Beneath the Thirteen Moons (9 page)

Caria worked the soap from the strands. “But he wouldn’t.”

“And why not?”

“Because you’re Bonded to him now.” Caria’s voice lowered. “I meant to thank you before, but words just didn’t seem enough. Still, thank you Mahri. I know what a sacrifice it was for you to tie yourself to anyone that way.”

Mahri sat up, her head tingling with cleanliness. She stuck her face in the water, rubbed briskly, and came up sputtering. “I didn’t think I’d survive it.”

Caria wet her own short locks and fetched more soap. “Well, if anyone strips you of your Power, or if you should die, he’d likely die as well. Or worse, be utterly Powerless. ‘Till death do the Bonded part’ is literal.”

Mahri gasped. “It’s worse than I thought. I can’t believe that I’m tied to that arrogant Royal forever. I’d thought a Bond only a myth, until a few days ago, so I wasn’t sure what it truly meant. Not that it matters now.” She sighed. “Anyway, I haven’t decided what to do about him yet, I’m still trying to figure out what happened before we got here.”

Mahri started to soap her body while Caria rinsed her own hair, smoothed the blonde curls back and eyed her sister-in-life with a speculative gleam. “You should cut off some of that,” she said, gesturing at the heavy red hair.

“You know I can’t. Your brother loved it.”

“But he’s… oh, never mind. What happened before you got here?”

“I, um, tried to seduce him.”

“You?”

Mahri nodded.

“The same woman that’s never even looked at another man since my brother—you actually tried to—I don’t believe it.”

“Would you lower your voice?” Mahri spread the lather down her legs, whispered dreamily as she spoke. “I can’t believe it either, but when we were alone together on my boat and he stood near me, he just smelled so good. Looked so good. And then he did this thing with his hair.” She stroked a foamy hand across her abdomen. “It was an innocent gesture… but the way he did it.” She washed her breasts absent-mindedly, thinking of his broad shoulders, that full lower lip. Her hands slowed and she became aware of her painfully hardened nipples, the way Caria stared at her in open-mouthed
shock. She dove in the water, stayed under as long as she could to regain control of herself. She’d thought it was his proximity that affected her but the mere thought of him had her acting like an idiot in front of Caria.

“I can’t believe the way I threw myself at him,” she admitted as she swam beneath the leaf.

“Oh, I can,” Caria stood frozen, knee-deep in the water, her hands cupping flaming red cheeks, “after that little display. Don’t look so embarrassed. I’m not. I just got all caught up in your passion. Frankly, I’m glad you’ve finally, er, fallen for another man.”

“I haven’t fallen. I’ll never love again, you know that.”

“All right, call it what you will. But you’ve got it bad Mahri and you’d better decide what to do about it.”

“I thought if I bedded him, it’d take care of it. Now I’m not so sure.”

“You’re right, it could make it worse—” Caria’s mouth dropped with sudden horror as wind buffeted her shoulders and she felt the scrape of talons across her back. Reflexes honed by living in the swamps allowed her to dive forward before the birdshark had the chance to get a good grip on her. The creature shrieked with rage and circled for another attack.

Mahri cursed and lunged for the weapons. Just the thought of Korl could distract her from the dangers of the swamps. She should’ve seen the thing coming; if Caria got hurt it’d be her fault. She grabbed the bow, nocked an arrow and let fly just as the bird plummeted toward the blonde woman swimming beneath the water. The shaft hit a wing, knocking the creature off balance, spoiling his angle just enough so that Caria could swim beneath a leaf.

If it gets brave enough, thought Mahri, it’ll land and attack and we won’t stand a chance. She joined Caria under the dubious protection of the leaf. “Did you bring any root?” she demanded.

“No, your body needs to rest, and you know I haven’t the Sight. What good would it do me, and we haven’t seen a birdshark in so long…”

“You’re babbling,” hissed Mahri, knowing she didn’t stand a chance against the thing without the Power, just that she had to try.

