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  “Why do you keep doing these things?” she asked finally. “You get scant thanks from it, even from your own people, who know what you are. You get kicked around by everyone else. And there is probably at least one of your brothers who thinks you are a fool anyway for making yourself miserable with trying to help everyone else and not going off and finding treasures and coming home a rich man.”

  He pondered that a moment. “I do this because…I have to, Katya. I have to, or I won’t be true to myself. I’m not a legend or a hero, I don’t slay dragons, I don’t do any of the things that a real hero can. But I can make things better, one day at a time, for most of the Kingdom. We’re given a choice in our lives, to make things better, or worse, or merely endure like sheep. I choose to make things better, as much as I can.”

  She nodded. “I’m lucky,” she said ruefully. “Even if only a handful of people know what I do, at least I’m not abused the way you are.”

  But he laughed at that. “Oh, my family makes sure that I never have to worry about truly being abused. And it’s not so bad, really. I get to pull some pretty outrageous pranks and I get away with it, too. So there’re some advantages to it.”

  As they ate, he told her about some of his funnier stunts. How he’d left a sheep in the bed of a visiting boyar who seemed to think that his rank gave him the right to use whatever servant girl he wanted. How he’d arranged for another who was drunk nearly all the time to get only water while he stayed. How he’d blundered into a group of mutually antagonistic boyars and tangled them all up together in their own cloaks so that they had to talk to one another.

  She had to smile at the image that called up in her mind.

  By that time, they were both full, she had packed what they hadn’t eaten back into the hamper, and the sun was making them both drowsy. Finally he stretched and yawned. “Would it be terribly ungallant of me to take a nap?” he asked. “I didn’t sleep much last night.”

  “No, not at all,” she hastily said. “Bad dreams?”

  “No, the opposite.” For some reason, he was blushing.

  She smiled. “You go right ahead. I’ll keep watch.”

  He stretched himself out on the blanket they had used for their picnic. “Thank you, Katya,” he murmured drowsily.

  And then he was asleep.

  She watched him for a while, as he slumbered so deeply that he scarcely seemed to breathe. She wondered what had happened to keep him awake. And then, the warm sun overhead felt so good…her eyelids started to droop. She woke with a start twice, but the third time she could not fight sleep off anymore.

  She woke up curled against Sasha’s chest. She could tell he was asleep, or mostly asleep, but his hands were caressing her hair and shoulders, slowly.

  Now what did she want to do about this?

  The sensation of his hands on her body made her tingle, made her skin feel alive, made her feel entirely wanton. Which was perfectly fine for someone like her, all of her brothers and half of her sisters had taken lovers already and no one had second thoughts about it. Things only got complicated when the lover was someone who would then try to use the relationship to gain influence from the King. So far, that hadn’t worked, and the lesson had been learned by the sibling in question so it never happened again.

  Magic creatures were like that. Humans thought they were fickle, when in fact, it was a matter of knowing that for a creature of magic, there were lovers and there was Love, and an emotion as powerful as Love tended to get all tangled up in the magic and make for complications.

  But for ordinary folk, the humans of the Drylands, there were a hundred thousand social codes and religious considerations and things they thought of as “moral behavior,” never thinking or knowing that one group’s “moral behavior” meant nothing to a different group. The question was…where was Sasha in all of this? How would he look at her if she—

  Then, mentally, she shook her head. She was what she was. He would love her as she was, or there was no point in continuing this. She moved a little and put her hands on either side of his face and kissed him.

  “Hmm?” he murmured, his arms tightening around her. Then he opened his eyes and looked at her blankly. “Uh—”

  “Good. You’re awake. Are you completely awake?” she asked, her mouth quirking in a little smile.

  “Uh—” he flushed bright red, and she felt something hard and insistent stirring against her leg.

  “Very good.” She kissed him again, this time letting her lips part, teasing his with the tip of her tongue. She could feel his indecision; whether to respond or not, and ended the kiss.

