Revele was perceptive. “Well, I’ll get one of my men to show you to your cabins. With a reduced crew, you should all travel comfortably.”
After seeing his men settled, Raed asked to see the operation of the ship, and Sorcha tagged along just to watch his face. A small cabin boy called Hoise showed them around, even taking them down the length of the dirigible to where the propulsion system was housed.
“Weirstones.” Raed let out a little laugh. “Priceless! You lecture us on the use of them—and yet here the Imperial Fleet is powered by them!”
“There is a difference.” Sorcha patted the swirling blue sphere. The orb was smooth and cool under her hand. “These have been constructed by the Arch Abbey for this purpose. They can only be used by trained engineers, and they only provide propulsion.”
As if on cue, a gust caught the ship and bounced it around, even though they were still tethered. Raed grabbed onto her—half instinctually, but half for comic effect as well, she suspected. The touch of his hand on her body sent her blood racing, and Sorcha didn’t move it away.
Raed smelled of leather and sea salt, as if the ocean had invaded every piece of his being, and underlying it was a faint sweet smell, almost like honeysuckle. Unwittingly Sorcha drew in a breath, though her heart was definitely running faster than usual. The Bond she’d created was now a web for her, for she could feel his heart racing too, like a counterpoint to her own.
The Pretender did not move, but he smiled; his teeth flashed white against his suntanned face. On her arm, his fingers tightened slightly.
“The Captain asked me to show you to your cabin.” The young lad, Hoise, appeared around the edge of the weirstone array, and Raed let go of Sorcha and stepped back a little. “I think that would be an excellent idea.”
“It has been”—Sorcha cleared her throat, knowing that she was, of all things, blushing—“a long few days.” She couldn’t believe the warmth in her cheeks. What was she—eighteen again?
Hoise glanced between them as if suddenly catching wind of a current. “Well, we will be casting off very shortly. The cabins are back here.”
Raed gave a little bow and gestured for her to follow after the boy. Sorcha was glad to do so, sure that he could tell the effect his closeness was having on her. Stupid.
The rest of their companions were exhausted and had retreated to their own cabins to rest. Only Merrick remained, leaning against the side. Sorcha thought he looked like he’d aged several years in two weeks. That was normal for those fresh out of the novices, but Sorcha found she was sorry for the strain in her partner’s face.
Wordlessly, all three of them waited at the gunwales as the Summer Hawk crew scrambled to cast off. She might have seen it all before, but it still was impressive. Once the ropes were cast off, the dirigible rose upward like a child’s balloon—a balloon that could carry more than a hundred troops. The only sounds were from the crew and the creaking of the hull. The weirstone power system was silent and Sorcha had to admit that it was eerie.
Raed and Merrick watched the ground recede from under the hull. Not many got a chance to fly in the Emperor’s fleet, and many would not want to.
“Everything’s so small,” Merrick said as they climbed higher. The line of hills and the sea spread out before them.
“There’s Ulrich.” Raed’s discomfort appeared to have given way to awe as he pointed to the cluster of gray and brown. He whipped out his little spyglass and trained it on the town. “And I can see Dominion. Amazing!”
Merrick yawned. “Yes, absolutely. But I feel like a horse ran over me.”
“There’s no need for you to stay up.” Sorcha could feel his exhaustion leaking through to her. She wasn’t as tired as all that, so the sooner he got rest, the better for her.
He glanced across and smiled slightly, knowing exactly what she meant. “Very well.” He turned away, stopped, and Sorcha could feel him opening his Center. It was just for a moment, like a dog raising its nose to sniff the breeze. She caught the faintest impression of a laugh as he entered his cabin and shut the door. Very strange. But then, it had been a long few days for her partner.
She shook her head, aware of her own growing heat. Raed was looking at her now, and in a totally different way. Along the Bond there was no escaping the knowledge of what he was thinking, and she was perfectly aware that he was unconsciously tasting her own thoughts. She had not mentioned the Bond, she would not mention the Bond, and yet it was wrapping them both up in desire; like a snake eating its tail.
