Deathstalker

genius madman with a sublimated death wish.'

'Point taken.' Finlay sat down on a nearby bench to pull on his knee-length leather boots. 'I have been getting a little obsessed with the fighting, just lately. The Arena feels so clean and uncomplicated after the endless intrigues and politicking in high society. Every word has a dozen meanings, every statement a dozen levels, and you can't turn around without tripping over a conspirator murmuring in a traitor's ear. Luckily my Family, and everyone else's, considers me a coward as well as a fop, so mostly I get left on the sidelines as not worth bothering with. There'd be no glory in defeating the likes of me in a duel, and I haven't the wit to be trusted in a conspiracy. I always knew that persona would come in handy. It keeps me out of intrigues, protects my secret, and affords me endless amusement. Ah, life is good, Georg. Though death is more fun.'

'Hang on to that good mood,' said Georg. 'You're going to need it. In case you've forgotten, and you probably have, you asked me to remind you that you have a wedding to attend this afternoon. It sounds pretty important; only for direct members of the Families involved. A distinctly minor noble such as myself wouldn't even get past the door.'

'Now don't get touchy,' Finlay said briskly, putting the finishing touches to his outfit and regarding himself thoughtfully in the full-length mirror. 'You wouldn't like it anyway. No excitement, no bloodshed; just determinedly polite voices, fattening finger food, and inferior champagnes. It is a rather important occasion, I suppose, if you're interested in such things. A cousin of mine, Robert Campbell, is to marry one Letitia Shreck, and thus bring the two Families together. An arranged marriage, of course, for cold and practical political reasons. The two Clans have been at each other's throats for as long as anyone living can remember, but right now we find ourselves in need of mutual support against common enemies, so all the bloody hatchets are to be buried in a wedding. It'll all end in tears, of course, but no one gives a damn about that. Doesn't matter if they never see each other again, really, as long as they donate sperm and egg to the body banks and remain officially married. Poor Robert and Letitia. Never even met each other, as far as I know.'

Georg smiled. 'You're going to find it terribly quiet and dull after today's excitement in the Arena.'

'Not necessarily. There are times when Family gatherings can be more dangerous and loaded with traps than anything you'd find in the Arena.'

Georg shrugged. 'I keep well clear, myself. A minor son of a minor House, too small to be noticed, that's me.'

'If only they knew,' said Finlay, smiling. 'Sooner or later you're going to get tired of being civilized, and the Arena will call you back. You can't fight it; it's in the blood.'

'No,' said Georg. 'I woke up from that nightmare and found peace. I'm just hanging on here till you do, too.'

'Then you're in for a long wait,' Finlay said flatly. 'I couldn't give this up if I wanted to. It's all that keeps me sane.'

Georg raised an eyebrow. 'Given where we are, and what you do, sane is a relative term.'

And then they both looked round sharply as the door swung open behind them. Which should have been impossible. The security system on the door was supposed to be state of the art. Finlay snatched up his sword Morgana, still bloody from the angel's death, and Georg produced an energy gun from somewhere. A nun walked through the door, all billowing black robes and folded hands, with the hood pulled down low to hide her face. Finlay didn't relax, and Georg didn't lower his gun. The Sisters of Mercy were common enough in the corridors under the Arena, but even so there was no way she should have been able to get past the door. She stopped a respectful distance away, the door swung shut behind her, and for a tense moment everyone held their position. And then the nun raised her slender, aristocratic hands and pushed back her hood, and Georg and Finlay relaxed with almost explosive releases of breath. Finlay put down his sword, and Georg made his gun disappear again.

'Evangeline!' said Finlay, hurrying toward her. 'You promised you wouldn't come here again. It's too dangerous.'

'I know,' said Evangeline Shreck. 'But I couldn't stay away. I had to be with you.'

