by Patty Jansen
She shook her head. There’s cooking things, and a bed.
We’ll stay here tonight. Anything except go back there.
Why would people build this hut here?
It’s a camp for high-sun herders. They brought their goats up here in the short period that the meadows weren’t covered in snow. Isandor had seen the herders with their salted meats in the Outer City markets.
Jevaithi tracked back through the snow. Her blue-marbled form was not as substantial as it had been when they escaped. He could see through her. With the weakening icefire, their bodies would gradually disappear.
That was why the force of icefire pulled him back to the City of Glass. From here on, that feeling would become stronger, until it had grown into a physical pain in his ghostly body.
It was time to turn both of them back to normal.
He took the pouch from his pocket. To his eyes it was a solid black object that made him shiver. He closed his eyes and forced himself to put the bag into the palm of his hand. The hearts thudded, sucking in icefire with every beat. And with every beat, warmth in his hands grew.
Isandor had to fight the urge to fling the bag down the mountainside, to be rid of the thing and live without hunger and pain forever.
But he couldn’t let this feeling win. Hands shaking, he gathered a fold of his cloak into a basket and upended the bag into it.
Both hearts beat strongly, pumping hard to keep the icefire going, to keep the illusion alive. Jevaithi stood with her hands over her mouth.
Both hands; she would lose a hand if he put the heart back. She was perfect in her current state; she would never be any more perfect than this . . .
He would have to separate the hearts and they looked so perfect next to each other, beating in unison.
No.
Isandor closed a hand around his own heart, and lifted it to his chest, trying to absorb its warmth, but feeling repulsed by it. How could one be repulsed by life?
Here. He held it out to Jevaithi.
It lay, pulsing, in her hands. Both her hands.
Her eyes widened. This is your heart.
I know it’s mine. I want you to have it. And he wanted it to be done quickly, before the urge to return to the city, or do something else stupid, became too strong.
You would forever be my servitor.
Isandor bent forward until the hand with which he still held Jevaithi’s heart touched both their chests. He let his lips brush hers. She stiffened but did not withdraw. The tingle of frost made his blood stir. And you would be mine. I want to be yours.
I want you, too.
Her breath tickled over his skin. He sought her lips, teasing her with the most fleeting of kisses. She laughed and pulled him closer, pressing her mouth full on his.
A jolt of icefire bit through him.
Isandor withdrew. If he’d had a need to breathe, he would be panting. His need for her was so desperate, he would have ripped off her clothes and taken her in the snow, but that was not the sort of treatment she deserved.
He said, If we take each other’s hearts, we will be each other’s servitors, but we will be whole at the same time. We can go beyond the influence of icefire, yet no one can ever make us servitors, because we already are.
If I die, then you would die, too.
But you can’t die unless I die. He smiled at her ethereal face. Unless someone kills both of us at exactly the same time.
A bright smile crossed her face. A glitter in her midnight-dark eyes, dimples in her cheeks. How he loved her.
She handed him back his heart. Here. I want you to put it in.
He took it and handed her heart back to her, his hands trembling. You do it for me, too. Are you ready?
To illustrate her readiness, she untied her cloak and unbuttoned the top of her dress, showing ethereal blue marbled skin, the fabric pulled back enough to show soft mounds of her breasts.
He pulled his tunic over his head. Ready?
She nodded, her mouth set. They each slid their heart into the other’s chest. Icefire blossomed in the sharp burst, snaking out over the snow-covered landscape. Strands turned from black to golden.
Isandor’s vision blurred. Pain tore through him like he’d been dipped in boiling water. He opened his mouth and screamed. The sound echoed in the mountains. His voice had returned. Then he stood there, panting. Jevaithi had fainted in his arms, but she was already opening her eyes, royal blue once more, and put her left hand on his bare chest, pink again, her right hand once again missing.
He kissed her, now warm and breathing. She gasped, clinging onto him, her breath warm over his cheek.
“Can you feel it?” She took his hand and placed it on her chest, between her breasts.
Their hearts beat in perfect unison. “I love you. I love you so much it hurts.”
They stood motionless for a number of heartbeats. He let his hand slide under the cover of her dress. The skin on her breast was softer than he could imagine, but the nipple grew hard and erect under the touch of his fingers.
She giggled. “Your hands are freezing.”
“Maybe we should go inside.” He let a smile play around his lips.
She smiled back, nervously.
“Do you know how to make a fire?” he asked. “I need to look after the eagle.”
“I’ll try. I’ve seen people make fires.”
“Up in your tower room?”
“Yes.” And then she smiled again. “Imagine. I’m free. I can do whatever I want. I’m free!” Her voice echoed against the mountain. A bird screeched a reply.
