Page 8 of The Eyes of Tamburah
“My physician says you need to keep still,” said a male voice.
Shyla jerked with surprise, opening her eyes. Focused on the water, she hadn’t finished scanning the room. A young man approached. He’d probably been sitting over by the desk. Another colorful mosaic—this one orange and yellow—decorated the wall behind it.
Crouching next to her, he said, “Here.” He pressed a cool wet cloth to the right side of her face. “At least the cut stopped bleeding.”
She stared at him. His black hair was a striking contrast to his light tawny face. Shyla suspected his skin had never been exposed to the sun. But those eyes. Emerald green with flecks of silver. And, damn. The man was attractive. He wore what appeared to be a black training uniform similar to those the monks donned when they practiced the Ways of the Yarin.
He cocked his head in concern when she continued to stare. “You had quite the blow to your head. How are you feeling?”
“Confused and sick to my stomach.”
“Ah. That’s to be expected. This will help.” He handed her a glass.
Shyla pushed up on one elbow and sipped the drink. The ginger-flavored water eased her nausea. The man settled on a nearby cushion. She puzzled over his identity. Long eyelashes and strong jaw, he appeared to be around twenty-five circuits old. The tight-fitting uniform outlined his athletic build. He wore no jewelry or insignia.
The pain in her head dulled to a bearable level. Her mind cleared. “Where am I?”
“What do you remember?”
Good question. She’d been studying a map, searching for…something, and—
Her memories returned in a rush. The Eyes. The temple. Attackers. She sat up. “Banqui! I need to—”
“Relax. He’s fine.”
She sagged in relief. “Where is he?”
The man gave her a tight smile. “He’smyguest.”
Her stomach churned. And this time it wasn’t due to nausea. Scanning the room, her gaze snagged on the water fountain and the clues clicked together. Scorching hells. She was cooked.
“Figured it out?” he asked with amusement.
“You’re…” All moisture fled her mouth, causing the words to stick.
“Yes?”
“Younger than I thought,” she blurted. To be fair, she’d only seen the Water Prince twice in her life and both times at a distance.
He laughed. The resonant sound did nothing to ease her growing panic. Banqui said she’d be tortured if caught. Shyla glanced at the door, thinking she’d make a break for it.
“Go ahead, Sun-kissed.” Anger laced his words as he gestured. “You won’t get far and then we’ll continue this conversation in one of myspecialrooms.”
She had a feeling that his definition of special didn’t match hers. If she wished to survive this encounter she needed to be smart. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry.” He settled into a more comfortable position next to her. “I thought you wouldn’t be scared of me.”
“Why not? Everyone’s scared of you.” Why did she just say that? So much for being smart.
“Because you’re sun-kissed. A survivor.” He shrugged. “Because Banqui told me you’re not influenced by rumors and speculation, preferring facts to make a decision. My reputation is due to exaggeration and misinformation. Not that I mind, it keeps others from thinking big dangerous thoughts. I fought hard to become the Water Prince and I don’t plan on giving it up.”
Only the deep-level wealthy and the Heliacal Priestess had the resources to challenge him. The King of Koraha didn’t care who ruled the cities as long as he received his taxes on time. Whoever controlled the water governed the city as the Water Prince or Princess. It was as simple as that.
“What else did Banqui tell you?” she asked, surprised by her sudden boldness.
“That you are the best at finding lost artifacts.” His tone remained neutral, but he tensed.
“Ilocatethem,” she corrected.
