“Home,” she repeated. “Where is Chalois? I’ve never heard of it.”
Her words seemed to disappoint him, judging by the way his forehead crinkled. “An island. Far from this place. A beautiful island where men are not kept in cages unless they deserve to be there for committing crimes. I come from a place where there is order, not chaos like Bisura.”
She didn’t fully understand what he meant. To her, Bisura had order. There were guilds, tradesfolk, and the brothels. The castes were of the rich, the mid-class workers, and those born into or forced into slavery. But a place where men only stayed behind bars for committing crimes?
“Tell me more about Chalois…when I return in the morning. In truth, she was hungry for news of what lay in the outside world, not that she could ever leave, but it was nice to wonder, to dream.
“For a kiss I will tell you how I came to be here.” He grinned sideways.
Hessa leaned toward him once more, intrigued. “A deal then.”
His smile vanished, and his expression turned serious. Gunnar offered his mouth to her. She closed her eyes, worried that she would not do it right. Their lips touched, hot, soft, tender. It was not like the way the brothel women kissed. It was not like anything she had ever seen or experienced. Something about his closeness mesmerized her, as if he were made of dreams and magic. The kiss went on for some time-lips pressed to lips- and she hoped the other men could not see what she was doing.
When he pulled away, she whispered, “At dawn tomorrow you will tell me your story.”
“Come
She nodded then turned to leave. It was a strange encounter to say the least. As Hessa ascended the stairs out of the darkness, her mind raced. She had just kissed a man she felt attracted to. It wasn’t a kiss forced on her by some drunkard in the lounge by the pits where she often worked. It meant something, even if it was for the price of a story.
Hessa took her empty bags back to the kitchens. She tried to keep her thoughts on task, because there were still more chores to be done. Beds in the brothel needed to be turned down and the linens changed; privies needed to be freshened. But all the while as she went about her menial tasks, all she could think of was Gunnar’s fingers on her arm, or on her mouth. He looked like he could crush her if he wanted to, but his touch had been gentle.
When she finished her duties, it was well past the joining of the triple moons. Hessa trudged to the barracks where she slept at night. She washed her body with soap, tepid water, and a cloth, then crawled into her small cot and pulled the single blanket over her body. Sleep didn’t claim her as it usually did, despite how tired she felt. Instead, she lay awake staring up at the ceiling. Her fingers ran across her lips, back and forth, as Gunnar had done. She imagined he was with her in the small room, and that his large body crushed down atop her. She sighed, content in her fantasies.
Waking dreams like this were futile. When the women were sent to Gunnar’s cell, he would take them. All men did. She had seen enough of them go through the cells to know. Some were violent. Some were not. But all of them took that offering. His soft touch was probably all a facade to gain her trust.
She grazed her fingertips across her cheek, then down the side of her neck until her hand dipped beneath the blanket. Although she knew she should not want to be one of the brothel women, she wanted to be one, if only to be placed in Gunnar’s cell for a night-a single night to be taken by him, or touched in the way he had caressed her. She turned to her side and closed her eyes, trying to sleep.
Outside the small window of her allotted room, the wind picked up, tapping a branch in the glass. She thought the sound was like a tiny heart beat, a rhythm steady and slow, and she soon fell into dreams. They were not the usual nightmares she suffered of her masters beating her when she didn’t work fast enough, or the large, black bugs that hid in the privy. This night she dreamed of Gunnar’s body, of setting her fingers in the bindings of his loincloth and untying the fabric. Her night vision had her pressed nude against his warm body, held close by his strong arms. She knew what he was-a warrior, a protector. And if anyone needed such a man, it was her.
Chapter Two
Well before dawn, Hessa opened her eyes and groaned. She didn’t want to slip from the heated blanket. In its embrace she imagined she was still in her dream, safe, loved, precious to someone. But rise she did. She washed the sleep from her eyes and pulled on fresh clothes-a simple dress of unbleached cloth, and underbreeches. She slipped on her leather shoes. In the cracked looking glass she examined the scars on the side of her face as she combed through her black hair. Her skin was darker than most from spending midday in the sun, raking up the animal dung behind the pits. Her teeth were bright and white when she smiled. Hessa tied off the braid in her hair and took a deep breath, hopeful at what this morning would bring.
She went to the kitchen stores to fill her bags of food for the prisoners. The cooks were busy preparing for the day’s festivities to feed the crowd that always came to watch the fights. Men against men, men against monsters, it was whatever appeased the bloodthirsty populace of Bisura, and already being murderers, that task proved a daily challenge.
The sun rested just beyond the horizon when she stepped into the hall of cells. She passed out her food and hurried down into the darkness. All of the men there were still asleep-save one. Her warrior rose from his pallet and came to stand at the bars to greet her.
“Hessa,” he whispered, a smile parting his lips. He reached out his hand to her, and she set the bread in his palm. His other hand shot through the bars to cup her cheek. “Did you dream last night?”
She nodded.
“Of me?” he asked, his voice devilish.
She blushed and pulled out the cheese. He took that as well and set both provisions on the small table in his cell. When he returned to her, Gunnar reached through the bars that parted them and threaded the fingers of his left hand with hers. Heat spread through her from his touch, radiating in her body, and waking her completely to his presence. She breathed deep and smelled his scent, warm and musky.
“I will tell you how I came to this place as we agreed. I was fishing off the coast of Chalois when my ship was taken by thieves. The day was windy, and a fog had settled in. Sunlight spilled through the haze in rays.” His thumb played across the side of her hand. “I remember thinking I could take them all, that I could bludgeon them and toss them over the ship’s side into the sea.” He frowned, his eyes distant for a moment. “But I was wrong. There were so many of them. At least thirty men.”
His free hand curled around her waist. For a moment, she panicked. He could hurt her if he wanted to-even imprisoned as he was. She sucked in a tight breath. Gunnar urged her closer until her body pressed against the cell bars. His hand massaged her lower back while he kept spinning his tale. Each circle warmed her more than before.
“I fought hard and well, and I did offer many to the water goddess, but they soon overcame me, and even with my magic, I couldn’t escape.”
Hessa frowned. “Magic?”
He nodded, his eyes fixating on her mouth. “Yes, magic. Old magic. Passed down by blood from my ancestors. I’m an air singer. That’s why they came for me. Omi House pays high for magical breeders…especially those that survive the pit fighting. High enough that they seek out others of my kind no matter how far they must travel or what they must face.”
She knew what he said was true. Many a priest from the neighboring city of Shan-Sei had been stolen or at the least, seduced in the hopes of a child with magical abilities to be raised in an assassin guild. But she had never heard of an air singer.
He went on, leaving her no time to ask what he meant. “They bound my hands in slip-rope so that I couldn’t escape. I was gagged so I couldn’t sing, and they hooded my face to keep me from knowing where I was. I remember listening to the gulls calling high above, the cold, damp feel of the deck beneath me, biting into my skin. The boat tossed and turned on the waves. They fed me little, much less than you offer.” His hand moved up her spine to the back of her neck. Those hot, rough fingers of his drew patterns on her skin beneath the thick braid of her hair.