And then she was suddenly in his arms, and they were kissing with a passion that heated the small changing room like an oven. Georg looked briefly heavenward, shook his head, and moved off into the adjoining room to give them a little privacy. Left to themselves, the two lovers clung together like children lost in a storm. Finlay's heart ached in his chest, and he couldn't seem to get his breath. It was always the same when he held her in his arms; he could never really believe that someone as special as her could care for him as much as he cared for her. The Arena warmed his blood, but Evangeline burned in his heart like a pure, white-hot flame. Her familiar scent filled his head like a drug, but she was real and solid in his arms, her hands digging into his back as though she feared she might be dragged away at any moment. She was his love, his one and only love, and he would have killed for her, died for her, or anything else she might require.

And it might come to that someday, for their secret love was forbidden. He was heir to the Campbells, and she was heir to the Shrecks, two Families at war for generations. The current arranged marriage that afternoon, between two minor cousins of no importance to anyone, had already almost spilled over into bloodshed a dozen times. And for the two heirs to marry: unthinkable. One House would inevitably be engulfed by the other, though not without mass slaughter on both sides. He was Campbell and she was Shreck, and they must be mortal enemies to their death, and beyond.

Except they had met by accident, both wearing masks, not knowing who the other was till it was far too late, and they had both fallen in love. It happened so quickly, but it changed their lives forever. Now they lived for what few brief meetings they could snatch in private, knowing always that were they to be discovered, it would mean shame and probably death for both of them. Some scandals simply could not be allowed.

Finlay held her in his arms and buried his face in her hair. It smelled so good. She seemed so small and vulnerable, at the mercy of great grinding forces that cared nothing for her, or love. If he could have, he would have walked away and somehow lived with the pain rather than endanger her, but he couldn't any more than she could. She was everything he ever dreamed of or hoped for, and losing her would be like tearing out his heart and throwing it away. She nestled against him like a small child, like a frightened animal, her breathing gradually slowing with his.

'You took too big a risk coming here,' he murmured finally in her ear. 'You could have been followed.'

'I wasn't.' She wouldn't look up at him. 'I used an esper to be sure. And who'd recognize me in this outfit? There are always Sisters of Mercy here, caring for the injured and the dying. No one ever remembers the face of a nun. I had to come, Finlay. I heard about the creature they set on you. I had to be sure you were safe.'

'I keep telling you, you've got nothing to worry about. I'm the best, love. It wasn't even close today.'

'You keep saying that, but anyone can have a bad day, make a wrong move. I wish…'

'I know. But I can't give it up. As much as I need you, I need this, too. It's part of what makes me me. I couldn't walk away from this and still be the man you love. Evangeline…'

'I know. It's just that I worry so much. I never thought there'd be anyone like you in my life, someone who mattered so much to me. I hate everything that comes between us.'

'Don't.' He pushed her gently away from him, so that he could look into her face. Her dark eyes held him like a fist. 'You're always with me, my love. You're always in my thoughts. I even took your middle name to christen my sword.'

'Thanks a whole lot,' said Evangeline dryly. 'Other lovers get gifts of flowers or jewelry. I get a sword named after me.'

'It's a good sword—'

'And that makes all the difference.' A cloud fell across her face, and she pushed herself away from him. 'How's your wife, Finlay?'

He blinked uncertainly. 'Fine, as far as I know. We don't see any more of each other than we have to, these days. She has her life, and I have mine, and as long as we don't actually have to meet each other, we get along great. What brought this on, love? You know I never loved her, or her me. It was an arranged marriage to consolidate a business deal. I'd divorce her in a minute if I thought there was any way you and I could be together. Why are you asking me about her now?'

'Because you and I are going to be at the wedding this afternoon. Our presence is required. But what about her; what about Adrienne? Will she be there, too?'

'Yes, she will. But knowing dear Adrienne, she'll get stuck into the booze the minute she gets there, and will quite probably be entirely potted before we even get to the ceremony. Don't worry, my love; we'll have our chance