A Time of War and Demons

by S E Wendel

  “Do you know,” he murmured against her mouth, “I’ve wanted to kiss you since you stitched me up.”

  She made a face. “Not the most romantic setting. And an interesting way of showing gratitude.”

  His chest rumbled beneath her hands. “Mm, not just gratitude. Not when you’d just come from fighting alongside me like a warrior queen of old.”

  A flush overtook her that she felt all the way to her toes. Her hands found their way into his hair, and she pulled him close. It’d been so long since she held anyone, and she didn’t want to stop, even though she knew if anyone, especially Lora, knew she was kissing this Lowland warlord and, worse, had plants to remove his tunic, they’d be scandalized.

  Making good on her plan, one of her hands slipped underneath his tunic. She grinned to feel his warm skin shudder under her fingers, and she traced the contours of his strong back and shoulders, trying to comfort herself that they could bear whatever Larn and Dea heaped upon them.

  He was pulling her hair out of its braid with one hand and skirting the neckline of her dress with the other when she pulled a breath away. Satisfied to see his eyes slightly glazed, she said, “Would it be better if we went upstairs?”

  That made his eyes sharpen. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Unless”—she kissed the stubbled, sensitive skin just below his chin—“you’d prefer I go.”

  “Gods, no.”

  He pulled her into him again before leading her up the staircase at the back of the hall. They went quickly and quietly, navigating a narrow corridor to the last door on the right. Stepping into his room, Ennis looked about. The room, like the rest of the house, was of a glossy red wood that gleamed in the soft light of a single candle flickering over the mantle. A fine four post bed took up one end, a small stone hearth the other. A desk littered with papers stood between them, adorned with all their maps and charts and plans. She smiled to see them.

  She heard him shut the door quietly, but he didn’t come to her immediately. Appreciating the gesture, Ennis took a few moments to step around the room, looking at his things. It always struck her as intensely personal, to be allowed into someone’s chambers. Her own, back in Highcrest, sprang to her mind. Even now she knew she could navigate it in the dark without stubbing a toe. She knew where everything was; how her jewelry box sat on her dressing table, where she stowed her favorite pieces so that Essa couldn’t find them, the order her dresses hung in the wardrobe, which books laid at the top of her trunk and which had migrated to the bottom.

  When she heard him beginning to make a fire in the hearth, she turned to watch him. She liked the angle of his shoulders and the subtly shifting muscles of his back as he worked to coax a fire from the pile of cold logs. She felt a little flushed watching him and resolved that yes, she needed him out of that tunic.

  His task complete, Manek straightened and looked over at her. She smiled at him, thankful in that moment that she was already a woman in Ceralia’s eyes. Her first time, with Colm, had been a rather hasty affair, done in his bedchamber within the span of time they thought safe to be away from his father’s coronation ball. She’d been giddy and anxious, barely catching a few moments of pleasure before it was all over. There had been other times in the years after, all rather dizzyingly quick, stolen moments away from functions and parties. As she let her gaze slide over Manek, she was determined not to make the same mistake. She wanted to take time with him.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked as his arms slipped around her again.

  “That I want you out of this.” She tugged on his tunic, getting it halfway up his chest before he took over.

  Her first thought at seeing the hard planes of his chest was wondering at how many scars he had. From nicks to gashes, Manek had suffered more than his share of wounds. Tracing a particularly garish puckering of skin along his freckled left shoulder, she said, “There are so many. And you’re only…” She realized she didn’t know how old he was. “How old are you?”

  A slow grin spread across his face that she felt everywhere. “If my mother’s to be believed, twenty-six. What about you?”

  “Twenty-two. But I don’t have nearly so many.”

  “And why would you have any at all?” he said.

  She narrowed her eyes at his teasing. Pointing to a white line across her jaw, she said, “My father’s falcon wasn’t as trained as the falconer claimed.”

