashed his going-to-town smile. “The answer is no.”

  “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen anything but sand and more sand?”

  “I don’t care—I mean, I care, but you knew coming here meant making sacrifices.” I left unspoken I would have been one of them. “Why are you making it so hard to keep you safe?”

  “It’s a day trip into a city full of people who don’t know me and expect to see you escorted by Evanti or other freemen.” His smile heated by several degrees. “No one will notice.”

  His abrupt change in tactics scattered my argument and tightened my stomach.

  “You hate glamour. You’re itching now,” I countered, trying hard not to focus on the shape of his mouth. “If I take you to town, and you act jumpy and twitchy, people will notice.”

  That full, bottom lip of his pouted, and I leaned forward, balanced on the balls of my feet, seconds away from nibbling its inviting curve. Craving him was second nature to me, easy as breathing and just as vital. I couldn’t fight this attraction, didn’t want to if I were being honest.

  Wanting Harper had nothing to do with reason. It just was, and it always would be.

  “We’ll only stay a couple of hours.” His hands found my hips and encircled my waist.

  “It’s too dangerous.” The weight of his arms thrilled me, wrapped me in his scent.

  “Live a little.” He pulled me closer.

  “There is no little,” I argued. “Death is permanent.”

  “Emma.” He sighed, so close I tasted his breath. “I’ll give you something you want.”

  My knees shook so hard, they knocked. How did he know what I wanted? I wasn’t sure I knew, but he sounded so certain, looked so smug about his offer, I was curious. “What?”

  His cheek scraped across mine as his lips caressed my ears. “A Dillon-free afternoon.”

  I nuzzled his throat because I couldn’t resist the temptation. “You don’t play fair.”

  I felt him swallow, heard his voice go rough. “I like having my way.”

  “Emma, are we go—?” Isabeau spoke over my shoulder. “Oh. I didn’t realize.”

  I hung my head. “We were discussing town.”

  He dropped his hands, and I missed his warmth, the comfort of his touch.

  “Do you think you can distract Dillon for a little while?”

  Her mouth fell open. “Distract him?” She glanced over her shoulder, then pointed at her chest. “Me? How?”

  “Yes, you.” I silenced her spluttering. “I’m going for supplies, and I’m taking Harper with me.” She frowned at that bit of information, but I pressed on. “Dillon is a male—flirt with him.”

  “I don’t know.” She tucked a hair behind her ear. “What if he’s not interested?”

  I grabbed a skillet from the rack by the sink. “Then you use this to convince him.”

  Her dark eyes widened. “I can’t hit him.”

  Laughter exploded from my chest before I corralled it. “Even though I’d pay to see you wallop him with a cast-iron pan, I meant put it to use.” Still chuckling, I added, “You’re an accomplished cook, and he’s a half-starved demon who skipped breakfast. Think about it.”

  Squaring her shoulders, she gave me a firm nod. “All right. I’ll do it, but please be careful. I know the protestors don’t scare you as they scare me, but I worry when you’re alone.”

  “She won’t be alone.” Harper braced his heavy hand on my shoulder. “I’ll keep her safe.”

  I felt his promise clear to the tips of my toes, and when he kissed my cheek, they curled.

  Spice flavored the Feriana market air, and Harper swallowed in greedy gulps. His senses glutted on the colors, sounds and the smells. Emma led him past a market stall where steam hissed and coals crackled as meat seared on an open grill. Lured by the aroma, he sliced through the crowd with the handcart in tow, eager for a taste. “How much for one of those?”

  The vendor ignored him, tending his fire and skewering his ingredients with care. Harper edged around front and noticed a hand-tooled sign for Kurd’s Kabobs. He waited to catch the male he assumed was Kurd’s eye, but the vendor’s attention remained fixed on the chopping board where he rocked his blade through vegetables.

  “How much?” He waited another moment. “Are these for sale?”

  Kurd glanced up and his gaze homed in on the leather band circling Harper’s wrist. Emma said it marked him as a boarder of the consulate, and it allowed him the use of their funds.

  “Not to the likes of you.” Kurd continued his dice, dip and stab routine with cubed meat.

  Heat crept up the base of Harper’s neck, stinging his cheeks. Prejudice from an Askaran vendor. This was city living as he remembered. “Slavery was abolished, or haven’t you heard?”

  “Doesn’t matter.” He spat on the ground near Harper’s foot. “Not serving your kind.”

  Small fingers cinched his forearm. “What were you thinking, wandering off like that?”

  Now the vendor glanced up, glee shining in his eyes. “This one belongs to you, lady?”

  Her grip tightened. “Slavery was abolished in Askara, sir. This male is as free as you.”

  His pleased expression vanished. “He’s a slave, born and bred. Nothing’s changed.”

  “And me?
” Her voice lowered, took on a dangerous quality. “Can I make a purchase?”

  “Yeah.” He swept out his hand, indicating his selection. “Whatever the lady likes.”

  “Hmm.” Emma plucked a skewer from his pile, held it up, and inspected it. Then she popped the end piece in her mouth and chewed. “This is very good.” She took another bite. “What do you call these?”

  He shrugged. “Kabobs.”

  She cleaned her stick. “How much do I owe you?”

  Before he quoted a price, she pulled coins from her pocket. “Will this do?”

  The vendor nodded, too eager to correct her generosity. “That’ll do fine, just fine.”

  She waited until her silver hit his palm, then dropped her glamour. Lavender runes crept across her skin in beautiful detail. Harper watched an intricate labyrinth spread across her face.

  Grunting, the vendor stabbed a greasy finger her way. “You’re the same as he is.”

  “And yet you took my money.” She smiled at him, tossing him the cleaned skewer for disposal. “Let that be a lesson to you. Ex-slave or not, our money spends just as well as yours.”

  “Might be true. Don’t have to like it.” His expression shifted. “Your change, lady.”

  “Emma,” Harper warned, but reflex shot out her arm.

  When Kurd’s fingers brushed her hand, instead of dropping a coin, he captured her wrist. Steam hissed, and before Harper reached her, Emma shrieked out a curse. Snatching her arm free, she rested her wrist at her shoulder and showcased a glowing red welt where the bastard had seared her with a hot poker. Her snarl was silenced by the growl pumping through his chest.

  Harper planted his palm on the board and vaulted over the counter.

  Scurrying for cover, the vendor was trapped like a rat, and he knew it. He lunged for his stall’s sideboard, grabbing a pair of hot tongs and brandishing them in front of Harper’s face.

  “Don’t want no trouble,” Kurd said, voice cracking.

  Before Harper reached Kurd, Emma shoved him aside.

  “Then you should have thought about that before you fucking branded me.” She fisted his shirt and lifted him, kicking into the air, then ripped the tongs from his hands. Bone crunched when she slammed Kurd into the baked clay wall, his whimpers drowned by the hiss of his grill.