by Tanya Huff
“I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
No wonder Gabris hadn’t stopped her. You’re very wise, old man, she acknowledged as she let the Song trail off.
When grief finally gave way to conversation, she moved through the crowd, gratefully accepted a tankard of ale, and sifted information from the babble of voices. Death had followed a path from the east gate to the palace, but it soon became apparent that no one had seen, or heard, or felt anything. Stranger still, although every one spoke of what had happened, no theories or accusations were made. Direct questions were given indirect answers or not answered at all.
Frustrated, and more worried than she wanted to admit, Karlene packed up and headed for the door. With one hand on the scarred wood, she paused, turned, and took a second look at a cloaked figure sitting alone at a table tucked into a shadowy corner. Then she took a third look. Thin gold rings glinted in the flickering lamplight as the figure raised a hand to adjust its hood.
Lips pressed into a thin line, she crossed the room and leaned into the corner. “I assume you’re leaving with me?” Her tone made it obvious there could be only one answer.
Outside on the street, Prince Otavas pushed back his hood and lengthened his stride to keep up. “I don’t want you to be angry with me, Karlene …”
Her sandals slapped against the cobblestones. “Where are your guards, Highness?”
“I didn’t bring any. I never bring any when I follow you …” She stopped so suddenly he was three paces past her before he realized. When he turned, he flinched back another step at the expression on her face.
“You’ve done this before? Followed me into the city without your guards?”
“Nothing’s ever happened.” His smile faltered. “I’m perfectly safe. It’s the middle of the Imperial Capital …”
“Death is walking through the middle of the Imperial Capital, Highness. Or have you forgotten?”
The night wasn’t nearly dark enough to hide the color rising in his cheeks, “I’m not a child …”
“Then why are you acting like one?” Rage lent an emphasis that bardic training could never match. “Unless you give me your word that you will never follow me again, I’m requesting an audience with His Majesty, your father, the moment we get back to the palace where I will tell him about the stupid way his youngest son has been risking his life.”
His brows drew in and he stared at her in astonishment. She could almost see the infatuation beginning to fade. “You’d really do that? To me?”
“Your word, Highness.”
He scuffed one foot against the ground, fiddled with a ring, chewed his lip, and finally sighed. “All right. You have my word.”
“Thank you.” She swung her instrument case up on her back with bruising force. How dare he make her responsible for his safety. “Come on, Highness, let’s get you home.”
He hesitated for a moment then fell into step beside her. “Your songs made me feel better,” he offered tentatively.
Karlene glanced over at him and found that she wasn’t immune to the hopeful look in his dark eyes. Annoyed at her weakness—she’d intended to remain furious with the young fool for a good long time—she muttered, “Thank you, Highness.”
As they hurried toward the palace, a dog began to howl. And then another.
The hair rose on the back of Karlene’s neck. Except for the dog’s, the streets were very quiet. Unwilling to even think that they were too quiet, she quickened her pace.
The fastest way back to the palace lay through a tangle of alleys and then into the wider, safer streets of the merchants’ quarter. The moon was up and nearly full and the crumbling plaster that coated most of the tenement walls reflected a pale gray light. Alone, she wouldn’t have hesitated, but with the prince in tow…
Don’t be an idiot. There’s nothing in there you can’t deal with and you’ve got to get him home as quickly as possible.
She didn’t realize they were being driven until they found themselves up against a dead end. Heart racing, differences forgotten, her fingers closed about the prince’s wrist. “Do you feel it?”
“I don’t feel anything but lost.”
The undertone of terror in his voice snapped her gaze up to his face. The dark eyes showed white all around.
He nearly dragged her off her feet as he charged back the way they’d come. “Let’s get out of here.”
Three figures stood at the mouth of the alley: two young men in hoods much like the prince’s and a very old man in a tattered robe.
The night grew darker.
“No.”
It wasn’t her denial, so it had to be the prince’s.
The two young men shuffled forward.
She had to stop this. The safety of the prince was her responsibility. Fighting the black despair that threatened to overwhelm her, Karlene locked her gaze on the nearer of the two. She staggered and would have fallen had she not still been holding the prince’s wrist. There wasn’t anything to lock onto.
“You’re dead.” She could barely hear herself form the words over the screaming in her head.
“Yesss.”
The worst of it was, it wasn’t her screaming, it was him. Or what was left of him.
It was almost a relief when his companion slammed a crude club into the side of her skull. As she tumbled into darkness, she heard the prince cry out and then an ancient voice lovingly Command him to sleep.
* * * *
Vree stood, shadow silent, and watched as Gyhard lowered himself into the bath.
They’d reach the Capital tomorrow. This was their last night on the road. Tomorrow, she’d be expected to start finding a path past walls and guards so that an Imperial prince could die. If it came to it, would she let him die to save her brother? Would she kill her brother to save him?
*You can’t put it off any longer, sister-mine.*
*I know.* The night before she’d found a reprieve at the bottom of a green glass bottle of wine—which in itself was frightening for the amount of trust it implied. Had Gyhard suddenly come to his senses and wished to remove what he had to know was a certain threat, she wouldn’t have been able to stop him.
