Devery reached out, cupping her chin in his palm. “It’s your call, Gem. If you’re done with them, then prick the Above. Tollan Daghan’s a half-wit not to listen to you, but I’m fine. We’re fine.” He ran his thumb along her jaw, sending little bolts of lightning through her skin.
She was struck, looking into his eyes, by the overwhelming urge to take him by the hand and run as far from Yigris and the shambles of the Guild as they could get. She knew the secret bank codes in Ladia and Balkland. They could live extravagantly for the rest of their lives, without a care in the world. They could take a ship to Far Coast and beyond and never look back. Everything she loved, except Devery and the secret she carried, was already gone.
He must have seen it in her face. He snapped his fingers three times. Their old code from when they were little more than children. One snap meant “run,” two meant “I’ve got your backside” and three meant “have patience.”
Tied up in that memory was Elam—the third in their triad. She couldn’t leave Elam any more than she could leave Devery. “Prick me,” she growled.
He caressed her cheek as he swooped in for a quick kiss. “I tried, darling. But you were too busy. And now, in the middle of a goddess-damned revolution, it doesn’t quite seem the time.”
She kissed him again. “I should have listened to you, then,” she said, languidly pressing herself against him. “You couldn’t have warned me that the Void was about to break loose?”
Tears wet his eyes as he leaned in, this time kissing her deeply. “I love you, Gemma, and we’ve got all the time in the world,” he whispered. Then he added, “Lead the way, my queen. I always did enjoy watching you run away from me.” He patted her ass gently and that was all the prodding she needed.
CHAPTER TEN
THE STREETS
Gemma and Devery threaded their way through vacant streets. They almost always traveled through the city via the now compromised tunnels and walking beneath the stars with him made her smile. In the emptiness, Devery reached out and took her hand.
Gemma was queen now. If she wished to take an assassin as her lover, there was no one to forbid it. The very thought sent a thrill through her.
She had never planned on disobeying Melnora. It should have been simple for them to follow this one rule. And it had been simple for a long time.
Once, Gemma had even understood Melnora’s reasons. The ruler of Under must be accessible to all, and if Gemma was romantically involved with a trained murderer, she would not be approached by those who feared her displeasure. In fact, any who approached her might come to fear for their lives. There had been plenty of logical reasons against it, but logic had nothing to do with love.
And for all of Melnora’s protestations, the very bylaws that addressed the training of the future Queen of Under had complicated the situation. The bylaws made it clear that no team was to stay together for more than a period of one year, except in the case of the heir apparent—who was to be placed with a team that would serve as conscience and backbone to the future ruler of Under. In their world built on lies, Melnora had handed Gemma two people she could trust no matter what. If she hadn’t known her better, Gemma would’ve almost thought that Melnora had forbidden the relationship just to make them want it more.
She squeezed Devery’s hand, feeling the pulse in her thumb throb against his own. She was distracted in the very best way. She wanted to put her hands in his hair, to scream out to the world that she loved him. She wanted to forget all the other shit she was going to have to remember soon enough.
Desire swelled within her and Gemma stopped walking.
“What is it?” he asked.
She released his grasp on her hand and began to unbutton her shirt.
They had been lovers long enough that Gemma no longer experienced the flutter of wings in her belly at every brush of his hand. But this new public touching set her skin aflame. Despite her exhaustion, despite her grief, she felt the stirrings of heat.
They were half a mile from the edge of Yigris—in the heart of Brighthold Above—surrounded by the stately manors and lush keeps of the wealthy. From here they could barely see the fires that were decimating all the prominent offices of the Guild, though the palace lit the night with eerie shadows in the distance. There was not a soul to be seen.
She slipped out of her oversize bloodstained shirt and started to unlace her breeches. Then she crooked her finger, beckoning him closer.
“Gem, I …” he began, but she pounced on him, ravaging his lips with her own as her fingers began to work on his shirt buttons.
“Is this all right with you?” she asked. She leaned away and offered him the chance to stop her. She would have expected nothing less from him.
He smiled shyly. “You just surprised me, is all. Of course it’s all right. Goddess, you are beautiful.” He admired her as she basked in the lantern light. “What if someone sees?”
She looked around at the silent sleeping city. Here, she could almost believe they were the only two people in the world. She imagined a life where she and Devery could be together, could talk or touch or kiss whenever they wanted to. Just the two of them, disentangled from all the concerns of Yigris and the Shadow Guild. And then a thought tickled at the back of her mind, and she grinned. It wouldn’t be just the two of them for much longer.
“There’s no one to see. Maybe the mages have killed everyone. Maybe they’ve put them all to sleep for a hundred years. Maybe you and I’ve been swept away to the land of the dead and we await judgment from the goddess. I don’t care anymore. I want to lie down on this grass,” she pointed at the manicured garden in front of the adjacent manor. “I want to make love until the sun comes up. I don’t want to think about my duty or what is happening over there.” She waved toward Shadowtown. “I just want you.”
She slipped out of her boots and stepped the rest of the way out of her breeches, then unbuckled her knife belt and pouch. She ran a hand through her hair. Then she walked to the grass, and lay down on her side, propping her head on her hand.
“I love you, Gemma,” Devery whispered as he moved toward her. His shirt blew open in the breeze, exposing the line of soft, dark hairs that ran down his belly.
She patted the ground in front of her, biting her lip. “I love you,” she whispered, as he sank onto the grass, flat on his back, his hands behind his head and his legs spread out.
She laughed at his pose. “Too many clothes,” she murmured.
Together they unburdened him of his wardrobe. His pale skin glowed in the lantern light. Each time his fingers brushed against her, she squirmed at the overwhelming sensuality of unrestricted caresses. Despite her grief and the losses she felt so keenly, she felt vividly alive.
They explored one another as if they’d never touched before. She pulled at his hair, dug fingertips into his back. The gardenia blooms nearby scented the air. Their laughter and groans of pleasure sounded like murmured prayers.
His mouth pressed against hers then suckled at her breasts and later, between her legs. She bucked against him, her thighs wrapped tightly around his shoulders as he lapped at her. Her fingers tore at the pristine grass as moans of ecstasy escaped her mouth until a sun exploded deep within her. She shuddered beneath him, and when he looked up at her, his eyes were hungry and dark.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SHADOWTOWN
Tollan and Wince were lost.
One would think that a king would know his own city—but there were sections of Yigris that a king wouldn’t be caught dead in. Or rather, if he were to be caught there, he’d probably end up dead.
“Any idea which way?” Wince asked as he stopped the cart at a narrow intersection. The street lanterns here were more widely spaced than any area that Tollan was familiar with—and there were empty, forbidding zones between the puddles of dull light that they provided. The streets remained deserted—even the public houses and inns were locked up tight.