She enjoyed the wine I served – a fifteen-year-old mead – and that was also part of my plan. I did not want her drunk; I did want her relaxed. She seemed unusually timid now, though her pride seemed intact. I knew it would be difficult for her to put that scarred right hand in mine.
“Do you remember the time we had to fight our way out of the cantina in Dia Soso?” Kymber leaned forward with a devilish smile. “One of those smelly Biforians had sliced the belt on your breeches. You had to swing your sword with one hand and hold your pants up with the other.”
“All while trying to escape down the street.” I threw my head back and roared with laughter. “I remember it well, you little vixen. You laughed so hard you couldn’t hold your water anymore. I should remind you of the enormous wet spot you had on your breeches.”
“That’s right!” She laughed with me. “I couldn’t hold it any longer, so I just let go. I smelled so awful, my horse barely tolerated having me on her back that night.”
“The Biforians were formidable swordsman. It’s a wonder you didn’t get hurt yourself.”
The smile left her face as fast as it had come. “There were many times I should’ve gotten hurt and didn’t. And that one time I should’ve been safe and I wasn’t.”
“You’re safe here with me. Always.” It seemed as good a time as any to broach the subject of her injury. “Will you allow me to look at your hand now?”
“Not here.” She grabbed her goblet and drained the last of her wine in a single gulp. “Could we go somewhere private?”
“Would you like to go down to the beach?”
Her eyes brightened; the smile returned. “Yes!”
“Follow me, then. Mrs. Toolwin and her ladies can clean up.”
The world suddenly felt like a very different place. I would have Kymber all to myself at water’s edge this beautiful evening.
I was one lucky man.
8: KYMBER
I was fuzzy from the wine, but I suspect Magnus wanted it that way. I certainly did.
We walked out the back door of his villa onto a covered flagstone patio. A gray stone walkway led from the patio, curved around a splashing fountain, and headed off to what looked like the edge of a cliff.
The light-gray marble fountain was massive. A life-sized, bare-breasted woman stood on a pedestal in the center. She bent slightly at the waist, pouring her perpetual urn of rushing water into the fountain’s round base, a coy smile frozen upon her face.
The detail was amazing. The sculptor’s handiwork included a braid that fell onto the woman’s smooth, curvaceous shoulder. He’d even placed a few stray wisps of hair at her temples. The color of sunlit honey, I imagined.
I turned to Magnus. “Does she ever step off her pedestal and wander the gardens?”
“Gods.” He frowned. “If she does, I don’t want to know.”
“She’s lovely.” I stopped to look up at her. “Whoever carved her was a master.”
“A master indeed. He lives just outside Adamar near the marble quarry. Tablo Mirak. I’ll introduce you someday.” His face flushed red. “I bought her because she reminded me of you.”
“Did she?” I asked and took a second look.
I didn’t see the resemblance, but perhaps Magnus was simply looking for comfort. He didn’t have to believe I was dead if I stood frozen in his back yard, pouring water into the stone basin. I couldn’t fault him for that.
“Art. Another of life’s little pleasures I thought I’d never experience again.” I ran my hand over the statue’s curvaceous thigh, peeking out from beneath her marble tunic. “There’s nothing this lovely . . .” I couldn’t finish the thought. “Lovely” and “Pentorus” didn’t belong in the same sentence.
The walkway ended at the edge of a steep cliff then transitioned into wide stairs cut into the cliff face. I peered over the ledge. The steps led down to the beach.
“How long did this take?” I gestured at the stairs.
“Not as long as you’d think. I had a small army working on them.”
“It’s none of my business, but . . .” I took a deep breath. “What did you do after I went missing? It certainly must’ve been lucrative.”
He caught my arm up in his and stared out at the setting sun. “I was a soldier for hire. A mercenary. I took only the most dangerous jobs.”
“Why?”
“Good question. The challenge, maybe. Or perhaps I was hoping I’d be killed. I don’t know how I wasn’t.” He shrugged. “I was deliberately and incorrigibly reckless. I did many of the jobs so drunk I could barely stay on my feet, but the gods saw fit to spare me. I always thought they knew my pain and didn’t care.” His eyes became dark pools. “That wasn’t the case at all. They were simply looking after a fool until we could be reunited.”
“Oh, Magnus. I’m sorry. I don’t–”
He put two fingers to my lips. “Shh. Those days are behind us. Come.” He tugged me toward the stairs.
We made small talk all the way down. The sun was sinking into the horizon; the water looked like rippled glass. It was warmer and less windy on the beach. Such a soothing place.
We settled into the white sand near a sharp rock that had broken away from the cliff, both of us silent for the longest time. I gathered my courage, certain he would take one look at my right hand and tell me it was beyond hope.
But what if he didn’t? It would mean a great deal of hard work and training, and I would have to get strong first. I was nothing but a bag of bones. Did I have it in me?
Fear and self-doubt are funny things. Once they’ve settled into your psyche, they’re almost impossible to dislodge. Though I’d excelled with a sword, I still felt fear when I went into battle. Then, I had used it as fuel.