*It’s just a distraction, Vree, like all the others we’ve used to get close to a target. It’s a means to an end. Nothing more.*
Her foot slid forward. She hastily snapped it back. *You’re a little too slaughtering eager for this …*
*Eager!* His response ricocheted about in the confines of her skull. *And don’t you think I have every right to be eager? I want out, Vree! I want my body back and I want the carrion eater who took it dead! I want him dead now!*
*Stop shouting!*
*Then stop acting like a nervous virgin! He’s not going to stay in that bath forever, you know.*
Teeth clenched, Vree strode into the bathing room, dropped her robe, and stomped down the shallow marble stairs into the steaming water.
*Oh, very seductive.*
*Sod off, Bannon.*
“Head still bothering you?”
She peered at Gyhard through slitted eyes. “You might say that, yes.”
Over the last twelve days, his smile had become more his own and less a twisted reflection of Bannon’s. It had become harder to see her brother in most of Gyhard’s expressions; they were less extreme, less self-absorbed, more self-involved.
*What the slaughter does that mean?*
Vree sank lower in the water. *If you don’t back off, I’m not going to do this.*
*If you don’t do this, Prince Otavas dies.*
“Trying to drown yourself?” Gyhard asked, pushing a wave toward her.
“Don’t you start,” she snarled, lifting her chin.
He shook his head. “Getting a little crowded in there, is it? Frankly, I’m amazed you’re still sane.”
“Frankly,” she mimicked, “so am I.”
When he laughed, he didn’t sound like Bannon at all.
*He’s not Bannon, I am. He’s Gyhard or he’s A
ralt, but he’s not me.*
Aralt. Whom they’d been ordered to kill. And hadn’t.
No need to question desire. Not need to even admit desire. Just follow orders. Once again become a weapon in the Imperial Army’s arsenal. A familiar detachment, missing since the moment the campfires of the Sixth Army had been swallowed by the darkness, snapped back into place.
In order to finish the job, she had to get past his guard and his guard was Bannon’s body. Which is not difficult to distract…
*That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.*
Reading nuance in the tiny movements of muscles at temple and jaw, Gyhard could tell that they’d come to some kind of an agreement. He wondered if he should be worried. This was, after all, their last night on the road, their last night before they reached the Capital and began moving against the prince. Logic suggested that they would attempt to dislodge him once again.
He lifted himself up onto a shallow ledge where he could see his reflection in a highly polished brass disk and reached for the bowl of soft soap provided by the inn. Working up a lather on cheeks and chin, he considered the options of his unique companion. There were a number of drugs that might be used to loosen his hold on young Bannon’s body, but he was certain Vree’d had no chance to acquire them even if she knew what they were.
“Here, let me.” Vree crossed the heated pool and reached for the razor.
His fingers closed around hers. “I don’t think so.”
“If I’d decided to slit your throat, I wouldn’t give you so much of a chance to defend yourself.” With a twist of her wrist, the movement both faster and stronger than he’d been able to anticipate, she slid both hand and blade out of his grip. “I’d do it in the night, when you were helpless, and I’d use something just a little more efficient than this.” She swept a disdainful glance along the razor’s edge then flicked her gaze upward to meet his. “And besides, you’re still in my brother’s body. While I’d cheerfully slit your throat, I won’t cut his.” When he hesitated, she added. “I’ve shaved that face before, you know.”
“I wouldn’t be at all surprised. But I am curious as to why you’re offering to shave it now.”
“Bannon says he’s tired of looking at the nicks you leave on his chin.”
*That’s good, Vree. Really good.*
*You just be ready to move the moment I’ve got him thinking of something else.*
“And what is Bannon saying now?” Gyhard asked her, not taking his eyes off the blade.
“He’s wondering if you ever thought of growing a mustache.”
Smiling a little at her exasperation and her brother’s vanity, Gyhard shook his head.
“Good. I keep telling him he’d look like shit in one.” As she watched her target settle back into the water, suspicions evidently lulled, she felt her responses begin to quicken, her senses become hyperattuned. The water lapped like warm silk against her belly. She gently pushed Gyhard up against the wall. “Tilt your head back, rest it on the tiles.”
“You won’t be able to reach me from there,” he pointed out as he obeyed.
“I know.” In one smooth move, she straddled him, the outer curve of his thighs pressing against the inner curve of hers.
His eyes snapped open and he lifted his head. “Is this how you shaved your brother?” His voice snagged slightly on the way out.
“We never had access to a bath this large.” She bent forward and gently stroked her brother’s cheek, Gyhard’s cheek, Aralt’s cheek, with the razor. “I just thought it would be easiest, but if you’re uncomfortable …”
“No.” He swallowed. “Stay.” Eyes closed, he tilted his head back again.
*Brilliant, Vree. Brilliant. You’ve got him.*
*Just be ready to move,* she repeated. The sound of the steel scraping soap and whiskers off wet skin seemed to echo in the bathing room. If she listened hard enough, she thought she could hear even the heartbeat that throbbed beneath the steadying hand she’d rested on her brother’s, on Gyhard’s, on Aralt’s chest.
