The Laurentine Spy (38 page)

“You’re certain you want this?”

She nodded.

Athan reached out and touched her hair with his fingertips. Soft. Smooth. Shining.
I should walk away.

“Tell me to stop, and I will.”

He took it slowly—standing by the fireplace, sitting on the bed, lying down—giving her time to draw back, to refuse. He’d never been so nervous with a woman before, so afraid of making a mistake.

She stiffened when he unbuttoned her nightgown, but said nothing.

Athan bent his head. He kissed her throat lightly, tasting her.

The minutes became long and slow, full of warmth and soft, smooth skin. Saliel relaxed gradually. He touched her gently, learning her responses, seeing the pleasure rise in her.

He’d dreamed of this in the Citadel, when she’d had no name or face—he’d imagined touching her, had imagined the clean scent of her skin, had imagined her body opening to him.
This is how it should be.

The candles burned slowly down while he brought her to climax with his fingers, his mouth. “Oh,” she said, afterwards. Her eyes were wide and startled.

Athan felt suddenly lighter, as if a heavy weight was gone from his chest. He laughed, and laid a hand gently on her midriff. The muscles quivered beneath his fingers.
I did that.

He didn’t dare kiss her properly. Kisses were for lovers. He bent his head and pressed his mouth to her skin—so soft—and closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the shutters rattle in the wind, listening to her heartbeat.

He felt a touch in his hair. Her fingers, stroking lightly.

Athan opened his eyes.
I wish—

He pushed up from the bed. He cleared his throat and began to strip. He’d taken off his clothes once before, in front of her. Then, she hadn’t watched. Now she did.

He felt as shy as she was, as self-conscious. He stood awkwardly in front of her, aware of how different their bodies were—size and shape—and how odd he must look to her. How frightening.

He saw Saliel swallow, nervous. She raised her eyes to his face.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said. “I promise.”

He lay down beside her. Her body was tense, but she didn’t shrink away from him.
Don’t rush this.
He touched her gently, drawing pleasure from her. When he judged she was ready, he slid his fingers inside her. He felt her body accommodate him, soft and hot and tight.

Athan withdrew his fingers. He brought himself to lie above her, bracing his weight. “I’ll stop if it hurts. You must tell me.”

Saliel’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes dark. She nodded.

His heart tightened.
She trusts me.

He entered her slowly. It was harder than he’d thought. His body wanted to—

She tensed slightly.

Athan paused. His head was bowed, his eyes clenched shut. “Does it hurt?”

“I’m...not sure.”

He almost laughed, almost lost his control. He gritted his teeth and held himself still, struggling to breathe.
I can do this. I can.
“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

He held onto his control as he slid deeply into her, as her body moved instinctively to meet him. Time blurred. Seconds. Minutes. This was what he’d dreamed of: the heat, the delicious friction of their bodies, the pleasure spiraling tight, tighter—

Saliel arched beneath him. He felt her climax.

Athan withdrew swiftly, before he could spill his seed. He held her, panting, dragging air into his lungs. Arousal was a fierce ache in his loins.

Saliel’s fingers gripped his arm. She lifted her face to him. “Athan...”

He bent his head and kissed her.
I love you.

She didn’t draw away. She kissed him back. Her mouth was soft, sweet, shy.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

A
THAN PULLED THE
quilt over them. He held her as the pleasure slowly dissipated. His warmth and solidity, his arms around her—strong—gave her a feeling of safety
. He won’t let anything happen to me.

She was relaxed in a way she’d never been before, heavy-limbed. The heat of Athan’s body and the sound of his breathing lulled her towards sleep.

“Promise me you’ll marry.”

Saliel opened her eyes. The bedchamber was full of shadows and candlelight. “I can’t make that promise.”

Athan sighed. “Promise me...promise me that if you meet a man you can love—a good man—and he asks you to marry him, you will.”

She watched the shadows dance across the whitewashed walls. “I will.”

Athan said nothing more after that. She lay quietly, listening to his low breathing, to his heartbeat, storing the memories.

Minutes slowly became hours. At last Athan stirred. His arms tightened fractionally. She felt his mouth on her skin. His kiss was feather-light.

Saliel opened her eyes. The candles had burned out. Only the embers in the fireplace gave light.

“Forgive me,” Athan whispered against her skin. “I am too much a coward.”

She wanted to place her hand on his arm, to answer him, but the words weren’t meant for her to hear; he thought her asleep.
You’re not a coward
, she told him silently.
You are wise. You must not leave your House for me.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Athan released her. He dressed quickly, quietly. He bent to kiss her hair, a touch so light she barely felt it. She heard him walk across the room, heard the door open and close.

He was gone.

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

T
HEY ARRIVED AT
the port of Bressoq at dusk. The coachman took them to a respectable inn near the wharves, where the streets were narrow and tall stone buildings stood like close-crammed gray teeth. Saliel stepped down onto the cobblestones, drawing her cloak more tightly around her. The air was chill and dank, heavy with the smells of coal smoke and sea salt and frying fish.

Athan paid the coachman off and thanked him for his service. The man nodded and took his place on the driver’s box, gathering the reins in his hands. She watched as horses and carriage disappeared into the gray dusk, threading their way between pedestrians and dogs, wagons and carts.

Athan turned to her and offered his arm. His face was weary.

The inn was tall and narrow, built of gray stone like its neighbors. Inside, the innkeeper greeted them, smiling in his starched white apron, and welcomed them to Bressoq.