Another swoop and the leaf above them slapped their heads. Caria started to scream for help. Mahri nocked another arrow and shoved through the water until she stood ankle-deep. “That’s better—only louder.”

Caria took a deep breath and complied as Mahri sprinted from beneath their cover, searching the skies as she ran around the rim of the pond. The birdshark had already lunged for the leaf, saw Mahri and screeched as it swooped upward again, barely grazing its target. It circled once and dove straight for her, beak open to reveal jagged rows of sharp teeth, beady red eyes intent with primordial hunger.

Mahri stood stock still, feet splayed, arrow level with her eye. She could hear Caria’s screams for help as if it came from a great distance, for her world narrowed to the tip of her arrow and the red of the creature’s eye.

Not yet, she told herself as the bird loomed before her. He’s not close enough yet. The arrow wavered and she forced her hand to stop its sudden tremor. Not yet.

The thing squawked and she almost jumped out of her skin, heard Caria yelling at her to shoot.

Not yet.

Odd, how a few seconds can seem an eternity.

When the red of the bird’s eye grew to the size of a sun fruit Mahri let fly and the shaft sunk into the slitted pupil. The squawk of outrage made the leaves on the trees shudder with the force of it and silenced the usual noise of the sea forest. It swiped at her with its scaled talons as it beat wings to climb back into the sky.

Mahri sprinted back under the leaf, tossed Caria the bow, pulled her bone staff from its sheath and started back for the open.

“What do you think you’re doing?” demanded Caria.

“No way I’ll get lucky like that again—”

Caria saw the bow in her hands and snatched up a few arrows. She emerged from beneath the leaf shelter and sighted against the deceptively clear sky. “Maybe I will,” she yelled.

Mahri flicked her wrist, extended the bone to almost poling length. I don’t stand a chance, she thought, but swung the staff around her head. I won’t be an easy meal, anyway.

The forest lay too quiet around her. From the side of her vision she saw Caria backing her up and increased the odds a bit. Where had the monster gone? Did it know the waiting was killing her?

A pale, golden head appeared over the edge of the sapling, her monk-fish perched atop those broad shoulders.

“Water-rat, what do you think you’re…” began Korl, then those impossibly light-green eyes widened and Mahri remembered that she stood as naked as the day she was born. That drops of water which sparkled with reflected sunlight barely covered her in their jewel-like cloak. That she stood like some kind of savage with her
weapon trained on the sky. That her breasts jutted freely before her, the size of them no longer camouflaged beneath her vest. Their nipples hardening under his gaze.

Korl continued to stare in stunned amazement; he seemed to feast on her body as his gaze traveled slowly up and down. She could feel the intensity of his look as if it were a tangible thing, raking her skin with fingers of flame.

Mahri heard Trian’s voice come from farther down the ladder. “What’s the matter with you? Get up there!”

Jaja slapped Korl in the back of the head, fluffing up strands of golden hair. Korl blinked, then scrambled over the side to crouch like an animal, as if waiting to spring. “What is it?” he croaked, while hefting a spear.

“Birdshark. Have you eaten root?”

“Some.” At Caria’s cry of alarm they both turned as the monster appeared from behind a cloud and began another descent. “Not enough,” he added.

“Feed the Power to me—now.” Mahri’s knuckles whitened where they gripped the staff. She couldn’t believe that she’d just given that command, that she’d rely on someone else for anything. Still, he could refuse, and she half-hoped that he would, that she’d die here instead of becoming further entrenched in this Bond between them. If she could only forget that with her death, he would die as well.

Korl responded without hesitation, draining himself until his shoulders slumped with weakness. Jaja patted his cheek. Trian scrambled over the side, tried to take in what was happening, his head swiveling from the Healer to Mahri, then up to the attacking birdshark.

