“Oh!” she said, stiffening momentarily in his arms. But then she relaxed, patting his steel breastplate. He fancied he could feel her fingers through it. “All right, then.”
When they reached the center of the Tower, it was empty, save for the scuff and scramble of a keeper here and there. He set her down at the base of the ladder.
Hannalinde straightened, brushing feast crumbs from her shredded skirt. Standing face-to-face with her, he could see herfatigue in the fine lines around her mouth and the shadows under her eyes. Four months pregnant, she’d performed the role of her life in front of a city who’d shunned her for a decade, and now she had to climb seven ladders straight up.
“Rest a moment before the climb,” he murmured, straightening one of the sagging blooms tucked into her hair.
“If I stop for a moment, I’ll fall asleep right here, and the moths will spread tales of the Nadir’s wife being forced to sleep on the floor.”
“I’ll smash them all if they do,” he vowed.
A small, breathy laugh escaped her. “I believe you would.”
“I will find someone to fly you up,” he decided. It was not the way he wished to begin mated life, with his mate in someone else’s arms. But he also did not wish to begin it with his mate falling off the ladder to her demise, either.
She stopped him. “No need. I can manage. I just need help tying up my train, if you don’t mind?”
She showed him the clever ties built into the design of her gown. He had to kneel and reach up under her skirts to find them, into that private space that was a few degrees warmer from her trapped body heat. He tried to avoid the brush of her thighs against the back of his arm as he located the delicate ribbons amid the wreckage of her dress, but it was unavoidable.
“Forgive me,” he murmured, not wishing to remind her of the indignities she’d suffered.
“It’s nothing,” she said tightly, holding very, very still. He moved slowly, like she was a wild animal that he was trying not to frighten, as he drew the ribbons up and tied them so her skirts brushed her ankles rather than dragging on the floor.
“Thank you,” she said a little breathlessly, leaning on the ladder, her knuckles white. His mate was showing her cracks. He wasn’t sure she had any until that moment. Perhaps they were more alike than not.
Unlike the last time they traversed these rungs together, she ascended the ladder first. His movements rote by practice, he could not help watching her above him. It was for her own safety, he rationalized. If she were to fall, he could at least have a chance at breaking it if he were below.
Practicalities aside, he did not mind the view. It was not her slim ankles and shapely calves that captured his imagination, but her ragged hem.
Chapter 11
Rikard
Frozen in daysleep, Rikard’s anger built as he watched Hannalinde move her things into the nesting chamber he’d designated for her. It was adjacent to his own, designed for fledglings who’d outgrown their parents’ nest. The former Nadir, who’d been childless, used it for a study, but Cléa had hastened to make it ready for her new daughter-in-law, polishing the woodwork and replacing the furs, even if she disapproved of them sleeping separately.
“For my comfort,” Hanna had soothed her, rubbing her belly, which had been more than enough to convince Cléa that it was a good idea. Everything was about the hatchling as far as his mother was concerned.
However, it had all been a show, because Hanna was proving completely unconcerned about her own comfort. He’d arranged for the keepers to carry her possessions up the Tower and install them, but despite this courtesy, she insisted on doing much of it herself, even carrying some up the ladder on her own back.
A basket of folded linens. A sewing kit in a leather roll. A jewelry box. Another basket, this one filled with bone spools of silk embroidery threads.
Up and down, seven ladders each way. She was four months pregnant and had slept for fewer than four hours in her new nest by his count, and she made every trip without asking for help, pausing only long enough to put away her possessions and catch her breath before climbing back down for more. There was nothing he could do to stop her while the sun shone.
He shook off the dust of daysleep just in time to see her complete her sixth trip. Herfinaltrip, as he would not allow any more. Flushed and breathing hard, her pale hair plastered to her temples with sweat, she carried a wooden box full of dirt and trailing vines on her back.
He rushed to help her unbuckle the leather straps holding it in place.
“Careful!” she exclaimed, as he lowered the box to the floor, spilling a bit of the soil from it.
He frowned at its unwieldy weight. Even he would have some trouble hauling it up seven stories. “You should scold yourself, then. A keeper could carry this for you. Why did you refuse their help?”
She shook her head as she pressed both hands to the small of her back, and stretched, wincing. “They’re too careless. I couldn’t trust them with something so precious to me.”
He eyed the plants in the shabby wooden box. They weren’t much to look at, just a tangle of green with a blossom or two. “I would have carried it for you, then.”
She fixed him with a level look but didn’t speak. Ah, so she didn’t trust him, either.
He sighed. “Will you at least let me carry it to the balcony for you?”