A weapon.
A weapon didn’t have to think, didn’t have to reason, only had to do.
Laying a finger on the damp tip of his chin, she turned his head to one side.
She’d lost track of the number of times she’d distracted a guard for Bannon, or he one for her. This was just one more time.
The soft mat of hair in the center of his chest rose and fell more quickly as his breathing became labored. His hands opened and closed in the water—she could feel the currents he created swirl against her hips. Dropping her gaze, she nodded, satisfied, and leaned closer.
His eyes snapped open again and stared directly into hers.
*Now, Bannon!* She was completely unprepared for the rush of desire.…
They’d been naked together a dozen times since Gyhard had taken over her brother’s body, but as his hands closed around her waist, they crossed the line where a simple lack of clothing became something more. Breathing raggedly, she moaned low in her throat as her arms snaked around his neck and their mouths pressed together. Desperately trying to hold onto reason, Vree kept her eyes open to give Bannon as much of a chance as possible. Her loss of control, her surrender finally to what she had wanted for so long, her failure to remain a weapon for his use, must not destroy his chance to regain his body.
*Bannon …*
They pulled apart and her hands began to dance over wet flesh as though they’d never touched it before. She marveled at its texture, at its resilience, at its sculpted beauty. She marveled at her own responses, at how the brush of a callused palm across a nipple resonated groin deep.
Which was when she realized that it wasn’t her desire she felt, but Bannon’s. Bannon. Whose desire to make love to his own body while in hers was so strong it was all she could feel. Bannon, whose desire was blinding him to the one thing he should want above all else.
Gyhard murmured her name into the curve of her throat, shifted his body…
“No.” Her rage burned hotter than Bannon’s desire. She twisted away to the other side of the bath, leaving Gyhard reaching for her desperately. “I said no.”
He stared at her incredulously. His mouth opened and closed and then he managed a strangled, “Why?”
Struggling to steady her breathing, she turned on him.
“Why? I’ll tell you why. Bannon was supposed to use this, this seduction, to get back into his own body. You’d be distracted, he said. It doesn’t make any slaughtering difference if you are because he’s more distracted than you ever could be. Oh, he’s having one slaughtering good time being me fucking him.”
*Vree, I …*
“Shut up, Bannon.” She heaved herself up out of the bath and jerked a drying cloth off the hook.
“What about me?” Grasping the shreds of his composure with both hands, Gyhard waded toward her. “I want you, not him.”
Vree stared down at him through narrowed eyes, fingers clutching the warmed cloth tightly so he wouldn’t see them tremble. “What about me?” she asked. “I know what Bannon wants, I know what you want; what about what I want?”
“All right.” His voice picked up an edge. “What do you want?”
“I want …” The safety of an army around her. Knowing always exactly what was expected. Her place in the Empire secure and unchanging. Her brother; not always kind, not always careful, but hers. “I want what I had before you showed up.”
“Even if I left your brother’s body, you couldn’t have that life again.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to block out the terrifying vision of life going on with no parameters she could understand. “I know.”
“Learn to want something else.”
“Like what? Like you? Like …” A quick gesture at the bath sketched in the details of what had almost happened.
His control regained, Gyhard shrugged. “Why not?”
Vree’s upper lip curled into a sneer. “You destroyed my life.”
; “I changed it.”
“Same thing.”
He looked up at her for a long moment, then he sighed. “If that’s what you believe,” he said quietly, “then we have nothing further to discuss.”
She nodded once and strode out of the room, not angry at him so much as at herself for being taken in by Bannon’s plan.
*Vree, I’m sorry!*
*I’m sorry, too, Bannon …*
* * * *
It took Gyhard a very long time to sleep that night. It helped only a little that the pair of Imperial assassins in the next room were no doubt having a sleepless night as well.
Over and over, he heard himself say, I want you.
Her.
Vree.
The twenty-year-old body he wore would’ve been willing to couple with any willing partner.
But he wanted her.
She was the first person he’d been honest with, been himself with, in over ninety years. Circumstances may have been responsible for that but it was a strong bond nevertheless. He was amazed that she’d managed not only to provide a refuge for her brother but to stay sane while doing it. He admired her speed and strength and grace, and he thrilled to the danger her presence denoted.
Removing the mirror from its case, he stared into the silvered glass. The expression on young Bannon’s face, on the reflection of his face, seemed less cocky than it had.
“I think I may be falling in love with your sister,” he told it softly. “If only …”
If only he didn’t have to kill her.
Eight
*Vree, I …*
*I don’t want to talk about it, Bannon.*
*But …*
*I said no. We’ll go on. We’ll find another way.*
*And if there isn’t another way?*
Vree checked that both of her wrist daggers would release if needed, then pulled down the long, full sleeves of the silk shirt Aralt’s gold had provided to cover the sheathes. Swinging her saddlebags up onto one shoulder, she strode out into the suite’s main room eyes squinted shut against the brilliant morning sun streaming in from the tiny private garden.