The Lost Swallow

by Jayne Castel

  Curse them all. I should go now. I should run and never stop.

  Tomorrow she would.

  She shrugged off her cloak, balled it up, and flung it across the room. Anger still surged within her, and she longed to lash out.

  She had taken three small rooms in this dockside inn for tonight, but the following day Ninia and Asher would look for passage north to the seaport of Idriss in Rithmar.

  Mira wasn’t sure where she would go.

  She had promised Ninia nothing.

  The shutters were open, letting in the chill sea breeze. Mira strode over to the window and flung herself against the sill, her fingers biting into the rough stone. She looked out, her gaze taking in the busy port below. Her room was on the third floor of the inn and gave her a clear view of the bustling docks, where men heaved wooden crates onto barges. It was a bright, cold day out; the sun sparkled over the rippling surface of The Cruel Sea. The sounds of stall-holders and fishmongers hawking their wares drifted up, mingling with the tinkle of children’s laughter.

  They were the sounds of life, yet Mira felt cut off from it all.

  Apart from the rage that pumped through her with every beat of her heart, she felt empty inside.

  Mira stayed there for a long while at the window, staring out without really seeing. The sun caressed her face as noon approached. It had some warmth in it, announcing the arrival of spring, but it couldn’t warm the chill within her.

  Eventually, Mira closed the shutters and turned from the window. The room was simple, with a sideboard, a nightstand, a rickety wooden chair, a narrow bed, and a single lantern burning in one corner. It wasn’t much, but it was her sanctuary for now, and she would not leave it till the morning.

  She wanted to be able to lie down and rest—her body cried out for it—but she couldn’t relax. She unbuckled the sword from her side and placed it on the sideboard. Surprisingly, the shadow creatures had given back the weapons they had taken from the prisoners. They had even given the prince of Anthor and his men back their broad-swords and knives. Mira was relieved to have a blade at her side once more—even if Foebane had been lost—as well as the three sharp blades she’d taken from the soldiers at the leaguefort. They were once again strapped to her body; she felt naked without them.

  Unable to sit down, she started to pace the room. It was no good—she couldn’t settle. Her mind and body were in turmoil. She wanted to pummel her fists against the wall, to lash out against the world.

  She’d just begun her second circuit when the door burst open.

  The lock gave way with a snap and the heavy, oaken door crashed back against the wall.

  Mira halted, reaching for the knife sheathed at her thigh as she turned.

  Asher stepped inside, a bolus of flame burning on his outstretched left palm. With a flick of his right wrist, a whip of fire lashed out and slammed the door shut behind him. The heavy clunk of the lock filled the room.

  Mira went rigid, her fingers tightening over the handle of her knife. “I locked the door for a reason,” she growled. “Get out.”

  He shook his head. “We need to talk.”

  “Forked-tongued bastard. I have nothing to say to you.”

  He took a step toward her, the light still burning upon his left palm.

  She snarled at him. “This is how you always get your way, isn’t it?”

  “Sometimes it’s necessary.”

  “Not this time. Take one more step, and you’ll regret it.”

  He ignored her and moved forward once more.

  Rage exploded through Mira. All the fury, grief, and disappointment she’d been nursing since the Dim Hold surged through her. With a shout, she drew the knife and threw it at Asher, hard and fast.

  Her aim was true, and it had the full force of her anger behind it—but the moment the blade left her hand, Mira regretted the act.

  It was too late, for the knife was already in flight.

  The blade should have hit Asher square in the chest. Fortunately, he moved quickly—his right hand sweeping a shield of firelight before him.

  The blade deflected and slammed into the pitted wooden floor at his feet, quivering with the force of its impact.

  He stared at her, his face ashen. When he spoke, his voice was harsh with shock. “You tried to kill me.”

  Mira didn’t reply. She was too horrified by the depths of her own temper to respond. Asher’s eyes glittered as he stooped and yanked the knife out of the floor. Then he went to her, closing the gap in just four long strides.

  Mira merely watched him, not reaching for another blade. She was rooted to the spot, unable to speak or move. Her act had shocked her to the core.

  What would she have done if her blade had found its mark?

  Asher stepped close to her, grabbed her right hand, and fastened her fingers over the hilt of the knife. He then covered her hand with his and forced her hand up so that the flat of the blade pressed against the naked skin of his throat. He was close now—so close she could smell the warm, male scent his skin.

  “Is this what you want?” He pressed the blade harder against his throat. “Do you really want me dead? Come on then … finish it. Don't let me stop you. You want my blood? You can have it.”

  33

  Lethal

  MIRA STOPPED BREATHING. She stared up at Asher and saw the naked despair on his face, the desperation in his eyes. The blade was close to piercing his flesh now; all she had to do was apply pressure.

  Yet she couldn’t move. She couldn’t do it.

  “Stop it.” She heaved in a painful breath. “I won’t …”

  “You will. You just threw a knife at me.”

  “I don’t know why I did that,” she gasped. “I’m sorry.”

  And she was—sorrier than he could possibly imagine. Shame and self-loathing flooded through her. She didn't think it was possible to hate herself more than she did at that moment.

