ARC: Sunstone (7 page)

III

Sarra caught her breath. For a moment, she thought she saw a figure standing behind Comminor, a young man with the same golden eyes the Chief Select himself bore. She glanced at the young man, distracted, and Comminor dropped his hand and looked over his shoulder.

“What are you staring at?” he asked.

She blinked, but the corridor was empty. “I thought I saw…” She frowned for a moment, puzzled, and then her gaze came back to his. The sweep of fear returned.

“Would you come with me back to the palace?” His deep voice sent a shudder through her. “I would like to talk to you.”

She swallowed, not missing the way his eyes dropped to the muscles in her throat. “Are you asking me or telling me?” she asked softly.

Comminor tipped his head at her, obviously amused. “Well, I am not used to being refused. Equally I am not in the habit of demanding that beautiful young women come home with me. So let us say that I am asking.”

She stared, startled at his description of her as beautiful and now thoroughly confused as to his motives.

He smiled and held out a hand. “Please. I just want to talk.”

She stared at his hand for a moment. He left it there, seemingly confident of his power, certain she would not refuse him.

What could she do? To refuse the Chief Select would be to draw suspicion upon herself. So she gave a little nod and slipped her hand into his.

They walked back through the Primus District, which was now practically empty, the majority of the population joining in with the White Eye celebrations. As they skirted the Great Lake, Sarra glanced up at the Caelum and saw the White Eye in its completeness, a round silvery pink circle halfway through its mysterious passage across the black disc.

She glanced at Comminor. He had looked up briefly, but otherwise his gaze remained fixed ahead of him as he walked purposefully back to the palace. She felt confused by the way he had touched her, so gentle, when he was said to be such a cruel man. Perhaps the rumours were wrong and he wasn’t the monster everyone made him out to be.

Still, she knew she was wise to be scared. But his hand on hers was gentle, and when he spoke, he kept his voice low and comforting, as if talking to one of the many dogs that roamed the palace grounds.

They followed the eastern edge of the lake, avoiding the dancing that had begun on the quay, and headed for the Tertius District. Occasionally people stopped to look at Comminor and dip their head deferentially, but generally in the semi-darkness and the gaiety of the celebrations, they passed unnoticed.

He stopped at the gates to the Tertius District and the guard identified him, bowed and let them pass. She knew he would be aware that she had been there before with Rauf, but still he slowed as they walked through the large entrance cave to the palace. His face showed pride at the gardens he had cultivated since his ascension. The river ran along the west side and the ground here was moist and suitable for planting. Bushes trimmed into geometric shapes lined the pathway, and flowers grew in circular beds, one of the few places in the Embers they flourished. Numerous lanterns filled the whole place with light during the day, and now the few that remained lit cast the gardens in a warm glow.

Comminor bent and picked a single red flower, and he handed it to Sarra. She took it, seeing its waxy petals peeling back to reveal an orange centre, then lifted it to her nose and gave a cautious sniff.

“It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” she said softly.

“As are you.”

She caught her breath. His golden eyes shone, unnerving her. She had heard of people born very occasionally with these unusual irises, but had never seen anyone with eyes like this before. The lack of visible pupils made his expression difficult to read, but his words and the way he had touched her lips with his fingers told her he liked her, and that was why he had brought her here.

Heart pounding, she followed him into the palace, along the brightly painted corridors, up the long staircase and then back through the state rooms to what she realised must be his private suite. He pulled back a shimmering cloth curtain and gestured for her to precede him, and she walked in, only to stop with a gasp of amazement.

Carved into a second level of rooms above the large state rooms below, the ante-chamber had walls polished to a smooth surface, which were inlaid with silver and glittering gems. Rauf had told her that the palace furniture had been designed by the best carpenter in the city, the ornate table and chairs carved from the rare woody plant that grew near the Magna Cataracta, and she ran a finger over the nearest one in wonder, stunned by the way the wood glowed a deep brown and shone from regular polishing.

