The Outworlder Page 7

  If only she would learn to control her temper!

  It was Jared’s voice. Sahara’s head snapped up.

  “What did you say?”

  “What?” He glanced back at her, frowning. “I didn’t say anything.”

  Sahara shook her head as he moved off again. She knew she had heard him say something.

  At last the hulking white shape of the manor house loomed above them, and the path swerved to bring them into the courtyard by a little arched gateway dripping with white and purple flowers. Sahara paused and cupped her hand around the tender blossoms. At her touch, they yielded their softly sweet fragrance, and Sahara closed her eyes, drinking in the scent. When she opened her eyes again, she found Jared watching her with that steady, unreadable gaze that made her spine prickle. After a wordless moment, he turned and they continued along the way.

  Jared led her straight on, never speaking, until they reached the door of his chambers. It suddenly struck her that he had never brought her here before, and she wondered why he was doing it now.

  “Here we are,” he said, unlocking the door and holding it open for her to enter.

  Sahara stepped inside, her eyes flitting over the room and taking in all its angles in a moment. The rack of swords over the fireplace caught and held her attention.

  “Very nice,” she murmured, moving closer to the fireplace to examine them. She reached up and touched one, a viciously curved scimitar with a widening point and a jeweled handle. “Where did you get all these swords?” she asked over her shoulder.

  Jared shrugged and went to pour himself a drink. “I collect them. Some I inherited from my father, and some I have taken from my enemies.”

  Sahara stared at him for a moment, wondering why she had never appreciated the skilled warrior beneath his cool and even gentle demeanor. Then she returned her attention to the swords and removed the scimitar from its place, testing its weight and balance. It was curiously light, and she tried several passes with it.

  “What about this one? I’ve seen—I mean, I’ve never seen one like it before.”

  Jared’s eyes flickered at her for a moment, but he asked no questions. “That one is my most prized possession.” He sat down and crossed his boots on the table. “I had that off one of the Dragon-Lords. The one who killed my sister.” He paused for a moment, then took a long drink from his glass.

  Sahara replaced the sword carefully in the rack and then turned slowly around. “Really?” Then, almost carelessly, “How many of them are here now?”

  Jared swirled his drink. “Maybe as many as five. Well, four, since that one—” he gestured at the sword— “is no longer a concern. It’s hard to be sure. We never see them unless…” His voice trailed off and he shook his head. “It’s just hard to be sure.”

  Sahara said nothing. She gazed around the room more slowly this time, taking in its rich but unpretentious masculinity. At last, her eyes came to rest on Jared’s boots, crossed on the table, and the pile of parchments and books tumbled next to them.

  “What’s all that?” she asked. “Are you a wise man?”

  “That all depends on who you ask, I guess,” Jared said with a grin.

  Sahara smiled. “No. I mean, I’m sure that’s true, but that’s not what I meant.”

  “I know what you meant. Come and see.” He beckoned for her to join him at the table.

  “These are maps, Jared,” she remarked, lifting the topmost sheet off the stack. “What do you need maps for?”

  “That’s what I brought you here to show you,” he said.

  She studied the map with interest, then raised her eyes to his. “Either your world isn’t very large or your people don’t get around much. This map stops at that ridge of dunes where you found me all those weeks ago.” She flipped through the rest of the stack. “And not one of these goes much further west than that.”

  “I know,” Jared said with a sigh. “But this is all we have. None of our people dare go further west than those dunes. We don’t have anything recent that would tell us who else is left. And no one has ever been north beyond the foothills of the mountains. That’s where they are, you understand.”

  “You mean the Dragon-Lords, I suppose,” Sahara said, glancing up at him.

  “Yes. And as for the south….” His voice trailed off and he twirled his glass again.

  “What about the south?”

  “There used to be settlements there. Prosperous little villages and cities. And the Great City used to sprawl over the banks of the River Alba, just where it flows out into the southern sea. Its king ruled all these lands, all the way up to the mountains, and his city had amassed such riches as have never been seen in this world before or since.”

  “And these places aren’t there any longer?”

  After a long silence, Jared answered slowly, “We don’t know. We’ve had no word for many months, and there have been no messengers from the Great City for almost three years. We fear that the city was destroyed by the Dragon-Lords, its wealth confiscated, and its people either killed or enslaved. But we haven’t dared find out for sure. The last time someone tried, the retribution was terrible and swift.”

  “So what does that make Albadir?” Sahara asked with a short laugh. “The last remaining human stronghold on this horrible desert world?”

  “Yes, actually.”

  She stared at him for a moment, taken aback by the brutal honesty in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said slowly. “Truly, I am sorry. But I don’t see what this has to do with me.”

  “The point is that we stand alone here, Sahara. All we have left lies within these walls. And it’s not much for world-building. You can’t expect—”

  “In my opinion, it seems that you need to take care of the little problem with the Dragon-Lords before you can even begin contemplating the idea of world-building.” She traced the spine of one of the books and then picked it up to examine the cover. “From all I hear, the Dragon-Lords aren’t very generous with territorial rights. As long as they rule here, this is all the blessed plot of earth you can expect.”

