by Jim Butcher
“But it was so stupid,” she whispered. Then she closed her eyes again.
Wordlessly, Tavi reached inside his pouch and found the second Blessing of Night where Kitai had left it. He drew it out on fingers already pricked and bleeding and offered it to Doroga.
Doroga knelt down on both knees in front of Tavi and accepted the Blessing, his expression grave. He looked down at the mushroom, then at Kitai’s thigh, the yellowish venom drying there. His eyes widened with sudden realization, then went back to Tavi. Doroga’s head tilted to one side, staring at him, and the boy felt certain that Gargant headman knew exactly what had happened in the alien valley below.
Doroga reached out and laid one huge hand on Kitai’s pale hair for a moment, eyes gentle. Then he looked back at Tavi and said, “I loved her mother very much. Kitai is all I have left of her. You have courage, Aleran. You risked your life to save hers. And in doing so, you have saved not one, but two whom I love. Who are my family.”
The Marat rose to his full height and reached down his hand to Tavi. “You have protected my family, my home. The One demands that I repay you for that debt, Aleran.”
Tavi drew in a sharp breath and looked from Doroga to Hashat. The Horse warrior’s eyes gleamed with a sudden excitement, and she drew in a breath, laying one of her hands on the hilt of her saber.
“Come, young man,” Doroga said quietly. “My daughter needs to rest. And if I am to repay you, I have work to do. Will you come with me?”
Tavi took a breath, and when he spoke, his voice sounded, to him, to be deeper, more steady than he’d heard it before. For once, it didn’t waver or crack. “I will come with you.”
He took Doroga’s hand. The huge Marat headman showed his teeth in a sudden, fierce smile and hauled Tavi to his feet.
CHAPTER 35
Amara took off her belt in pure frustration and used the buckle to rap hard against the bars in the tiny window of the cell she’d been thrown into. “Guard!” she shouted, trying to force authority into her tone. “Guard, come down here at once!”
“Won’t do any good,” Bernard said, stretched out on the pallet against the far wall of the room. “They can’t hear anything down here.”
“It’s been hours,” Amara said, pacing back and forth in front of the door. “What could that idiot Pluvus be waiting for?”
Bernard rubbed at his beard with one hand. “Depends how gutless he is.”
She stopped to look at him. “What do you mean?”
Bernard shrugged. “If he’s ambitious, he’s going to send out his own people to find out what’s going on. He’ll try to exploit the situation to his advantage.”
“You don’t think he is?”
“Not like that, no. Odds are, he’s got Gram put in a bed somewhere, and he’s dispatched a courier to carry word to Riva, informing them of the situation and asking for instructions.”
Amara spat out an oath. “There isn’t time for that. He’ll have thought of it. He’s got Knights Aeris around the perimeter of the Valley to intercept any airborne couriers.”
“He? The man at the ford. The one who shot at Tavi.” Though his tone didn’t change much, Bernard’s words held a note of bleak determination.
Amara folded her arms over her chest and leaned against the door, exhausted, frustrated. If it would have helped, she’d have started crying. “Yes. Fidelias.” The bitter venom in her own voice surprised even her, and she repeated the name more quietly. “Fidelias.”
Bernard turned his head to look at her for a long, quiet moment. “You know him.”
She nodded once.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Amara swallowed. “He is . . . he was my teacher. My patriserus. ”
Bernard sat up, frowning. “He’s a Cursor?”
“Was,” Amara said. “He’s thrown in with someone. A rebel.” She flushed, her face heating. “I probably shouldn’t say any more, Steadholder.”
“You don’t have to,” he assured her. “And call me Bernard. As long as we’re stuck in a storage closet together, I think we can skip the titles. There won’t be room for all of us.”
She gave him a weak smile. “Bernard, then.”
“He was your friend, this Fidelias.”
She nodded, looking away from him, quiet.
“More than that?”
Amara flushed. “If he’d have let it happen. I was about thirteen when I started training with him, and he was everything. He didn’t though. He didn’t . . .” She let her voice trail off.
