Chapter Text
"We have two assim in the dungeon." Kaylyn begins the briefing and my fork stops halfway to my mouth.
We have an operational dungeon now?! I flew in just before midnight last night and promptly sent a crow off to my mother. The Assembly members have gathered to brief and de-brief me over breakfast. We know our ward stone is enough to repel stronger venin, but I guess we now know weaker assim venin can slip through.
"The first showed up in Aretia last month, coming overland from southern Tyrrendor, posing as a leather trader. Little Julianne was down in the marketplace with Halen. Pointed a little shaky finger and told Halen she could smell them. The venin training this winter paid off; a couple of buckets of water shocked him and he went down without a fight."
Not as satisfying as putting a knife in him, but much safer. "Julianne!" I protest.
"Seems she has a nose for it. Last couple of market days she's worked alongside some former infantrymen at a checkpoint, where the eastern road enters town. She identified another assim last week." Kaylynn looks disappointed. "Haven't learned much from them so far. Miserable creatures."
"This is a job for an eight-year-old?!"
"We've only found one other magician so far in Aretia.“ Trissa is apologetic, "Or rather, Julianne has. So far he doesn't seem to be able to detect weak assim. But they've both progressed rapidly on runes and they may be able to help impress the crystals Brennan brought back from Poromiel."
"Brennan's here?"
Ulysses looks uncomfortable. "Arrived last night, later than you. He was moving slowly when I checked in on him this morning. Halen's up there now." I don't like the sound of that and hurry through the rest of the briefing--for their part, progress on discussions among Aretians about whether to accept or reject reparations and, for my part, Markham, our sympathizers among the scribes and their request for asylum for the Navarrian venin collection, Violet's second signet--then I need to see Brennan.
*****
Brennan doesn't look slow, he looks like a ghost, Halen hovering nearby. But the sight of me gets him moving. "You didn't think I needed to know?!." Brennan snarls, rising up from the bed.
Halen rolls her eyes and edges towards the door.
Ah, yes. I forgot. My mom. "How is she?" I ask, calmly and take a seat in the arm chair next to the bed. Out of reach of Brennan's swing. Though he's not looking up to much swinging right now.
"Charming. Beautiful." His admiring tone quickly turns ironic. "She has the whole war plotted out. Did you know we have a small role in it?"
"The plans were a little rough last time I saw her." I admit. "She's mobilized a faction among the Navarrian scribes."
That almost diverts his attention from me. Almost. "Why didn't you tell me?!!" he roars, almost coming out of the bed, then falling back.
"I just found out about the scribes," That's the truth.
Whoops! That didn't help. He's about to launch from the bed. "About you! About her!" he roars.
Let's try again. Gently. "Until I went to Poromiel for the cure, I didn't know my mother was alive, I didn't know she was a Poromish sage and I sure as hell didn't know she was the Mage. And she swore both Violet and me to tell no one of my connections to her or the Queen of Poromiel and the King of Navarre might start a war over who owns my ass."
"About as piss-poor excuse as Halen's." Brennan glowers at Halen. "She was always our informant, wasn't she?" he demands.
"It seems that was her purpose in going back to Poromiel when I was 10." I interrupt. "And, thanks to her, most of what was in the Poromiel archives relevant to fighting venin is now in our library."
Brennan falls back in bed. Done fighting already? "Magnificent woman. Irritating laugh, but magnificent. Mobilized Navarrian scribes in her spare time?" He smiles and his eyes fall shut.
Halen turns to me, concerned. "Leave him be." She whispers, "Should never've flown from here last week. Xara dosed him with a couple of pretty strong tonics or he wouldn't have made it back last night."
I turn back to challenge Brennan. "You want to yell at me some more?"
He shakes his head, drained.
"Then I'll be back this afternoon to talk strategy."
*****
"What's wrong with him?" I ask Halen as we head down the hall.
"He almost died eight years ago and his heart is not as strong as he wants it to be." Halen looks at me like I should know all this. "I've dosed him to rest. He can yell at me later. Though that's not good for his heart, either."
