For a moment, Rose considered telling him the truth but dismissed the idea. It was better if he thought he had something on her. From what she knew of the man, he was unlikely to brag, and even if he did, she could simply deny it. Besides, my reputation is already in tatters. Feigning outrage, she growled, “Leave. Now.”
It wasn’t until after he was well and truly gone that the shaking started. Rose considered making tea, but decided wine was a better choice. Going to one of the cupboards she pulled out a bottle and after a brief struggle, uncorked it. Thinking of Elise, she hoped it wasn’t one of her ‘special’ bottles, but she knew the old woman wasn’t foolish enough to leave such a thing lying around. She had brought the drugged bottle from some hideaway in her room.
She finished the first glass with unseemly haste and poured herself a second before remembering that it was almost time to visit Mordecai. I just want to go to bed, thought Rose as a feeling of deep exhaustion washed over her.
It was far too early for that, of course, but adrenaline and her life-and-death struggle had taken a toll on her. Taking a long swallow from the glass, she rose and considered changing back into a more appropriate gown, then decided against it. She was too tired.
Finding her basket, she tucked yet another blanket into it before leaving. She hoped she could find something good in the kitchens to add to it.
Chapter 26
I was sitting up when Rose arrived, swaddled in the blankets she had given me. My hunger had returned, but it wasn’t as sharp as it had been before, and being warm made a big difference. My sense of time had long since vanished, but I had had a feeling it was almost time. Rose’s visit was the only bright spot in my otherwise bleak existence.
It was obvious something was wrong when she entered, though. Rose’s hair was unbound, flowing down to her waist like a wild, dark river. It took me a moment longer to notice that her dress was unusual as well, being a simple wool affair that was completely unlike her.
I had seen her in it before, of course, when she and Gram had lived with us, but only at home. Rose was meticulous about her appearance anytime there was even the slightest chance she would be seen.
“Hello,” I greeted her, trying to be cheerful.
Setting her lantern and basket down, she looked at me with tired eyes. “Are you hungry?”
She was definitely not well, and I wondered if it was merely the stress of the past few days, or whether something more serious had happened. Knowing Rose, it would do me no good to ask. She’d tell me on her own or not, according to her principles.
I’d always respected those principles, for she had never violated them—to my knowledge—and she never kept secrets that didn’t need to be kept. If anything, I trusted her judgment as much as or more than my own, but this was the first time I had ever seen anything take such a visible toll on her.
When she bent down to retrieve the food from the basket, I heard a faint hiss from her lips. She paused, and then bent at the knees instead. Getting to my feet, I went to her and put my hand on her shoulder. “What happened to you?”
She flinched at my touch, and losing her balance, fell sideways. I heard a barely suppressed whimper when she hit the floor, but after that she said nothing before pulling herself back up to a sitting position. “Please, Mort, sit down. I’m tired today. It’ll be easier for me if you don’t surprise me.”
Surprise her? That hadn’t been surprise; it had been pain. I was a little dense when it came to women, or so I had been told, but I knew the difference between the two reactions. Debating my options, I sat down. I was well acquainted with the waiting game.
Today’s feast was half of what had been a very large round of bread, and a wedge of hard cheese. Rose hadn’t been allowed to bring a knife in, so I made do by simply gnawing on both in turns while she sat next to me. I watched her from the side of one eye as I gobbled down some of the food.
Quiet, she sat with her hands clasped together and her head slightly down, gazing at the floor. She looked pensive, or perhaps resigned. I wanted to comfort her, but I didn’t know how. Comfort doesn’t really mean much coming from a man waiting for death.
My hand rose twice on its own, wanting to pat her on the back, or smooth her hair, but I caught myself each time and put it back in my lap. We had been friends a long time, but despite our survivalist spooning the night before, it wasn’t my place to touch her with such familiarity.
