Leyla stood in the sunlight and allowed him to undress her, as he wished. She was more beautiful than any fantasy, and he did his best to commit every line to memory. When he pushed one faded blue sleeve down her arm, a fading but still ugly bruise marred her shoulder. Trinity had done that. The assassin should be condemned to hell for hurting one so tender as Leyla. Savyn kissed the damaged shoulder, allowing his mouth to linger there for a moment before he continued with the slow disrobing.
But for that ugly bruise, she was perfection. She was his. He ran his rough hands along her pale, soft skin, and there was no rush to get to the end of this exploration. When she stood before him completely naked, he kissed her breasts, tasting the small, dark nipples and feeling them grow hard against his tongue. He lifted his head to watch the dawning ecstasy on her sunlit face as he slipped his fingers between her legs and aroused her.
She was as beautiful as she had been in his fantasies. More so, if that was possible. Every soft curve, every inch of flesh, was perfection. And her face . . . Leyla was not just beautiful, she revealed her emotions and her desires in her open expressions. How could he ever have doubted that she loved him as much as he loved her?
He did not want to take her out of the sunlight, not even to lay her on their makeshift, hard bed. She undressed him there in the warm shaft of sunlight, and then he lay on the floor right there and she straddled him anxiously.
Lost inside her, he watched the press of his hard body to her pale softness, he watched the growing need on her face, and then he watched as she quivered and lurched above him. A sob was caught in her throat as she moved her hips to invite him deeper, harder, and then he shattered with her.
They were still joined, still awash in the sun, when he said, “Promise me that you will never use your magical abilities on me again.”
“I swear,” she whispered.
They would make new memories, and he would cherish them all. “Tomorrow we will go to the village up the road, where we will buy food and two horses and a proper dress.”
“Why horses?” she asked, her expression one of concern. “We can catch a ride with a traveler, or walk to the next village, or just stay there, if it suits us. The money we have will have to last us for a while, so we should be very careful how it is spent. I’ve been thinking of names . . .”
Savyn pulled Leyla to him and silenced her with a kiss, a kiss she willingly accepted.
“And while we are there in the village,” he said, ignoring her objections, “we will say the words that will make us man and wife.”
Her face was close to his as she whispered, “I do not need words.”
“I do,” Savyn said. “And what of our children?”
Even though her face was now in shadow, he could see well enough to note the wrinkle that appeared between her eyebrows. “I had not given much thought to children,” she confessed.
“You should, as often as we have attempted to make one.” A terrible thought occurred to him. “Don’t you want children? ”
“If they are yours, yes,” she said without hesitation.
“Then they should have their father’s name, should they not? ”
“Whatever name we . . .”
Savyn shook his head. “They will have the name Leone, and none other, and they will know that their father is Savyn and their mother is Leyla. I will not hide, and our children will not live with deception. I know you think the only way we can be together is to change our names and lie about our ages and hide away for the rest of our lives in a hut much like this one.”
“It would not be so bad,” she whispered.
“It would be a lie. Besides, you know the name of the woman who attempted to have you killed. The emperor should know.”
“What do you propose?” she asked, more worried than annoyed. “Is it safe to go to Arthes? What if the emperor still wants me to participate in his silly bridal contest?”
“By the time we arrive in Arthes, you will be
my
wife, and with any luck you’ll be carrying our first child.”
“Then why should we go there at all?”
“We will inform the emperor or an official in his command that our party was attacked by someone who intended to kill you, and you will tell him what Trinity told you before he left. I will find my brother, if he is still living in Arthes, and perhaps he can help me find a proper and well-respected swordmaker who will take me on as a worker until I can save enough to start my own business. Tearlach is a general in the emperor’s command, so he would be the one to help us get word to Emperor Jahn, I suppose.” He kissed her again. “And I will tell the whole world that I love you, Lady Leyla. Leyla Leone.” He smiled. “We will not disappear. We will not run in fear, not from those who would dare to hurt you, and certainly not from those who might not approve of us, for one reason or another. I love you and you love me. There is no need for us to hide ourselves away.”
