Voice of Crow (30 page)

“I’m glad to see you happy again,” Rhia said. “You finally have someone worthy of you.”

Alanka’s face relaxed into a grin. “And an Ilion, no less.”

“After all he’s done for us, it’s hard to think of him as one of them.”

“True.” Alanka drew in a sudden breath. “Should I shave my legs? The women here do that, I’ve noticed.”

The door swung open, startling Rhia.

Lycas swaggered in, followed by Arcas, Adrek, Koli and Bolan. “Sorry about not knocking,” her brother said. “We found them both.”

Rhia gasped and felt as if she could jump to the ceiling.

Adrek sat on the bed beside Alanka with a self-satisfied sigh. “Once it was dark, Koli and I were able to sneak right up to a window.”

“It’s strange,” Koli said. “The room we saw was filled with Asermon art—carvings, sculptures, tapestries. Not like this inn, or the other buildings we’ve seen in Leukos.”

“But what about Marek and Nilik?” Rhia’s heart pounded. “How did they look?”

“We couldn’t see Nilik inside the cradle,” Adrek said. “Marek seems well-fed, with no injuries. But—” He stopped and looked at Koli.

“He wasn’t doing anything,” she told Rhia. “He just rocked Nilik in his cradle, not singing, not speaking to him, nothing. He looked…dead.”

“Until someone passed by,” Adrek said. “When Marek heard them coming, he jumped up and backed away like he thought he was in danger.”

“But nothing happened.” Koli fidgeted with the end of her braid. “Eventually he sat down at the cradle again. No one came in, so he must have heard someone in the hallway. Skittish as a yearling.”

“That’s not like him at all.” Rhia sat in the chair, trying to calm the storm in her mind. She had to think clearly. “We need to get him out of there.”

“And soon,” Lycas said. “Before we lose our powers. My hearing’s already not what it was yesterday, and the run across the city actually winded me.” His face contorted in disgust.

Rhia turned to Arcas. “What about you?”

“My Spider powers feel normal so far,” he said.

“Good.” Rhia stood. “You’ll be needed next.”

“This is ours?” She dashed to the side of the metal tub. “We don’t have the wrong room?”

“I ordered it for us.” He looked around the room. It was small but clean. The proprietor had left a lamp burning on the bedside table. A plate of fruit and bread sat beside it, as well as a pitcher of wine. A bar of soap and a shaving kit lay on a small shelf attached to the tub.

She dipped her hand in the water and yanked it out again. “Too hot.” Alanka angled her head to look at him from under her dark eyelashes. “But it’s big enough for two.”

He gave her a smile he hoped hid his nervousness. “It might be.” He scratched his chin. “First I need to shave.”

“I’ll do it for you.” She drew a chair next to the tub. “Sit.”

He obeyed. Using a pair of scissors, she trimmed his beard close to his skin. Then she wet a small cloth with the hot water and held it against his face. The steam released the tension in his jaw and temples, and he sagged against the back of the chair.

Alanka dipped the small basin into the tub to fill it with water, then handed it to him to hold. “Aren’t you worried people will recognize you without the beard?”

“I’m more worried they’ll recognize me with the beard, as one of the beggars in the Senate courtyard. I was around a lot of people today—not that many of them actually looked at me.”

She took the cloth away and rubbed lotion on his face. “It must have been hard.”

He mused on this word,
hard.
Where Asermon swords and arrows had failed, his own countrymen, his own father, had succeeded. They’d turned him into nothing.

But after a day of feeling like a clod of dirt, he had come back to Alanka, who had treated him like a hero. Not a fallen hero, like the version of him etched upon the monument, but a man who could still fight for something larger than himself. In her eyes, he knew, he would never be nothing.

“Yes, it was hard,” he said finally.

She picked up the razor and began to shave him, tilting his head to the side to reach under his jaw. Each touch of her fingers on his face and scalp left an imprint of sensation. He gripped the chair’s arm as an impatient passion woke within him.

She noticed the gesture and misinterpreted it. “Don’t worry, I won’t cut you.” She swirled the razor in the basin. “I used to do this for my father every day.”

He remained silent. The less he spoke, the faster she’d shave, and the sooner he’d feel her skin against his. His pulse throbbed in his throat.

“Will you grow your hair?” she asked when she was nearly finished.

“It depends if we stay in Ilios. Long hair is a status symbol here, only for military officers and noblemen.”

