Unlikely. She was more likely to get hit by a meteor than be seen by a spy…wasn’t she? He wasn’t giving in, though.
So she had to sleep in the same room as him? As this gargantuan man with muscles like rocks and a body as wide as a river barge? Surreptitiously, she flicked an assessing look over Dankyo. He was nicely built. Her mother would no doubt approve. God. Snap out of it. Stop drooling. My boyfriends, when I have them, are far less…dangerous than this.
“Very well, then you have the floor—”
“No. You can share the bed if you wish”—he smiled slightly, and she knew she must look appalled—“or not. But I will not sleep on the floor.”
She sighed, rolled her eyes, then let her shoulders slump. The man imagined spies around every corner. Military life had warped his view of the world, and she had to suffer because of it.
“Go wash up, and then we will have this talk you wished. There’s courtesy soap etcetera near the bedroll.”
Only this man would say etcetera. The small, lidless carrying case with the row of bottles enticed her. Multiple clangs and the toot of a horn warned the ship was taking off. She braced herself. The floor softly rocked, and then the world outside the porthole fell away.
“The pilot is smooth,” Dankyo murmured.
“Yes.” She knelt and eyed the case. Thoughts slotted into place. Six little cut-glass bottles with painted labels. Each label hand-done with letters hidden among pale foliage and rainbow butterflies. The artwork was gorgeous. The more she stared, the more the leaves and tiny flowers beckoned her and formed into lines and letters.
“Sofia.”
“Yes?”
“You’ve been looking at that case for two minutes.”
“Each of these bottles, though at face value seem labeled with words like”—she selected one—“ perfume , has the name of a poison entangled in the artwork.”
“Put it down!” He was beside her in seconds and grabbed her wrist.
“Hey!”
“Put it down!” He made her set the bottle back into its niche. “Damn it, woman. Even touching might be dangerous. This is a trap.”
“Yes.” She smiled lopsidedly at him. “But too obvious to be real. Someone wants to scare us.”
“How did you see this?” He let go of her hand, leaving it tingling.
“It’s what I do. I solve puzzles. You must know that?”
He sat back on his heels and seemed to assess her, his stark brown eyes relaxing a little. Then he rubbed his chin and stood. “I did. And then again, in a way, I did not. I see you know your business. I also see that this has intrigued you more than scared you. Perhaps that was their intent?”
She shrugged. “Perhaps.” It was true—she did want to go to Byzantium more than ever. Puzzles made her alive, woke every part of her brain, and made the world itself like an immense puzzle that she had to solve.
However, she had to admit this strange little teasing perfume puzzle only emphasized how right Dankyo might be. Someone had been watching them.
“Hmm.” He indicated the pistol. “Can you shoot?”
“Yes. A little. I hit what I aim at, mostly.”
“Good. You may need that skill. Don’t move while I check the rest of the cabin.”
For ten minutes or more, she watched as he examined everything—vases, books, containers, the bed, and the bathroom, then returned to sit on the bed. “I can find no other traps, but if you see anything else suspicious, say so. Leave the poisons. I’ll dispose of them. Go wash your hands to be safe, though. Then we will talk.”
She returned, flicking the last drops of water from her fingers. A high-backed cane chair caught her attention, so she pulled it over to face the bed, and sat. And was suddenly again aware of how flimsily she was clad. Red bandeau and panties and little else except this overtunic that might have been made of whimsy, it was that see-through. Well, damn him, he could look if he wished. After all, he was quite an eyeful himself. She lingered on Dankyo where
So she had to sleep in the same room as him? As this gargantuan man with muscles like rocks and a body as wide as a river barge? Surreptitiously, she flicked an assessing look over Dankyo. He was nicely built. Her mother would no doubt approve. God. Snap out of it. Stop drooling. My boyfriends, when I have them, are far less…dangerous than this.
“Very well, then you have the floor—”
“No. You can share the bed if you wish”—he smiled slightly, and she knew she must look appalled—“or not. But I will not sleep on the floor.”
She sighed, rolled her eyes, then let her shoulders slump. The man imagined spies around every corner. Military life had warped his view of the world, and she had to suffer because of it.
“Go wash up, and then we will have this talk you wished. There’s courtesy soap etcetera near the bedroll.”
Only this man would say etcetera. The small, lidless carrying case with the row of bottles enticed her. Multiple clangs and the toot of a horn warned the ship was taking off. She braced herself. The floor softly rocked, and then the world outside the porthole fell away.
“The pilot is smooth,” Dankyo murmured.
“Yes.” She knelt and eyed the case. Thoughts slotted into place. Six little cut-glass bottles with painted labels. Each label hand-done with letters hidden among pale foliage and rainbow butterflies. The artwork was gorgeous. The more she stared, the more the leaves and tiny flowers beckoned her and formed into lines and letters.
“Sofia.”
“Yes?”
“You’ve been looking at that case for two minutes.”
“Each of these bottles, though at face value seem labeled with words like”—she selected one—“ perfume , has the name of a poison entangled in the artwork.”
“Put it down!” He was beside her in seconds and grabbed her wrist.
“Hey!”
“Put it down!” He made her set the bottle back into its niche. “Damn it, woman. Even touching might be dangerous. This is a trap.”
“Yes.” She smiled lopsidedly at him. “But too obvious to be real. Someone wants to scare us.”
“How did you see this?” He let go of her hand, leaving it tingling.
“It’s what I do. I solve puzzles. You must know that?”
He sat back on his heels and seemed to assess her, his stark brown eyes relaxing a little. Then he rubbed his chin and stood. “I did. And then again, in a way, I did not. I see you know your business. I also see that this has intrigued you more than scared you. Perhaps that was their intent?”
She shrugged. “Perhaps.” It was true—she did want to go to Byzantium more than ever. Puzzles made her alive, woke every part of her brain, and made the world itself like an immense puzzle that she had to solve.
However, she had to admit this strange little teasing perfume puzzle only emphasized how right Dankyo might be. Someone had been watching them.
“Hmm.” He indicated the pistol. “Can you shoot?”
“Yes. A little. I hit what I aim at, mostly.”
“Good. You may need that skill. Don’t move while I check the rest of the cabin.”
For ten minutes or more, she watched as he examined everything—vases, books, containers, the bed, and the bathroom, then returned to sit on the bed. “I can find no other traps, but if you see anything else suspicious, say so. Leave the poisons. I’ll dispose of them. Go wash your hands to be safe, though. Then we will talk.”
She returned, flicking the last drops of water from her fingers. A high-backed cane chair caught her attention, so she pulled it over to face the bed, and sat. And was suddenly again aware of how flimsily she was clad. Red bandeau and panties and little else except this overtunic that might have been made of whimsy, it was that see-through. Well, damn him, he could look if he wished. After all, he was quite an eyeful himself. She lingered on Dankyo where
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