Merti's face fell and she nodded slowly, her shoulders slumping. “Aye.”
No one spoke for a moment; Stonewall could see Mi and Flint both trying to work out the exchange between the couple, but he figured it wasn't any of their business. So he hefted the sack, drawing their attention. “Thank you for this. Take care of yourselves.” He bowed; Flint and Milo followed his lead. “The One keep you.”
Ged and Merti returned the gesture. “And you.” As the sentinels turned to leave, Ged caught Stonewall's elbow. “Be sure to check the bottom,” he murmured, nodding to the sack.
“Ser?”
But the couple had already turned away, busying themselves with breaking down their wares.
Stonewall didn't get a chance to look right away. As they left the Eye, Milo spotted Rook exiting the fleet rider station, and the burnie twins descended on their squad-mate, regaling her with tales of their heroics. Rook, flushing nervously, smiled and nodded, suitably impressed with their valor, while Stonewall fell back to peer within the little sack.
Buried beneath a mound of baked goods was a set of silver viol strings.
Seventeen
Eris savored the weave of night wind through her feathers. In crow form, the cold caused her no more trouble than a driving urge to cast her body off of the roof of the bastion's main building and let the wind carry her to the stars.
But that would be foolish. She had gotten to the clay-shingled roof with a series of half-hopping, half-fluttering movements, but had not yet managed to duplicate her flight of a few weeks ago. Instead, she'd concentrated on shaping the crow's wings perfectly, and keeping that shape. When she did fly again, it would be to freedom.
From this vantage point, the bastion was dark and silent, save a few lights that spilled onto the ground from the main building on which she rested. Scents were not much different than in her human body, but crow eyes could see much farther than her poor human ones; she had the wild notion that if she could launch herself skyward, she could see the faces of the moons themselves.
When Eris looked down again, she saw a sentinel. Had she been earthbound and in her human body, she would have missed him, but from here, Atal’s moonlight glinted off of his sword and armor as he made his way through the garden. His movements were methodical, as if he was searching for something. He paused beside the jessamin vines that had sprung up seemingly overnight, glanced around, then continued.
Eris followed his progress by hopping along the building's roof. She kept her movements silent, hoping to remain unseen, for surely all of the sentinels had been warned of the mage who could turn herself into a crow. At one point the hemie did glance up at her, but since he wore his helmet, she could not see his eyes. If he saw her and suspected she was not a true crow, he made no indication of it, and continued toward the rear of the main building.
A sinking feeling took hold of Eris' stomach; she had to fight to keep her concentration from wavering, lest she drop the crow shape. But when the sentinel paused outside of a window—Kali's window, if Eris counted correctly—she nearly lost her focus entirely.
But the hemie paid her no mind. All he seemed to care about was the sodding window. He removed his helmet and tapped the glass. A light flickered, the curtain drew back, and the window opened. From this angle, it was difficult to see Kali’s expression as she greeted the hemie, but the insipid grin on the sod’s face made Eris sick to her stomach.
Her hearing as a crow was also better than a human's. Even so, Eris barely made out Kali's hushed, “Stone. I didn't think you were coming.”
The sentinel's reply was quiet. “I didn't think I could.”
Kali stuck her head out and glanced around; her eyes fell on Eris, but only briefly, with no trace of recognition, and when she looked back at the sentinel, she was grinning too. Kali murmured something Eris did not hear and disappeared inside her room. Several minutes later, the sentinel had removed his gear and slipped inside. One of them closed the window and drew the curtain.
Eris' heart raced and her thoughts flew in a hundred directions. It couldn't be…. It was impossible.
No. The proof had just slipped past her, illuminated by the first moon. The other clues fell into place as well, especially Kali's hesitation to leave during their conversation a week ago. Eris swore inwardly. Was this...relationship that serious? Surely her friend was just enamored with something she was supposed to avoid, as some people grew addicted to spirits or biris. What, if anything, could Eris do about this? Perhaps she could run to the sentinels at the gates and alert them to what was going on under their noses...
