Sol crossed the room to Jordan and crouched in front of the fireplace, selecting some paper and kindling from the basket that Cal always kept full.
"What are you doing?"
"We have a little while to wait yet. I thought you might like a fire. You said this used to be your favorite thing—–a fire in the parlor fireplace, no matter the temperature outside."
Jordan smiled and knelt beside him, grabbing the box of wooden matches.
Sol prepared the kindling and the logs, and Jordan lit the starter. They blew on the small flame, coaxing it into life.
"Maybe Eohne will have woken your father up by the time we return, and you’ll be able to ask him everything." Sol sat back on his haunches and stared at the growing flame. "What do you think Jaclyn wants?"
Jordan blew out a long breath. "I have thought over the details of the day I saw her so often in my mind, looking for some clue."
"Walk me through it again."
For the second time, Jordan described her confrontation with Jaclyn and her henchman, Ashley. She went back in her mind, closed her eyes, and called the scene to life in great detail.
"She's got ambitions," Jordan concluded. "That's the one thing I'm certain of. She's running the trade office and wants to expand her territory. She's also messing with the trade of that medicine your uncle needs. But why she's doing this, why she's shown such disdain for my dad and for this family, and why she’s interfering with the trade of critical goods?" Jordan shook her head. "It's beyond me."
The fire caught, and the wood ignited, sending heat out to warm their hands and faces. Jordan made tea, and they settled on the sofa to wait for the processing of the gun to finish. Sol sat beside her, his warmth radiating into her side.
"How did you feel about the battle?" Sol asked. "I wanted to keep an eye out for you, but you just disappeared."
"I got pulled down to Middle by a harpy." Jordan let her thoughts take over as she sipped her tea. "I'm still processing the whole thing; the chaos, the stink, the blood, the danger. It was a crazy experience." She glanced at him. "Chayla saved my life, you know."
"Did she?" Sol gave a crooked smile. "Guess she doesn't hate you as much as you thought."
"Maybe." Jordan might have once cared a great deal more that there was someone on her team that didn't like her. Now, it was nice to be liked, but it wasn't a necessity. She shrugged. "However she feels, I don't take it personally."
"That's wise. And how is it going with Toth?" Sol took a sip of the tea.
"We've figured out my strengths and weaknesses. Looks like I won't make an archer or a swordsman anytime soon, but I can throw knives pretty well."
"Really? Show me."
"What? Now?"
"Why not? You've got knives here, right?"
Jordan laughed. "Not throwing knives! Only steak knives. But I'll tell you what…" She got to her feet, set her tea on the coffee table, and crossed to the far corner behind the piano. Sol followed her, curious. She opened the doors covering a dartboard, and retrieved three red darts and three black ones. "Know how to shoot darts?"
Sol took the black ones she offered him. "We have a similar game on Oriceran, but we use small, star-shaped knives."
"Like ninja stars?"
"Very like, yes." He braced his feet and took a practice throw, sending a dart into the outer ring of the bullseye.
"Not too shabby." Jordan pushed him out of the way and threw her own. The dart planted itself outside the game board. She frowned, and her shoulders slumped. "It's my wretched eyesight. It's absolutely awful here."
"Sure it is," Sol teased and elbowed her in the ribs. "Explain to me how you tally this game?"
She went over the rules and explained the point system, while she retrieved the darts. They tossed a coin to decide who would throw first; Jordan won.
She stood in front of the dartboard, bracing her feet for the first throw.
Sol's hands slipped over her hip bones. "Turn this way, just a little bit." His breath whispered past her ear, and goosebumps sprang out on her neck and arms. She waited for Sol to remove his hands, but he didn’t. The heat of them soaked through her jeans and warmed her whole body.
"I can't throw while you're doing that."
His hands stayed. Jordan could hear the smile in his words as he stepped closer. "A true warrior can perform even while distracted."
She closed her eyes as a shiver went through her. "And how likely am I," she asked, her voice almost a squeak, "to be distracted by your touch while in the middle of a harpy battle?"
