Healer's Touch (19 page)

“Sir, it’s an important meeting...”

The Legaciattus sounded uncomfortable, almost wheedling. Marius had put him in a tight spot. On the one hand, Lucien would be annoyed at Marius’s interruption. On the other hand, Lucien would be angrier still if his guards
didn’t
interrupt him for a truly urgent matter.

But Marius’s sympathies did not lie with the guard; that man’s discomfort was nothing to what Isolda could be experiencing. “I need to see him right now.”

“Can you tell me what it’s about?” asked the guard.

“It’s for his ears only.”

“Have a seat,” said the guard. “I’ll tell him what you’ve said.”

“Thank you.” Marius retired to the chair he’d been pointed to, and Drusus took a seat beside him. The waiting room was an august one. Dignitaries from all over the empire had perched in these chairs while anticipating their audience with the emperor. Marius could not relax. He sat on the edge of his chair, tapping his heel against the polished marble floor.

“It takes a long time to outfit a ship for a journey of that distance,” offered Drusus.

“I hope you’re right,” said Marius.

They lapsed again into silence. A clock chimed, and Marius’s gaze darted toward it. The clock sat on a carved wooden table against the wall. Now that he’d noticed it, he could hear its ticking. He counted the seconds as they passed.

Finally the great double doors opened, spilling out the emperor and his guards.

Marius stood and inclined his head in a gesture of respect.

Lucien looked strained. “You’ve inconvenienced me greatly, so make this fast.”

Marius skipped the remaining social niceties. “One of my employees at the surgery has been taken into custody by the Riat City Guard, and I need her back.”

Lucien took a seat across from him. “Did she commit a crime?”

Marius sat. “No, she was taken because she’s Sardossian.”

“Then it was on my order,” said Lucien. “We’ve tolerated these refugees and their illegal factories long enough. I’m having the guards round all of them up and send them home. You may be assured that we’re being humane about it. My order specifies no interrogations and no abuse. Just gather them up and put them on the ship.”

“Sir, this woman is a valued employee. As you know, my surgery used to lose money, but since she started as my business manager, we’ve been turning a profit. I can assure you she had nothing to do with the gunpowder factory explosion, because she was with me when it happened.”

“She was with you on a Sage’s Day?” asked Lucien.

Marius’s cheeks warmed. Lucien knew he did not open the surgery on Sage’s Day. “Yes, sir. An innocent situation.” Mostly.

“Yet she’s an illegal refugee.”

“Sir, I need her for my business. She works hard, and she’s not a trouble-maker.”

Lucien frowned and tugged at his ear. “How do your patients react to seeing a Sardossian at work in the surgery?”

“Reasonably enough,” said Marius.

Lucien raised his eyebrows at Drusus.

Drusus unfolded his arms and said, “I have some security concerns that I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. But they’re not the woman’s fault.”

Lucien appeared torn, his eyes moving from Marius to Drusus and then back to Marius. Finally he gestured to one of his guards, who spun on his heel and left. “I’ll have my clerk give you a writ authorizing you to take this woman back from the City Guard, but only because I don’t have time to discuss this at length.” The guard returned in the company of a second man, who bore a tray with writing utensils and the imperial seal. “And next Sage’s Day, you will have lunch with me—both of you—and we’ll have a longer conversation about this Sardossian employee and the security concerns.”

“Yes, sir,” said Marius, relieved at getting his writ but dreading next Sage’s Day. “Er—could I also have a writ that says you’ve authorized her to work at the surgery and the guards can’t pick her up again?”

Lucien gave Marius an exasperated look. “Very well, but it will be temporary, lasting one month.”

“Her name is Isolda,” Marius offered. “Oh, could you write that second one not just for her, but for her family? She’s got a son. He’s Jamien’s age.”

“A son.” Lucien sounded annoyed.

“And how long before the deportation ships sail?”

“Three days, last I heard,” said Lucien.

“Thank you, sir,” said Marius. He’d pushed the emperor as far as he dared.

∞

Since it was getting on toward evening, Marius dropped by the fruit stand, hoping to find Rory before he got off work. Otherwise the boy would run to the surgery, find it closed, perhaps learn that his mother had been picked up by the guards, and panic. Luck was with Marius, and he was able to collect the boy and explain the situation as they rode from guardhouse to guardhouse in search of Isolda.

