Earthly Crown by Kate Elliott Read Free Book Online Page A

curve passageway, down a slow lift to yellow core, and they came to the Three Faiths chapel. Diana expected it to be untenanted at this time of ship’s cycle, but someone had arrived there before them. David tried to stop her in the door, but he was too slow.
    Diana had never thought of Marco Burckhardt as a particularly religious sort of person. But there he sat on a back bench of the chapel. Diana was skilled at reading the nuances of body language. The slight sound of their entrance had alerted Marco to their presence, but his red-haired companion remained oblivious, as well she might, being locked in so tight an embrace.
    “Oh, Goddess, Marco,” said David emphatically, and with no little disgust. “Have you no respect?”
    The companion took her time in allowing him to break off the kiss. Without turning to look, Marco said, “but David, dear David, we all choose our own ways of worship.”
    “Let’s just go,” Diana murmured.
    “I will not,” said David, showing an unexpected stubborn streak, “surrender this divine ground to your earthly pleasures, Marco.”
    Red-Hair leaned away from her conquest and rested her weight on a hand, cupping the curve of the ivory bench. She preened, and when she saw Diana, the smile that tipped her lips was positively triumphant.
    Marco got a startled look on his face, and he turned to look directly at them. “Oh, hell,” he said, seeing Diana. He covered his face with a hand. That he was sorry to be caught by her did not make her feel any better. She felt mortified.
    But Marco wasn’t the sort of man who slinks away from confrontation; he lowered his hand, and Diana had to admire his nerve. He bent forward and whispered to Red-Hair. He had a loose-limbed grace, tall and big-framed, trim, but not slender, the kind of man who is comfortable in his body. Behind him, the stark white walls of the chapel set off the scene, framing the woman’s red hair and Marco’s purple shirt so boldly that Diana could, for a moment, only think that the two colors clashed.
    “You will note,” said David in a low voice, “that this is not in fact a circular room, but an oval. It’s shaded so subtly with the carpet and a slight difference in hue in the white walls that it’s hard to tell.” He made a noise in his throat. “As if you care. But it’s a marvelous room.”
    Red-Hair heaved a great, dramatic sigh—overdone, of course—and oozed up to her feet. She flung a scornful glance toward Diana and exited stage left, through an otherwise invisible door that whisked open just as she reached it and shut into the seamless wall behind her.
    “Don’t retreat,” whispered David. “And never on holy ground.”
    They went in. The ceiling lofted into a dome, paling to a soft white glow at the crown. It made Diana think of standing inside an egg, nested and safe. Marco met them by the altar, which stood in the center of the room, ringed by benches.
    “Well,” he said, “that looked bad.”
    “Yes,” said Diana, desperate to put a bold face on, “it did. Now I recognize her. She’s a university student. Isn’t she a little young for you?” Then cursed herself inwardly for saying it, since she and Red-Hair were probably much of an age.
    David rolled his eyes and shook his head. It was so quiet in the chapel that Diana could hear the beads on his name braids as they clacked together.
    But Marco only laughed. “Hoist with my own petard.”
    “‘For ’tis the sport to have the engineer hoist with his own petard: and it shall go hard. But I will delve one yard below their mines, and blow them at the moon.’”
    He loved it, of course. She knew he would. He caught one of her hands and lifted it to his lips, which were cool and soft. “Golden fair, my heart is yours forever.”
    “If I were you,” said David, sounding more amused than disgusted now, “I’d leave before you dig yourself in any deeper.”
    Marco released her hand. “I’d better go see if Charles needs me,” he