But the feature that drew her eye was the wall facing the doorway. It had a long window that ran the length of the room, and as she walked closer, she could see it overlooked the Great Lake. She shivered. He must stand there and watch his people travelling through his city, she thought, like a shadow in the darkness, like the ever-present figure of Death.

Now they had a great view of the celebrations, however, and they stood together quietly for a moment, watching the dancers and listening to the singing as the White Eye continued its journey across the Caelum. She glanced up at him. His expression did not seem malicious or greedy as he overlooked his realm – if anything, she would have said he looked affectionate.

Eventually, he turned. “Would you like some whiskey?” He indicated one of the small jugs on the nearby table.

She glanced at the jug, wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

He smiled. “You did not develop a taste for it when Rauf gave it to you?”

She shook her head again. “It is very strong.”

“It is. Maybe, then, you would like to try some wine?”

Her brow furrowed. “What is that? Rauf never mentioned it.”

“Most of the Select do not know about it.” He lifted the other jug and poured a small amount into a cup. “It takes a vast quantity of berries to make a single jug, so it has to be drunk sparingly. It is sweetened with honeyweed.”

Her eyes widened at the mention of the rare herb, and Comminor smiled.

“Yes,” he said, “I know. You have to try it.” He held the cup out to her.

She took it from him and sniffed it cautiously. The smell appealed to her more than the whiskey, but still she hesitated. Had he drugged it?

As if he had read her mind, he took it from her and, holding her gaze, swallowed a mouthful before passing it back. “It is not drugged,” he acknowledged.

Her cheeks warmed. She accepted the cup again, lowered her eyes and sipped the wine, holding it in her mouth and tasting it fully before swallowing.

“It is nice,” she murmured.

He poured himself a cup. “I am glad you like it.”

They stood at the window and sipped their drinks, watching the dancing. People were weaving white ribbons around a central pole on the quay as they sang. The atmosphere was jovial and infectious, and the melodies spiralled up to the Caelum like smoke.

“They seem happy,” she said, unable to stop herself commenting on the exuberance of the dancers.

He sighed. “The mood will eventually turn ugly. The ale will begin to have an effect, the White Eye will vanish and the joy will morph into depression and grief that the daily drudgery will continue as it has always done.” He stared morosely at the celebrations. “The arrival of the White Eye means nothing and changes nothing, and when that realisation gradually sinks in, the Select will have to take charge.”

She shivered at his words, and at the thought of the cruelty that would ensue.

Casting one last eye over the crowd, Comminor turned his attention back to her. “I suppose you must be wondering why I have brought you here.”

She turned and looked up at him, trying to keep her expression blank. She was pretty certain he knew how much she feared him, but she did not want to make it obvious.

“Yes,” was all she said.

He reached out and cupped her face the same way he had outside her room and brushed his thumb across her skin.

“Do you really have no idea?” he murmured.

She could only stare up at him, lips parted, confusion and panic filling her.

“I watched Rauf bring you into the palace the very first time.” He lifted his hand to stroke her hair. “I could not believe I had not seen you before. I stood here, mesmerised, as you walked through the gardens. I could not take my eyes off you.” He smiled at her obvious bewilderment. “You seem surprised.”

Her confusion turned to wariness. He was playing with her – he must be. “I do not understand,” she whispered.

He slipped his hand to cup the back of her head, holding her in place. “I want you, Sarra. I would not have taken you from one of my Select, even though I had the power to do so. Rauf was a good man and I know he loved you. But now you are free, I would like to claim you for my own.” And he lowered his lips to hers.

His mouth was soft and cool. She forced herself to remain there and not to pull away as he kissed her with a gentleness she had not expected.

Was he really asking her to be his mate?

He could have just taken her, of course – he had the right, and the power. Oddly, though, she had not heard of him abusing women in such a way. As far as she knew, he had taken no mate since his wife, Ellota, had died from sickness a few years before. No doubt the Select brought him women from the whorehouses from time to time, but still, that was very different from having a mate.

