Putting one hand on the back of her neck and the other at her waist, he kissed her again, long and slow, since he’d been a long time between kisses and he didn’t know when he’d get back to it again.
He planted quick kisses along Rebecca’s jawline, slid her shirt from her shoulders and kissed her bare skin, raising gooseflesh. She wore a silk camisole under the shirt. He couldn’t help noticing the small rose tattooed above her left breast.
He sat back for a moment, trying to slow his breathing, to control the pounding cadence of his heart. Easy, Alister. Just because you’re eager doesn’t mean she is.
“Rebecca,” he said, resting his forehead against hers, “can we lock the door? Like I said, when I put things aside for the future, they disappear on me.”
“I know,” she said. “But I just — things are already complicated enough. I’m not taking maidenweed and I don’t know where to get any around here. And Hallie and Talia could be back any time.” As if to put the lie to the words, she reached out and untied the neck of his shirt, fumbling with the buttons, sliding her hands inside, caressing his skin. Before he knew it, she was fingering his amulet.
“This is so beautiful,” she whispered, as the piece kindled in her hand. It burned with a greenish light, seeming to make her skin translucent. “I never realized —”
“Rebecca!” Han said, pushing her hand away. “Don’t —”
Light and power exploded between them with a loud crack, leaving Han’s ears ringing and Rebecca sucking on her fingers.
“Are you all right?” Han said anxiously, taking her hand. “Did it burn you or...?”
Rebecca shook her head. “It didn’t even hurt. I —”
Feet pounded up the stairs. The door slammed open and Corporal Amon Byrne stood in the doorway, shirtless, breathing hard, sword drawn.
“Blood of the demon!” Han swore, rolling to his feet.
“Get away from her!” Byrne shouted, advancing with the sword.
Han backed away. Byrne stood between him and the door, but the window was behind him.
“R—Rebecca, are you all right?” Byrne asked, continuing to advance until he was between Han and Rebecca.
“I’m fine, Amon,” Rebecca said, looking from one to the other. “Listen, this is all just a—”
“What’s up, sir?” Three more disheveled cadets peered in at the doorway. When they saw Byrne with his sword drawn, holding Han at bay, they crammed through the doorway like pigs through a gate.
“Take Morley downstairs and stow her someplace safe,” Byrne said, never taking his eyes off Han. “And find her a shirt.”
“Commander Byrne!” Rebecca shouted, standing in her camisole as if she were the general of all the armies. “Stop it at once! Han Alister is my guest.”
Han knew next to nothing about military matters, but he had to think that cadets weren’t allowed to shout at their commanders. Let alone order them around.
Byrne looked from Han to Rebecca and back again. He looked lost for a moment, then his resolve seemed to harden. “Cadet Morley, you know that guests are not allowed in Grindell Hall after curfew. I order you to go immediately to the common room and await disciplinary action while I deal with your guest.”
Han didn’t like his chances with Corporal Byrne. “That’s all right, Corporal Commander,” he said. “No need to deal with me. Good to see you again. I was just going.”
“Han,” Rebecca said. “Wait! You don’t have to go.”
“I always say yes to the man with the sword,” Han said.
By now, his backside was pressed against the window frame. Turning, he pushed open the shutters. Gripping the top of the window frame, he swung his legs up and through the opening, praying there was a gable below. Looking down, he saw a peaked roof a story beneath him, and let go.
He landed gracelessly, twisting his ankle and skinning his palms. At least he didn’t punch clean through the roof.
“I’ll see you Thursday!” Rebecca shouted out the window. His cloak landed next to him on the tiles.
Shrugging into it, Han took off, limping, across the roof to the connecting gallery. Above him he heard the shutters slam shut.
His mind raced faster than he could travel on foot.
There was something more there than a commander’s concern for curfew or the virtue of one of his cadets. Did Byrne want it all—both Annamaya and Rebecca?
He didn’t seem the type to be so greedy. But Han didn’t know him all that well.
Could Rebecca have used Han to make Byrne jealous? If so, she was willing to go pretty far to make a point. Cynical and streetwise as he was, he couldn’t believe that.
