Kinked (32 page)

Linwe grimaced, looking embarrassed.
I got it wrong, didn’t I
?

I don’t know,
she admitted. And there was that giant spongy finger again, pointing to the placard. Total fucking win-win. She tried to give Linwe a smile, but it felt like it came out all twisted and wrong.
It’s early days yet. We’re still feeling our way.

We’re perfect, he had said. And when he said it, everything inside of her pulsed in recognition of the rightness of it.

I don’t know,
she said again.

For a moment she faltered. As her sense of purpose flatlined, she felt lost, even confused, and fear rose up to slash at her with black, razor-sharp teeth. Nothing felt familiar, not her physical surroundings and not the landscape within, and her future wasn’t looking very survivable. She had no business considering whether or not she was “together” with anybody. She closed her eyes as despair attacked.

“Here,” Linwe said gently, brushing her lax fingers aside. “Let me finish buckling that for you.”

As Aryal let the younger woman work the fastenings, she looked out the barracks door that they had propped open. The door faced the palace, and beyond that, the sparkling sea. At the height of the promontory, the island was more visible than ever.

A sailboat cruised the water, leaving a silvery trail in the water behind it as it approached the mainland.

Aryal’s hand shot out. She gripped Linwe’s shoulder with such force the younger woman looked up at her wide-eyed. “Which of you is the fastest runner?” she asked.

Linwe and Aralorn answered at the same time. Aralorn had been sorting out armor for Caerreth. He looked up as he said, “She is.”

“Me,” said Linwe. “Why?”

Aryal hauled her around and pointed to the boat. Linwe sucked in a breath, but before she could say anything,
Aryal shoved her toward the door. “Get Caerreth out here now. Move!”

As if Aryal had shot her from bow, Linwe raced for the palace.

Aralorn joined her at the doorway. Unwilling to take any more chances of being seen, she pulled him back until she was sure they both stood in shadow. They stared out. Thus far the Elf had shown a steady demeanor, but as he wiped his mouth with the back of one hand, Aryal saw that it was shaking. He asked, “What are we going to do?”

She told him, “You and the other two are going to leave just like we planned. You’ll take this road past the barracks. It doesn’t matter where it leads, as long as it gets you out of sight of the piers. As soon as you’re out of sight, do whatever you have to do to get to the passageway as fast as you can.”

If he had looked shaky before, now he looked downright terrified. “Yes, ma’am.”

Moments dragged by. She watched the sailboat get closer. She guessed it was perhaps ten minutes out from docking. Come on Caerreth.

Then Linwe, Caerreth and Quentin exploded out of the kitchen door, racing toward them. She noted with approval that Linwe had had the presence of mind to bring one of the sacks of food.

Quentin searched the area until his gaze locked on her.

Aryal held up her flattened hand. Stop.

His hands shot out in either direction, and he grabbed the two younger Elves, dragging them to a stop. His gaze never left her.

She looked at the boat and at them, calculating angles and line of sight. If they could see the boat, theoretically, someone on the boat could see them. At their current trajectory, they would have about seventy-five feet when they might be visible from the water.

Probably the witch wasn’t looking in this direction, but she didn’t want to risk it. She gestured to Quentin, pointing to her left, their right. They needed to travel in a wide arc
so that they put the bulk of the palace between them. She whispered, “Figure it out. If you can’t see the boat on the water, she can’t see you.”

He seemed to get it. He nodded at her and gestured to Caerreth and Linwe to go to their right. She said to Aralorn, “Come on. We’re going out another way.”

She helped him gather up their weapons and Caerreth’s armor. Then they walked through the long building to the armory section that had its own entrance. This time the angle was better, and she and Aralorn ran to meet the others.

“Her ETA is seven or eight minutes,” she said. She threw Quentin’s armor at him, dropped the weapons at his feet and joined Aralorn and Linwe as they worked feverishly on buckling Caerreth into his armor. As soon as the last piece was in place, she slapped him on the back and stood back. She ordered, “Go.”

Clutching their weapons, healing potion and food, all three of the Elves stared at her and Quentin as they danced backward several steps. Each one’s expression was conflicted, with things left unsaid and warring impulses. Furiously Aryal stabbed in the direction of the road with a forefinger. “Go!”

They bolted. Within moments they were out of sight.

She glanced at Quentin. He had almost finished buckling on his own armor.

She turned and made her way back through the armory and the bunkhouse to look out the doorway. Quentin followed. The sailboat had almost reached one of the piers. The witch was almost here.

Aryal had done a good job. She’d thought logically and put the others first, but in that moment, ladies and gentlemen, all sanity left the building.

EIGHTEEN

H
er talons came out, and she started forward. She had someplace to be and someone to kill, and she was never late for a commitment.

Quentin grabbed her by the arm and spun her around. “What are you doing?”

“Let go!” She knocked his hand away. “I have to kill her.”

Faster than thought, he grabbed her again and shoved her back against the open door. She took a swipe at him, which he dodged. Then he slammed into her, pinning her with his body. “Stop it! You can’t go after her right now.”

She didn’t recognize the sound of her own voice. “She grounded me. She maimed me. Maybe I’ll fly again, but
MAYBE
I
WON’T
.”

