A Kiss of Fire (A Kiss of Magic #2)(8)

“Plan what?” Lindo asked.

“I’m fairly certain you don’t want the answer to that,” Sin said.

“I’m fairly certain I do with a comment like that.”

Sin didn’t reply.

He shouldn’t have kissed her like that. Like the philistine she thought he was. She was a woman of culture and refinement. She required lovemaking. Tenderness and thoughtfulness. He was capable of those things. He was. It was just that she was like fire in his blood. The fire that his hands could create was nothing compared to it. His blood had boiled the moment he had led her to touch him. The feel of those long graceful fingers through the material of his pants had blinded him to everything.

He knew what he wanted to do. What he had to do. It didn’t matter that it might very well be an act of war to do it. If he did it right it was possible to avoid that.

Possible. Not probable.

He didn’t need this, he reasoned with himself. He had enough troubles at home without creating more for himself. It could be just the excuse others were looking for to move against him.

No matter. He would commit to his course. He would have her. Whatever the cost.

He would have her.





Chapter Three


Two months later


Ariana laughed as the children all reached for her as a single entity, crowding and pressing against her, their hands outstretched. Some were turned palm up in expectation of the sweet she had just promised them, some were taking advantage of the forward press to touch her. She felt little hands clinging to her dress, stroking her skin.

Her aide Mariah helped her put a sweet popum candy into each begging hand, not minding those who put both hands out in an enterprising way of getting more than one treat.

“All right, you may go now,” she said.

The children scurried away as a single entity, some lagging behind. One child stood looking at the candy in her hand with wide eyes and then looking up at her alternately.

“Hello,” she said to the little orphan.

She had come to read a story at one of the orphanages in the city, something she liked to do when she was feeling a little whimsical. She never planned these outings, she simply grabbed Mariah and a light guard and headed her carriage into the city.

The snow would come soon and when it did travel in the city would become more difficult. She was taking the opportunity to get out while she still could. Oh, there would be sleighing and other such winter pursuits, but mostly it was about keeping indoors and staying warm. On St. Haulbruck’s day, the day the first real snow fell, there would be the impromptu celebrations welcoming winter. She always looked forward to that. Then there would be the High Winter celebrations at the mid-point of the season, when the winter carnival began. She looked forward to that too.

Mostly she would be working by the fire, seeing to her daily duties and the support of their country. There was always work to be done. Always.

She wished for the first time since becoming a triumvir that she could take a vacation. Go off somewhere and be free of work and all her many responsibilities. To be able to relax without worrying about how much tax to levy or how many new schools must be built. To not worry if orphans like these or those who were homeless had warmth and shelter from the winter.

Although she might possibly be able to take time away to clear her head, she would never be able to stop fretting about one thing or another to do with her rule. There was simply no such thing as a vacation from her life.

“Hullo,” the orphan returned her greeting shyly after many moments of silence, which was a good thing because her thoughts had run away from the orphan for a minute.

“What’s your name?” she asked, lowering herself onto her knee. The child was incredibly small, though not a toddler by far. She had to guess about five autumns old.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Don’t got no name,” the child said with a shrug.

“Jun!” One of the warren mothers came forward and put her hands on the child’s shoulder. The child flinched at the touch. “His name is Jun. You’ll have to excuse him. He’s only been here a few days.”

“That’s not my name,” the child said with a grave shake of his head.

“Well if you would tell us your real name we would call you by it,” she scolded gently. “Now come away.”

“I tolds you my name. You don’t believe me.”

The mother paled. “Come away.”

“What’s your name?” Ariana asked, holding up a hand to stay her from herding the child away.

“Bastard,” the little boy said plainly.

Ariana felt a touch of cold on her heart. She suddenly knew it was the truth. Instead of a name, someone had given this child a derogatory word to be called by. The abusiveness was unpardonable.

“I think I like Jun better, don’t you?” Jun was a very common name. Extremely common. It seemed to be the name mothers picked when they didn’t know what to name their child.

“I don’t like it.”

“Well, perhaps we can choose a name you do like,” she suggested.

He considered that for a moment. She realized then that he had very wise, aged eyes for such a small child. The mother reached out to stroke his hair and again the child flinched. Ariana was beginning to realize that the child was used to a very different type of touching. The kind that goes along with a name like ‘bastard’.