Knight Awakened (Circle of Seven #1) (15 page)

Xavian cleared his throat. He raised a brow, throwing her a strange look. She glanced away, unable to look him in the eye. If she did, he might see the yearning she kept buried in her heart and believe he was the reason.

“I am glad he brought you to me.”

Busy watching Xavian’s retreat, the softly spoken comment threw Afina. The door closed with a
thunk
, leaving her inside with his lover and him out of bashing range. She glared at the wooden planks, resisting the urge to stomp her feet like a child, and tossed Sherene a look that said she was insane. Unhinged. Totally deranged. What other explanation could there be? The welcome she extended must be contrived. No woman worth her salt would accept a rival with so much warmth.

Sherene raised both hands, flipping them palms up. “Truly.”

Afina’s eyes narrowed.

“And before you ask,” she said, lips twitching, a gleam in her dark eyes. “No, we are not.”

“Not what?” Afina asked, hurling another imaginary fireball at the door. Too bad she couldn’t conjure a real one. Maybe if she could, the flames would eat through the wood and singe the dolt no doubt standing guard on the other side.

“Lovers.”

The admission whipped Afina’s head around. She stared at Sherene, mouth wide open. “But you seemed so...Then he was, well...You’re not...really?”

“Yes, really.” Picking up a measuring tape from inside a metal tin, Sherene fiddled with the leather end, winding the strip
around her index finger. “Although there was a time I would not have said no to Xavian, I am grateful he pushed me in Ivan’s direction instead.”

“Who?”

“My husband.” Sherene’s mouth curved up at the corners. “For almost a year now.”

“Oh. I...Forgive me,” Afina said, combating the heat in her face.

“It is nothing.” Sherene waved her hand, brushing the apology along with her awkwardness aside. “It is good you feel as you do. Your possessiveness shows you have spirit. A necessary thing when dealing with bullheaded men. No?”

Spirit...as in courage? No, not really.

Bianca had been the one with cartloads of courage, leading the way, making all the difficult decisions. A little like Sherene in some ways. Afina chewed the inside of her lip, wishing she’d inherited some of those traits. Then again, boldness had never been an option with her mother, and dreaming didn’t make things so.

“Truthfully,” she said, feeling as much a toadstool next to Sherene as she had with her sister, “I haven’t the first idea about men or how to deal with them.”

“You will learn, as I did.” Her head tilted, the seamstress stopped in front of Afina. A soft expression on her face, she reached out and brushed golden strands from Sabine’s brow. Afina’s daughter sighed and put her thumb back to work, and Sherene smiled. “She is beautiful, your little one.”

With a murmured “thank you,” Afina kissed the top of her cherub’s head. Silence stretched and time expanded as she stood with Sherene. Unmoving. Content in the moment to watch her daughter fall into slumber as the fire cracked and a plan formed.
A good one, and with Xavian gone? Out of sight. Out of earshot. Out of mind.

Now presented the best chance for escape.

Nodding to the seamstress, Afina skirted a pile of linen and headed for the nearest shelf. Implements of all kinds lay scattered on the wooden surface: wood and metal, round and straight, short and long, sharp and dull. There seemed an unending supply, but what held her attention most were thin strips of trim on the shelf below them. If she could manage to—

“Mistress?”

Afina glanced over her shoulder, half turning toward the door. A dark-haired girl stood on the threshold, a wooden platter in her hands. The scent of honeyed biscuits and apples drifted into the chamber, pulling her gaze to the pitcher and two glasses sitting on the tray. Sweet cider. Thank the goddess. It was just want she needed, even better than what she’d planned.

“Ah, Basima. Good,” Sherene said, waving the girl into the chamber, toward the work surface in the center of the room. “You may place our refreshment on the table and go. I will not require your aid with Lady Afina.”

Lady?

Afina almost sighed. The title sounded so good with her name. A little taste of respect and home; one that had been denied her for two very long years. But she couldn’t allow the assumption to go uncontested. Part of her disguise required she pass as a commoner. Having everyone believe she held no importance above her healing skills kept Vladimir from picking up her scent. But Xavian knew. Somehow he knew the swine hunted her—his demand that she tell him why while they had argued in the dell made that all too clear.

She frowned at the coiled measuring tapes. How did he know the bastard was after her? Had Vladimir’s frustration boiled over, causing him to make her disappearance public knowledge?

