The Blackwind forced herself to shrug as though it mattered little to her although
she was raging inside, wanting something she knew she’d never possess but coveting it
anyway.
“Do we have an understanding, Amazeen?” he pressed.
“We do, Reaper,” Penthe replied. She got to her feet. “Now tell me more of this
place you call the Citadel and the Shadowlords who rule it.”
* * * * *
Cornelia joined them on the back porch after she had finished the last of the
cleaning in the kitchen. Lea had helped her with supper and offered to wash the dishes
but the older woman had shaken her head.
“Don’t leave him out there with that woman warrior,” Cornelia had said. “I don’t
trust that woman any farther than I can see her.”
Sitting in the swing with his lady, Bevyn had his left arm stretched out along the
back of the swing, one bare foot braced on the seat as he idly pushed at the floor with
his other.
“I’ve never seen a man what likes to go barefoot as much as you,” Cornelia said as
she sat down in her rocker and lit the only pipe she enjoyed after a hard day’s work.
“Why is that, milord?”
Penthe sat in the other rocker, though the chair was motionless beneath her. She
frowned when the black woman lit the pipe. “Such things are not good for your lungs,”
she commented.
“Ain’t good for me, I know,” Cornelia said, taking a deep draw on the tobacco, “but
it’s good to me, girl.” She turned back to Bevyn. “You gonna tell me why you don’t like
to keep your boots on, son?”
Bevyn’s right hand was sliding up and down the swing’s chain. “I guess because
one of the punishments I had as a novice was to have my feet bound so I couldn’t walk.
I hated it because I was forced to crawl on my knees—which was the whole purpose of
a punishment meant to humble the wrongdoer.”
101
Charlotte Boyett-Compo
“Did it hurt?” Lea asked. She had her right hand resting on his thigh and was
enjoying the feel of the hard muscles bunching as he pushed the swing.
“Aye, it hurt,” Bevyn said. “Most of the time now I can’t even stand to have on
socks because of it.”
“When I was a novitiate in the Order of the Blackwinds, one of the rites of initiation
was to have the bottoms of your bare feet struck with bamboo rods until they bled,”
Penthe said.
“The purpose being…?” Cornelia asked as she puffed away, clouds of fragrant
smoke billowing above her.
“It was threefold actually,” Penthe said. “The first was to see how much pain a
novitiate could take before showing it. The second was to see how well she handled that
pain and the third was to remind you to be very careful where you tread.” She
scratched her cheek. “If the novitiate cried out, if one tear fell, she was cast out of the
Order in disgrace.”
“I take it you didn’t cry,” Lea said.
“I never cry, wench,” Penthe said with a snort.
A cool breeze shot through the porch a moment before lightning streaked across the
night sky followed a few seconds later by a low rumble of thunder.
“Well now, that’s a right beautiful sound and we sure do need rain something
fierce,” Cornelia said. “Can’t work on your roof in the rain though.”
“No, I suppose we can’t” Bevyn replied. “I was hoping to get a lot done before we
have to leave.”
“When is it we’ll be going to the Citadel?” Penthe asked.
Lea pursed her lips. She was very unhappy with the tall woman accompanying
them—and for more reasons than having to share her unwanted companionship.
Hearing the woman using the word we just made Lea that much angrier.
“Three days,” Bevyn answered. “I’d hoped to have the house framed before I left so
Nate and his crew could have it finished inside before we got back.”
“How long you reckon on being gone?” Cornelia asked.
“At least two weeks,” Bevyn said. “Maybe longer.”
“I may stay there,” Penthe suggested.
“With any luck at all you will,” Lea mumbled under her breath.
Bevyn heard his lady and nudged her with his thigh. When she glanced at him, he
winked at her.
“How many Reapers are there at that place?” Cornelia asked.
“There are seven of us but the only one who pretty much uses the Citadel as his
base is our Prime—Arawn Gehdrin,” Bevyn answered. “The others are out in their
territories much of the time. We’re only called in for important matters or to be
punished.”
102
Her Reaper’s Arms
“Is that why you are going there?” Penthe asked. “To have your hands slapped for
something you did wrong, Reaper?”
“That’s none of your business,” Lea snapped.
Penthe grinned. “Never mind, Reaper. I have my answer.”
Bevyn was tired and his body was aching from all the climbing about the rafters.
He leaned against Lea and told her he would be sleeping in the stable that night.
“What are you talking about?” Lea gasped. “Why would you be sleeping in the
stable when you have a perfectly good room here?”
“Penthe needs a room, Lea,” Cornelia said, “so your man offered his. He’s taking
himself to the stable.”
“I don’t need a room,” Penthe said. “The stable would be just as good for me.”
“Aye, but I called it first,” Bevyn said. “And since Miss Cornelia won’t let us
cohabit in her house…”
“I’ll be sleeping with you in the stable,” Lea stated.
Cornelia nodded as though she’d expected as much. “Best take you some bedding
along, son,” she advised.
Grumbling to herself, Lea got up and stomped into the house.
“Sure wish you two would get hitched,” Cornelia said. “Then there wouldn’t be no
call for any of this.”
“You’re not Joined, Reaper?” Penthe inquired.
“She doesn’t want it,” Bevyn said as he got up and went into the house.
Penthe set her chair to rocking. “Now why do you suppose that is?” she asked.
“Don’t reckon it’s any of your bee’s wax,” Cornelia said with a sniff. “Best to keep
your wondering to yourself, girl.”
With a thick blanket spread over the soft mound of hay and the rain drumming
down on the tin roof overhead, the Reaper and his lady lay with their fingers entwined,
listening to the soft rumble of thunder.
“I love the rain,”
