“You will have weeks or months to discuss the matter with her. I require only until tomorrow.”
Valara shrugged. “Very well. Let me know in the morning what you decide.”
She stood and deliberately turned away, toward the rows of tents. Ilse watched silently until the woman disappeared into the closest one. All the while, she sensed Raul’s unhappiness, his tense stillness, as he waited for her to speak again.
It had been the logical move, she told herself. The only one that gave Raul the advantage he needed against Armand and Khandarr. Valara had studied the jewels. She knew enough to rediscover one. And though Dzavek had taken the second, she must have clues to where the third one lay. If Veraene controlled that one, they could achieve a true balance between the kingdoms—a dangerous one, if any king or queen decided to risk all, to gain all. She did not think that Leos Dzavek would do so, nor Valara Baussay, in spite of her bravado.
“You made a risky throw,” Raul said.
He spoke softly, his voice more like a woman’s than ever.
“I had no choice,” Ilse said.
“Liar,” he whispered.
At that, she had to meet his gaze. “I am not lying,” she answered, as softly as he. “I am not running away. But if we do not give this queen some advantage, she would die before she agreed to any pact with us.”
“You said she lies.”
“She does,” Ilse said. “That is why I offered myself—to ensure our part of the bargain. She will search for the third jewel, whether I go with her or not, you know. She is a great deal like Leos Dzavek. They both want all three, and not just for practical reasons.”
An image of Dzavek’s face flickered through her memory. She shivered, thinking of the similarities between him and the Morenniouèn queen.
“A risk.” Firelight and shadows made Raul’s smile deeper than it really was.
“Somewhat,” she agreed. “Do you see a better course?”
“That is the simplest question I’ve answered today. A better course would let me spend the rest of my days with you. No more hiding. No more pretense. But,” he went on, his voice high and soft, “that course is not one I’m offered.”
“You aren’t arguing with me,” she observed.
“No.” She could hear the briefest catch on that word. “No, I am not your master. I make no cages for you, not even ones of words and wishes.” Then he said, “I love you. I have not said that enough lately.”
Her throat closed. She had to swallow before she could speak. “We haven’t had much opportunity.”
“No, we haven’t. Would you like to change that?”
His voice turned rougher, deeper. It was more than desire that tugged at her. It was … a sense of completeness in his company. More, because she could tell from a myriad of details that her presence wrought the same effect on him.
We need each other.
And she had just consigned herself to yet another, longer absence.
Raul held out his hand. Hers found it without conscious volition.
“What about…”
“Don’t worry,” he said.
He led her back to their tent. Ilse almost cursed him for predicting this moment, but instead she laughed softly as they ducked through the opening. Raul turned and with a quick movement, untied the cord holding the flaps open. Darkness fell over them. The air turned warm and close.
He drew her close and nuzzled her hair. “I love how you smell.”
“Of mud and sweat and…”
“You.”
His mouth closed over hers in a kiss.
Oh. Oh, I had forgotten.
Forgotten how warm and insistent his kisses were. How he liked to pull her tight against him, so that she lost her breath for a moment. And how he drew back, just enough so one hand inevitably traced a path from her hair to her neck to her breast, where his palm cupped her flesh gently.
“Raul…”
His answer was a mumbled laugh, a cry.
“Raul, I must tell you something. It’s about Osterling.”
“Not tonight,” he said hoarsely. “Tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. It was a promise and a warning.
He touched her cheek with his fingertips. Ilse drew him close into a warm kiss, soon followed by another. Their kisses turned into a hungry feast of caresses, of mouth against skin, until they had shed their clothes and locked themselves in a bubble of passion.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
IT WAS A return to their early days in Tiralien—before the affairs of the kingdom intervened and Markus Khandarr executed Dedrick Maszuryn. Before they conceived their separation. If she could put a number to those days, she knew it would be no