One of his hands slid across her belly, over the fabric of her shirt. "Just throw. No more talking." His lips touched the back of her ear.
Jordan threw. The dart slapped flat against the wall below the board and clattered to the hardwood floor.
Sol chuckled, his belly flexing against her back.
Who is this? Jordan felt like her mind was going soggy. He blushes when we touch by accident, and now he's nothing but confidence? Two can play this game.
She took a breath. Her pulse was ramping up.
Sol's pinky finger grazed the skin of her belly. She narrowed her eyes at the board. She threw again, and the dart embedded itself three inches above the bullseye.
"Better." He spoke the word quietly, right next to her ear. The surprise in his voice gave Jordan a deep satisfaction. "Last one."
She exhaled and threw, and he planted a kiss on her neck, just below her ear.
Her final dart struck just beside the bullseye.
"Ha!"
She turned in his grasp, and he relaxed his hands. The disappointment on his face was comical.
"Your turn." She batted her eyes and gave him a smug smile. Her knees were trembling, and her palms had grown moist, but she wasn't about to betray just how much his touch had affected her.
She wanted to win.
Sol stepped in front of her and took a bracing stance, balancing the dart lightly in his fingers. He eyed the board.
Jordan stepped up behind him. She didn't touch him; just stood there, her body a mere inch from his.
Sol threw.
Bullseye. Right beside her own dart.
Jordan frowned.
Sol levied his second dart, a smile dusting his lips.
Jordan lifted the back of his t-shirt. Just before he threw, she traced a finger along the skin just above his waistband.
The dart buried itself in the outermost ring.
"What were you saying about experienced warriors again?" she asked innocently.
Sol growled, but the rumble wasn't entirely unhappy. He lifted his final dart.
As he prepared to throw, Jordan lifted the back of his shirt higher, exposing the skin just below his wingless shoulder blades. The musculature of his back was so beautiful, powerful from a lifetime of flying.
Was he this beautiful when I first met him?
As he threw, she pressed a soft kiss right in the center of his spine.
Sol groaned and turned. "You win."
He planted his lips on hers and picked her up, carrying her backward. Jordan returned Sol's passion with everything she had. She wrapped her arms and legs around him. They hit the piano, which had been left open, and the instrument rattled off a dissonant, tuneless clamor.
Neither of them noticed.
Sol redirected, taking her toward the fireplace without breaking their kiss. He paused in front of the fire and pulled back, his eyes dazed and half-closed.
"Jordan."
Their breathing came in ragged bursts. Her heart was working overtime, sending blood cascading through her, turning her whole body into a live wire.
Her voice was rough. "Winner takes all."
They collapsed together on the carpet in front of the crackling fire.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Eohne had just finished watering Allan when Jordan and Sol exploded from nowhere, and landed in a heap on the floor of Sol’s bedroom.
There was a loud, heavy clank as the two backpacks str
uck the floor, and a snap and an explosion of paper. The sheets fluttered about, settling on Allan's form on the bed and all over the floor.
Eohne straightened, an empty water glass in her hand, staring at the tangle of limbs.
Sol lay on his back, blinking up at Eohne, dazed. Jordan was on top of one of Sol's knees, and under the other. He winced as her weight pressed on his kneecap.
"Watch me old bones," he groaned.
"Sorry," Jordan mumbled, rolling off Sol's leg and collapsing on the floor on her back.
They'd put their Rodanian clothing and armor back on, and Jordan had taken out her contacts before they'd portaled home. She blinked at the details of the room and at her father's form, happy to have her amazing vision back.
"Has he stopped listing inventory?"
"It comes and goes," Eohne explained. "Almost like he's following a normal schedule of sleeping and waking, if waking was nothing more than a constant drone of words."
Jordan's hand went to the satchel where the thin magic plates––the final product of Sohne's magical transformation of the gun––were stacked. Each piece was individually wrapped in a towel, and she peeked in to inspect them, patting and feeling for broken pieces. She breathed a sigh of relief that they'd made the journey safely.