Han laughed, shaking his head. Poor Alister. You may be a thief and a streetlord and a rogue. You may be a legend of sorts in Ragmarket, but you’re a babe in the woods among these bluebloods.
When it came down to it, even if he’d been played, he had no cause to complain. It wasn’t like Rebecca had made him any promises. It wasn’t like she’d made any claims on him, either. They’d kissed. Danced a few dances. Had a pillow fight.
He’d really enjoyed that kissing, though. Wanted more, in fact. He carried the memory of her touch on his skin. She stirred him up more than any girlie in memory.
Corporal Byrne had ruined Han’s evening, but he had a feeling he’d returned the favor. The thought cheered him.
See you Thursday! she’d said.
You don’t get what you don’t go after, he’d said.
Somewhere nearby, temple bells bonged out midnight.
He’d hoped his ankle would loosen up, but instead it seemed to stiffen as he hobbled along. That would make it difficult to outrun the provost guards if they spotted him. So he kept to the side streets and shadows as best he could.
He crossed the bridge, avoiding the guards searching out stragglers. As he wound his way toward Hampton, the back of his neck prickled, as though someone were watching him. Once, he spun around, hearing a footstep behind him. But he saw nothing and no one.
Surely Byrne wouldn’t send anyone after him to exact revenge, Han thought. Nah. Byrne was an honorable sort, full of scruples. Besides, maybe he and Rebecca were busy kissing and making up. Jealousy twanged through him.
When Han reached Mystwerk Hall, he chose not to cross the open quad, where he might be spotted, but kept close to the building, using it as cover as he threaded his way closer to Hampton. Maybe he’d go up over the roof again. He’d been through enough drama. He didn’t want to deal with any more.
Han turned down the cobbled pathway that led to the back gardens. There was a hidden corner between the buildings that offered good handholds for climbing.
Han wedged one boot into a crevice and reached high, gripping the rough stones on either side. He hoped his ankle wouldn’t give him trouble on the high road.
At that moment, someone behind him said, “Keep your hands where they are. I got a blade, and I’ll use it.”
The voice was low and rough. Whoever it was, he was smart enough not to touch Han, and so give away his position.
“What do you want?” Han asked, thinking that if idiocy were a capital crime, he might soon pay the price.
“You got a purse on you?”
Han did have a purse on him, but he didn’t want to give it up.
“Nuh-uh,” Han said. “It’s nearly end of term. I’m flat broke.”
“Liar.” A whisper of air, his ear stung, and then blood trickled down his neck. The thief had sliced his earlobe, with a blade so sharp he’d scarcely felt it.
“Your purse,” the thief repeated. “Or next I cut off your hand.” His voice shook a little, like he was nervous. He sounded young, too. That wasn’t reassuring. A nervous larcener with a sharp blade was dangersome. And Han wouldn’t be quick on his feet, with his ankle unreliable as it was.
“All right. I got a purse,” Han admitted. “You want me to fetch it out?” He didn’t plan on making any sudden moves.
“Tell me where it is,” the thief
said.
“It’s in a pouch, slid onto my belt, tucked into my breeches in front,” Han said. It was a thief’s carry, where a slide-hander or pickpocket was least likely to dive unnoticed. If the thief went fishing for it, it might provide an opening, at least.
But the larcener didn’t go for it. Han felt the whisper of steel sliding close, and his cloak slid to the ground, sliced through down the back and across the shoulders.
That was smart—getting all that fabric out of the way first. He hoped this street lifter didn’t plan on slicing his breeches off, too.
“What’s that around your neck?” the thief asked.
Han’s amulet glowed faintly, illuminating the dark corner in front of him.
“Nothing,” Han said, tilting his head down to cover it. “Just something I bought on the streets, for the festival. It lights up.”
“Looks pricy to me,” the larcener said. “Like it might be worth real money.”
“I’ll sell it to you,” Han said. “Paid a fivepenny for it, I’ll sell it for a girlie.”