Isandor gave her a last kiss on the lips before she ploughed through the snow back to the hut. Even the sight of her back, and her messy hair over her shoulders, made him feel giddy.
Jevaithi. He mouthed her name, like sweets on his tongue. Jevaithi, Jevaithi. And then, She’s mine. Unbelievable.
He tied up the eagle, rubbed it down and gave it a chunk of meat from the saddlebag. The meat was frozen solid and the bird gave him a baleful stare. It didn’t bother him. His wooden leg didn’t bother him. His blood sang, his mind flew, deep breaths of freezing air made him feel dizzy. He was free.
When he went inside, a fire roared in the hearth. Warmth fell on him like a blanket; it made his cold-stiffened fingers tingle. Jevaithi came to the door to help him out of his cloak, her eyes bright.
“This hut is well-organised. I found some saltmeat and flour and—”
He stopped her words with his mouth. Her one hand strayed up his chest, fumbled with his tunic, while he peeled the dress from her shoulders with trembling hands. Dizziness threatened to overwhelm him; he felt like he wasn’t here, wasn’t doing this, like he was on fire.
She broke the kiss. “Should we go . . . over there?” She glanced at the wooden bed in the corner.
He picked her up and carried her to the bed which had straw poking out and a bearskin cover that released a cloud of dust under the weight of her body. She laughed. Isandor slid the silk finery off her until she was entirely naked except for the leather strip and the gull’s feather. Her gaze still meeting his, she reached behind her neck and undid the knot. The leather strips fell over her breasts. She passed the trophy to him, her eyes twinkling. “Yours.”
His. So beautiful. He sank down on the bed on his knees, awkwardly. He untied his wooden leg, put it on the floor, and then unbelted his trousers with trembling hands. The last of his clothing fell to the floor with a soft thud. She was watching him with wide eyes. Scared? Had she ever seen a naked man before?
“You’re sure you want to do this?”
She nodded. A vein pulsed in her neck. Yes, she was scared.
He chuckled. “I don’t know much either.”
“What? You mean you’ve never . . .”
He shook his head.
“But I thought you Outer City boys all knew so much more than me.” She laughed, but then her face grew serious. “Do you want to doit?” and when he laughed, she added, “What? It’s a fair
question.”
He bent over her, supporting himself with a hand on each side of her shoulders and whispered in her neck, “By the skylights, I do.”
“Well, that’s settled then.” She shifted her legs apart.
He could feel his heart going like crazy in her chest.
Isandor lowered himself, blood roaring in his ears. Naked skin whispered on naked skin. Oh boy, it was awkward. She had to wriggle her hand underneath to guide him to the right place. When he finally got the right position, she was so warm and so tight that the first time he pushed deep, he spilled himself in an uncontrollable shudder. Oh, by the skylights. He rested his head on her shoulder, still panting.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
“It doesn’t matter.” But in her voice he heard that it did. She was disappointed, had expected more.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “Did I hurt you?”
She shook her head, but he didn’t miss the blood-streaked slime on the bedcover.
“It’s all right,” she said. “Girls bleed, the first time.”
Isandor thought of his mother and the horrific stories she sometimes told about births gone wrong. “It’s not fair. Girls get to take all the bad things.”
He got up, filled the pot and set it to boil. In the future, he would have to do better than that. Look after her, love her better.
Jevaithi sat down on the bench while he stoked the fire. It was comfortably warm inside, and he was giddy with the feeling of love and independence. They could do this. He might be awkward, and she might not know much, but they would learn. They never needed to listen to anyone again.
He found some bowls and a pot and made hearty soup out of strips of saltmeat and herbs which he found on the shelf above the stove.
“Where are we going from here?” he asked. “Chevakia?”
“Chevakia! I don’t care. We’re free. No more Knights. No more Rider Cornatan to watch over me. Isn’t it wonderful?”
He smiled, but deep inside suspected it wasn’t quite so simple. That feeling of power he had as servitor still smouldered inside him. Jevaithi was the queen. People respected and adored her. He could wield that power to get rid of the Knights and give Jevaithi the throne that was rightfully hers. What would the people of the City of Glass do when they found out she was gone?
“Hey, dreamer.” Jevaithi sat on his lap, pushing away the blanket slung over his shoulders. His naked body underneath responded pleasantly.
She gave him a sly look. “You want to try again?”
Sure, why not?
This time, things were much more satisfactory.
Afterwards, she fell asleep with her head on his shoulder. Isandor lay there, looking at her face by the glow of the fire, listening to the beating of both their hearts.
Yes, they would go back to the City of Glass one day, but not yet, not yet . . .
