The Born Queen - J. Gregory Keyes [142]
She kissed the shoulder of his wounded arm. “So have you.”
He bussed her forehead, then sidled around behind her. This time when he pulled her close, she didn’t tense up. He kissed the back of her neck, and she sighed.
Gently, gently, he undressed her, and soon they were spooned flesh to flesh. He reached around and stroked her forehead, then down her ribs and hip.
“Is this enough for this evening?” she asked softly.
“More than enough,” he replied. “Kingdoms more. Empires more.”
“Thank you.”
“You’ll heal,” he told her. “I’ll heal, and we’ll both be better. But we’re fine now. We’re alive, and we have each other.”
“That’s true, isn’t it?” she murmured.
He woke a few bells later. It was cold, and he made sure Austra was well covered in her blanket. Then he pulled on his pants and shirt and went outside. His arm throbbed as if a demon were in it, and the liquor had gone thin as milk in his veins.
About half the men were still awake, singing and laughing by the fire.
He found z’Acatto alone, up on the wagon.
“Is it time for the wine yet, old man?” he asked.
He could just make out his mestro’s face in the distant firelight. It looked like he was smiling a little.
“No, not yet.”
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this? I mean, I know we have our quarrels, but you’re almost my father.”
“I’m not your father,” z’Acatto snapped. Then, more softly: “I could never be that.”
“No? But you took on the role. Why?”
“I couldn’t think of anything better to do,” he said.
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“Doesn’t look like I’m going to, does it?”
Cazio sighed. “Don’t you ever get bored with this bickering?”
Z’Acatto was silent for a moment, and then he chuckled. “Easier than talking,” he said.
“Exactly. For me, too.”
“Fine,” z’Acatto said. “I never wanted you involved in this sort of thing. Your father made me promise to teach you the sword, but he never asked me to make you a soldier. I don’t think he wanted that for you, and I damned sure didn’t. So I didn’t fill your head with tales of our exploits.”
“Maybe if you had, I wouldn’t be involved in all of this now.”
Z’Acatto laughed again. “Right, that’s funny. No matter how bad I made it out to be, it would have sounded exciting to you. And because your father did it, and maybe because I did—”
“You were both famous.”
“Yes. All the more reason you would have wanted to follow in our footsteps.”
Cazio nodded. “You’re probably right. I was a little hardheaded when I was younger.”
“When you were younger? Your head gets harder every day. And a good thing, because you get hit on it more often all the time.”
He handed a bottle down. It was a not very good wine. Cazio took a swallow.
“What now?” he asked.
“You seem to have that worked out,” z’Acatto said.
“You’re the Emrature,” Cazio replied.
Z’Acatto took the bottle and had another drink.
“I guess I am,” he finally said. “Most of these fellows want to go back to Eslen and fight for Anne. I’ve never seen the place, and I guess I should.”
“Well, it’s something to see,” Cazio said, yawning.
They finished the bottle and started another one before exhaustion overcame the ache in his arm.
“Back to bed for me,” he said, clapping his mentor on the back.
“We move early,” z’Acatto told him.
“Yes, sir, Cassro,” Cazio replied.
He went back to the wagon and found Austra just as he’d left her. He lay against her, relaxing against the warmth of her body.
He woke the next morning in exactly the same position. Austra was still quiet, so he thought to rise and help break camp without waking her.
But as he sat up, he noticed that her eyes were open.
“Morning, love,” he said, and kissed her on the cheek.
She didn’t move, and her eyes were glassy. He shook her, and she didn’t respond. He shook her harder.
CHAPTER TWELVE
DEPOSITIONS
ANNE STRETCHED her limbs and closed her eyes as a cool zephyr ruffled the grass. Faster snuffled nearby, and a lute sounded in the distance.
Something tickled against her lips, and with a smile she parted them and gently bit down, filling her mouth with the