That wasn’t quite true either, I realized. A simple touch or even an embrace had never been awkward before. Whatever’s wrong, she needs some distance, I thought. Finishing another bite of the bread, I wrapped it in a napkin and set it aside with the cheese.
“If you’re tired, Rose, go home and get some rest. You don’t need to sit here with me. This place would depress anyone,” I told her.
Her face turned toward me, and I could see a look of strained desperation in her eyes. “They’re watching me, Mordecai. Gareth can see us through the wall, maybe Conall too. I’m not sure how it works,” she said quietly.
Immediately, my mind returned to the day before. They had seen us. Our close contact could easily be misinterpreted. I wasn’t even sure what to think about it.
Had they started rumors about her? Rose’s reputation had always been above reproach. The scandals and gossip that constantly circulated at court never touched her. What might they be saying now? Is that why she looks so defeated?
“I’m sorry, Rose. Whatever they’re saying, it’s my fault. You should definitely go. I’m fed and warm. You don’t need to worry about me.”
She stood up again, as though she might do just that, but there was tension in her stance, as though she fought an inner battle with herself. “Lie down,” she said after a moment.
I smiled in a way that I hoped was reassuring. “I told you, I’m warm enough. Not to mention, I smell really bad. There’s no need to torture yourself.”
“Just…” she began, and then stopped. Taking a step or two forward, she returned and paced back. “Lie down—please.”
“Rose, I told you I’m…”
“Not for you, Mordecai—for me,” she said, cutting me off.
“But you said they’re watching us. You don’t want to—”
“I don’t care, not anymore,” she replied, her voice thick.
Lying down, I scooted back against the wall, giving her as much room as I could. As before, she took her place, slipping between my arms and nestling herself against my stomach. This time I didn’t have to be told to put my hand on her midriff. She pulled the second blanket over us and became still.
Her hair was tickling my face. I had never realized just how much of it there was before. She had always kept it braided and bound, but now it was everywhere. Lifting my chin, I raised it over her shoulder so I could breathe easily.
“Careful of my shoulder,” she warned. “It’s sore.”
That’s why she flinched earlier, I realized. “What happened to it?”
She didn’t answer for a while, but when I had almost given up on a response, she said, “I tried to do too much earlier. I hurt my back too. Possibly pulled a muscle.”
I chuckled. “Getting old isn’t much fun.”
“No, it isn’t,” she agreed.
We lay there quietly for several minutes, before I finally asked, “Why are we doing this? What happened today?”
“Please don’t ask questions, Mordecai,” she responded. Then, a minute later she added, “I just want to feel safe for a while. Just a little while. Is that wrong of me?”
“No,” I whispered. “I wish I knew how to help more.”
“Close your eyes,” she said simply. “This isn’t a dungeon cell, it’s somewhere else. Better times and better days. Pretend you’re Dorian.”
Dorian? What does that mean? I was already acutely aware of the heat from her body and the soft pressure of her hips a
gainst my… Don’t think about that! Or is that what she’s thinking? No, it can’t be. Desire, guilt, and confusion whirled through me. Eventually, I resorted to humor. “I doubt Dorian ever smelled this bad.”
Rose laughed. “Armor leaves a terrible smell,” she remarked. “But thankfully he usually bathed before coming to bed.”
She shifted again, her hips pushing against me once more, and today I wasn’t half frozen. Despite my best efforts, I felt a pressure building down there and I was horrified to think she would soon notice my physical response. I pulled away slightly, trying to create a little room between her and my rebellious soldier.
“Hold me closer, Mort,” she insisted.
“Listen, Rose, I don’t want to embarrass myself, or you, but…”
She laughed lightly. “When I said pretend you’re Dorian, I didn’t mean quite so literally.”
My face turned hot with shame.
“I meant by being so easily embarrassed,” added Rose. “I’m a woman, Mort. Hold me like one.”