“A handful of people against the greatest monster of legend.” Raed stroked his beard and looked at her askance. “This could end very badly.”
Her hands, where they rested on the edge of the railing, were trembling slightly. She looked down at them and wondered when that had happened last. She was the strong Deacon, the most powerful Active in the Abbey. She certainly didn’t feel strong or powerful right now.
“We should rest.” The Pretender’s voice was loaded with meaning in those few words. He held out his hand to her, and without thinking she took it.
Inside, the cabin smelled of well-oiled wood. A wide bed, perhaps the Captain’s own, dominated the center of the room. She noticed it was strung on chains, so that the swaying of the wind would rock it rather than tilt it. Raed touched the corner of her cheek, the lightest of caresses, but in her chest her heart began to race.
“Deacon Sorcha Faris,” he whispered, and her name on his lips sounded incredibly erotic. “I want you so.”
Those eyes, which she had noted could be green one minute and blue the next, held hers steady—honest in their desire. He had spread his cards on the table and his look said the decision was hers. At this point Sorcha might have expected to at least hesitate, to remember who she was, and her marriage; but it had been so long since she had felt this rush of desire and emotion. Too long.
She couldn’t pause to consider. She had to experience what she had glimpsed. He mustn’t have been expecting her to, though, because in the half darkness she saw his eyes widen a little in shock. She meant only to taste his lips, to sample a slice of forbidden fruit, but when they kissed, everything changed.
It was no simple kiss, not the soft, gentle kind Sorcha had become used to; this was teeth and tongue and gasps. This was a kiss that was felt everywhere. And soon, merely to kiss was not enough; skin needed to be against skin. Raed slid his hand under her tunic, grasping her breast and sending jolts of desire down her spine. Sorcha should have pulled away, but instead she arched her back, inviting him to take more. He bent, and his teeth tightened on her nipple. She cried out—a gasp of pleasure and pain. Then she was pulling her tunic off, while his mouth traced every curve of her body he could reach.
Sorcha helped him with his shirt, tugging it apart and then reaching for his pants. She had thought she wanted Raed, but now it was a need, a requirement. When they were finally naked she let out a long, satisfied sigh. His body felt like warm satin on hers. Consumed by pleasure, Sorcha slid herself up and down against him, relishing the sensation. Raed groaned, and then laughed a little. “I never guessed Deacons were quite like this. If I’d known, I might have risked a visit to the Abbey.”
Sorcha felt a satisfied grin on her face. Years with Kolya had almost made her forget her own power, her own sexuality. It was heady stuff to be naked with someone who appreciated it. So she took the compliment and pressed her lips back to his. Raed’s hands slid over her body gently at first, and then suddenly pulled her tight against him.
Frantic for more, they staggered back together onto the swaying bed. With surprise, Sorcha realized she was shaking. She couldn’t recall her body ever reacting like this before. It was like she didn’t even know it, as it obeyed more primal instincts. Raed curled his hands around her hair, trapping her against him. His strength was intoxicating, and for once Sorcha did not feel the need to fight another’s power. Instead she bent under it, giving way with a satisfied sigh.
Sliding her hands down Raed�
��s back, reveling in the texture of his skin and the faintest beginnings of sweat between them, Sorcha knew that she was being wanton. Yet even this realization was curiously satisfying. She groaned deeply as his tongue ran the length of her neck.
He didn’t deny either of their needs. They rolled slightly on the bed, as the airship thrummed around them, climbing higher. Sorcha giggled, quite undone by desire and awareness of her own mad folly. Pressing her down against the bed, his lips never leaving her, Raed thrust himself inside the gasping Deacon Sorcha Faris.
The sensation was so intense that all of her remaining control dropped away. “Raed.” Her voice came out as a half moan as she dug her fingers into his back. Sorcha’s thighs locked around him tightly when he moved in her, while every other muscle clenched to draw him closer. Pleasure fanned through her body from the places where they joined, until that was all there was.
