by M. J. Scott
* * *
“What do you want to do?” Cameron asked when they were back in their room.
Sophie turned from where she was checking the wards. They seemed unaltered, which was a relief. But she sank more power into them regardless, walking around the room, hoping movement would dispel some of the chill that seemed to have sunk into her bones as she had walked beside the sanctii through the halls of the Academe.
What did she want to do? It was a simple question but there was no simple answer. They had had little choice but to flee Anglion after an attempt on her life that she had been fairly certain had been ordered by the temple. And the temple meant Domina Skey, who was the highest representative of the goddess in Anglion.
Domina Skey, who also seemed to have gained the ear of the queen since the attack on the palace in a manner that no one else had managed. If the Domina was the one who wanted Sophie dead, then it was unlikely that they would have found safety anywhere in Anglion. Perhaps they could have found some tiny remote village and lived anonymously, but what kind of life would that be?
So they had fled, and now they were here. Where it seemed only more intrigue and trouble awaited them.
“I’m not sure I even know where to start thinking about what I want to do. Other than I’m wondering whether we have made things even more complicated than they were.” She bit her lip, trying not to think that this was all her fault, but somehow she had brought this all upon them.
“Things became complicated when the palace was attacked,” Cameron said. “Which wasn’t our doing.”
No. But what had come since was. If Cameron hadn’t been forced to marry her, then he could be happily back in Anglion. Though that would also mean that he could be happily back in Eloisa’s bed.
That thought made her shiver.
“Are you cold?”
“A little,” she admitted.
“I can build up the fire.”
She shook her head. The room was cozy enough, and the sunlight streaming through the windows added to the warmth. But it would take more than that to shake the ice from her skin. “The sanctii. It feels cold to me.”
“Cold?” Cameron sounded puzzled.
“Like a chill in the air. Didn’t you feel it?”
“I’m not sure,” Cameron said. “You were closer to it than I was.” He frowned. “Was it like the feeling you had in the palace? When you found the scriptii?”
She’d forgotten about that. It felt like months ago but in reality was it was only, what, three weeks perhaps? The fact that she’d sensed the scriptii that had caused—or been part of the cause—of the explosions that had destroyed part of the palace may have been the final straw in focusing the Domina’s ire on Sophie. Not that Domina Skey had liked her before that. Not when Sophie had done what royal witches were never supposed to do and slept with a man before she was married. “Similar. But different. The scriptii felt dangerous. Wrong somehow.”
“And the demon doesn’t?”
“I don’t know,” Sophie said. “It’s all too new. Its appearance is hardly reassuring, but I didn’t get the feeling that it meant us any harm.”
“Because Maistre Matin has it under his control,” Cameron said. “Who knows what it might be capable of if that were not true?” His face twisted. Then he lifted one of the embroidered quilts from the bed and came over to wrap it around her shoulders. “Here, come sit down.”
They perched together on the side of the bed. The sky beyond the barred windows was blue but the sunshine wasn’t enough to lift her mood. Indeed, the peaceful sky only emphasized the fact that the city beneath it was an unknown one. Sophie tucked the quilt more tightly around her and leaned into Cameron. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For dragging you into this.”
“You did not drag me. I chose to come with you. I wanted to come with you. You’re my wife.” He slid his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. She leaned into him, wanting the comfort of how he felt. Warm. Warmer than her. Real. Solid. She wanted to believe the certainty in his voice but it was hard. His life would be completely different if she’d never crossed his path.
“I just wish—”
Cameron’s arm tightened. “My father used to tell me that wishing was pointless. That one has to act not hope. He may have been an arrogant bastard, but I think in this case, we should be taking his advice. We are in a situation that can’t be wished away, regardless of what either of us may feel. So we have to deal with it.”
She hoped he was talking about being in Illvya rather than being married to her. “I know.”
“Which brings me back to the question, love, of what you want to do.”
“If we had a choice, I’d rather live my life quietly with you somewhere. But I don’t think we have that choice.” She couldn’t stop the small sigh that escaped her.
“No, it would seem not. Even if we were back in Anglion, we wouldn’t be able to hide away.”
“Then if we can’t run, we have to fight for ourselves. And I think that, if we need to fight, then we need to be well-armed. To hone what strengths we have.”
“You want to stay here at the Academe and study, then,” Cameron said. It wasn’t a question.
“I think it’s our best option, don’t you?” She twisted to look up at his steady blue eyes. “Unless we’re going to try to run back to Anglion right away. And I don’t see how we can. Unless Chloe helpfully told you how to return? Or Captain Jensen?”
Cameron shrugged. “Chloe, no. The captain . . . well, let’s say he mentioned there may be ways to contact him. But we’d need a head start to make it back to the coast and I don’t think we’d get one here. Not with demons surrounding us, and wizards using magic we don’t understand. I doubt we’d get more than half a mile once someone raised the alarm if we tried to leave.”
“So we stay, then.” She felt more certain as she said the words, even though her stomach still churned. “And we learn. As much as we can. About magic. About Illvya and the empire. So no one can control us.”