Leyla took a deep, stilling breath, and he waited for her argument even as he appreciated the swelling of her chest against his. Recently she had been so set on hiding away for the remainder of their days. But instead of arguing, she whispered a very agreeable “Yes, dear,” before once again turning her thoughts to finer matters.
TRINITY
sat with his back against a tree near the road, knees to his chest, stomach empty and growling a protest. He had no money, and he could no longer bring himself to hurt or even threaten innocents to have what he wanted and needed. Whenever he tried, he was beset by guilt, and the faces of those he’d killed in the past became clearer and closer. Their voices grew louder as they harangued him.
It was easier to starve.
The face of a hefty and balding merchant he had killed more than fifty years ago swam before him. “You could work for a living.”
“Doing what?” Trinity asked.
“You’re a strong man,” the merchant said. “There’s always work to be found on a farm or a ranch. Perhaps you could go south toward the sea and find work with a fisherman.”
“I hate the smell of fish,” Trinity whispered.
“Beg, then,” the merchant said. “Beg or starve, if you will not search for honest work.”
Honest work. He had done what anyone would consider honest work for the last two hundred years or so. He’d brought death to those whose time had come. He’d settled disputes in the only way he knew how, violently and decisively, for those who paid him. Since his profession paid so well, if he lived frugally he could take care of his needs for a long time with the proceeds from one job.
This most recent job would’ve seen him through at least two years, but the first half of his pay was in his saddlebags, and the other half would not be collected, as he had not been able to complete the job.
He had not been told the woman to be dispatched was a witch. She should’ve told him! Now he was ruined, unable to so much as strike an innocent.
Lady Rikka was not innocent, not at all. She had hired him to kill the witch, so did that mean he could kill her without pain or suffering? Did that mean he could make her pay for sending him to the witch unprepared? The thought had brought Trinity his only moments of peace in the days since the witch had cursed him. Yes, he only knew an edge of sanity when he thought of killing the woman who had sent him to his fate.
Trinity slipped deeper into the woods when he heard the clopping of a horse’s hooves. He didn’t want anyone to see him this way, not even a stranger. From his hiding place in the forest he watched the road, waiting for the horse and whoever rode upon it to pass. When the animal came into view, his heart almost burst through his chest.
“Gano,” he cried as he jumped up and ran toward the road and his horse. His fine, loyal, magnificent stallion. He pushed past limbs and bushes, not caring that his cheek was scratched along the way. It stung and bled, but not for long. “You found me.” Trinity threw his arms around the animal’s neck and held on, taking comfort from the feel of the warmth against his cheek, reveling in the comforting heat and the familiarity. He thought he might cry again, but managed to push the tears away.
It was a sign. Just as he’d been thinking again of making his way to Lady Rikka and committing one last murder—a woman who was anything but innocent—his companion and transport arrived.
He searched the saddlebags for money or food but found none. The witch had taken it all, but she had not been able to keep Gano. Somehow Gano had escaped and found his rightful owner.
Trinity hefted himself into the saddle. He had not been fond of the idea of hard work to earn food and shelter for himself, but he would gladly work to earn food and shelter for Gano. He patted the horse’s neck and sighed in relief. “It might take us a while to get to her, but together we will make Lady Rikka pay for what she’s done to us. She’ll pay, in more ways than one.” And then he and Gano would head for the mountains, where once again Trinity would hide from immortality and loneliness and a world that could not accept him.
As Trinity rode down the road, nearly a hundred souls followed, chattering to him endlessly about the pain and suffering he had brought them. He wondered for the span of a few miles if Lady Rikka would haunt him as the others did, but soon decided it did not matter. What was one more voice among so many?
