Page 45 of Prima
“You should,” he says, even as he reaches out his hand toward her.
The sky grows darker. The sea grows darker. Her tears blur her vision.
I’ll remember you. I’ll try everything else, but I’ll remember you.
Don’t think only of other people; look after yourself.
And look after my heart—I’ve left it here. With you.
ChapterThirteen
The present
Are you the woman on the raft?
Are you the reason my heart breaks at shell-pink sunsets? Are you the unseen companion to whom I raise my glass when I sit under a sky full of stars? Are you the one whose absence I have felt in all my waking hours, who has, until tonight, eluded me even in my dreams?
“What if I am?”
He can barely see her eyes, yet he feels the intensity of her gaze. She does not sound terribly thrilled with his possible realization. Yet it is not an expression of unhappiness, he doesn’t think, but of feelings and reactions kept forcefully in check.
He ambles forward and picks up the rice liquor at her feet. The bottle, smaller than his hand, does not weigh much less than it did when he last handled it—in fact, it may not weigh any less, its presence merely ceremonial.
He pockets it—and reaches into the stream of her wind-blown hair. Cool silk lashes his wrist, a contact that turns into heat as the sensation travels along his nerve endings. He settles his hand on her shoulder, on thin muslin that lets him detect both the shape of her clavicle and the temperature of her skin.
He does not feel either bold or shy. From the moment he first saw her—that he can remember—he has wanted greater closeness of every kind.
"Will you take me with you?” he asks.
She does not answer, but her hand settles similarly on his shoulder, her fingers spread against the cotton of his t-shirt.
His hand travel down her arm, along her heart-poundingly soft skin. “I must confess, however, that this is not a request specific to you. I would have made the same request even if the Prima’s representative had tentacles and no vertebrae.”
Her hand moves up to his throat, her touch a possibly lethal warmth. His heart thuds at both the intimacy of her gesture and the inherent threat—he has no doubt that she can break his neck with her bare hands.
His younger self was a brave man.
“And what would you have done,” she murmurs, a hint of amusement in her voice, “if the cephalopod envoy had said no and ordered you to turn your boat around?”
He encircles her wrist, lifts it, and plants a kiss on the edge of her palm. “It would have been difficult, but not impossible, for me to swim a thousand klicks to the main seat of New Ryukyu and ask for sanctuary. Your yourself noted, my lady, that I’m capable of surviving in the wild.”
Her hand cups his cheek—the surprising tenderness of this touch has him perilously close to tears again. “I’m sure you can swim all the way to Hawai’i if you need to. But what happened to advocating for Prince Five?”
He takes the tiny rice liquor glass from her other hand and kisses it again, this time at the center of her palm. She sucks in a breath.
He would like to throw the little glass overboard in an extravagant display of passionate impatience and kiss her, but the great proscription of their time against material waste of any kind is so ingrained that he only drops it in another pocket. Also, he has yet to answer her question.
“The Potentate is neither a good man nor a good ruler. In his younger days, he was the prince most willing and able to kill off his brothers—those who had survived his mother’s tender mercies, in any case—and that was how he gained the throne. These days, bed-ridden, he obsesses over his legacy—and realizes that he has done little to recommend himself to historians. His only redemption lies in the choice of an heir. If he promotes a truly superlative successor, then maybe the annals will remember him more kindly.
“So his gaze falls on my brother Five, who is of sterling character and widely beloved. He forgets that in his palace, his capital, and his realm, as it was in his father’s day, ruthlessness is the only language spoken and understood—and my brother Four is the most fluent by far in the articulation of power for its own sake.”
She slides her fingers into his hair and pulls him closer. He inhales deeply before he can continue. “The Potentate might look to Five, but Four has the generals in his pocket. The writing is on the wall—Five, even if he wants to, will not live to sit on the throne. For that reason, ever since the Noble Consort passed away, Five and I have been arranging an exit for him and his family.”
They are so close now that her breaths skim his earlobe. He interlaces their fingers together and turns ever so slightly to the side, in order to concentrate. “But Five has a wife, three children and two orphaned young brothers-in-law that he can’t simply leave behind. It would have been daunting to smuggle such a large group out of the capital under Four’s watchful eye.
“Then my brother Six threw his hat in the ring. Five is more interested in the philosophy of government than the actual levers of power. I’m not sure Six understands either—or that he’s 100% well—but he’s driven to change things and some of his messages resonate. Not so much his views on education, but the common man cheers when he calls for the abolition of polygamy, starting with the Potentate’s Palace.”
She kisses him on his jawline. Heat skewers him. He swallows a moan with great effort.
