They were awkward at times, shyly hesitant, but they learned by experimentation how to give pleasure to one another, their touches quickly growing more confident. Karigan delighted in the myriad textures that were Cade, the hairs of his chest, the sleekness of long muscles. She inhaled his musky scent spiced with a bouquet of sweet hay, sawdust, and horse. His hands brushing over her skin made her shiver.
Their breaths and heartbeats quickened, his complementing hers, their warm flesh pressed together, hands clasped. As the cottage fell into the dark of full night, Karigan was finally able to reveal herself wholly. For once she did not have to be someone else, not a Green Rider, not Miss Goodgrave, nor a merchant’s daughter. She came to him as herself, unmasked, and thinking only of him as she did so. She met him as he met her, open and joyful, and discovering a peace she had not known before.
In their joining, it did not matter where she was or when. The world and its layers, with all its problems, became unimportant and vanished from thought.
• • •
They slept entwined, in the aftermath of their lovemaking, or at least Cade did, his deep breaths warm on the back of her neck. Karigan rested in a state of contentment she could not recall experiencing before. She marveled over how it felt to be enfolded by him. Their bodies fit together so very perfectly as if one had been made especially to match the other. She did not want this moment to end. If only it could be captured for all time, but that made her think of a picture made by image trapping, and it was a disturbing notion when all else had been so wonderful. She’d rather think about Cade coming home with her so every night could be this way. Except, of course, when she was away on message errands. But he’d be there when she returned. She sighed.
She felt unchanged, yet not the same, as though she’d finally crossed a threshold she’d long hovered over. Had her being with Cade this night finally made her a true adult? No. Many other situations had forced her into adulthood before now. She’d grown up abruptly, irretrievably, the first time she had killed a man. There’d been no going back after that. Even so, she could not help feeling she’d taken another long stride away from childhood. It did not sadden her. On the contrary, she felt alive and excited for the future. She hoped it was the same for Cade.
The moon glimmered through the window and across the floorboards, outlining the shapes of chairs, the footboard of their bed, and the fine hairs of Cade’s arm, which was wrapped around her. There was a flutter of movement beside the bed, and at first she thought it was a speck of dust reflecting the moonlight, or the wings of a moth, but gradually a figure resolved in her vision. She took a sharp breath and quivered. Cade, who even in sleep must have been so attuned to her, murmured into her hair and held onto her more snugly.
A ghostly Yates looked down at her. His sketchbook was closed for a change and tucked beneath his arm. A forelock of hair, like filaments of moonlight, spilled across his brow. At first his expression remained impassive as always, so unlike Yates in life, his eyes blank as though he did not see her at all. Then there was the slightest upturn to his mouth and a wink.
Now that was Yates.
He turned away and strode across the room on silent feet and paused by the window. He blended into the moonlight. Then stepped through the wall.
As much as Karigan did not wish to leave Cade’s warmth, she disentangled herself from him, and taking a blanket from the other bed, wrapped it around herself and crossed over to the window. She peered out and saw Yates there in the inn’s yard, gazing back at her. He raised his sketchbook and fanned the pages. He faded away, laughing, until there was nothing but the night. What drawings did his sketchbook contain? Perhaps she would never find out, but why would he keep appearing to her with it in his hands?
She heard the creak of floorboards behind her, and realized her absence in bed had roused Cade. He crossed over to her, and she admired how the moonlight limned the contours of his body. He glanced out the window.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
She shook her head.
He caressed her hair away from her face and gave her the whisper of a kiss, then he gathered her into his arms and carried her back to bed. She did not protest the carrying, and when once more they made love, it was with no awkwardness or hesitation, only lingering delight in the glow of the moon.
• • •
In the morning, Karigan felt weightless, that if unanchored she’d drift among the clouds. Yes, there was a certain soreness from the night’s activity, but it was a minor distraction. It had not been easy for her and Cade to part and ready themselves for the day and the ordinary world beyond their little cottage. Cade was solicitous, pulling a chair out for her at breakfast, gazing at her with longing. She must look much the same. She could not help but gaze back at him. They needed few words, only fingers entwined together on the table and knees touching beneath.
