Broken Dove (Fantasyland #4)(164)

He said nothing but then again, he didn’t know very much English.

I knew no Korwahkian.

Thus the ride was silent.

That was until he reined in at the front door to Karsvall.

I had a mind full of Apollo and what I’d do if I ran into him.

My mind was also full of what he might do and then what I might do in response to what he’d do.

In other words, after the five minute ride, I had the beginnings of a headache.

To my surprise, Zahnin didn’t put me to the steps he’d stopped beside and promptly take off.

Instead, he threw a leg over and dismounted. He then put his hands to my waist and pulled me off the horse.

He set me on my feet but didn’t take my elbow or curl my hand in the bend of his.

He curved his fingers around my bicep and semi-led, semi-dragged me (his legs were longer so I couldn’t quite keep up) up the steps, stopping me at the door.

When he let me go, I tipped my head back to say thank you (words he had to know, or at least I hoped he did).

I didn’t get those words out.

His rumbling voice sounded.

“I have wife.”

I blinked in surprise not only at his strange announcement but that he spoke at all.

“Okay,” I replied, hoping he knew that word too.

“We meet. She no talk,” he declared.

I drew in breath.

He kept going.

“No good. Bad. Talk good.”

Hmm.

Seems I was getting another Cristiana style lecture with a lot fewer words.

“Talk is good, Zahnin,” I agreed.

“Warrior. You. Talk.”

Again few words but there was no mistaking it was an order.

I wasn’t sure I was ready. I wasn’t sure what to say. I just knew what I needed Apollo to say but I wasn’t sure he had it in him to say it.

And I didn’t know how I’d feel even if he did.

Even so, I said, “Okay, Zahnin.”

“Warrior suffers.”

Oh God.

I stared up at him. “Apollo suffers?” I whispered.

“Warriors’ women no talk, warriors suffer.”

Okay, this guy was a big guy, a hot guy, a scary guy, because even if we couldn’t converse all that great, you didn’t need words to know he was seriously edgy.

But he cared about his wife.

A lot.

And he was trying to do something nice for Apollo and me.

Which meant I hoped his wife cared about him too.

A lot.

Hesitantly, I reached out, touched his hand briefly and said, “Thank you. I’ll think about it.”

His brows shot together over narrowed eyes and I was right.

Definitely edgy.

“No think.” He leaned into me. “Talk.”

I thought it best to agree at that juncture, and not simply because his limited vocabulary meant we couldn’t have a full-blown discussion.

So I did.

“Okay, Zahnin.”

He nodded sharply once then instantly turned and prowled down the steps to his horse.

He mounted the horse in a fluid motion that in and of itself would get him a contract with a Hollywood agent which would then lead to a resurgence of the western.

Once astride the mighty beast, he looked at me and called curtly, “Inside.”

I pressed my lips together, nodded, waved my farewell, then put my hand to the doorknob and went inside.

Once I’d closed the door behind me, I took six tentative steps in and looked right.

The door to Apollo’s study was closed.

That likely meant he was in there which thankfully meant I wouldn’t run into him.

I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding and hurried to the stairs. Once up them, taking no chances, I hurried to Élan’s room.

The instant I appeared in the doorway, she looked up from pointing at a doll in a little chair and saying something to it (and it was clear the doll had misbehaved and Élan was telling her off), her beautiful green eyes came to me and lit.

“You came!” she cried delightedly, like the queen of Lunwyn had shown at her door (and this could happen for her, the country’s princess was only a short horse ride away).

Taking her in, she was one thing my old world could not offer me. Not ever.

And she was perhaps the only thing that could make me forget everything and just feel happy.

“Of course I came,” I replied, walking in taking off my gloves and grinning at her. “I haven’t had a more important invitation in years. No,” I corrected. “Decades.”

Her head tipped to the side and she planted her hands on her little hips, her eyes watching me undo the catches of the cloak at my throat.

Then they lifted to my face.

“You’re not wearing a hat,” she observed.

“No,” I agreed, swinging the cloak off my shoulders.

“You always make me wear a hat,” she noted.

I dropped the cloak and gloves to an overstuffed flower print chair and turned my full attention to her.

“I do.” I lifted my hands in front of me in the “don’t shoot” position. “And before you say it, you’re right. I should. Just like you always should. It’s important to keep warm in order not to catch a chill and it’s just as important for me as it is for you.” I dropped my hands and grinned at her again. “It’s just that I was so excited to get my invitation from Dax Lahn to attend your party, I forgot.”