“You’re plenty noble for me.” She wet the towel in the tub and wiped his face. “There. A month’s work undone.”

He stroked his chin, which felt like his own again. His cheeks tingled and smelled of mint. He hoped she liked the scent.

“Thank you.” He stood and set the basin aside. When he turned back to her, she looked at his face and tittered. “What’s so funny?” He swiped at his nose and ears. “Do I have lotion on my—”

“No, that’s not it. I’m not amused.” She stepped within the reach of his embrace. “I’m just happy.”

He bent his head to hers. “So am I.”

Her kiss felt cautious, as if she feared she’d scare him away. He pulled her tight against his body so she could feel how much he craved her. She moaned and snaked her arms around his neck, drawing him into a deeper, harder kiss.

He untied her shirt, and she lifted it over her head. A tight sleeveless garment lay underneath, covering her breasts and the top of her belly, displaying taut nipples. He bent to suckle one through the thin material, caressing the other with his thumb. She shuddered.

In a moment the undergarment was gone, and he tasted her perfect round breast, salty with sweat. Alanka moaned again, making his blood pound so hard, it seemed to fight the confines of his veins.

“Filip?”

He pulled away. “What’s wrong?”

“Tub.”

“Right.” He stripped off his shirt, while Alanka stood before him and undid her trousers.

Her dark eyes glittered at him. “Help me?”

“Yes.” He slid the trousers over her hips, along with the soft undergarment, and knelt to remove them. He reached to touch her naked body, but she stepped back.

“I’m taking a bath. Will you join me, then?” She put a foot in the tub and almost yanked it out. “Still hot.” She stepped into the tub, wincing and gasping. He would have laughed at her bulging eyes had her body’s beauty not stolen his breath.

Alanka sat down and exhaled heavily. “I think they want to cook us for dinner.” She reached back to pull out the tie from her braid.

“Let me do that.” He moved to stand behind her.

“No. No more touching me with your clothes on.” She looked up at him. “I can shut my eyes if you want.”

He almost agreed, then realized it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted her to see him, finally.

Filip unfastened his trousers and undid the straps of his prosthesis. He sat on the bed and removed his shoes and socks, then the false leg, setting everything beneath the bedside table. He slid his trousers over his hips, then his knees, where he held them for a long moment.

Alanka’s eyes met his, and the desire to touch her burned away the last fragments of fear and shame. He let the trousers fall to the floor.

She looked down where his left leg ended, then back at his face. A smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. She regarded the dark gray drawers that covered his hips.

“Almost done now,” she said.

Filip let out a deep breath, wondering why he had ever worried. He leaned back on his elbows and lifted his hips to remove his drawers. He sat up and dropped them to the side.

Alanka drew her knees up to give him room. “You’re too beautiful to hide.”

His face heated, and not from the billowing steam. Using the table for support, he moved to the tub, sat on the edge and swung his legs over in a smooth motion. He thanked every god and Spirit that he didn’t lose his balance and fall in. The water came to the top of his waist and soothed his aching limbs.

Alanka turned around in the cramped tub and shifted herself between his legs. “Now you may undo my hair.”

The feel of her skin, slick and hot against his, sent the blood racing through his body, hardening him against her back. His hands trembled as they unwound the soft, dark strands. When her hair was free, she slid down to submerge herself, her head nearly reaching his lap. He groaned and reached for the soap, needing a distraction to maintain what little control remained.

She murmured with delight as he worked the soap through her hair, massaging her scalp.

“Does everyone in Leukos have a bathtub?” she asked him.

“Most use the public baths, but many have movable tubs like these. The wealthiest have permanent tubs in their homes, made of tile.”

“Did your family have a tile tub?”

“No. We had one like this.”

She grew quiet.

“What is it?” he asked her.

“Sitting here, I finally understand why people want to be rich. Makes me wonder what I’d do to have a hot bath every day.”

She submerged again, running her fingers through her hair to rinse it, creating a mass of floating black strands. He gazed at her body beneath the ripples and wanted to give her a thousand nights in a row like this one. She had suffered so much. She deserved a life of comfort.

Alanka came up from the water and turned to face him, kneeling between his legs. “Will you wash the rest of me?”

He covered her shoulders and breasts with the rich suds that slicked her skin and made her sigh. She tilted her head back, parting her lips, and he wanted her now, fast. But there was one thing he needed her to do first. One thing he couldn’t ask her to do.