I don't like this, but I can't do anything about it. So I move on. "Tell me about Julianne."
"She's making herself useful." She's terse.
"You think the checkpoint is the right place for an eight-year-old?"
"If you had the gift and saw the need, even at eight, could anyone have kept you from it?" she snaps.
No, but...
"Let's walk down into the town and you can talk to her yourself. She's fostering with the magician's family. Much healthier for her, keeping up with a pack of boys in a busy household rather than trailing after an old woman in an empty fortress. And it'll do the town good to see your smiling face. Alive. Looking better than a few months ago."
At this altitude, spring comes later than in Basgiath. Six-year old fruit and nut trees can't produce the volume of blossoms that I remember from my childhood, but the ones lining the road to town are lovely. How many Aretian springs have I missed? The year after the war, all the marked ones were on a tight leash with their fosters. It wasn't until the following summer, Garrick and I started slipping the leash for a month at a time for... camping. Can't believe our fosters bought it. No doubt exhausted by broody teenagers. Rebuilding this road, planting those trees: best upper-body workout I ever had. Then there was that spring wasted in Cordyn, trying to make that hopeless betrothal work, feeling like a prize stud. Yep. Still bitter about that. After which the quadrant swallowed three whole years without leave, followed by nine months of active duty with precious little leave, spent mainly with Violence. Playing out a few of my own stud fantasies...
"And there's the smile we need," Halen teases.
As we enter the outskirts of town and begin weaving through narrow streets, it's not hard to smile. The few townspeople not up in the hills preparing the fields greet me with warmth. They're taking venin preparedness seriously: a bucket of water hangs by most front doors. Two more lefts and a right and Halen marches into a courtyard, where three boys and a much smaller girl abruptly halt some version of tag.
"Xaden! Xaden! Xaden!" Julianne bounces toward me.
She's grubby, her hair's a mess and that patched dress would make her noble foster mother weep in shame, but as I pick her up and swing her around, she's a solid, red-cheeked bundle of energy.
"I hear you've been busy," I tease.
"Yes. I've learned almost two dozen runes, I'm good at history and I'm very good at mathematics, and I can throw a dagger. Watch."
She scrambles out of my arms, pulls a dagger-shaped sharp stick from her boot, plants herself 10 feet from a well-used straw target on the side of the courtyard and throws. The dagger lands solidly, closer to the middle than the edge.
Halen's looking askance at the boys, who are studying their feet.
I clap. "Just remember that until you get bigger and stronger, your feet are your best weapons. To be captured is to lose. If you run away you can tell people what you've seen and regroup and fight from a stronger position. So practice running up and down those mountains."
The faces of the two bigger boys fall but Julianne nods soberly and retrieves her dagger.
"I hear you identified some assim."
"It's not hard. They smell." She looks disturbed, a little bewildered. "They are sick. They shouldn't be here."
I change the subject. "And I hear you found us another magician."
"Yes." At once she's again young and mischievous. "Gramm doesn't smell. And he belongs here." The two bigger boys snicker.
"Maybe you could introduce us." I suggest, looking towards the house.
Instead, she stalks over to the smallest boy, grabs his hand and leads him back to me.
She straightens herself to her full height. "My lord, may I present, Gramm Fiffen. Gramm, this is your lord, Xaden Riorson." Well, it seems her noble fosters taught her some courtly manners. Frankly, I think the dagger training will be more useful.
He must be all of eleven. Not quite the full grown man I was hoping for. Or woman. But he looks familiar. In fact, looking around, this courtyard looks familiar. And the woman who's come to stand in the doorway of the house, who's beaming at me...
"I think Gramm and I have already met."
"Yes, m'lord." Gramm finds his shoes very interesting.
"Up in the Valley."
"Yes, m'lord."
"Been spying on any dragons lately?"
He bites his lip and blushes furiously. "No, m'lord."
