22 Nights (20 page)

“So you learned to make pots,” she said.

“Yes, everyone needs pots,” he said in a jovial tone. “Even the poorest household must have porridge. My pots are the finest.” He droned on about pots, repeating what he’d said earlier in the day, almost word for word.

Soon a fire was blazing, and as they were all wet, the heat was a comfort. The light was also welcome, as she could see Savyn’s face more clearly. The sight of him was always a comfort.

She could also see Trinity. The hat he wore had protected most of his hair from the rain, but the very tip of his brown braid had been soaked by the rain, and by the light of the fire she could see that the end of the braid was no longer brown.

It was a silver gray, almost white.

She gripped Savyn’s arm tightly. Did he see? Did he know that the man who had offered her a ride, chattered all day, and built them a roaring fire was the same man who had promised to kill them? Yes, she knew by the way his muscles tensed that he saw and realized as she did.

Savyn stood slowly and offered Leyla his arm. She took it, and together they edged toward the door, Savyn keeping his body between her and Trinity as much as possible. Trinity still had his back to them, and from their vantage point the end of his braid was bright silver and unmistakable.

He could not see them, and yet the room was too small for them to move without his knowledge. “It’s still raining very hard,” he said without turning about. “Surely you two aren’t going outside in this storm.”

“I need a private moment with my wife,” Savyn said, his voice amazingly calm.

Smoothly and with grace, Trinity spun and stood to face them. His smile was cold. His pale gray eyes were colder. “I know you two are newly wed, but your private moment can surely wait until the storm passes.”

“I just need a word,” Savyn said.

“In that case, allow
me
to step outside so you can have your privacy. We cannot ask the lady to stand in the rain, now can we?” He walked toward them, the remaining leg of the chair he’d dismantled resting easily in his hand.

Savyn made sure Leyla was at the door. “Run,” he whispered.

She clung to his shirt. “Not without you.”

“Dammit, Leyla . . .”

“What gave me away?” Trinity asked. His face was hard; it was no longer the face of a friendly, tedious potmaker. “Pity, I did not want the game to end so soon.”

Leyla saw the chair leg come up, and she pulled at the back of Savyn’s shirt, trying to urge him through the narrow opening in the doorway. Instead of coming with her, he surged forward to meet Trinity’s swing. The chair leg smacked into Savyn’s head, and he went instantly limp and dropped to the floor.

She stared down at Savyn’s bloody face and the gash in his scalp. This was her fault. All her fault. Her body was numb and she could not move, could not even breathe. Trinity raised his weapon to finish the job of killing a man whose only crime had been to love a woman he could not have, and Leyla forced herself to act. She threw herself between Savyn and the chair leg, taking the blow on her shoulder. Pain radiated from her shoulder down her arm and her back, and she screamed. Then she turned to slip through the opening and run with all her might, praying that Trinity would chase her instead of taking the time to finish killing Savyn.

 

BELA
was surely doing this to him on purpose: being agreeable, smiling often, looking much too pretty for a woman who had spent two full days climbing a mountain. Merin was positive he did not look so good.

Tomorrow they should reach the site where Clyn had found Kitty. With any luck they would find clues to her purpose in the area. He needed to think about that chore, he needed to dedicate himself to it in order to take his mind off the woman who had moved close to him in sleep, as if her body was now so accustomed to sleeping beside him that she needed his warmth, even though the night was again mild and the fire he had built was just now dying down.

She was intended for Emperor Jahn, and he was a general who obeyed orders as well as gave them. He did not take that which was not his.

The only problem was that Bela felt like she was his. Gut deep, he was sometimes certain she belonged to him. She was his wife, emperor be damned. It wasn’t as if Bela was Jahn’s type, in any case. No, she was Merin’s type, he just had never realized it, not until recently.

He was accustomed to depriving himself of things he wanted. In times of war, in times of sacrifice, he had denied himself. So why was it so hard to deny himself now?