Later, Karigan waited beside the wagon with the mules and Gallant while Cade fetched Raven from the stable. She tried to slouch against the wagon to look sick, but she could only guess she was radiating the complete opposite. Repeatedly she had to wipe a silly grin off her face.
When Cade returned without Raven and there was a troubled expression on his face, Karigan straightened up. “What’s wrong?”
“Your horse almost took a hunk out of my arm.” He showed her his ripped sleeve. Immediately she was at his side, examining him for a wound, but thankfully found none. “He smells you on me,” Cade said in a low voice. “I’m sure of it. I think you should try to get him.”
She nodded and, adjusting her cap, set off for the stable. Fortunately no one else was about, so she would have no audience. Raven gave a high-pitched whinny when he saw her, then lifted his nose into the air, curling back his lip to take in her scent. This was followed by a round of more whinnies, kicking at his stall, and his making a general ruckus. Karigan approached ever more cautiously.
Cade, she saw, had managed to attach a lead rope to the stallion’s halter. Raven whipped it around as he tossed his head and circled.
“Calm down,” she said. “You might hurt yourself.”
This was answered by another ear-splitting whinny and a half-rear.
“Stop.”
He did not. She waited for him to settle down before she attempted to approach him again. When she opened the stall door, he lunged at her. She backed out swiftly and slammed the door shut.
“Listen,” she told the stallion in low, heated tones, “you are a horse. I am not. So whatever possessive nonsense you are feeling has got to stop. It has got to stop, or I am leaving you here.”
Her words were followed by another whinny and a crack at the wall from a hoof. Karigan turned her back on him. She would leave him behind if she had to. Their mission was too imperative. She noted silence behind her. When she started to walk away, there was another whinny, but this one was quieter, held a querying note to it.
She paused and turned. Raven stared at her over the stall door, ears attentive.
“Are you going to behave?” she asked.
His ears flicked as he received her words. He blew through his nose. She approached again, and when he did not act up, she reached in to stroke his neck.
“Go easy on Cade,” she told the horse. “He’s a good man and, well, I love him and you should, too.” She almost choked when she realized what she’d just said. Did she truly love Cade? Some words had flowed out during their coupling, but she had thought it was just a result of being in the moment. As she stood there considering it all, she decided there was a very good chance that she in fact really did love him. It left her giddy and off balance.
Raven nuzzled her belly, seeking attention, and she gave it to him, stroking him and running a brush over his hide. She checked his hooves, and after giving him a hug around his neck, she led him from the stable.
Cade and Luke stood waiting as she entered the courtyard. Cade’s fa
ce shone with relief as she led the now well-behaved stallion to the wagon and hitched him to it. Then she joined Cade up on the driver’s bench. Luke, now astride Gallant, looked them over closely.
He muttered something under his breath, then said aloud, “Try not to be so obvious. Not decent for a pair of lads.”
Karigan and Cade exchanged glances. Then burst out laughing. He could tell.
“Two lads in—” she started to say, reaching for Cade’s hand. Before she realized what was happening, Luke’s whip ripped through the space between them and slashed the back of her hand.
“Ow! Damnation!” Karigan retracted her hand and held it close. Cade stood, crackling like the manifestation of a storm.
“Sit down,” Luke commanded, his voice harsh. Cade did not. “You must not even joke about it. You, Cade, as well as anyone, know why.”
A tense moment passed before Cade nodded and sat. He left a large space between him and Karigan. It felt like a hundred miles. Luke grunted and reined Gallant around, and rode out of the courtyard. Cade didn’t follow.
“Let me see your hand,” he said.
Karigan, who had been too stunned to react, held her hand out. The flesh had been torn open and bled. It stung fiercely. Cade took a clean handkerchief from his pocket and bound it around her hand.
