by Anya Bast
She concentrated on getting ready to go watch Byron and Alek play crossball and tried not to think on stupid things like getting to stay here forever with these men. That wasn’t going to happen and she needed to accept it, get her expectations back in the realm of reality. This was not like her at all. She guessed love must make women dumb. So perhaps it was better she was leaving them.
It was time she started protecting herself as much as she could, time to pull away physically and emotionally. She was probably too far past the point of no return to save herself, but maybe she could ease a little of the coming pain. She was headed for heartache no matter what.
Alek knocked on the door and she answered with a smile, with absolutely no trace of her turmoil visible on her face. “Is it time to leave?”
He nodded. “Snow’s falling again, but a messenger came to tell us that the game is still on.”
She gave him a head-to-toe appraisal and raised an eyebrow in appreciation. He wore a formfitting shirt that delineated every one of his muscles. The tight black pants he wore did the same for his derrière. “That uniform is . . . nice.”
“I’m glad you like it.” His arm came around her waist and his head dropped close to hers. “And you look good enough to eat, but there’s nothing unusual about that.”
She tensed, wanting to push him away, but she just couldn’t make herself no matter her new resolution to keep her distance. Instead, she closed her eyes as his lips skimmed down the column of her throat. His teeth closed around the curve of her neck and goose bumps erupted all over her body. She slid her hands up his arms, appreciating every inch of hard muscle as she went.
His head dropped to the swell of her breasts and traced them as her head fell back. His touch was doing very nice, very dangerous things to her body right now. Tipping her head forward, she put her fingers under his chin and lifted his head. His eyes, dark with lust, met hers. “If you keep doing that, we’ll be late.”
He grinned. “You’re right. Let’s just consider this an appetizer. To be continued later.”
Just then Byron rounded the corner and stopped, taking in the scene. He wore a similar uniform to Alek’s. His body seemed to go rigid at the sight of them—but why? Joshui, she did not understand this man.
All the same, she straightened and backed away from Alek. Byron walked straight for her, cupping her cheek and kissing her hard. He pulled her against his body, slanting his mouth over hers and sliding his tongue past her lips. His tongue worked against hers in long, possessive strokes, while his hand at her waist rubbed her skin through the fabric of her dress as though he imagined she wore nothing. It made her knees go weak.
Very slowly, Byron broke the kiss. He backed away, glancing at Alek. “Ready?”
Lilya sagged against the door to her room. Just one of these men was enough to heat her blood, both of them together nearly did her in. She felt like she’d drunk one too many glasses of wine.
They took the carriage—now on sleds instead of wheels—down a snow-covered road and into the village. In the carriage, while the driver urged the two pairs of horses to follow the snowy streets, she stared out the window at the white world with her thick coat buttoned tight around her throat and the hood covering her head.
“You’re very quiet this evening, Lilya.”
She glanced at Alek sitting next to her who stared back at her with eyes that saw too much. Managing a smile, she took his hand. “Just a little tired, I guess.” It was no lie. All the emotion pummeling her these days did leave her feeling fatigued.
A large building stood on the other end of town, the enormous crossball stadium. She’d heard of such places existing in Milzyr, but they were on the outskirts of the city and she’d never seen any of them firsthand. They entered and Lilya gawked in spite of herself. It was a long, wide building with a huge open area in the middle. On either side were chairs, set up for the spectators.
Alek and Byron found a place for her to sit in the quickly filling building and then left to join their team. She gazed out at the field, watching the team’s players arrive and listening to the excited hum of the people around her.
She knew a little about the game of crossball, though she’d never seen it played. Typically it was considered more of a sport played in the country and was eschewed by the city nobility. The Edaeii family had considered it crass. Outside the city, even before the revolution, it was called the Great Uniter because men across the social spectrum played it side by side. Even the crowd as it filled the building was clearly of the mixed variety.
After some time, the players filtered onto the field and were greeted by immense cheering. The teams assembled on either end of the enormous area. Lines made of some substance that lay over the packed dirt field marked off increments of space in a way she didn’t understand. She watched as Alek emerged onto the field, followed by Byron. A cheer went up from the spectators and Byron waved. Lilya wasn’t sure if he was being cheered because of his expected performance on the field or if it was because his family was so well loved in this area for giving money to those in need.
A tall man dressed in a formfitting black uniform came out onto the field with a large black ball. Both teams lined up on either side in a diamond pattern. A pregnant silence descended over the building. Then the man in black tossed the ball into the air, a gong sounded, and total chaos broke loose.
Lilya sucked in a breath as the crowd swelled around her, seeming to almost explode with excitement. The two teams met head on, like two armies crashing together in battle. Clearly the object was to gain control of the black ball and apparently anything went in the pursuit of that goal.
For a moment she couldn’t find Alek or Byron in the melee. Heart pounding, she half stood to get a better view, finally spotting Alek on the field going for the ball. A man on the other team grabbed him around the waist, trying to pull him down into the dirt. Alek collapsed, rolled, extricated himself, and was on his feet again in a heartbeat.
