He was back to teasing her. She bristled. “No.”
He heaved a dramatic sigh. “Ah well. There’s no joy without hope, even when it’s dashed.”
“You’re going to vex me the entire trip to the monastery, aren’t you?”
He grinned. “I hope to charm you the whole way so that you fall into my arms by the time we arrive.”
“If you still have arms by then.”
Stop it, she silently admonished herself. You’re only encouraging him with the repartee.
To her surprise, his expression turned serious again. “I wish to offer you an apology.”
That really did startle her. “For what?”
He scraped a hand down his face as if trying to find the right words. “For my clumsy humor earlier. I know I tease you, and I know it raises your hackles, but obviously I crossed into forbidden territory when we were in the corridor earlier. I didn’t mean to offend.”
They were on uncomfortable ground here, at least for her. While he provoked her in a playful way every time they crossed paths, she knew how to respond. Snarls and snaps and warning growls that only emboldened him. It was a dance where she knew the steps, a game in which she understood all the rules. This was neither of those, and she scrabbled for how to respond to his sincere regret.
“You didn’t offend, not in the way you think. That time, when we all stood among the menhirs, when noble men were stabbing each other as a last resort to save the rest of us...no humor can be found in that, not even gallows humor. As a soldier, I know what it is to take a life and have the act leave its scar, but stabbing you was different. What connects us is an awful thing, better to be forgotten than jested about.”
She clamped her lips shut after that, certain she sounded like a bumbling fool unable to string three coherent words together. But she didn’t look away from him as he stood there considering her in the punishing morning light.
His homely features softened, the blue of his eyes darkening until they were almost black. “Does it truly bother you so much?”
“Doesn’t it bother you?”
He patted his flat midriff. “Well, I get an ache now and then to remind me you have good aim and a strong arm. But otherwise, no.” He didn’t reach out to her, but he drew closer until they were nearly toe to toe. “We did what needed doing, Anhuset.” His voice was soft, mild. “You’re a seasoned fighter, a sha in the Kai military. I always assumed you, of all people, understood that what’s necessary can sometimes be brutal.”
She did understand. “This was different.”
His voice was even softer now, a caress across her forehead. “How so?”
The bailey was nearly empty, with only a minimal crowd of Kai going about the business of guard duty or clean-up as the redoubt settled down to slumber. The margrave’s retainers lingered near the gate, politely looking elsewhere as they waited for their lord to complete whatever business remained with his Kai hosts. To Anhuset, it felt as if only she and Serovek occupied the space.
“It just is,” she said. “I can’t explain it, but I accept your apology.”
She itched with the urge to spring away, far from this strangely enthralling human who annoyed and beguiled her by turns. The laugh lines that added such character to his features fanned from the corners of his eyes once more as he grinned. “I’m glad to hear it. We’ve a long journey ahead of us. I didn’t fancy sleeping with my back to a wall every time I closed my eyes.”
A betraying twitch of her mouth made her nostrils flare as she bit back an answering smile. “I only accepted your apology. I didn’t promise not to tear your arms off before we reach the monastery.”
His booming laughter made heads turn. Serovek stepped back, looped the reins across his horse’s neck and swung gracefully into the saddle. “Farewell, firefly woman,” he said from his lofty seat. “I look forward to our meeting again in a few days.”
Anhuset remained in place as he and his retainers rode through the gates and away from Saggara, watching until they disappeared in the sun’s radiance. His valediction echoed in her mind.
Firefly woman.
Chapter Three I’m not sure I’d know what to do with a hair ribbon.
Serovek watched the lone rider guide her horse up the steep path toward High Salure’s barbican. Even were he not expecting her arrival, he would have recognized her anywhere simply by her posture in the saddle—tall, confident, and graceful. She was bundled against the cold in a heavy cloak with a hood to cover her hair and shield her face and eyes from the winter sun. High boots sheathed her legs to her lower thigh, adding extra warmth to the layers of trousers and wool tunic she wore. Her cloak shifted with the horse’s motion, revealing glimpses of her hunting leathers. Her hands were bare. Gloves didn’t work well when you possessed claws at the ends of your fingers.
That Brishen’s second-in-command had volunteered to accompany him on the journey to deliver Megiddo’s body to the Jeden monastery still surprised him, but he was no less pleased for it. The last time he’d been in sha-Anhuset’s company for any length of time, they’d prepared to face a horde of ravenous demons, and she’d skewered him on the length of his own sword. He looked forward to hours less horrific and bloody spent with her and her acerbic wit.
As if she sensed his scrutiny, she raised her head. The yellow shine of her eyes glittered in the shadows of her hood as her gaze unerringly landed on him where he stood on the battlements, braced against the wind that howled down the mountainside and through the col. She lifted a hand in greeting before nudging her horse to a faster gait.
He left his frigid perch, taking the stairs that led down to the great