Chapter 27
* * *
RUKO WAITED by the sled outside Loriane’s house. He had his back to the door and his arms crossed over his chest, and was staring into the street, not meeting Tandor’s eyes. Anger rolled off him in waves. Tandor saw a young boy and the same girl he’d seen a few times, in a darkened corridor with metal-barred doors on both sides.
Great.
Tandor strode to the sled, flinging furs onto the seat for Loriane and Myra to sit on. Earlier, when he went out before, he’d already taken his chest out here, in anticipation of his move into the City of Glass, when Ruko had told him he’d captured Isandor and Jevaithi. You could have been on your way to your girl already. I told you to go after Isandor. Why didn’t you stop the boy running away? Ruko should have been more than strong enough to restrain two adolescents.
Images of Isandor struggling against Ruko’s grip came into his mind. Jevaithi, too. The butcher’s warehouse. The door shut, enclosing the two teenagers inside. Then Ruko on his way to get Tandor.
All right, so Ruko had locked them up properly. That meant someone had to have unlocked that door. Tandor had seen the eagle fly over with Isandor and Jevaithi on its back, both in servitor forms and knew no one who could have turned them. Was there someone else who could make servitors? One of those pathetic Brothers?
Who saw you?
Ruko’s arm muscles tightened.
All right, I didn’t say it was your fault.
Tandor saw the rosy-cheeked face of a girl, one of the youngsters imprisoned in the palace.
Yes, I know it’s taking a long time, but we can’t go and rescue her until you help me to get enough Imperfects to get into the palace in the first place.
Ruko jumped up, blew a gust of frost-rimed air from his nostrils. He whirled at Tandor. Hesitated. Midnight-black eyes glared at Tandor from within the deep shadow of the hood of Ruko’s cape.
No, you will not kill everyone. You will do as I say. I am the master.
Another snort of air, this one audible. Ruko whirled again and brought his fist down on the driver’s seat with such force that the bench creaked. The bear let out a deep growl.
I am the master, Tandor repeated. He grasped for icefire and pulled it close around Ruko. The boy didn’t move, yet Tandor could feel his anger strain against the icefire bonds. Did servitors ever break free of their masters? What happened if they did?
The door thudded shut behind him.
Draped in furs, Loriane and Myra shuffled into the street. Loriane had her arm around Myra’s waist. The girl was crying, stopping every few paces.
Ruko settled into the driver’s seat with a loud thump. He yanked the hood over his head and snatched up the reins so tightly that the bear grumbled.
Tandor pulled harder at the threads of icefire. Careful.
Loriane and Myra climbed onto the sled, very, very slowly. Tandor handed Loriane a few rugs, which she tucked around Myra. Tandor sat next to Loriane, on the far left of the bench, pressed against her because the sled only comfortably seated two people.
He released his hold on the icefire threads a fraction. Ruko snapped the reins. The bear loped into action, bouncing and kicking its hind legs in a way that was an indication that the animal was annoyed.
But now that they were underway, Ruko settled. He navigated the sled through the winding streets, avoiding busy thoroughfares. Through alleys and gaps between limpets, Tandor caught glimpses of fights, people running through streets with burning torches, buildings on fire, billowing smoke. The stench hung low over the Outer City.
Further, out over the plain, eagles circled, silvery shapes in the moonlight, Knights, no doubt looking for traces of the Queen. So many of them. Were there any Knights left to guard the city?
Tandor couldn’t repress a smile.
While all the Knights were out looking for Jevaithi, he might not get a better chance to get into the palace, at least not any time soon. After a string of disasters things were finally looking up for him.
Ruko, to the City of Glass, as fast as you can.
Again, he saw the face of the girl.
Yes, we’ll go and rescue her now.
Ruko flicked the reins. The bear increased its pace and soon, the sled left the twisted streets of the Outer City behind and came out into the open. Down the slope, past the festival grounds and onto the ice plain.
Myra was crying with every bump, and Loriane tried to comfort her. She cast Tandor poisonous looks. Did she have the faintest idea how pretty she was when she did that, her cheeks flushed, her lips slightly apart?
“Loriane, I love you.” He gathered her in his arms and kissed her.
She pushed him away. “Spare your breath. You’re up to something and I want to know what it is.”
“I’ll tell you.” He kissed her again, tasting victory, in her, in the speed of the sled, in Ruko’s anger. “After we come back.”
“Now.”
“No. After. Loriane, I love you. I wouldn’t do anything to put you in danger.”
“You swear you will tell me what this is about? I’m getting rather sick
of your secrets.”
“I swear it.” When I’m on the throne, you’ll be the most powerful queen ever.
“Deal.” She gave him an intense glare that said I’ll believe that when I see it. And she turned her attention back to Myra.
No one said much during the rest of the trip. Ruko urged the bear on as much as Tandor would allow it. Myra cried, but much less than before.