Shadowlander (7 page)

Thinking he looked absolutely magnificent in nothing at all, Cate snatched up the long burgundy jacket and found not just the collar, but the entire inside of it was lined with soft fur. The fur collar smelled of lavender and, when she slid it on, it tickled her bare neck just beneath the edge of her hair. The velvet was far heavier than she’d expected, thick enough to resemble the sensation of being bundled in a half dozen quilts rather than one elegant coat.

In the time it had taken her to put on the jacket, Rook had already clothed himself in black suede pants that clung to his muscular legs, as well as a shirt and long duster-style coat like her own. The dark forest green velvet stretched across his broad shoulders, and silver fur formed a lush collar around the strong column of his tanned throat. He buckled a sheathed sword about his waist and slid a dangerous-looking dagger into the edge of his boot.

He stared for a moment at her bare feet. “It’s a shame we must cover such beautiful feet,” he murmured as he went back to the cupboard and pulled out a pair of knee-high dark brown boots with soft soles that looked similar to the black ones he wore. He knelt beside her.

“May I?” he asked as he undid the leather laces that crisscrossed one boot, then opened it for her to slip her foot inside. For a giddy moment Cate felt like a twisted Cinderella. She’d never had someone see to her comforts; she was always too busy caring for her sisters or her grandmother. It was decadent and lovely. He slid the second boot on her other foot, then took the small straps with wicked-looking six-inch-long silver points and wrapped one securely around each of her ankles. He stood and smiled down at her.

“There. Now you are ready to ride a catamount.”

Cate winced. Judging by the dangerous-looking spurs, she didn’t think the catamount would be some docile kind of a horse. “Look, I was never good at riding horses. Fell off my first one at seven and never looked back. My sister Clare is the equestrian in our family.”

His smile widened. “Your hands seem to work well enough holding onto my chest. If you can do that, you can hold tight enough to ride a catamount.”

With that pronouncement, he opened the door to his chamber and strode down the long hall. Cate jogged to catch up as he opened one of the doors and headed a different direction than the way they’d originally come. In this new hallway, huge glass windows reached from ceiling to floor, bringing the sights of the outdoors inside.

The soft slopes of powder-fine white sand around the bay turned a toffee color where the water lapped at the shore. The green of the tropical forest framed it all against the achingly clear blue sky.

Cate caught a glimpse of herself in one of the long gilt-framed mirrors and was surprised at how different she looked. The dark red velvet and brown suede swinging around her legs made her look as if she were floating over the marble floor rather than walking. Only the clink of spurs across the gleaming marble floors kept her grounded.

It was tempting to stay—to finish what she and Rook had started—but she wasn’t here on vacation. Cate forced herself to stop gawking at the postcard view and turn her mind back to more pressing matters. “How fast are catamounts?”

“They can cover better than a hundred leagues in a day.”

Which led Cate to her next assumption. If they were that fast, then they were likely very big. She slid her hand around his arm, reveling in the thick curve of his muscle there. “Just how big are these things?”

Rook opened one of the two large, heavily carved doors and sunshine poured in, casting him in an almost angelic light. “See for yourself.”

Cate peeked around him into the courtyard and saw two enormous black panthers lying on their bellies, haltered and saddled, tails twitching, their growls amplified by chests the size of an average SUV. The catamounts weren’t just lion big, but dinosaur-era big. One let out a great roar that rumbled through her solar plexus and turned her stomach into a quivering mass of jelly.

She tried to swallow past the thick lump clogging her throat. “You expect me to ride one of those?”

“They are well-trained. You’ll be fine.”

Rook lifted her by the waist and swung her up into the saddle before she could even protest. Her legs were forced to spread wide over the back of the animal.

The sun beating down on them forced Cate to squint. Already she was questioning if wearing the heavy coat was a bad idea as her forehead and back perspired.

“Grab hold of the reins,” he instructed. Cate snatched them up. The saddle was made of smooth brown leather that rose at the back and front in a slight
U
, but there was no pommel. There was nothing else to hold on to unless she wanted to grab hold of the cat’s sleek black fur, and she had a sneaking suspicion the creature wouldn’t like that.

“Up!” Rook commanded. She tried not to hyperventilate as the beast shifted beneath her, its muscles bunching and rolling beneath her legs as it rose to its full height. Just by the movement, she could tell the giant cat’s power was immense.

“Any last-minute tips on how not to die on one of these things?”

He gave her an amused smile and climbed into the saddle of the big cat beside her, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Follow me and do everything I say.”

“Great. Just perfect,” Cate muttered under her breath.

Rook tapped the flanks of the catamount with his feet and in a clear, commanding voice said, “Forward!”

Cate followed his lead, but as she tapped the beast, it flattened its ears and let out a low growl that rumbled all the way from her crotch to the base of her skull.

Her youngest sister, Jane, was always fond of saying, “Fake it till you make it.” It seemed like sound advice in this instance. Cate swallowed hard and dug deep, trying to silence the quiver in her voice and infuse it with power. “Forward!”

The growling stopped and the cat leapt forward. Cate’s stomach dipped. She squeezed her legs around the animal to help her hold on as the catamount moved in a smooth rolling lope to catch up to Rook and his mount. Silently, the big cat sped through the jungle and began climbing higher into the mountains.

Vegetation started to change, the giant fernlike trees giving way to broad-leafed trees that towered overhead. The catamounts slowed, no longer able to lope through the undergrowth, but having to weave their way through the thickening mass of trunks.