It works, marveled Mahri, as she felt the Power enter
her pathways, shiver inside her head. And it feels so incredible, this Power without the price of root-fever. Suddenly she knew what to do and extended her pole even farther. She only hoped that her staff would be long enough to keep the talons away from her, and that she had enough Power to strengthen her muscles.

The birdshark plunged down at her, talons first, beak open with a scream of fury. Trian threw his spear, Caria let loose her arrow, and both struck the creature’s wing, although it didn’t acknowledge the score. This time such puny weapons would be no deterrent to the rage of the thing. It swooped with single-minded determination. Mahri anchored the pole between her feet, angled toward the path of its flight, and at just the right moment pulled it up, straight into the feathered chest.

The creature struck the bone with enough force to almost shudder the pole from her numb hands, but she held on with Power-enhanced strength, continued to pull the staff upwards so that the bird swung over her head, talons just grazing her shoulders. The creature hit a neighboring tree branch, landed with a thud behind her, its neck snapping on impact.

“It worked,” she breathed, her knees trembling with relief.

“Of course it did,” answered Korl, appearing at her side. His voice dripped with arrogant pride, but she didn’t care, just flung her arms around his shoulders, including Jaja in her hug.

“We did it.”

Korl slid trembling hands down her naked back. “We can do anything together.”

Mahri wanted to melt against him, but she pushed him
away and said the first thing that popped into her head. “Well, you managed to get out of your sleeping clothes.”

Korl smoothed the snar-scale vest that sleekly covered his chest, adjusted the leather belt that hung around his waist. “Trian loaned them to me, until I can make my own.” He raised an arrogant chin, but Mahri could tell he struggled to maintain that imperious facade, for the sudden drain of Power had weakened him.

She felt an irrational surge of respect for his stubborn pride and ignored his weakness as well. “Start a new fashion at Court, aya?”

He grinned and crossed muscled arms across his broad chest. “I don’t know, I think I prefer your suit to mine.” Jaja copied his movements, grinning with his own sharp pointed little teeth.

Mahri felt her face grow hot, realized that several other villagers had joined Trian at the edge of the pool and that their eyes kept drifting in her direction. She dove into the water, where Caria had already taken refuge.

“Shows over,” called out Caria. “We’re all right, and there’s a new feathered cloak laying on yonder tree branch that I’m sure Mahri would appreciate being fetched for her.” The men scrambled back down the ladder, Trian threw a departing scowl behind him, and Korl followed with the slowest of steps.

“I drained him,” whispered Mahri.

Caria shushed her. “He’ll be fine.”

Korl looked at her one last time before he went over the edge, those eyes near burning into hers. Mahri couldn’t look away. “You’ll be okay?” he asked.

“One birdshark a day is the usual limit.”

Jaja clapped in appreciation but she didn’t blame
Korl when he didn’t smile at her lame joke. He seemed to want to impress her with his serious expression, that he had something to say of the utmost importance. She waited, heard Caria beside her holding her breath.

The wind stirred his hair, the pale strands curled over his forehead and swung into the hollow of his cheeks. “Of all the palace treasures,” he said, “there’s none as stunningly beautiful as you looked today, wielding your staff.”

C
ARIA LET OUT HER BREATH IN A SUDDEN WHOOSH
. “I feel almost… scorched from the fire between you two.”

“Aya. Now you know why he scares me.”

“I’m just grateful,” continued Caria, “that his eyes weren’t looking at me like that—married or no, I’m not sure I could resist that sort of magic. Oh Mahri, what’re you gonna do?”

The redhead shrugged, swam to shallow water and began to angrily swish water drops from her skin. Thanks to the birdshark their drying cloths now lay soaking in the pond.

“It’s not like we have any future together, even if I wanted one. A prince and a water-rat! Why, the entire world would have to change before that could happen. And this charm he has, what did you call it… magic?”

Caria nodded, a look of bemusement still on her face.

“Well, what if it’s his way of manipulating women to get what he wants? And he wants to go back home, believe me!”