Athan ordered rooms and dinner, and asked the man which ships were due to sail east.

“Well, there’s, the
Sea Wind
. She sails at midnight for Monserrac, but she’s not for the likes of ye.” The man bowed.

“Anything else?”

“The
Shining Lily
leaves for Laurent in three days. She’s of good quality. Ye’ll probably find passage on her.”

“Very well,” Athan said. “We’ll enquire at the shipping office tomorrow.”

The innkeeper nodded and smiled and rubbed his hands together. His gaze fell on Saliel and then flicked back to Athan. A curious expression crossed his face. “Ah...”

“Yes?”

“There were two men asking after... They said they were looking for friends. A large, dark-complexioned man, they said, and a young lady with red hair.”

Everything became very still—the flames in the fireplace, her breath. Saliel was aware of a strange sense of inevitability.
We’ve been waiting for this.

“Oh?” Athan sounded only mildly curious. “What did they look like?”

“Quite ordinary, sir.” The innkeeper shrugged. “But one of them did have unusual eyes. Very pale.”

Her throat tightened. The shadows seemed to freeze on the wall. She had the sensation of being unable to get air into her lungs.

“What did they call themselves?” Athan asked.

“Uh...” The innkeeper felt in the pocket of his apron. “They left their direction.” He unfolded a piece of paper. “Grigani, it was. From the Aspides.”

“Ah, yes,” Athan said. “Of course.” He held out his hand for the scrap of paper. The innkeeper gave it to him. “Staying at
The Lonely Helmsman
, I see. Where is that exactly?”

“Not far from here. One block closer to the docks.” The man gestured vaguely.

“And when was our friend Grigani here?”

“Yesterday.”

Athan’s arm was rigid beneath her fingers, but his voice was marvelously calm. “Thank you,” he said. “You’ve been most helpful. It shames me to reward you so poorly, but I believe we’ll remove ourselves to
The Lonely Helmsman
, to be with our friends.”

The innkeeper’s expression of geniality faded.

“Here’s something for your trouble, and our thanks.” Athan handed the man several coins. “We’re more grateful than you can imagine.”

The innkeeper thinned his lips, looked at the silver coins in his palm, and managed a smile. “Do ye require a porter?”

“No, thank you,” Athan said. “We have little in the way of luggage.”

Saliel removed her hand from his arm and bent to take her valise, trying to breathe past the constriction in her throat. She nodded politely to the innkeeper and followed Athan outside, pulling the hood of her cloak forward. She scanned the darkening street. A man walked towards them, his stride brisk and purposeful. A cloaked figure leaned in a doorway, his head turned in their direction. Two men conversed idly across the street. Dogs barked and carriage wheels clattered on the cobblestones, and everywhere there were men.

She crossed the road with Athan, her head held high, her steps calm and unhurried. They walked a few paces into an alley and halted in the shadows. Saliel gripped the handle of her valise with both hands, tightly. “Well?”

“Do you have a knife?”

She shook her head. Athan had a knife—he wore it always at his hip—but she’d not carried one since the catacombs.

Athan crouched and opened his valise. “Here.” He handed her a sheathed knife. “You know how to use it?”

Saliel nodded. She’d learned how to defend herself—along with so many other things—during the mad, rushed month before she’d sailed to Corhona.

Athan stood. “You must sail with the
Sea Wind
tonight.”

“And you?”

“It will be my pleasure to kill Lord Grigor.”

Saliel shook her head. “Forget him. We’ll both take the
Sea Wind
.”

“And have him reach Monserrac before us?” Athan shook his head. “No.”

“Better to take the risk!” she said, her voice low and fierce. “He has a man with him. You can’t take them both!”

“We shall see,” Athan said, reaching beneath his cloak. “Here, take the code book.”

“No. I’m not boarding that ship without you.”

“You have to,” he said, flat-voiced. “One of us must reach Laurent.”

She stared at him. In the gray half-light his expression was uncompromising.

I won’t let you die.
Saliel tightened her grip on the knife. “If you won’t come with me, then I’ll go with you.” She began walking down the alley in the direction of
The Lonely Helmsman.

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

“C
URSE IT,
S
ALIEL
!” Athan’s fear for her twisted into something close to anger. He took hold of her arm and swung her to a halt. “You are
not
coming—”

“Lord Ivo,” came a greeting from the mouth of the alley.

Athan turned, thrusting Saliel behind him. A man stood where the alley opened into the street.

Athan bared his teeth in a smile. “And you are?”

“Therlo. We’ve met.”

“So we have.” Athan pushed his valise aside with one foot. He reached for his knife. “The pleasure was all mine—as I recall.”

A second cloaked figure stepped into the alley. He was too tall to be the Spycatcher. A blade gleamed in his hand.

Athan tightened his grip on the knife. “Saliel,” he said quietly. “Run.”

“Only if you do.”

Athan gritted his teeth. He turned and grabbed Saliel’s arm—and ran.

An alley opened to the right, a second and third to the left. He chose their route at random. Saliel pulled her arm free and ran beside him. They met no carriages or wagons; the alleyways were too narrow. It was a place of crooked doors and rancid smells. The few pedestrians shrank aside, offering neither help nor hindrance.

Athan’s chest began to burn. He panted as he ran, gulping air. Everything was gray, leached of color.
A few more minutes and it will be dark and we can hide in this maze.