Bound by Sin (13 page)

Then he forced himself to speak aloud the one thing that was most important between them.

“Two days.”

“Two days,” she agreed.

And then they fell asleep.

“A
ll right, someone has to say something,” Garreth said when he and Dethan found themselves eating without their brother for the second meal of the day. Neither had to wonder where Jaykun was or what he was doing. Although the castle was made of stone, the doors were not and sound traveled far too well along the corridors of the living quarters. Their brother's marathon sexual escapade was being announced far and wide.

Not that they really begrudged him his slice of happiness. The gods knew Jaykun saw so little of it. But there were things to be done, and on a more selfish bent, it made the brothers miss their wives even more than usual.

“This has been a hard campaign,” Dethan said with a sigh. “I long to see my newest child.”

“Children are well and good, but I miss the comfort of Sarielle's embrace. And every day he wastes in other pursuits is a day longer I am away from her,” Garreth grumbled.

“Hush, now. This is our lot. We spend the summers on the campaign trail, as we agreed with Weysa and Mordu, helping our brother, and in exchange we get to have our loves and our children all the rest of the year. I am endlessly grateful for the time I have with Selinda. I can remember what it was like, not that long ago, when I had to face the same fate Jaykun now suffers—tortured night after night, beholden to my goddess all the seasons' turnings. My children would have had a stranger for a father, one they knew only in the winters. No. I will not bemoan my lot. Nor will I begrudge him what little happiness he can find. I tried that with you and it only caused us trouble.”

“But…he must stay focused,” Garreth said with agitation. “It is only by keeping focus that we can hope to find what we wish to know! We have been scouring this continent, taking over city after city, exploring the tales of the gods known to each tribe—only in this way can we hope to discover Maxum's prison. Gods know Sabo will not give away the location. He may have let slip that Maxum was buried in soil, but he will never tell us where. We must try to find him.”

“And do what if we find him? Dig for him? Only Sabo knows how far down into the ground our brother is. Only Sabo will release him. We are better off trying to make amends to Sabo.”

“We cannot do that as long as he is part of the faction that wars against Weysa. Even so, even if there were no war, Sabo thrives on the pain and suffering of others. Why would he wish to bring an end to ours?” Garreth asked.

“I do not know.” Dethan released a pained sigh. “I am a mortal man fighting in a war between gods at the side of my immortal brothers. I am the most fragile warrior here yet still I fight. I will do anything in hopes that we will one day be granted the boon of our last brother's freedom. Until then, we search for his location in tale and story. Somewhere in the annals of stories and histories of some race on the face of this planet is the clue to our brother's whereabouts. To that end, today I am going to seek out the library and the Krizan scholars, provided they have any. These are a coarse people. Education is not high amongst their charms. Let Jaykun spend himself on this woman for a day. There are other things to be done without him.”

“Very well. Then I shall occupy myself in a like manner. I will continue to manage the details of this household, making certain we are firmly settled and dealing with the matters of prisoners and malcontents. This government will need to be rebuilt. I realize Jaykun has the whole of the winter to do so, but I want to make a good start before you and I must leave.”

“Agreed. So we will meet back here for supper?” Dethan said.

“We can exchange our progress over the meal. Perhaps our brother might join us.”

“He has to eat sometime,” Dethan said with a chuckle.

Jaykun used his tongue to fish the jogu berry out of Jileana's navel and she giggled at the sensation. Her laughter threatened to disrupt the remaining fruits he had perched all about her body. He was eating each berry and each slice of melon or fruit meat directly off her skin, then licking away any juice left behind. It was a titillating game…but it also tickled and his playfulness made her laugh.

“My dish shakes and trembles about,” he noted with a chuckle. “How am I to finish my meal when it threatens to spill onto the bedclothes?”

“Better still, when is it my turn to eat? I am hungry.” But it was clear from the heated look in her eyes that she was not speaking about the state of her stomach.

With a sudden growl he swept the remaining fruit off her body, sending it hither and thither so he could crush his mouth to hers and pin her body beneath him. She eagerly opened her thighs around his hips, her legs locking together across his muscular buttocks, which flexed hard as he drove himself into her.

“I shall feed you thusly, then,” he said, his voice low and rough, coming through clenched teeth. “Feed you until you burst with fullness.”

“Oh yes!” she cried out, pulling him down to her mouth so she could kiss him for all she was worth. Then she pushed him away, shoved him almost completely off herself, forcing him to roll onto his back, where she straddled him and immediately took him back into her welcoming body.

“Pushy little minx,” he said as his hands clamped down hard on her hips and began to help her grind against him, to help her sheathe him in brutal, demanding need. She felt amazing. Miraculous even. He doubted he could ever tire of her. Each time they connected brought him new knowledge of her, made him marvel at how open she was and how unashamed she was about her appetites. Even now, as they played and fought and tangled themselves up in passion, he found himself wanting her ever more strongly, as opposed to feeling content and satiated. Perhaps it was because he knew his time with her was limited, because he knew he had to jam into two days everything he possibly could.

