by Graeme Ing
A whole neighborhood gone. A grievous wound in my city. I’d been there as each person had died. But I had lived. I shook my head against the grim memories.
The normal sounds of the city seemed so far away. Shouts behind me shattered the peace. The guards were still on our trail. I sucked in a deep breath, grabbed Ayla’s hand, and ran toward the first intact building in sight. It was badly burned but still standing. A hole in the side provided a way in, and I pushed an unhinged door across it to hide our trail.
Out of the rain and wind at last. We stepped over broken furniture to the kitchen at the back. Part of the ceiling had collapsed, but what remained looked secure. Water dribbled down the walls to form puddles, but most of the furniture had escaped water damage. Frozen and soaked, we stood dejected in the abandoned room, dripping and shivering violently.
“Start that fire while I hunt for blankets,” Ayla said.
“Quietly. They’re still searching for us.”
She left and I turned my attention to the hearth. A cauldron of congealed stew smelled awful, so I moved it into the next room. The fireplace held a heap of dry logs, ready to light. It seemed vindictive to bring fire back to this place, but we had to get warm. I hoped that the darkness outside would mask the chimney smoke. I found firestarters in a cupboard and lit the fire. It crackled and spluttered to life. My stomach growled but all I found were stale oatcakes.
The stairs creaked and I spun, hand dropping to the hilt of my dagger. Ayla descended, wrapped in a large blanket and carrying a stack of dry clothes under one arm and her folded, wet dress under the other. Her expression was one of resolve. She’d come a long way from being a looked-after aristo’s daughter.
“You’ll catch damp fever.” She dumped the clothes on a couch and approached the hearth. Her teeth chattered. “Take those wet clothes off.”
The flickering fire cast shadows that danced eerily around the room. Naked flame had once soothed and mesmerized me, but no longer. Now I understood its raw power, seething and sparking, waiting for a chance to spread and destroy. I blinked and glanced around the simply furnished room. Outside, the rain had lessened to a barely audible patter.
“Give me your knife,” she said. “I want to get rid of this horrible hair.”
“Ayla, I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“What?” She folded her arms across her chest.
“Fight.”
“I’m not fighting.”
I sighed and took a step forward. Her eyes narrowed.
“I can’t stand this awkwardness,” I said. “You’ve changed since the temple. You—”
“Don’t feed me tristak! I know I’ve damn well changed. I’m a monster now.”
“That’s not what I meant. I… You’ve every right to be angry but I don’t want you to hate me. I know it’s all my fault—”
“Why do you think it’s your fault? It’s not always about you.”
“I did this to you. I didn’t mean to. I had no idea—”
“Stop whining. What do you want from me?” She flicked her bangs from her face.
I looked into her fiery, violet eyes. “I want you to see how much I care for you. I…want to be with you.”
Her gaze flicked rapidly between my eyes and mouth.
“I saw the horror on your face,” she whispered.
“I wasn’t prepared. They didn’t warn me, either. My feelings for you haven’t changed.” I reached out to smooth her bangs but she stepped away.
“Don’t.”
“I don’t care about the color of your hair or eyes. I care about you. Kristach. Are you going to make me keep going like this? Stop me before I turn into one of those simpering fools you hated dancing with.”
The barest smile twitched on her lips, and the furrows in her forehead vanished. She inched forward.
My pulse quickened and a jittery sensation gripped my stomach. After all that had happened, and the threat of disaster the day after tomorrow, all that mattered was how close she stood. We leaned forward at the same time and our lips met, no gentle kiss but one full of pent-up passion. Her hot lips moved across mine, and she held nothing back. Neither did I. My tongue slipped between her teeth to find hers just as playful. Warmth spread through my body, pushing out the cold and damp. I cupped my hand at the back of her head and threaded my fingers in and out of her wet hair. Her hands clasped around my neck and she pulled me tighter into our kiss.
She pulled back. “I told you to get out of those clothes.”