BELA
had never known three days could be so long. She did get to see Merin, but they were always chaperoned by some diligent member of her family. He’d managed to steal a kiss or two, but those kisses had been too quick and too few. She wanted more.
But he did woo her quite properly, which was nice. He brought flowers, the exact wildflowers she preferred, and he was always at her door at sunset to walk her about town—with Tyman or Clyn trailing behind them to make sure they didn’t have too much fun.
Tonight the wait would finally be over, and they would say the words which would make them man and wife. Again. Forever, this time, and without trickery or deception of any kind.
But like it or not, she still had doubts. What if Merin loved her only because the crystals of Forbidden Mountain directed him to do so? What if they married, and halfway to Arthes the love he’d thought was real faded away and he was horrified to find himself married to her?
Late in the afternoon, Bela found herself knocking on Rafal Fiers’s door. The seer’s small and solid cottage was located on the eastern edge of the village, where he had a perfect and unobstructed view of the mountain where she and Merin had lost days. Was that a coincidence? If anyone could answer her questions, it would be Rafal.
He answered her knock quickly, as if he had been expecting her. Maybe he had been, knowing Rafal and his tricks. He didn’t even raise an eyebrow as he invited her inside. Bela wrinkled her nose. The cottage smelled of bitter herbs and sulfurous concoctions.
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your wedding ceremony?” he asked.
“I have plenty of time,” Bela said. “Do you know why I’m here?”
“Perhaps.” He gestured to a small wooden chair, but Bela shook her head and told the seer she’d prefer to stand. She was much too anxious to sit!
The small man raised his bushy eyebrows, and Bela obediently—if impatiently—took the chair. Rafal placed himself in front of her, for once looking down upon her rather than tilting his head back and looking up.
“A woman in your delicate condition should not exert herself overmuch. Sit and rest when you can, Mother.”
Bela swallowed hard. She had suspected that it might be true, especially after she and Merin had compared notes on their “dreams,” but she had not known with any certainty, not until now. “So, it is done.”
Rafal smiled. He did not do so often, and the expression was strange. “Yes, it is done.”
All Bela’s fears rushed to the surface, and at this moment those fears were not only about whether or not Merin loved her. “How can I keep her safe? How can I protect her? It is absolutely terrifying that a demon-child wishes to take the life of this daughter who has not yet been born.”
“
Half
demon,” Rafal said with a shake of a bony finger. “And you will not have to worry about that one for many years to come. She has retreated into the mountains, where she will remain for a long while.” He wrinkled his nose and spat on the floor, as if he had smelled something bad as he spoke about the child who had gotten Nobel to do her bidding. “Her time to stop what was meant to be has passed, and she knows it well, just as I do.”
That was a relief, one that washed through Bela as strongly as the mountain river. She swallowed, and forced herself to ask the other question which had been on her mind for the past few days. “Does Merin really love me, or is what he feels a trick of the crystal?”
Yes, Rafal could smile. “If the crystal was able to make Merin experience an uncommon affection for you, it might’ve done so until the child was conceived. Now that it is done, there is no reason for them to attempt something so . . . impossible.”
“Impossible? ”
“For as long as magic has existed, which is a very long time, many wizards and witches and others of their type have attempted to create a true love potion. All have failed. Lust can be created, and has been, but love is of the heart and soul, and cannot be created magically.”
Bela was glad to hear this, but was not surprised. And still, she could only be relieved. Merin did love her; his love was real. Her own love was so real and unshakable, she did not know how it could be created from nothing. “So, the crystals could’ve made him want me, but there was no way for them to make him
love
me.”
“None. The same is true for you, Bela. The affections you have found are real. No sword, no crystal, no enchanted cavern can make such power grow where there is none.”
Everything Rafal told her was what she wanted to hear. That in itself was suspicious. How could she be certain he was telling the truth? “Are you sure my daughter will be safe?”
Their
daughter, hers and Merin’s, a woman destined to do battle. The seed already planted inside her, growing.