In her sleep, Bela sighed and wiggled and moved her head to his stomach, which she used as if it were her personal pillow. Eventually her hand settled between his legs, which almost caused him to shout and throw her off. He did not. Instead, he lay there suffering and confused. He had not been so confused since he’d been a child.

Eventually Merin did sleep, and when he did, he dreamed of Bela and sex. He dreamed of her strong thighs wrapped around his hips as she took him in. He dreamed of pleasure that only she could give him.

 

TRINITY
squeezed through the doorway and chased Lady Leyla into the rain. Savyn was down and would be down for a while, and Trinity realized that if he let his target get away again, she’d be more careful from here on out. She knew his face and it would be difficult to sneak up on her next time. No, he had to catch her now, and since it was dark, with only flashes of lightning to illuminate her, he could not allow her to get ahead of him.

He could finish the man after he was done with the woman. The blow to Savyn’s head had brought him down, and would keep him down for a while. Rain washed over Trinity, and he soon realized what had given him away. The rain rinsed away the brown color in his hair. The mixture of tea and yar leaves stained his shirt, and that meant the gray of his hair would be revealed. But for the rain, the game might’ve continued for a while. Too bad it had to end so soon.

A lightning flash revealed the fleeing woman. She had run to the road and was making her way toward town, as if she could outrun him, as if she could escape. Most of his weapons were still stored with the horse, but he had a small knife on his belt and a sturdy stick of wood in his hand. That would suffice for one small woman.

Trinity ran. With his speed and strength, and unencumbered by skirts and fancy boots, he was soon upon his prey. He grabbed Lady Leyla by the neck and she tripped, and then they both went tumbling to the ground. They landed hard and mud splattered up, covering her face and much of his. She screamed and she fought against his hold, but she could not escape. He pinned her arms to the ground, and held her so she could barely move.

“Shhhh,” he said calmly, his lips near her ear. “Don’t make this worse than it has to be.”

Trinity had planned to seduce Lady Leyla properly, but that was no longer an option. He still wanted her, but he would not force himself upon her. He was not that sort of low man. His mother would’ve been horrified at the very thought. Still, he might not have to give up all that he desired. “Do you wish to live awhile longer?” he whispered in her ear.

“Yes,” she shouted.

Again lightning flashed, and she was illuminated for him. Lady Leyla was soaking wet and covered in mud, and yet she was still stunning. She remained a lady, fine and elegant.

“Do you know what I want from you, for those extra minutes of life?” Surely she knew, as he was aroused and pressing against her.

“Yes,” she said, not so loudly as before. Her voice shook.

Moving efficiently, he rolled Leyla onto her back. Not being a fool, he kept her hands immobile and pressed into the mud. Rain washed some of the mud from her face, and he could see the terror in her eyes and in the set of her mouth. He did not want to see terror, not now. He wanted passion; he wanted softness. In the mud and the rain and with her blood soon to be on his hands, he wanted it all.

“Does Savyn live?” Leyla asked, and Trinity saw the ardor he wished for himself.

“For now.”

An unexpected strength was added to her terror. The lady was tougher than she appeared to be. “Promise me that you will allow him to live. There is no reason for Savyn to die.”

“Your Savyn has caused me a lot of trouble,” Trinity said truthfully.

“He is a good man,” she whispered. “He deserves better than this end.”

Trinity was very good at reading people’s faces, and he was surprised by what he saw on Lady Leyla’s face. “You love him.”

“I do,” she said passionately. “Promise me that you will let him live, and I will allow you to have all that you want from me. I will not fight you, I will not cry, I will not lie here motionless as if I despise your touch. All that you wish for in this last moment of my life will be yours, if you swear to me that Savyn will live.”

Lady Leyla was terrified but sincere. She would do anything for the man she loved, and that touched Trinity. No one had ever loved him in that way. No one ever would. “All right,” he said. “Please me well, and after I send you on, I will walk away without revisiting the hut and finishing off your lover. He is your lover, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is.” She fought against his grip but was unable to move. “I cannot please you without the use of my hands. Release me, please. It’s not as if I can fight one such as you.”

