Read Online Kindred and Wings by Philippa Ballantine - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Philippa Ballantine
Ads: Link
thought.
He cocked his head, an oddly bird-like gesture that seemed to convey momentary confusion. “I am . . . I have had my fill,” he replied in a flat, expressionless tone.
The horror always took a toll on him that no one else seemed to see. However, to Kelanim the Caisah was still the most beautiful man, and if he made mistakes, then that only proved he was human.
With the Rutilians close about them, they left the arena as quickly as possible.
He was silent all the way back to the Citadel, watching out the window of their carriage as people rushed away from the stadium. It was a scene of carnage as burned and terrified people streamed into the streets in an effort to get home. The Rutilian Guard kept them from slowing down their leader, pushing people out of the way of the carriage.
Kelanim ventured only one comment the whole ride: “Perhaps we should distribute some alms to the houses of healing?”
The response she got told her that the Caisah was deeply hurt by what had happened. “Traitors, every one of them,” he said with a snarl, and that was the end of that.
When they reached the safety of the Citadel he said nothing, but strode away, leaving her to make her way to the harem as best she could.
Every return to the shady confines of the ladies’ quarters was in itself a defeat—one that never went unobserved. Nanthrian, the statuesque ebony beauty, was leaning against the cooling stonewall and making no effort to disguise her smile of victory.
She was younger than Kelanim, and her maneuverings within the harem of mistresses were getting more blatant. Unfortunately, the Caisah had called for her twice the previous week alone.
Tonight, though, the elder mistress knew he would not be pleasant company. It could, in reality, be deadly to be around him. Deadly. That was a thought. Kelanim stopped next to Nanthrian and glanced up, as she let her fan droop to her side.
The younger woman’s deep brown cleavage was pushed up high by a deep scarlet robe, and this was not the type of robe the mistresses customarily wore in their chambers. Nanthrian must be ready to stage her feminine coup, willing to take a chance to lure the Caisah’s eye. Kelanim was not unaware of that sort of tactic—she had used it herself in the early days when she’d first come to Perilous.
“You are looking particularly prepared tonight,” she said.
The younger woman’s brown eyes flicked over the other’s disheveled hair and torn dress. “And you, madam, are looking less than you should. The Caisah should always be surrounded by beauty . . . not soot.” Her sneer was not her most becoming feature.
Kelanim straightened and took a step forward. “I shall be ready for my lord quickly, for he will call.”
Nanthrian laughed, stretching her long elegant neck and tracing the curve of her own bosom with one finger. “Not as quickly enough, old woman.”
Before Kelanim could open her mouth, the raven beauty had gathered up her skirts and strode off toward the door to the Caisah’s chamber.
As soon as that scarlet clad back was turned, her elder smiled to herself behind her fan. Let the young fool rush to him. The only thing he would want this night would be flesh to punish and a throat to hear screams come through. He might even kill the hapless girl, who was so very sure of the power of her beauty. If not, Nanthrian would be bruised and unattractive for a while. Kelanim could do with respite from the competition.
After her maids had loosened her robes, she dismissed them and finished undressing alone. Splashing rose water on her face, she loosened her auburn hair and flung off her corset. It was only then that she noticed the slip of paper tucked under the copper bowl.
Years in the oppressive atmosphere of the hall of mistresses had taught her the folly of opening such a flagrant note—the chance of deception and falling into one plot or another was too great. However, there was something about this particular note that
He cocked his head, an oddly bird-like gesture that seemed to convey momentary confusion. “I am . . . I have had my fill,” he replied in a flat, expressionless tone.
The horror always took a toll on him that no one else seemed to see. However, to Kelanim the Caisah was still the most beautiful man, and if he made mistakes, then that only proved he was human.
With the Rutilians close about them, they left the arena as quickly as possible.
He was silent all the way back to the Citadel, watching out the window of their carriage as people rushed away from the stadium. It was a scene of carnage as burned and terrified people streamed into the streets in an effort to get home. The Rutilian Guard kept them from slowing down their leader, pushing people out of the way of the carriage.
Kelanim ventured only one comment the whole ride: “Perhaps we should distribute some alms to the houses of healing?”
The response she got told her that the Caisah was deeply hurt by what had happened. “Traitors, every one of them,” he said with a snarl, and that was the end of that.
When they reached the safety of the Citadel he said nothing, but strode away, leaving her to make her way to the harem as best she could.
Every return to the shady confines of the ladies’ quarters was in itself a defeat—one that never went unobserved. Nanthrian, the statuesque ebony beauty, was leaning against the cooling stonewall and making no effort to disguise her smile of victory.
She was younger than Kelanim, and her maneuverings within the harem of mistresses were getting more blatant. Unfortunately, the Caisah had called for her twice the previous week alone.
Tonight, though, the elder mistress knew he would not be pleasant company. It could, in reality, be deadly to be around him. Deadly. That was a thought. Kelanim stopped next to Nanthrian and glanced up, as she let her fan droop to her side.
The younger woman’s deep brown cleavage was pushed up high by a deep scarlet robe, and this was not the type of robe the mistresses customarily wore in their chambers. Nanthrian must be ready to stage her feminine coup, willing to take a chance to lure the Caisah’s eye. Kelanim was not unaware of that sort of tactic—she had used it herself in the early days when she’d first come to Perilous.
“You are looking particularly prepared tonight,” she said.
The younger woman’s brown eyes flicked over the other’s disheveled hair and torn dress. “And you, madam, are looking less than you should. The Caisah should always be surrounded by beauty . . . not soot.” Her sneer was not her most becoming feature.
Kelanim straightened and took a step forward. “I shall be ready for my lord quickly, for he will call.”
Nanthrian laughed, stretching her long elegant neck and tracing the curve of her own bosom with one finger. “Not as quickly enough, old woman.”
Before Kelanim could open her mouth, the raven beauty had gathered up her skirts and strode off toward the door to the Caisah’s chamber.
As soon as that scarlet clad back was turned, her elder smiled to herself behind her fan. Let the young fool rush to him. The only thing he would want this night would be flesh to punish and a throat to hear screams come through. He might even kill the hapless girl, who was so very sure of the power of her beauty. If not, Nanthrian would be bruised and unattractive for a while. Kelanim could do with respite from the competition.
After her maids had loosened her robes, she dismissed them and finished undressing alone. Splashing rose water on her face, she loosened her auburn hair and flung off her corset. It was only then that she noticed the slip of paper tucked under the copper bowl.
Years in the oppressive atmosphere of the hall of mistresses had taught her the folly of opening such a flagrant note—the chance of deception and falling into one plot or another was too great. However, there was something about this particular note that
Similar Books