  “That’s true enough,” he said. “But it doesn’t seem that much can be done on that score. All-out war with the Dragon-Lords is impossible. It’s been tried, and tried more than once. It has cost Albadir dearly every time. We just don’t have the manpower or the supplies for another assault on the fortress.”

  “Who said anything about an assault?” she asked quietly. “Look, maybe you failed in the past because you used the wrong tactics.” She rubbed her finger along the embossed lettering on the cover of the book, not daring to meet his gaze.

  “You mystify me,” Jared said after a moment. Sahara glanced up in surprise, but he continued before she could answer. “No, truly, you mystify me. Your ship crashes and everyone dies but you. You wander out into the desert and nearly die yourself. You seem to forget that you’re a stranger here. You don’t know our ways, and yet you talk as though you’re some kind of savior for our people. I’m afraid I don’t understand that at all.”

  Sahara shrugged. “You think I had no past before that ship went down?”

  “I’m sure you did have a past, but up to this point you haven’t been very willing to share it.”

  “I’m not willing to share it.” Her eyes clashed with his. “So you’ll just have to take it on faith that I have some idea what I’m talking about.”

  Jared laughed aloud. “Take it on faith? On faith?” He shook his head. “Look, Sahara, if you want people to start believing you at your word, you’re going to have to prove to them that you can be trusted. Your list of accomplishments to date doesn’t include many that would lead people to believe that you’re out for their best interest.”

  “That’s hardly fair!”

  “Fairness is a term I find to be utterly meaningless. Have I said something untrue? Because truth is really what we’re discussing here, after all.”

  “No, you haven’t, but—”

  “But nothing. At your first pu
blic appearance, you proudly announced to everyone that you’re a convict—and a dangerous one at that. And whenever I take you over to the tavern, someone always ends up with something broken, even if it’s just his pride.”

  Sahara dropped the book on the table. “That was not my fault tonight! He was a liar and a cheat! I won that game fairly, Jared, and you know it! What was I supposed to do, let him cheat? Let him lie?”

  “Did it ever occur to you that maybe you should just stay the hell out of situations like that to begin with? If you weren’t so keen on giving everyone an inferiority complex, you’d make a much better impression on people!”

  “Including you?”

  Their eyes met again. Jared’s unfathomable obsidian eyes never wavered, and after a moment Sahara had to drop her gaze. She twisted her hands and tried to think of something to say, but all of her self-assertion and flippancy seemed to have drained out of her.

  “Sahara,” Jared said, a little more gently, “I think I begin to understand you, but I would never presume to judge you.”

  “Everybody judges,” she snapped, still avoiding his eyes.

  “No, not everybody. I don’t. You want to help Silesia—or so you say. And I want to help you. Surely we can find a way to work together?”

  “How can you possibly help me? You have no idea….” Her voice trailed off as she remembered what he had told her of his own past. Maybe he did have some idea after all. “What do you want me to do, then? Become a simpering little idiot like those girls at the bar?”

  Jared grinned. “No! God forbid! You just need to find the person inside…to discover who you really are, not who you’ve had to become.”

  Sahara looked up at last. “How do I tell the difference?”

  “That’s what I want to help you discover.”

  Sahara measured him for a moment. Everything inside her wanted to push him away, to run, to retreat back into some isolated corner. But she sighed and silenced her doubts.

  “Fine,” she said. “I’ll do this your way…for now.”

  Chapter 8

  “So, what do you think?”

  Jared looked up from the maps he was studying and tried to focus on Sahara’s figure, outlined against the brilliant glow of summer sunshine. He rubbed his eyes, strained from poring over barely legible documents in the dusty half-light of the library.

  “About what?” He rubbed his eyes again. At the same time, he struggled to heave his reluctant mind out of the matters he had been considering so deeply for the past three hours.

  “About my dress, of course.”

  He could hear the frown in her voice. “Sorry, Sahara,” he said, standing and stretching his back. “I’ve been closeted in here for so long that I’m nearly blind.”

  She suddenly moved aside, letting the light flood into the room, and he heard her calling with a laugh in her voice, “Then come outside!”

  He stumbled out the door and stood blinking like an idiot in the blaze of sunshine. The library, an old domed building draped with vines, lay across the river from the orchard, connected to the rest of the palace buildings by a weathered stone bridge. It was fully high summer now, and the boughs of the fruit trees drooped under the weight of their yield. Even the breeze felt lazy as it rolled languidly through the orchard, rippling over the river and stirring his dark hair. The heady warm scent of ripe fruit enveloped him, and his stomach growled.

  “Did I even eat this morning?” he mumbled to himself, running a hand through his hair.

  “Come on, Jared!”

  He looked around for Sahara for a moment, then caught sight of her standing on the bridge, laughing at him. He made his way across the grass to the foot of the bridge, but that was as far as he got.

  She was a vision.

  The summer sun had pearled her skin into a delicate pink and streaked her rust-red hair with gold. Her sleeveless dress was the color of shallow water over white sand, and the breeze fluttered it around her calves. The amethyst chain still circled her ankle, and when she moved her hand to hold her hair from blowing in her eyes, the silver bangles on her arm jingled.