They ate up hours with each other. Laughing in the between moments at their own passionate madness, drowning in the sensation. Sorcha let herself be carried away, for once forgetting the control that had been taught to her and enjoying their moments together. Finally they lay against each other, sweat drying on their bodies and drowsy exhaustion lying over them like a blanket. Even though Sorcha had thought herself a fit person, her body ached pleasantly in places she didn’t know it could. She made a mental count of them; tongue, thighs and back cried out.
And also unexpected. Sorcha took what felt like her first real breath in hours. Raed rolled over and kissed the damp spot at the base of her neck. “You, Mistress Deacon, are quite the minx, and quite the surprise.”
“As are you.” She trailed her fingers over the outline of his lip and brushed against his teeth; those teeth that always flashed in that smile that had caused this whole thing. Even now she wanted to be kissing him, bruised and battered as she might be.
They stared at each other a moment, smiling in disregard of the storms that loomed ahead. His voice broke through the silence they shared, and he surprised her yet again.
“And if I said I am falling under your spell, Mistress Deacon, would that get you to leap from this bed and run back to your Abbey?”
He was smiling, but behind his eyes, green in the candle-light, was something serious. Slowly she shook her head. “No—strangely, no.” It was the truth.
Raed kissed her lightly and pulled back. “I should not seek out more complications in my life, but you are a delightful one.” His honesty once again completely disarmed her. Used to dealing with men in a controlled void, where emotion and circumstance were never really discussed, she had no experience to fall back on. She floundered a bit in this new environment.
Sorcha had to rely, for the first time, on her own feelings. With a lazy smile and a sigh, she replied, “I certainly thought all this behind me—that makes you dangerous, Captain Rossin.”
His hazel eyes widened but the glint of teeth in his smile made her deepest core twitch. “It is the situation that is dangerous, and frighteningly good.”
“Frighteningly good,” she whispered back in agreement. “But I love it when reality exceeds expectation—that rarely happens.”
She’d laughed, before, at people who told her, “I couldn’t keep my hands off him,” but now at the receiving end, she understood. Raed was a need that was impossible to deny. She felt overcome with sex and pleasure. The experience could prove dangerously addictive. Stroking Raed’s dirty blond hair, she tried to file away the sensation of it; surely this much pleasure couldn’t last. The realization was bittersweet.
His eyes narrowed on her and she feared what was coming. “And your husband, Sorcha—what of him?”
So this was not to be more than sex, then—not for him. The Deacon sighed, her gaze dropping to Raed’s chest. “I don’t suppose you can imagine how it is to be in a dead marriage? How it is to realize you made a huge mistake?”
Raed’s breathing slowed, but she wouldn’t yet meet his eyes. “Is it really that bad?”
“If it was good, you and I would not be in this cabin.” Sorcha said it lightly, hoping he knew she wasn’t sorry. It was the truth, though, and for some reason she wanted to tell him the truth.
Raed tipped her chin up to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry, Sorcha.”
The Deacon frowned. “He shut me out of everything: our love life, our friendship—even our work.” The hollow pit inside her, the one she had been ignoring for so long, was opening up at her feet. “I married him because I loved him, and then I watched him slip away from me.”
By the Bones, she had not wanted to talk about this with him, but it also felt good to finally confide in someone. Yet Sorcha was also fully aware they did not have much time until they reached Vermillion—and there her problems would be waiting for her.
“Don’t let’s talk about Kolya . . . please.” She reached out for him to drive away those moments yet to come.
Raed smiled slightly, the kind of melancholy smile that she knew was on her own lips. He let his fingers trail down her hip, and despite her exhaustion Sorcha was shocked to feel her body stir to life. She should be hungry—she hadn’t eaten since breakfast—but her body still wanted only him. Certainly, there couldn’t be many more moments left to them.
