“I know you are my husband, Ridge. I don’t deny it,” she whispered breathlessly.
“Show me,” he growled, shoving the hem of her nightdress up around her waist and moving to settle himself between her soft thighs. “Show me you know your duty, wife.”
Kalena was aware of the blunt hardness of him pressing closer. Her wrist was freed as he released it to grip her shoulders and bear down on her with his full weight. Kalena’s hands twisted in Ridge’s hair. Her eyes closed as he entered her with shocking abruptness, and she moaned softly as the keenly remembered sensual vortex overwhelmed her again.
Time hung suspended in the sleeping chamber as Kalena gave herself up to her husband’s passion. She sensed the force of his urgent need and found that it fed her own desires. Above all she knew in some deep, secret part of her awareness that she was bound to Ridge in a way that went far beyond a marriage contract. She had known that since the first time he had possessed her. And then that knowledge fled, along with everything else, before the shimmering excitement that enveloped them both.
Afterward, Ridge rolled off of her slowly and lay on his back. He was silent for a long while, until his breathing steadied, and then he said far too calmly, “She sent you to your death, you know.”
Kalena stirred, not understanding. “What are you talking about?”
“Your dear aunt Olara. She sent you to your death without a qualm.”
Kalena felt dazed by the certainty of his voice. “No! That’s not true. Quintel’s death was to look like heart failure, not an assassination.”
“It wouldn’t have worked. I would have seen to it that there was a full investigation, including an analysis by a good Healer. The Healer would have found evidence of the poison in his blood. Your aunt must have known that. Therefore, she knew you would be caught and most likely killed. She raised you to die avenging your House, Kalena. You were not meant to survive once your duty was done.”
“She did not send me to die,” Kalena protested. “She is a brilliant Healer. The poison she prepared would have been undetectable to any other Healer.”
“So she claimed.”
“It’s true! It must be true.” Kalena had never allowed herself to question Olara’s plan, or her promise that it would work.
Ridge slowly shook his head in the darkness. “I’ve been giving the matter a great deal of thought. It’s only logical to assume that your aunt didn’t care if you survived. Her only goal was to use you to kill Quintel. You mocked me once for being a rich man’s tool, but at least I know my role and accept it for what it is. You were the unwitting tool of someone you were raised to trust and respect. That’s a far worse fate, Kalena. You were used.”
Kalena said nothing, absorbing the implications, unwilling to believe her aunt had let the need for revenge drive her to such an extreme. But Olara considered the House of the Ice Harvest at an end anyway. What did it matter if the last living female died carrying out her duty? Ridge sounded so certain of what he had deduced. Kalena shuddered, thinking of her own dreams of freedom. Perhaps she had never stood a chance of obtaining the life of a freewoman.
Ridge felt the tremor in her fingers. His mouth twisted wryly as Kalena remained stubbornly silent, refusing to argue or agree with his statement. Her pride and sense of honor were formidable indeed. Almost as formidable as her femininity and passion. He turned to gather her against him.
“I’m sorry to upset you by forcing you to confront the truth about your aunt, but there’s no alternative. It’s always better to know the truth.”
“Better?” she questioned bitterly.
“Safer,” he amended softly. He stroked the tangled curls of her hair, wanting to soothe her. “Go to sleep, Kalena. And when you wake in the morning, remember that you owe your life to your husband. Perhaps the knowledge will make you a little more cooperative and dutiful toward him.” He yawned, physically satisfied and replete. “Then again, perhaps it won’t. I wish you good night, wife.”
Kalena felt him go to sleep almost instantly. She lay awake for a long time, his words echoing in her head.
Seven
Kalena awoke with an unfamiliar sense of alertness, a keen awareness that something important had jarred her from her sleep.
She lay still for a moment, trying to figure out what had awakened her. Whatever it was had not bothered Ridge. He slept on beside her, one heavy arm wrapped possessively around her waist.