  He traced the scar with a fingertip, his eyes playful but dark in the firelight. She tried her best to control her blush when he leaned down to kiss it, then lifted his mouth a few inches to press against the soft skin just below her ear.

  “I’m sure the bird regretted it,” he murmured.

  “I should hope so. He ruined birds for me.” She felt him smile against her neck.

  She touched another scar, this one just a finger’s length from his circular tattoo. “I thought you were a decent swordsman.”

  He laughed. “I like to think I am.” Looking down at the scar she had her finger on, he said, “I got that taking a knife for one of my men.”

  “Oh.” He received a kiss for that.

  Lifting her hand, he kissed the knuckles and said, “This one?” meaning the jagged scar cutting across three of four knuckles on her right hand.

  “I blocked a knife someone threw.” At his raised eyebrows, she added, “It was meant for my father.”

  Some of the play left his face, and for a long moment he gazed down at those three knuckles, steadily running his thumb over each in its turn.

  She looked him over again, her gaze caught by what seemed to be a fairly new scar, still a little pink around the edges, on his upper right arm. “What about this?”

  He regarded her quietly for a long moment before he said, “A Highcrestan arrow, at the Mountain Gate.”

  “Ah,” she said. “Well, it’d be best if you didn’t get any new ones this time.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Good.”

  Running her hands along his bared skin, his back hot from the fire, it wasn’t long before Ennis thought her dress heavy and cumbersome. Manek enthusiastically offered to undo the small buttons in the back, though he quickly grew impatient.

  “I could just cut it,” he said, kissing the little nub where her spine met her neck.

  She laughed. “Yes, but it’s my only one.”

  He grumbled a little, making her smile, but it only took him a few moments longer to finally release all the buttons.

  Feeling the fabric loosen around her chest and shoulders, Ennis turned back to face him. His eyes were dark in the fire-lit room, heavy with apprehension and want. Gently, his hands ran down the length of her arms, and she shrugged out of her dress. It fell around her, pooling at her ankles.

  She drew her arms around herself instinctively, happy to retreat back to Manek for his warmth but also shying at the feel of his skin against hers. Her bravery faltered for a moment.

  He kissed her hair.

  They held each other, moving together. By the time they fell into his bed, clothes strewn about the floor, she was no longer shy. She liked how he felt, how he smelled, and how he touched her in return. She felt adored, even loved, and the feeling nearly broke her heart.

  Late into the night they laid in his bed, sometimes making love, sometimes talking of their families and their dreams. They told each other secrets. Ennis admitted that she didn’t know life outside of war, that peace scared her. War was her reality, and she didn’t know who she would be without it. Manek told her that sometimes he wished his father had died on the battlefield where his leg was mangled. Not because he didn’t love him, but because neither was happy to fulfill only half the duties of warlord, that Kierum himself would have wanted to die with his men.

  They even told one another of their first lovers.

  “She was the blacksmith’s daughter,” Manek said, playing with the ends of Ennis’s hair.

  “What happened to her?”

  “She died of plague three
years ago.” He said it matter-of-factly, as if people died of plague every day. Which they did. He looked at her finally. “You?”

  She couldn’t help the rueful grin that spread across her face.

  He smiled and laughed. “What?”

  “He’s the prince of the Highlands.”

  And soon they were both laughing, for what did it matter?

  “Well,” he said, leaning over her again and kissing her chin, “how was your prince at…?” The tip of his nose tickled her skin as he kissed a line down the middle of her body.

  The sky was a mix of purple and gray, the fire a bed of simmering coals, before Manek tucked her against his side and closed his eyes. Resting her head in the hollow of his shoulder, Ennis let her heavy lids close as he gathered her hand in his.

  In his bed, covered in his blankets, held in his arms, it wasn’t until the last moments before sleep that Ennis realized she was scared—terrified of what the next day would bring.