"Welcome home," Eohne said, her dark eyes scanning the mess of documents spread all over the room. Her dark eyes passed to the two bulging backpacks, and then to her Arpak friends. "You both look naked without your wings. Everything went ok?"
"Everything went great," Jordan said, stretching side to side to work the kinks out of her back.
Eohne didn't miss the way Jordan and Sol caught one another's eye. The color was high on their cheeks.
"Mmhmm. Is that all gold?" Eohne pointed to the lumpy forms of the two backpacks at Sol's feet.
Jordan nodded and coughed, one hand on her chest where the tightness was beginning to ease. "Do you think it'll be safe here?" Jordan asked Sol.
"For now, until we can set you up at a bank. No one knows it’s here. I have a false back in the closet in the main room we can tuck it behind." Sol heaved the bags of gold over his shoulder and took them to the other room to hide them.
"I don't see the gun," Eohne observed. The Elf did not appear alarmed at this; she knew Sohne well. The princess had done something clever, she was sure.
"The gun is in here," Jordan patted the satchel under her arm. "Sort of. Sohne transformed it into panels, and included instructions-–"
Understanding passed over Eohne's features. "A map. How clever," she murmured, "and portable." The Charra-Rae princess was Princess of the Elves for a reason. This was very difficult magic; even Eohne marvelled at Sohne's skill. This was not frequency magic, but something else entirely—–something Eohne herself was not capable of doing.
Sol returned with two bottles in hand, each containing a small stinging insect. "We made it, but we're not done yet." Sol handed Jordan her purple wasp. "Ready for this part?"
She let out a long sigh and nodded, bracing herself for the pain that would bring back her wings.
***
"Where's Blue?" Jordan asked Eohne once the pain of the transformation had passed, and she and Sol were once again sporting their feathers.
It felt good to have the weight of her wings again. She felt whole, and much more like herself.
"I haven't seen him. Not since you left."
Jordan's heart gave a heavy squeeze of anxiety.
What if our bond was only magical? Will he not come back at all, ever? Will he even know me if I go looking for him? Where would he have gone, if not back here?
Jordan's thoughts were interrupted when a mild burning sensation wound its way around her left arm. She shook her hand, thinking at first it was just some side effect of the wasp sting or the transformation. Her eyes widened as dark marks appeared on her wrist. She yanked her sleeve up, watching as marks emerged all the way up her arm, and disappeared under her sleeve.
"Eohne?" Jordan raised her left arm so the Elf could see where a long tattoo of glyphs and symbols had appeared, wrapping itself around her limb. The marks began at the tip of her ring finger, passed over her palm, between her thumb and forefinger and spiralled all the way around her arm and past her elbow. The burning sensation ran all the way up to Jordan's heart; she supposed the marks did, as well. The glyphs were not a language she recognized.
The Elf frowned as she lifted Jordan's arm to the light, and her expression grew alarmed. "What have you done?"
"What do you mean?"
"You made the unbreakable promise?" Eohne's eyes bore into Jordan's. "Why did you do that?"
"I had to. It was all Sohne would take in payment. I didn't have a choice."
Eohne's red lips flattened into a line. "There is always a choice."
Jordan felt a seed of fear take root in her belly.
"Why? What do you think she's going to ask for? Last time, it all worked out; getting my wings the first time didn't cost me anything."
"That's how Sohne works," Eohne explained, letting go of Jordan's arm. "She sees pieces of the future and knows more than she lets on. She may have even manipulated you by making the first promise pass so easily. Who knows what she has in mind? You'll have this tattoo until the promise is fulfilled. I don't know what she wants—–I don't have the sight like she does. But I can promise you it will be no small thing." Eohne met her friend’s eyes. "You will not be able to deny her."
Jordan's arms and legs swept with gooseflesh as she looked down at the tattoo that had wrapped itself around her left arm from hand to elbow like a boa constrictor. "That's what she said, but nothing can be done about it now," she murmured. "It's finished."
