“There,” she said once she finished. She glanced up to find Jos watching her.
His gaze dropped to the board, and he turned the obsidian side toward himself. “Your move.”
Sable raised a teasing brow. “Hoping you’ll remember how to play by watching me?”
“Something like that.” He lay on his side, propped himself upon an elbow, and stretched his long legs.
Sable eyed him, then moved.
Jos surveyed the landscape like a scout, looking for advantage, studying his enemy for weaknesses. His forehead creased with decision, and he moved. It wasn’t a traditional move, but then, he wasn’t a traditional player.
“Don’t go easy on me,” Jos said.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Sable said, then took her next turn, cornering two of his most important pieces.
Jos frowned. “That’s a rutting good move.”
“I know.”
His gaze cut through her.
She beamed.
His eyes narrowed, and his attention fell back to the board.
“Quiet,” he said.
Sable realized she’d started humming. So she hummed a little louder.
His gaze shot up, but he didn’t look annoyed. In fact, a spark lit his eyes, and he made his next move, evaded capture, and scooped up her ivory Beléna.
Sable stopped humming. “Basics, huh?”
“I’m a fast learner.”
“You’re also a liar.”
He chuckled. The sound resonated through his chest more than his mouth, and it warmed through Sable. “Your turn.”
Back and forth they worked—in silence—each of them focused on the board before them, moving pieces, staking claims, each pressing forward to conquer the sun. Sable marveled at the way his mind worked, how he capitalized on the unexpected, catching her off guard more than once. She adjusted her tactics, anticipating his stealthier approach, and a few times she caught him watching her. She thought he looked a little impressed.
Jos’s fingers brushed two saints before settling on his Saredd, but rather than move it, he said, “You were caught smuggling Scabs, weren’t you?”
Sable stopped drumming her fingers and glanced up. The intensity in his gaze pinned her in place.
“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it, Sable?” he continued, rolling Saredd absently between his fingers. “Is Sable even your real name? It’s not an Istraan name.”
“Stop trying to distract me from the game. Your move.” She nodded to the piece in his hand.
Jos’s smile was predatory—a challenge accepted. “You hate The Wilds. You miss the desert. I see it in your eyes every time you’re reminded of it.” His gaze flickered pointedly to the purple Istraan silk she’d touched earlier. He’d been paying attention. “And music… it pours out of you. It’s like you’re constantly moving to a song only you hear, but you don’t perform, though I sense you easily could. Instead, you keep to the shadows so no one sees you, and you walk on your toes so no one hears you, but not because you’re shy.” He cocked his head to the side. He was a tracker, following clues, gathering them up faster and faster with that sharp mind of his.
“You don’t want to draw attention to yourself,” he continued. “It’s how you’ve survived as an Istraan all these years—alone, as a woman. It’s why you keep your hair short, to help hide your heritage, but you don’t cut it completely, as you should. Your heart is in Istraa, but you won’t return, which tells me you were forced to leave. That’s not a surprise. Everyone in this godsdamn place was forced here one way or another. Most of them are criminals. You said so yourself. You even claim to be a thief, but I don’t buy that. I’ve known thieves. Many of them. You don’t have it in you. ”
He was goading her, trying to get under her skin. Trying to pull out the truth.
Sable stared straight back, her expression stone. “It’s your move.”
He threw his Saredd across the room, and Sable jumped. Obsidian struck stone and clattered to the floor. Black rimmed Jos’s irises, and the blue within stormed.
He wasn’t playing anymore.
He knew the truth—somehow—and he was taunting her with details, trapping her inside of them until she confessed. Sable calculated how many paces it would take to reach the ladder. In her periphery, she found the Istraan star.
“No, you’re not a thief. You’re too compassionate,” he said, daring her to deny it. “You saved my life twice when you had no reason to trust me. You would help a Scab if they needed it, and you did. You were caught, so you fled.” He paused, letting his verdict sink in, so certain he was right. A hunter, closing in for the kill. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
By. The. Wards.