If they didn't know already. If they didn't approve. Perhaps this sentinel thought to use his power over a captive mage in such a sickening way.
But that didn't ring true. Kali was not easily coerced and she'd acted pleased to see the fellow. Which meant that her friend was either lying—which Kali was terrible at—or that she was attached to this sentinel. What lies had the sod told Kali, to make her risk so much for him? Eris thought of the gleaming sword he wore at his hip and shuddered. The idea of her friend and that in the same room made Eris want to retch.
Still reeling from the sight, Eris sat back on her heels and wrapped her arms around her chest.
Only when her ass hit the icy shingles did she realize she'd lost her crow form, and was now sitting naked on the roof. Her skin was pale in the moonlight and prickling with the cold.
“Shit,” she swore, and fought for her bird-shape again. She wasn't tired yet, but her concentration had broken; hopefully she could find it again.
Because there was no sodding way she was going to climb back down naked as a newborn babe.
***
An hour later, exhausted, numb with cold and still shaking with anger, Eris slipped into her and Gid's room. He sat beside their bed, several pieces of metal before him in the vague outline of a knee. At her entrance he glanced up, took in her shivering, naked form, and grabbed a quilt.
“What happened?” he said as he came to her, wrapping the quilt around her body. “Are you–”
“I'm f… fine,” she replied through chattering teeth. Gid steered her toward their bed and helped her settle down, pulling more blankets over her legs before wrapping one arm around her entirely.
“You don't look fine,” he said, rubbing her shoulder through the layers of blankets. “I'm guessing your practicing didn't go as well as you’d hoped?”
Eris ducked her head closer to him, breathing in his warm, familiar scent as feeling prickled back to her limbs. But even that was not enough to banish the sickened twisting in her stomach. A sodding sentinel. How could she?
Gid's touch on her cheek was feather-light, his voice equally gentle. “Something's wrong, love. Please tell me.”
She met his eyes, opened her mouth to reply. But the words died in her throat. Something's wrong. It must be. There was no logical reason Kali would have taken up with a sentinel. Surely there was more going on than Eris knew, but if she told Gideon what she'd seen, he'd want nothing to do with her friend any longer. Moreover, none of the other mages would go near her once they learned of this, and learn of it they would, for Gid did not know how to keep his mouth shut.
No, Eris would have to talk to Kali first—once she could stomach the sight of her friend—and try to get more information. Until then, it wasn't worth mentioning.
So she took a deep, shuddering breath and shook her head. “I'm just tired. I got stuck on the roof and had to fight to keep crow shape to get back down – I think I pushed myself too hard. And there was a hemie about, so I was afraid to go back to where I’d left my dress in the garden,” she added ruefully.
“I'll fetch it,” Gid replied. “I told everyone you weren't feeling well, so you went to bed early. Did anyone see you?”
“It was far too cold for anyone sensible to be out.”
Gid chuckled softly and kissed her temple. “My poor, sweet, naked crow.”
Shivering
abated, Eris glared at him. “No.”
“You don't like the nickname?” he asked, grinning.
“It's foul.”
“I thought you hated puns,” he said, touching his nose to hers.
Eris rolled her eyes, but by now she was warm again and relishing her husband's closeness. Kali, the sentinel, and her own fears now seemed very far away, indeed. She met Gid's dark gaze and smiled. “One month.”
His answering grin was broad. “One month.”
***
Kali awoke to the gentle tap against her window. All traces of tiredness fled her body and mind as she sat up and worked the latch, pausing only to coax particles of flame to life in the lamp at her bedside. When she lowered the glass, a cold brush of air greeted her, and Stonewall stood only an arm's length away.
She smiled. “Stone. I didn't think you were coming.”
“I didn't think I could.” The shadows under his eyes contrasted with his bright smile.
Kali fought the urge to kiss him and instead stuck her head out of the window to ensure no one was watching. No doubt he'd already checked, but she wanted to be sure they were alone. She beamed back at the sentinel. “Do you want to get out of this ghastly cold?”
