Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) (31 page)

Sacha yawned deeply and pulled her hand away from his, using it to cover her mouth. “I am so sorry, Chan... Kesh. How rude of me, I must be truly exhausted.” She jammed the key into the lock and twisted. Thankfully it clicked open on the first try. “Good night, Chan... Kesh.” She slipped into the slim opening and turned to shut the door. Over Kesh’s shoulder she saw Soren smirking as he closed a large hand on the blinking noble’s shoulder.

Thank Eos
. She leaned her forehead against the door, listening to the voices of the guard and Kesh receding as the chancellor was hustled down the hall. Something would have to be done about the man’s affections before the situation got too far out of hand. She had noticed his partiality before leaving Pelos, but after the ambush, his feelings had apparently gone quite beyond fond. She had hoped to have time to formulate a plan to divert Kesh before reaching the citadel, but his advances were becoming more blatant, much faster than she had anticipated.

Something shuffled in the room behind her.

Sacha froze.

The movement stopped.

She turned her head to peer over her shoulder. The only light in the room came from the moon through the window. She had been too preoccupied to notice before, but now, she realized not a single candle had been lit. Opening her mind to the Shamonrae, she began to draw arcane power into herself, while searching the darkness for threats.

A searing light burst before her eyes, banishing the darkness and blinding her before she could shield her eyes. The sound of shuffling feet came from several directions—all of them coming closer.

“Kesh!” she called out, stumbling back against the door. She rolled to one side, turning her face from the blinding light.

Her sideways movement ended in a jarring stop as she smashed into some unmovable object. Strong hands seized her by the hair and arms. She was wrenched from the ground. More hands raked her face in an attempt to shove a damp cloth in her mouth.

Panic swelled in her chest and she fought to keep in control of her thoughts. She shook her head violently to avoid the groping hands that held the soaked cloth, but her struggle stopped as the grip on her hair tightened, tearing her scalp painfully. Still unable to see through the burning spots in her vision, she grabbed blindly at the closest thing within reach, which appeared to be one of the assailant’s arms, and released all of her stored power.

The sound of crackling electricity filled the room. Her captor’s restraining hands went rigid and the smell of burning flesh fouled the air. Muted mewling sounds escaped the throat of her assailant as he thrashed, his vocal cords arrested in the flow of current.

Sacha’s heart stopped. The flow of power she was releasing had flowed back into her through the hands that held her.
Trapped!
The stored power rushed out, emptying from her like water from a cup, and try as she might, she couldn’t halt the flow before the vessel was empty.

Images of Rylan and Renee flooded into her disillusioned mind. Renee, I’m so sorry. The memories of her family began to diminish as consciousness faded from her convulsing body. She and the hazy figures that held her collapsed in a heap, the smell of burning hair and cloth layering over the smell of unwashed bodies.

“Damn fools!” a voice barked in the gathering gloom.

She barely felt the strike to her head before darkness closed around her.

Kinsey lay back in the brass tub and took a long drag off his amber and blackwood pipe. The knotted muscles in his lower back began to loosen and he gave thanks to Eos for giving man fire, and the ability to boil water.
I don’t care what Rouke says, I can be a man
and
enjoy a good soak
, he thought.

Thick clouds of steam drifted from the freshly heated bathwater and filled the room with a light misty haze. Cream-colored candle wax dripped from pewter wall sconces, and every candle was topped by a glowing halo.

Lazily scanning the small space, he noticed it was constructed entirely out of winewood and each plank was stained to mimic the maroon bark that once encased it. Kinsey allowed his eyes to slip closed and the soft fingers of sleep began to sooth his battered mind, until a light knock shattered the relaxed ambiance.

Dammit, Erik, can’t it wait?
Too much had happened in the last week and he just wanted some peace and quiet. “Come.”

A long creak sounded as the door opened, followed by a short thunk.

“Erik, I’m busy falling asleep. Do ya—”

“I thought you might want your back washed,” a soft voice purred from the door.

Kinsey bolted upright, water sloshing over the edges of the tub, his eyes flying open.

Marcella was leaning against the door to the chamber, one foot propped behind her on the door, and her lips pursed appreciatively as she considered him. Only a towel shrouded her voluptuous body from his gaze.

He could barely hear the water pattering on the floor over the blood suddenly pounding in his ears. “I... you... we,” sputtered Kinsey.

Marcella laughed richly. “Sooo articulate.” She stepped away from the door, and with a delicate flick of her wrist the towel fell, revealing soft, milky-white skin and dark hair. “I like that.”

Kinsey’s pipe dropped into the tub with a loud plunk.

Marcella arched one eyebrow and basked in his attention. “I love an appreciative audience.”

“Aye.” Kinsey nodded, then shook his head. “I mean. We can’t be doin’ this!”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” The delicious way the young woman moved defied description as she sauntered to the tub and elegantly slid one long leg in after the other, giving Kinsey a fine view of her... everything.

“I’ll be hanged!” His hands grasped the sides of the tub and he started to get out.

Marcella caught hold of his shoulders, her touch, at once light as a feather and as arresting as the weight of boulders. “Shhhhh, I won’t tell. I promise.”

You’re a dead man if you do this, Kinsey
, a small voice in his head warned. He could picture the gallows as clearly as if he were standing right in front of them. Valiantly, he put on his most stern face. “Look, Marcella. You’re a beautiful woman, and I like you. But
this
can’t happen.”