Those long years of captivity had taught me a different kind of fear. I learned to lower my gaze and stay silent. I tried to avoid calling attention to myself, if I could. The woman I’d become in that awful place – had to become if I wanted Garai to leave me alone – was directly opposed to my warrior’s training.
Magnus sat patiently beside me, waiting for me to dispatch my demons, but there was no point in further delay. I bit my lip and placed my right hand into Magnus’s left palm.
Did that withered hand belong to me? It looked pathetic and foreign in the middle of his large, masculine hand. Frail had never been a word that applied to me. It did now.
I glanced up at him, wondering if he thought the same, swearing that if I saw pity, I was going back to the house.
I should’ve known better. This was Magnus. Love and compassion shone in his eyes, so much that I nearly snatched my hand back.
Trust. I had to trust him no matter how this examination played out. That would surely prove to be the hardest task of all.
I didn’t trust anyone.
9: MAGNUS
I was shocked when Kymber placed her hand into mine, though I was not oblivious to the moment. Vulnerability and trust, fear and optimism. I saw them all on her beautiful face.
“I’ll try not to hurt you, but I need to see how much movement you have left.” I placed my right hand atop hers. “Please tell me if I’m making you uncomfortable.”
“Don’t worry.” She nodded. “I will.”
I slowly turned her hand over, cringing at what I saw. The scars on both sides were wide and white, slightly raised and streaked with red. The one on her palm was a little worse. Scar tissue was permanent and would limit her. I needed to find a way to loosen it up.
Every finger except her thumb folded over on itself; her fingertips pressed against the top of her palm. Despite this, the nails were short and clean.
I pushed on the unyielding scar. “It’s a good thing your hand didn’t heal in a fist. Your fingernails would’ve grown into your skin.”
“Both my hands were clenched into fists while it healed.” She said it casually, as though everyone faces such a challenge.
“Why?”
“The pain was nearly unbearable. I did everythi
ng I could to stay silent, including biting right through my bottom lip.” She pointed to a scar near her chin that I hadn’t noticed, then shrugged. “Some days weren’t bad, if I didn’t think about it too much. Others were endless.”
I stared at her hand in mine, unable to comprehend that much pain. “How did you get it open like this?”
“I worked with it every day. It gave me something to do in the cage. My thumb was uninjured. I could still use it to grasp things, though it was hard with my fingers folded over like the crust on a meat pie. And I had the same thought you did about the fingernails.” She gave me a weak smile. “I didn’t want them growing into my palm and out the back of my hand.”
“So it’s not as bad as it was. How did you do it?”
“I exercised my fingers every day. I bent and unbent each one thirty times in the morning and again in the evening.” She gave a short laugh. “There must have been a chicken coop somewhere on the grounds.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The window near my cage was open to the outside in the summer. Every morning a red rooster would come and sit on the windowsill and crow to wake me up. I felt as though he knew my situation and had come to commiserate.” A flush rose on her cheeks. “Oh, never mind. It sounds silly.”
I gripped her hand. “Tell me.”
“It was as though he came to show me there was still a world out there. I named him James. Anyway, he would come in the morning and evening. When I saw him in the window, I knew it was time to work with my stiff fingers.”
As she spoke, I massaged her little finger then tried to straighten it. There was minimal movement – the joints were stiff as wood – so I applied a little more pressure.
“Ouch! No!” She grimaced then laughed. “I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. I hurt you after I promised I wouldn’t. I just needed to see if there was any flexibility in the joints.” I moved on to the next frozen finger.
“There isn’t. What you see before you is the best I could do.”
“Which I think is fairly remarkable, given the severity of the injury. Cut into the center of your palm, you say?” I ran my fingers over the scar again.
“Right down into the center.” She sighed. “I suppose you want to hear the story.”
“Not if you don’t wish to tell me.”
“Well.” She winced, staring at her hand as I worked it over. “I don’t remember everything, and what I can recall comes to me in bits and pieces. I can still see Tariq swing his sword. It was like being hit with a hammer. He struck with so much force I went to my knees, but I didn’t feel pain at first. Then I made the mistake of lifting my hand to look and the world fell apart. Ouch!” She squirmed and gave me a look when I tried to straighten her little finger again. “I truly think he was trying to cut half my hand away. The goal was to disable me but keep me alive. He was worried I’d bleed to death for a time.”
I drew in a slow breath. Her tale made me sick, and I wanted to stop her, but it was important that I hear it.
“It looked so odd, split in half like that. As I said, it didn’t really hurt, at least not at first. But then it began to burn. Before long, I was howling with pain. Tariq gagged me before he took me into the forest and that was probably the best thing he could’ve done. It gave me something to bite down on and kept me from grinding my teeth together.”
I wanted to kill him. Why did Tariq do this to her? To me? He knew how much I loved her. I’d grieved for her until I nearly wasted away. My brother had watched my decline, knowing it was a lie the whole time.
A lie. A damned lie. I leapt to my feet and turned away.
“You’re angry with me,” she whispered. “Please. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I could never, ever be angry with you, but I swear by all the gods of Calari, I am going to hunt Tariq down, and I am going to kill him. Slowly. I am going to strip his skin from him in thin sheets, piece by piece, until he begs me for death.”