Slowly she realized there was a half familiar odor in the sleeping chamber, a scent she associated vaguely with home and with her aunt. It was an odor associated with the Healing craft.
Kalena inhaled deeply, trying to identify the smell. Her mind spun mistily for a second and then she had it: Keefer leaves. Olara burned them to anesthetize her most badly injured patients. Kalena sat upright with a jerk that brought Ridge instantly awake.
“Stones! What’s going on? Kalena, what’s the matter?”
Kalena glanced at him, worry etched on her face. Ridge was sitting up beside her and somehow the sintar was in his hand. He must sleep with it, she thought.
“I’m not sure. That odor. Can you smell it?”
He took a breath. “Yes, but I don’t recognize it.”
“It’s the smell a certain herb creates when it’s burned. Keefer. A little is irritating. Enough of the smoke will put you to sleep. My aunt uses it occasionally in her Healing work.”
Ridge swore softly. He was already on his feet, yanking on his trousers. “Get something on, Kalena. We’ve got to get out of here.”
She didn’t argue. She was already off the pallet and reaching for her riding skirt. Before she had finished fastening the tunic jacket, Ridge was at the door. He jerked the handle once and then again.
“Somebody’s locked it from the other side. The smoke is coming from underneath. We’ll have to go out through the window”
Kalena nodded and turned to pull open the shutters. Already she felt dizzy from the effects of the smoke. The shutters didn’t budge. “Ridge! They’re locked shut.”
He came forward quickly, setting one booted foot to the wooden slats. The first kick was strong enough to make the shutter sag outward. The second wasn’t necessary because the shutter was shoved open from the outside. An instant later two cloaked figures came over the windowsill from the balcony and hurtled into the room.
Kalena had no chance to so much as scream. Ridge slammed her aside so hard she hit the floor. She glanced up in time to see him step forward to meet one of the attackers. The sintar glinted in the pale moonlight and then a scream of rage and pain pierced the night as the blade disappeared into the depths of the assailant’s cloak.
The other dark figure had been making for Kalena, but he spun around when he heard his companion scream. His arm came up, revealing something in his fist that might have been a dart sling; he aimed it at Ridge’s back.
Kalena didn’t take time to think. She grabbed the heavy travel bag that sat open at the foot of the pallet and hurled it at the second attacker. He yelped, staggering as the weight of the bag hit him. Before he could recover, Ridge was upon him. There was a flurry of violent thrashing and then the second figure went ominously still.
Kalena waited, shivering with tension as Ridge got slowly to his feet. The fragrance of the keefer smoke was being diluted by the open window. She stared at the two men on the floor, one of whom stirred and groaned. They were both dressed in black from head to foot. The dart sling carried by the second man lay next to his body. Ridge reached down to recover it.
“Ridge, who are they?”
“This one isn’t going to tell us,” he said coolly. He turned away from the very still figure on the floor and started toward the other man. “But I think we can probably get this one to talk.”
The cloaked man raised his head. The hood fell back, revealing a gaze of pure hatred. “Never,” he said in a voice hoarse from pain. He fumbled for something in his cloak and had it in his mouth before Ridge could stop him. An instant later the c
loaked man gasped and fell backward into the same endless stillness that gripped his companion.
“Well, dammit to the end of the Spectrum,” Ridge said with disgust as he stood glowering over his victim. “Now they’re both dead.”
Kalena swallowed heavily. “Dead?”
“Just my luck.” He went down on one knee and tugged aside the first man’s cloak. “Put some cloth under the door to stop that smoke and turn on one of the lamps. Hurry, Kalena, we haven’t got much time. I want both of us out of here as soon as possible.”
She tore her eyes from the dead men and hurried into the small privacy chamber to soak a strip of bedding in the water basin. The innkeeper’s modernization attempts had not extended to the sleeping chambers. The sleeping chambers had only a jug of water and a basin, not the new, fancy piping systems that were becoming so popular back in Crosspurposes and in the Interlock valley.