Not sure I believe him. "Good." I hope I make that sound firm. "You know dragons don't like people in general and they like magicians even less."
Gramm's face freezes in some mixture of despair and confusion. "Really?"
I relent. "They've been known to make the rare exception."
I turn to the woman in the doorway. "Good day to you, Mistress Fiffen. Can you spare these two for the afternoon?"
"With pleasure, m'lord, just give them a minute with me," she beckons the two youngest indoors, addressing the other two boys over her shoulder. "You're off duty. Come back before dark and bring some game with you."
The two whoop, duck into a shed, emerge with bows and arrows and, with a quick tip of their heads to me, tear out of the courtyard in seconds.
"They've been playing bodyguard to our two." Halen admits. "If Halen starts running up and down the mountain, they'll have to go, too. Some folk are slower to buy into our change of heart about magicians. And some idiots are scared she's going to start branching out from venin, maybe fingering petty thieves and adulterers. Of which, as you know, Aretia has its fair share."
Five minutes later Aril and Julianne run out of the house faces scrubbed, hair combed, clothes that will not be an embarrassment to their mother.
We take a meandering route through town, maximizing the number of people who see the Heir consorting with these dangerous magicians.
The Aretians who survived the Rebellion remember burying small crystal boulders around the approach to and perimeter of the town. I have a vague memory of walking around with my mom and dad on a moonlit night, "blessing" those boulders. More likely re-embuing them, but how? Without seeing or touching them? Fuck, I can't fathom my mom's powers! Given the devastation, we've only found a few of those boulders, their power long gone. If Violet and Trissa have read the Poromish codices right, they found an anti-venin rune that we can impress in crystals that will repel both the rune-driven wyvern and ordinary venin for short distances. In the best-case scenario, the crystals will supplement our wardstone should our enemies go to ground in Aretia. Of course, in the best-case scenario, venin never reach the ground in Aretia...
"Damn!" Trissa covers her mouth and glances at the children. They're oblivious, giggling and competing to see who can impress crystals faster. She has yet to impress one.
"I think it's easier for magicians," I console her, "And I practiced a lot earlier." The first is true and the second is...meant to keep her from drawing any other conclusions about why I am having so little trouble with this task.
Trissa frowns at me, not buying it. By the end of the long afternoon, she's given up and Julianne, Gramm and I have impressed a dozen large crystal boulders and about 200 small ones. Tomorrow, workmen will begin embedding the larger crystals in the upper walls of the castle. In a few more days, Trissa will escort our magicians around town, distributing the smaller crystals among households and businesses in town, to be hung in windows and other places exposed to the street. Traditionally, Poromish towns buried larger crystals around their perimeters only to have them dug up at night by assim so we are trying something different: each Aretian household will hang a crystal in an outward facing window, keeping an eye on it so it doesn't disappear. This is the first of a half-dozen community defense protocols we hope will be ready for scaling up when more magicians come forward for training from Navarre. Somebody better be making equal progress on offensive weapons. Those are what Sgaeyl and the sages are working on but so far she's not talking.
Halen appears in the doorway, arms crossed, foot tapping. "Come on you two, let's get you home before dark."
"You are some pretty impressive magicians!" I'm rather proud of that pun, but Gramm groans. "Think you can do a few hundred more without me in the next few days?"
"Yes!" Julianne yells and pumps the air. Trissa smiles and leaves Halen with her charges.
Gramm looks a little less confident. All afternoon, he has been stealing anxious glances at me. Time to find out why.
"Julianne," I suggest, "I think there's chocolate cake in the kitchen for hardworking magicians. Gramm and I will meet Halen and you down there in a few minutes ." Julianne skips out the door and Halen, looking curious at me, follows her.
Gramm looks panicked but holds his ground. He turns in my direction, lifting his head to stare at..what? the air around me? Wait a minute. This could be good news.
How non-threatening can I sound? "Gramm, what do you see when you look at me?" Gramm shrugs, sets his jaw and doesn't answer.
