The Shadow Warrior

by Ann Aguirre

  “It’s still not your fault,” he said.

  “It is, though. Because that was my fate, and if I’d respected Arran, if I’d listened, those I loved would have been safe. But I was selfish, I wanted…” Magda sighed. “You know what I wanted.”

  “The warm and happy home, little tiger cubs running about,” he guessed.

  “That, and to please my mother. She wouldn’t shut up about our family line, and we fought so hard over it that she left Ash Valley. I haven’t spoken to her in two years. Last I heard, she was living in Hallowell, and I don’t even know if she survived the battle. I haven’t been able to work up the nerve to call. She said not to unless I was ready to ‘do the right thing’.”

  “I know very little about families, but you’re certainly more than a gene packet. Your mother should see that.”

  “I wish she did,” Magda said softly. “But she thinks I’m being stubborn.”

  “You haven’t told her what the Seer said, or what you’ve already suffered.”

  She shook her head against his shoulder. “It’s better that I carry it alone. Nobody else needs to know.”

  “Yet you told me.”

  “I thought it might reassure you. This way, you can be sure I’ll never ask more of you than you want to give. We can enjoy each other and when the time comes, part with no regrets or repercussions.”

  Her words should fill him with elation and relief, so why did it feel as if she had dropped a brick on him instead?

  “Thank you for trusting me,” was all Gavriel could manage to say.

  “You’ve told me some deeply personal stuff as well. It must be the setting.” She raised her face enough for him to glimpse a half-smile, as she gestured at the dim room.

  “It does feel as if we’re the only ones in the world at the moment.”

  “Probably the storm…and the early hour. Later, the inn will be bustling.”

  Since she sounded better, more level, he should withdraw, but he couldn’t make himself pull away. Not while she was content to stay in his arms.

  “Little as I like it, I suspect we have no choice but to bide here for a few days.”

  “Better than freezing to death,” she said in a philosophical tone.

  A sudden thought occurred to him, and he couldn’t hold the question. “Is that why you’re so focused on doing the right thing? Because you didn’t in a past life, and you’re trying to make up for it?”

  “Could be, I suppose. I never thought of it like that, but…it would be nice if I got to be happy in my next life.” Her wistful tone twisted his heartstrings.

  Though Gavriel wasn’t prone to wasting his energy on useless fancies, a small part of him wished she could be happy in this one.

  14.

  At some point, Mags must have gone back to sleep.

  Surprising, because she never did that. In Ash Valley, she’d get up at dawn, throw herself into a brutal workout, then spend the next twelve hours busting her ass in the security office. This morning, however, she stretched and lazily assessed the slant of light creeping across the floor. Late morning, she figured.

  There was a plate of food with tepid tea on top of a box nearby, and a bucket of cold water waiting by the stairs. In all fairness, it was probably warm when it arrived. Gavriel was gone.

  She washed quickly and started to get dressed when she realized all her clothes were missing. Hell, what’s this about? If he thinks I’m up for playing these sort of sex games, well, he’d be right, only he needs to be the one waiting for me naked.

  With a shrug, she ate her breakfast. Afterward, she gave thanks for her short hair and slicked it to her head with the clean water, then she fashioned a wrap out of her camp blanket and went to see what the hell was going on downstairs.

  The room went silent when she tromped down, and that was saying something, considering the packed bodies and the din of cheerful conversation. Forty Eldritch eyes—or more—locked onto her, and they were all staring like she might suddenly burst into flames. Or hell, her hair might already be on fire from the intensity of these looks.

  “Hey,” she tried. “I couldn’t find my pants. Did you ever have a day like that?”

  Haryk rewarded her with a snort that could’ve been a laugh, and then Keriel was chuckling. Like a bad cold, a good laugh was contagious, so pretty soon the whole room was chortling. That was a nice change, not being the serious-as-hell Magda Versai. Since these folks didn’t know what to expect of her, she could leave some of that pressure behind.