The soaked cloth cut off the flow of smoke and the room cleared rapidly of the smell of burning keefer as Kalena switched on the firegel lamp. The volatile gelatin began to glow at once as the catalyst was introduced through the small tube opened by the switch. In the lamplight Kalena saw the blood that was staining the wooden floors beneath the two cloaked figures. She went forward slowly.
In the past there had been occasions when Olara had called upon her niece to assist her. Those times had been rare because Olara had only demanded help in absolute emergencies. In general she tried to keep Kalena well clear of the Healer’s chamber. But at moments Olara had needed another pair of hands and Kalena had been the only person available. Kalena had seen death before, but never such violent death. She had never witnessed one man being killed by another. She was amazed to think she had at one time considered herself capable of murder.
“What are you doing, Ridge?” she asked softly, watching him systematically go through the cloak the first man was wearing. In her experience the dead were to be treated carefully and with respect. Ridge was handling the body like so much limp laundry.
“Looking for something.” Ridge felt the lining of a pocket.
“What?”
“Anything that might tell us who they are.”
“I understand,” she said simply and forced herself to go down beside the second still figure. She steeled herself for the task and then cautiously parted the cloak.
The blood that had soaked the man’s chest almost made her lose control of her stomach.
“I’ll do that, Kalena. Get away from him.” Ridge’s voice was curiously urgent.
“I am not such a weakling that I cannot deal with a dead man,” she said, her throat tight as she put her fingers into the pocket of the cloak.
“Kalena, there’s no need for you to do that.”
She was about to respond when she caught sight of the pendant that lay soaking in blood. She froze. “Ridge,” she whispered softly, “is that one wearing a chain around his neck? A chain with a piece of black glass hanging from it?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t touch it,” she ordered tightly.
“Kalena—”
“By the Keys, don’t touch it.”
“Kalena, calm yourself,” Ridge said gently as he got to his feet.
She looked up at him, her eyes wide with a fear she could not yet name. “Ridge, you must listen to me.”
He held out his hand. The black glass pendant dangled from his fingers, glinting evilly in the lamplight. “Kalena, I’ve already touched it. There is no harm in it. It’s only a piece of black glass on a chain.”
Her eyes went from his face to the pendant and back again as a memory slowly coalesced in her mind. She rose to her feet, taking a step backward. Ridge’s expression darkened.
“What’s the matter with you, woman? We don’t have time for you to have a case of hysterics.”
The roughness in his voice pulled her quickly back to reality. “You needn’t concern yourself. I do not intend to have hysterics.”
“Then let’s get going. We’ve wasted enough time.” He dropped the pendant into his travel bag and glanced around the room. “Have you got everything?”
Kalena nodded, hoisting her heavy bag. “What about these two?”
“Let the innkeeper worry about them. I have a feeling he gave them some assistance tonight. He can deal with the results.”
“The innkeeper helped them?” Kalena was shocked. She followed Ridge to the open window.
“Somebody bolted our door from the outside and managed to overlook two cloaked men burning a bunch of those damn keefer leaves in the hallway. Either the innkeeper is a very heavy sleeper or he has been well paid to feign the art of deep sleep.” Ridge stepped out onto the balcony that wrapped the second level of the inn. He reached back to help Kalena. “Not a word until we’re clear of the stables.”
She nodded her understanding and went after him as he moved silently along the balcony. They passed several shuttered windows and a door, but no one questioned them. The timbered steps at the far end of the building led down to the inn yard. No one was stirring in the predawn darkness.
The creet stables were warm and thick with the characteristic odor that marks such places. It wasn’t a bad smell, just an earthy, honest one that reminded Kalena a little of the Interlock valley farms. There were half a dozen birds and they all stirred and chirped inquiringly as the two humans entered the darkened stable. Ridge whistled faintly in the particular signal his creets had been taught to recognize. The other four birds went back to dozing. The two Kalena and Ridge had been riding for three days poked their beaked heads over the stall doors.