"Do I have little red horns?" I smile. "A long green tail?"
"No," he glances up, shakes his head and returns to studying his shoes.
"Do you ever see spikes around Julianne? Aren't they a lovely pink?" I keep my tone light.
"No, they're gold." he quickly corrects me, then winces, realizing he's said more than he meant to. "Pretty little gold things." he adds, defensive.
"And do you see spikes around me now? What color are they?"
"They're not little." Gramm whispers, eyes widening. "They're gi-normous. Like longswords. The same color, too."
Let's try my most encouraging, I'm-not-going-to-eat-you, laugh. "Gramm, that's great news! You know what it means?"
He looks startled. "I dunno. People have gotten mad when I've asked about their spikes. Really mad." He rubs his arm like it was a casualty.
"You've seen people in town with them?"
"No. Out in the woods. Hunting with my brothers."
"My size spikes or Julianne's?"
"Sorta in between. Closer to Julianne's."
"Well, the spikes mean they are magicians, like you and Julianne. We need to make a lot more of these crystals, and they could help. But most people don't recognize a magician when they see one. You could help us find them."
"But what if they don't want to be found?" Gramm assures me, then squints at me again, "Are you a magician, too?"
"Sort of, but a different kind. And, for now, I don't want to be found. For reasons I don't understand," I ham it up, "Some people already find me scary."
A hopeful smile brightens Gramm's face. "But a dragon bonded with you."
"A very special dragon."
Very special, purrs Sgaeyl.
****
It's another working meal, this time dinner with Brennan in his room. He's calmed down somewhat, anxious to hear about the scribes. He remembers Tishni; he apparently practices a rare form of martial arts and he put a brash teenage Brennan on his ass several times. Sounds like a service Brennan performed for me. Just wanted me to get better. Somebody needs to take better care of this man. After a surprisingly short discussion, we decide it's time to come clean with the Assembly tomorrow. Then I leave Brennan to rest and head down to the tavern with Trissa, who has reluctantly volunteered to be our magician point person. Over beer, we talk up with the locals the value of magicians in the fight against venin, the importance of encouraging any they know of to come in from the cold, putting them in touch with Trissa, giving them some respect, a safe place to stay, paying them like we pay night watchmen.
Early next morning, another Assembly meeting, this time with Brennan chairing, looking better than yesterday. I mean, he's sitting up in that chair...The Assembly talks about the vote scheduled next week, when it's looking like a majority of Aretians will decide to reject reparations. What districts in Tyrrendor might take those who can't live with that decision. A significant number of Tyrrendor districts have pledged to support Aretia if the Revolution's riders and a new Academy for riders are based here. As the sound of stonemasons echo in the chamber, Trissa reports our progress on the crystal defense pilot. "And let me conclude with the best news." She gives a tight smile. "In addition to our two young magicians, we have a lead on a third. And a fourth, grown and powerful sage, has come forward." She pauses, "Xaden."
I grimace and wave the fingers of my natural hand. Ulysses rolls his eyes. Kaylyn sits in shocked silence. Suri bangs the table and cries, triumphant, "I knew it! That feckless, unnatural woman bewitched your father!"
Brennan cuts her off. "That feckless, unnatural woman has done as much for the Revolution, at more or greater personal risk, as any of us. She is the source of the improved defenses we now have against the venin. And more plans for offensive ones."
"She abandoned Xaden!" Suri is not deterred
"She and my father agreed she could do more to save Tyrrendor and the Continent elsewhere." I keep my voice level. "And she's developed valuable collaborators for us inside Basgiath."
Suri throws her head back in exasperation. "Is there a man on the Continent not wrapped around her little finger?!"
****
Brennan and I were to fly back to Basgiath today but Halen begged me to come up with an excuse to keep him on the ground. Looking at him, I have to agree. Mira and Garrick flew me across Deaconshire and I was counting on Brennan as my wingman for the flight back. But it looks like I'm going to have to be looking out for him, not vice versa. I consider recalling Bodhi and Imogen from the Cliffs of Dralor where they're on patrol, but that would add another day of delay. So I plan our return in three six-hour stages, instead of the usual 18 hour marathon.