Ayla unbuttoned my shirt. My skin tingled deliciously as her fingers brushed across my chest. She peeled the shirt from my body and threw it behind us, picking up a folded blanket from the stack of clothing. She dabbed my chest dry, and a fuzzy numbness claimed me. I savored every movement, every time her fingers touched flesh. I studied how the firelight flickered across her face and the curves of her neck, emphasizing her beauty.
When she reached for the button on my trousers, my breathing turned to rapid pants and I stiffened within my shorts. I took over from her fumbling hands and my trousers fell to my knees. I sat on the floor, yanked off my boots, and wrestled with the clammy trousers sticking to my wet legs. Then I was free.
She sat beside me, studying my body while her fingers gently traced scars across my legs and belly. I wanted to reach out and pull her to me, but instead enjoyed the sensual, thoughtful way that she dried my legs. She paused now and then, glanced sidelong at me, and then looked away, and I had a sense that she was mulling over something.
She very deliberately put down the blanket, shuffled closer, and wrapped her arms around me in a tight embrace, cheek to cheek. This was more than I had dared hope for. I massaged and stroked the nape of her neck, her skin soft and warm. Her body quivered with my every movement. And so we sat, clinging to each other in the dim room, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and her occasional high-pitched murmurs of contentment.
I took a gentle hold of her shoulders and pushed her away enough to study her face. Her white hair and violet eyes lent her an exotic, even dangerous look. The haunted, desperate yearning in her eyes confirmed that her longing matched my own. I leaned forward and kissed her in the hollow at the base of her neck. My fingers threaded through her hair and gently rubbed the top of her ears. I planted kiss after kiss along her neck. Her breath became quick and uneven.
My fingers moved lower to stroke her perfect neck, and then I traced them down, making tiny S shapes across her skin.
“Damn this thing.” I tugged at the blanket wrapped around her.
She shrugged out of it and flung it aside. My thumping heart stuttered to see her naked, a bronze goddess in the firelight. I lay down and pulled her gently on top of me, trembling as her hot skin touched mine and her hardened nipples pressed into my chest.
“I was so scared you didn’t want me anymore.” She kissed me.
“I love you so much,” she murmured, nibbling my lips.
“I love you too.”
It didn’t sound soppy or melodramatic, and that surprised me. A sixday ago it would have. A single tear spilled from her left eye. I kissed it dry, tasting the saltiness. She rolled over, dragging me on top of her.
“Prove it,” she whispered in my ear, one hand reaching for my shorts.
I woke to stiff, aching muscles and Ayla’s warm, naked body against mine. Her right arm was draped across me, while her head rested on my chest, rising and falling with my shallow breathing. I didn’t remember us moving to the couch last night, but it was certainly more comfortable than the floor.
Glowing embers flickered in the fireplace, and a predawn gray permeated the room through soot-smeared windows. If only we could lie here all day in each other’s arms, alternating sleep and making love, but the tightness in my stomach and dryness in my throat demanded attention.
Careful to cradle her head, I squirmed out from under her, lowered her gently back onto the couch, and draped a blanket over her naked body. She stirred but did not wake. When I kissed her
softly on the cheek she mewed and a smile spread across her face, but she remained asleep.
I had to pee, so I dressed hurriedly in the dry workers’ clothes she had found the night before. The outside air was chill and damp but the rain had long stopped. There was no one in sight, but the sounds of the city coming to life in the next street over were welcoming. The aroma of freshly baked pastries made my stomach cramp and rumble. I rounded the corner into an alley that ran alongside the tenement building. An upper wall had collapsed and rubble lay strewn about. There I did my business.
When I hurried back inside, Ayla lay on the couch, propped up on one elbow with a blanket pulled up to her neck.
“Sneaking out now you’ve had your wicked way with me?”
I grinned and tossed her another set of clothes. “Let’s get back to the inn. I’m starved.”
“Won’t the Black and Reds be waiting for us there?”