She tried to shove him away, but he had braced himself with one foot back, and he pushed against her hard, elbows planted on the door on either side of her face. It left his sides wide open. If he wasn’t wearing the armor—if he were the enemy—she could have sliced into his abdomen and gutted him before he had a chance to take another breath.

Except that they had gone beyond committing such destructive acts against each other, gone far beyond it into territory that was unrecognizable to her.

She fisted her hands and pounded at him. It didn’t do a thing to shift his position or change the determined expression that hardened his face. “Goddammit, listen to me,” he growled. “We will go after her, Aryal. I promise you, we will, but we can’t right now. If she finds out that we escaped, she may send some of her pack to hunt the others. They might be able to hold off one shadow wolf in order to cross back over to Earth, but they can’t handle several at once. We have to give them as much time as we can.”

She stopped struggling as his words sank in. He looked into her eyes, and whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him, because he eased up from pushing against her.

“And here are some hard truths, sunshine,” he said, speaking rapidly. “ We—you and me—are not ready to confront her. We’re partially healed and not fully rested, and there’s only two of us. On the other side of the equation, she’s not only one of the most dangerous magic users in the world that Dragos knows of, but she also has her pack. We’re going to get her, but we have to be in control of how it happens and when, and we have to be at the top of our game. Do you hear me? Right now we have got to get back to the cell block.”

Breathing hard, she managed to nod. He gave her a not-quite smile, pulled back, and as she stepped away from the door, he shut it. Then they raced through the barracks, out the door that wasn’t visible from the pier, and back through the lower levels of the palace to the cell block. Once they were inside, Quentin picked the lock shut again, and they both leaned back against the wall as they looked at each other.

“She might have had a change of heart,” she said. “She might have come back to bring food.”

“I really fucking hope so,” said Quentin with a hard smile. “But I doubt it. She’s already responsible for one death that we know of, and you outed her. We don’t know what she’s doing, or what she’s looking for. She might have just come back to follow a lead.”

She said harshly, “Maybe she found what she’s looking for, and she’s leaving Numenlaur.”

He thought about that. “Even if she did, I doubt she can travel as quickly as those three scared Elves can. The
others will still make it out first, as long as her pack doesn’t go hunting for them.” He reached out and squeezed her hand. Her talons had disappeared when he talked her down, and he rubbed the tip of one of her fingers with the ball of his thumb. “And if she leaves Numenlaur, we’ll go after her. We’re going to get her, Aryal. I swear it.”

The tension in her body eased as she soaked in his conviction. She believed him, and it helped to calm the pain that raged inside. She laced her fingers through his.

“Thank you.”

He leaned his head back against the wall and gave her a slow smile that was guaranteed to set some kind of internal burner on simmer. “Don’t mention it. You can pay me back with sex.”

Just like that, from one moment to the next, he brought her from rage to laughter. She admitted, “Sex with you
is
on my to-do list.”

His smile deepened. He squeezed her hand. “Yes, but our bargain is a done deal. You’ll have to owe me something else. You should know, I charge interest by the hour on debts that are owed to me.”

She smiled back at him. Yes, he was always going to be a bastard. It was comforting to know that some things don’t change.

T
hey watched out the window and waited. The witch didn’t bring food.

A lack of action was also a choice, and it was one that Galya Andreyev kept making. Quentin felt nothing but contempt for her. It would have been better to kill them outright rather than lock them up and let them starve to death. She was the worst kind of murderer.

At one point he walked through the silent cell block, taking time that he hadn’t before to note the bodies in some of the cells. What a lonely way to die. If Camthalion had gone as crazy as the story said, these prisoners might have been good, decent people. At any rate, they hadn’t deserved this kind of end. Nobody did.

A couple of hours passed. They each ate their fill again and took turns napping. After a while they were going to have to make a decision to leave if nothing happened. At least they would leave better fed, rested and healed. They had gotten the Elves away, and they had weapons, healing potion and magic-resistant armor. This morning’s activity might be frustrating, but so far it was tallying in some essential positives.

Then, just after midday, as he paced from the window to the cell block door and back again, he glanced out—and a sailing boat had appeared again on the sea, headed for the island.

Surprise pulsed. He strode to “their” cell where Aryal lay on her stomach, her dark head cradled in folded arms. She had discovered the second bottle of apple brandy, which sat near one elbow.

Something about how she looked in the elegant Elven armor moved him, tall, sleek and deadly strong. Real Elven armor wasn’t how the movies portrayed it, at least not the normal kind that regular troops wore. Shiny was eye-catching and stupid, as it made a perfect target. Instead Elven armor was a flat neutral color. All of its beauty lay in the elegance of its creation and shape. The people who loved it most were the warriors who entrusted their lives to wearing it.

Aryal also looked utterly dejected. His chest wanted to start burning again, but he wouldn’t let it. He walked over and kicked her foot. “Rise and shine, toots. She’s headed back to the island.”

She lifted and spun around in one quick movement, and rose lightly to her feet. “Now we know something.”

He smiled. “And by now, the others have put in a good couple of hours’ run. By tonight they’ll be halfway out.”

She cast a glance of loathing around her, a sentiment with which he heartily agreed. “Let’s get out of here.”