“So, Sorcha,” Raed whispered, “have you finished with your interrogation of this dangerous fugitive?” His tone was husky and teasing, as if he knew what he’d awoken in her. His fingertips traced patterns on her skin, writing his name or trailing cantrips she didn’t know. If only there were a rune to make time stop outside the cabin. If only she could order the Captain to circle the City of Vermillion instead of landing.
Now should be the time for guilt, but that was not the emotion that filled her. Instead, it was something Sorcha had experienced before, in the face of a geist—exhilaration. She stroked his thick hair before curling her fist tightly in it. “Fortunately, for both of us . . . no. I haven’t.”
He laughed as she pulled him back to her mouth; for now, there were still moments left to them. They would enjoy every one.
EIGHTEEN
Epiphany at the Scarlet City
Sorcha and Raed had barely left their cabin for two days. Everyone was uncomfortably aware of this, but none more so than Merrick.
He’d heard the rumors of his partner’s marriage, the whispers that it was now nothing more than a convenience, but in their short time together he had not been able to get the details. Now, however, he was getting much more than he had ever wanted to.
“Are you all right, Merrick?” Nynnia squeezed his arm.
The ripples of pleasure along the Bond were doing very uncomfortable things to his anatomy, especially with the young woman at his side standing so very close. Merrick tugged his cloak tighter about him as quickly as he could. “Yes. Yes, fine. It’s just cold.”
She turned and looked out over the rolling clouds and bright blue sky. “It is a little cold, I suppose, but the view makes up for it.”
Merrick gritted his teeth as spasms of reflected delight ran down his spine. Whatever the young Pretender was doing, he was doing it very well. Knowing these things about another man was awkward, and it was something that had not been covered in any novice class he could remember.
He should have been thinking about the task ahead: what they were going to say to the Arch Abbot, how exactly they were going to find the Grand Duchess—anything at all but the physical pleasures his partner was indulging in. However, the only thoughts Merrick could muster were along a similar vein. The curve of Nynnia’s soft neck, the swell of her breasts beneath her bodice, the long, tapered length of her fingers, the . . .
He swayed sideways and smacked his knee into the wood of the halyards; it was not entirely accidental.
“Merrick.” Nynnia clutched him to her, completely negating any advantages from the momentary pain.
He wanted to turn and kiss her—certainly he had already, but he knew if he felt her soft lips beneath his, there would be no going back. He wasn’t about to sa
tiate desires based on Sorcha’s—that felt wrong, and a disservice to Nynnia.
Merrick jerked away as Kyrix hobbled toward them. The old man was slowly recovering from the beating he’d received at the hands of the Prior, but his eyes were still weary.
He nodded to the Deacon, but clasped Nynnia’s hand in his own. His fingers on hers were white and almost shaking. “Daughter, I would speak to you.” His gaze darted almost resentfully to Merrick. “Alone.”
“Father, I—”
“Please, Nynnia.”
The woman straightened, kissed the back of his hand and allowed herself to be led forward beyond the range of everyday ears. The expression on Kyrix’s face tempted Merrick to strain his trained senses further, but he heard the snap of boots on the wood behind him.
Captain Revele was striding along the gangway toward him. With Sorcha occupied, the officer turned to Merrick for instruction—not that there had been much required. The young fleet officer’s short dark hair ruffled in the winds that drove her ship, and her lips were slightly pursed. Beautiful, full lips that—
Merrick cursed the Bond, and tried once again to concentrate on his throbbing knee. “Captain,” he managed to mutter, “is there a problem?”
“No, not at all,” Revele tucked her hands behind her back. “In fact, we are drawing up on Vermillion.”
“Two days?” Merrick glanced over the edge of the dirigible. “Very impressive.”
“Summer Hawk is one of the fastest in the fleet, and we have encountered fortunate wind . . .” Her voice trailed off
“Is there a problem, Captain?” Merrick pushed his hair out of his eyes with one hand.
“Well”—Revele glanced down at her boots—“I was wondering which dock you wanted us to make for—there are several in Vermillion we can choose.” She leveled a knowing look at Merrick. “Depending on how . . . obvious you want to make your arrival.”
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