to identify the cause. Laughter. I had no way of expressing my anger; I couldn't move, and I certainly couldn't risk saying anything for fear of being heard. I stayed rigidly still while the cause of his amusement remained abundantly clear to us both. Then, reluctantly, my lips twitched. The situation was funny. Despite his laughter, he was embarrassed – but there wasn't anything either of us could do about it. I sucked in my cheeks and tried to suppress the chuckles threatening to erupt.
His head dipped and his lips brushed mine gendy, tentatively. I wanted my anger to return, but it stayed obstinately away. His mouth closed over mine, tender, then demanding as his tongue probed and I responded.
The sounds of the search outside continued. Irate officers snarled their irritation, legionnaires vented their frustration in muttered asides to one another. Neither of us moved to break the kiss. Neither of us wanted it to end. I could no longer distinguish the tension of desire from the tension caused by fear of discovery. When the noises finally faded and disappeared, I was hardly aware they were gone. Wave after wave of desire rippled, touching mind and body. Pleasurable tightness travelled across the surface of my skin, an unfamiliar sensation matching the more recognisable pressure building in my loins. Tension-desire invaded every inch of me, subordinating mind to physical senses. Tissues swelled and warmed and throbbed. I'd never experienced anything so pervasive and thought I would disintegrate if there was no release. Alarm slipped into the cracks between passionate hunger and an overwhelming yearning for this man's body. Goddess, I thought, I've been drugged. Again. But I didn't want to listen to the warning. In
that moment, I wanted nothing but to satisfy an all-encompassing lust.
He broke away and I heard wonder in his voice as he asked, 'Blessed cabochon – a Magor? Who would have thought it?'
The words meant nothing; I felt only annoyance that he had stopped kissing me when I was still almost incoherent with need. But he gave me no time to say anything. 'They've gone,' he said and eased himself out of our prison. Wordlessly, I followed, trying to dredge up the vestiges of my equanimity, hearing the whisper of warning in my mind, yet unwilling to listen. No sooner had I extricated myself from the bushes than he had grabbed my hand again and was pulling me up wooden steps to the balcony above. I did not protest – I did not want to protest. My whole body was throbbing.
I noticed nothing about the room we entered. I had already forgotten the legionnaires, I had forgotten who this man was, all I knew was I wanted him as I had never wanted anyone before in my life, that I had to have him or die with wanting.
Later, I Jiad no recollection of how I came to be naked, but I was and so was he and he had entered me and my world would never be the same again. The tension, which I had already thought unbearable, grew still greater until I wanted to scream and scream and go on screaming. But just as I opened my mouth, he touched his left hand to mine and the world splintered around me, slivered into light and colour and sound and beauty and love and velvet touch and I wanted to die with the joy of it.
I floated in magic, in music, in perfume, in tangy peach sweetness, in soft silk, in golden light, in an overload of sensation. Reluctant to descend to reality,
reluctant to question, reluctant to have answers. Sure I had been drugged. Not knowing how that was possible. Not caring. Horrified I had so lost all control over my actions. Appalled that I didn't care.
In the end, it was he who spoke first. He was lying beside me, his glistening naked body brown and muscular and perfect to my still-besotted eyes. He propped himself up on one arm and allowed his glance to roam over the curves of my nakedness. Then he touched a finger to the brown of my nipple and said, 'You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.'
I was accustomed to being considered too tall, too muscular, too swarthy; not even Favonius had ever said I was beautiful. Yet I believed this man. I saw the truth in his eyes even before he allowed me to feel it in my mind. I took up his left hand and touched the swelling there, the swelling that matched mine in shape and size. 'What did you do?' I asked in wonderment…,•/
'Have you never loved one of your own kind before?'
My own kind! Shock shivered through me. I wasn't one of these people! I shook my head, trying to deny the truth. 'Who – who am I?'
'You do not knowV
'There was never anyone to tell me. I was brought up in Tyrans. What I told Parvana wasn't quite the truth; I was taken to Tyr as a very young child.' I shielded my emotions from him; I knew he had the same abilities I had. If I'd wanted, he could have read me as easily as a scroll. The talents I once called intuition were no such thing; I knew that now. They were all part of being born different, of having a swelling in the middle of the palm…
'You have a lot to learn,' he said.
'The first lesson was… unbelievable.'
He laughed. 'We shall take you to the Mirage.' He touched my slave collar. 'Soon you'll be free.'
I studied his face. He was handsome, with eyes like mine: brown and tilted at the corners. A wide mouth that constantly quirked up with amusement, and white even teeth. A nose that was just a shade crooked at the tip. Curly hair that escaped the thong at his nape to fall forward over his ears. I liked his looks. Very much. And I liked the laughter I felt in him.
And I was an agent of the Brotherhood. Snap out of it, Ligea.
I said, 'The Tyranians have something belonging to the Mirager.'
'So we heard.' He took a deep breath as though he were faced with a truth too much to bear. With sudden intuition, I knew he had so far delayed mention of it because he was afraid to hear my answer. 'His – his Magor sword?'
T suppose so. It looks like a sword with a hollow, translucent blade.'
'It's here, in Madrinya?'
'Back at the Governor's residence. The Legata brought it from Sandmurram. The legionnaires said it was heavy, but the shleth carrying it didn't seem to notice the weight.'
He closed his eyes, gripped by emotions he found hard to control. 'Ah. You don't know it, beautiful one, but you've just saved my life.' He gave a sigh and collapsed back into the pallet as though he had just shaken off a horror that had ridden him longer than he cared to acknowledge. 'Another few weeks and the story of the return of the Magor to their rightful place in Madrinya would have had another hero.' He was
i laughing at himself, but I didn't understand the
ramifications of what he was saying. 'This Legata, tell me about her.'
'Ligea Gayed of Tyr. She's a Legata Compeer of the Brotherhood. We are quartered in the Governor's residence.'
'The sword – can you get it? It won't be heavy to you.'
I nodded, but I was bewildered. Why was he so trusting? He'd only just met me! 'Can I really go to the Mirage?' That was far more than I had dared hope.
'Yes, naturally. Do you think we would leave someone of the Magor to themV
I had to play this carefully. Better, I thought, to forgo meeting the Mirager until we were fully prepared… Besides, I needed to know more of what was going on.
I said, 'If I go back I won't be able to get out again until tomorrow morning -' I gasped and sat up. 'Oh – the timel I shall be missed! And I have to pick up my ewer yet, too.'
He grinned at me as I began to throw on my clothes, but he, too, started to dress. 'I'll take you back through the alleys. You don't want to run into those legionnaires again. Did you really kill one of them?'
I knew I had, and didn't mind him knowing it; he would hardly be suspicious of someone who'd killed a legionnaire. However, I did not want him to think of me as a deliberate killer, so I shrugged carelessly and said, 'I hardly think so. I just hit him. Oh, Vortex, there are so many things I want to ask you!'
'And I you. Never mind. Tomorrow morning: are you sure it will be possible for you to bring the sword out of the house? If there's any danger, we can send someone in after it instead -'