Something broke loose inside me then. My arm tightened, pulling her close while I pressed my body firmly against hers. I no longer cared what she noticed about my condition. I wanted her to notice. I made sure she could feel me. Turning my head slightly, I inhaled the scent of her neck. I wanted her, but I did no more than that.
It was an unspoken declaration of desire, and when I relaxed slightly her hand went back, gripping the side of my hips, urging me to press closer. I did, a low growl rumbling from my throat.
I was almost beyond reason, and my hand ached to reach lower, to pull her skirts up and remove the barriers of cloth that lay between us, but I restrained myself. Instead I used my hand to explore the shape of her thigh and hip, her soft stomach, and then her breast. The soft purr she responded with was an affirmation that only served to increase my passion.
We lay together like that, holding each other and pressing our bodies close in exquisite agony like frustrated teenagers, for the rest of her time there. Neither of us dared do more. We didn’t kiss or talk; there were no declarations of love or lust. In the strictest sense, neither of us did anything wrong. We remained clothed, our bodies unjoined, separated by cloth, but in our hearts, we had abandoned any pretense of decency.
I merely held her, in the most concupiscent way possible.
Why we didn’t do more would have been a mystery to any stranger observing us, since it was clear what we both wanted. But we knew precisely why we restrained ourselves. Penny and Dorian. Guilt held us back. Guilt kept me from kissing her. In the end, all we could do was express our physical desire, without fully acting upon it.
When our time had nearly run out, Rose untangled herself from my arms and we sat together silently, hand in hand. Saying nothing.
We stared blankly into the distance, fearing to look in each other’s eyes. Afraid to see the shame and recrimination we had caused each other. Afraid of the feeling, the reason, behind our guilt.
Then the wall faded at last, and Rose gathered her basket and lantern. She left without a word, and my throat refused to unclench enough for me to give her a goodbye.
The darkness returned, and I sat in it. Thinking of the past, of Penny.
Chapter 27
Lynaralla ran as fast as her long legs could carry her, towing the spellweave that held Irene behind her. The dress she wore hindered her, so she had cut away the material that hung past her hips. Her body was strong, lean, and limber. She’Har children were born physically perfect, both in form and potential. If she had trained as an athlete, she would have been exceptional, able to compete with the best human runners.
But she had never been given to excessive exercise. She was forced to rely only on the stamina she possessed in spite of her relatively sedentary lifestyle.
Thus far she had killed only one ogre, using a whip-like spellweave that had neatly removed one of its legs, so she could run around the monster. The rest had quickly fallen in behind her and given chase. The effort that had cost her hadn’t been too great, but her mental calculation made her doubt she could finish the rest of them off so easily.
Loud grunts and calls in the distance warned her that the ones chasing her were not alone, further reinforcing her decision to run rather than fight. Without knowing quite why, she zigged to the right for a moment. The reason became clear when a massive club sailed through the air to her left, thrown by one of her pursuers.
Warrior’s gift, she realized, recognizing what had happened. It was a manifestation of the Illeniel gift that was common among their krytek fighters and somewhat less common among the She’Har children themselves. She had never felt it before.
For a moment, she wished it had come to her when Tyrion had been training her, but after a second, she understood why it hadn’t. Only real danger would trigger it, making it useless for practice and training.
With her magesight she could feel the ones behind her growing rapidly closer. Their much longer strides were impossible for her to beat; only their greater bulk had kept them from gaining speed quickly enough to catch her already.
Using her power again, she strengthened her legs, but only slightly. She hadn’t practiced running with enhanced speed and she would risk falling if she tried doing too much in such a situation. Lynaralla wasn’t particularly powerful as a mage, or cunning as a warrior, but she was no fool.
“Death comes with the first mistake,” Tyrion had told her. “Be cautious and let your enemy win the battle for you.”
He hadn’t meant to sit idly by while they tried to kill you, though. She knew that well enough. The key was to give the enemy enough rope to hang himself.