He lifted his head, his golden eyes gleaming. “You did not slap me,” he said with some amusement. “I shall take that as a good sign.”

She was too confused to smile. “Are you really asking me to be your mate?”

He continued to stroke her cheek. “I miss the company and the friendship, Sarra. Truth to tell, I am lonely. My life is filled with the harsh reality of life here in the Embers, and I hunger for the closeness of a woman in my bed and in my heart to relieve the cruelty and savagery that has become a part of my days.”

She breathed quickly, her chest rising and falling beneath the tunic that she was now conscious was old and dirty next to his bright, clean clothes. She could not believe his words. This was a ruse – maybe he had heard of the baby, or of the Veris, and he was trying to trick her into telling him about it.

“I want to cleanse you in the palace pools, dress you in finely woven garments, highlight your cheeks with silver and gold stars and take you to my bed,” he murmured. “Will you let me?”

“Why now?” she whispered. “Why wait until tonight?”

“I wanted to give you time to get over Rauf,” he said.

Her back stiffened at that. “It has been but four months,” she said. “It will take a lot longer than that for me to ‘get over’ him.”

Anger flared briefly on his face. Not many people had the courage to stand up to him, she thought. Was she brave, or foolish?

He considered her, his golden eyes hard as the metal. “I will not wait forever,” he snapped.

She shook her head, her own anger rising to match his. “I find it difficult to believe you are being truthful with me. You could have any woman you want. There would be rich women falling over their feet to be with you. Why me – a poor rag of a woman who has nothing to offer you? If it is just my body you seek, why do you not just take it?”

He tipped his head. “I want your heart, Sarra, not just your body. But I admire your devotion. I envy Rauf, to be loved in such a fashion. Do you think you could ever love me so?” He raised a hand and stroked his thumb across her bottom lip.

She shivered, angry with herself for her body’s response to his touch. Though he frightened her, something about him – his power, maybe, or his strange magnetism – attracted her. “I do not know.”

He dropped his hand. “I will give you one more month. Maybe in that time you can come to terms with the thought of being with me. Most women would jump at the chance, Sarra. You would live here with me, have fine food and drink, rich clothes – you would never want for anything again.”

She lifted her chin. “You would buy my affection?”

He looked amused. “I would treat you like something very precious to me. Is that such a terrible thing?”

“And if I say no? Will you take me anyway?”

He straightened, looking offended. “Is the thought of bedding me so abhorrent? Am I so disgusting that you cannot entertain the thought of taking me as a mate?”

He looked so affronted, she could not stop the ripple of laughter bubbling up inside her. “You look quite indignant,” she said, amused at the thought of the Chief Select feeling spurned.

“I am not used to being rejected,” he said, a little huffily.

Something inside her warmed. “I have hurt your feelings,” she said. “Poor Comminor.”

His lips twitched. He could see she was playing with him. Again, she doubted that happened to him on a daily basis. “I am mortally wounded,” he said, placing a hand over his heart.

She couldn’t help but smile. “I did not think you would be like this.”

“A man?”

“Maybe.”

He picked up her hand and placed it on his chest. “I do have a heart, Sarra. Can you not feel its beat? Please, do not be the one to break it.”

She left her hand there for a moment, then gently withdrew it. “One month?”

He nodded. “One month.”

Raised voices sounded from outside the palace and she watched him glance out of the window. Men were pushing and shoving each other around, the ale finally taking its toll as the White Eye began to disappear off the edge of the Caelum. Trouble was brewing, she thought.

A guard appeared in the doorway, stopping as he saw Comminor wasn’t alone. The Chief Select took Sarra’s hand and kissed her fingers. “Until next month.”

She nodded and walked to the door. Outside, she paused just out of sight and listened as the guard spoke. “We are about to suppress the rebellion. We will bring the main perpetrators back here. What should we do with them?”

There was a slight pause, and then Comminor’s deep voice answered. “Kill them.”

Sarra shivered, and slipped away.