“How ‘bout you, Aduan?”
“‘Course,” Aduan said, adjusting his hat. “Though it’ll be strange enjoying a drink there.”
“Cerdyn?”
The man grunted, “Duty.”
“Right, right, you’re on guard. Dajouth, I can see you’re in.” Smiles nodded to the Roidanese. “Avena, you?”
The words shocked her. “You’re inviting me to go drinking?”
“Why not?” Smiles shrugged. “If you’re going to brain us with your binder, you should have the decency to buy us a drink.”
“I didn’t brain you,” Avena said.
“Well, think of it as a down payment for the future.” He winked at her.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You shouldn’t go, either. You’ll just make Jilly worry about you.”
“It’s only when we’re apart that my appreciation for her can grow,” he said. “I shall stumble back to her welcoming arms and the love of her embrace.”
Chapter Eighteen
Avena couldn’t sleep that night.
She could feel enemies crawling around in the dark as she lay in her bed, sheets pulled up to her chin. Virtue flooded red moonlight through her window. She glanced at the moon, studying the patterns cratering its face. Stars twinkled around it, pinpricks of pure light, the eyes of the devas who served Elohm and shepherded His moons through the sky, guiding them and protecting them from the Black around them.
The night was never truly dark because of the seven moons.
She tried to clutch onto that, but a worry grew in her. Restlessness seized her. Cerdyn guarded the compound tonight. She couldn’t trust that man to hold Ust and his followers at bay. Ōbhin had stayed behind, but Smiles had lured the rest of them off to the Plucked Rooster.
I hope Jilly boxes your ears when you get back, thought Avena.
She rose from the bed and pulled on a dressing gown, frustrated with her insomnia. She slipped out of her room and padded down to the small conservatory with its couches and large windows. She drifted to one and stared out of it. She could see the eastern side of the grounds, the dark grove that lay beyond the walls. She smiled, remembering fond walks with Chames, holding onto his arm as they wandered the paths that snaked through the peaceful trees. A clearing rested at the center with a marble bench left there years ago by someone long forgotten.
She’d kissed Chames there for the first time. It had scared her and excited her. If he’d pressed her that day, she might have surrendered her maidenhead to him earlier than she had. The lonely ache in her swelled.
She missed Chames.
Her eyes drifted down to the stables. Miguil slept above them. Wicked thoughts danced through her head. They were promised, like she’d been to Chames, so was it truly a sin to seek comfort in his arms? To be held by him? Kissed and loved by him? They would be married in a few months, their year’s wait almost up.
She quivered, knowing she shouldn’t seek out Miguil. It was better to wait. To be modest until her wedding day. She bit her lip, struggling to pry herself from the window and find her bed. She pressed her forehead against the glass, the night’s chill bleeding through.
“Don’t you do it, Avena,” she whispered to herself as memories of seeing Miguil shirtless danced in her head. His smile. His face, almost beautiful. “Don’t even think of . . .”
Her words to herself trailed off as she spotted movement. Someone had slipped out of the kitchen and moved across the grounds. Something in the way the figure scurried felt . . . furtive. The fear that had kept her from sleep tightened about her.
“Where are you going?” she asked herself. The figure passed by the stables on the way to the eastern gate, a postern in the wall that led to the grove. Her breath fogged the window before her. The spy stepped out of the stable’s shadow into moonlight.
It was Pharon.
Memories stirred in her. She’d noticed him returning from that gate the night the sneak thieves had set off the alarm. Suspicion itched at her. She saw no sign of Cerdyn. He should be patrolling the perimeter, making sure no one slipped in. Or slipped out. Pharon passed through the postern and headed for the grove.
The perfect spot for a meeting.
Fear squeezed at her heart. Had Ust obtained a spy?
*
Heavy pounding dragged Ōbhin out of sleep.
He bolted upright and rolled out of bed in his long, cotton shirt. It fell down nearly to his knees. He grasped the hilt of his resonance blade leaning in its scabbard against his nightstand. Gripping the leather-wrapped hilt in his naked hand was an alien sensation to the Qothian. He marched to the door and wrenched it open.
Avena stood there in her nightgown hastily tucked into a pair of trousers, her hair falling loose about her pale, uncovered face. The red moonlight bleeding through his window painted highlights across her face. A flush warmed his cheeks. Her naked features were young and beautiful. She showed off openly what women in Qoth hid from all save their lovers.
Realizing his naked hand was in sight, he shoved it behind his back, cheeks burning hotter. “Yes?” he asked, voice hoarse. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Pharon,” she said.
“Did something happen to him?” Ōbhin asked. He didn’t hear the alarm jewelchines resonating their piercing notes. If you knew about them, they were easy to disarm. “Is Dualayn with him?”
“No, I spotted Pharon sneaking out of the side gate.” She quivered, her nose twitching. “It’s the middle of the night, and he’s heading to the grove. It’s the perfect place to meet with someone in secret. With Ust.”
“You certain?”
“I’m certain that he snuck out. Why else would he do that?”