He pushed aside the feeling of dread that accompanied that thought. He had made a bargain with her—with himself—and he would hold to it. Whatever the cost, he would hold fast. But facing that made him angry for some reason and he took it out on her with a punishing, lurching thrust upward that met the downward crash of her imprisoned pelvis. Her spine curved, her hair was thrown back, and her green eyes glowed with fiery passion and the determination to meet his punishment with every bit of matching fervor.

As he struck her across her sweetest spot she began to cry out in an increasing crescendo of moans. Hearing her reach for pleasure was enough to drive him mad, enough to make him raw with need. It wasn't long before his voice joined hers, the chorus reaching a breaking point roughly and quickly. It frustrated him in a way—that she could drive him into a fever so quickly and so easily. It made him forget himself, made him forget every promise he'd made to take her more slowly, to savor every inch and every moment of her. But the nature of their relationship made slowing down almost impossible. They were racing against time. He had so little time and so much he wanted to force into it. He would savor in retrospect; later he would take things out and replay them more slowly. For now, he wanted her rough and hard.

She came first, with a scream of pleasure that cascaded into smaller shouts. He exploded with a roar of his own, feeling as though his very soul were pulsing and jetting out of him and into her with his final thrust. She collapsed upon his chest, her breasts crushed between them, her breaths panting hard and wild and loud against the side of his neck and shoulder. He thrilled to hear it, longed to hear it go on forever.

No. Not forever.

Just two more days. Only that. Nothing more.

Nothing more.

Dremu skulked his way toward the kitchens. No one paid him any mind except to maybe shove him out of the way. But it was something he was used to. He was considered to be lower than the lowest of his kind. If half-breeds could be called his kind. He was the misshapen product of an unfaithful Krizan woman and, it was rumored, a gypsy man who had traveled with the minstrel caravans. Oh, his mother had been properly wed to a Krizan man—a good, solid farmer from the hardland farms just beyond the Krizan city walls. But when Dremu was born, it had been more than clear that she had been faithless. His teeth were straight and even, all within his mouth instead of tusking up over his upper lip as a purebred Krizan's would. They were so small he could not even cap them in gold or gems. His skin was a sallow sort of tan color, nothing like the typical ruddy Krizan complexion. And he was of an unhealthy, lean sort of build, lacking the true beautiful bulk of his people.

He was a half-breed and it showed. His mother had died for her faithlessness, as per the laws of Kriza, and he had been left on the beach, exposed to the elements, squalling and vulnerable. Then he had been retrieved by a couple so desperate for a child that they had been willing to overlook his ugliness and mixed birth.

So at the very least he had grown up loved by his adoptive parents.

But he had grown up hated by everyone else in the city. They called him a
trega
half-breed. Kicked dirt at him and spat at his feet. The idea of him ever being accepted by a Krizan woman was ludicrous, so he lived alone now that his parents were dead. He bunked in stables or dark places where he would not be noticed too easily. He worked in the shadows doing whatever he could, whatever they would let him do.

But today his
trega
appearance would serve him well. He gripped the small leather pouch in his hands for all he was worth, scurrying like a rat toward the food in the kitchens. All he needed was the right moment. A single right moment. Then he would be given, for the first time in his life, one gold coin in trade for his day's work. He had been promised it by the finia's fortunary. One gold coin that would allow him to finally leave this horrid city where he was so thoroughly rejected day after day. He could afford to leave, could go onto the road where travelers from different lands were found all the time. His differences would be expected there, not questioned. He didn't know what he would do exactly, but at least he would be able to find work or earn his way in fair trade. It couldn't be worse than this life. Nothing could be worse than this life in Kriza.

He had of course toyed with another idea. Perhaps he could join the
trega
army. Perhaps his looks would go unremarked in a group of men and women who all looked so different from one another. He had never seen such a mix of races before, so many different types. Skin of blue, eyes of yellow, hair of green. This one looked one way and that one another. He would blend right in with such a noise of races. But for all that he could be one of them, the
trega
frightened him. They were a warring lot, made to kill others. He wasn't able to lift a sword, so what could he possibly do in an army?

It left him little choice, really. He could take his chances trying to find something to do in the
trega
army or he could be loyal to his people, earn his gold coin, and be on his way.

Even though his people had never been loyal to him.

Dremu ducked into an alcove just outside the kitchens, pressing his back against the wall and breathing hard in a panic. He shouldn't do this. He had never killed anyone before. He didn't have it in him! He clutched the leather pouch so hard his nails dug into the soft skin of it. He needed that gold coin. Desperately needed it. Needed it more than he had needed anything in his scraping, needy existence. One gold coin for the price of…death.

He glanced into the kitchens. They were abustle with preparations for the evening meal, loud and boisterous cooks singing as they worked. All Krizans had been banished from the kitchens; only
trega
were allowed. It was why he was the only one who could do this thing.

He loosened the drawstring of the pouch and peeked at the white powder inside. He was careful not to get any of it on himself. If he should accidentally ingest it, he would be dead within seconds. One sure way of ending his quandary as to what to do with his life. He looked around for something he imagined everyone would be eating. He needed to slay as many with one blow as was possible. As soon as one fell, the others would know and would stop eating. But the most important thing was to get the leaders. That was his goal: to kill the
trega
leaders as directed by the fortunary. The fortunary had even been so kind as to provide the poison.