I rubbed my nose and remembered the man on the bridge.
“Semplis and the others don’t know we’re staying there.”
She slid out from beneath the blanket. I could get used to seeing her naked. Her shocking white hair barely kissed her shoulders, almost transparent against her pale skin. She looked as beautiful in the stark morning light as she had at the height of our passion. To think I’d nearly ditched her as a stupid girl, or one possessed by some long-dead witch.
She glanced, scowling, around the room.
“Sorry,” I said. “I know it’s not the romantic nest you’d hoped for, for our first time. Nothing a hot bath won’t solve.”
“The magic words to my heart.” She melted in my arms, pulling my head down for a kiss.
“Get dressed before I ravish you again.” I pushed her away.
“Promise?”
While she did so, I bundled up my robe and her blue dress and stuffed them under the couch. When I looked up, she resembled a peasant woman in a dirty brown skirt and gray shirt. Her blue headscarf provided a dash of color. I wasn’t much better off with dark blue trousers and a torn, stained white shirt and brown jacket. Good enough disguises.
Jade Road wound around the base of Kand Hill, serving as a cross street linking Canal Street to the Heroes Bridge. I chose it as the fastest route back to The Pumphouse, except that I hadn’t expected the hordes of citizens meandering from store to store, heading east in preparation for the Crown Prince’s coronation tomorrow.
Tomorrow. We’d run out of time.
Whole families had turned out: parents trying to rein in excited children who chased each other through the crowd; grandparents leaning on each other, their faces set and determined to witness another moment of history in their long lives; babies wailing and crying in mothers’ arms. Numerous Black and Reds stood along the route, scanning the crowd for pickpockets. As we merged with the flow, I accidentally caught the eye of a pair of them, and they headed toward us through the crowd. I took Ayla’s hand and pulled her into the throng as we weaved through the people.
She caught me glancing back. “Are they following us?”
I nodded. Quickening our pace would arouse suspicion. I scanned the side alleys. Our best course was to continue and hope to lose them. Something crashed into my legs and a little boy flopped onto his butt and began to cry. Kristach. I stepped around him but Ayla pulled me back. She lifted him up, cooing and crooning, and sat him against her hip, wiping his tears with her free hand.
“What are you doing?” I asked, imagining that the boy’s father would be a hulking brawler and none too happy with us interfering.
“You there. Turn around.”
A hand clamped on to my shoulder and spun me around. My abused muscles ached in anticipation of his attack, but instead I stared at a Black and Red. The fat guard studied me but didn’t relax his grip.
“You came from that burned-out street,” he said. “What were you doing there?”
Ayla turned, staring at the man’s feet as she continued to jostle the child, humming to him.
“He ran over there,” she said, affecting a strong slum accent and patting the boy’s head. “Sorry, sir.”
“Do I know you?” he asked and leaned closer.
“We lives on Moor Street.” I tried to step in front of her.
“Do you know a necromancer?”
“Aye, but we keeps away.” I think my eyes had widened, but too late now.
“Yer scaring ’im,” Ayla said, kissed the boy on his forehead, and turned away.
A cry rang out from across the street. “Oy, thief! He took me bag.”
The Black and Red glared at me, snorted, and pushed his way into the crowd toward the cry. I glanced after him, spotting the man calling for help. What was Targ doing here?
“You found him, thank Belaya,” a soft-spoken woman said, scanning the little boy for harm.
A young couple stood before us. Ayla handed over the boy into the woman’s eager arms. The man gave me a single nod.
“I’m so glad he isn’t lost,” Ayla said.
She wanted to remain and talk, but I caught the husband trying to get a better look at her eyes, even though she kept her head lowered. I bid the couple good luck and pulled Ayla back into the tide of people. I wanted to be far from here.
We’d crossed Broad Street and were in sight of the river, when I asked, “Do you have siblings?”
“No. Why?”
