17th of Thira, Continued

Braeton's horseless slowed as the driver approached the front entrance of Faraysle's Inn. The mechanical click of the amber caution lights flicking on and off was followed by a few quick bleats of the warning klaxon and some muffled cursing. Then Arramy's face appeared in the glass porthole between the cockpit and the traveling compartment. He held the handset of the driver's sonnulator at his lips, and his voice crackled over the broadcaster in the cabin, "We've got trouble. Henmyrre wants to know if you want to go around back."

Braeton leaned closer to the luxfenestre on his side to get a look at what waited for us. His jaw tightened. Then he shook his head and took up the handset on our side. "No. We need the publicity."

Arramy's glare could have frozen steel. He opened his mouth as if to argue, but then he simply turned around to face the street again.

I opened the shutters on my window and peered out.

A crowd had gathered on the boardwalks on either side of the Faraysle Inn's canopied steps, and there was no mistake who they were gathering for: they were cheering and waving excitedly in our direction as the horseless neared the debarking platform.

Braeton hadn't been exaggerating about how famous he was in Lodes.

"Ready?" he asked, reaching for my hand.

Act the part, in other words. I took a breath and steeled my spine. Then slid my fingers through his like I had a thousand times and gave a nod.

Henmyrre brought the horseless to a stop. Arramy jumped out of the cockpit and opened the cabin door, letting in a gust of humid city air and the deafening roar of countless voices chanting the name Anwythe.

Braeton leaned close and whispered, "Smile, my dear." Then we ducked out of the traveling compartment.

Immediately there was a blinding flare and pop of silvocapture elements, and then hundreds of people were screaming and shouting, reaching for us, their hands grazing my hair and tugging at my clothing, and Arramy and the other bodyguards were shoving their way through a crowd fifty deep to get us safely to the hotel door.

Several seconds later I came to a stop in the middle of the grand foyer, gasping and more than a little rattled.

Arramy braced the door shut while the hotel doorman locked it, then he wheeled around and set off for the registration desk without a word.

Braeton sighed and began pulling scraps of paper out of his pockets and buttonholes, his movements methodical.

I looked down. There was a note peeking out of my jacket front, and a whole garden of flowers made of wire and ribbon stuck into any available seam in my skirt and short jacket. Blinking, I removed the piece of paper from my lapel and opened it. "It seems Lankan's Quality Footwear Emporium has a pair of shoes I won't be able to resist," I announced. "Is it like this all the time?"

Braeton gave me a sidelong glance and a wry grin as he removed his coat and shook it out, causing a small storm of advertisements and love notes. "Only on good days."

"Really? What's a bad day?"

That just got a smile. "Hopefully we won't be around long enough to find out. Here. Hold still." He stepped in front of me and plucked a ribbon bud from my hair, then another from behind my ear, his touch gentle, his tone intimate. "I have some business in town. It should only take an hour. Will you be alright?"

The hotel staff was watching. I pasted a grin on my lips, stepped closer, and rested my hand on his chest for their benefit. "Of course. Just be back for dinner."

He held my gaze for a moment longer, then bent and pressed a swift, feather-light kiss to my cheek before striding off down the length of the foyer and disappearing around the corner.

Unbidden, my eyes wandered to the registration desk. My grin slipped, that familiar nameless chill shuddering through my middle. The hotel staff hadn't been the only ones watching.

I dragged in a breath, faced forward, and started for the set of ornate stairs that rose to the second-floor balcony.

When I was halfway up, a particularly firm tread sounded on the steps behind me. I didn't have to turn around to know who it was. I kept going, my heart beginning to pound.

"To your left," Arramy muttered when I reached the top of the stairs.

"I know," I snapped under my breath. Liar. I almost went right just to be independent, but the Faraysle's staff might have wondered why I was traipsing all over the wrong end of the inn with Braeton's bodyguard in tow. So I ground my teeth and whipped around the corner to the left, silk skirts swishing as I marched down a spacious hallway decorated in muted shades of silver and cream.

"It's the grand suite —"

"— grand suite, yes, thank you," I finished with him, still striding along with great purpose while trying to tell which set of identical double doors was the one with a full apartment behind it. The corner? The end? It would be entirely too helpful if the rooms were named after the lords who rented them instead of random plants.

Too late, I realized Arramy wasn't walking anymore.

I slowed to a halt.

The sound of a key in a lock and a door opening made it abundantly clear that I had just high-nosed myself right out of my own dignity. A scalding blush worked its way up my neck to my ears, and I closed my eyes. Then I took a breath and made myself pivot to face him.

Arramy was leaning against the wall next to the doors I had just passed. They were open, and he was playing with the key, pale eyes glittering as he regarded me from beneath lowered lashes, the telltale hint of a dimple by his mouth. He was laughing at me.

"Thank you." I lifted my lips in a frosty smile. Then I swept forward, sailing past him with my head high, intending to walk right into the apartment and close the door in his smirking face.

"Why do you let him do that?"

There it was. My feet faltered. Keep walking! "Do what?" Oh, you silly idiot.

"Treat you like a rikkafilla," Arramy said, flipping the key in the air. "He's practically dressing you up like a plaything."

"You know exactly why," I said, keeping my voice cool. I should have just gone inside. I knew that, but I was tired of the way he was looking at me, all heated and unreadable at once, like I had hurt him, somehow. As if he had a reason to be disappointed in me. It had been going on for weeks, and it bothered me much more than I wanted to admit. So I went ahead and asked one of the questions that had been boiling away in the back of my mind. "Why do you think I can't do it?"

That got a weary sigh and a shake of his head as he looked away. "That's not what I think, kid. You're smart enough to do whatever you want. I think it's dangerous."

I took a step closer, nodding as he finished. "First," I said, tipping my head back to give him a scathing glare. "I am not your 'kid.'" I aimed my forefinger at his chest and gave him a good jab to the sternum.

Arramy's gaze darkened.

"Second, I am a lot tougher than I look." Jab. "Third, this whole thing has been nothing," jab, "but dangerous," jab, "and I don't need to be constantly reminded, as if I'm too stupid —" I was about to jab him again when he reached up and caught my hand.

I let out a sharp gasp as he used his grip on my wrist to force me around the corner and through the doorway. Trying to yank my hand away from him only succeeded in bringing my back up against the wall of the apartment entryway. I stared up at him, my breath quick and uneven.

He let go of my hand and planted his palms on either side of my shoulders, caging me in as he bent to bring his eyes level with mine. "You'll get hurt, Bren. Or worse."

My heart was beating too fast. I couldn't find any air.

He looked down at the floor between us, his brows drawn into a fierce frown. Then he brought his head up, the blue of his eyes smoldering. "If something goes wrong, you'll be alone in there, and I don't... If anything... Happened..." his words faltered to a stop. He swallowed. Ever so slowly, his gaze drifted to my lips.

The only thought in my head was a memory of that stern mouth slanting across mine, and those lean fingers in my hair.

A door closed somewhere. Light footsteps and the faint creak of wheels; a maid with a linen trolley.

With a start, I dragged in a shaky breath and gave Arramy a shove. "Thank you, that will be all."

Arramy stumbled slightly, his eyes locked on mine, but then he turned and kept going through the still-open doors. When he stopped in the hallway and looked back at me, his expression was as stony as ever. He gave me a stiff little bow, and then he was gone, and it was only the cleaning girl trundling along with her cartful of supplies.

I closed the door.

Then I rested my forehead on it. It still hurt to breathe.

What had just happened?

Whatever it was, it couldn't happen again.

......................................................