“Luke is right,” he said quietly. “We cannot forget where we are. We cannot joke about such things.”
“But—”
His voice dropped even more. “I do not know how it is in your time, but men loving one another is not tolerated here. They are publicly stoned to death.”
“But that’s monstrous,” Karigan said, thinking of family friends back home, and of a Green Rider or two.
Cade nodded. “It’s the empire.” After he finished bandaging her hand, he squeezed her wrist, but that was the only affection he dared show her.
Karigan held her stinging hand protectively to her once again. What hate, she wondered, had Amberhill held for Sacoridia and its people that he’d gone to such extremes? He had never struck her as so destructive, so monstrous. She’d known him as an annoying aristocrat too full of himself and his own good looks, yes, but she’d never have guessed to what extent he’d go to attain power and keep it. There was more to him than she could ever have supposed.
Her thoughts did not linger long on Amberhill, however. It was terribly distracting to sit next to Cade like this and not be allowed to touch him. She recalled moments from their night together, and when she realized she was smiling so hard, she cleared her throat and did her best not to smile. Maybe passersby would assume the wine merchant’s servant boy was simple, but she preferred not to invite speculation of any kind.
When they paused at midday, and Luke left them to dine in a roadside tavern, Cade went to the kitchen, and returned shortly with meatrolls, a pitcher of water, cups, and bandages. He tended her wounded hand, tearing away the crusted handkerchief, and washed the wound with water from the pitcher. She hissed at the sting. From his pocket, he produced a small tub of salve.
“The headwoman in the kitchen was very helpful,” he said, and he slathered some of the herby smelling ointment on the back of Karigan’s hand. “Luke overreacted.”
“I’m not so sure,” she replied.
Cade raised an eyebrow. “No?”
“We’re in the Capital, Cade, and that makes everything more dangerous. He was right to correct me. Us. We can’t make mistakes like that—too much is riding on our being successful.”
He nodded his acceptance and tied off her bandage. “I didn’t like him hurting you.”
“I didn’t either, and I bet he feels bad about it. We see him acting his part, but he’s got a family back in Mill City that he must worry about, with the uprising and all, and who knows what it’s really like when he goes into those taverns pretending to be someone he is not. It must be exhausting.”
“You’re right,” Cade replied, and he led her to the shade beneath a maple with their meatrolls and water. “But if he ever raises a whip at you again, I will tear it out of his hands and use it on him.”
The fierceness of Cade’s expression made him look hawklike just then, and she did not envy anyone who got in his way.
When Luke stepped into the darkness of the tavern after the bright sunlight outside, he paused a moment to allow his eyes to adjust. The common room was very quiet, almost sleepy, with few patrons eating their meals.
A man approached and introduced himself as the tavern keeper. “You are Mr. Mayforte?”
Luke nodded.
“Ah, then you are invited to our private dining room.”
Luke’s spirits, already wearied by having to play this part and worrying about his family, not to mention feeling despicable after having lashed Karigan with his whip, sank to a new low. His overseer was checking up on him. He had no choice but to follow the tavern keeper into the small dining room with seating for four. Only one man, however, awaited him: an Inquisitor named Mr. Starling. The man sat there with his napkin tucked into his already straining collar as he cut into a hunk of beef.
“Ah, Mr. Mayforte,” the man said. “Please join me.”
Luke sat across the table from him, but did not speak, not even in greeting. A servant brought in a steaming plate of food for him and then left, closing the door to ensure privacy.
“Please, eat,” said Mr. Starling. “The beef is especially fine today.”
Luke did not, but the Inquisitor sawed into his own, unperturbed. He was stout with wobbly rolls of fat beneath his chin, and he wore an expensive, well-cut suit, with a spray of flowers tucked into his lapel. Sweat gleamed on his forehead as he worked on his food. Mr. Starling played the part of a buffoon so others would underestimate him. Luke knew that one should never underestimate an Inquisitor.