  Twenty-Nine

  No master shall free his slaves, thereby forfeiting his life to he who gifted them. No child by a slave and master shall be a freeman. No slave shall enjoy the respect of a freeman. No slave shall remove their slave vestiges, upon pain of death. No slave shall commit violence upon their master, upon pain of death. No slave shall disrespect their master, lord, or any freeman, upon pain of death. No slave shall ever see their homeland again, upon pain of death.

  —Midland slave law

  Ennis curled her toes, taking a leisurely breath as her foggy mind slowly woke. Had Lora put a blanket over her? It was warm. So warm in fact—had Lora gotten cold and laid down beside her in the night?

  Her eyes shot open.

  The first thing Ennis saw was Manek’s stubbly jaw. They were almost exactly as they had been falling asleep hours before—limbs intertwined, his hand in her hair, her head on his shoulder. Oh gods, it was real.

  Panic overtook her. She had to get out, get away, back to the Haven. Oh gods, the Haven. How early was it?

  Delicate light splashed across Manek’s bedchamber, framing them in soft white sunlight. Not much past dawn.

  Swallowing the growing lump in her throat, Ennis began wiggling out of Manek’s arms. It took a frustrating amount of time; each time she shifted, it seemed as if he’d wake. For a moment, she thought of simply bolting, throwing on her dress and sprinting out the door, but that would definitely wake him. That she dreaded above all.

  Finally free, Ennis winced at her very naked body and began pulling on her dress. She’d almost done up the buttons she could reach when he groaned behind her.

  “Ennis?”

  She stood frozen, shoulders pinched, wishing some merciful god would swoop down and turn her into a hunk of iron.

  She heard him get out of bed. When she dared look at him over her shoulder, she found him pulling his legs into wantonly abandoned breeches.

  “You’re leaving?”

  Her mouth twisted into a broken smile, trying to hold back a rush of tears. “Isn’t that what whores do? Slip away and naught be seen again?”

  She watched his face carefully as it shifted from confusion, to surprise, to anger, and back to confusion again. “Don’t say that. You’re not a—”

  “No, I suppose I’m not,” she said, feeling her control slip. Gods, what had she done? “Whores at least get paid.”

  He grimaced. “I thought you wanted—”

  “I did. That’s what’s wrong!” She felt hot tears streaming down her face. “I’m worse than a whore—I’m a warprize who doesn’t know who she should and shouldn’t bed.” Ennis punctuated her words with flailing arms and more tears. She should’ve worried about waking his parents with her outburst—Kasia was the last thing she needed—but all she could think about was the rising panic in her throat threatening to strangle her.

  “Ennis, stop, please,” he said, crossing to her. He threw his arms around her and pressed a hasty kiss on her forehead. “I know how it might look, but—”

  “Look? How does it look?” She pushed him away. “They’ll clap you on the back for this, sing your praises and ask how I was! While I—I’ll be cast out of the Haven. No one will open their door to me.”

  He tried taking her face in his hands so she’d look at him. “No one has to know, if you wish.”

  “Of course I don’t! But what if I’m—” Her hand flew to her middle as if the wind had been knocked out of her. “What if I’m…?”

  “Then it will be mine. Ennis, if you’re with my child, I swear, I won’t abandon you.”

  If she’d had something in her hand then, she would’ve thrown it at him. Instead she contented herself with beating her fists against his chest. “How can you promise me that? You’re off to the north tomorrow!”

  He grimaced at that too. “What can I do?”

  “Free me.” She went still, her balled fists shaking. “Free me.”

  His face turned from day to night, a dark scowl suddenly clouding his eyes. Pulling her hands from him, he said, “I can’t.”

  “But you can! You only—”

  “I can’t! You know I can’t.”

  “No, I don’t know.”

  “To free a warprize is to forfeit your life to the person who gifted them to you. If I freed you, I’d be forfeiting myself to Larn.”

  That gave her pause. “But…” She couldn’t ask him to submit himself to Larn, not with the Lowlands dependent on him. But there had to be a way around this, a way for both of them to escape their yokes. “Well, it wouldn’t matter if you ally with the Highlands.”