  His gaze still fused with hers, Asher slowly loosened his grip on her hand. Slowly, Mira lowered the blade. However, she did not re-sheathe it; instead the knife fell from her nerveless fingers, thumping onto the floor between them.

  “Are you really that angry with me?” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Do you hate me that much?”

  Mira stared back at him. There was no sufficient excuse she could give for what she had just done. She would make no excuses, but it was time she explained.

  “I’ve been alone my whole life,” she whispered back. “Choices are easier that way. You just think about yourself … about getting your own needs met.” She paused here, before heaving in a breath. She was such a coward when it came to these matters. Her words felt clumsy, all wrong. “Meeting you changed everything.”

  She swallowed. It was difficult to go on, but she forced herself. She'd come close to killing this man, and he deserved an explanation. “You’re the only person I’ve wanted to believe in … I wanted to trust you, Asher.”

  Her vision swam as she finished these words, yet she didn’t break eye contact with him.

  “And I betrayed your trust,” he finished her sentence for her.

  “I hate you for that … but I hate myself more.”

  His face turned hard, his silvery eyes burned. “Do you think I wanted all of this?” They stared at each other for a long moment before Asher dragged in a deep breath. “I’ve made an art form out of keeping others at arm’s length … until you.”

  Mira’s heart leaped. She wet her lips, nervous. “Stop it … you don’t know what you’re saying. You hardly know me.”

  “You think I’m lying?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  She was about to continue, to remind him of all the lies he’d fed her since their first meeting, but she never got the words out. Asher’s mouth came down hard over hers, silencing her.

  The kiss was brutal, claiming—and it drove all thoughts from Mira’s head. The world pivoted. For the past day, she’d been locked inside her own head, pursued by
her demons, but now her body took control.

  Her thoughts scattered, and her anger dissolved. The shock of the kiss made her tense for an instant, but a heartbeat later she responded to Asher with the same hunger.

  Their tongues tangled, before she bit gently at his lower lip, a thrill going through her as he groaned. His taste, the feel of him pressed up against her, made her go weak. She felt as if she was falling.

  Mira’s hands trembled as she fumbled at his clothing. She wanted him naked, needed to feel his skin against hers.

  Asher pulled her hard against him, his hands untying her leathers. Her clothing fell away and thudded to the floor, along with her knives. Meanwhile, Mira had managed to open his leather vest, her hands sliding underneath his shirt.

  It was cool inside the room, for the innkeeper's wife had not yet been upstairs to light the small hearths in each of the chambers. However, Mira didn't notice the chill. The feel of his hands, as they slid up her naked back, left a trail of aching fire in their wake.

  Is this enchantment? She asked herself dully. It certainly felt as if he held her under some kind of spell. She didn’t care though. Her hunger for him had scattered her wits. She fumbled with the laces of his breeches, her mouth still locked with his.

  The rest of their clothing fell to the floor, and they kicked off their boots.

  Mira launched herself at Asher then, pressing the length of her naked body against his, entwining herself around him. He responded with the same violence, his hands tangling in her long hair. He pulled her head back so that he could kiss her neck. Mira shivered at the feel of his mouth moving down the line of her throat to the hollow at its base.

  A heartbeat later, his mouth was on her breasts, drawing each tip into his mouth, suckling hard. Panting, Mira looked down. The injury to her left breast had almost completely healed, leaving only a few faint smudges on her skin. Her skin glowed pale in the lamplight. Groaning, she arched her back, pressing her breasts into Asher’s face.

  In response he nipped gently at her nipple. Mira gasped, tangling her fingers in his hair.

  He groaned her name and gathered her up against him. Two paces took them back to the narrow bed. They collapsed onto it, their limbs tangling, their mouths finding each other once more.

  Mira couldn’t stop touching him. Her hands raked over the smooth, muscled plains of his chest down to his flat belly. There, she grasped the hard swollen length of him, gasping at the heat of his skin.

  Asher growled out a curse; he was close to losing control.

  Mira trailed her fingertips along the length of him, teasing. She longed to see this man’s self-control snap, to see Asher of the Light unravel.

  Asher shifted between her thighs, parting them with his knee.

  He rammed into her, seating himself fully with one thrust

  Mira cried out. The feel of him filling her, claiming her, made her last shred of self-restraint snap.

  She dug her nails into the columns of muscle either side of his spine and raised her hips to him, driving him deeper still.

  Mira was lost. She wasn't sure where he began and she ended. She was barely aware of anything except the aching pleasure he’d aroused within her. He wasn't gentle, but then neither was she. Her fingers raked his back as he drove into her, their tongues warring with each thrust.

  Mira had heard tales of passion that could transport you, could make the rest of the world disappear. However, she had secretly thought those stories to be exaggerations. Lust was merely an itch to be scratched. Asher proved her wrong—with him it was so much more. This was a union: body and soul.

  Aching, shuddering pleasure exploded in her core, and Mira’s body shook uncontrollably. She gasped. She wasn't sure she could take much more of this; she could hardly bear it.

  Yet Asher had no intention of stopping. He reached down, his hands gripping her buttocks, and angled himself deeper still. And when he did, he touched a place inside Mira’s womb that unleashed her completely.

