On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [104]
“I should not have said that,” he said. “For many reasons. Kevla, there is something I have to tell you. Something I should have told you long ago.”
The tone of his voice filled her with dread. “I don’t want to hear it,” she said.
“Kevla—”
“No.” She rushed to his side and dropped down beside him. “You have a wife, Jashemi.”
“Not any more. Not now. I am dead to her.” He didn’t look at her. “And I did not love her. On our wedding night, when we—when I—all I could think of was how much I wished it was you instead. She deserves better.”
“Oh,” said Kevla, weakly.
“And when they came for you—I saw you, as if you were right there. You were in trouble.” He shrugged. “I came. I could have done nothing else.”
He knew he spoke the truth. He could no more have refused to ride to her than he could have grasped the sun in his fist. The bond that he had sensed between them the moment they had first locked gazes at the feast had only strengthened with time. It was stronger than a blood tie; stronger even than a love bond. He was a part of her, and she of him.
He had intended to tell her of their common parentage. Instead, what had come out was a confession of a love that should never have been.
Jashemi tried again. “Kevla, we—”
“Are bound to each other,” she whispered. At the tone of her voice, he looked up at her.
“But how could that be? I tried to resist it. You were the khashim’s son, and I a lowly Bai-sha. There was no way in the world that we could be together, and so I did not even dare dream of it. Yet you kept pushing, kept creating ways for us to be together. So I saw you in secret, touched your hand, embraced you when you wept.” She smiled slightly. “Played Shamizan with you. And I convinced myself to be content with that.”
A terrible, wonderful hope rose in him, a hope that made him feel weak and powerful at the same time. It was possible, now….
“But you are no longer a khashim’s son,” she continued. She moved toward him, sat down beside him. His throat was dry and he could not speak. “The world has changed. There is no life for us here, only death. You speak of a land over the mountains—we could go there, Jashemi. We could go there and start again.”
Kevla’s gaze held him. “We have nothing left but each other. Am…am I being a fool to think that we have that?”
He shook his head, still unable to find words. Licking dry lips, he said hoarsely, “No.”
She held out her hand to him and he took it. Palm to palm, fingers slowly entwining, Jashemi trembled from even this simple touch. He had held her before, but everything was different now.
As they gazed into one another’s eyes, Jashemi made his decision. He would not tell her. He couldn’t, not now that he knew she loved him in return. There was no need for her to know that she was his half sister. All who cared about such things considered them already dead. Jashemi would not let this stand in the way of their happiness. Surely, even the Great Dragon would feel they had suffered enough.
Slowly, she brought his hand between her breasts as she leaned forward and placed her hand over his heart. He felt her heartbeat, strong and fast, against his fingers, and knew she could feel his own heart racing. He covered her hand with his, pressing her fingers into his smooth skin.
Kevla moved closer, kissing his hand with soft lips and then releasing it. Her fingers traveled over his chest, caressing the old and new scars, brushing his unshaven cheeks, slowly discovering him. When she ran a finger over his lips he jumped, nerves on fire. A smile touched her face, and he knew that for the first time she was experiencing the power a woman had over the man who loved her. It was impossible for him to resist touching her in return. He ran his fingers through her thick hair, savoring its softness even as he gently undid the snarls the wind had wrought.
She closed her eyes and leaned toward him. Their lips brushed lightly, and the pleasure was torment, taut and lingering. He breathed her in through his open mouth; scents and tastes of smoke and honey. Unable