He found her in the third guardhouse he visited, crammed into a holding cell filled with other Sardossians. She was easy to pick out of the crowd; hers was the face that lit up on seeing him and Rory. She looked tired and frightened but unharmed. As she waded through the mass of humanity toward him, she clutched the hand of a younger woman, bringing her along.

Marius’s heart sank. His writ permitted only Isolda’s release.

“This is Emari,” said Isolda. “Can you get her out too?”

Marius turned to the guard. “It’s just one more woman. What’s the harm?”

The guard shook his head. “Writ says Isolda and nobody else. You know these Sardossians breed like rats.”

Marius had seen few Sardossian children in Riat besides Rory. But it was clear the guard wasn’t going to be flexible. “I’m sorry, Isolda. I haven’t the authority to help your friend.”

Isolda nodded, sniffled, and hugged Emari.

The guard took Isolda’s arm and yanked her away. “You’re free, piss-head, so get out of here.”

“Watch your mouth, soldier,” said Marius, bumping against him to take Isolda. As his flesh and the guard’s briefly touched, Marius wordlessly inflicted on the man an itchy rash that would have him scratching under his armor all afternoon.

Outside the guardhouse, Drusus took Rory onto his horse, while Marius helped Isolda onto Gambler and swung up behind her on the saddle. He pulled her close to make the best use of the limited space, and she laid her head on his shoulder. “Are you hurt at all?”

“Just tired and hungry.”

Thank the gods for that. “I want you to take this.” He handed her the second writ. “Fold it up and keep it on your person at all times. It authorizes you and your family—that’s Rory—to be here in Riat without being arrested or deported. It’s only good for a month, but at least that’s one month you won’t have to worry.”

She stared at the paper in awe. He wondered if she recognized the imperial seal on it. Probably not; the seal was known only to those in positions of authority.

“Such a gift,” she murmured.

He had no reply. He didn’t think of it as a gift at all, but as her just due for the good she’d done the surgery. And of course, for selfish reasons he wanted her to stay here in Riat. As they rode, he kept the pace slow, letting her rest and enjoying the feel of her warm body against his.

At the villa, Marius told Isolda they’d both be taking tomorrow off—after their various ordeals, they needed rest. His villa had a private bath in the basement, not as large or as fancy as the ones at the public baths or the imperial palace, but nice enough, with hot-water and cold-water pools, and they had the great advantage of privacy. He authorized her to use the bath and had dinner sent to her guest room. As for himself, he’d be eating a light meal and collapsing before the sun set, having been up most of the previous night.

He slept until mid-morning, and when he woke, he could tell Aurora had been busy: the house smelled of freshly baked bread. He strolled into the kitchen and fetched the loaf that was drying on the rack. Back at the dining table, he sliced off a hunk, drizzled oil and honey over it, and stuffed the soft deliciousness into his mouth. He’d gorged himself on half the loaf when Isolda emerged, refreshed and wearing one of his old tunics. Gods, there was something about her wearing his clothes that made his blood rush south. But he wouldn’t pester her, not now at least. He pushed the remaining half of the loaf toward her. “Eat.”

She took it and sliced off a wedge.

He passed her the oil and honey. She was more willing to eat at his table than she used to be, perhaps because she felt more established here. She was an employee of the surgery and thus contributing, at least indirectly, to his household. As he understood it, she wasn’t averse to eating, only to taking charity. He hoped she didn’t perceive the rescue as charity.

She ate the first wedge of bread in silence, picking up all the crumbs so that she missed nothing, and then spoke. “I can’t thank you enough for getting me out of there.”

“It was no trouble,” said Marius.

“I think you must have gone to a great deal of trouble,” said Isolda. “Was it your benefactor who authorized my release?”

“Yes.”

“He must be well connected. Did your request for help strain your relationship with him in any way?”

“No,” said Marius.

Isolda eyed the remainder of the loaf.

“Have more,” he urged. “Eat all of it, if you like—there are two more loaves in the kitchen. Where’s Rory?”