“You realize that, if you become a stronger witch, it’s only going to make you more of a prize?”
“If I become a stronger witch, then anyone who tries to take me as a prize is going to have to pay a price.”
“And when the emperor decides to take an interest in us?” Cameron said.
She shook her head, frustrated. That was the unknown in this plan, what the emperor would do. Or how long they might have until he decided. “Until we know what he wants from us, that’s hard to plan for. I think it’s best to just focus on learning what we can before then. After . . . well, we can make a new plan. But for now, we need information. And I need more training. So this is the best place for us. Besides, perhaps they can help us understand the bond. How it is I can do blood magic.” She looked up at him, struck by a thought. “Maybe whether you can do earth magic.”
Cameron frowned. “It may be safer to stay within the bounds of what we know. If you dabble in other magics, then it will be very hard for us to return home.”
“Illvyan refugees are not unheard of.” Chloe was one, for a start.
“Illvyan refugees. Not Anglions who have gone to the land of the enemy and returned having consorted with demons.”
“Hardly consorting.” She had no desire to go any closer to any of the sanctii than she had to.
“That’s not how the Domina would view it,” Cameron said. “Besides which, the average Illvyan refugee is not one of the heirs to the throne.”
“I’d rather not be an heir,” Sophie said. “The Domina should be happy if I disqualify myself.” The Domina was rarely happy about anything to do with Sophie, however. Least of all something she would clearly view as heresy.
“Perhaps. But our families are still in Anglion. I, for one, do not want to give up the chance to get back to them one day.”
Guilt twinged again. He was right. She couldn’t only think of herself. Or even only of Cameron. There were other
people affected by their flight from Anglion. Her parents. Her brothers. Cameron’s brothers and their families. People they both loved. If they wanted to be able to see them again, they needed to consider each step they took carefully. “All right,” she agreed. “Then earth magic for me. Blood magic for you. Learning about the empire for both of us. The bond, well, that can wait for now. Maybe we can discover more about it on our own.”
Chapter 4
Cameron watched Sophie straighten her shoulders under the quilt and tried to ignore the sensation of a door closing firmly behind them.
“Agreed,” he said. It was a choice. Perhaps not the right one—though only time would reveal that—but a choice. And, in truth, there were no truly good choices in this situation. Only the choice to stay with Sophie and work to make sure they survived. That one day they could have a life that held a greater resemblance to normality than the one that currently lay before them.
He was about to become a student at the Academe di Sages—Maison Corbie, as the Illvyans called it affectionately. Which was something he’d never even thought of imagining, so far was it from the realm of things that were possible or even desirable when he’d been safely back in Anglion.
But they were in Illvya now.
Alive despite the best attempts of their unknown enemies.
He intended to stay that way.
Intended to keep Sophie alive, too.
She still had shadows under her eyes, the darkness draining some of the golden glow from her skin. Tired from their headlong flight. As he was, too.
The quilt she’d pulled around her shoulders was a rich blue that should have suited her. Instead it served to emphasize how exhausted she looked.
She shivered again, despite the enveloping folds of the quilt, and he made a decision.
First things first.
They needed to tell Maistre Matin of their decision and, after that, there were a hundred details to determine and questions to ask. But now, looking at the edges of Sophie’s battered gray dress peeking out from beneath the quilt—and, as he moved to tuck the quilt around her and caught a whiff of stale sweat and salt and smoke wafting from his own clothes—he knew the thing he wanted most of all was a bath. To feel clean and comfortable and not quite so much as though he was running for his life.
If he felt that way, then no doubt Sophie felt the same.
Plus, a bath would help speed the chill she still seemed to feel from her bones.
He stood and held out a hand. “Come with me.”
Her brows rose. “Where are we to go?”
“I thought we might investigate that bathing chamber Willem pointed out to us.” He lifted an arm and sniffed exaggeratedly. “I, for one, need to renew my acquaintance with hot water and soap.”
Her brows rose higher. “Are you saying I smell?”
“You, milady, could never smell.” He grinned at her. “Though, right now, I will say you are somewhat . . . fragrant.”
Sophie smiled. “I did wonder whether maybe that crow liked me because I smelled like a dead thing.”
He laughed. “If that were the only attraction, he would have chosen me first.” He pulled on her hand and she rose obediently to her feet, fingers tightening on his, letting the quilt slither from her shoulders to fall back on the bed. She did smell faintly of sweat, and her clothes had the same tang of salt and smoke and too many days’ wearing as his, overlaid with the more recent scent of their breakfast. But underneath it all she still smelled warm and female. Like Sophie. A smell he was extremely fond of.
He turned toward the door.
“Wait,” she said.
“You don’t want to bathe?”
“I do.” She glanced down at her dress. “But we need fresh clothes.”
He hadn’t packed any other clothing in the small bag he’d brought. He’d saved the room for any valuables he could find, ammunition for his pistol, and a spare dagger. Then matches and anything else he’d thought might be useful. “Did you bring any?” He’d told her not to, if he was remembering rightly. To focus on valuables. Clothes could be purchased, if they had the funds.