  “Um…Katya…your father is going to kill me—” He was bright crimson. “I want—I mean—you’re wonderful and—but—”

  She chuckled. “My father has never interfered in the lives of his children that way,” she said. “We’re not like you, we sea-people. My father concerns himself only where matters of the Kingdom are concerned. We don’t make alliance marriages. He would not care if I had a dozen lovers so long as I was discreet…and it did not interfere with my doing my duty.”

  We don’t barter virginity for a higher seat at the table. And he’ll only care if you hurt me, she thought, but did not say.

  “Um…” He hesitated a moment longer, then bent his head down to return her kiss.

  It was inexpert, but so was hers. She had only the benefit of her mother’s advice, and surreptitious watching of her sisters and some of the other women, young and not so young, of the Court. But he wasn’t impatient. He moved very slowly and carefully, despite the hardness she could feel pulsing against her thigh. She nibbled and licked at his lips, he slipped his tongue into her mouth, and she met it with hers, as his hands moved down along her shoulders, then hesitantly, one hand cupped her breast. His thumb brushed her nipple through the thin fabric of her blouse, and she gasped as it sent arrows of sensation to ignite a fire at her groin. Her legs parted without thought, and her hands moved to his buttocks and pulled him against her.

  She threw one leg over his, and insistently tugged at the buttons fastening the collar of his shirt. He had it easier, one pull at the drawstring of her blouse and it slipped down over her shoulders to her waist, and he began kissing his way down her neck, both hands now on her breasts, thumbs circling the hardened nipples as her breath came faster and the fires raced through her entire body. Then he moved his mouth farther down and began to trace the same circles around her nipples with his tongue, while one hand pulled her skirt up and the other unfastened the front of his trews.

  She knew what was there, and she wanted it, her insides cried out for it, and she helped him, eagerly.

  There was some fumbling on both their parts. He raised his head from her breast and looked at her, ruefully, absolutely scarlet with embarrassment.

  “I’ve—never done this before—” he whispered hoarsely.

  “Neither have I,” she replied, and pulled his head back to her breast.

  Finally, his hardness found her secret place, and with a desperate thrust, he entered her. She bit back her exclamation of pain, as with a few sharp lunges, he climaxed.

  He cried out, shuddered, and was still. But she very well remembered her mother’s instructions about men and lovemaking, given when her breasts had first begun to bud. And after his breathing steadied, she began to kiss and fondle him again. Slowly, he responded, kissing her, making the fires rise in her again, making more free of her body this time than he had the first. He found new places to make her gasp, new ways to raise shivers. She made him gasp, too, nibbling at his earlobe, holding and slowly stroking his member, running her nails lightly along his sides. By the time the pain between her legs faded, he was hard and ready again.

  And so this time, they came together slowly, with care, and fell into a rhythm of thrust and response and what she had thought was a fire before became a conflagration, a ravenous hunger that built and built until she thought she could not bear it, and then it exploded within her, making her world
go white for a moment as it swept over her and carried her away. A moment later, he cried out as well, and the two of them shuddered, stiffened, and then collapsed, still entwined.

  Their breathing slowed. A breeze cooled the sweat on her body. His arms tightened around her.

  “Marry me,” he said into her ear.

  “Of course,” she replied.

  He chuckled. “Good.”

  Chapter 9

  By common consent, they elected not to talk about all the complications, the hows and the whens and the wheres. “We’ll talk about this—” she began.

  “Tomorrow,” he agreed, as if he had read her mind. “Or the next day. But not now.”

  They made love again, in the warm afternoon sunshine, then bathed in the stream, then ate, feeding each other little tidbits. They told each other stories of their childhoods, and laughed a great deal, and kissed a great deal more. He played and they both sang, and then suddenly in the middle of a song, he stopped and began laughing hysterically.

  She looked at him askance, as he bent over, shaking his head. Finally he got control of himself, and wiped his eyes on a napkin.