Both women gathered their belongings and scrambled down the ladder when they heard male grunts and laughter. The villagers had come to collect the carcass of the ’shark, and they’d already gotten enough of an eyeful already, as far as Mahri was concerned. When they reached the bottom she pulled an anemone spike-brush through hair already half dried by the wind, and
then struggled into the silk dress. The fabric clung to her like a second skin.

Caria began to twine a small string of black pearls into a thin braid down the left side of Mahri’s face. She made another on the right and gathered them together behind the mass of red curls, tied another string around the slightly freckled forehead and stood back to survey her handiwork.

“Do you honestly think he can turn that chemistry off and on for any woman?” she asked, pulling a lock of dark red over the green silk and twisting it into a spiral curl.

Mahri shook her head. Tiny black pearls dangled from the string across her forehead and danced across the edges of her vision. “Who knows? They’re used to getting their way—don’t you understand? They’re the haves, and we’re the have-nots. ’Tis as simple as that.” She spun, felt the pearls bob lightly against her brow and the silk flow in waves of soft green across her skin. “They dress like this every day,” she murmured.

“They do not,” said Caria, while she pulled her own best dress of supple otter skin over her shoulders. Tiny seashells were stitched along the hems of the ivory leather and around the neckline. They tinkled softly whenever Caria moved.

“Aya, they do.”

Caria layered her throat with seashell necklaces, her arms with like bracelets. She unwrapped a headband of delicate paper shells and gestured at Mahri to tie it for her. “How do you know?”

Mahri tied the knot and watched in amazement as her sister-in-life pulled out more strung seashells and wrapped them around her ankles. “They parade through
the city nearly every day—Caria, how many seashells are you going to wear anyway?”

Her sister-in-life chuckled in response, the sound accompanied by the clatter of her ornaments. “Wald says if I keep adding to my collection I won’t be able to stand up and he’ll have to carry me around. But really, sis, they’re all so beautiful I can’t choose between them.” And with that said Caria pulled on a girdle of shells that graduated in color from pink to red, lavender to purple.

“I’d like to go to the city, just once,” she added.

“I’ll take you, anytime you want.”

Caria sighed, gathered up their dirty things and clasped Mahri’s hand. “I’m not brave, like you are. I love to hear your adventures and marvel at the things you bring home. But I like familiar things around me, and besides, I’m afraid to be without my family.”

She thinks I’m brave, marveled Mahri, as they made their way down the tree through the thickening dusk. She doesn’t realize that I’m just as afraid to be with a family as she is to be without one—that it’s too dangerous to rely on others.

Mahri stopped and untangled her dress from the claws of a snatcher vine, smoothed out a little pucker in the silk and frowned. Caria admires me for the same thing I despise in myself, she thought. “You’re the sister of my heart but we’ll never understand each other, will we?”

Caria stepped lightly across a rope bridge, seashells tinkling in time to the sway of her hips. “I hope not! Then we’d never have any fun.”

Mahri laughed, saw the glow of fire shells through the leaves and felt the beat of the drums through the
trunk of the tree before she could even hear the music. Caria pulled on her hand and together they crossed the threshold from the privacy of the dark forest to the light of the villager’s celebration.

People surrounded them and Mahri shrank back, only the pressure of Caria’s fingers keeping her within that circle. A loner by choice, brusque by nature, the villagers usually kept their distance from her. She figured that they allowed her in their midst only because of her connection to Brez’s family.

Yet tonight they vied for the chance to shake her hand or just touch her shoulder.

At first Mahri felt puzzled by their attitude. She’d come and gone from their midst as quietly as possible; the men admired her lifestyle but thought her strange, the women jealously envied her looks but were usually content to just ignore her. This sudden display of affection had taken her completely by surprise.

Yet, she’d saved their lives, and perhaps they felt she belonged to them now.

