The Spacetime Pool Read Online Free PDF

front of the palace. An immense horseshoe arch framed the entrance
of the building like the keyhole for a giant antique key. Its sides rose in
pillars, and at the top, an onion-shaped arch curved out and back around to a
point. Mosaics tiled the pillars and glistened like silver in the moonlight.
     
    As their party
dismounted, stable-hands swirled around them. The biaquines were taller than
most horses, but Dominick swung off with little effort. He reached up, offering
his arms to Janelle. She hesitated, staring at his harsh features, which were
blurred by moonlight and the hint of mist in the air. Then she pulled her leg
over and slid down. She ached everywhere. He eased her to the ground, his hold
solid after the swaying gait of the biaquine.
     
    The sheepskin had
fallen off, and she shivered. Dominick pulled her close, under a jacket he had
donned earlier. It was fur lined, not as warm as the skin, but soft and thick
against her arms. For just a moment, she gave in to her fatigue and buried her
face against his shirt as if that would hide her from his world.
     
    When she looked up
again, Dominick brushed her hair back from her face, and calluses on his palm
scraped her cheek. She wondered how he had developed them—and then remembered
the swords his men wore.
     
    “Welcome to my home,”
he murmured. Then he bent his head.
     
    Janelle knew what he
intended, but she froze, unable to believe he would go through with it. When he
kissed her, his lips felt as full as they looked, a sensual contrast to his
harsh power. She tensed, but before she could respond, someone behind them
coughed.
     
    Dominick raised his
head, letting go of her, and she turned around, relieved by the interruption. A
lanky man was coming down the steps of the palace, his attempt not to stare at
her all the more obvious for its lack of success. He stopped next to them and
spoke with Dominick. Although Janelle couldn’t catch all of their words, it
sounded as if the man was reporting another raid. Dominick and his men had been
out searching for the outlaws, intent on stopping the harassment of his people.
     
    Dominick turned to
Janelle. “I will see you later.” He took off his jacket and wrapped it around
her shoulders. His smile was crooked, almost boyish. “It looks much better on
you than on me.”
     
    “Thank you,” she
said, uncertain how to act with him.
     
    He climbed the steps
with the other man, leaving her with two guards. She noted how easily Dominick
assumed authority. He listened carefully and asked questions. When he gave
orders, he did it with confidence and tact. She had seen those same qualities
in the strongest leaders she had met while her father was the American
Ambassador to Spain.
     
    Bracketed by guards,
she went up the steps, through a foyer, and into a hall gleaming in the light
of torches carried by Dominick’s men. Janelle’s breath caught. Soaring arches
filled the immense hall, row after row of them, a forest of pillars in perfect
lines. Tessellated mosaics in gold, blue, and green curved around columns and
patterned the vaulted ceiling. In each V-shape where the arches met, a
stained-glass window glowed with gem colors, showing scenes similar to those of
Catholic churches in Spain. It was like an exquisite blending of Moorish art
with the styles of a European cathedral.
     
    A group of men met
Dominick just inside the entrance. Janelle’s guards drew her to a stop. She
just waited, too tired to deal with her confusion over what had happened with
him in the courtyard. It had to be past two in the morning.
     
    People came and went.
It wasn’t long before three women appeared, walking through the arches from
deeper within the palace. Silk wrapped them from neck to ankle, glistening in
the smoky torchlight, crimson and saffron, shot through with gold threads.
Their shimmering dark hair fell to their waists.
     
    The trio stopped in
front of Janelle. The oldest woman, a matron with silver hair, spoke in