Still, they stared at each other for a long time. The setting sun lit him from behind, and he became a tall, columnar shadow of a man, which made it easier to speak. “You talked to Gerant?”
“Yes. I gave him into Olvir’s keeping. He said he’d no wish to intrude on our speech.”
If it wasn’t only Darya’s imagination, Amris had hesitated a moment before saying “speech.” He was unarmored, and his hair was wet. As the light shifted outside, she could see that his borrowed white shirt was almost transparent, with the shadow of dark hair visible beneath.
She swallowed and stood, mostly for the need to act. Lust was beginning to tighten her groin, but she didn’t dare focus on it yet. This might be a rejection in person. “So…” In the end, she shrugged and retreated to the blunt speech she knew best. “I’m up for it if you are. No obligation.”
In answer, he crossed the room and pulled her against his body, tight enough that she could feel every inch of his rigid cock. “Does this resemble any obligation you’ve heard of?”
Darya laughed, wound her arms around his neck, and kissed him.
* * *
Long, wonderful moments passed before Amris lifted his head and looked down at the woman in his arms. She fit very well there, her breasts soft against his chest, her waist and back toned muscle beneath his splayed hands, her head just enough below his that he could pull back from kissing her and see the red flush on her pale cheeks, the darkness of her parted lips.
He made a sound in his throat without realizing it, a sigh of appreciation, and she smiled: hot, sweet, looking more intoxicated than she’d ever done the night before. “Well,” said Darya, sliding the words out on a warm breath against Amris’s neck, “consider the sentiment returned. With interest… Ahh.”
Amris had lowered one of his hands, tracing a light trail down her spine to a spot just above her backside. He felt her shiver against him, and the rapid rise and fall of her chest. “Mmm,” he agreed. “Just so.”
In response, she brought her mouth to his again. As their lips met, Darya insinuated her own hands under the hem of his shirt. Her callused fingers were hot against his bare skin, her short nails providing just the right blend of sharpness and pressure when she dragged them up his stomach, and Amris groaned.
“Do we have the room for a while?” he managed to ask through the haze.
“Don’t know.” Darya punctuated the short sentence with a lick up his neck to the spot behind his jaw. “Don’t care. They’ll leave if they come in.”
He ached for her, and gods knew it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d taken his pleasure heedless of potential spectators, but still Amris hesitated. It had been a while—rank had its privileges—and even in the midst of desire, he had no wish to deprive anyone else of rest.
Darya circled her fingers around one nipple and added, “Always the wine cellar.”
“Mmm—the—what?”
“Wine cellar.”
“Explain,” he said, inadvertently falling into the deep voice he used to command.
Darya shivered again, the motion mind-stopping when it meant her thighs trembled against his erection. “Yes, sir,” she said with a grin. “Not much wine there now. But it’s where the soldiers go to have a good time, if their mates are trying to sleep in the barracks or whatnot. If—”
At that point, she stopped talking. Given that Amris had taken her earlobe gently between his teeth and wound one hand into her hair, he would have been disappointed if she hadn’t. “If?” he said nonetheless.
She laughed again, glorious as she’d been the first time she’d kissed him, and reached down to cup the pulsing ridge of his cock. “If you can make it that far.”
“For that,” Amris said, trying not to pant the words and failing, “I should carry you there over my shoulder.” With an immense effort of will, he let her go and stepped back.
“I wouldn’t try it,” said Darya. She spun toward the door, then looked back over her shoulder at him. “You’ll need your strength.”
* * *
Darya thought they made it down the stairs and into the kitchen with a bit of dignity—at least, compared to a number of other couples she’d seen or been part of. They didn’t stop to kiss, and neither of them kept a hand on the other’s arse. Nobody passing tried to talk to them, though, and nobody asked why they were both wearing cloaks, so Darya suspected a few conclusions were getting drawn.
She didn’t care. Hunger was twisting between her legs, her breasts felt every minute motion of her shirt when she walked, and she would happily have taken Amris up against a wall like a drunken guard and a dairymaid in a joke. She resisted for his comfort, and because Hallis would likely have had her head for it afterward. That was all.
In the kitchen, she opened the small door downward to a narrow staircase that smelled of stone, wine, and old oak. There was no light, and she didn’t care. Amris couldn’t see in the dark, but he followed her with no hesitation, closing the door quickly behind them.
On that staircase, in the darkness, he followed closely enough that Darya felt the heat of his body behind her, and closely enough for her to smell the clean, sharp scent of his body fresh from the bath. She wanted to sprint forward and find the nearest stable surface, but she trusted her feet far less than usual.
Finally, after what felt like a week, they were at the bottom, surrounded by racks of casks and nothing else. Darya had already been undoing her cloak. As soon as her feet hit a flat surface, she cast it onto the floor, turned, and reached for the neck of Amris’s.
“Trust,” he said, catching her wrist gently in his off hand, “that I’m as prepared as you are. Not to mention eager.”
With his other hand, he spread his own cloak down on top of hers, and the two of them descended in turn.