  “The next verse is about the unicorn that follows Kalinka about,” he said, still wiping tears of merriment from his eyes. “That’s all very pretty in a song, but the reality is a plague—”

  Her eyes widened and she began to chuckle. “Oh, that is why you were so stiff when you saw the White Doe!”

  He nodded. “I thought it was another unicorn. I can’t get rid of them. They follow me everywh—”

  “Not anymore,” said a voice full of disgust from the place where the path entered the glade. They both looked up.

  A unicorn stood there, her lip curling, but her eyes wet. “Oh, Prince. How could you?” she cried. “And not even with a proper Princess after a proper wedding!”

  “I wouldn’t want a proper Princess,” Sasha replied. “I’m not sure what you would call a ‘proper’ wedding. And I’ve been your mascot for far too long. It is time I had my own life. Now go and find some good little farmer’s boy and bring some magic into his world, for he surely needs it.”

  With a snort, the unicorn turned and trotted back into the forest, every muscle expressing silent outrage.

  “Why am I not a proper Princess?” Katya wondered aloud, more amused than anything.

  “Because you are not pink, and white, and demure,” said Sasha, with a flip of his hand that said wordlessly how little he cared for pink, and white, and demure. “A proper Princess would not survive me. I should drive her mad in the first day.” He leaned over and kissed her, and she answered the kiss with rising passion. “Now, now!” he cautioned, laughing, as he pulled away. “More of that and we will never get back to the inn.”

  She sighed. She really didn’t want to get back to the inn. She didn’t want to go back under the sea and be parted from him. But he was continuing. “I will bespeak the bigger room. There is no reason why we cannot share it, is there?” Now he looked anxiously at her. “You don’t need to be immersed in water every day do you? Or have to put on a fish skin?”

  He wanted her with him! More, he wanted her with him in public! Her heart bubbled over with happiness. “No, and I only need go down to the shore to make sure my father hasn’t sent any messages,” she assured him. “There is no reason why—” she blushed, and stammered out the last “—why we cannot be together.”

  But that was skirting perilously close to the subject that they had both agreed to avoid for a little, so she said nothing more, and he did not ask or comment.

  They packed up the pannier, saddled the horse, and he lifted her up onto the pillion. After a rueful look at the now-stained blanket, he folded it up so that the blood didn’t show, and tucked it in the top of the basket.

  “I can fix that,” she said quietly. For of course, she could. She need but leave it in the ocean for a little, and at her direction, almost invisible sea creatures would pick it clean.

  “Oh, I was just thinking that when my brother weds, they will display his sheets like a banner in the morning,” he replied, making a face. “A barbaric custom—”

  “And rather difficult to manage in the sea,” she pointed out wryly. “Which may be why we set little store on that.”

  He had to laugh as he mounted the horse. “Then that is wise,” he replied. “Very wise. You will have to excuse our barbaric ways.”

  “Oh, we have barbaric ways enough of our own,” she replied, making a face. But she didn’t elaborate. Time enough later to warn him that he would have to fight a token battle to prove he was worthy of her hand. He was clever; he would find a way to do so even though he was no warrior. That came under the heading of all the things they would talk about on some other day.

  During the ride back to the inn, she kept her arms clasped about his waist and her cheek pillowed on his shoulder, reveling in the warmth and the scent of him. He was a very cleanly man. She had been around any number of unwashed Drylanders, and she was glad she had not fallen in love with one who scorned bathing.

  They reached the Inn of the Jolly Sturgeon at dusk, and he lifted her down from the saddle while the hostler came to take the horse. She had never actually been here before, although in the course of her duties, she had seen the insides of many taverns, inns, and the like. The outside was in fine repair, if a bit weather-beaten, made of wood that she suspected had to have been scavenged from shipwrecks. But that was to be expected in a place so near the sea. The Jolly Sturgeon herself was painted on either side of the door, and she did look very jolly indeed, which was odd considering how many of her kin must have been brought here, split open for their eggs, and then made into soups and stews.