“He didn’t want to take advantage of you,” Bernard suggested. At Amara’s flustered silence, he said, “I can appreciate that in a man.”
“He’s good,” she said. “I mean, skilled. One of the Crown’s best. He’s got more missions on record than any Cursor alive, and there are rumors of many more that were never recorded. Some of the things he’s done are in textbooks. He’s saved the lives of thousands of people who never even knew he was there.” She swallowed. “And if you’d asked me a week ago, I would never have dreamed that there could be a man more loyal to the Realm.” She heard her voice grow bitter again. “A patriot.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” Bernard said, pensive.
Amara frowned and looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“There’s two kinds of bad men in the world. I mean, there’s all kinds of ways for a man to go bad, but when you get right down to it, there’s only about two kinds of men who will hurt others with forethought. Premeditation. Men that don’t figure there’s anyone else alive who matters but them. And men who figure that there’s something that mattersmore than anyone’s life. Even their own.” He shook his head. “First one is common enough. Petty, small. They’re everywhere. People who just don’t give a scorched crow about anyone else. Mostly, the bad they do doesn’t amount to much.
“The second kind is like your patriserus. People who hold something dear above their own lives, above anyone else’s. They’ll fight to protect it and kill to protect it, and the whole time they’ll be thinking to themselves that it has to be done. That it’s the right thing to do.” Bernard glanced up at her and said, “Dangerous those. Very dangerous.”
Amara nodded. “Yes. He’s dangerous.”
“Who said,” Bernard rumbled, eyes steady, “that I was talking about Fidelias.”
Amara looked up at him sharply.
“It all comes down to people. You can’t have a realm or an ideal without people to believe in it. Support it. The realm exists to protect people. Seems kind of backward to me to sacrifice people to protect it.”
“It’s just not that simple, Steadholder.”
“Isn’t it? Remember who taught you,” Bernard said, his voice gentle, the words clear, firm. “Right now, he’s out there and he probably thinks he’s doing the only thing he can. Crows, he probably thinks he’s doing the right thing. That he’s in a position to know when others don’t, and so its his choice to make and no one else’s.”
She pushed her hair back from her face. “How do I know that he hasn’t made the right one?”
Bernard stood up and moved toward her. He put a hand on her shoulder, eyes earnest. “Because a sound tree doesn’t have bad roots, Amara. No enterprise of greatness begins with treachery, with lying to the people who trust and love you.”
Tears did burn her eyes this time, and she closed them for a moment. He tugged her a bit toward him, and she leaned against his warmth for a moment, his strength. “I don’t know what else to do,” she told him. “I’ve done everything I can think of to try to avert what’s coming. It hasn’t been enough.” And Gaius had counted on her. Had entrusted her with this mission.
“Sometimes,” Bernard rumbled, “the only smart thing to do is nothing. Sometimes you just have to be still and see how events begin to unfold before you move. Be patient.”
She shook her head. “There isn’t time for that,” she insisted. “We have to get someone down here. You have to make them listen to me or—”
Bernard put both large hands on her shoulders, gripped her lightly, and pressed her shoulders against the heavy wood of the door. Then he leaned his weight against her, trapping her there, and lowered his mouth to hers in a kiss that managed to be abrupt and relaxed all at the same time.
Amara felt her eyes widen in surprise. His mouth was soft, warm, and she felt a surge of outrage. Did he think she was some vapid, chattering child to be distracted with a kiss, like a twittering schoolgirl?
Granted, his warmth, his closeness, were very comforting. Granted, the gentle power of his hands and body was something that felt compelling, reassuring, and intimidating all at once. And granted that the scent of him, leather and the wind outdoors and something indescribably, utterly masculine, was something she felt she could take off her clothes and roll about naked in.
She lifted her hands to shove him away from her, but found her palms just resting on the heavy muscle of his chest, taking the measure of his strength, his heat, while her mouth turned farther up to his, her lips parting, pressing against his, exploring and tasting him.
