"You okay?" Wrath asked as they sat on the lip of the fountain.
"Yes. You?" She didn't mind that he always asked if she was all right. The first couple of times it had offended her--as if she couldn't handle the post-sparring aches? But then she realized it had nothing to do with her sex--he would have asked it of anyone he so exerted himself with.
"I feel great," he said, his smile revealing tremendous fangs. "That arm bar at the beginning was boss, by the way."
Payne grinned so broadly her cheeks hurt. Which was another reason she liked to be with him. As he couldn't see, there was no reason to hide her emotions--and nothing got her beaming more than him telling her she'd impressed him.
"Well, Your Highness, your turtles always kill me."
Now he was smiling even wider and she was momentarily touched to think her praise meant something to him. "Deadweight has its uses," he murmured.
Abruptly, he turned to her, the dark spectacles he always wore making her think, once again, that he looked cruel. And yet he'd proved that wasn't the case over and over again.
He cleared his throat. "Thanks for this. Things are bad back home."
"How so?"
Now he looked away, as if he were staring at the horizon. Which was likely a holdover from when he hid his emotions from people. "We've lost a female. The enemy has her." He shook his head. "And one of ours is suffering for it."
"Were they mated?"
"No . . . but he's behaving as though they were." The king shrugged. "I missed the connection between them. We all did. But . . . it's there and it came out tonight in a big way."
A hunger for the down-below, for the earthbound lives that were traumatic but vivid, had her leaning in. "What happened?"
The king pushed his hair back, his widow's peak showing starkly against his golden brown skin. "He slaughtered a lesser tonight. Just slaughtered the bastard."
"That's his duty, no?"
"It wasn't in the field. It was in the house where the slayers had imprisoned the female. The bastard should have been used for interrogation, but John just lit his ass up. John's a good kid . . . but that kind of bonded-male shit--stuff . . . can be deadly and not in a good way, feel me?"
Memories of being on the Other Side, of righting wrongs and fighting, of--
The Scribe Virgin appeared through the doorway of Her private quarters, Her black robes floating slightly above the marble floor.
The king rose to his feet and bowed . . . and yet somehow didn't appear subservient in the slightest. Another reason to like him. "Dearest Virgin Scribe."
"Wrath, son of Wrath."
And that was . . . it. As you weren't supposed to address any questions to the mother of the race, and as Payne's mother remained silent thereafter, there was a whole lot of nothing but air happening.
Yeah, because--fates preserve us--you wouldn't want to tax that female with any inquiries. And it was clear why the interruption had occurred: Her mother didn't want an intersection between Payne and the outside world.
"I'm going to retire now," Payne said to the king. Because she would not be responsible for what came out of her mouth if her mother dared to dismiss her.
The king put his fist out. "Farewell. Tomorrow?"
"With pleasure." Payne punched her knuckles against his, as he had taught her was customary, and headed for the door that led into the sanctuary.
On the other side of the white panels, the bright green grass was a shock to her eyes and she blinked as she went past the Primale Temple and down to the Chosen's quarters. Yellow, pink, and red flowers grew in random bunches now, cheerful tulips mixing with jonquil and iris.
All spring blooms, if she remembered from her brief time on the earth.
It was always spring here. Ever on the verge, never to reach the full magnificence and brash heat of summer. Or least . . . what she had read summer was like.
The columned building wherein the Chosen resided was cut into cubelike rooms that offered a modicum of privacy to their tenants. Most of the spaces were empty now, and not only because the Chosen were a dying breed. Ever since the Primale had "freed" them, the Scribe Virgin's private collection of ethereal do-nothings were thinning out thanks to trips to the Other Side.
Surprisingly, none of them had chosen to un- Chosen themselves--but unlike before, if they went over to the Primale's private compound, they were allowed back into the sanctuary.
Payne went directly to the baths and was relieved to find she was alone. She knew her "sisters" didn't understand what she did with the king and she'd just as soon enjoy the calming aftermath of the exercise without the eyes of others.
The communal washing suite was set up in a lofty marble space, the huge pool marked with a waterfall at the far end. As with all things in the sanctuary, the laws of rationality didn't apply: The warm, rushing stream pouring over the lip of white stone was ever clean, ever fresh, even though it had no source and no evident drainage.