Free Palace of Darkness by Tracy L. Higley Page B

a bit, and he seemed to study Cassia. She felt suddenly aware of her dirty tunic, frayed from the many days of travel and now soaked through from the splashing water. His gaze traveled to her feet and back to her face, and Cassiafelt a strong pull of attraction and then another surge of anger. She did not need her unique ability to know what he was. She’d already had a man like this.
    Never again.
    Alexander tugged on the man’s hand, drawing his attention away from Cassia. “Julian, when will you show me the better places to climb?” His face was alight with hero worship, and it pained Cassia to see it. “We are going to the palace now”—he grinned—“to see our family, but after that I can climb with you again.”
    The man’s eyebrows raised at Alexander’s declaration, and he turned inquisitive dark eyes back to Cassia.
    “Come, Alexander.” She pulled him toward the now-dispersing crowd. “It is time.”
    The boy called back over his shoulder to his new friend, “I like the striped rocks best!”
    “As do I, Alexander,” he answered.
    Cassia left the Nymphaeum behind and kept a tight grip on her son’s hand. They were quite near the palace now, but she could not announce herself to the king in a wet and dirty tunic. A line of shops bordered the limestone-paved street on the opposite side, and she led Alexander behind the strip and instructed him to keep watch as she changed into the only other article of clothing she had brought in her pouch—the yellow silk. It had suffered in the escape through the streets the day Aretas had been killed, but it was still finer than anything else she owned. She felt a little twinge of glee at donning it without Aretas’s permission. A new day had come.
    It was time to see the king.

NINE

    J ULIAN WATCHED THE STRIKING WOMAN AND HER LITTLE boy push through the crowd. Watched as people gave way to her, in spite of her petite build and peasant clothes. As she crossed the street, her head covering slipped down to reveal dark and unruly hair with unusual reddish streaks. She was like a bird—tiny, but quick and sharp. Strong, but still fragile. Smart enough not to shriek when her son was in danger. She had spoken to him like an equal.
    He was still watching her as the two ducked behind the shops across the street.
    Julian, you fool, you know better. And yet he was no longer nobility. Did he think a peasant woman beneath his new status?
    “She is special, I believe.” The voice at his shoulder surprised him.
    Julian turned. A lean old man, his hair nothing more than a white fringe above his ears, studied the shop where the woman had disappeared.
    Julian shrugged and put his back to the street. “She is pretty. Nothing more.”
    Townspeople streamed to the fountain pool now, filling unglazedwater pots. Many nodded their smiling thanks to him as they returned to their homes or pressed his arm in gratitude. Crowds once again bustled through the shops selling merchandise that surrounded the Nymphaeum’s courtyard.
    It had pleased him, the climb to restore the water. Both the goodness of the deed and the attention of the people, the cheers when he brought down the boy.
    “There is work for someone with your skills here in Petra.”
    Julian looked sideways at the old man, whose gaze was still focused across the street, as though he waited for the woman to emerge.
    Had he met this man since he arrived in Petra? He should think that he would have remembered the deeply lined face. He forced a casual note into his voice, unwilling to let his interest show. “What kind of work?”
    The old man shrugged. “The tomb sculptors are always in need of men who can climb.”
    Julian looked at the sculptured figures set into the Nymphaeum wall. You’ve no idea what I can do.
    “And yet I am given the feeling that you are meant for better things.” The man turned his eyes to Julian’s face.
    At the man’s look, a current of something ran through Julian, like the touch of lightning