Hanstau’s stomach tightened, and his heart started beating faster. He glanced at Reness, standing off to the side, but she was staring at the guard with an odd look.
“Hurry,” the guard said, ignoring Reness, gesturing at the cloth.
Hanstau reached for the bundle to find a hooded cloak, boots and the Xyian robes he’d been wearing when they had taken him.
Hanstau flushed, for the man clearly wasn’t going to turn away. So he stood, striped off his tunic and trous, more aware than ever of his soft belly. At least this one was male.
“Hanstau,” Reness spoke, in the language of the Plains. “I do not fully understand your ways.”
“How so?” he asked, pulling the trous on, grateful for the distraction.
“We have been in this tent together for some time, but you have made no move toward me, no request to share my body.”
Hanstau froze, his gaze firmly locked on the ground, heat rising on his neck. He risked a glance at the guard, who was smirking at him.
Reness took a step shifting behind the guard. “You have given indications of interest. And you have taunted me with glimpses of your nakedness, and those small white toes of yours. Yet you do not speak. Do Xyians not ask?”
“I—” Hanstau was frozen, his heart speeding up. “Reness, I—” he stammered.
The guard snorted, taking a great deal of pleasure in Hanstau’s discomfort.
Reness moved again, coming up behind the guard, and slightly to the side. “You excite my heart,” she said simply. “I wish to share our bodies. I wish to see if I can curl those precious toes of yours.”
The guard snickered.
Reness struck swiftly. With a crack, she broke the guard’s neck.
Chapter Fourteen
Joden awoke to darkness and the warmth of a woman.
He was stretched out alongside her, wrapped in blankets. His head was on her shoulder, his hand on her stomach. Her scent surrounded him, her skin warm against his.
His body felt odd, strange, aching in every muscle, with a tightness that promised cramps if he moved. His eyes felt gummy and gritty. He blinked, trying to clear them. But the effort was too much. Instead he lay still, trying to absorb the pain and trying to remember… but memory wouldn’t come.
Whoever she was, she was sleeping, her breathing soft and her heartbeat rhythmic under his ear. She cradled him in her arms. There was kindness there, a strong sense of caring.
He had no idea who she was… but then he wasn’t quite sure who he was, for that matter.
A sound came to him then, a scraping against stone.
He opened his eyes.
Winged creatures filled the stone corridor, dancing in their excitement, their saddles and harnesses bright and gleaming. Winged horses with the features of hawks, sharp beaks and claws.
Airions, he knew, and yet knew not how he knew.
Wings flashed as they moved, feathers flickering and stretching up and out. Fabulous creatures, of various colors, strong and healthy, their crests raised in their eagerness to fly. Joden marveled at the size of their claws and beaks. Both looked strong enough to cut through flesh and bone.
Their riders walked among them, talking, laughing, checking their tack and the reins, tightening buckles and chains.
The closest airion tossed its head, flared its wings, and uttered a shrill cry, clearly impatient. The sound echoed on the stone, but did not rouse the woman that slept in Joden’s arms.
“Hold there,” a woman cried, then emerged from between the beasts, laughing and smiling, wearing the leathers of a warrior. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” She pulled herself into the saddle, making an odd gesture over her lap as she settled down.
Her appearance was striking; not beautiful really, but memorable. Something teased at the back of his mind. He knew her somehow.
A male warrior mounted the creature beside her, and then all the airions were mounted. The woman was clearly in charge. All looked to her for command.
“Fly, my magi,” she called out. “Fly for Xy!”
With her shout, the great creatures surged toward the opening, launching themselves and their riders from the edge of the stone, flying out into the great white light.
Joden jerked up, throwing off the bedding, struggling to rise. He wanted to follow, see them in flight see their wings spread in the glorious sun and—
“Joden, no!”
He staggered forward as the sun blinded him, seeing the last few launch, dip down and then rise into the sky, their flight spiraling higher, and higher. He shaded his eyes against the sun, shuffling forward, straining to see—
Warm arms wrapped around his waist. “Joden, no, stop.”
He staggered back and looked down. He was at the very edge of the stone, and below him was nothing but a sheer drop.
“Step back,” the woman urged, pulling at him.
Joden blinked again, and the sun was gone. The sky was dark, the stars blocked. Now the wide expense was filled with trees, their branches blocking the view.
Where had they gone?
The cave grew silent, with only the sound of his companion’s ragged breathing. “Come,” she urged. “Back to bed.”
Joden closed his eyes, and shivered in pain. His muscles cramped and every joint ached as he shuffled back, letting himself be pulled down to the bedroll and covered up. He was grateful for the warmth and the comfort. Sleep tugged at him as he curled under the bedding. He could rest for a bit longer, slip back into sleep. The edge of it crept over him—
“Scared the life from me,” she said, although through half-closed eyes he could see her smile. She scolded as if she knew him, or he knew her.
Did he?
She kept calling him ‘Joden’ as she stoked up the small fire, feeding it bits of wood from a nearby pile. It felt like that might be his name, but it was like fog settling on grass, with the tips of the blades hovering above wispy clouds of mist.
She was lovely as she worked, her breasts taut, her skin glowing in the light. She was brown of hair and eyes, with skin paler than his own. Her right arm carried the tribal tattoos of her bloodline, her left arm was unmarked. Which meant, which meant…
He could not remember.
Joden buried his face in the blankets, to hide his confusion. He breathed, taking in the scents of their bodies.
“We’ll get some more sleep,” she said, her voice soft and so achingly familiar. “Dawn is still a few hours away,” she glanced out over the edge, her face puckered with worry. “I’ll have to gather more wood and hunt again.”
Joden frowned.
She caught his look. “Joden?” she seemed amused and yet there was caring there. “You usually rouse, and then fade back to sleep before my next breath.”
Joden pulled the blanket away from his mouth. “Who are you?” he asked.
Except the words didn’t come. “Wh-wh-wh-” The word ‘who’ caught in his throat like a bone.
“Joden,” the woman inched forward, reaching out.
Joden heaved a breath, and then another. Memory returned. He was Joden of the Hawk, Warrior of the Plains, hope-to-be-Singer—
—the old paths.
Flashes of images, of the snows, of visions, all of it flooded into his mind, stampeding over him. The shock of it brought him upright with a jerk, spilling the blankets aside, the cold air hitting him like a blow.
“Wh-wh-wh—” His throat cramped as he strained, his eyes wide with the terror that seized his heart. Pain washed over him, in every fiber and muscle in his body, fueled by his panic.
Where were his words?
A sense of relief washed over Amyu when she saw the sense in Joden’s eyes.
Until he spoke.
“Wh-wh-wh—” Joden’s face distorted, the muscles in his neck taut. It hurt to see, and yet he still struggled to speak.
“Joden,” she moved closer, afraid that—
“Wh-wh-wh—” Every muscle stiffened, his eyes screwed shut with the effort. With a gasp, his head snapped back, and he collapsed into convulsions.