The Whitefire Crossing - By Courtney Schafer Page 0,131

stayed on my neck, rubbing tight muscles. I tilted forward to rest my forehead against her shoulder.

“I meant what I said, in your room.” The words spilled out of me, released by the lazy circles of her hand. “I won’t ever abandon you again, the way I did at the convoy.”

She trailed a thumb along my jawline, lifting my face. “I know,” she said softly, and kissed me. A slow, tender kiss that sent fire tingling down every nerve, and spread the hekavi’s warmth to far lower locations than my stomach. The heat in my blood had me trembling by the time she broke off.

Gods, I wanted nothing more than to taste her again. To unlace her shirt, lay her down, and—I clenched my hands on the silky roll of a marten fur. This was Cara, not Jylla. I couldn’t assume she wanted more. I strove to keep my tone light. “What—what was that? Another lapse in judgment?”

“Not this time.” Her mouth sought mine. I yielded, gladly, and let my hands slip under her shirt to wander over the smooth, strong muscles of her sides. Far different than Jylla’s soft curves, but my desire burned just as hot.

One last shred of reason remained. I nipped Cara’s ear, and whispered, “Your rule...”

“Dev...” Her fingers drifted lower, moved in a way that made me gasp. “Shut up.”

Reason flamed to ash. I drew her down on the furs, and lost myself in a dance glorious as any I’d done on sunlit stone.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

(Kiran)

The door creaked. Kiran didn’t bother to get off the bed. The wards hadn’t flared; his visitor would only be sour-faced Iannis, who’d thump down another bland meal on the table and shuffle out without acknowledging his existence.

Pello eased around the door, a bowl of porridge in his hands. Kiran’s heart jolted. He leapt up. “You’ve thought on my offer?”

Pello only fixed Kiran with a cold, grim gaze. “No delays with this meal. Eat, or you’ll feel Simon’s touch.” He thrust the bowl at Kiran. Unlike the usual bland fare Iannis brought, the porridge reeked of cinnamon and nutmeg.

Kiran’s heart raced faster yet. Surely the food was drugged, and Simon intended a border crossing. The tiny garnet shoved deep against the seam of his trouser pocket felt large as a millstone. But the lack of mockery in Pello’s face, and the hardness of his voice when he’d spoken Simon’s name...

“Simon’s used the lock-binding on you, hasn’t he? I’ll tell you how to thwart it, if only you help me.”

“I have another proposal.” Pello’s words were as cold as his eyes. “Tell me how to break the binding, and I’ll not tell Simon about that gemstone hidden in your pocket.”

Kiran went rigid. Simon’s wards contained no element of scrying; he’d checked. Pello must have spied on him somehow through unmagical means, and either seen him with the stone or noticed the minuscule hole in the bedpost.

“Tell me now, or I summon Simon.” Pello put a hand on the door, began to open it.

“Wait!” The gemstone was his last hope. He couldn’t let Pello reveal it. “Distance will thwart him—to avoid triggering the Alathian detection spells, Simon must be in sight of you to kill with a lock-binding. And if he crosses the border while you remain behind, the border wards will block the link. If you freed me—”

Pello overrode him. “What if both Simon and I are outside Alathia?”

“Nothing will save you, then. Unless a second mage breaks the binding. I would do that, if you—”

“Enough,” Pello snapped. “Eat. Now.” He glanced at the door.

Simon must be coming. Reluctantly, Kiran took the porridge.

“If you tell Simon about the stone—or take it from me yourself—I’ll tell him you seek to escape his binding.” So long as the garnet remained in place, he still had a chance.

Pello made an impatient, disgusted gesture. “I said, eat.”

Kiran took a tentative bite. Underneath the cinnamon lurked the rancid oiliness of hennanwort. Kiran nearly spat out the mouthful, but Pello was watching him with narrowed, intent eyes. Refusing to eat would only delay the inevitable. Still, his hand trembled when he took the next spoonful. He’d expected Simon to drug him before the crossing, but it didn’t reduce his dread of the disorienting void hennanwort left in place of his inner senses. Only the thought of Simon reactivating the chill taint of his binding allowed him to finish the meal.

Even as he pushed the bowl away, a maddening prickling crept through his mind, his awareness of Simon’s wards