Now she saw that Byron had the ball. He fought off two players of the opposite team with the help of some of his teammates, who seemed to be helping him get to the opposite end of the field. Byron spotted Alek who’d managed to get himself relatively clear of opposing team members, and threw the ball to him. Alek caught it and ran flat out for the goal that, Lilya guessed, was at the other end of the field in enemy territory.
Lilya fell back hard into her seat, almost unable to watch. The crowd became loud, some screaming for someone to take Alek down, the others cheering him to the goal. One of the opposing team members tried to take him to the dirt, but failed as Alek’s own team came to his defense. They formed a crescent around Alek’s running body, Byron in the lead, pushing away or throwing down anyone who threatened to take the ball from him. In seconds it was over and Alek had run through the large black metal gate at the end of the field, arms wide, ball flying up into the air in victory. A huge cheer went up from the crowd around her. Melancholy momentarily forgotten, Lilya found herself on her feet, cheering along with them, breathless, and with her heart in her throat.
The game continued on that way with goals for both teams. The score remained close the entire time, one team scoring and then the other reciprocating. Ulstrat’s team edged out the visiting team in the end by only one point and the fans went wild with cheering and celebrating.
The winning team on the field celebrated too, clapping each other on the back and ruffling each other’s hair. If there hadn’t been a fence separating the spectators from the teams Lilya was certain that all the fans would have joined them to dance on the hard-packed field.
Finally everything calmed and the players left the field and entered some area in the back, where she presumed they would wash up and dress. Around her the fans began to filter out as well, eventually leaving her in a nearly empty building with only a handful of remaining spectators—perhaps families also waiting for players.
She milled around, growing more and more uneasy.
When Lilya had li
ved on the streets of Milzyr, she’d lived by her intuition. Her ability to sense danger, or someone watching her, had saved her more than once. Now her intuition kicked in again, just as it had at the market. The hair on her nape rose and she felt the odd pressure of another person’s close regard. Her stomach tightened in that old familiar way. It said Go. Run. Get away from here.
Like in the marketplace, there was no reason for it, but it made her skin crawl. Perhaps it was some remnant left over from the break-in and the lingering scent in her bedroom. She had reason to feel slightly paranoid. Either way, she wasn’t one to take chances or brush things off. Standing, she turned in a slow circle, looking for the source of her unease.
Since the break-in, she’d secured a dagger in the bodice of her dress for easy access. She touched the cold iron hilt of it. It made her feel less vulnerable.
But there was no one threatening anywhere around her that she could see, only small groups of laughing and talking people left over from the game. No menacing-looking man staring at her and thinking about ways to harm her. No Ivan. She shook her head and turned back toward the field. It was only her imagination.
Alek and Byron eventually came out of the players’ area at the back of the building. They were both scrubbed clean, their damp hair slicked back away from their faces, and each wearing clean pants and shirts beneath their heavy winter coats.
She reached up and smoothed Byron’s damp hair away from his face, frowning. “You’ll both catch your death outside.” The feel of his hair was nice under her fingers, so nice that she dropped her hand and took a step away from him.
She was going to miss him so much.
Alek secured his bag over his shoulder. “Trust me, you don’t want to be trapped in the carriage on the way home without us bathed.”
She gave him a tight smile. “I’d rather you didn’t catch pneumonia and die.”
“We won’t,” answered Byron. “We’re stronger than that.”
She gazed out at the field. “So I saw. Now I understand why you both need to stay in shape. That game was amazing.”
Byron took a step toward her, as if to touch her, and she involuntarily took a step back. His face went carefully blank. “I’m glad you were here to watch.” His words came out uncertain. He’d sensed the reserve that had come over her, her desire to draw away and protect herself.
“Me too.” She smiled to try to smooth over her obvious unwillingness to touch him. To touch him was to lose her battle. “It was very . . . invigorating.” And it was. There wasn’t much that didn’t arouse her where these two men were concerned—more was the pity—but watching them compete on that field had definitely heated her blood.
Byron returned her smile, probably as confused as she was by the mixed messages she was giving him. But she wasn’t the only one giving mixed messages. She had no idea what to think about her relationship with him—or with Alek—at this point in time. All she could do was hold on and try to survive their next week together. Then it was back to Milzyr with a heart broken twice and she’d have the long job of putting it back together again.
She looked at Alek, who was also studying her with questions in his eyes. She wished she could just talk to them, ask them what it was they felt in their hearts for her. Was she simply a plaything for them for these three weeks—surely that had to be the case. She was incapable of taking herself seriously, so why should they? And if that was the case, how silly would she feel for asking if they felt more for her? Too stupid. Too silly.
She had way too much pride for that.
Her head dipped and she closed her eyes for a moment. Hang on, Lilya. Get through this. When she raised it, it was with a smile on her face. “Shall we go? I had a fun evening, but I’m exhausted. You’ve both got to be weary as well.”
Ivan watched, concealed partially around a corner in the crossball building, as Lilya conversed with the men. He studied every move the three of them made and he liked what he saw.