  Oh, my God, Jared thought, taking a deep breath.

  Sahara’s face suddenly blossomed into a smile, though her brows drew together in a little frown. “You really like it, then?”

  “What?” he asked stupidly.

  “The dress! You like it?”

  “It’s…where did you get it?”

  “Lady Aliya. I asked her about some new clothes, and she brought her seamstress and loads of fabric, and this is the result.” She turned to the side to let him see the back. “I thought it would be perfect for the summer festival tonight.”

  “I’d forgotten all about that.” He joined her in the middle of the bridge. “But you look stunning. I mean…stunning.”

  “Really?” She was almost tangibly radiating pleasure.

  “Really.” Jared let his eyes linger on her face, and the delicate pink of her cheeks became suddenly deeper. Her reaction surprised him almost as much as it seemed to surprise her.

  “I was wondering,” she said hurriedly, turning her face away to gaze out over the water, “if you would help me with something.”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s just…I’m…well, I’m nervous. Parties have never been my thing, and…” Her eyes met his, and in a voice that was little more than a whisper she said, “I’m afraid I’ll make a total fool out of myself, even after everything you’ve tried to teach me about behaving myself in public. I’m afraid I’ll forget everything.”

  And she expects me to remember anything when she looks like this? he marveled to himself. I wish…

  “You wish what?” She was smiling at him again, a smile both daring and a little shy, but he could see the bewilderment in her eyes.

  “What did you say?”

  “You said it, not me!” she laughed. When he stared at her stupidly, her smile faded and she shook her head. “Sorry…I thought you’d said something.”

  He shook his head slowly. “No. I didn’t say anything.”

  “Oh.” She turned away again with a little sigh. “So, will you help me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you.” On a sudden impulse, she laid her hand over his and gave it a gentle squeeze as she turned to leave. She gave a little gasp of surprise when he caught her hand.

  “Sahara….”

  His heart was pounding as though he were heading into battle. He saw a flush spread over her cheeks as he held her gaze, and he took a breath to try to speak. But before he could get the words out, she pulled her hand out of his and retreated a few steps down the orchard side of the bridge.

  “I have to go,” she said.

  “Sahara, wait!”

  But she was already gone, running lightly through the grass of the orchard. He watched her until she disappeared over the top of the hill, then turned and grasped the stone parapet of the bridge with both hands.

  “What the hell,” he said, bowing his head and taking a deep breath. “What’s wrong with me?”

  The sun had already set and the western sky was yielding its blaze of colors to the creeping night shadows when Jared finally knocked on Sahara’s door to pick her up for the festival. It opened under his hand.

  “There you are!” And then, hurriedly, she added, “I was afraid you might not come in time…I don’t want to be late.”

  “Are you ready?”

  “Almost. I just…please come in for a minute.” She stood aside to let him enter, then asked, “What were you reading earlier, anyway? When I interrupted you at the library, I mean?”

  “I’d rather not talk about it,” he said. “Tonight is for you.” She shot him a quick glance, demanding an explanation. He smiled reassuringly. “You’ve worked so hard—tonight is your night to delight everyone with your newfound charm.”

  She smiled then. “Well, only if I don’t screw it up,” she said. “I’m still not sure about this. I don’t think I’ve changed that much
…not really. Not inside.”

  Jared sat down on the low divan in front of the fireplace, and Sahara settled herself in a chair near him.

  “I see you’ve been improving things here too,” he remarked, looking admiringly around the room.

  The divan was covered in a soft cream-colored fabric with the faintest pattern worked into it, and silken cushions in hues of rich red and gold were scattered on it. There were flowers everywhere—on the mantle, next to her bed, clustered in an enormous vase near the colonnaded windows—and they gave the air a gentle fragrance.

  “Well, as you always say, it’s either this or the desert.” Sahara looked around and then added quietly, “You know, I’ve never had a place of my own like this before. I feel so…so free.”

  He nodded. His gaze drifted over the room again, falling suddenly on something shining underneath the flowers clustered on the mantle. He rose to investigate and, with a short laugh, took the object down. It was a sword in a silver sheath.

  “Well,” he said, “I guess some things will never change.”

  A look of relief flooded Sahara’s face. “I hid it under the flowers hoping you wouldn’t notice it,” she confessed. “I’m trying, Jared, I really am!”

  “I told you before, Sahara. You’re a warrior. But you’re not just a warrior. I didn’t mean for you to hide who you are. I just wanted you to discover how much more you could be.” He slipped the sword back into its place among the flowers. “For tonight, just be yourself…but without the sword, please.”

  “What about my dagger?”

  “Do you mean to tell me that you’ve got that dagger hidden somewhere in that dress?” he blurted without thinking.

  “Yes, right here.” She patted her thigh.

  Jared stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Rule number one: no flashing that dagger at the party. Wear it if you must, but don’t show it to anyone. Agreed?”

  Sahara shrugged a little and then smiled. “No problem. Anything else before we go?”

  Jared rubbed his chin and considered for a moment. “Better not talk about the Dragon-Lords. This is supposed to be a party, after all. And that tends to dampen people’s spirits.” He paused, then added, “And have fun, Sahara.”