Mentally, my unhappiness over this minor delay is...ridiculous. But it's been months since I spent more than a day or two beyond bonding distance with Violence. All this...happiness? in the last few months, it's raised what? separation anxiety? Her absence is an ache in my consciousness. I've been working on the jealousy thing and as a thought experiment, I try to imagine her having a pleasant Friday night without me, going down into Chantara. Maybe seeing her squad and Dain down there. Laughing with Dain. Grrrr....Nope. Can't go there. Not yet. Shadows are rising round me. Shut down this fucking experiment now! Great way to ruin the morning, Riorson.
I head into town to pick up Gramm and his brothers. Up we go, into one of the deep hollows at the base of the mountains. Nice creek gushing with runoff, white blossoms on scraggly trees brighten the gloom. As a child, I knew all these hollows like the back of my hand; no more. An hour and a half we tramp along the stream bank, following a deer trail before I feel the presence of another human being. With some power. I hold up my hand for a halt and scan our shadowy surroundings, settling on an outcrop about 20 feet above us. From which comes the crank of a crossbow.
"I am a sage, in search of a magician." I project my voice into that outcrop.
"I say you be a fool on a hopeless errand." The voice is male, older, scratchy, the words delivered in thick mountain dialect.
"Venin are coming and Aretia needs your help."
"Surprise, surprise! Those motherfucking venin are never going to give up. But Aretia didn't want no help rebuilding its defenses seven years ago; why do they want it now?"
"Lara has made them understand."
"Lara!" the man gives a low whistle. "Isn't she dead.?"
"No. Based in Poromiel, but she's pulling together collaborators across the two kingdoms."
"Always a bundle of energy, that one," the voice chuckles then turns serious. "Why should I believe you?"
"I'm Lara's son. And these three boys are the sum total of my bodyguards." Maybe that wasn't such a good idea; Ma Fiffen could lose all three of her progeny right here.
"You don't say. Step into that patch of sunlight to your right and let me see you."
These boys have no way to get me down the mountain if he gets trigger happy. "Uncrank the crossbow."
The crossbow unwinds. I step into the sunlight.
The man whistles, "Well, aren't those spikes a sight for sore eyes. Stay where you are." The bushes rustle for a few minutes and a tall, lanky mountain man with a wispy grey beard steps in front of me. And the biggest wolf I've ever seen is peering over his shoulder.
****
"He's not planning to bring it into town?!!" Trissa looks scandalized. We're debriefing while Gramm and Julianne impress more crystals in the castle library.
"No. The dire wolf stays on the mountain. He'll come alone to meet you at Gramm's house tomorrow. Around noon. He's been up in that cave so long, I don't know that he has a watch, so come prepared to wait."
"And you say he's trained?" she's skeptical, having yet to meet a magician that is.
"Yep. He worked with Lara. He might even know where those missing perimeter crystals are buried. Gramm says he has good sized spikes."
Gramm looks up from his work, "Yeah. Green ones." He pauses and looks to Trissa. "He says the town drove him off after the war."
Trissa sighs. "Xaden's grandmother was convinced magicians attracted venin. After she died, her loyalists interpreted that to mean that Aretia would be safer without magicians. That's the legacy we're struggling to undo." She smiles encouragingly, "And you're doing a great job."
****
Maude lands heavily on the balcony as I am packing to leave. I settle into a chair, she settles onto the balustrade and I stare deep into her eyes.
The recording from my mother is terse.
"So there will be no surprises when a sage wants to know why you bewitched Violet. In case you are wondering, it's my impression her feelings for you are indeed stronger than that bewitchment. You are not a monster. She is not going to leave you. That you are paranoid she might is probably less related to the bewitchment and more to the fact your mother walked out on you when you were 10 without saying goodbye. My bad. Hate me if you like. But don't take it out on Violet. By the way Brennan is cute. Please take good care of him because when this is over I might enjoy some time with him. Take care of yourself."