Starling, with his talent as a spy and interrogator, had been provided by Webster Silk for his son’s use in Mill City, or so Luke was told. The elder Silk had ultimate authority over the Inquisitors. He trained many of them himself.
Luke first met Mr. Starling the morning after the mill fire. He hadn’t gone into hiding and had been easily found at home. Mr. Starling greeted him by having the bodies of Luke’s stable lads dumped at his feet. Then he was questioned. He closed his eyes, trembling at the memory, a trickle of sweat slithering down his own forehead. There had been no reason to kill the lads, and that was precisely the point. Mr. Starling wanted Luke to understand that if he could easily kill the lads for no particular reason, it was best to cooperate and not give him a reason to do worse.
When Mr. Starling tucked away all that was on his plate, he slurped down a glass of wine and belched. He dabbed his mouth almost daintily with his napkin. His fingers were tiny, round sausages.
“Your journey goes well?” he asked.
“Yes,” Luke replied.
“Good, good. And your companions have not guessed?”
“No. They are bes—” Luke clamped his mouth shut. Starling did not need that particular piece of information.
“Besotted? Is that what you were going to say? They are besotted with one another?”
Luke did not reply. He did not have to. Starling had only managed to get it out of him a couple nights ago that Tam Ryder was not a he. There had been threats, and Starling was well-trained in the detection of lies and evasions. Luke was an ordinary stablehand. What was he compared to an Inquisitor of the empire?
“Well, well,” Mr. Starling said. “That is very interesting, indeed. Could be useful. He is taking care of her in her illness, then? Yes, well, not so uncommon for a frail girl to fall in love with her caretaker, eh?”
Luke cursed himself for his slip. He’d seen the bond growing between Karigan and Cade well before their journey had begun. Allowing them to have a bunkhouse of their own each night had only encouraged them, but what choice had he?
“My master w
as terribly delighted by the news that your servant boy was really the girl. Very delighted. He just wants you to keep traveling as you have been. We will take care of the rest. Have you found out any new details about the girl?”
“Just what the professor told me. Miss Goodgrave has been too sick to tell me anything. Besides, I thought asking questions was your specialty.”
Mr. Starling quivered, setting his jowls a-jiggle. “Yes, yes, of course it is, and I would not want an amateur to tip them off by asking questions indiscriminately.”
Luke exhaled in relief. He’d managed to not reveal Karigan’s true identity. Let them believe Cade was the catalyst for the rebels, and that Karigan was really the professor’s frail, mad niece. This little he could do. So very little, but it was something.
“My family,” Luke said. “What of my family?”
“Your son still has his other fingers, if that is what worries you. No, I do not have any new ones to show you.” Mr. Starling paused thoughtfully. “Must be hard for a farrier to work without all his fingers. In any case, if you continue to cooperate, he’ll keep what’s left, and he and the rest of your family will remain safe. Can’t say the same for the rest of your associates in Mill City, however.”
Luke bowed his head. He didn’t want to know the particulars. He could guess.
“That’s right,” Mr. Starling continued. “Justice will be meted out. All have been caught, and the feeble rebellion squashed.”
Was it true? Luke wondered. Had everyone been caught?
“Carry on, Mr. Mayforte,” the Inquisitor said.
Luke hesitated. “You will go easy on them—Cade and Miss Goodgrave, won’t you?”
“Go easy on them?” Mr. Starling guffawed, his oversized belly heaving. “Harlowe has fomented rebellion. I can see you are fond of him, but he is a traitor to the empire. There is no way we can go easy on him. What a terribly funny notion.”
Mr. Starling’s laughter increased Luke’s misery, but back in Mill City, with the corpses of his lads at his feet, he’d been given an ultimatum: if he did not deliver Cade to Dr. Silk in Gossham, his wife, his daughters, his son, would all be imprisoned, and probably worse. Luke did not care what happened to himself, but when it came to preserving Cade or his family, his family came first. He’d been made to tell Starling about the planned rebellion, but so far his betrayal had kept his family safe. Under house arrest, yes, but safe.
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