Jayne Castle [Jayne Ann Krentz] (15 page)

could barely breathe beneath the glittering fury in his eyes.

He pulled her after him along the rainstone path. Kalena felt dizzy. She was vaguely aware that some of

her physical strength was returning as she was dragged farther and farther from Quintel's door. But she

couldn't think clearly. The only thing her disoriented mind could focus on was that the catastrophe for

which she had wished had struck. Unlike the coming together of the Stones, it had not brought the end of

Zantalia, but it would surely change her private world forever. Ridge had caught her in the act of trying to

kill Quintel.

A few moments later she was being shoved inside her chamber. The door closed with awful care and

Ridge turned to face her. Kalena stood her ground, concentrating on trying to steady her breathing.

"Before I give you what you deserve, tell me why," Ridge ground out softly. "Tell me why you are so

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fascinated with Quintel? Is it because he has no interest in women and you were challenged? Was it

curiosity after last night to find out what it feels like to have another man possess you? Why?"

"I . . . I can't explain," Kalena managed, her throat tight with the effort of speaking. She began to realize

the source of Ridge's fury. He was jealous. Well, he would be far more angry if he understood the real

reason she had sought Quintel tonight. A dull sense of fatalistic apathy began to replace the sick tension

that had been swamping her senses. It was over. Everything was over, including her future.Nowonder

she had always had trouble envisioning exactly what form her freedom would take; there was no freedom

awaiting her. "But I swear on the honor of my House that I did not go to the trade baron's rooms tonight

with the intention of sharing his sleeping pallet. I swear it!"

"The honor of your House? That's a joke. You come from some small farm in the Interlock valley. Your

family might once have been respectable, but that's about all you can say for it. What you have done

tonight has destroyed even that much."

Kalena's pride came to her aid. The oath had slipped out under the stress of the moment, but she had

meant every word of it. It would seem that when all else was gone, several generations of House pride

still remained. She drew herself up, her eyes ice cold in the light of the firegel lamps. "You are a

Houseless bastard. Don't lecture me on honor and respectability. I am the daughter of a Great House and

you are nothing but a rich man's tool. His whip."

Ridge took a menacing step forward. "Don't lie to me on top of everything else, woman. I will punish

you as harshly for that as I will for trying to betray me in another man's arms."

"I did not betray you! At least, not in the way you mean."

"Words!" he said between set teeth. "If you had any sense you would be on your knees pleading with

me and instead you stand there throwing words at me. You went to Quintel's apartments tonight. You

cannot deny that."

"Yes, but I swear I did not go there to sleep with him. Ridge!"Kalena stepped back hurriedly as he

reached for her, but she was not quick enough. He caught hold of her shoulders.

"Tell me the truth. Admit it or so help me, I will ..."

Kalena's chin lifted, a gesture that contained all those internalized generations of arrogant breeding and

House pride. "I give you my oath, on the honor of my House, that I did not intend to share Quintel's

pallet tonight."

"Then why did you seek him out?" Ridge's eyes were golden pools of fury in the softly lit room.

Kalena refused to cower. Nothing he could do to her was as bad as what she had done to herself. She

had dishonored both herself and her House tonight. There was nothing left to fear. "I cannot tell you."

"By the Stones, you will tell me," he bit out. His hands went to the fastening of the scarlet cloak.

Kalena closed her eyes as the garment was flung aside. She heard the faint clicking sound as the

fabric-muffled sintar struck the floor. It was too much to hope that Ridge would not hear it, too. He

stared at her for an instant and then silently released her to pick up the cloak. His hand moved through

the garment and a moment later he withdrew the jeweled sintar.

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"Where did you steal this?" he asked bluntly.

Enraged by the accusation, Kalena whirled to face him. "I did not steal it. It was my father's sintar and he

is dead. I am the last daughter of the House, and by right that blade is mine!" She reached down to the

open travel bag and scrabbled around inside, tearing more of the lining, until she came up with the House

band she had hidden inside. Hurling the bracelet at his feet, Kalena waited for him to pick it up. "Take a

good look, Ridge. That band carries the mark of my House. The House of the Ice Harvest."

Without taking his eyes off her, Ridge bent down to scoop up the band. He glanced at it once and then

tossed it aside. "Did you steal it when you stole the sintar?"

"Damn you, bastard, you are as thickheaded and stubborn as any bull zorcan, aren't you?"

His hand moved so swiftly that Kalena wasn't sure of the action until she realized Ridge was holding his

own sintar in his fist. It occurred to her then that he might go so far as to kill her for what he deemed his

betrayal at her hands. A healthy dose of fear at last began to seep back into her bloodstream. If he was

going to kill her, he might as well do it for the right reason.

She stepped backward automatically as Ridge came toward her. He did not hold the blade as if he

would strike her, but kept it at his side. Kalena couldn't take her gaze off the stark, unadorned sintar. It

was a blade meant for drinking blood.

And the steelblade was glowing firered inRidge's hands.

"Now," he said in a voice that was totally devoid of emotion. "You will answer my questions. I will have

the truth from you."

Six

Any way she looked at it, she was facing death, Kalena decided. It was fitting punishment for failure.

She sank down on the edge of the pallet, trying not to look at the glowing blade in Ridge's hand. What

did the truth matter now? She had failed in her duty. But somehow, if she was meant to die at this

moment, she would prefer to meet that death for the proper reason. That reason was her failure.

"I went to Quintel's apartment tonight to kill him. Since the summer of my twelfth year, it has been my

duty, my destiny. It is the single task for which I have been raised."