“You handled that baby like you’d cared for little ones.” I chuckled. “Maybe you’re a natural parent. Baby Aylas would be too much to handle, though.”
She punched my arm and her tongue poked from the corner of her mouth. “For you, maybe.”
The old Ayla was definitely back. Her ordeal in the tower had brought us closer. Last night had been special and not just because of the sex.
“Are you going to move in to your father’s mansion now?”
She sucked in a sharp breath.
“Sorry, I was thinking about family. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s all right.” Her shoulders drooped. “I have no idea what to do with his estate and mining assets. Or the Duchy.”
“Duchy?”
“Father owns about a hundred square leagues. We’ve a huge house butted up against the southern mountains.”
I whistled. “You must be stinking rich.”
Ouch, I hadn’t meant that to sound harsh.
She halted and took my hands in hers. The crowd flowed around us, jostling us with their shoulders.
“You really hate the aristocracy, don’t you?” she asked. “I don’t care about it, either. I’d much prefer to share a home with you.”
I stared into her violet eyes. They seemed to glow in the bright daylight.
“We could move in to the Duchy, my lady.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Kidding,” I said. “Seriously, can you see me as an aristo?”
I’d grown up in rooms barely large enough to turn around in. What would I do with a damn mansion? Besides, I couldn’t live outside the city.
“We’ll sell the houses,” she said. “I only need a small place. Cozy.”
“As long as you’re there.” I tucked her loose hair back under her headscarf. “Beautiful.”
“Looking like I do?”
“Dye your hair if you’d feel happier, but I love you just the way you are.”
She pulled my head down and kissed me deeply.
The crowd complained about us standing in the middle of the road, so I squeezed her hand and we continued to the inn.
Lupan was nowhere to be seen, thank the Gods. I didn’t need his questions. His inn had filled considerably and his taproom was teeming with guests. I bribed a serving wench with way too many coins to bring lunch to my room, and then we slipped up the stairs. At least he hadn’t leased our rooms. I owed him that much. We collapsed on my bed and lay there, loosely draping our arms across the other. It felt as natural as if we’d been together for several solars. I reveled in the dry bed linens and sun streaming in the windo
w.
“We should be planning for tomorrow.” She sat up. “Without the masters we have nothing, do we?”
“We know negative energy will hurt that thing. What we don’t know is what the Covenant is going to do and when.”
I drummed my fingers against my lips.
“Every time that tristak elemental appears, I’ve been late to the party and people have died. This time we strike the moment it shows up. I’ll need Kolta to protect me while I summon Caradan. Can you do something with your cling spirits?”
“I can’t exactly control them.”
“Do your best. If you can channel their power, that’ll give me an edge, but my spells aren’t going to cut it. Caradan’s the secret weapon. I hope I’m right about him.”
The ghost’s assistance was far from guaranteed. I pondered the irony of fighting evil with evil. I could live with that if it saved the city. Choices, Phyxia had said. Most of the time I felt like I had none, but she was right—everything was a choice. Doing nothing was a choice. Fighting against all odds was a choice.
“I’m not scared anymore,” Ayla said.
“I want to be glad about that, but you should be.”
“I know. I meant I’m not scared that you’re going to abandon me.”
I planted the gentlest of kisses on her nose. One thing scared me more than the elemental—that Fortak would make good his threat and take her from me forever.
Coronation day.
White clouds raced across a green sky. Market Plaza was so packed with the citizens of Malkandrah that I couldn’t figure out how they could breathe, let alone move. The horrific fires had not kept them away. I was proud of my city.
Market Plaza ran a quarter league from the imposing clock tower at the eastern end, to the forbidding edifice of the tax office at the other. A hundred wooden buildings were squeezed together around the perimeter—stores below and apartments above. It was normally home to hundreds of market carts, stalls, and tents, whose owners traded many kinds of goods or services. Today, the only structure in the plaza was an ornate raised dais dominating the center, visible from everywhere.