Sable was speechless.
No one had ever seen her so clearly, and even though he hadn’t guessed the complete truth, he’d guessed enough to leave her stunned, and also largely relieved. He didn’t know. She wondered how long he’d been mulling this over, trying to figure her out.
He leaned closer still, over the gameboard. His hot breath feathered across her face, and he smelled of pine and earth.
“Tell me”—his eyes moved back and forth between both of hers, his gaze penetrating—“I’m wrong.”
Maker’s Mercy, he was beautiful.
Her gaze slid over the strong lines of his jaw, the fullness of his mouth, and rather than argue his points as she probably should have, she leaned forward and kissed him.
His lips were soft, and the scruff around his mouth scratched her face a little, but then she grew increasingly aware of the fact that he wasn’t kissing her back.
He’d gone rigid.
Jos gripped her shoulders and shoved her back. His eyes were so dark they looked black, and a dangerous shadow fell over him.
Sable opened her mouth to speak, but words evaded her. She felt… confused, and embarrassed, and also a little angry, and his fingertips were digging into her shoulders. She shook her head a fraction, trying to shake sense into it. Trying to quiet the strange and sudden ringing in her ears. “I’m… I don’t…” She cleared her throat; her cheeks burned. “I shouldn’t have—”
Jos grabbed her chin and kissed her hard.
Sable’s apology died on her lips.
He squeezed her chin and kissed her again, and again, stealing her breath, her confusion and anger. Stealing away every other thought until all that remained was him. His mouth was fever-hot, and his tongue tasted sweet as it slipped into her mouth and pushed against hers, insistent and demanding.
Emboldened, Sable kissed him back.
Her tongue pushed against his in a dance of power, and Jos groaned. The sound was almost pained. Still holding her face, he climbed onto his knees and tried scooting closer, but his knees bumped the Hokstra board. With a growl, he shoved the game aside. Pieces flew everywhere, gods clattered to the floor, and Jos drew her in his arms, closing the last threads of space between them.
His hands clawed through her hair as his mouth covered hers completely, ravenous. The force of his kiss pressed her back into a crate. Something rattled, knocked off balance. Sable didn’t know what. Didn’t care. He slid her from the crate and lowered her onto the blanket, his knees between her legs. He tugged his tunic up and over his head and tossed it behind him, but just as he lowered himself on top her, Sable hooked her leg around his and rolled him onto his back.
He looked up at her with surprise, and then his eyes narrowed, burning with a desire that made her pulse race out of control. She had never been with anyone before, and even though she and Jos had already been naked together, this felt completely different. He hadn’t looked at her then—really looked at her, as he did now—and his attention both excited and terrified her.
He reached up, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and dragged her mouth firmly down to his. Some of her hair spilled over his face, but he buried himself in it, breathing in deeply as he kissed her through it. A little thrill moved through her body and, instinctively, she squeezed her legs, pinching his
thighs between hers. He groaned against her mouth, and in one fluid motion, he flipped her onto her back again, dumping her onto the blanket. His boot knocked the small table, a vase toppled and shattered, and a collection of marbles spilled upon the floor.
They froze. Marbles rolled.
Sable laughed, but Jos smothered it with his lips, as if he wanted to catch the sound. Devour it. He sank on top of her, and her laugh quickly turned into a soft moan. His body burned hot as a brazier through her thin tunic, and she ran her palms over his back, marveling at the smoothness of his skin and the hardness of his muscles, shifting as he touched her, kissed her. He was like the desert, his breath a sultry night, his hands the blazing sun, and everywhere he touched, his fingers set fire to her skin.
His lips moved down her neck and teased along her collarbone, and a little gasp caught in Sable’s throat. He dug his fingers into her hips, pulled them firmly against his, and Sable felt suddenly and inexplicably impatient. She grabbed his face, dragged his mouth back to hers, and kissed him hard.
He growled against her mouth just as someone pounded on the hatch above.