Ridge spoke quietly to the creatures as he began saddling the nearest. Kalena set down her travel bag and hoisted the second saddle. Ridge started to say something. He had been doing all the saddling and unsaddling on the journey so far, but when he saw the no-nonsense way Kalena swung the leather over the bird’s shoulders he kept his mouth shut. Time was of the essence this morning.
Within minutes Kalena and Ridge were mounted and out of the yard. The birds were urged into their ground-eating stride and it wasn’t long before the village of Adverse was out of sight. Ahead, the distant peaks of the Heights of Variance began to show purple beneath a dawning sun.
For the remainder of the morning Ridge set the same kind of brutal pace he had maintained for the past few days, but Kalena knew that today his objective wasn’t to make life unpleasant for her. His only goal was to put as much distance as possible between them and the two bodies at the inn. The aches in her legs and lower back seemed marginally less this morning, and Kalena wondered if perhaps she was finally becoming accustomed to a day’s hard riding. Her mouth curved wryly. If last night was anything to go by, she would have to become accustomed to nights of hard riding, too. Ridge had obviously decided to start claiming his rights as a husband.
She watched him as he rode a short distance in front of her, following the landmarks that led through the Plains of Antinomy toward the distant mountains. Occasionally, he consulted the folded maps he carried in his saddle pack. Once in a while he spoke to her or glanced back to see that she was still where she was supposed to be. On the whole, conversation today wasn’t any more plentiful than it had been for the past three days. Ridge rode with a concentration and determination that left little time for idle chatter.
Kalena remembered the black glass pendant in his travel bag and frowned to herself as she recalled the vague tales she had once heard.
When the sun was overhead, Ridge finally called a halt near a stream. Kalena slid gratefully from the saddle and watched the creets amble happily toward the water. It didn’t take much to make a creet happy.
“Last night I had the innkeeper’s wife prepare us some food.” Ridge spoke as he removed a small package from his saddle. “I think we’ve put enough ground behind us. These birds are fast. Faster than anything they’ve got back in Adverse.”
“Do you think anyone is following us?”
He shrugged, unwrapping the food. “I don’t
know. Those two last night might have been simple thieves who work in conjunction with the innkeeper. Or they might have been something more.”
Kalena accepted a wedge of white cheese and sat down on a rock to eat it. “I think they were something more than mere thieves, Ridge,” she finally said.
“Because of the pendants? What are they, Kalena? What is it about them that makes you afraid? Have you ever seen one before?”
She shook her head. “No. But Olara described something like them once.” Kalena hesitated, remembering the incident. “She had just come out of a trance. She was very agitated. She kept talking about the creatures who used black glass to focus.”
“To focus what?”
“That’s just it. I don’t know. She was upset and I gather she hadn’t had a clear Far Seeing trance. There were only impressions that left her disturbed. But she implied that the glass is a thing from the Dark end of the Spectrum.” Kalena met Ridge’s gaze and emphasized her words carefully. “The farthest, darkest end of the Spectrum. It is a thing wholly and completely masculine in the most final sense of the word. It accepts nothing from the other end of the Spectrum. According to Olara, the glass is associated with that which would destroy anything that is from the Light end of the Spectrum. Do you understand, Ridge?”
He studied her intent features as he sat on a rock across from her, one knee bent so that he could rest an arm on it. “Your aunt thought the glass was connected to something that wished to destroy anything that had its origins in the Light end of the Spectrum?”
“I think so.”
“That’s insane, Kalena.” Ridge picked up another wedge of cheese. “Anyone with an ounce of sense knows that one end of the Spectrum can’t exist without the other. Dark must always be balanced by light and male must always be balanced by female. For either to exist alone would be meaningless. How could there be any concept of night if day didn’t exist?” He quoted the accepted logic of the philosophy that guided nearly everyone who lived in the Northern Continent.
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