  “We laundered your things,” Keriel said when she caught her breath. “Gavriel brought them down earlier, but I don’t think they’re dry yet. I doubt we have anything…”

  To fit me. Mags mentally finished that sentence and she didn’t flinch over it, though it was exhausting to be the biggest. Though she didn’t regret her strength, sometimes she did wonder what it was like to be a fragile, petite woman who made people want to protect her. Too often in the past, others had assumed her size meant that she didn’t also have feelings, that she could suck it up through anything and remain tough as nails.

  She played it off with what she hoped passed for a gracious smile. “I don’t mind the blanket if you don’t. What’s the weather like out there?”

  “Still wild as a pagan feast,” Haryk answered.

  Mags wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by that, but when she went to the window, the snow was fluttering so thick, clinging to the half-frozen pane, that it must be fucking miserable out in it.

  “Are the stables warm enough?” She was thinking about Gray, but Keriel flashed her an amused, knowing look that startled her.

  “Gavriel’s fine. No need to worry. And yes, the stables have heat, just as we do. We can’t leave the animals to freeze.”

  She guessed that meant Gavriel was out checking on the vedda beast; that struck her as strangely sweet. The Noxblade was gentle when nobody was looking. Hopefully, he’d taken some precautions, however, and wouldn’t get lost on his way back.

  As if Haryk read her mind, he said, “We’ve strung lines between the main buildings. If he doesn’t return soon, I’ll check on him.”

  Just then, the door banged open, revealing a wind-blown and shivering Gavriel. Two Eldritch nearby helped him slam it shut, and then they barred it for good measure. Guess nobody else is out in this.

  “Did you fear I’d freeze to death two meters from shelter like a fool?” he asked, instead of ‘hello’ or ‘good morning’.

  Part of her got pissed over the fact that nothing had changed between them, despite what was said in the wee hours, but on the other hand, it should mean she could trust him not to focus on her sad story. That was what she feared most of all, the moment when she stopped being Mags and became a tragic figure that people tiptoed around, whispering about her misfortune.

  Smiling, she took verbal aim at him. “Well, you’re not likely to freeze, but I may end you if you steal my clothes again.”

  “They were filthy.”

  He swept past her to crouch by the fire, extending his hands toward the crackling flames. The children were playing on the rug with little carved tokens. The game pieces reminded her of the dark stone carving they’d found on one of the hunting parties. This might be a good chance to see what the others made of it.

  It should still be in my pack.

  Without another word, she rushed back upstairs to rummage in her pack. Gavriel followed, much to her amusement. He stood by the stairs, arms folded.

  “You have nothing left to wear, if that’s why you’re digging like a rodent.”

  “Do they burrow? I don’t know that much about wildlife, except what’s most delicious.” That was probably more than his crack warranted, but it was still fun to watch his fastidious shudder.

  “You are horrifying,” he declared.

  “Thanks. And I’m looking for the rune thing we found. Someone here might know what it means. It’s worth a shot anyway.”

  “Good thinking.”

&nb
sp; As her hand closed on the stone, she registered those two simple words of praise and stared at him in mock amazement. “Did you just compliment me? Oh shit, we’re in the end times. Hell truly has frozen, that’s what this spring blizzard means.”

  “Shut up.” But a smile was pulling at the edges of his mouth, and it even reached his eyes, warm and soft as they never were.

  For a few seconds, they just stood and smiled at each other.

  Oh God, this is weird. I have to stop.

  “Anyway, I’m heading back down. Take your time.”

  Mags rushed past him down the rickety stairs, wooden skeletal things that bent a bit with her weight. She’d long since lost her taste for telling people, ‘it’s muscle, dammit’, because frankly, even if it wasn’t, it was nobody else’s business. In some ways, it sucked to be surrounded by so many slender, ethereal types, who lived off mushrooms and sunlight, or so it seemed.

  Her stomach growled. She’d already eaten more fish and vegetables than she ever had in her life, and there was no break from it in sight. Hell, she’d do her own hunting if it was feasible, but not in this weather.