Lilya had always been awful at lying. Even in her role as a courtesan, she couldn’t pretend. That was the reason he suspected she choose her clients so carefully, since she couldn’t fake caring for them. Her emotions had always lain open on her face and in her body language, and right now she was revealing her feelings to all who were paying attention. Stiff, a little cold, and avoiding their touch, Ivan could see clearly that she was not having a good time. She wanted out. She wanted to go home.
She wasn’t in love with these men. Far from it.
Ivan let out a slow, careful breath. Perhaps this situation wasn’t as out of control as he’d presumed. Perhaps soon, Lilya would be done with Alek and Byron and return to Milzyr to take up her old life again. Everything would return to normal. He’d still have to kill the men, of course, simply on principle, but maybe he could leave Lilya alone.
It appeared she was still broken. That was good. It meant he wouldn’t have to break her twice.
He wasn’t malicious. He just wanted Lilya back in her place.
Twenty
The three returned home to fires lit in all the hearths. Byron had ordered it done before they’d returned home so the house would be as warm as a house this large could be in the middle of a Rylisk winter.
He watched as Lilya entered the foyer and nodded at them both. She turned with her coat still on, strange shadows dancing in her eyes, and kissed them. “Good evening. I’m sure you’ll both sleep soundly tonight.” She laughed lightly and then hurried up the stairs.
Once she was gone, he met Alek’s eyes.
“She’s not good at masking her emotions, is she?” Alek asked with a smile.
Byron stared up the stairs. “No. I don’t know what’s going on with her. I wish she’d tell us.”
Alek snorted and shook his head while he took his coat off. “You don’t know what it is?”
He rubbed his chin, glancing at Alek in annoyance. “And you do?”
Alek only shook his head again and headed for the library. “I need a drink.”
Byron pulled his coat off and followed him. When he entered the room, Alek was pouring himself a glass of scotch. He tipped the decanter up at him. “Want one? To celebrate our win?”
He didn’t feel like celebrating anything with Lilya acting this way, but Byron waved a hand absently at him anyway and slumped into a chair near the roaring fire. Ah, that was better. He was beginning to defrost, despite the deep freeze that Lilya had thrust him into.
Frowning and staring into the flames dancing in the hearth, he took the glass from Alek and downed the fiery alcohol in one gulp. His head lolled to regard Alek in the other chair who was sipping his drink instead of tossing it back. “So, what is your great insight into the inner workings of Lilya’s mind?”
Alek smirked into the lip of his glass before taking a drink. “She loves you.”
This time it was Byron who snorted. He gazed into the fire. “No. Lilya loves no man, but all men love her. Like you, Alek. You love her. I can see it when you look at her.”
Alek let out a long, slow breath and set his glass on the side table. “Lilya is very different from Evianna.”
He stared hard at him. “No matter. You’ve still fallen for her.”
“Maybe. I don’t know what it is I feel.” He looked down at the carpet. “I know I care very deeply for her. Maybe I’m starting to love her. I don’t know. It’s been a long time since I could say I loved a woman. And what about you, Byron? How far do your feelings go for our little blushing courtesan?”
He rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin. “You make her sound harmless when she’s not. She seems soft, Alek, but she’s strong.”
“I know that. You’re avoiding the question.”
“You know how I feel.” He practically snarled the words. “I’ve loved her since I nursed her back to health. Six years she’s out of my life and I still love her.”
“Why don’t you tell her, then?”
He shook his head and smiled a cold little smile. “And end up anot
her dead soldier in her ring drawer? You’re not listening to me, Alek. All men fall in love with her, but she falls in love with no one.”
“You may be different. Your relationship with her is different.”
He shot up from his chair and began to pace the room. “Stop it. Down that path of thinking lies despair and disappointment for me.” He stopped and speared him with a hard stare. “Didn’t you listen to her tell that story about her life with Ivan? Didn’t you hear what happened to her? All of that has made her incapable of trusting in one man, investing in him.”
“She trusts you. I think she’s beginning to trust me. You’re not giving her enough credit. In fact, you’re insulting her.”
“Stop it. I would never insult her.”
“You’re telling me she’s incapable of love, Byron. That she’s too broken for it.” He leaned forward in his seat. “I disagree. That bastard hurt her, but she’s healed.”
He shook his head. “You don’t ever completely heal from something like that.”
“Maybe not.” Alek stared into the fire. “Maybe it’s a little like grief. You never heal from the loss of someone you loved. You never heal when you lose part of yourself.” He paused. “But you do learn to live with it. You learn to go on, live your life, and find happiness. You learn to identify the destructive patterns of behavior you have as a result of your trauma and move past them. You learn to risk yourself again because not risking yourself means a life lived in misery.”
Byron turned away and looked out the window. Snow was falling again. He didn’t want to listen to Alek. He didn’t want to hope for Lilya. Hoping for her and then being denied her would be more than he could handle. He wasn’t as strong as Lilya. Hell, he wasn’t as strong as Alek. He wouldn’t be able to stand the disappointment and rejection if Lilya pushed him away.
Behind him, he heard the chair squeak as Alek rose. “She’s hurting and I’m going to her tonight.” He paused. “Do you have any objections? After all, you did bring her here for me . . . right?” The end of the sentence was laden with sarcasm.
