Besides, Bianca would come soon. She always arrived after the bells tolled, giving Afina the extra time to sleep. She smiled, burrowed into the blankets, and waited for the telltale creak. Her sister was sneaky and always opened the door—
The thought jarred her, and awareness struck like a slap in the face.
The dream had been so vivid...so welcome. Afina blinked, refusing to cry. She’d shed too many tears already, a whole river full. Now it was time to wake up and greet the morning along with the truth.
But goddess help her, she didn’t want to face it. Not the magic or the fact she could barely control it. All she wanted to do was hide. Well, that and give it all back. Nothing about her new abilities suited her. Her sister would have been the better choice. Why hadn’t the goddess chosen Bianca instead? Afina shifted under the wool blanket. She’d asked that question countless times, searching for answers, desperate to understand. As always, the reasons eluded her. But fact was fact. The mark of the goddess marred her skin, and no matter how much she scrubbed it wouldn’t come off.
Soft sounds, clinking metal, rustling leaves, and light footfalls caught her attention. The smell of wood smoke reached her next. Afina planted her hand on the rough weave of the pallet and pushed herself upright. Her muscles squawked, protesting the shift. With a groan, she rolled her shoulders, trying to alleviate the stiffness.
“Finally.”
The deep rumble flowed over her, rich with a hint of sweetness...like the honey she’d favored so much at home. She sighed, let it carry and soothe her for a moment, then opened her eyes. Xavian. Crouched by the fire, wooden spoon in hand, he stirred the contents of a small stew pot, looking decadent and far too tempting.
“Good morrow.”
“Eventide, actually.” His gaze on hers, he tapped the spoon against the iron edge. “You’ve slept the day away.”
“Oh.” Afina bit her bottom lip. She’d been more selfish than she realized. “I guess I was tired.”
He set the spoon aside, leaving it to balance on the pot’s rim. “Feeling better?”
She nodded. “You?”
“Good as new.”
Afina ran her gaze over him, searching for any remnant of weakness. His illness had been severe, but as she studied him she realized none of it showed. The effects of the viper venom were gone. In their place was an intensity that made her squirm.
She glanced away. Not in the brambles anymore, large beech trees and big oaks towered above smaller shrubs, blocking out the setting sun. The orange glow of the day’s final moments peeked through the leaves, throwing odd-shaped patterns on the forest floor. They’d traveled while she slept. How much ground had they covered? Had he held her close while riding, cradled her in his lap like he had in the thicket?
Wickedly insistent, sensation ghosted in a heated swirl across her belly. Afina shifted, tucked her legs in close, and chanced a peek at Xavian. He watched her still, a question in his eyes. She took a calming breath.
Whatever he wanted to know, she wouldn’t have the answer. She never did.
“The stew is almost ready.”
His voice lured, centering all of her awareness on him. In truth, it didn’t want to be anywhere else. His appeal was lethal, more dangerous than an enemy’s blade. At least with Vladimir she could run and hide. Xavian would never permit her the luxury. He was too good a hunter and, was she honest? She enjoyed being his prey.
“Hungry?”
Her hands tightened on the blanket. Goodness, yes, she was hungry...for him. A picture of them entwined—of her desperate and clingy—entered her mind. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she cleared her throat. “A little.”
Xavian’s gaze sharpened. “What is wrong?”
Well, so much for skirting the issue. “I...”
“What?”
She rubbed her knuckles against her mouth and felt his touch; the warm sweep of his hands as he’d soothed her in the brambles. She didn’t understand how, but he’d taken the pain and turned it into peace. He deserved her thanks for that—for his kindness and patience. The problem? In thanking him, she would remind him of her foolishness, of the weakness that had sent her into his arms.
Just thinking about her behavior made her cringe. He must think her unbalanced. She was a high priestess, for heaven’s sake. She ought to be able to handle dragons, flying hatchets, all the chaos pulling her apart inside.