She leaned back so the tops of her round breasts crested the bubbles that frosted the bath. Her foot, attached to a shapely leg, emerged from the water and pressed against his chest, pushing him lightly back against the brass wall. “Let’s talk a bit, shall we?”

Kinsey splashed back down into the water and found himself pinned between hard brass and Marcella’s delectable toes.

“I’m not sure if you’ve heard.” Marcella retracted her foot and leaned forward, pulling herself closer. “I’m related to some
fairly
powerful people,” she continued, crawling into his lap and digging her nails into his broad chest. “Which means...” She leaned so near, walking the fingers of one hand up his neck to his hairline, that he could feel her heated breath. “I
get
. What I
want
.”

His mind raced as his body began to respond to her closeness.
Oh gods, I’m in trouble
, came a distant voice of the reasonable part of his mind while his hands began to reach for her of their own volition.

A scream came from the hallway and the sound of breaking wood reverberated through the walls of the small room.

“Damnation!” Kinsey erupted from the tub, showering water in every direction and dumping Marcella fully into the water as he did. His heart pounded, whether from fear or arousal he couldn’t say, but there was one thing he knew for certain. He needed his pants.

Marcella came out of the tub spitting water. Even the sudden dunking had done little to detract from the woman’s allure. Water streamed from her hair and moistened the lashes of her eyes. “What’s happening?!”

“
More
trouble.” Tearing his eyes away from Marcella, he dove into his pile of clothes and fished out the worn doeskin trousers he wore under his chainmail. Tugging forcefully, he drug them over his thighs and hips before grabbing his axe. Kinsey went to the door barefoot and dripping. “Stay here. And put some clothes on.” The last thing he needed was to be caught with a naked noblewoman in his bath.

He cracked open the door and peeked into the hallway.

A door several chambers away from his own had been sundered from the inside and lay in shards. A heavy towel like the one Marcella had been using hung from the splintered remnants of the frame and dripped water to the sodden floor. Trails of water streamed from the room and a silvery trail of it led back toward the common room.

The slim hallway was devoid of people, but up and down the corridor, voices of consternation were rising, doors began to open, and heads were poking out. Kinsey cautiously stepped out, closing his door behind him, and waving at the curious to go back. Lady Leanne’s head popped from another room, hair rolled into a bun and a heavy towel pulled across her torso. Ignoring Kinsey’s gestures, she pulled her door further open and asked, “What’s going on?”

Wonderful. Another naked noblewoman
. Disregarding her question, he pointed to the doorframe as he approached it cautiously. “Who was in here?”

Leanne blinked as he passed her by and peered around the corner. “I don’t know. The door was closed when I came back.”

Kinsey’s anxiety was replaced by a sinking feeling as he took in the wreckage of the room. Most tellingly, the very dead Pelosian soldier Bale had assigned to watch over Sloane told him what had happened. The man’s body was lying motionless in a haphazard position, arms and torso pinned below the overturned heavy brass tub. He couldn’t see an injury, but there was clearly no need to check for a pulse.

Cursing, he spun from the room and charged back into the hall where Meagan and Bella had clustered behind Leanne. The women clutched more towels over their bodies and simultaneously attempted to demurely hide behind Leanne while also peering around her to catch a glimpse of the room from which Kinsey stormed. His face must have been truly frightening, for the three of them shied away as he rushed toward them.

Seizing one elbow, he spun Leanne around and propelled all three of them down the hall, back to their bathing chambers. “Get back to your rooms,” he said, while thrusting Leanne into her chamber where her tub still steamed, “and stay in them until Bale, Erik, or I come for you.” He pulled Leanne’s door closed with a thunderous crash that cut off her squawks of protest. He brandished his axe in a shooing motion at the other two as he herded them to their rooms. He was not in the habit of frightening women, but the slamming doors eased his own sense of rising panic. He spun once again and began sprinting for the common room.

He reached the corner of the narrow hallway and found himself careening into the far wall as his bare foot slid in a dark puddle on the floor. Wood paneling cracked under the impact of his shoulder. Off-balance and staggered by the impact, he threw a hand to the floor to catch himself. His axe dropped in a clatter. The instant his reaching hand made contact with the moisture on the floor, he knew it was no longer the bathwater making his footing treacherous.

Blood.

Kinsey wiped his hand on his pants leg briefly before he snatched his axe from the floor and reached for the closed door that lead to the common room beyond. In the dim light, he could see the trail of blood flowing from below the door and mingling with the water from the baths. Kinsey set his feet and yanked the door open. He brandished his axe in a grip close to the head to allow for its use in the close confines of the hall.

The room was empty.

The only evidence of Terel, the sentry he had placed, was a puddle of blood from which twin ragged lines of the dark fluid extended, leading toward the monstrous bar. Here and there, bloody footprints gave testimony to an assailant’s work in dragging the guard’s body.

Cursing anew, Kinsey hurried into the common room.

Kinsey’s eyes followed the trail of Terel’s blood and found him topping one of two piles of bodies. The remains of several guards, Basinian and Pelosian alike, had been dumped ignominiously on the floor. In the second pile, Colin, Norn, Adam, Yanell, and others in Barden’s employ lay piled on top of one another, stacked like cords of wood. Barden himself lay stomach-down at the foot of the pile. His face had been twisted around and his eyes still stared in surprise at the ceiling.