Ridge's eyes narrowed in disbelief. "You what?"

Kalena held out the packet of poison she had been clutching. "I intended to put some of that into his

evening wine. He would have died shortly after drinking it, of what would have looked like a heart attack.

The House of the Ice Harvest would have been avenged. But I failed. The truth is, I would have failed

even had you not stopped me, Ridge. You see, I lost my nerve. I was too weak to do that which was

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required of me. Olara wasted all her efforts. My whole life has been a pointless exercise in failure."

Ridge came forward slowly and took the packet from her hand. Kalena thought she could feel some of

the heat emanating from the strange sintar he held. He kept the blade at his side while he cautiously

sniffed the contents of the packet.

"Be careful," Kalena warned in a dull voice. "Even a pinch or two would be enough to kill you. My aunt

concocted it."

"Your aunt sent you to kill Quintel?" Ridge's voice was still almost completely empty of inflection.

"She could not undertake the task herself. She is too old and lately she has been ill. Besides, she is a

Healer, a fine one. Everyone knows it is impossible for a Healer to kill. The years since our House was

brought to an end by Quintel have been hard on her. The strain of my father's and brother's death is too

much for my mother. She never was very strong. She died shortly after they did. I was the only one left

who could avenge the House." Kalena held out her hand in a helpless gesture and then let her fingers

drop back into her lap. "Now you will kill me and it will all be over."

Ridge stared at her. "You're saying you believe Quintel was responsible for the deaths of your father and

brother?"

"Yes."

"That makes no sense," he declared harshly. "It's an insane notion."

"It's the truth. Olara saw it all in a trance. My House was a small but wealthy one. We controlled the

trading traffic on the great Interlock River and its tributaries. My father apparently clashed with Quintel

on several occasions, although I was too young to be aware of such matters. Finally, Quintel decided to

ensure that a more cooperative House was given control of the river. He saw to it that the men of my

House suffered àccidents' in the mountains."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Perhaps not. But my aunt does. It was she who realized the accidents were acts of murder. With my

father and his heir dead, the House of the Ice Harvest was officially ended. Control of the river trade was

immediately given over to another House. My aunt took my mother and myself to a small farm town

where we were unknown. She insisted we no longer use our House name and invented another for us

instead. She said she wanted to protect us."

"From what?" Ridge asked roughly. "If the men of your House were all dead, surely the women posed

no threat to whoever might have killed them."

"My aunt had her reasons. She did not want Quintel to know about me. Olara was right. Quintel would

never have negotiated a trade marriage agreement with the daughter of an old enemy."

Ridge realized with a kind of stunned shock that Kalena believed everything she was saying, including

her own feeling of failure. There was too much self-accusation and weary resignation in her voice, too

much pride in her bearing, even though she knew she faced defeat. And the packet of poison was

damning evidence of the truth. She had gone to Quintel's rooms with the intention of killing him, not

sleeping with him. For some reason that knowledge drained some of the heat from his veins. He felt like

an idiot for being relieved, but he couldn't deny that he was.

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She hadn't beenabout to betrayhim with anotherman.

Slowly, the heat faded from the sintar as the steel reacted to the cooling of his fury.

Only a handful of times in his entire life had the violence of his emotions spilled over into the steel of his

blade. The first time it had happened he had been a barefoot kid fighting off a group of toughs at the back

of a filthy alley in Countervail. Ridge had bought the sintar only a few days earlier with the profit he had

made from helping a creet owner round up a flock of panicked birds that had gotten loose in the street. It

had been one of his few legitimate jobs.

The gang of boys had cornered him in the alley, intending to take the sintar, Ridge's clothes and anything

else he might have been lucky enough to have on him. To their astonishment, Ridge had fought back. To

his astonishment, the steel of the sintar had begun to grow hot in the first few minutes of battle. The fierce

glow of the blade had sent the young attackers running in terror.

Ridge had been left alone in the alley, staring at the weapon in his hand.

Two eightdays later he had met Quintel while attempting to help himself to the contents of the rich trade

baron's money pouch. Quintel had caught Ridge's arm, smiled curiously and politely introduced himself.

He had then asked if the young thief would like a legitimate job. Awed by the man and the offer, Ridge

hadn't hesitated. After saying yes, he had never looked back.

Over the years Ridge had learned to control his emotions, especially his rage, to a large extent. Violent

rage was a distinct handicap in his business. Any fierce emotion was. Self-control was the key to staying

alive when he was working. When he did Quintel's work, Ridge was all business. Nevertheless, his

temper had become a legend in Crosspurposes. It took a lot now to make the steel glow with internal

fire, but it didn't take a lot to arouse a quick burst of his less dangerous, if scalding, masculine temper.

Tonight Kalena had proven she had the power to push him far enough to heat the steel. Slowly he eased

the sintar back into his sheath and eyed the woman in front of him.

"You did not intend to invite yourself into Quintel's pallet?" he asked at last.

"No!" Her voice was a muffled, choked denial, as if the idea revolted her. "Never. The man murdered

my father and brother. In so doing he destroyed my House. How could I even consider letting him touch

me the way . . . the way ..."

"What way, Kalena?"

"The way you touched me," she said at last. Her eyes were focused on the opposite wall. Now that he

had put away the sintar she wouldn't look at him.

"So," Ridge said slowly, "you are an assassin, not a seductress."

"A failed assassin."

"Yes," he agreed. "A failed assassin. What else did you expect?" he added almost gently. "You're a