She examined the possibility then discarded the idea. News traveled fast, and the fact Transylvania’s new high priestess was not where she needed to be would have started the gossip hounds howling and a widespread search. With merchants and laymen moving from village to village, word would have reached her by now...forewarned her of the increased threat.

No such warning had come.

Not a murmur from her enemy, even though Afina knew he still searched for her. The swine would never give up. He couldn’t claim the throne or the Transylvanian coffers without her.

So the bigger question became...what was Xavian’s objective?

Afina played with a thimble, scraping her nail against its stippled edge as she examined all the facts. The puzzle pieces slowly came together, and with a curse, she tossed the trinket onto the shelf. Xavian knew because he was involved. Had somehow gained inside information. The kind that could only come from Vladimir.

By the goddess, she was an imbecile. How could she have missed that?

Distraction was no excuse, exhaustion less so. No matter how tired of running, she should never have stayed so long in Severin. Foolish and weak, and a whole host of other—

“My lady?”

“Do not call me that, Sherene,” she said, her voice so low she barely recognized it. On a slow spin, Afina turned into the room, determined to throw the woman off her trail. “I am no lady.”

“You are.” Sherene’s gaze narrowed while speculation played across her face. “I am accustomed to dealing with the wealthy
and titled. Though you may not look it, I know you belong in that circle. It is in the way you hold yourself...in your manner and speech.”

“You are mistaken. I but mimic my betters, no more.”

“You will need to do better than that if you wish to fool me—or Xavian, for that matter.” The seamstress shook her head, her voice even as though she instructed a child. “He does not tolerate lies. But I suspect you are already aware of his fondness for honesty.”

Right.
Honesty.
Afina curled her hand into a fist. Xavian...the dishonest cheat. And he had the gall to call her a liar? “He lies as much as any.”

“Now you are the one mistaken,
fetita
. I know him,” Sherene said, her quiet tone undercut with steel and just as sharp as she called Afina
little girl
. “Like my Ivan, he has endured much for very little in return. Too many lies, too much death. Truth is the only thing his kind trusts. Give him that, and his loyalty has no end. If you do not? He will cut you to the quick and leave you where you lie.”

His kind.
What did that mean? And why did she care?

She shouldn’t, but Afina wanted to ask anyway. To delve into why Sherene spoke as though her husband and Xavian were a breed apart, a dangerous one. But anger stopped her. She didn’t want to know any more about him or
his kind
. She knew all she needed to. The lying, two-faced jackal was in league with her enemy. He held her life in the balance, playing cat to her mouse.

And goddess keep her. She’d slept with him. Made love to him while the entire time he intended to do her harm. Her stomach rolled, wanting to heave. She swallowed the burn and turned her attention back to Sherene. The sooner they finished, the
sooner she could flee. Time wasn’t on her side. Xavian wouldn’t stay outside long, and she refused to be anywhere near Sherene and her shop when he came to collect her.

“Do you need to measure me?”

“Only for length.” Sherene’s dark eyes narrowed on her face.

Afina wiped her expression clean, refusing to give away her plan. Or the advantage. No matter how nice, Sherene wasn’t her ally. The moment the seamstress guessed her intent, she’d run straight to Xavian.

Loosening the strap at her shoulder, Afina asked, “Where may I put Sabine?”

“There.” A frown puckering her brow, Sherene searched Afina’s face as she pointed to a pile of linen beside the hearth. “She will be safe enough while I see to your fitting. I have ones ready made that should suit.”

Afina nodded, grateful for Sherene’s efficiency and, flipping the sling’s strap over her head, set Sabine down gently on the makeshift bed. As she arranged the dark wool around her daughter she tamped down her guilt. What she planned wasn’t wrong. Unkind, mayhap, but not wrong. Sherene didn’t deserve it, but Xavian did. He’d taken her against her will—scared her half to death in her own home—for the bastard who stalked her. No doubt for a wagonload of coin.

The fact she intended to take the warm clothes and run before he came back didn’t qualify as dishonest. It was simply fair play. Well earned, and not half of what he deserved.

Straightening away from Sabine, she moved toward the refreshments as Sherene flipped open the lid of a large trunk in the far corner of the chamber. As the seamstress rooted through the contents, Afina palmed a small vial from her healing satchel before lifting it over her head. She propped the leather bag against
the table leg, sent a silent prayer heavenward, and asked, “May I pour you some cider, mistress?”