The happy gurgle and splash of a running river grew louder. Here and there Cate noticed that instead of verdant foliage punctuated by vibrant tropical hues of pinks, yellows, and purples, the plants here were more of a mix of greens, reds, and oranges that glistened and danced in the late morning sun.

The seasons shifted the farther they traveled away from the coastline, the air growing noticeably cooler. Looking back over her shoulder as they climbed the mountain, Cate could see the point where summer transitioned into autumn. “Your world doesn’t have seasons like ours, does it?”

Rook glanced at her. “Of course we do. Depending where you are in the kingdom determines which season you’ll encounter.”

“That’s the reason you had me dress warmly, isn’t it?” His thoughtfulness struck her. She’d never had a man cater to her like that before.

§

Rook didn’t dare do more than glance at her, concerned he might give away more than he intended. Certainly weather conditions for where they were headed was a factor. Shadowland was split into two seasons, and Wyldwood had the other two. While summer hugged the coast and autumn climbed over the Meru Mountains, in Wyldwood there was winter inland and spring on the western coast.

The catamounts reached the River Ulean, which wove its way south from the heart of the continent to the great falls that plunged five hundred feet into the ocean below. Cate’s eyes grew great and round.

“Where’s the bridge?” she asked.

“A hundred miles out of the way,” he replied. “But don’t worry. The catamounts can normally leap it without a problem.”

Her complexion turned waxy and pale. “Normally? Which means that sometimes they
don’t
make it.”

His tone softened. “Trust me just a little, Cate. I won’t let any harm befall you while I’m with you. I promise.”

She stared at him. The word
trust
hung heavy in the air between them. Fae didn’t give promises lightly, and they both knew it.

“Just lean forward at the hip, hold on, and let the catamount do the rest.”

He brought his big cat up side by side with hers. “Ready?”

“Do I look ready?” A sheen of perspiration glistened on her brow.

“No one is ready the first time.” He chuckled, then shouted, “Airnaugh!”

The catamounts coiled back, tails sweeping and ears pinned flat to their heads. The release was swift and powerful, launching them up and over the river in a graceful arc, far more elegant than any bridge. Cate gasped but held tight, her dark hair and the long sides of her burgundy velvet coat rippling behind her, her eyes wide.

The cats landed with a loud
thump
on the other side of the river. Rook scratched his mount behind the ear and it rumbled in acknowledgement. Only the Ragnorian caste members—where the rulers and warriors belonged—were allowed to own and ride the amazing beasts. It was thought to be beneath the Makcay, whose feet never touched the ground and were carried by palatines from the Vaquin caste anytime they went outdoors. This was likely the only chance Cate would have to indulge in such a ride once the Shadow King knew who and what she was.

Her green eyes sparkled, and giddy laughter bubbled out of her, even as she breathed hard. “That was amazing!” She twisted around to look at the river behind them. “That had to be a good thirty-foot leap.”

Rook remembered the rush it brought to the blood the first time his catamount had leaped a gorge in the craggy Meru Mountains that separated Shadowland from Wyldwood. It had made him feel powerful, invincible. It pleased him enormously that it had affected her the same way.

“We’ve at least six hours to go before we reach Seaneath.”

Cate’s hand strayed to her stomach, pressing against it. She said nothing, but Rook thought he heard a slight growl. The Uplanders could not go as long without sustenance as the fae could. He needed to stop and feed her. “But before we go any farther, we will eat.”

A grateful smile curved her lips. A flicker of heat licked at the edges of his control in response.

“Settle,” he commanded his mount. The large cat lowered its belly to the ground, tucking its massive front paws beneath its chest. Rook slid with practiced ease from his saddle and pulled free the provision packs Borgen had fastened to his mount, then went to assist Cate.

“Settle,” she said, her tone calm, confident, and commanding. Rook couldn’t help but smile. Cate would make a fine queen one day—if she chose him. If she chose the king, then she’d be an esteemed Seer in the court and a royal consort, but never a queen.

The thought of Cate as his father’s consort burned like acid in his stomach. Sunlight slanted through the trees, the beams made her skin glow, and they highlighted the glossy curls dancing around her head and shoulders in the freshening breeze.
She deserves to be a queen
, he thought as he settled on a fallen log overlooking the shimmering waters of the Ulean.

He offered his hand to assist Cate from her saddle. She slid off easily and into his arms. While the temptation was there to seduce her in this beautiful setting, Rook knew better. They would have an audience. For among the trees, shrubs, and flowers—even in the water of the Ulean itself—there were Illith fae watching them. They knew better than to intrude uninvited but would be intent on them all the same as they chattered and moved about, rustling in the leaves. He couldn’t risk them reporting any improper thing he did with Cate back to the king. As much as he didn’t wish it, he released her and walked to a log along the banks of the Ulean.

Rook dug into the pack and pulled out a loaf of aman, a wedge of hard yellow casin, two chalk bars, and two gilly fruit. It was hardly royal fare, but suitable for their travels.

§

“What are those things?” Cate asked, pointing at the spiky purple fruits she’d seen hanging from the trees along the coast.

“Gilly fruit.” Rook pulled a small knife from the sheath at his waist and sliced one open, revealing the deep crimson heart of it, almost the color of beets, sprinkled with tiny black seeds. He quartered it, then offered it to her. “Some of my favorite food. I used to ask for it as a treat when I was small.”