  Sasha led Katya by the hand straight up to a woman who was tidying the tables in an otherwise empty common room. She was a sturdy, though not at all stout, woman of middle age. A bit of dark blond hair peeked out from under her kerchief, and her cheeks were pink from the heat of the kitchen. “If it is not inconvenient, good hostess,” he said without any preamble, “I should like to bespeak a larger room.”

  The innkeeper’s wife eyed both of them with a frown. “I do not run a bawdy house, sir—” she began.

  “And I would not frequent one,” he replied. “This is my betrothed.”

  Her frown deepened, and Katya felt suddenly uneasy. “Prince,” the woman said, “for Prince we know you are—do you know what it is you hold by the hand and call your betrothed? It would not be wise to betray her.”

  At that moment, a chill seemed to fill the air, and Katya shivered. She could feel the magic of The Tradition suddenly looming over them like a wave about to break. And she felt her mouth go dry and her heart start to race. And she begged, silently, Oh don’t go making promises, Sasha! The Tradition is waiting for a promise! It is waiting for you to say “I will never betray her,” so it can make you do just that! This was precisely the sort of moment that tragedies were made of….

  But Sasha just smiled. “I know, good hostess,” he said softly. “And I will make no vows of undying love. Never and Forever are not words for mortals to use. But I will love her as truly as I can and as long as it is given to me to do so, and I hope I shall never hurt her, either by accident nor deliberately,”

  The sense of portent faded. The feeling of great power looming turned into the feeling of great power shuffling off, disappointed. The innkeeper’s wife laughed. “Well said, Prince. We need no tragic spirits here. We were long in laying to rest the last one.” She smiled, and her eyebrows rose until they disappeared beneath the rim of her kerchief. “Now go take your seabride to the chamber next to yours and I will have Boyra bring your things to the new room.” She winked. “If you choose to anticipate the wedding, well, so has half this village. I think you will find the bed to your liking.”

  Katya found herself blushing, and in her confusion almost overlooked something. Then as Sasha started to turn, she blinked. “How do you know what I am?” she demanded.

  The innkeeper�
�s wife smiled. “And who do you think is the witch of this village? I know a seabride when I smell her. You have the scent of the ocean clinging to you, and always will.” She made a shooing motion. “Off with you, and I shall see to it that dinner is taken to you. I think you will not want to trouble yourselves with the stares of the company, who will suddenly see the lone minstrel with a lovely maiden that none of us know.”

  Laughing, Sasha tugged on Katya’s hand, and nothing loathe, she followed him.

  He lit a spill at the lantern in the hall, and opened a door as a boy clattered up the stairs behind them. Holding the flame over his head, Sasha located the candle and went to light it as Katya stood just inside the door and to one side, waiting for her eyes to adjust.

  It was, by the standards of any inn she had ever been in, a good room. There was a large window, just now shuttered closed, two blanket chests, and a perfectly enormous curtained bed. A moment later the boy came clattering in—he was an extraordinarily noisy child—burdened with what must be Sasha’s things. There were two bulging saddlebags, the balalaika case, and what looked to be a flute box, plus a fine cloak and a rain hat made of oiled leather with a broad brim. He put all these things down atop one of the blanket chests and clattered out again. Before Katya could so much as breathe a word, one of the serving girls from below came up with a laden tray, her foot-steps lighter than a sylph’s compared to the boy’s. This she set down on top of the other blanket chest, curtsied to Sasha, and slipped out again.

  Sasha closed the door and pulled the latch-string out.

  “Well,” he said. “This is certainly a step up from my old room. Our hostess must favor you, belochka.”

  She blushed at the word beloved and shook her head. “I think it’s you she favors,” she said instead, and unable to resist, sidled over to the bed.

  In all her life she had never slept in a bed like this one.

  With heavy curtains on three sides for privacy and warmth in winter, it would easily sleep four. It had a fine bearskin coverlet, four fat pillows, and the plumpness suggested a wonderful soft featherbed beneath the coverlet.