“Yet you do not wish to see them.”
He had pushed too hard. Her expression closed, and she stepped through the door. “Please don’t leave the grounds. I’ll return as soon as I can.”
“Cynara.” He followed her to the door and held out his hand. “Stay with me.”
* * *
Chapter 11
« ^ »
Cynara stared at his hand and then at his face. “I can’t,” she said simply. “Good evening, Ronan.”
Once her footsteps had receded down the hall, Ronan retreated to the bed and sat cross-legged on the coverlet, beginning the chant to restore balance. Cynara’s rejection meant nothing. She had duties imposed upon her by this world, as his duty belonged to shaauri-ja.
Her hesitation had proved one thing. She had understood his invitation and had briefly considered it. Desire remained. He knew he did not entirely understand human courtship ritual; there were signals he was missing, words he must learn to speak. Must, for his mission.
And he wanted Cynara for himself, knowing she would take nothing from him but pleasure. Nothing, least of all who he was or why he had come among humans.
He performed the exercises with deliberation, finding it difficult to slow his heartbeat and calm his thoughts. Sihvaaro would have told him that he wanted too much. To want is to surrender all hope of understanding.
Ronan stifled his desire. Slowly serenity returned. His mind became a conduit for all possibilities, all Paths, and in the silence of his meditation he felt Cynara’s presence like a balm. The sound of her voice told him she was near.
He went to the door and carefully opened it. Cynara and her uncle were out of sight around the corner of the hall, but he could hear every word they spoke.
“You are attracted to him, Niece.” Jesper chuckled. “Oh, come now—you’re too enlightened to blush at such a discussion between us. You haven’t known him long?”
“Not long, Uncle. That’s the inexplicable part.”
“On Dharma, we’ve sought to rule human desires as if they were trained seals. It has been my experience that the heart seldom runs in tandem with the mind.”
“But if this is only pity—physical attraction…”
“If it’s mere attraction, it will die of its own accord when the inevitable obstacles arise.”
“When you fell in love with Aunt—”
“It was not my first choice to remain on Dharma. But now I know this was my true purpose, to help keep Dharma from slipping into the old ways until full trade is reestablished.”
“And Ronan?”
“I like him. He has survived much, hasn’t he? He may even prove worthy of you.”
“If the Council overreacts to his presence on the Pegasus—his mind could be seriously damaged.”
“Then we won’t let that happen. Trust me, Spitfire. My instincts are seldom wrong. Until we are sure of him, however, he must remain on Dharma. You’ll have many opportunities for courtship, and perhaps learn valuable information in the process.”
“I won’t use my… attraction to spy on him.”
“I wouldn’t suggest such a thing. I hope that your feelings for this man have laid the old fears to rest?”
“Tyr…”
“You are captain of the Pegasus.”
Footsteps sounded in the entry hall. Ronan withdrew into his room. After a time he heard a distant door closing and knew the disturbing void of Cynara’s absence.
It was strange, that void, almost as if some invisible blade had carved a hollow in his gut—slow leak of blood, vague pain not quite erased by the discipline of the Eightfold Way. Such a wound could become deadly if left untended.
He listened longer for the movements of humans about the house. When they had ceased, he went to the door and looked into the hall. Finding the way clear, he followed his senses to Lizbet’s room and scratched on the door.
Lizbet’s bare, startled face appeared in the crack. “Ronan!” she said, glancing over his shoulder.
“May I enter, An Montague?”
She patted damp brown hair that smelled of recent bathing. “Come in.”
Her room was as small as his but vividly decorated in bright hues of red and gold and ocean blue, the bed heaped with cushions and tapestried hangings on the walls. Lizbet settled a sheer woven headcloth over her hair and adjusted the veil so that it covered her eyes. “Will you sit down, An Ronan?”