"You promise? A dozen sons. Wealth enough to leave this place and make a new life in another town?"
"I promise. That and more, whatever you want."
Markos ruminated for a moment. The risk was great, but so, too, was the reward, if he but had the courage.
"I'll do it," he agreed at last. "Tomorrow night. But this must be the last time."
The last time. The words repeated themselves inNavarre 's mind as he held Katlaina in his arms.
The last time he would see her, hold her, touch her.
"Katlaina..."
She snuggled deeper into his embrace, her beautiful green eyes wet with tears. "Navarre, I will never forget you. Never." She drew her fingertip over his lips. "What would you do if you were free? If we could walk out of here tomorrow morning and never look back?"
"Do?"Navarre shook his head. "I don't know. I've never done anything." He shook his head again. "I have knowledge," he mused. "Inside my mind, I have the knowledge of a thousand scrolls, and yet I've never done anything. Seen anything. Been anywhere."
His arm tightened around her. "You tell me," he said. "Tell me what we would do."
"We would go north, to my homeland," Katlaina said. "You would like it there. It is so beautiful, especially in the spring when everything is all green and gold. There is a waterfall high in the mountains. And a lake. And trees, and flowers. And deer and horses and foxes. And birds and fish and ducks and geese. I would show you all of it,Navarre , and I would love you all the days of your life. I would give you children, as many as you wanted. And we would be happy, so happy."
He closed his eyes, listening to her words, and felt an ache grow in his chest, a longing for a place he'd never seen. Mountains, he thought. A waterfall, and a lake. And animals that he had seen only in pictures. And Katlaina, there beside him, his child cradled in her arms.
The ache in his chest grew until he could hardly breathe, until love and hate and rage and bitterness rose up within him, choking him.
Cursing himself for his cowardice, he wrapped his arms around her, holding on to her as if she could somehow save him from the terrible fate that awaited him. He breathed in her scent one last time even as he imprinted her image deep in his heart, that he might carry it with him to the grave.
"Hold me!" he said, his voice husky with the fear that was growing inside him, spreading like some monstrous canker. "Katlaina!"
"I am here," she crooned. "I am here, myNavarre ."
With a cry that was half sob, half scream, he ripped the clothes from her body, shrugged out of his breeches, and buried himself within her. There was no gentleness in him now, only an overpowering need to possess her, to fill her with his essence, to hear her cry his name as his body convulsed.
Katlaina. She was the giver of life, the bearer of life, and he buried himself deep within her, hoping that she could somehow cleanse him of his fear of what was to come.
Too soon, Markos came for him. "It's time." The guard's tone was curt as he unlocked the shackle aroundNavarre 's left ankle.
Navarrenodded, and then he drew Katlaina into his arms one last time.
"I love you," she whispered.
"Remember me," he said. "When I'm gone, remember me. No one else will."
Katlaina nodded. "I will, myNavarre . You know I will."
He kissed her gently, tenderly. And then he placed his hands over her belly, a look of amazement flickering in his eyes as he felt the child, their child, move within her womb, and in that moment, he truly realized all that would be lost to him.
He lifted his gaze to Katlaina's face, and she smiled at him through her tears.
"Navarre!" Markos's voice was sharp with rebuke. "We must go!"
"Fare thee well, Katlaina,"Navarre murmured. "I pray you will tell my son of his father."
"Every day."
So much to say to her, he thought, but he couldn't form the words, could not force them past the lump in his throat. He kissed her one last time, and then left her chamber.
There was an unmistakable sound of finality as Markos closed and locked the door of his cage.
Part Two Chapter Six
The nightmares began the following night, always the same, yet upon waking he could remember nothing but the terror of being buried alive, smothering