He stood and stepped around the jagged stones circling the fire pit. Afina dropped the blanket and scrambled to her feet. Xavian didn’t need the advantage. Like any self-respecting bit of prey, she refused to sit while he loomed over her. The ability to evade was key. At least until she was ready to be caught.
And she would need to be...soon. No matter her discomfort, he wouldn’t tolerate her silence much longer. She saw it in the planes of his face, in the way he moved: quiet, deliberate, dangerous in his approach.
He halted an arm’s length away. “Why the unease?”
Afina wanted to tell him. She did. But uncertainty got in the way. Something strange was happening between them. He calmed her in ways she didn’t understand. It was becoming an addiction: the draw and pull, the desire to touch and be touched driving her from right straight into wrong. It was selfish. If she gave in to the compulsion, where would that leave her? And those at Drachaven?
In turmoil. Fighting for their lives while Xavian tried to protect his home. She was misery wrapped up in a small package. An illusion at its most lethal. Xavian deserved better and so did the people inside his keep.
She heard him move before she felt his touch. Butterfly soft, he smoothed the crease between her brows then drifted, tracing the curve of her eyebrow, the hollow of her cheek until he reached her jaw. He stroked the sensitive skin beneath, raising her chin as he turned her face toward him.
Well, there was nothing for it. She must tell him something, and a half-truth was better than nothing at all. “Thank you...for the other night...in the brambles.”
“Look at me when you thank me.”
Drat. She’d been hoping to avoid that. Looking at him made it more personal. Why did he have to make everything so difficult? Was a simple “you’re welcome” too much to expect? Out of the realm of possibility? Probably. Just like escape right now. Xavian wouldn’t let her go until she gave him what he wanted.
No doubt ’twould be easier that way. Mayhap faster too. And faster was good...very, very good.
Bracing herself, she raised her gaze and fell headlong into his. She tried to resist the tumble and back away until the entire clearing stood between them, but that pull was seductive. Like the ocean tide it crept in, eroding her will one wave at a time until the inevitability of her downfall became just that...inevitable.
Without any urging from him, she leaned into his touch. As he turned his hand to cup her cheek, she whispered, “Thank you.”
“’Twas naught,” he said, tone so quiet she barely heard him.
“Not true,” she said, borrowing his expression even as she wondered what possessed her. Clearly her mouth was miles ahead of her brain. He’d given her an opportunity to escape. Why hadn’t she taken it?
He shifted, bringing his body flush with hers. Like a light in a dark place, his heat reached out, drew her in until she took the last step. He murmured as she settled against him: cheek cushioned on his chest, arms around him, her will to resist obliterated.
One hand pressed to the small of her back, he stroked her hair with the other. “I do not like to see you distressed.”
“Oh, well, I am better now.” And there went her mouth again. By the goddess, would her brain ever catch up? She was tired of sounding like an idiot.
“Good.” He gave her a little squeeze.
Someone cleared his throat.
Afina nearly jumped out of her skin. Controlled and smooth, Xavian pivoted, placing her behind his back. She grabbed his tunic and peered around his shoulder. Oh, it was only Henrik. Damp hair gleaming in the fading light, he stood at the edge o
f the clearing, even with a copse of small trees.
“The river’s free,” he said, gaze leveled on Xavian. A linen towel slung over his bare shoulder, he crossed the clearing and dropped a leather satchel next to the fire. “Cold as hell, but free.”
A river. Praise the lord. That meant she could have a bath. A bath! Afina smiled, resisting the urge to do a jig. After everything she’d suffered—the slavers, the viper, those blasted dragons—the grime on her skin must be an inch thick by now.
As excited as a child at Michaelmas, Afina sidestepped. Xavian’s arm shot out, blocking her path, keeping her behind him. She froze, catching his tension. Focused on Henrik, the chill in his eyes sent shivers down her spine. A storm was brewing and aggression rolled like thunder, clouding the space between the two men.
Afina glanced from Xavian to Henrik then back again. What the devil was going on? These two were friends. Not that it looked that way at the moment. Both were as taut as bowstrings. “Is everything all right?”
