“What if he comes back before we return? What if he gets away from Darynal?” I asked as Trillian and I joined up a block later, once we were out of the sight line of the building. I had the nasty feeling Roche was going to hunt me down and try to kill me, even if I walked away and left him alone.
“We’ll track him. Darynal can follow any quarry he puts his mind to,” Trillian said, guiding me by the arm as he looked over his shoulder.
“I didn’t know they have game down in the Subterranean Realms,” I said.
Trillian glanced at me. “Not
every
Svartan lives in the Sub-Realms. Darynal lives in Darkynwyrd.”
Darkynwyrd was an ancient and deadly forest. I’d never been there, but the rumors were that it was filled with beasties and nasties that made Roche look like a saint. The forest was bordered on the south by Guilyoton, the goblin city. To the east stretched the Tygerian Mountains. West of the wood were several vast expanses of grassland, along with Wil-lowyrd Glen. And to the north—Thistlewood Deep, another glen that was reputed to be even
more
magical and shadowy than Darkynwyrd.
I shuddered. “I’ve never been in the dark forest. The Corpse Talkers are supposed to make their home there, you know.” Pausing, I glanced around. Still no sign of Roche, nor were we being followed. My senses were on overdrive and I was keyed in on any hint of energy that might be directed our way. “What about you? Where do you live? In the Subterranean Realms or in Y’Eírialiastar?”
Trillian shrugged. “I commute, you might say. I have a home back in Svartalfheim, but I also live here. To be precise, I have an apartment in Y’Elestrial. Fully furnished, complete with a servant to clean the rooms and my clothing. I don’t have to worry about anything except my food. Sometimes I’ll stay with Darynal if I’m over that direction.”
I had to ask. “I know you’re blood-oath brothers, but are you lovers?”
Trillian flashed me a soft smile. “No, we are not. I’m not attracted to men. I prefer the pleasures of women.” He led me through the market to a building that was unremarkable except for the magic I could feel emanating from it. To the eye, it was nothing more than a series of apartments, but I knew there was more at work behind the weathered double doors.
“Follow me and don’t speak until I tell you it’s safe,” he said.
We entered the lobby, which again was unremarkable. A few benches lined the walls and next to them stood generic potted plants. A bored-looking dwarf manned the counter. He didn’t even blink as we walked past him toward the staircase. Trillian led me through a long hall, lit by eye catchers, to a staircase. We stopped at the first door on the second floor.
He knocked three times, then pressed his palm against a silver plate on the side of the door frame that was glowing with a soft red light. The light flickered to green, and the door opened.
I dutifully followed him inside. The room was huge—it must have taken up a good half of the second story. Filled with heavy wooden tables, ornate armchairs, and a fireplace flickering with a soft bluish flame that came from neither wood nor ember, the chamber emanated so much magical energy that it almost knocked me flat on my back. I quickly leaned against Trillian to steady myself. He slid his arm around my waist and led me to a settee, where I quickly sat down.
“Wait here and don’t move.” He took off toward the other end of the room. I followed orders—there were times when I was happily willful and disinclined to obey, but the energy here could strike like a snake, and I was just a guest. I wasn’t about to cause any waves.
When Trillian returned, he was followed by an incredibly tall man. I couldn’t place his race of Fae—or even if he
was
Fae. He certainly wasn’t a giant, though he was nearly as tall as one. He reminded me of the inhabitants of Aladril, the City of Seers. They all had that same regal quality, gliding instead of walking, with serene and aloof expressions.
He motioned for Trillian to sit, then took his place in an armchair opposite us. I waited for Trillian to introduce us but after a moment, realized that wasn’t going to happen. Instead, he ignored me and talked directly to the man without addressing him by name.
“We need a spell to cover our magical signatures, to hide ourselves from someone we’re seeking. He knows who we are.” Trillian held out a marker and the man slowly accepted it.
“You realize once you cash this in, my debt to you is paid?”
I jerked my head up. Debt? I managed to catch a better look at the marker. A blood-debt marker. So whoever these people were, they owed a blood debt to Trillian.
“Of course,” Trillian said. “I’m a man of my word.”
