Crystal Singer

"Monday you will go out. Moksoon is not willing. He never is. But he's trying to get off-planet; with a decent cut and the bonus for shepherding, he could make it this time.

“Killashandra?”

"Yes, I go out on Monday. Moksoon is not willing but for the bonus – "

“Killashandra, you will find the black crystal!” Lanzecki's eyes took on an unca

“Only if I'm bloody lucky.” She laughed, recovering her equilibrium as she gestured to the vast area she'd have to comb.

Lanzecki's eyes did not leave hers. She was reminded of an ancient piece of drama history: a man had hypnotized a girl, a musical idiot, into vocal performances without peer. She couldn't recall the name, but to think of Lanzecki, Resident Master of one of the most prestigious Guilds in the Federated Sentient Planets, attempting to . . . ah . . . Svengali her into locating the nardy precious black crystal was ludicrous. Only she couldn't suggest that to Lanzecki, not when he was regarding her in so disconcerting a fashion.

Suddenly, he threw up his head and started to laugh. He abandoned his whole body to the exercise, his chest caving in, his ribs arching, his hands spread on his thighs as he bent forward. If anyone had told her five minutes before that Guild Master Lanzecki was capable of humor at all, she'd have thought them mad. He collapsed into a seating unit, his head lolling against its back as he roared.

His laughter had an oddly infectious quality, and she gri

“Killashandra . . .” He gasped her name as the laughter subsided. “I do apologize, but the look on your face . . . I've thrown the reputation of the entire Guild into jeopardy, have I not?” He wiped moisture from the corners of his eyes and straightened up. “I haven't laughed in a very long time.”

A wistful quality in that last remark made Killashandra change her reply.

“They used to say at Fuerte that I'd have been a good comic singer if I hadn't been so hipped on leads.”

“I find nothing comic about you, Killashandra,” he said, his eyes sparkling as he held out his hand.

“Dramatic?”

“Unexpected.”

He took the hand she had unconsciously extended, caressing the palm with the ball of his thumb before turning her hand over and dropping a kiss in it.

She caught her breath at the spread of sensation from her palm through her body to the nipples on her breasts. She wanted to snatch her hand from his but saw the tender smile on his lips as he raised his head. Lanzecki had his eyes and face under control; his mouth betrayed him.

The pressure he exerted on her hand to draw her to him was as inexorable as it was gently and deftly done. With her across his thighs, her body against his, and her head in the crook of his arm, he brought her hand again to his mouth, and she closed her eyes at the sensuality of that delicate kiss. Her hand was placed palm down against warm skin, and she felt him stroke her hair, letting one curl wrap round his finger before he dropped his hand to her breast, lightly and with skill.

“Killashandra Ree?” His low whisper asked a question that had nothing to do with her name but everything that pertained to who she was.

“Lanzecki !”

His mouth covered hers in so light a caress that she was at first unaware of being kissed. It was so with the rest of her first experience with the Guild Master, a loving and sharing that paled into insignificance any other encounter.

CHAPTER 8

When she gradually awakened the next morning, she found his fingers lightly clasping her upturned hand. Her slight movement of surprise caused his fingers to tighten, then caress. Opening her eyes, she turned her head toward him, to meet his eyes, sleepily narrow. They were lying, she on her back, he on his stomach, stretched out, the only point of contact the two hands, yet Killashandra felt that her every muscle and nerve was in tune to him and his to her. She blinked and sighed. Lanzecki smiled, his lips relaxed and full. His smile deepened, as if he knew of her fascination with his mouth. He rolled to his back, still holding her right hand, now pulling it up to kiss the palm. She closed her eyes against the incredible sensation the lightest touch of his lips created within her.

Then she noticed the fine white lines across his bare arm and chest, parallel in some places, criss-crossed in others.

“I believe I mentioned that I sang crystal,” he said.

“Cut crystal would be nearer the truth from the look of you,” she said, raising her upper body to see the rest of his well-muscled torso. Then she frowned. “How do you know so accurately what I'm thinking? No one mentioned a telepathic adaptation to the spore.”

“There is none, dearling. I have merely become adept at reading expressions and body language over the decades.”

“Is that why you're Guild Master instead of Singer?” She had heard, and savored, the endearment.

“There must be a Guild Master,”

“Trag would never make it.”

“Now who is telepathic?”

“Well, you'd better watch your mouth.”

“My mouth said nothing about Trag's future.”

“It didn't have to. So, are recruits deliberately selected?”

His mouth gave nothing away to her. “Where did you get that idea, Killashandra Ree?” His eyes were laughing, denying her remembrance of Borella's conversation to the other Singer on the shuttle from Shankill.

"The notion had occurred to me from the pounds of prevention FSP applies to keep people from joining the Guild .

«The FSP» – and Lanzecki's mouth drew into a thi

“Private lift.” He gave a careless shrug of his cicatriced shoulders as he sought morsels of food in the rich spicy sauce. “One of my perquisites.”

“Is that how you do your appearing act?”

Lanzecki gri

“I often have need to 'appear' unexpectedly.”

“Why?”

“In your case?” His smile altered slightly, his lips taking a bitter twist. “Serendipity. I liked your misplaced loyalty to Carrik. I wished you well away from the Scoria system. Once you passed the entrance requirements, you became my responsibility.”

“Isn't everyone in the Guild?”

“More or less. But you, Killashandra Ree, had a Milekey transition.”

“You do this every time? . . .” She was piqued by his candor and gestured with all the contempt of an outraged opera heroine around the bedroom.

«Of course not,» he said with a burst of laughter. He caught her hand and kissed her palm with the usual effect, despite her indignation. «This is not one of my perks, dearling. It is a privilege you have granted me. I did – and have no doubts on that score for the duration of your memory – want to know you before you went into the ranges.»

“Before?” She caught that subtle emphasis.

He made an untidy pile of their dishes and shoved them into the disposal slot.

“Before singing crystal has stung your blood.”

He turned back, and she could see the sadness in the droop of his mouth.

“But you've sung crystal?”

He put both hands on her shoulders, looking down at her. There was no expression in his eyes; the planes of his face were still, the line of his mouth uncompromising.