And I thought Lillith Sorrengail lacked something in motherly warmth.
***
"This really wasn't necessary." Brennan hunches over a beer in a tavern on the plains of Tyrrendor. We made six hours this afternoon. I'll come up with some excuse to stop tomorrow before we hit Deaconshire. But there's work to do tonight. Patrons at other tables are eyeing me, the face of the Revolution, with curiosity. Little do they know that the brains of the Revolution is in their midst. I don't know if Brennan is up to this so I move to join a table that's looking particularly curious and fall into listening tour mode. And soon I'm in talking mode. Oh, this was so much more fun with Violence lighting up the place...
After I let Brennan sleep late and he gets over being angry at me, we don't get into the air until mid-morning. And, again, after only six hours, he's practically falling off of Marbh. Sgaeyl drops to a lower altitude and Marbh follows. We land in a clearing near another tavern.
"We'll rest here for a few hours, and proceed across Deaconshire after dark." I announce, "Attract less attention."
Brennan's feeble protest justifies the decision.
An hour or so before midnight, as the moon finally drifts behind some heavy cloud cover, we launch into Deaconshire. I calculate four hours at Marbh's best pace to cross this narrower western side of the province, maybe less. Through Sgaeyl, Marbh has agreed that, if we come under fire, she will get Brennan to Basgiath as fast as possible, overriding any attempt on his part to stay and fight. She admits she's been holding him on and can't fight like that. The Revolution cannot lose its chief strategist. I cannot lose him. In the bond, none of this disturbs Sgaeyl; she's fucking hoping for a fight.
Two small oranges pick us up at the border. We easily outrun them. Then an hour later, four drop out of the clouds ahead of us.
Protect yourself. Sgaeyl is deadly calm. I throw up one of my better shields.
The oranges break as Sgaeyl tears through the middle of their formation but two still manage to lick us with dragon fire. It's fucking hot but the shield holds. As they regroup to follow, we begin evasive maneuvers, changing altitude again and again. We lose them, but it slows us down. An hour later, there are four more. Again, we outmaneuver them. I look around for Brennan
I sent Marbh on at high altitude.
- We know who's in charge here.
We turn again for Basgiath, now at top speed, the four oranges behind us quickly fading.
An hour later another four drop in front of us.
I'm losing patience. Sgaeyl snarls.
She stops in dead air. The oranges edge closer. Sgaeyl holds. The oranges edge closer. There's a thud and I look around. A dagger is half embedded just behind me. It's. making. Me. Sick.
Get it out. Sgaeyl screams.
I grab it, and toss it over her side, vomiting as I lean.
ENOUGH.
Enraged, she moves like a cyclone and I am no help, focused only on keeping my seat. The tail takes down three. The fourth flies away.
Hey, Sgaeyl, I remind her, I kill riders easier with my shadows than you can kill their dragons. Give me a chance.
They are MINE. Sgaeyl in a blood-rage even scares me.
We turn back towards the border, back up to speed, higher altitude.
That dagger... Are you hurt?
That puny thing? She sniffs. But for you...just proximity will make you sick, weakens your shadows. But it won't affect the power in our arm.
Our arm? What kind of power, exactly, is that?
Next time, hold up your sword and find out. Oh, that self-satisfied tone worries me.
We're at maximum altitude a half and hour later when two much larger oranges pop out of the sky ahead of us. Way too close. An arrow lands just short of my knee and I pull it out and toss it, fast. Just a little nausea.
Sgaeyl flies directly into the face of the one on the right, her dragon fire meeting his, head on. And as the second orange turns to assist the first...
Shield.
We are practically eyeball to eyeball with the dragon on the right, fire scorching both directions, when Sgaeyl abruptly flips her daggertail around and disembowels him.
The arm. She screams.