“Just underthings.” She wrinkled her nose. “If we bathe and then put these clothes back on, it will surely defeat the purpose of bathing in the first place.”
She was right, but he couldn’t see an alternative. Clothing required cash, which would require changing some of the coin or jewels they had brought. That was not a simple matter. For one thing, he had no idea if they would be permitted to leave the Academe to go into Lumia.
“We’ll feel cleaner, at least,” he said. “Then we can ask Willem for assistance to find new clothes.” The boy had told them how to summon him or one of the Academe servants. “We can always bathe again.”
Sophie didn’t look pleased at the prospect, lips pursing. “We could call for a servant now.”
“Yes, but that might take some time. Not to mention all the fussing that would go with finding clothing that may fit. That could take hours.” If the maids in the Academe were one-tenth as fastidious as those who attended the court ladies in Anglion, it would take hours. “And those hours will be a little more pleasant once we are more refreshed.”
Sophie looked torn.
“Nice big bath,” he coaxed. “Soap. Clean hair. Warmth.”
Perhaps the thought of the simple pleasure of hot water and soap was too much to resist. because her expression eased, and she headed for the door.
* * *
Like many of the other rooms in the Academe, the walls of the bathing chamber were tiled. But here the tiles extended all the way up the wall and then covered the floor as well. Like the other rooms, the tiles were painted with intricate designs—in this case fish, watery-looking plants and flowers, and tiny suns. And however they were glazed—was that the right term?—it wasn’t simply a layer of shine but instead glimmered somehow, making the tiles look almost like pearls, a sheen of color adding depth and movement to the images painted on them.
Though surely, here in Illvya where the sanctii had free rein, it wouldn’t actually be pearl? Anglions wore pearls to protect themselves from demons. Born of the sea, it was said they would keep a sanctii—for whom salt water was anathema—from being able to work their magic on the wearer.
Having seen a sanctii now, Cameron wasn’t sure he still believed it.
Still, the tiles gleamed pearl-like before him. Added to the flickering light through the lamps on the walls—the chamber had no windows—and the walls seemed almost alive.
Or maybe that was just his still-tired brain.
Sophie hadn’t wasted time staring at the walls. She was bent over the huge bath, working the brass taps. Hot water poured from the faucet. The expression in her deep brown eyes as she straightened to watch the bath fill was near to lust. It didn’t change when she turned to study the glass bottles lining the tiled niche in the wall at the end of the bath closest to him.
“You first,” he said. Her head twisted, one brow arching as though she didn’t believe he meant what he said. He wasn’t entirely sure he did. Just looking at the steaming water made him even more acutely aware of the thin layer of grim and dust ground into his skin.
But she would be more at ease if he watched the door while she bathed, so he just nodded at her and pointed toward the bath. Sophie didn’t wait for a second invitation. She fumbled at her dress and soon enough it lay in a puddle of gray wool at her feet.
Cameron’s breath stilled. The light of the lamps turned Sophie’s skin a deeper shade of gold. And between the lamplight and the steam, her thin chemise was practically transparent. She reached for one of the glass bottles of oil, lifted the stopper, sniffed once and then bent to pour some into the water. As she leaned forward, the curve of her breast was perfectly silhouetted. Something flared in his gut as he watched her, the scent of spice and smoke and flowers rising around them from whatever she’d put in the water.
It made his head spin a little, the sudden fierce heat of longing.
His wife.
The past few days had been fear and flight, and there was maybe more of that to come, but here and now, there was the two of them. He moved toward her without thinking, fingers loosening his own clothes.
“On second thought, that bathtub is big enough for both of us,” he said, bending to press his lips to the back of her neck. Her skin was slightly damp, warming from the steam. Salt and Sophie. A heady combination.
They’d had no time for this in their flight. Survival was more important than satisfaction, after all. But now they were safe. And he’d slept and eaten.
Those basic needs satisfied, he found he suddenly wanted to satisfy some other urges.
His wife.
It still surprised him, this strength of wanting when it came to her. Having subsumed it for the last few days meant that it only returned more strongly now as he curved his body over hers, letting his hand stray around to capture the breast that had tantalized him.
Sophie gasped.
There. That sound. That was the one he liked.
Sophie liked it, too. Her nipple had hardened to his touch. But then she wriggled free.
“Bath,” she said firmly. “I’m filthy.” She looked him up and down with a frown. “So are you.”
“You taste just fine to me.”
He reached and she dodged. “Bath.”
“How about we combine the two?”
The tub was more than big enough for the two of them. Positively decadent. Which made one wonder exactly why the Academe needed such luxurious facilities for its guests. But maybe they were just being hospitable.
“Sounds slippery,” she said.
“Slippery is good. If you’ve forgotten that over the last few days, then I definitely need to remind you.”
She shook her head at him. “You have a one-track mind.” She pulled her chemise over her head and dropped it. He took a step forward, wanting her more.
“When it comes to you, milady wife, then yes, I am guilty as charged. I want you.”
Sophie stepped into the bath and sank down into the water, her face turning blissful. “You’ll need to take off your clothes. I don’t mind sharing a bath with you, but I’m not doing your laundry.”