That was true enough. “Fight me, and after I see to you, your Savyn will die slowly and in incredible pain,” Trinity promised before he released Leyla’s hands.

Lying against this woman he had been paid to kill, Trinity felt a surge of loneliness. He wished for softness in his life, but it was not meant to be. If he dared to care for anyone, he would have to watch that person grow old and die. He had done so many times, and it was so painful that he did not care to go through the agony again. Turning his back on that pain meant he turned his back on the pleasure of a woman’s touch. He could—and did—pay for sex when the urge struck, but that was not the same as love given freely. Not that Leyla offered herself freely. No, there was a price. But it was not cold, hard coin.

With his fingers, Trinity gently wiped away the rest of the mud on Leyla’s face. He wanted her to be pretty for him. She remained very still while he saw to her, while he wiped away the muck that should never touch a lady like this one.

She would die very quickly, without any pain. He would see to it.

He lowered his head and kissed her, while rain washed over them and lightning flashed. Though Leyla was not a passionate kisser, she did not spit at him or bite or push him away, and it seemed that eventually her mouth did move against his, a little. It had been a long time since a woman he had not paid had kissed him, and he liked it, even though he could taste her fear. For a moment he regretted what he had to do, but it was his duty, his calling, to send on those whose time had come.

Part of him wanted to kiss her for a long while, to simply enjoy the softness and the promise and the simple ecstasy of touch. But Leyla tasted so fine, he could not wait much longer. His mind wanted this to last, but his body was impatient.

While they still kissed, his hand pulled at Leyla’s wet skirt, lifting it high as the rain pelted their bodies. She kept her word and participated in their liaison. Her hands touched his shoulders, and then his neck, with a woman’s gentleness. Those fine, gentle hands skirted softly up his face to touch his head, and then she gently pulled his lips from hers and she smiled.

His heart nearly stopped from the sheer joy.

“You do not wish to hurt me,” she whispered.

Trinity felt a sharp pain in his temple, and he realized she was right. He did not wish to hurt her, not at all.

“You do not want to harm Savyn, either,” she said, her hands pressing harder against the sides of his head. “You
will not
harm either of us. To do so would bring you great pain. To even
think
of taking our lives would bring you to your knees with agony.”

Her words were strange, but yes, she was correct.

Leyla’s soft voice whispered, “When you touch me, the pain is astonishing.”

His hand, which had been resting so wonderfully against her thigh, began to burn as if he had thrust it into a raging fire. Soon his whole body burned, and when he looked into Leyla’s eyes, he no longer saw fear or helplessness or even beauty.

He saw the witch.

“You cannot move,” she said in a strong voice. Lightning crackled overhead, and in the flash of light he saw the face of a strong woman who was in command of herself, and of him. “Not until I tell you that you are allowed.” She cocked her head to the side, and one hand moved to his forehead. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” he rasped, burning and unable to move.

“Soon I will allow you to go, but not yet,” Leyla said, and he saw and heard the savage in her. The
witch
. “Why did you once wish to kill me?”

“I was paid to do so,” he answered quickly, hoping to finish this as fast as possible so the pain would end.

“By whom?”

“A lady like yourself, a woman who did not wish you to reach Arthes and perhaps win the position of empress.”

“Political intrigue,” she said with a humorless laugh. “I should’ve expected as much. Does this lady have a name? ”

He gave her the name she asked for, could not have stopped himself without biting off his tongue. She did not seem to recognize the name, as she repeated it softly.

The rain did not stop. It poured down on them, cold and relentless. Trinity wanted to escape but could not. He was trapped here, he was prisoner to this woman who held him immobile with the touch of a seemingly gentle hand.

“You have killed many people,” Leyla said tenderly.

“Yes.”

Her fingers danced on his forehead, tender and yet somehow afire. “In your soul you must know that what you have become is wrong,” she said. “In your heart and soul and mind you must know that to take the lives of others is wrong.”