Beyond Trian’s shoulder she glimpsed another group, surrounding another hero. As if at a silent signal a path opened between the two and her gaze met Korl’s, and the laughter she’d shared with Caria over their mutual misunderstanding of each other felt suddenly hollow. Looking into his eyes made her need someone to understand her, made her yearn for a kindred spirit to share her life with. Mahri cursed softly, even while she took a step towards him. Why did he always make her feel things she didn’t want to?

Korl strode toward her, those brilliant eyes still fixed on hers, brushing off any hand that tried to stay him. He
wore a vest and leggings that she recognized as Trian’s, but it’d never fit her cousin the way it did him. With every step he took the thin pelt of smink rippled with the movement of his muscles. The front of his vest cracked open to reveal the ridges of his taut stomach and that fine line of hair that disappeared beneath the waist of his leggings down to… Mahri swallowed.

He stopped a hair’s breadth from her face—she could feel his breath against her skin and smell the musky clean scent of him. She retreated a step. He laughed, a low sound that rumbled in his chest, the stretch of those firm lips revealing the shallow dimple in his cheek as if to taunt her to smooth it with her finger.

“My lady,” he whispered. “Your loveliness would grace any court of Sea Forest.”

Did he make fun of her? wondered Mahri. She dipped in a graceful curtsey, having seen it done only once, but a good imitation nonetheless. She batted her lashes at him. She could give as good as she got. “Even that of the Queen, Great One?”

Korl looked taken aback a moment, then laughed again. “You’ve got me there, water-rat. The Queen’s vanity is well known—but I’d risk offending her just to tell you…” He closed the distance between them again and Mahri could only fervently hope that he didn’t touch her. If he touched her, she was lost. His breath caressed her ear as he leaned close to whisper to her. “That no other woman’s beauty could compare to that of a Wilding with only her staff for adornment.”

And as Korl pulled away from her his lips brushed her cheek and she shivered from the heat of it. Her eyes lowered to escape the lure of his, and the leggings he
wore covered him like a second skin, and the glow of the seafire shells revealed physical proof of his desire for her, and…

“Caria?” she called weakly.

A feminine giggle responded, but not her sister’s. A narrow-fingered hand, nails sharpened to almost a point, snaked over the bare bulge of Korl’s shoulder, traveled slowly down to play with the hair on his forearm. Another woman—with the blackest, frizziest hair she’d ever seen—leaned against his other side, purposely smashing the side of her breast into his arm.

Mahri blinked. Where’d these women come from? Whenever Korl looked at her the world shrank and she could only see the two of them. Were they the source of his brief display of desire? For he looked as if he enjoyed the attention.

She tried to smile. She should be grateful, after all. They’d saved her. Another moment longer and Mahri would have dragged him off into the night. Yet she didn’t feel gratitude. Oh no, more like an urge to pop them in their artfully pouting mouths.

Mahri felt a tug on her dress and looked down into the impish face of her pet monk-fish, grateful for the diversion. “Where’ve you been, Jaja?” she murmured as she settled him onto her shoulder. He spat out a fish bone that fortunately landed right onto the hand of the sharp-nailed woman, who withdrew from Korl’s arm with a grimace of disgust. “At the food already, eh?”

Jaja responded with one of his best fierce animal imitations, a cross between a shriek and a howl, and Mahri laughed.

Frizzy-hair jumped, her breast finally peeled away from
Korl’s arm and Mahri relaxed her shoulders, unaware that she’d been so tense. Jaja gave a satisfied chirrup.

“Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite,” said the prince. The woman managed to look even more frightened and Mahri frowned in disgust. All of the villagers were familiar with Jaja—most of the time he played with the little ones and usually
he
got hurt during the tussles. The woman was obviously feigning fear just so Korl would pat her reassuringly. Like he did now.

“I’d never be afraid,” she cooed, “with such a strong man like you around.”

Mahri bit her lip. Did women really say such rubbish? And did men really fall for it?