You have a death wish, he thought, wishing he could suck the words back down. The clans’ great wizard champion would die sliced up by a street larcener. Abelard’s assassin would fall to a common rusher.
“Take it off and toss it back toward me,” the larcener said. “Move slow.”
“Look,” Han said. “How about I toss you my purse instead? My girlie give me this neckpiece, and she’ll skin me alive if I lose it.” If he reached into his breeches he could fetch out his own knife.
“I’ll skin you alive if you don’t give it here,” the thief said.
“All right. I’m unfastening it now. Here I go.” Han slowly lowered his arms from the wall and reached to the back of his neck, fumbling with the clasp on the chain.
He wondered how much power was left in the flashpiece; if it would distract his attacker enough so Han could chance a move on him. It had reacted to Rebecca, anyway.
“Lift the chain over your head,” the thief said. “You don’t got to unfasten it.”
How does he know that? Han thought. Unless the whole point of this shoulder-tap was to get hold of the jinxpiece. Fear snaked down between his shoulder blades.
Han lifted the chain over his head. He palmed the amulet, feeling it vibrate faintly at his touch. Not much to work with. He started to turn.
“Don’t turn ’round,” the larcener said sharply. “Just give it a toss over your shoulder.” Yes. There was something familiar about the voice.
Han tossed the amulet over his left shoulder with his right hand. As the piece flew past his ear, he kept turning, yanking his knife from his waist. As he’d expected, the larcener was momentarily distracted, his gaze following the falling star of the amulet.
Han launched himself toward the rusher, slamming his shoulder into him with all his weight behind it. The thief fell, striking his head on the stone wall. He fell flat on his face on the cobblestones, his arms stretched out in front of him, knocked out cold.
Han looked down at him. He was dressed all in black, with narrow black trowsers, black boots, and a hooded jacket that fit close to his slender body. Dressed like an assassin. So why hadn’t he just cut Han’s throat and robbed his body at his leisure?
The whole thing had gone down almost silently. Han grabbed up his amulet and dropped the chain over his head, keeping it in his hand. He stood in a half-crouch, with his knife in his other hand, expecting to see the thief’s accomplices running at him.
But a single figure detached itself from the shadows at the side of the building and came toward him.
“Keep back,” Han said, waving the knife. “Or I’ll stick you and your friend.”
“Don’t kill her,” Dancer said, stepping into the light that leaked onto the path from the street. “We need to find out why she did it and who she’s working for.”
Her? Han slumped back against the wall, his knife dangling loosely, his head spinning. This is a dream, he thought.
Dancer knelt next to the prone larcener and relieved her of her knife. He gently turned the body over.
It was Cat Tyburn.
CHAPTER THIRTY
THIS ROUGH
MAGIC
Mick and Garret took hold of Raisa’s arms, trying to tug her out of her room while Han backed toward the window. Amon advanced on him, sword extended.
“That’s all right, Corporal,” Han said. “No need to deal with me. Good to see you again. I was just going.” His gaze met Raisa’s for a long moment, his blue eyes hard and brilliant as sapphires. He turned, jerked open the shutters, and slid feetfirst through the window like an eel. Dropping his sword, Amon leaped forward, grabbing at him, but missed.
Pulling free from Mick and Garret, Raisa ran to the window and pushed in next to Amon. He seized her arm, like he thought she might jump out after Han.
She leaned out of the window in time to see Han limping across the gallery roof, away from them.
“I’ll see you Thursday!” Raisa shouted after him. She grabbed his cloak from the hook and tossed it through the window. Han scooped it up and walked on, not looking back when Amon slammed the shutters closed.
“All right,” Amon said. “He’s gone. The rest of you, out. I want to speak with Morley in private. If Abbott and Talbot come back, keep ’em downstairs.”
Mick and Garret gave Raisa sympathetic looks before they trooped out of the room. Raisa heard their boots on the stairs. Then silence.
Raisa leaned her hip on the window ledge and glared daggers at Amon Byrne. He glared thunderclouds back. Each waited for the other to begin.
Finally, Amon gave in. “Did you really ask Cuffs Alister up to your room?”