"No," Eohne corrected her regretfully. "It's not finished. It'll be finished only when you have fulfilled your end of the bargain. She could come to collect a decade from now; the unbreakable promise does not expire."
"You're scaring me with this talk. At this point, I just need to hope for the best." Jordan averted her eyes from the tattoo. "By the way, Sohne had a message for you."
The Elf’s expression went from unhappy to wary. "What is it?"
"She said that you're looking in the wrong place. She said to remind you that our worst poisons are also our best medicines, that it is simply a matter of dose. Does that mean anything to you?"
Eohne's face twitched as something clicked into place.
A slow smile spread across her face. "I'll be damned," she whispered. "That clever Elf, how does she do it?" Her eyes drifted wonderingly to Allan's form.
"What does it mean?"
A loud voice from outside the apartment boomed, "Solomon Donda. Show yourself."
Jordan thought the voice was oddly familiar.
Sol winced, and Jordan registered that he didn't look all that surprised at this summons.
The Arpaks and the Elf went to the terrace.
"Modi," Sol growled. It was the same Arpak courier who had summoned Toth to see Balroc.
The Arpak hovered in front of them, his glossy black wings flashing in the sun, his black curls blowing in the wind. On Modi's face was a look of Machiavellian satisfaction; whatever message he was about to deliver, he felt smug about it. He retrieved a small black envelope from one of his satchels.
Sol stood at the edge of the terrace and lifted his chin. He held out a hand to take the envelope.
Modi tossed the envelope to Sol with an uncaring flick. The envelope spun and caught a draft of air, but Sol snatched it with his fingertips, keeping his eyes on his colleague.
"You know what this means," Modi snarled. "Solomon Donda."
"He already said his full name once," Eohne whispered to Jordan. "Awfully formal."
"I know what it means." Sol lowered the envelope to his side and stepped back. He pried the gold signet from his finger and held it out to Modi, not daring to throw such a precious and significant piece of jewelry.
"What are you doing?" Jordan stepped forward with alarm.
; Modi darted in, snatched the ring, and deposited it in a small pocket in his vest. Then he spun away, spiralling around the tower and out of sight.
"Sol!" Jordan hooked his shoulder with a hand and turned him to face her. "Why did you give him your courier ring?"
"I've been released from my duty as a courier," Sol answered simply. "I'm okay with it."
He passed the gaping Arpak and the bemused Elf, wandered into his kitchen, and opened a drawer. There was a thunk as the drawer got stuck; the island was still crooked from the damage the harpy had wrought. Sol tossed the black envelope inside and slammed the drawer shut.
"What do you mean ‘released’?" Jordan sputtered. "You love your job! It was one of the first things I recognized about you. Your job as courier was paramount, priority above all else."
Sol's voice softened, and he held her eyes with his. "I have other priorities now."
Jordan swallowed, locked in his ice-blue gaze. "But…" Jordan stuttered. "Why did they dismiss…"
A look of understanding crossed her features.
"Ohhhh, Sol," she breathed, her shoulders slumped.
"What? What am I missing here?" Eohne was pulling on her overcoat and looping her satchel over her head as she asked this.
"There is no such thing as 'putting in for leave' with the King's Couriers, is there?" Jordan guessed. "You never went to secure permission; you knew it would cost you your job, and you did it anyway."
Sol didn't need to speak or even nod for her to know she was right.
Jordan closed her eyes and let out a long exhale. "I don't know whether to hug you or throttle you. Why did you do that?"
"I couldn't let you go alone. I just realized some things." Sol stepped closer to her, his eyes begging her to understand. "Don't be angry."
"But it’s your livelihood!" she cried, "What are you going to do now?"
"I hear I'm not such a bad soldier, for an Arpak."
Sol's mouth quirked, remembering Toth's words after the harpy battle in which their losses had been so high. Jordan had gone ahead to the apartment, leaving Sol to attend the debriefing. Toth had pulled Sol aside and offered him a place in his squadron, should he want it. The Arpak had been both surprised and flattered.
Combatant: The Revelations of Oriceran (The Kacy Chronicles Book 3) Page 18