“But not,” the stranger said, “necessarily a righteous man.”
“Righteousness has nothing to do with morality,” Trillian said calmly. I sensed this wasn’t the first time they’d had this debate.
“But morality without righteousness is a hollow victory for honor.” The stranger shook his head. “You cannot eliminate the power of belief, the power of the gods.”
Trillian snorted. “The power of the gods often leads to ruin for anybody but the gods themselves. Righteousness applied to morality is a dangerous mix, and zealots usually end up killing anybody who disagrees with them. No, give me my ethics, and leave religion out of it.”
The other man regarded him quietly, then smiled. “As always, you stand by your beliefs, regardless of how much I prod you. All right, you will have your help, but remember—the marker is forfeit and next time we meet, I won’t have any restrictions on killing you.”
“Done. But only for
you
. The rest of your brotherhood are not involved. This is
our
fight. We leave my people and your people out of it.” Trillian glanced at me. “And our friends, family, and lovers.”
“Agreed.” He said the word so mildly that I barely caught it, but I could feel the mixture of respect and anger welling off the man. Whoever he was, he didn’t like Trillian. I had the feeling Trillian had just cashed in his safety net.
“Wait here,” the man said, and glided toward the other end of the room.
I pressed my fingers onto Trillian’s arm, giving him a questioning look. He shook his head.
“Don’t ask. Not here.” After a pause, he gazed into my eyes and whispered, “Camille.” Then, without another word, he slid his arm around my waist and grazed my lips with his. As we touched, like a jagged spike of lightning, a jolt of energy seared its way through my core. Before I had time to gasp, an orgasm ripped me apart. But the energy didn’t stop there. It grew stronger, weaving a cord between us, knotting our auras together in an intricate pattern. I could feel the magic shift and dance, drawing me in, pulling me to him.
I clung to him, shaking. “What’s happening?”
Trillian looked just as dizzy and confused as I. He tried to push me away but the draw between us was too strong.
“Lady Hel preserve us,” he whispered, clinging to me, his lips on my hair, my forehead, my neck, covering my face with kisses.
Another wave washed through, turning me topsy-turvy. The cord between us was now visible, sparkling like a thick string of faerie lights. My fingers tingled under the sensation of his skin. I welcomed the pressure of his mouth as he played me like a skillfully tuned harp.
“We shouldn’t be doing this here.” Once again, I tried to break away but he held on, leaning me back against the seat, his eyes gleaming with a hunger so deep that I thought he might gobble me up.
His own voice was just as breathless as mine as he pressed himself between my legs, holding me down. “I don’t know . . . I don’t know . . . unless . . .”
“Unless what?” I managed to roll out from under him, but it took every ounce of self-control I had not to throw myself back into his arms.
He grabbed hold of my hands and held tight. “I’m one of the Charming Fae . . . There are legends that sometimes a Svartan will meet another Svartan with whom the mesh is so right that they spontaneously bond.
For good
. It’s rare, but it does happen.”
“But I’m not Svartan.”
“Svartan or not, I think that’s what’s happening.” Trillian lifted my chin and gazed into my eyes, a haunted look crossing his face. “When souls mate, nothing can undo the link.”
I stared at him. He wasn’t bullshitting. From the core of my gut, I knew that what he said was true.
“We haven’t even had sex yet,” was all I could say.
“I know. But think about what it’s going to be like when we do,” he murmured, then quickly straightened himself as the strange man reappeared.
The man ignored me as he handed Trillian two small medallions.
“Wear these. They will block your signatures from everyone. While you wear them, you will appear as dwarves. They will only last for a little while, so you’ll have to work fast.”
Trillian nodded, then stood. He inclined his head. “The blood-debt is paid. You are free. But next time we meet, before raising your sword, think back on our discussions. Perhaps you won’t be so hasty to have my head. You killed my sister already. That’s the only member of my family you’re touching.”
The man stared at him, conflicting emotions running across his face. After a moment, he said, “While I value our debates, know this, Svartan. If I had it to do over again, I’d kill her again. No woman refuses me. And next time we meet, I’ll be coming for you. Don’t ever darken the doors of this guild again, lest you find me here.” He nodded to the door. “Once you walk out of this building, I owe you nothing.”