“What’s going on down there?” Gavet called through the hatch, his tone suspicious.
He must’ve heard the vase explode.
Sable pulled her mouth from Jos’s, her heart speeding out of control. “Nothing!” she called out, trying to sound calm, which was almost impossible when Jos started kissing down her neck again. “Jos tripped over a crate!”
Jos nipped her ear and tugged at her shirt.
“Remind your employer to be more careful,” Gavet said with irritation. “I have contacts in Southbridge. If he breaks anything, I’ll recover the expense one way or another.”
Gavet’s tread thumped on and faded to silence.
Sable turned back to Jos, but he’d gone still. He hovered there, one elbow beside her, his other hand at her waist, his expression unreadable.
“Jos…?” She leaned in to kiss him, but he turned his head away from her.
She pulled back, hiding the sharp pang she felt.
“Gods, what am I doing?” he murmured. His gaze slid around her face, bewildered, and he pushed himself off of her.
Cold air chilled her skin where his lips had been.
He sat back on his heels, his broad back to her, unmoving. Lantern light gilded his pale skin.
“I don’t understand,” Sable said, wondering what in the wards she’d done wrong.
The quiet stretched, awkward and brittle at the edges. Jos raked a hand through his hair, but his fingertips searched for length that was no longer there.
“Is it because I’m Istraan?”
“Get some sleep,” he said. His voice was deep and raw. “It’s late.”
Without a glance in her direction, he jumped to his feet. He grabbed his shirt from where it’d caught on the oud, strode to the foot of the ladder, and lay down upon his blanket.
“Really…?” Sable said sharply. “That’s it? You’re going to just—”
“Goodnight, Sable.”
Sable clenched her teeth. She adjusted her shirt while trying to calm her still-racing heart.
“Oh, and Jos…” she said. “You’re wrong.” She turned off the lantern and lay down.
But he didn’t answer.
Jeric lay flat on his back, staring into the darkness while flicking his thumb over the edge of his dagger.
Sleep wouldn’t come. He told himself it was the hunter in him, the part that never shut off, the part that always listened, always watched. He shoved his dagger beneath his makeshift pillow and turned on his side, his back to her. He couldn’t see her, but he felt her there like a campfire blazing in the night.
And his body still ached.
He dragged a hand over his face. Tomorrow, he would get Braddok. Tomorrow, they’d ride out of this rutting hellshole and take her straight to Skyhold, where he would hand her over to his brother and be done with it.
Jeric gritted his teeth and shut his eyes. The sweet taste of her lingered on his tongue.
Godsdamnit.
22
“You hear about King Tommad?” Alv whispered.
Silas scanned the cards spread on the small table, lit dimly by the lantern.
“He’s dead.”
Silas paused and glanced up, doubtful.
“I swear it,” Alv continued, glancing furtively about them. As if someone would hear them down here, in the skal mine. “Tessa says he’s been sick for months and just passed. Says Prince Hagan is waiting for the Wolf to return before he makes an official announcement. Doesn’t want no trouble from the jarls. Especially Stovich. I hear he’s been a thorn ever since what happened in Reichen.”
Silas raised a bushy brow. “She knows an awful lot about Prince Hagan’s intentions.”
Alv folded his arms at the insinuation. “Say what you—”
Something clattered deeper in the mine, where the Scabs slept. Then… quiet.
They exchanged a glance.
Eventually, Alv shrugged and was moving to play his card when a child laughed. This time, Silas stood.
“Maybe one of ’em’s sleepwalking,” Alv suggested.
“Then I’ll chain them to the rutting wall,” Silas growled. “Be right back.”
Alv nodded.
Silas grabbed a torch from the wall and walked deeper into the mine. Alv watched his silhouette grow dim until he turned a corner. With a sigh, Alv sat forward in his chair, thumbed through his cards, and looked at the spread. He frowned. Silas was going to win. Again.
