“What you did for her…That was incredible.”
She pulled her hands from his. His nearness made it difficult to concentrate, and she needed to think. Her room was barren, all metal fixtures and golden adornments given to the jeweler in exchange for one girl. If one life was so expensive, how much would it cost to free an entire kingdom? An entire continent? “It was only one,” Rayne said, feeling petty but hoping Tierri would understand. She should be proud. She should be rejoicing for the friend she had managed to save, but all she could see were the faces of the people she’d lost and the road that lay ahead, littered with thousands of slaver's bands.
“Only one?” Tierri asked. “You shouldn't lessen Seloue's value like that. She is one, yes, but she is the first one, she is the important one. She is the beginning.”
“How do I do it?” Rayne didn't like looking up at anyone so she stood, running her hands down the front of her dress to smooth it. Reaching her hands to her head, she began to undo the pins that held her curls in submission. The tightness of her hairdo was giving her a headache. Or something was. “You told me to take small steps, but I can't afford to take a thousand small steps. I need to make a difference. I need…”
“To get rid of Edlyn,” Tierri said, his voice a whisper. “To sit on the throne of Hail. To have the power to defy your father.”
There it was again, that word. Power. He said it so casually, and maybe it was easy for someone like him, who'd had powers all his life, to throw around. He could summon fire and manipulate the ocean; defying a king would be easy for him. But what about her? Someone who had never had control over anything?
“I don't know if I can.” Admitting it to him was hard, but when she looked over at him, where he was half in light and half in shadow, she didn't see any disappointment on his face.
She was fumbling with her hair so Tierri came around behind her and began to work out the knots, his fingers deftly smoothing out the curls that had wrapped around pins. She dropped her hands and closed her eyes, letting him work as one by one, the pins fell to the floor.
“We'll do it together,” he said. “No more hotheaded assassination attempts. No more cowardly poisons. You and me. We'll figure this out.”
As her hair came loose, her headache dissipated and she became aware again of how close he was and how it made her stomach tighten in anticipation. “You and me,” she repeated.
His fingers were in her hair, then on her ears, then trailing down the curve of her neck to her shoulders and she wondered if she was dreaming, if this was just another illusion. She sighed, caught between the warmth of his body and the heat of the hearth fire, torn between opening her eyes and keeping them tightly closed so she wouldn't wake up from this dream.
His hands trailed down her back, plucking at the laces of her gown, and then landed on her hips. He lowered his mouth to her neck.
“Tell me to stop,” he told her. His warm lips grazed the sensitive skin between her neck and shoulder and she groaned without meaning to. “Tell me this is wrong and I'm just a slave and I should get my hands off of you.” Every word moved his mouth against her and instead of speaking, she reached an arm up and pulled his mouth down against her neck. His hands pressed against her stomach, pulling her even closer against him so she felt every line of his muscled torso against her back, felt the way they fit together perfectly so that no space was left between them.
He spun her around in his arms, his nose brushing hers, their lips a mere breath away from each other.
“Please,” he whispered, and she didn't know if he was asking permission or begging for mercy. Tired of doubt, tired of putting herself second, she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his. He was surprised at first but after a small hesitation, reacted by tightening his grip on her waist and lifting her from the ground as if she weighed nothing, holding her to him and opening his mouth to deepen the kiss.
It was all she knew after that—they were just lips and tongues and hands. The room fell away and took her worries with it. She had been kissed before, touched before, but never like this. With Merek, she had been playing a role. With Tierri, she was completely herself, unreserved and unrepentant. And most of all, unafraid. He had seen her at her worst, raging and angry and grieving, and he still wanted her. For someone who had felt unworthy all her life, it was exhilarating to finally feel like she belonged somewhere, even if it was just the small space inside the circle of his arms.
Her hands explored the muscles beneath his shirt, the small tendrils of loose hair at his neck, the stubble along his jaw. She leaned into him, his teeth grazing her lower lip, his breath hitching as her fingers found skin beneath his shirt, her thumbs looping around the leather weapons belt and pulling his hips against her.
He released her with a gasp, the coldness of his absence washing over her like the ocean waves. Her lips felt swollen and raw, and she brought a hand up to touch them, to feel the physical proof that he had been there.
“I want to give you something,” he said, and though he tried to hide it, she heard his breathlessness, saw the way his chest still heaved as he reached to his waist and withdrew her blade, offering it to her hilt-first.
“Someone will notice it’s missing,” Rayne said without taking it.
He bounced the blade in his hand, biting his lip and weighing his words before speaking. “I don't have a lot of control, but I take what I can. When a Knight needs to escape, I can pretend I don't see a loosened chain. When his assassin needs a knife, I can leave one in my open cabin. I meant for you to have it back, and I mean for you to use it.”
Her fingers closed around the hilt before she could say no, before she could deny any of it. Somehow, he knew everything. “I was twelve years old when I left. I just wanted to escape. I never wanted to be an assassin. I never wanted any of this.”
“And yet, here we are.” He spread his arms out to the side. His shirt was rumpled and his cheeks flushed. “Enos has a funny way of getting us exactly where we need to be.”
She may not have wanted any of this, but he was right. This was a choice that she had made and a choice that had affected everyone around her. Merek. Imeyna. Edlyn. Tierri. They were all where they were because of her. She owed it to them—and to herself—to see this through to the very end, but this time, on her own terms.
The knife slid into her belt easily. By the time she looked back up, Tierri had left the room, but his presence lingered, a spark in the air that made her think of campfires and cider and breathless nights on the deck of a ship, staring up at the endless stars.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Sibba