“Aye,” they both said at once.
Afina started, the force of that single word almost knocking her flat.
“Take the satchel behind me, Afina.” Without looking at her, Xavian widened his stance, making himself bigger as she glanced over her shoulder. The leather pouch sat beside his saddlebags, not far from the horses. “Inside you will find all you need for your bath. The clothes are Qabil’s, but they will do until we reach Drachaven.”
The goddess love him...clean clothes. Afina almost sat down and wept. Tattered and stained, her gown was a mess. Sherene would no doubt wail if she could see it. “It seems I can do nothing but thank you today.”
Xavian’s mouth curved. The delicious shift made his eyes sparkle, and triumph swirled in the depths of her heart. He’d smiled...for her.
“Go, draga.”
With a nod, she backtracked to grab the satchel. Slinging it over her shoulder, she picked up her own as well. She needed her healing salve to take the sting from her muscles and soothe a few scrapes. As she reached the edge of the clearing, instinct whispered a warning. She turned back. Two sets of eyes bored into her, both men watching as though they couldn’t wait to be rid of her.
Expressions set, bodies tense, they were acting like recalcitrant children. Giving them a hard look, she pointed first at Xavian then Henrik. “Behave. Both of you.”
Henrik blinked.
Xavian frowned.
Afina retreated, taking the path toward the river. They were grown men, for pity’s sake. Surely they could get along...at least for the time it took to have her bath.
Beauty took so many forms. But it was best, the most potent, with death as a companion. A brother-in-arms so to speak. A dark angel casting shadow on the ground and up into the heavens.
The Carpathian Mountains were like that; splendid yet cruel to the point of evisceration.
Shay felt the twist in his gut even now. The mental disembowelment came with a view. Stretched out for miles in front of him, the peaks and valleys connected ridges and lakes and plateaus alike. The beast of it waited in those hollows, sure with jagged teeth, deep crevices, and slippery slopes. Were he lucky, he might lose his footing and fall into one like Curio had almost done.
His warhorse snorted. The weak sound made Shay squeeze his eyes shut. He couldn’t wait much longer. It was selfish to do so, but—
Shit. He couldn’t bear to kill his horse. Curio was his only friend.
His eyes burned as he swept the landscape, trying to find the courage. Drachaven lay to the east, nestled amid sheer cliffs and solid rock. Ram had chosen his roost well. From what he’d heard from the villagers below, the fortress was carved into the mountainside, right into the belly of the beast. Probably had the temperament and teeth to match.
Shay didn’t care. Death was inevitable. A sure bet that made him twitch with impatience.
It wouldn’t be long now. A week, no more, and he would be crouched in Drachaven’s shadow. Camped like a wraith on Ram’s doorstep.
Rock clicked against stone, scrambling one ahead of the other in a quick tumble down the path he’d just climbed. He glanced over his shoulder. His stomach clenched, fisting up tight. Curio was trying to get up.
With a silent curse, he jumped from his perch onto the path below. The warhorse kicked out with his broken fetlock, rocking his powerful body to shift from his supine position. Curio screamed but tried again. The sound of agony ripped Shay in two. He shouldn’t have waited. It was the height of cruelty to leave a friend to suffer and one the code did not allow.
Screw the code. This was his friend and comrade. And selfish or nay, he’d needed some time to say good-bye, to send his trusted companion off into the ether with more than a slice to the neck.
Rock scale crunched beneath his knees, biting through his leathers as he knelt beside Curio. He put his hand on his shoulder, on the soft pelt he would never touch again. “Stay down, boy. Stay down.”
Shay stroked him gently, murmuring reassurances. Like a good soldier, the warhorse laid his head back down, trusting him to do the right thing. But he never had. Didn’t have the first clue about right and wrong. Or which was which. Halál was responsible for that along with Al Pacii.
