Shadowheart by Laura Kinsale

Author:Laura Kinsale [Kinsale, Laura]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781617564840
Publisher: e-reads.com
Published: 2011-05-19T08:00:00+00:00

“Who would she have told?” he asked. “We knew there was a Riata agent among us. My father had set me to protect Melanthe. Cara well knew that I would kill her in a heartbeat if I discovered she was their tool to murder his betrothed.”

Elayne looked up quickly. “I thought you loved her.”

“I did.”

She curled her hair around her fist, stroking her thumb against the smooth strands. She gave a short, uneasy laugh, staring at the black-and-white squares on the board, thinking of her sister, of the silence around Monteverde. “Poor Cara.”

He showed his teeth in a sneering smile. “Aye. Poor Cara.”

She took a deep breath. “I know not what I would have done in her place. The same as she did, I must suppose.”

“Make the attempt, but be certain that you bungle it? Spare your own soul at the price of what you love?”

She raised her eyes and met his dark steady gaze. He tilted his head a little, inquiring.

“Is she so much to be blamed for that?” Elayne asked. “It was murder they asked of her.”

“With your life at stake.” He regarded her, resting his cheek in his palm. He smiled so faintly that it was barely visible. “The silly Monteverde rabbit, she never had the steel to commit murder, not even to save you.

The Riata’s besetting weakness; they misjudge the temper of their weapons. You were doomed from the moment they took you.”

“I live,” she said.

“Aye,” he said, “it is a miracle worthy of a saint.”

Or worthy of an angel. A dark and potent angel, equal to the task.

She looked down at the chessboard, where her defenses stood in disarray under his swift attack. She was alive, and it was not Cara’s doing, or Lady Melanthe’s. All her life she had trusted in her guardian, felt him standing in the shadows to protect her. She bowed her head.

“I thank you,” she said, “for what you did for me. For bringing me out of their hands—when no one else could do it.”

He glanced up at her, his dark eyes half-concealed by the lazy black lashes. Then he shrugged and stretched out his leg, looking away. He kept his gaze averted, swinging his foot lightly over the arm of the chair, and gave a soft snort of disdain.

“You do not like to be thanked,” she said.

He opened his palm and frowned at it, as if there were some mystery there. “I hardly know. You are the only person who has ever done it.” He closed his hand and then flicked his fingers wide, and suddenly there was a blossom in his palm, one of the tiny sweet-smelling flowers from the citron trees. He held it out to her between his fingers. “For your hair,” he said brusquely.

Elayne reached for the flower, holding it cupped in her palm. It was slightly bruised, the petals creased, giving off a heady scent.

“Cara never thanked you?” she asked, taking a breath of the tiny blossom.

“I did not linger to speak to her,” he said.

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