Bone Palace, The - Amanda Downum Page 0,29

alone. When she couldn’t find an excuse not to sleep at all.

Ciaran lay down beside her, wrapping a feather quilt around them. “Will you rest now, or do I have to sing you to sleep?”

Isyllt brushed light fingers over his face, tracing the bruise purpling on his brow. “I nearly got you hurt tonight.” Or worse. “I’m sorry.”

He caught her hand and kissed her fingertips. “If I was afraid of harm, I certainly wouldn’t keep company with you.” She felt his smile. “You can send my payment round to the Briar.” He kissed the hollow of her wrist, humming softly. “Are you going to sleep now?”

She smiled and twined her fingers through his curling damp hair. “Not if you keep doing that.”

He hummed another bar, trailing his lips up her arm to her collarbone. His mouth brushed the uninjured side of her throat and she tilted her head back, ignoring the pain. Her fingers tightened in his hair, her left hand sliding down his back.

She stiffened as her wards tingled. Ciaran chuckled, and she sighed and rolled out of bed, securing her slipping towel. Her stomach tightened as she recognized Kiril, and all the warmth Ciaran’s touch had conjured drained away in a rush.

“What are you doing about at this hour?” she asked as she opened the door, trying to keep her voice light. Her fingers clenched in nubby linen.

Kiril blinked down at her and frowned. He touched her shoulder, brushing the edge of the bandage. “What happened?”

“An unfriendly vampire.” The smell of herbs and magic dizzied her and she leaned into his touch before she could stop herself.

His brows pulled together and he cupped her cheek with one calloused palm. “Are you all right?”

“I will be.” She covered his hand with her crippled one. “They escaped, but I’ll try to pick up the trail after I’ve rested a bit.” His pulse beat against her skin and she tightened her grip on the towel. “It was them. The tomb-robbers. But I didn’t see their faces.”

“We’ll find them.” He turned his hand to catch hers, tracing his thumb over the web of scars she wore like a lace glove. “I won’t let you get hurt again.”

That made her laugh, despite the tightness in her stomach. “I get myself hurt. I learned from the best.”

He smiled ruefully. “True.” His eyes flickered toward the bedroom and the smile twisted. “I’m glad you have someone to look after you.”

“Kiril—” His name caught in her throat.

He squeezed her hand. “I know. I made my choices—I have no business regretting them now.”

“You can always unmake them.”

He laid a finger on her lips. “I’m sorry. I only came to see that you were all right, and to hear what you’d learned.” His face darkened as he touched the bandage again. “We’ll find the ones who did this.” He brushed a damp strand of hair out of her face and kissed her forehead. “But first, rest.”

He turned and left before she could speak.

Tears burned her aching eyes as Isyllt stumbled back to the bedroom. Ciaran pulled her close, stroking her tangled hair while she cried.

“Enough foolish grief for any tragedy,” she whispered against his shoulder.

He rocked her gently and sang her lullabies until she finally slept.

The sun crested the line of the eastern mountains as Kiril left Isyllt’s apartment, chasing away the blue softness of dawn and spilling long shadows across the ground. Fog coiled thick as milk in the streets, slowly unraveling in the light. Smoke drifted across the sky and temple bells tolled the start of morning rites, rousing faithful and faithless alike. The narrow arch of the rear entrance framed the sloping streets and sun-gilt spires, windows sparkling bright as gems. The beauty of the city at daybreak still caught in his throat sometimes, even after so many years. Much the way his hand ached with the memory of Isyllt’s cheek.

For all the familiar morning clatter, this corner of Archlight was too quiet for the hour. Besides the sorcerers who had ridden north with the king, there were always students who chose the uncertainty of a soldier’s life to the certainty of a scholar’s poverty. How many of those two hundred dead might have taken classes when they returned?

He should never have let Isyllt go underground. Which was ridiculous—besides the fact that she was well-trained and knew all the dangers, asking her not to take a risk would only make her more determined to do so. Telling her not to do her job would raise