His eyes on her were molten gold. “More than anything.”
A shiver passed through her, one that had nothing to do with the weather, and she slipped back to give him space. A few minutes later he was inside her room once more, neatly stacking his gear to one side, as he did every time he came to her. Kali latched the window and drew the curtain; they were alone once more.
Armor discarded, Stonewall sat heavily upon her sleeping pallet, rubbing his eyes, though when she settled beside him, he straightened and gave her his full attention. “I would've come sooner, but Talon's had us mucking out stalls all week. This is the first moment I've had to get away....” he trailed off with a yawn that shook his entire body. “But at least I'm here now,” he said once he'd finished.
“In all your glory.” She smiled. “I thought we wouldn’t see each other while you were up to your knees in horse shit. This,” she squeezed his hand, “is a lovely surprise.”
She was rewarded when he chuckled. “Well, I've been up to more than just mucking out stalls.” His eyes gleamed as he reached into his belt and withdrew a small, flat bundle wrapped in linen, and passed it to her.
“Well, I'll forgive you just about anything if you've brought me a present,” Kali said, eagerly taking the bundle. When she pulled the contents free, her heart soared. “Viol strings,” she whispered, her hand trembling as she studied them. “Coated in silver! However did you get these?”
Stonewall grinned. “I have my ways.”
“A man of mystery.” Kali skimmed her fingertips over the gleaming metal, too full of joy to say more.
A broad, scarred hand covered hers; she looked up into light-brown eyes edged with concern. “Are they all right? The merchant who gave them to me said these would work for most viols, but I wasn't sure....” He trailed off. “Are you about to laugh or cry? I can never tell.”
The latter, actually, but the puzzlement in his voice made her throw her arms around his neck and kiss him soundly. When they parted, he smiled at her again, sending her heart into the ether. “So… you like them?” he asked.
Kali grinned. “They're perfect. Thank you.”
He smiled, too, and leaned down to kiss her again, and the strings fell from her hand.
Outside her window, outside the walls, the night was thick and cold. Waxing Atal painted the world silver, while Seren was only a spindly glow that cut through the darkness. But within Kali's room was warmth; surrounding her with Stonewall's arms and filling her with his taste, his scent, the heat of him. She discarded her shift and leggings; he pulled off his tunic and breeches, but still they could not be skin-to-skin quickly enough. Kisses trailed down her neck, light and gentle, before turning into a nip that made her gasp while her body hummed with need, resonating with the tangible presence of his arousal. Desire pooled between her legs and she skimmed her hands along his chest and shoulders, before dropping them lower.
“Elan,” she whispered.
Poised over her, he met her gaze. In the lamplight, his eyes were honey-gold, and his breath was short. “What did you say?”
Her flush was not entirely from arousal. “Sorry. It just slipped out. I know you don't use that name anymore. I won't call you that if you don't–”
“No,” he broke in. She opened her mouth to reply but he stopped her with another deep kiss. When they parted, he pressed his forehead to hers and murmured, “Say it again.”
She smiled and tilted her hips up to press against him. “Elan,” she whispered. “I want all of you, Elan. Now.”
He shuddered, his breath hitched and he made a low sound of desire; a faint growl that resonated within her chest. “Yes, Kali,” he said, and kissed her again.
Eighteen
The rest of the world fell away from Stonewall when Kali was nearby. He lost himself within her, lost all sense of time and space. And he was glad to be lost.
But her presence made concentration on his lesson… difficult, to say the least. Especially when neither of them were clothed and he could still smell her on his skin. In an attempt to ignore his own desire, he propped his head on his elbow and frowned at the thick book resting between them on her bed. “That one's too long.”
Kali, lying opposite him, mirroring his position, peered at the book. “Amaranthea.”
“Oh, the goddess.” He sounded out the name again, trying to match the sounds he knew with the cramped letters on the page. Three weeks of Kali's tutoring had helped, but he had a long way to go before he'd be able to pick up a book like this and read it on his own.