“He’s off to work already.” She reached for the loaf eagerly and cut another wedge. “I’ve done some thinking. I’ve always known about the gunpowder factory and its dangers. If I’d said something earlier...” She shook her head. “I don’t know who I’d have said it
to
, but maybe I could have prevented those deaths, and maybe your emperor wouldn’t be deporting Emari and the others.” She put the bread down and clasped her hands in her lap.

“You take too much on yourself,” said Marius. “Anyone in that factory could have reported it.
I
could have reported it. But none of us did, for various reasons.”

“I used to think it was enough,” said Isolda, “that we could live here and hide from the authorities and just survive. But what kind of future are we building for ourselves? For our children? We need to be accepted here, not just grudgingly tolerated—or
not
tolerated, by some—and that means finding legitimate work.”

“How many legal job opportunities do your people have?” said Marius.

“Almost none,” said Isolda. “But Rory and I have managed to find legal jobs, and so did a man I know. We can’t keep endangering the lives of innocents. I know the man who ran that gunpowder factory, and he’s not a Sardossian at all. He’s Kjallan.” She picked up the wedge of bread she’d abandoned and began to eat.

Marius blinked. He had never considered that the factory owner might be Kjallan. But now that he thought about it, the owner
had
to be. How could a Sardossian acquire the raw materials as they came into the harbor? How could a Sardossian sell the finished product?

“If he’s not stopped, he’ll start another factory,” continued Isolda. “Why wouldn’t he? Cheap Sardossian labor means profits for Kjallans.”

“What do you propose to do?” Even though he now had a writ to protect her and Rory—lasting one month—he wasn’t enthusiastic about her having anything to do with the Riat City Guard.

“Does my information about the Kjallan owner have any value?” she asked. “Your benefactor must have political connections, and I owe him a favor. What if I told him what I know?”

“I think he’d be interested.”

“Then I’ll tell him, provided he won’t ask me to betray any of my Sardossian friends.”

“I’ll be speaking with him in a few days. I can present your offer to him then.” It might make his Sage’s Day conversation with Lucien less awkward.

“Thank you.” Isolda let out her breath.

Marius observed that she’d finished her bread. “How do you feel? Do you need to rest some more?”

Isolda shook her head. “I’m not tired at all. I’m fact, I’m feeling...” She licked her lips and bit them nervously. “Yesterday we were in the middle of something. Do you think we might continue?”

That took him by surprise. But it was a good surprise. After everything she’d been through yesterday, she was thinking about yesterday’s interrupted kiss? That bolstered his confidence. “I don’t know,” he said, feigning gravity. “Do you think we might blow out all the windows again?”

She grinned and rose from her seat. “Let’s find out.”

He took her into his arms, folding her into the crook of his body. What a delicious fit she was. Isolda was a medium sort of woman, average height and average build, with breasts neither large nor small. She was the sort of woman men tended to overlook, since nothing out of the ordinary struck the eye.

But for the man who took notice, she was perfect. The curve of her hip, outlined by the belt of the simple tunic she wore, struck him as the very picture of womanhood. How he wanted to run his hand down that curve and over the lovely roundness of her bottom and thighs. He’d love to see those curves unclothed, especially those breasts that looked like they would fit perfectly into each of his hands.

He settled for kissing her.

She tasted of honey from the late breakfast they’d shared. Her lips were warm and yielding, and her cheeks flushed pink with arousal. He stood, bringing her up with him, and tightened his grip around her, even though she was sure to feel his half-mast cockstand through their clothes. No reason she shouldn’t know.

She seemed to want him as well. Her questing fingers explored the contours of his body, running over his clothes. She found bare skin where his syrtos ended on his leg. One touch, flesh to flesh, and he was hard.

If her hands were roaming, so could his. Still clutching her to him with one hand, he let the other hand explore the outline of her neck and shoulders, the curve of her breast and hip. He found the roundness of her pert bottom, which he stroked, aware of how close he was to her pleasure center.

“Marius,” she said through the kisses.

“Hmm?” he said, barely able to articulate.

“We need to stop—just for a little while.”

He took his hand away. “Is something amiss?”

“No,” she said. “Well...yes. I want all this and more, but I have to take care of a little detail first.”