his obviously worse for wear body with concern, her brows drawing down expressively.
“My Lord Vizier,” she returned, “you are injured. I will fetch you aid.”
She raised a hand, ready to snap one of her attendants to attention, but he caught her wrist and eased her arm back down. His dark eyes slid over the others in the room, taking note of who was watching them with interest already.
“That isn’t necessary,” he assured Valerina. “I’m almost completely healed.”
“You will forgive me for saying so, Ajai, but that is bullshit.”
Trace couldn’t help the half-hitched grin he turned onto her. She lifted a wry brow and gave him a look that reminded him quickly why he liked the sharp-witted woman. She was no-nonsense through and through, and few got away with trying to deceive her. They were good qualities in a woman entrusted to protect untold numbers of ’Dweller lives over the years.
“Be that as it may,” he countered, “I have my reasons to use a little discretion.”
Discretion and secrecy were other topics she understood well and negotiated with regularity. Her entire life was a well-kept secret from the human world that surrounded her, after all. So, without another word, she turned and led the way to a curtained alcove. She gestured to the door hidden behind the damask fabric.
“Take the hallway to the end, Ajai Trace, and use the door on your left. You will find my private bath within. While you make use of it, I will have Raul go to the secured quarters and retrieve some clean clothes from your wardrobe. And before you argue,” she continued sharply, holding up a hand to ward him from doing just that, “recall that discretion is your aim. If you enter secure quarters looking like you do and come into the presence of the monarchy thus, you will defeat that purpose.”
“But of course,” he agreed after a moment, reaching to take her stubborn hand out of the air and turning it gently up to his lips for a kiss of respect to match his short bow. This brought a smile to sleekly painted lips, the glistening garnet color flattering the clean white of her teeth and the sparkle flashing in her eyes.
“I’ll not have you dissatisfied in the slightest while you are in my house, Ajai,” she said, the statement more like a reprimand that he should even hint otherwise.
“I find the possibility simply preposterous, Valerina. Thank you.”
Chapter 3
Why did you leave me?
Why did you shun me?
I never shunned you!
Yes, she said, you did. You all do. You always do. You are all the same.
I am many things, my little mouse, but ordinary is not one of them. I am like nothing you know.
Yes, she relented. You are a man who uses a sword to kill. I have never known anyone like that.
Trace awoke with a jolt, water raining down on him hot and sharp like a shower of needles. He had fallen asleep on his feet, his exhaustion catching up with him and forcing him into a brief state of dreaming thoughts. Voices dimly whispered in his mind, a barely caught memory of barely realized concepts and visions. His head hurt, ringing with all the effort he had put into the past hours.
And for inexplicable reasons, he couldn’t get the image of the young and vulnerable Ashla’s final expression of stricken hurt and tragic dismay out of his head.
“Damn,” he muttered, reaching to shut off the taps with hard twists of frustration. Yeah, it had been a hell of a day. And it wasn’t over yet. Now he had to find the regents and break the bad news. He was already dreading the conflict. He never knew what Tristan was going to take seriously and what he was going to blow off. It was Malaya he would have to count on, the female Chancellor proving to be the more grounded of the twins. That wasn’t to say Tristan hadn’t earned his place at the head of the Shadowdweller people, but as Trace had remarked to Baylor, the new monarch suffered from an overabundance of confidence.
Trace walked out of the shower and found the clothing Valerina had promised him resting within immediate reach. He didn’t waste any more time than necessary, pulling his clothes on before he was even decently dry. The purpose of the bathing had been to not draw attention and to not alarm anyone by dragging his exhausted carcass into the inner chambers covered in encrusted blood and looking like death warmed over. By the same token, he wasn’t out to impress anyone with his grooming.
He quickly exited the bath and found his way down the twisting hallways. In as much as these buildings had once been run-of-the-mill squared-out apartments, it was Shadowdweller style to make a labyrinth of anywhere they lived. The theory was the more corners, the more hidden places they could create, the better to escape light or danger when it came. It had worked too often for them to ever consider changing their ways.
Killian was hanging around the guards who were in charge of keeping everyone out of the royal suites, probably checking up on them to make certain they weren’t having any trouble keeping others away. Senators and the like loved to throw their weight around in attempts to get private audiences with the monarchy. However, Killian’s men were well trained and quite used to standing up in the face of power threats, the likes of which they could sometimes hand out.
“Ajai Trace.” Killian greeted him as he approached. He was smiling, but Trace saw the smile waver and then hold in false position as he got closer to him. Killian had been in and broken up too many brawls in his day not to notice when a man had had a serious shit-kicking handed to him. Despite his healing, Trace knew he was pretty banged up still. But he warned Killian off with a look, and the other guards didn’t seem to take notice as he brushed past them.
Killian would have to get caught up later, Trace thought.
He entered the deepest rooms of the craftily constructed safe house, soft and silent in his barefooted steps, partially from habit and partially with automatic respect. He’d begun to hear music and laughter shortly after crossing the barrier that marked the denser line of security in the depths of the house. Now, as he drew closer to the source, both grew in volume and merriment.
When he pushed open the door to the Chancellors’ private lounge, he immediately saw the source of this enjoyment. The music was a low throb of steady drumbeats and the overlay of tubular bells, as well as various types of harps and a sitar. Together the overall effect was powerful and playful, a thread of low sensuality marking the beat as it did in most of their music. This was mostly because, next to darkness, the thing they most treasured was the joyous freedom of dance. It had a marked place in their culture, crossing between the genders without prejudice. It had a place in almost every interaction of note, such as special occasions, celebrations, acknowledgments, and flirtations. They used dance to celebrate victory and declare war. They used it to prelude birth and to mourn death. It was even used in some more intricate forms of sex.
As if to demonstrate, a beautiful, lithe dancer swirled across the floor in a billowing frame of dark red skirts heavily embroidered in gold. She was not wearing paj, the traditional matching trousers that more conservative ’Dweller females always wore beneath their skirts, so the speed and whip of her dancing became a display of warm, brown skin along long, supple legs. She wore a snug bolero, also in red, with sunflowers of gold embroidered painstakingly on the fabric. Without an under-or over-blouse, the lean muscles of her midriff were on display, as was the lushness of her cleavage. Her flawless skin was gleaming with perspiration from her exertions, the salty dampness wetting the black curling hair along