Korl’s chest puffed up and he flicked back his head. Both women closed in now, sharp-nails playing with the ends of his fine hair, the other one leaning against him. Korl smiled with unbelievable arrogance, watched Mahri with a look that flickered with more than firelight. Amusement, challenge, and for some reason, a hint of self-satisfied revenge.

Mahri couldn’t figure that last one out, didn’t even try. She just turned to walk away but his arm lashed out, those strong fingers near bruising her. Their eyes met and magic shivered between them as he held her put—with more than just the muscles in his hand.

Frizzy-hair watched the two of them with compressed lips. With the speed of an eel she reached out and fingered Mahri’s shoulders. “Ooh, my,” she drawled, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “Look at the muscles in your shoulders, why, they’re almost as large as Korl’s!”

Sharp-nails grinned and nodded her head with
enthusiasm. “All that poling, and your… how can we put it? Oh, yes, your masculine ways. It’ll make you a great provider someday.”

Mahri gasped. They insinuated that she wasn’t even a woman! She felt no satisfaction when Korl’s full lips narrowed into a thin line and his jaw hardened with anger. He’d basked in their attention and encouraged them to continue it. She blamed him more than the women, although the game had gotten more dirty than he’d probably intended. Or had it? It didn’t matter, for she’d had enough.

“You might want to wash that hand,” Mahri suggested to the woman whose hand the fish bone had landed on. “You never know what my pet might’ve eaten lately.”

Jaja grinned.

Then she turned to frizzy-hair. “And my pet’s never bitten anyone yet, but you never know, you could be the exception.”

Jaja obligingly bared his teeth.

Korl threw back his head and laughed, a deep-throated sound that made Mahri’s lips twitch even while she wanted to slap him. He disentangled himself from the clutching women and gallantly held out his arm to Mahri. “A dance, my lady?”

Mahri put her hands on her hips. “You’ve got to be kidding. I wouldn’t dance with you if you were the last—”

“I only suggest it,” he interrupted, “to save the lives of these two unfortunate women who dared to tangle with a water-rat.” His arm snaked around her waist and Jaja clapped little webbed hands, then jumped onto Korl’s shoulder and mimicked the beseeching look the prince impaled her with.

“They’re not worth the trouble,” snapped Mahri, trying to pull out of the circle of his arm. She’d never admit to him the humiliation they’d made her feel with their comments. She threw Jaja a baleful look but he just blinked at her innocently, clasped his hands together and shook them imploringly.

Little traitor
, she thought, and saw him blanch from the force of it.
You’re supposed to be on my side
.

Jaja squealed and hopped back onto her shoulder.

“Maybe
they
aren’t in any danger,” Korl replied. “But what about him?”

Mahri turned and saw Trian standing nearby, watching them intently, a shell of quas-juice in his hand. “Why would I hurt my own cousin?”

“Not you, me.”

“All right, why would
you
hurt my cousin?”

“He isn’t really your cousin, now, is he?”

Mahri shrugged in exasperation. “By Brez, but not by blood.”

“That’s what I thought.” Korl began to drag her toward the dance circle, his arm like a vise around her waist. He glanced at Jaja. “Thought you were supposed to help me out, buddy.”

Jaja squealed in disgust and hopped back to his shoulder.

Mahri tried to pull away, felt Korl’s muscles hold her in place, and a primal thrill went through her at his incredible strength. And disgust at herself for such a foolish reaction. He entered the circle of dancers and yanked her against his chest. His eyes glittered, the pupils so huge they overwhelmed the light green at their border. His pale face seemed carved of bone, his jaw stiff with
suppressed fury, the flickers of firelight playing along the high angle of his cheeks.

Mahri felt slightly intimidated. “Jaja,” she whispered, “you’re
my
pet, aren’t you?”

The monk-fish laid a weary hand on his scaled forehead and his feathery fin-like ears drooped as he shook his head. He crawled back onto her shoulder.

Korl watched Jaja and half-smiled in pity. “Would you leave him out of this?”