on his friends. When they were children, certainly, not more than twelve or thirteen. Before he understood that no one shared his gift; before he understood that using it could only deepen the space between his station and their own. Friendship was rare and precious to him, more fragile than his three companions understood. In his life, they were the only things he was truly certain of.
They, and now Beatrice. Relief and gratitude swept through him, an alleviation of loneliness that took Belinda off-guard. She bit into her lower lip, reaching for the bridge railing as she struggled to shake herself free of that passion. Struggled to ignore a similar welling within herself. Understanding Javier was one thing. Wearing his needs and fears on her own sleeve was a greater commitment than she was prepared to make.
“What is it about her, Jav?” Belinda heard the note of frustration in Eliza’s voice and watched Javier drop his chin to his chest, exhaling heavily.
“I couldn’t tell you.” Merely an evasion. Belinda knew as well as he did, and knew as well that he couldn’t—wouldn’t—tell, not Liz nor their two brothers in arms. “But this is something I need.”
Eliza snorted again. Javier half smiled, turning his gaze down the silent bridge. Belinda steeled herself, ready this time for the influx of sentiment from the prince. It was easier, prepared, to absorb what he felt without being subsumed by it. The bridge was one of his favourite places in the city, particularly at night, with the Sacrauna running through it undisturbed by daytime travellers. Torchlight reflected here and there against the black waters, and when the surface lay very still, the stars. As a child he had laid on the banks, reaching to touch those stars only to watch them ripple away when his fingers broke through the water tension. It left him melancholy, with a sense of loss he could neither explain nor share with others. Belinda curved a humourless smile at the water, familiar with the remoteness that Javier felt, and more comfortable with admitting it than she was with acknowledging the loneliness and recognition of a similar creature that she’d sensed from the prince moments earlier. Even so, she broke away from too deeply pursuing that connection, wary of anything that might alert Javier to her presence.
“What do you need me to watch for?” Eliza broke the silence, staring at the stones beneath her feet rather than meet Javier’s eyes. “Her spending habits? If she keeps secret lovers? You could find those things out without me, Jav.”
“I trust,” Javier said tartly, “that there are no secret lovers.” Eliza breathed out laughter.
“That’s because you’re a man.”
“What does that mean?” He straightened, affronted. Eliza shook her head.
“Only that men see what they want to see, and women must see the truth. We have no other power.”
Cold anger curdled at the back of Javier’s throat, Belinda tasting it with sudden and aroused interest. “Eliza.” His voice came low and dangerous, the witchpower responding even when Belinda could feel he would have it otherwise. A wind snapped up, icy and sharp, and Belinda retreated from her own investigation of his emotions, caution overcoming curiosity: with his power alert, the chances of discovery were far greater, and not worth the risk. Eliza frowned and drew her cloak around herself more tightly, lifting its hood. “Eliza,” Javier repeated. “Are you saying that Beatrice has another lover?”
Her head pulled back as if she’d been hit, complete startlement in the movement. “Don’t be ridiculous. I may not like her, but the woman’s not a fool. I’m just saying if she did you’d be the last to know.”
“No.” The anger and power was still in his voice, deepening it. Belinda could see Eliza react to it, not in fear, she knew him too well for that, but respect, perhaps submission, though she barely lifted her chin at all. More telling than either of those, her stance changed, weight rolling forward through her hips, a subtle offering of desire. It was easier to see in Eliza, with her breeches and men’s shirt, than in court-dressed ladies. Even burdened by her winter cloak, the lines of her hips were more blatant than any woman under a half dozen petticoats could hope for.
“No?” Eliza’s voice had deepened, too, fueled by want, not anger. Belinda caught her breath, tip of her tongue between her teeth, and let her shaking power reach forth again, desire to read the truth of Javier’s interest in Eliza far