The open road would be her death. The ogres were faster than she could hope to run, and she could sense more approaching from ahead. Darting to one side, she bounded through the tall grass and into the trees on her left.
Her pursuers couldn’t change direction as quickly, and once they entered the wood they began running into the trees and bushes that blocked their path. Charging headlong into the greenery, a few of the ogres were stunned when they blundered into trunks strong enough to resist them. The others smashed through saplings and underbrush.
It slowed them down, and Lynaralla stretched out her legs, increasing her lead. She flew along on sprite-like feet, leaping over fallen logs and ducking under low limbs and hanging vines, silver hair streaming behind her like moonlight. Despite the danger, despite her fear, she felt a new emotion: the joy of the hart, eluding the hunter.
Marking their positions in her mind, she raced through wood and dale, across open glens and into thicker copses of trees. Her enemies were everywhere, but they couldn’t touch her.
A mile passed, and her heart was pounding in her ears, her breath coming heavily, but fatigue couldn’t lay hold of her. When she came to a small stream, she pushed more power into her legs and soared over it. Her landing was less than ideal, for a thorn bush met her on the other side, ripping long tears in her skin, but her adrenaline was such that she hardly felt it. Leaping up again, she continued running with the wind pushing small droplets of blood into crimson lines along her skin.
She almost didn’t care any longer if she died. The exhilaration of the chase was enough, the joy of the run. She couldn’t stop; she would run until her heart burst.
Through it all she towed Irene along, her sister floating behind her like a dandelion seed. The other girl was unconscious again, and Lynaralla hoped she was still alive, but she couldn’t spare a thought to check and see if her heart still beat.
Several miles later, the woodland ended abruptly, opening up to a wide field with Castle Lancaster looming several hundred yards ahead.
For an instant, she felt relief, but then despair caught her. The open ground was too wide. She ran forward without hope, knowing she couldn’t cross that distance before they caught up to her.
She tried anyway. P
ressing the last of her power into the muscles of her legs, she raced across the field, the grass whipping her thighs as her feet pounded a frantic rhythm on the soft earth. Her lungs were burning, and her mouth was gaping as she tried to pull in more air to sustain her flight, but it wasn’t enough.
Behind her, four of them had already emerged, and without trees and other obstacles to slow them they were picking up speed quickly. Running a zigzag pattern might have helped, if there had only been one, but they were spread out, waiting for her to blunder into one of them if she tried it.
Too far. It’s too far away. Desperate, she had only one hope left. She stopped the flow of aythar to her legs and used it to propel Irene forward, causing her spellwoven stretcher to shoot ahead, skimming a few feet above the ground. Maybe it would reach the castle before its momentum ran out. If someone was watching, perhaps they would save her sister.
Deprived of the extra energy, Lynaralla stumbled. She felt the danger, but she couldn’t escape it. Falling toward the ground, she never reached it. A massive hand snapped her up, dislocating her shoulder and whipping her head to one side with the brutal force of the grab. The world spun around her, and when her eyes came into focus again, she was hanging upside down in the air.
The ogre was holding her aloft by one leg. The other dangled oddly to one side, exerting a painful pressure on her hips and back. It sniffed her with wide nostrils, and then lifted her to its mouth, running a broad tongue up her back and legs, tasting the sweat and blood on her skin. Then the monster’s mouth opened wide to receive its first bite.
Red light blazed, and suddenly the creature’s head was simply gone. Its hand opened and Lynaralla fell once more, but she was caught by strong hands.
“Is she alright?” The yell came from Karen, who stood just behind Gram and Alyssa, tendrils of smoke drifting lazily away from her fingertips.
The other three ogres were surprised by the sudden appearance of the newcomers, but they didn’t remain idle. Clubs the size of tree trunks swept downward with force enough to smash the four humans into jelly. Gram still held Lynaralla, while Alyssa lifted her spear, but they knew it wouldn’t do a thing to stop what was coming.
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