He glanced down the mine, then reached over and picked up Silas’s hand. He switched a few cards, set them back down exactly as Silas had left them, then reclined back in his chair and waited.
And waited.
Alv tapped his foot and stared at the shadows. He hated guarding the mines. It was like staring at a mouth that was always open, always hungry. His superiors said this wasn’t a demotion, but everyone knew better. The mines were where they sent the guards who’d caused trouble in the commander’s ranks, and Alv and Silas had caused their share. Corinth was spread thin enough, guarding the border and fighting the resurgence of rebel Scab groups; it couldn’t afford to discharge them. So they put them here, in the deep and dark, guarding over Scabs who mined for skal. Not that Alv could complain. Those Scab women provided a constant source of entertainment.
Alv frowned at the shadows. Where was Silas?
And then he heard a whisper.
Alv froze. “Silas?” he called out.
Nothing.
He pulled his dagger free. “Silas, that you?”
No answer.
“Don’t be playing tricks on me…”
Alv watched the shadows. A stiff wind ripped through the mine, and his lantern flickered out, plunging him into total darkness.
Alv cursed, tucked his blade beneath his arm, and fiddled with the lantern, trying to bring it back to life. Glass rattled, and his fingers shook with fear and desperation. He needed to stay calm. There was nothing else down here—nothing that he or Silas hadn’t let pass through the opening. Silas was playing tricks on him again. “Silas, godsdamnit! I’ll…”
He’d just struck the flint when he heard the faintest hiss. Something cold brushed his neck.
Alv jumped, dropped the flint, and knocked the lantern off the table. It crashed to the floor as ice-cold fingers wrapped around his neck, his arms, pulling him under, and Alv screamed.
Sable sat up with a start, and a single note rang in her mind.
Do not fear the path ahead, the voice said again, I will be with you.
The cellar was dark, the world asleep. No light shone through the floorboards above, and when she looked in Jos’s direction, all was quiet. She was starting to lie down again when a strong arm wrapped around her, pulling her back against an even stronger body, and a hand clamped over her mouth.
Sable started.
“It’s just me,” Jos whispered in her ear.
She rela
xed a little, but she immediately knew something was wrong. He peeled his hand away and released her.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“We’ve been discovered.”
Sable looked at the darkness above. She couldn’t hear anything unusual, but then, Jos had senses she didn’t understand.
Jos shifted against her and pushed something into her palm. “Here.”
It was a knife. Sable shoved it into her belt. “Is Ventus here?” she whispered.
“I don’t know, but there are guards upstairs. There could be more outside.”
She didn’t doubt him, but that would mean Gavet had betrayed them.
A floorboard creaked above, and Sable felt a rush of fury. “That godsdamn, spineless piece of scat.”
“I think I’m starting to wear off on you,” Jos said dryly.
“I’ll kill him.”
“In a few minutes, you might just get your chance.” His shoulder brushed hers. “Wait here.”
“You’re going to handle the guards. By yourself.”
“I mean it, Sable,” he said firmly.
There was no point in arguing with him, so she didn’t.
He moved away from her. Ladder rungs creaked beneath his solid weight, and he pounded on the hatch. Meanwhile, Sable felt her way forward in the darkness. He could give all the orders he wanted. She didn’t have to obey them.
“Gavet,” Jos called. When Gavet didn’t answer, Jos pounded again, harder this time. “Gavet.”
A shuffle and a scrape, and, finally, footfalls thudded overhead. “Yes…?” Gavet’s irritation was muffled through the hatch. “Gods above, do you have any idea what time it—”
“Open the hatch. Sable’s not breathing.”
Silence.
It was a smart move. She was the prize, after all, and if anything were to propel Gavet to open that hatch, it would be for fear that his prize had been compromised.
“What do you mean, not breathing?” Gavet asked.
“I mean she’s not breathing,” Jos growled. “She had a reaction to one of her sleeping draughts, I think. I need something to stop the swelling.”
The Gods of Men Page 20