Trillian shook his head, smiling grimly. “As you so wish,” he said, and led me out of the room. As soon as we were in the hallway, he draped one of the medallions around his neck.
“Mother pus bucket,” I said, staring at him, still dazed from our tryst. He looked like a dwarf, complete with long beard, short stature, and rugged appeal. He was still handsome—no spell could take away that gorgeous demeanor, but he was definitely a dwarf.
He blinked. “I assume you learned that from your mother?” he said as he draped the other medallion around my neck. “Well, you certainly look better as yourself, but this will do quite nicely.”
I glanced down at my arms and legs. Yep, I looked like a dwarf, too. A dwarf with really big boobs. Of course, a lot of dwarven women were busty. I glanced back at the chamber. “Mind telling me what the Hel we’re going to do about what happened back there?”
“Hush, leave it until we’re outside. Leave
all
questions until we’re outside.” He led me down the stairs and out the front door. Then, quickly, he tugged on my hand and we raced back toward Calisto’s. I prayed that we were right, and that Roche would be on his way up to his room. Trillian had just sacrificed a huge marker for this, and I didn’t want to see him wasting his get-out-of-jail-free card.
6
NIGHT was sweeping away the dusk, leaving a solid layer of stars overhead. As we slid through the streets, Trillian kept hold of my hand. My mind was racing with thoughts of Roche, of finally catching him and skewering my boss when I told the YIA that he’d been in on the perv’s escape.
But, overshadowing everything was the lingering tingle of my skin, the memory of what had happened between Trillian and me.
There are legends that sometimes a Svartan will meet another Svartan with whom the mesh is so right that they spontaneously bond.
For good.
It’s rare, but it does happen.
His words reverberated through me. What did this mean? But I already knew. Something—by fate or chance—had brought us together. I’d known since our first meeting. And now we were bound, whether for good or ill, I didn’t know yet. My father was going to have a field day with this one.
“There,” Trillian whispered. “Calisto’s.”
As we watched, a figure emerged from the gloom. He was the right size and shape and an alarm sounded that yes—it was him. I clutched Trillian’s arm.
“It’s Roche,” I said. “I know that energy!”
We waited until he’d entered the building, then we slipped past the rawhead who had passed out, an empty bottle of booze on the counter. The stench of stale vomit filled the air.
As we tiptoed up the stairs, I steeled myself. Roche was up there. Roche, who liked to carve up women and children. Darynal’s warning came back to me—Roche wouldn’t play by the rules, so I wasn’t going to either. Whatever it took, I was taking the dude down. Hard.
As we reached the top of the stairs, Roche had already disappeared into the room and we could hear the sounds of fighting from behind the scarred door.
“Come on! Darynal’s in danger.” Trillian slammed open the door and rushed into the room. I followed.
“Stop or I’ll kill him!” Roche whirled, holding Darynal by the throat, a knife with a glinting razor’s edge poised at his jugular. He stared at us for a moment, looking totally confused. “Who the fuck are you?”
Darynal was limp, but alive. I could tell he was doing his best to relax into the hold, a good way to fool your opponent. Only Roche wasn’t the sanest peach in the pie, so what might work on a normal psycho wasn’t necessarily going to do the trick for him.
First things first—get Darynal out of Roche’s grasp. I whipped out my knife from the sheath circling my thigh. The leather strap looked like it was fastened around the illusionary trousers I was wearing.
Praying my voice had changed along with my looks, I said, “Give us all your money—jewels, whatever you got.” Yep, my voice had deepened, thank the gods. If we played guards-and-bandits, we just might confuse him long enough to throw him off guard.
Trillian took my cue and pulled out his own knife, a dangerous-looking kris. “Whatever beef you got with this guy, we don’t care. We’ll go through him to get to you if you don’t give us your money.
Now!
”
Roche frowned, but apparently the magic of our disguises was top-notch and he slowly lowered his knife and pushed Darynal to the ground. “You can take my pack over there.” He nodded to the table.