Not until he spotted the letters for his patron god did he understand what she'd set before him. “This is the origin of Heartfire, isn't it?”
“Aye, it seemed appropriate, given that the solstice festival is next week. Have you heard the story?”
“Heard it? I know it like I know my name.”
“Which one?” she teased.
Chuckling, Stonewall studied the words again, searching for familiar ones and trying to piece the rest together. His reading was halting and hitching, until he exhaled and rubbed his eyes. “Gods above, my head feels like it's going to burst.”
Kali giggled, though he couldn't have said what she found funny. “Very well,” she said, and moved so that she lay before him, pressed skin-to-skin, with the book in front of her. “I'll read it with you.”
With her body so close, it was all he could do to pay attention as he skimmed a hand down her side, savoring the curve of her hip. “I promise I'm listening.”
In response, Kali wriggled closer, further distracting him, and began to read aloud, keeping her finger beneath the words so he could follow along. “They say that Tor disappeared for a long while, set on his self-appointed task of avenging his soul-bonded. But eventually, Amaranthea went looking for him. She still grieved over the harm Laughing God had caused her, but the thought of losing the one she loved was a worse pain. But the journey would be long, because Tor had gone to the Shadowlands, where the Laughing God lives.”
A shiver passed through Stonewall at the mention of the Laughing God, quelling some of his ardor. He had an urge to grab his weapons, but discarded the notion as silly. Instead, he leaned his cheek against Kali's and watched her fingertip move beneath the words.
“It was a long way to the Shadowlands, so Amaranthea begged the Fata—the children of Atal—to escort her on the journey. They say the Fata walk between worlds, moving through time and place in the blink of an eye, so…”
Kali trailed off, staring at the page. Alarmed, Stonewall glanced down at her. “What is it?”
“'Moving through time and place in the blink of an eye,'” Kali repeated. “It's just… it reminds me of our journey here.”
Another chill skated down Stonewa
ll's spine. “Aye, it does.” He rested his hand on Kali's hip as he considered. “But the Fata are just stories.”
“As much as the gods are.”
“Some things are legends because they happened so long ago, and the stories have gotten twisted with age,” he said. “But that doesn't make them any less real.” She sighed; a heavy, long-suffering sound, and he could tell she was rolling her eyes. He couldn’t help his annoyance. “You can’t prove the gods don’t exist.”
“You can’t prove they do.”
“I don’t have to.” He pressed a hand over her heart, gently pushing her into his chest. “I feel them in my heart.”
Now she twisted around so that they faced each other once more. “What about the Circle?”
Warning pricked at the back of his neck so he chose his words carefully. “What about the Circle?”
“You say that you feel your gods,” Kali said. “You believe in them in a way that, to me, seems illogical and strange.”
Now he sat up, his blood surging through his veins for all that he kept his voice careful. “Aye, you’ve made that clear. What are you getting at?”
Kali glanced at the book then up at him before sitting up as well. “Do you have as much faith in the Circle as you do in your gods?”
That was…not the question he’d anticipated, so it took him a few moments to answer. “Sort of,” he said at last. “The Circle is made up of mortal men and women, so they cannot be as,” he searched for the most suitable word, “right as the gods. But they do good work. Without them, without the sentinels, I’d probably be dead. So would Milo and Flint, and a lot of sentinels who were orphaned as children. The sentinels—and by extension, the Circle—took us in, cared for us. Gave us a purpose.”
“I suppose.”
Her troubled expression chased away some of his annoyance. “What brought this on?”
“I’m just trying to understand.” She picked up the book, marking their place with a silk ribbon before closing the leather-bound covers and setting it aside. “The Circle provides the sentinels with everything,” she said slowly. “Equipment, training, food, shelter. A home.” She traced the whorls engraved into the leather, her gaze distant, before she looked up at him. “Stonewall, why did they not teach you how to read and write? Why bother creating a whole other… code system for only sentinels to use? Doesn’t that seem strange to you?”
Catalyst Moon: Breach (Catalyst Moon Saga Book 2) Page 22