  His eyes flashed. “What?”

  “You said you—”

  “I said I’d think about it.”

  “Well,” she said, putting her hands on her hips, “think.”

  He glared at her. “Is this your scheme, then?”

  The heat in her sputtered. “What?”

  “‘Make him love you.’ Isn’t that what your sister said? Make me love you? What, then you and your sister can command the Lowlands? You convince us to side with the Highlands—shall we retake Highcrest for you next?”

  Ennis’s eyes widened until she was sure they’d pop from her head. What on Mithria’s green earth was all this? He’d heard them?

  “You think I’d do that to you?” she demanded.

  She didn’t let him answer, too afraid to hear what it might be. Instead she grabbed her boots and stormed from the room.

  Pattering silently down the staircase, she entered a chilly and blessedly empty hall. She paused for a moment to shove her icy toes into the equally cold, hard leather of her boots then donned the cloak she’d draped over the back of a chair what seemed ages ago.

  As her arm slid through the slit in the cloak, someone said behind her, “He isn’t here.”

  Nearly jumping out of her skin, Ennis wheeled around to find Kasia descending the stairs, a steely look in her eye. Thinking it better to remain silent, Ennis watched Manek’s mother warily.

  “He won’t need you today. He’ll be much too busy.”

  Ennis did her best to put on a disappointed face, trying to keep her breathing normal. “I understand. Please give him my best wishes.”

  And with that Ennis fled, thanking all the gods she could think of that Kasia thought her coming rather than going. She very nearly sprinted back, arriving to a Haven still asleep. She crept in as quietly as she’d gone, slinking up the corridor. She slipped into her bed without Lora or Irina even shifting.

  Ennis threw herself into even the most menial of work Renata assigned her that day. The Sisters were tasked with loading carts of medical supplies; bandages, ointments, salves, rags, herbs all had to be properly packed and stowed. She found solace in the ledgers she’d made the day before, checking boxes of inventory as if it were Highcrest’s flourishing harbor.

  She fought her tears at every turn, though a stray one did slip out. When Lora marked it, she blamed the spicy dried roots she was handling and pushed down harder on the heart she felt break
ing. Anything but tell Lora the truth.

  The day went by in a blur, and Ennis was grateful. She hadn’t even the will to return Renata’s quips. Yet she dreaded falling into her bed that night. The rest was welcome, and she begged for sleep—she needed to get away from her thoughts, but she knew her sleep would be fitful at best.

  How could he think it of her? And why wouldn’t he free her? They were in the Lowlands, Larn in the Midlands. Who would tell him? Everyone in Rising was loyal to Manek’s family. Why couldn’t Manek risk it? She would for him.

  But then…why would he free her? What had she to give? She wasn’t a highborn lady anymore; she would bring him nothing.

  For a second time, it felt as if the wind had been knocked from her lungs.

  A gentle hand rested on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  Ennis drowned in guilt, wanting Lora to comfort her but knowing she didn’t deserve it. “Yes. Just tired. I’m sorry for worrying you.”

  They both knew she was lying, but Lora didn’t pry. Ennis almost wished she would.

  It took so long for Ennis to fall asleep, plagued by her thoughts, that when she finally did, it seemed as though it was only a moment later Renata knocked on their door to rouse them.

  Ennis cracked one groggy eye open and again prayed to be made into a hunk of iron. She didn’t know if she could face today, so she decided she wouldn’t.

  Irina rose first, dressed, and left the room without a word.

  Lora was next, though long pauses in the rustling of clothes and scrape of shoes told Ennis that her friend kept looking over at her.

  “It’s time to see the men off, Ennis.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Are you unwell?”

  “Yes.”

  Lora’s cool hand touched her forehead. “You don’t feel feverish.”

  Ennis just shook her head against her pillow. “I can’t.”

  “It’ll look worse if you don’t come. It’ll only confirm their suspicions.”

  “I don’t care.”