I use the prosthetic arm to whip out the sword, hold it high and...it's on fire, momentarily distracting the second dragon. Having been lured into close quarters, I can see the face of the rider bearing down on me, distorted into a hateful mask, surrounded by curly white hair better suited to some sweet grandmother. She must be packing some obsidian, because I'm nauseous just looking at her and the shadows I call forth to drag her off the dragon won't form. With difficulty, I line up the sword, but before I can thrust, the daggertail hits its mark, grandma's dragon drops out of the sky, its dying fire singes my hair.
Cautious, I lower the prosthetic and the fire disappears. My sword is once again steel, still hot as I sheath it. Sgaeyl, wasting no time, turns and heads again for the border.
We hit no more resistance. When the moon slips from behind the clouds, I see what's left of the prosthesis. The hand's steel frame has lost all padding. The leather covering of the forearm is...black and brittle, pieces flying off in the wind. Bette will be so pissed.
I have some improvements to suggest, Sgaeyl is smug.
Tairn meets us at the border and we fly the last two hours in silence, his presence calming Sgaeyl's residual frenzy. An hour out of Basgiath, Violence makes contact and starts a steady stream of love in the bond. As we approach the flight field, in the half-light before dawn, I see Marbh gliding into the Vale: Brennan made it. That tiny speck on the flight field resolves into Violence, holding out a medkit. Good woman. After my shadows retrieve the medkit, she waits, silent, while I tend Sgaeyl's two small wounds. When I hit the ground, she tucks herself under my left arm, whips a cloak around us both, and marches me into Basgiath.
****
She found black out curtains but I'm not ready to sleep, I'm ready to devour her whole. But the burned prosthesis scratches and scatters cinders all over the place. Now I wish it were removable...Instead she laughs and sends me to the shower. There's breakfast on the table when I return and piles of bandaging. Under her inexpert ministrations, my prosthesis is soon twice its previous size and soft as a pillow. I reach for her and she gives me one hot kiss then points to the food. "Let not Brennan complain that my desire to fuck you causes you to be neglected." I let her push me into a chair and put a fork in my hand. "Eat."
"I thought we decided lack of fucking is what causes me to feel neglected." I try putting down my fork and making a grab for her ass.
"Since when does Brennan care about any of our feelings? Finish your breakfast." she smacks my hand, "Afterwards I will examine the rest of your body and determine whether it's fit for action."
So things are looking up. Or rather I'm face down on the bed and we're both naked. The cruel woman keeps batting away my efforts to stroke her thigh. But she's got to be almost finished clucking over every square inch of my back, applying salve to burns I didn't know I had, now dragging her fingernails over the intact places with just a touch of heat. Yeah, do that so more...
I wake hours? later, her head buried in my chest, shoulders softly shaking into it. I stroke her hair and hold her tight. Her arms clamp around my waist.
Tairn picked up Sgaeyl in the bond about two hours ago, after it was all over, I guess. You were engaged in an air attack alone. Tell me.
So I do, not holding anything back.
We should have been with you. I haven't gotten to kill anything in months. She mock pouts.
Like I said, Sgaeyl wasn't in the mood to share. And you needed to be here. Finishing your training.
We don't have time for this stuff. They're coming. We need to practice fighting. Together. As a unit. That's why Sgaeyl dragged me into all this. To protect you.
You need to train your signet. Signets. I kiss the top of her head. Get a better grasp of physics. Use the little time we have here to build unit cohesion with the unmarked riders so you can fight better together. Maybe lead them someday. How did field training with infantry go last week?
Better than last year?
I laugh. That's not saying much.
We lay in silence for a few minutes.
She sighs. Will you please fuck me?
I thought you'd never ask.
So I guess, in terms of Revolution business, today was the most unproductive day Violence and I have had in months. But I was overdue for sleep and we were overdue for some serious fucking. And making love once we finished the frenzied fucking. And tonight we'll go down to Chantara with her friends, just because she likes that, no public relations involved at all. Because six weeks from today is Reunification Day and...