Darya had thought the first time would be quick and hard, and upstairs hadn’t weighed against that impression, but once the darkness had closed in around them, it was like there was no time. She lay on her side, head pillowed on Amris’s bicep and one leg twined around his waist, and nibbled up the side of his neck. Beneath her shirt, he toyed with her breast, cupping with his palm and then lightly tweaking the nipple until Darya gasped and squirmed.
It was all exploration down there, all mystery, even though the subject in general had held very few secrets for Darya since midway through her fifteenth year. She stroked the tense muscle of Amris’s hips and thighs, savoring both the firmness beneath cloth and hand and the way he hissed and thrust against her, aware of every second as though it were new, and not only to them.
She was wet and open for him long before he slid her pants down over her hips and cupped her sex. When he slid one large finger into her, then another, she arched and groaned and begged for more—but there was none of the desperation of that point with other men, only sureness. By the end, Darya would have what she wanted. There was time to enjoy the journey.
As far as she could tell, Amris agreed. He hissed when she undid his laces and wrapped a hand around his straining cock, and her name left his lips like a prayer when she started to move her fingers, but his hands never stopped. The man had discipline, no question—but the extent of it, and the echoes of the spell around them, suggested that he felt the same confidence Darya did, the lack of any need to grasp or hurry.
Neither of them undressed more than they needed to—the air in the cellar had a chill edge to it. Amris’s tunic grazed against Darya’s thighs when he entered her, an additional point of delightful friction, and hers rucked up above her breasts. Her trousers were halfway down one leg and completely off the other, the one draped over Amris’s hips so that he could thrust his full, thick length inside her slick passage.
Back arched, she looked straight into his face. His mouth was slightly open, his eyes half-lidded: the picture of a man in rapture, and it excited her further. Darya was the one who began to move, unable t
o contain the urge, and she was by far the first to go over the edge, in a steady ascent made wonderfully almost unbearable by the flexing of Amris’s hips, the pressure of his fingers on her arse, and his mouth on one nipple, tongue teasing through wet cloth.
She let herself scream at the end. She so rarely got to do that, and this time, of all times, it felt right.
Once again Amris followed her lead. “Gods—Darya—you’re so lovely, so—” and then a sound between a groan and a roar, one that almost echoed in the empty cellar while he jerked and pulsed inside her.
She almost wished it had. It was the sort of noise she could stand to hear for a while.
* * *
Darya’s eyes shone in the darkness. In all other regards, she was a shape: warm, firm, and comforting in the lassitude that followed physical enjoyment. Amris listened to her breath near his ear and felt her heartbeat against his chest. He wouldn’t have traded the hard floor beneath him for a featherbed with anybody else living.
“Thank you,” he said, running a hand slowly down her side and back.
In the dark, he couldn’t see the lift of her eyebrows, but he knew it was there. “You’re, um, welcome. But I don’t think either of us meant it as a favor—unless I’m wrong.”
“No, not at all. But thank you for speaking the offer. My courage might have failed me at the last, with matters so sudden.”
“You can’t tell me you’ve never propositioned anyone before,” she said. Her laughter was sweet to his ears and warm over his neck. “Even bluntly—you were a soldier for years.”
“I was mostly younger, and often had strong liquor to give me courage. And for the most part, I didn’t believe that I’d see them again. Wagering is easy when you have little to lose.”
“That does help.” Uncertainty surfaced through the comfort pervading her. “This is the first time there’ve been stakes for me, really.”
Hearing that, even indirectly, sent a thrill through him. He tightened the arm around her waist. “Then you’re simply more daring than I am. I’m far from surprised.”
“Better at leaping before I look. Not sure it’s the same thing. Glad I did.”
“So am I.” Darya fit his arms easily, her weight against his chest a comfort. “And if you wish to continue as we are,” Amris said, “I would greatly desire that as well, and not only because we have Gerant in common.”
The thought caught her off guard, he could tell, and so did her own enthusiastic reaction. “Me too. Not that I’d ever keep you two from each other, even if you and I don’t last. But…I like this. I like you. Not just in bed, although that was damned good.”
“Understating the case,” he said, and kissed her. Had he been twenty years younger, he would have wanted her again almost at that minute. He did want her again, for that matter—but the body would take a while, and with his most immediate desire satisfied, Amris could no longer put off duty.
“I fear,” he said, pulling away reluctantly and beginning to employ a handkerchief in the service of certain necessary duties, “I had better return soon.”
This time, her “me too” was a sigh. “Stupid Thyran. Stupid army.”
“Gods willing, we’ll have longer in the future. Perhaps even with light.”
“You and your luxuries,” she said. “Gerant didn’t tell me you were degenerate.”
“Clearly he wished to leave you some surprises.”
Amris reached out with his mind, trying to signal that it was all right for Gerant to come back if he wished—welcoming him, if he wanted to join them. He got only a vague sense of connection, no thoughts or even emotions.
“He’s a little too far away to talk,” Darya said. “Stone doesn’t help either.”
“Then we have quite the evening’s conversation in front of us.”
“A pity there’s no more wine.”