The anger inside him burned a hole in his heart. How different his life could have been if only—
Curio shifted, and the bone shard protruding from his slim leg trembled. High-pitched but soft, he whinnied while the wind whispered against the back of Shay’s neck.
It was time.
Dipping his head, he laid his cheek against Curio’s neck. The heat and nap of his fine coat tunneled deep, opening gaps until he felt like naught but a hard shell with an empty inside. “I am sorry, my friend. I never should have brought you here...through this passage on this journey. It was mine alone to take. Not yours...never yours.”
A breathy gust left Curio.
Forgiveness? Shay wanted to believe it was, but absolution lay through the mountains. Action must accompany words. Otherwise they meant little or naught at all. “My pledge to you, Curio. I go to my death to right this wrong.”
The warhorse made one last attempt to get up.
He unsheathed the blade high on his chest and held him down. “You cannot come with me.”
Curio snorted but lay accepting, heavy muscle flickering in a rolling tremble along his flank. Resting the knife against Curio’s flesh, Shay pressed in, made a clean slice, and watched his friend’s blood flow. It ran red, marring the beauty of his black hide, and dripped onto the grey rock below. He sent his steed into the afterlife with a soft stroke, a gentle murmur, and a heavy weight in his heart.
One life for another.
He had taken an innocent girl’s. Now the universe had claimed his friend. Balance. In all things, there must be balance.
Light and dark. Soft and hard. Right and wrong.
Each complemented the other, painting a clear picture.
He knew the way forward, just as he had in front of that cave. He must finish what he started. Ram needed to be warned of The Three, of what he’d let loose upon the earth and the incantation. Otherwise he wouldn’t be able to use them, and Halál would win.
Stroking Curio one last time, Shay pushed to his feet. After wiping the blade clean, he set it back in its sheath, wishing it was his heart. The damn thing hurt and the ache wasn’t likely to stop anytime soon.
A beautiful death. It was what he wished for above all else.
He only hoped Ram would be merciful. Just as he had been with Curio.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Mercy wasn’t part of the plan. Flying fists that ended in broken bones and spilled blood? Now that had a serious amount of potential. Though he should probably wait until Henrik started it.
Afina had told him to behave.
Xavian cranked his fists in tight. The muscles along the column of his spine flexed as he followed her retreat through a break in the trees. She paused on the path to glance at him over her shoulder. Even from there he saw t
he warning in her gaze.
Aye, no doubt about it. Waiting was absolutely the best strategy. That way when she came back to find Henrik lying face down on the turf he wouldn’t have to lie. He’d have an excuse...self-defense.
Dishonesty was never acceptable. Hedging, manipulating, or even omitting certain facts?—always, but outright lies held no place between them. And though he hadn’t promised her a thing, the idea of disappointing her didn’t sit well. Jesu, he was going to have to sort that out. Going soft for a priestess with a gentle touch and giving nature put him in lunatic territory. One shade shy of an asylum.
Regardless, the urge to please her was too strong to deny. No chance in hell he would strike first. Henrik would have to come to him.
“Feathering your love nest, are you?” With great interest, Henrik traced Afina’s retreat. Silence swirled like poison before he returned his attention to Xavian, his gaze full of speculation. “Any room for a third?”
Rahat. He would do more than kill the bastard. He would skin him alive.
But not until Henrik engaged.
His comrade was fishing. Xavian smelled the trap, knew bait when he saw it. Afina sat perched on the hook, a provocation Henrik had cast out for a reason.
“She’s pretty, if a bit thin.” Turning sideways, Henrik flicked the towel from his shoulder.
Xavian tensed, instincts coming alive. Their kind never turned away from an enemy. To give their back or side left them open to attack. And vulnerable was never where an assassin wanted to be. The fact his comrade had committed that sin was worthy of note.
What the hell was Henrik hiding? What sat on his chest that he didn’t want Xavian to see? Thinking back he realized Henrik had never gone without a tunic at Grey Keep. Or in an Al Pacii camp. Not while training or in the midst of others. Xavian shifted right, trying to get a clear view.
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