“Yes, please do.” Head half buried in the trunk, Sherene’s elbows bobbed as she dug, tossing fabric hither and yon. “We will partake before I fit you.”

Thank the goddess.
Had Sherene refused she didn’t know what she would have...Well, it didn’t bear thinking about.

A slight tremor in her hands, Afina poured two cups of sweet cider and threw a quick glance in Sherene’s direction. Still elbow deep in the trunk, the seamstress mumbled, eliminating one gown after another, giving Afina time to wiggle the vial’s stopper free. Her conscience reared its ugly head. She shoved it back down. The seriousness of the circumstance dictated the path. Sabine needed her to be strong. Bianca, bless her soul, was counting on her, along with the Transylvanian people.

’Twas life or death, more than just hers.

With a “dear goddess, forgive me,” she flicked her wrist and upended the entire contents into Sherene’s cup. The clear elixir made a plunking sound. Afina froze, waiting for Sherene to catch on, accuse her, and call for Xavian. When nothing but muttering came from that side of the chamber, she released a slow breath and swirled the amber liquid in the mug. The cider circled, playing at the rim while a whirlpool sucked at its center. After a few rotations, when she was sure the stirring masked the tonic’s taste, she put the tainted cup down to pick up her own.

“Ah-ha. This one will do well with your coloring.” Sherene nodded as though satisfied, tossing a butter yellow chemise over one arm followed by a dark amber gown. Over the other, she carried a smaller set, both the deepest hue of indigo. “And these we will put on your little one. They should fit without any altering.”

Drawn to the sensual color Sherene had chosen for her, Afina's fingers curled, wanting to touch the fabric and see if it was as soft as it looked. Bolder than anything she’d ever worn, the weave simmered in the low light, as though gold threads had been woven into the wool. She bit the inside of her cheek. It wasn’t fair. She planned to drug and leave the woman senseless, and what was Sherene’s most pressing concern? That the gown’s color complemented Afina.

Guilt hit her like a closed fist. She fidgeted, detesting the feeling as the woman hauled out two sets of boots with matching mantles. Both fur-lined. For pity’s sake, how much worse could it get? Not that she didn’t want the boots. The added warmth would serve them well over the coming months; protect them against the snow and bitter cold. But how could she do what needed to be done in the face of Sherene’s generosity?

Afina almost changed her mind, feigned clumsiness, and tipped the drugged cider over. She wanted to, but in the end, self-preservation forced her to toast the seamstress’s choice.

“It is a beautiful color. Thank you.”

A pleased gleam in her eyes, Sherene accepted the cider. As custom held, she clinked her cup to Afina’s then drank. Relief mingled with regret, and Afina berated herself as she drained her own mug. When both cups stood empty, she unlaced the frayed ties of her gown, inviting Sherene without words to begin the fitting. The faster she got into the new gown, the better. With the tonic flowing through her veins, it wouldn’t take long for Sherene to feel sleepy and then succumb to the drug altogether.

The soft chemise and amber gown settled against her like a caress, reminding her once more of home and the family that no longer lived there. Her mother, sister, and brother were all gone. Dead and buried, each one taken from her too early by
unjust cause. Now all the memories lay tarnished along with her integrity.

As Afina laced up the fur-lined boots, Sherene swayed, forcing her to face how very low she had sunk. Reduced to drugging an innocent woman. She wanted to cry, to scream at the heavens, chasten the Gods for the unfairness of it all.

Instead she cupped Sherene’s shoulders and, with a kind touch, coaxed her into the cushioned armchair near the hearth. Her chest tight, she brushed the dark hair from the exotic beauty’s face and whispered, “I am sorry. Someday I pray you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me.”

Her brows furrowed, Sherene murmured. Her eyelashes flickered once and then a second time before she succumbed and sank deep into the world of dreams.

Turning away, Afina gathered the small bundle meant for Sabine. With quick hands, she dressed her sleeping child, making certain not to disturb her slumber, then buckled on the new fur-lined mantle. The sling with Sabine settled on her shoulders, she crossed the chamber. Her heart heavy, Afina slipped through the door opposite the one she knew Xavian guarded.