He let out a small, hungry sound, pressing closer to her, his body to hers, and her heart raced. She was still annoyed with him. Of course. And she had a job to do. And regardless of how nice he might smell, or feel, or how her body responded so quickly to his —
She broke the kiss with a frustrated growl. He drew away, just a little, his eyes searching hers.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. Her voice came out more quiet than she meant it to, low.
“I think I am locked in a small room with a beautiful woman,” Bernard said, evenly. “And I am kissing her.”
“I don’t have time to kiss you,” Amara said, but her eyes focused on his mouth and her own lips felt a little pang of separation.
“But you want to kiss me,” Bernard said.
“No,” Amara said. “I mean, this isn’t the time.”
“No? Where did you plan to go?” He bent his head and placed a soft kiss upon the side of her throat, mouth warm. His tongue fluttered over her skin, and lightning raced out through her limbs in response, yearning more fierce than anything she had felt before. She felt her body melt against his, though she didn’t really mean for it to.
She grasped at his hair and dragged his mouth back up to hers, sudden and hungry, kissing him, pressing back against him with a kind of defiant abandon, her hands sliding over his chest, arms, shoulders. Then she shoved against the wall with her hips, pushing him away from it, her body still close to his. She kept him going, back to the pallet, until it hit the back of his knees and he dropped down onto it.
She never lifted her mouth from his, following him, settling astride his hips as he sat down. His hands settled on her waist, huge and strong, and her hunger doubled on itself, sudden irrational desire to feel those hands on her thighs, her back, her throat, everywhere.
“This is just a kiss,” she whispered, against his mouth, lips too hungry to touch his to spare much time for words. “That’s all. Just a kiss.” She followed her urges, trailing a line of kisses down over his jaw to the softer skin of his throat, the beginning of the slope of one shoulder, biting at his skin.
“That’s all,” he agreed, though there was a groan hidden inside the words. His hands tightened on her waist, sliding down to her hips.
Amara drew up sharply as her hips pressed against his, focusing on his face, struggling to clear her thoughts. But it was hard—it would be so much easier to get rid of her clothing, his, naked skin between them was what she wanted. She wanted to feel his weight pinning her down, feel the hot strength of him pushing into her, to struggle and test her strength against his, and to be overcome. It was a fire inside of her, a raw and primitive need, something that could not be denied. With a snarl of pure, animal hunger, she started tearing at his belt.
“Wait,” Bernard said. “Oh, oh crows, Brutus you idiot.” He moved beneath her, abruptly, lifting her and dropping her unceremoniously on the pallet. She landed with a thump.
Bernard took a pair of swift steps away from her and held up his hand, palm toward her, motioning her to stop. He frowned in concentration and muttered, “No. Brutus, down.”
And Amara abruptly found herself staring at Bernard from the pallet, cold and hungry and panting, body aching with fading need, her clothing disheveled, her hair mussed, her lips swollen from the heat and intensity of the kisses.
She lifted a hand to her temple. “Y-you... you crafted on me.”
“I know,” Bernard said, his face flushing bright red. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”
“You earthcrafted me.”
“I’m sorry,” Bernard said again, quickly. “Brutus is . . . my fury is a strong one, and he starts to thinking he knows what’s good for me better than I do sometimes.” Bernard sank down against the floor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was doing it, or I would have never. I mean, I —” He shook his head. After a moment he said, “It’s been a long time. And Brutus just . . . wanted to make something happen.”
She stared at him for a long moment, settling onto the pallet, getting her breathing, her feelings back under control. She gathered her feet up and wrapped her arms around her knees, staring down at her shoes, the slippers Isana had put on her feet at Bernardholt.
“You were married,” she said, quietly.
“Ten years ago,” Benard said, the words quiet, soft, as though they were burrs that would tear at his mouth if he sent them out too quickly. “She died. Blight. My daughters, too.”
“And you haven’t . . .” She let it hang unspoken.