  Whatever, no point in pouting over what couldn’t be changed.

  This time, her appearance didn’t stall out the chatter, and she slid up to where Haryk was discussing drainage methods with some farmer who’d gotten stuck when the storm broke sooner than expected. The proprietor cast her a questioning look.

  “Anything you need, madam?”

  She’d never been called that in her life, and she grinned. “That’s all kinds of wrong, makes me feel like I need to open a brothel and buy some red velvet drapes. Please, just call me Mags.”

  Haryk rewarded her with a shocked look, then a belly laugh. Yeah, I got jokes. I could do this all day. Kind of strange how at ease she felt here, considering how many Eldritch nursed prejudices about her people.

  “Mags, then. What can I do for you?”

  She produced the dark stone with the unusual carving and showed it to him. “Ever seen anything like this?”

  The innkeeper shook his head. “Sorry, no. Where did you find it?”

  She wasn’t ready to spill that, but while she was considering her next move, Keriel dropped the tray she was holding, spilling spiced wine all over the wood floor. The red liquid trickled outward, seeping into the cracks, while the other woman shivered, eyes locked on the token. Keriel never had what Mags would call good color, but now she was white like a dead fish belly, ashen and quaking like a sapling in a storm.

  Rushing toward her, she deftly leapt the puddle. “You recognize this? Tell me what you know.”

  Gavriel reached the common room in time to hear that question, to see Magda give the Eldritch woman a little shake. Some of the men stirred, like they might intervene to protect their own, and he fixed a dagger stare on them, until they subsided in their seats. This scene would play out without interruption because he wanted to know too.

  Keriel cast a desperate, fearful look at the other Eldritch, and then she put her hand on Magda’s arm. “Can we speak privately?”

  Belatedly Gavriel recalled that he hadn’t told the others that the refugees hailed from Ancalen, a town situated in Gilbraith lands. “That’s a good idea,” he said, and thankfully, the tiger woman could take a hint.

  She let Keriel pull her into the kitchen, and Gavriel followed. The room was even warmer than the common area, likely because it was smaller, and there was a fireplace in here too, along with a stove that ran on wood, not solar power.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Magda was saying.

  “It’s all right. I just wasn’t expecting to see that in your hands.”

  “What is it exactly?” Gavriel cut in.

  “I’m not entirely sure, but I saw the Dead-Eyes flashing them before they bought…whatever it is they take. To make them like that.”

  “So it’s a ticket to ride,” Magda said thoughtfully. “They can’t buy the drug without one of those? Somebody must be handing them out like permission slips.”

  “That’s really all I know,” Keriel said quickly. “I should go tidy up the mess I made or the children will track it everywhere.”

  Gavriel nodded. “Go ahead.”

  Visibly relieved, Keriel rushed off and Magda stood staring at the rune in her hand. “I would love to know who’s responsible for selling our meds to the Eldritch. Their asses need kicking.”

  “Agreed.”

  “But I have no idea. Could be Ash Valley, Pine Ridge, Burnt Amber, Hallowell, or some little satellite settlement that badly needs the revenue.”

  “Would you blame them less if they did it out of desperation?” Gavriel asked.

  She cocked her head, seeming startled by the question. “I guess so. As motives go, greed and survival are poles apart.”

  “You don’t believe in moral absolutes, then. The end justifies the means. Perhaps there’s more Eldritch in you than I would’ve guessed.”

  Her golden eyes snapped at him, and oddly, the unease that had plagued him since her confession that morning dissipated. He was used to her anger, not her vulnerability.

  “Screw you, shadow warrior. It’s still wrong, don’t twist this around. I’m just saying I’d feel a bit sorrier about the ass-kicking, that’s all.”

  He didn’t hate the nickname she’d bestowed upon him. It was far better than most names he’d been called, including murderer, devil, bastard, and demon. Now he feigned annoyance because it had almost become a game they played, one that left him hiding a smile in his heart instead of seething anger.