  Mira screamed. Wetness and heat exploded deep within her, and she arched back against the bed, letting the sensation sweep her away.

  A moment later Asher cried out. The sound—raw and hoarse—echoed through the small chamber. He collapsed on top of her and together they lay, limbs tangled and trembling in the aftermath.

  Asher heaved in a deep breath and rolled off Mira. His heart was racing so fast, he felt as if it would burst free of his chest. Sweat bathed his skin, and his body shook. Struggling to compose himself, he stared up at the low ceiling and the smoke-blackened beams. He drew in another deep breath, his vision blurring.

  What’s wrong with me?

  “Asher?”

  He felt the bed shift as Mira rolled toward him. Her voice was breathless, although he caught the edge of concern in it.

  “It’s alright,” he rasped, his gaze still fixed upon the ceiling. “Just a moment.”

  “Asher.” Her voice was a low caress across his heated skin. “Look at me.”

  He obeyed, struggling to regain control. It hurt to breathe. His gaze fell upon her—naked and languorous beside him—and his breathing hitched. He’d never seen anything so beautiful. Her body was strong, supple, and lush. Thick raven hair spilled over the covers, framing her flushed face. Her grey-blue eyes, which could be so hard and cold when she was angry, glistened as she watched him.

  “Shadows,” she whispered, reaching out and tracing a line down the center of his chest. “I didn’t expect that.”

  “Neither did I,” he admitted huskily. “You nearly stopped my heart, woman.”

  She huffed. “It’s your own fault. You started it.”

  He reached out, captured her hand in his, and brought it up to his lips. “I was rough. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  She shook her head.

  He watched her, drinking her in. She held his gaze, her full mouth—swollen from his kisses—quirking. “What?”

  “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen … and the most lethal.”

  Mira’s gaze clouded. “Sorry about the knife,” she murmured. “I need to do something about my temper.”

  Asher smiled. “I probably deserved it.” Although his tone was light, a chill feathered across Asher’s skin as he remembered the moment she’d thrown that knife at him. She’d been so fast, he’d only just managed to deflect that blade.

  She’d come very close to killing him.

  34

  The Decision is Yours

  THE SOUND OF drunken laughter filtered up from the docks, waking Mira from a deep sleep. She stirred, aware of the warm male body against hers. A heavy woolen blanket covered them, for although they’d lit the hearth earlier in the evening, the night was cold.

  The lamp no longer burned, but the glow of the fire cast a faint golden hue across the chamber. Mira pushed herself up onto her side, her gaze settling upon Asher’s sleeping face.

  Asleep, he looked much younger; the tension smoothed out of his face. He was beautiful, she thought—far more than a man had any right to be—with chiseled features, high cheek bones, and clear skin. At times she had thought him cold, yet after the afternoon and evening she’d just spent with him, she’d revised her opinion.

  Asher of the Light was a deeply passionate man. Over the past hours, within the safety of these four walls, he’d revealed a softer side of himself to her—and in doing so had brought Mira’s own vulnerabilities to the surface.

  She stared down at him, her throat constricting. Shadows take him, life was so much simpler before.

  They hadn’t discussed the future in all these hours—in truth they’d done very little talking at all. Yet it still hung over them, unspoken but shading every moment. Mira didn't want to think of the future, but she knew that eventually—and sooner rather than later—she would need to address it.

  I won’t go with them … I can’t.

  Ninia didn’t need her help, not with Asher at her side. Mira had yearned for freedom for so long, she couldn’t give it
up now—not when it was finally within her reach. Ninia and Asher were distractions. She needed to think about herself.

  Where would she go instead?

  She could take a barge south and travel down to the lush green expanse of Farras, where the King of Anthor’s grip had not yet reached. She could journey to Anthor and track down her mother’s relatives, who still lived in Mirrar Rock. Her mother had spoken of a cousin who worked as a seamstress there.

  Or she could go north to Rithmar tomorrow with Ninia and Asher, and leave them once they arrived in Idriss.

  Maybe that’s best. Mira reached out, her fingers tangling in Asher’s hair that spread out across the pillow. She knew she was delaying the inevitable, but that would give her another day with him.

  You’re only making it harder on yourself. Sadness compressed her chest, and she swallowed hard, pushing it back. Her union with Asher had been unexpected, unasked for. It was as fragile as a cobweb. If she tried to keep hold of this fleeting moment, it would disintegrate in her hands. She was too damaged, too angry—she’d only ruin things.

  I’m better off alone. It’s easier.

  Asher groaned in his sleep, stretching languidly. Mira reached out and brushed his cheek with the back of her hand.

  Tears stung her eyes, and she blinked rapidly. What was happening to her? She wasn’t a crier. Just an afternoon in bed with this man had turned her soft. It was dangerous. It was why she couldn’t stay with him—why she needed to leave.

  A wind gusted in from the west, turning the crests of the waves white, and whipping Mira’s hair into her eyes.

  She stood on the deck of a merchant vessel bound for Idriss, her hands gripping the railing. A curtain of spindrift blew up into her face, and the boat pitched to one side. Mira clung on, nausea mounting within her.