He shook his head. “Been busy. Haven’t really wanted to be close to anyone until —” he drew in a breath. “Until you kissed me last night. Guess it stirred up some things.”
Amara couldn’t keep the wry tone from her voice. “I guess it did.”
Bernard flushed further and didn’t lift his eyes.
She let out a tired laugh. “Bernard. It’s all right. You didn’t hurt me.” And she’d enjoyed it. Wanted it. She had to work to keep from blushing herself. Just the memory of the molten need of that kiss was enough to make her shiver.
“Doesn’t make it right.” He looked up at her, his eyes worried and, she thought, exquisitely vulnerable, exposing how much he cared about what she would think. “You sure you’re all right?”
She nodded. “Well. The obvious parts of being locked up aside.”
“I don’t think we’ll have to worry about it too much longer. That’s why I wanted to steal a kiss. I didn’t mean that to happen, but I wanted a chance to kiss you before.”
“Before what?”
Bernard tilted his head to one side. “Listen.”
Dimly, outside, Amara heard a chime tolling the midnight hour.
“Change of the watch,” Bernard said. “If Pluvus follows the regulations, he’ll go to his bed and appoint one of his senior centurions as the watch commander.”
“All right,” Amara said. “What does that do for us?”
“It gets us a chance to talk to someone I know,” Bernard said. He rose, head tilted as he listened, and only a moment later the heavy door at the top of the cellar stairs rattled and banged open.
Amara felt her heart race again. “Will they let us out?” “One way to know,” Bernard said, and stood by the door.
Amara came up to stand beside him. “You wanted to kiss me?”
He cleared his throat. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“I like you,” he said.
“You like me.”
Color crept up his cheeks. “You’re pretty, and you’re brave as anyone I ever saw. And I like you.”
She felt her mouth creep up at the edges and fought the smile. Then gave in to it, looking up at him, and rose onto her toes to plant a kiss on the roughness of his cheek.
He glanced down at her, his gaze, for just a moment, showing that heated hunger that she had felt in his kiss. “Sometime, I think I’m going to g
et you alone when there isn’t some kind of life threatening situation to interrupt me.”
Amara’s tongue promptly stuck to the roof of her mouth, which had as abruptly gone dry. She tried to gather up enough of her suddenly scattered wits to respond, but the sound of heavy boots on the stairs came first, and a key rattled in the door.
The door opened, and Pluvus Pentius faced them with a vacuous expression.
Or rather, that was Amara’s first impression. The truthfinder’s head lolled forward on his neck, and a moment later he let out a distinct snore. The door opened farther, and Amara saw two men on either side of the snoozing truthfinder, supporting his limp weight. One she recognized, the grizzled old healer from earlier in the day. The other wore a centurion’s breastplate and helmet, a round-faced man of middle years with dark, squinting eyes.
“Bernard,” said Harger cheerfully. “I was just asking Pluvus here if we shouldn’t let you out, and he said ‘yes.’ ” Harger seized Pluvus’s hair and vigorously rocked his head back and forth. “See? The boy can’t handle his drink, I’m afraid.”
“Steadholder,” said the centurion, his voice tense. “This could be worth my helm.”
“Giraldi.” Bernard stepped forward and clasped the man’s shoulder. “Good to see you. How’s Rosalia?”
“Worried,” Giraldi said, his squinting eyes moving from Bernard back to Amara. “Bernard, what’s going on?”
“The Marat are coming. Here. And we think they have the support of a company of mercenary Knights.”
Giraldi stared at Bernard, his mouth dropping open. “Bernard. That’s crazy. That couldn’t happen. Alerans helping the Marat?”
“I was half killed by a Marat warrior near Garados two days ago,” Bernard said. “Last night, a group of crafters stronger than me tried to kill my nephew, who had also seen them.”
“Tavi? Great furies, Bernard.”
“There isn’t any time. I told Gram, and he believed me. He ordered a full arming and mobilization, scouts to be sent out, messengers to Riva for reinforcements, before we were attacked by more of the same at the gates to Garrison. Has it been done?”