“Han,” she said.
“What?”
“He goes by Han Alister now.”
Amon rolled his eyes. “Han Alister, then.”
“What of it?” Raisa said, furious and embarrassed and frustrated, all at once.
“You know what the rules are,” Amon said. “Just because we don’t have a dorm master doesn’t mean they’re not enforced. No guests are allowed on the second and third floors. No guests at all after curfew. I promised Taim Askell that—”
“Taim Askell has nothing to do with this and you know it!” Raisa said. “If you’d found a girl hiding in Mick’s room, you’d not have driven her off with a sword.”
“If he was snuggling with a known thief and gang leader, maybe I would,” Amon said. “Especially if that thief had already abducted him at knifepoint and held him captive overnight. Especially if that thief had suddenly turned into a wizard.” He thrust his head forward like a turtle from its shell. “As a matter of fact, I’d be seriously wondering if Mick had lost his wits.”
“I know what I’m doing,” Raisa said, pulling her shirt on. “It’s not like I’ve tried to keep it a secret or anything. I told you he was here at Oden’s Ford.”
Just stop talking, Raisa thought. There’s no reason you should feel guilty.
“You said you wouldn’t pretend not to know him,” Amon said. “You didn’t tell me you were going to — to —” He waved his hand, taking in the rumpled bed. “Rai, you hardly know him. And what you do know is no recommendation.”
“I know more about him than you think,” Raisa said. “I’ve been tutoring him for months.”
“Tutoring him?” Amon raised his eyebrows. “Is that what you were doing?” He snatched up his sword and rammed it home in his scabbard like he was skewering an enemy, muttering something about tutoring.
“What was that?” Raisa said. “What did you say?”
“I said, If you were tutoring him, what was the bloody subject?”
“None of your business,” she said. “Anyway, every other night you’re crossing the river to be with Annamaya.”
“That’s different. We’re not —” Again he waved a hand at Raisa’s bed.
Raisa put her hands on her hips. “Do you even want to? You shouldn’t be marrying someone you aren’t in
love with.”
“Well, I don’t have much choice, do I?” He sat down on the edge of the hearth and put his head in his hands.
Raisa stared at him for a long moment, then went and sat next to him on the hearth. She put her hand on his knee. “I know,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“Neither of us can quit being what we are,” Amon said through his fingers. “You’re supposed to pretend that I’m your commander, but as soon as I give you an order, you turn into the princess heir. Meanwhile, the rest of the Wolves are watching. Should I blame them if they begin to think that the orders I give are optional?”
“I’m sorry,” Raisa said again, “but it doesn’t help when you evict my guests at swordpoint.”
Amon dropped his hands into his lap, fingering his wolf ring. He looked over at her, his gray eyes dark with pain. “I have no right to ask this, but—what’s between you and Alister? Is it—is it just a fling or —”
“It’s not to get back at you, if that’s what you’re asking,” Raisa snapped.
Amon’s cheeks flushed red. “I wasn’t suggesting —”
“It was tempting, but no,” Raisa said. She thought for a long moment. “I don’t know what to say. He’s brilliant, and he doesn’t let me get away with anything. I’ve learned so much from him— I think he makes me a better person.”
Amon rolled his eyes. “It sounds like he’s your priest, not your lover.”
“He’s not my lover!” Raisa retorted. “Well, not exactly.”
“Not exactly? Or not yet?”
“Amon.”
Amon rubbed his eyes wearily. “By the Lady, Raisa. I’m doing the best I can.”
“I know.” Raisa bit her lip. What could she tell him? I notice everything about him, from his flawed nose to his battle scars to his eyes as blue as an upland lake at midsummer. Sometimes I see the boy he would have been had it not been for his life in Ragmarket. He wears his pain on his face in unguarded moments; at other times, I can see just how dangerous he is. No, she couldn’t say any of that.
“I’m going to the Cadets’ Ball with him,” Raisa said. “Just so you know.”
“Rai,” Amon said, taking her hands in his. “Whatever you do, don’t fall in love with him.”