Amris dressed mostly by guesswork, hearing the sounds of Darya putting her own clothing on and seeing vague movements in the shadow. He was checking as best he could with touch when she said, “You look fine.”
“Wha—oh. My thanks. I’d forgotten the dark is no hindrance for you. It’s quite an advantage in a lover.”
“I have a lot of advantages,” she said and donned her cloak with a theatrical swirl.
They were laughing when they started to climb the stairs. When Amris put his hand to the door handle, Darya shook her head. “We’d better look sober,” she said, “or have some story to hand.”
“And not simply let people think what they will?” he asked, surprised to hear it from her.
“Might be a problem for you, commanding. You remember last night.”
“Such people as they were already—”
There was shouting above—not close enough for Amris to make out words, but it was several short syllables. Without any further speech, he opened the door and they rushed out. His hand was on his sword hilt, and though Darya didn’t have her own sword, the dim light of the kitchen suddenly gleamed on two shorter blades in her hands.
From the halls beyond came slamming doors and marching feet. Another shout went up from outside the kitchen, by the stables, and it was to that door Darya went, plunging out into the cool night air with Amris behind her.
One of the new soldiers, a middle-aged man with a fringe of red hair, met them as he headed back to the keep, walking so quickly that he almost ran into Darya.
“Careful, there!” Amris said, as Darya sidestepped neatly. The man turned, and Amris saw that his face was gray-white, his eyes wide but only just now seeing Amris—and that only barely. There was no need to ask what was happening, only to get confirmation. “Close, are they?”
“Crossed the sentry line a quarter hour ago. The dark-haired Sentinel just heard it. I… Gods help us. Gods help us all.”
Part IV
A great deal was lost when the Traitor was exiled. He governed the connections among people, between things, even within flesh. Thus there are aspects of control over these things that are unmastered and treacherous, or subject to his influence.
Yet the other gods did what they could to fill the gap. Poram upholds the rhythms and bonds of nature. Sitha teaches the crafts that bring civilization out of chaos, weaving her Golden Web between all. Letar brings blood and flesh together with healing and joins people in love—or vengeance. The youngest, Tinival, provides the words that let us reach out to one another, the truth that permits trust, and the honor that binds warriors when they seek to defend a noble cause.
—Meditations of Lord Marshal Dravarhan, High Priest of Tinival
All else from this point is theory, my lady. The chaos of war covers much, and after the war, a great deal more was lost in darkness, cold, and death. We move from what is known to what we speculate, and in that movement I can only say that the world we once knew is gone, irreparably so. Our comfort must be that the man who destroyed it is gone as well, as we heard no word of him once the storms struck and his troops scattered into the north. The gods have some mercy, in the end.
—The Letters of Farathen
Chapter 33
The first attack came in the darkness, and the twistedmen were even more horrible in the flickering, waving light of the torches. Most were the skinless bastards Darya knew well, but there were plenty of the frog-mouthed creatures and gaunt figures whose heads were only beaks full of teeth. At irregular intervals, wearing shining armor over elaborate robes, she saw things that looked almost human in form, except their faces were melted and, if you watched too long, the melted bits moved independently. The mage she’d killed a few months back over an enchanted chalice, in what had apparently been an early sign of all this, had been one of those, which was a moment of recognition she could have done without. There were plenty of the korvin, carrying a couple passengers each, and near the very back, orange and gray standards flapped in the wind.
An ac
curate count was impossible, but it looked like thousands. Soldiers moaned in terror as the first ranks came out of the forest, or called on the gods, and even Darya felt fear dry her throat and wet her hands. Oh, bugger, this is really happening.
Amris assessed the approaching horde, then slowly turned his back on it and faced the troops on his section of the outer wall—including Darya, who crouched on the highest tower. “Our foes are many, yes,” he said, his voice pitched to carry to the ranks, “and terrible. I’ll not deny that, nor will I make promises. But think, now, not only of what faces us. Think of what—and who—wait behind us. Think of those who depend on us.”
Faces pale with fear stayed pale, and tears still ran down some cheeks. But jaws set, and shoulders squared, and a far-off look came into most of the weeping eyes, like the minds behind them were picturing familiar, well-loved faces.
I’d never heard him speak like this, Gerant said. I was always well behind the lines. I would’ve envied his troops, had I known.
Over on the other section of the wall, Hallis was speaking, though Darya couldn’t make out the words. Amris glanced over to him quickly, then delivered his final statement. “We’ll give them as much chance as we can buy, by the gods. Now, archers ready—”
He hadn’t even looked at the twistedmen as they started to advance. Darya supposed he’d seen it in the reaction of the soldiers he was addressing. She lifted her bow and nocked an arrow.
“—draw—”
A hundred arms went back: some with twenty or thirty years of expertise, some with the shaking hand of the new recruit.
“—loose!”
The arrows flew.
Height gave them distance, and the plummet down toward the advancing army added to their lethal force. No few found targets in strange flesh. Darya saw one of the twistedmen hit through the eye and topple, another groan and fall back as it got hit in the shoulder, and a korvin squeal and rear, throwing its riders.
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