“Magnus, please. Sit down.”
I turned to face her. “If you’re going to tell me I shouldn’t go after him, save your breath. He deserves to die.”
“I know he does. Tariq and Garai deserve to die in the most painful and humiliating way for what they’ve done to us.”
“You see?” I jabbed a finger into the air. “That’s what infuriates me the most. Why did they do it? Why you? Your capture speaks of meticulous planning and careful timing. There must have been a reason for their actions.”
She glared. “I get the feeling you’re suggesting I did something to deserve–”
“No, no, no! That’s not what I’m suggesting at all. But didn’t either one of them tell you why they’d taken you? Didn’t you ask?”
That question seemed to anger her even more. “Of course I asked! Repeatedly. I never got an answer. Why? Because I was less than human in Pentorus. I went from Kymber Oryx of Jalartha to nameless animal in the time it took Tariq to nearly sever my hand from my wrist. Do you understand that I was simply another one of Garai’s possessions? Like his sword . . . or . . . or his horse or his fucking parrots. He didn’t talk to me like I’m talking to you. I was just another pet for him.”
“I’m going to kill them both.” I fisted my hands.
“Wonderful. I wish you the best of luck. I’m not capable of helping you.”
“Not now, at least,” I said. “You will hold a sword again.”
“You, sir, must face reality. I can’t even open my hand to hold a horse’s reins, let alone a sword. The first rule of battle states–”
“Never fight while angry,” I said.
“We’d both get ourselves killed for sure.” Rolling up onto her knees, Kymber extended her left hand to me. “Listen to me, Magnus. Ten long years stand between us, but here we are together on this beautiful beach. They didn’t win after all.”
She was so beautiful, so brave. Her suffering had been physical. Mine had been mental, but she was at least partially right. We were together again.
But I would not stop until I avenged her.
“I’m going after them, Kymber. Both of them. Tariq for his betrayal, and Garai for what he did to you. I will not rest until their bones are bleaching in the sun.”
“And I know better than to stand in your way, but let’s think about this first. Someday, I may be able to fight beside you with a sword in my hand, but I need to get my strength back. Will you help me?”
I opened my arms to her. She rose and fell into my embrace. “Kymber, my sweet Kymber.” I rubbed small circles on her back. “I would do anything for you.”
10: KYMBER
We went back up to the house before it got dark.
The fire Magnus started in the corner fireplace was cozy and inviting, the wine was delicious, but the banter felt forced and awkward. So many things lay brooding beneath the veneer of polite conversation.
Magnus hadn’t changed all that much in the years we’d been apart. When we were younger, he’d used smiles and easy kisses to charm my thoughts from me. My secrets were out of my mouth before I even knew I was talking.
But that was another life. He’d pressed me hard all day, wanting more details about my time in Pentorus, but I’d kept that door mostly closed. I didn’t want to fan the flames of revenge for Magnus, though I had enough stories to keep him furious for the rest of his life.
I simply couldn’t open myself to those memories again. Not yet, anyway, and certainly not the worst of them. Those years belonged to me. They were the fuel for my anger. I could fight my own battles, or not, as I saw fit. I had choices now, and they were precious to me.
“. . . scar on your jaw,” I heard Magnus say.
The word “scar” pulled me from my musings. “I’m sorry? I didn’t hear you.”
“You were a million miles away, Kymber. What were you thinking?” He narrowed his eyes.
“You asked about the scar on my jaw?” I took three large gulps of wine.
“I did.”
I pondered his question and decided I’d tell him. That scar was a badge of honor, one of the few times I’d fought back.
“Well, I guess I’d been in Pentorus about a month. My wounded hand still hurt, but not as badly as it did at first. The better I felt, the more I thought maybe I had a chance. I just needed to keep my anger and outrage alive. And so, I fought every time Garai came for me.”
“As I’d expect you to do.”
“Yes, well, it wasn’t enough. Garai pulled me out of my cage by the hair on my head one evening when I was particularly insolent. It was do or die that night, and I fought him until I felt muscles tear. I nearly got away too, but he threw me to the floor, pulled his dagger, and held it to my throat.” I reached up to touch the soft spot beneath my left ear lobe.
“He drew the blade from my ear to the tip of my chin, cutting as deeply as he could without killing me. I thought it was funny – ironic funny. I taunted him with it. ‘Do it, coward. Kill me. Get it over with.’ And he said . . .” I took several swallows of wine as that bastard’s voice filled my head. “He said, ‘Oh, Kymber, I don’t want your death. I want your life. Every day of it. I am going to make you wish you’d never been born.’”
Magnus growled and curled his hands into fists.
“It didn’t take him long.” I refilled my goblet. “Have you ever prayed to die, Magnus?”
“Yes.” I barely heard him.
“Then you know what I did next.”
He froze for a moment, then clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Listen, this conversation has taken an unpleasant turn. I think it’s time for bed. It’s been a long day for both of us.”
I lifted the goblet of wine to my lips. Did he truly want to know the details? He’d barely made it through one of the more innocuous stories.
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