As he washed her, Alanka’s fingers stroked his thighs, then descended lower, to his knees. She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Do you want me to touch it?”

He swallowed. “If you like,” he said, though he longed to tell her yes.

“I want to touch all of you.” Her hand slid down behind his left knee until it reached the hard, blunt stump. She caressed it cautiously at first, then firmly, her fingers exploring the ridges of scars. Instead of feeling numb, it felt alive and exquisitely sensitive. He let his head sink back onto the edge of the tub as his hands spread the lather over her smooth belly.

“Do you like that?” she said.

“Yes.” His breath came faster. “I didn’t think I would. But it needs your touch.” As did a hundred other places on his body.

“It doesn’t feel like an absence,” she said. “It feels like you.”

Suddenly she stopped and gazed over his left shoulder, head tilted, eyes unfocused. “Do you hear that?”

He held his breath. In an apartment down the street, perhaps a block or two away, a fiddler was practicing. It sounded like a slow waltz. It was so faint, he wouldn’t have discerned it without his enhanced Horse hearing.

Which meant…

“I can hear!” Alanka drew in a quick, sharp breath. “I can smell!” She moved her head from side to side, a smile daring to creep across her face. “One moment I could only smell the incense and the soap, but now I smell everything. Outside, inside…” She looked at Filip, then leaned over to inhale the air above his shoulder. “You smell wonderful.”

“Your powers have returned?” he said, though the answer was obvious.

“I think so.” She gripped his shoulders. “Dance with me, to celebrate.” She pressed herself close, straddling him. He looped his arms around her body, slippery with soap. They swayed together in the tight space of the tub.

“How is this?” he said.

“It’s perfect.” She slid down against him. “You’re perfect.”

Alanka took Filip inside her, and they cried out. He held her face between his hands and kissed her, savoring the wetness within. Her tongue teased his, and he tried to thrust upward, deeper inside, needing more. With her knees outside his hips, the confines of the tub held them fast.

Alanka looked down. “This could be better.”

“Should we move to the bed?”

“Not until we’re cold and wrinkly.” She lifted herself, then turned to face away from him, on her knees, resting her forearms on the other end of the tub. Her hips were out of the water, dripping, beckoning. “Try now,” she said.

He hesitated. He had taken Palia at the brothel this way, from behind, so he couldn’t see the pain on her face, so he could pretend her cries were ones of eagerness.

Alanka looked over her bare, glistening shoulder at him. “Now, Filip.”

Water splashed from the tub as he shifted to kneel behind her. He entered her, deeply, and all memories fled. They moved apart, then together, sliding in a quickening rhythm that tore a groan from his throat. He placed his hands over hers on the side of the tub, intertwining their fingers. Her moans grew in pitch until she uttered a breathy scream.

As he marveled at her pleasure—how he’d caused it wasn’t clear to him—he felt his own rise, overpowering his control in the span of a breath. He surged within her as the world went bright and hazy.

The man he had been was gone, smashed to pieces, but the man he would become had just been born, whole and healed at last.

Alanka sagged against the side of the tub. Her knees ached, but her blood sang.

Filip draped over her, panting. With a groan, he sat back in the tub. She turned to watch him dunk his head underwater, then come up wearing the broadest grin she’d ever seen on his face.

He moved forward into her arms. “That was…”

“That was to calm us down. The night’s barely begun.”

She reached for the soap and lathered him up, relishing the hard muscles beneath his skin.

He closed his eyes and sighed. “Renting this room was possibly the best idea a human being ever had.”

She laughed. “Don’t expect an argument here. Turn around.”

With some effort, he shifted in the narrow tub to face away from her. She gasped. Except for a small round scar on his right shoulder, his chest had been smooth. The skin on his back, however, was puckered with long, crisscrossed lines.

She drew her finger down one of the scars. “How did you get these?”

“Basic training.”

“They whipped you?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Not just me. Everyone.”

“Why?”

“So we could learn to ignore pain.”

She thought of the Ilion soldier who had kept charging her even with two arrows sticking out of him. “Your men fight bravely, even insanely. Kind of like our Wolverines.”

“But our soldiers don’t have magic to boost their imperviousness. We get tough the hard way.” He turned his head to the side. “Do the scars bother you?”

“No. They’re part of you.” She leaned forward and kissed each one. Then she washed his back with the same tenderness as if they had been fresh wounds.