  To provoke her, he said, “Seems saving these people wasn’t a waste of time. We learned something anyway.”

  “Just when I think you’re less of an ass, you come out with a comment like that. Are you trying to piss me off?”

  Yes. Of course I am.

  Because the crackle of outrage suited her much more than the shadow of a broken heart. He couldn’t mend the wounds that the Seer had inflicted on her by pronouncing her curse, but he could distract her from it. Perhaps this was the first time he was glad to have such a rotten personality, a disposition so sour that only his twin had ever been able to tolerate it.

  Love, not tolerate.

  Oriel had been the only one. And his death was a wound that would bleed until Gavriel finally managed to die himself. Sometimes he tried to stop the tide, but mostly he held onto the pain like it was a knife clutched between his palms, because that anguish was better than nothing at all. In a way, he could understand Magda Versai since he wasn’t destined for a cozy home or a loving mate, either. Now he was a ghost or an echo, slinking from shadow to shadow, because the light would burn him alive.

  When she started berating him, he laughed. Nobody else would dare, and it was absolutely, exquisitely endearing. Magda feared nothing, not his bad temper, his vituperative words, or his potential retribution.

  “What’s so funny?” she demanded.

  For a bit, he couldn’t catch his breath to reply. Gavriel couldn’t recall ever laughing like this, not until his sides hurt. “Our situation,” he finally gasped.

  “What a crock.”

  Her mystification only amused him more, and she came at him in a fury, ready to beat to his ass. When he caught her wrists, he could tell that she let him stop her, and that felt like… well, he didn’t know what.

  “Careful. You shouldn’t start what you can’t finish. We’re in the kitchen, you understand. They won’t understand if you do indecent things to me on the food prep table.”

  With a snort, she flung his hands away and took a step back. “My fault. I forgot that combat feels like foreplay to you.”

  But her tone was matter of fact, not mocking, and it eased him for that to be something she understood, not an inclination that filled him with shame.

  “I didn’t mean it,” he said, surprising himself. “When I said that about saving them. They were worth it, even if we didn’t unearth a clue.”

  “And I like you a
gain,” she told him, smiling.

  “You’re so capricious and easily moved.” He wanted to touch her then.

  Not for sex, not to be held down or taken, but to trace the curve of her cheek, to see if the cinnabar roses there were as warm as they looked. To press his fingertip into the dimple peeking at him with the hint of her smile. And those eyes, did she always have lashes so dark and thick, like little fans flirting with each blink. Exactly when did her golden eyes get those green flecks anyway? They couldn’t have always been there, waiting for him to notice.

  Sweet hell, it’s warm in here.

  Gavriel took a single step, but thank the fates, Keriel stopped him from yielding to whatever impulse was driving him, when she rushed in with the messy tray and red-stained rags. Right, she was cleaning up the wine she spilled.

  He could breathe again, but each inhalation tasted faintly of regret. With a mumbled excuse, he hurried out of the kitchen and joined the others. Yes, safety in numbers. Hiding among his own kind would shield him from this Animari enchantment.

  Please let us leave here soon.

  If the weather didn’t break by tomorrow, maybe he’d brave the storm. Otherwise, he’d lose the last of his good sense, and he’d say something he couldn’t take back.

  Worse, he might give himself to Magda Versai in ways she didn’t want, and he’d had quite enough of being rejected by those who couldn’t love him. The word drew him up short, and he shook his head, angry at himself. There was no emotion in what they were doing; that was the whole point.

  It was only because he’d never done this before. Her acceptance must be confusing him, making him entertain absurd fantasies. This one topped the list, and he’d—

  “Tell me a story!” Leena plopped herself into his lap, a welcome distraction from the wild humming of his thoughts.

  Everyone was watching as if they expected him to shove the child onto the floor. Instead, he snuggled her close and said, “Very well. What sort of a story?”

  “With a princess and a dragon and a very sad curse.” Some little girls knew exactly what they wanted, it seemed.