Dance with the Fae

Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

‘O nce upon a time there were three brothers,’ the storyteller said. ‘Noble children of noble parents, although they were changeable as their nature dictated. They had a sister. A maid as fair and free as the birds in the sky.’

‘They always are,’ grumbled the old woman opposite Kit, and was shushed by the man at her side. She scowled at him.

‘The sister was fairer than the brothers, fairer than their mother, fairer than any maiden for a hundred miles round, as quick and bold as the salmon that darts upstream. Every man wanted her for her lively nature and her comely figure.’

‘Never have a nose like a hoof pick or tits like pebbles on a dinner slate,’ the old woman muttered.

The speaker dropped his voice to a low whisper, causing the audience to lean forwards. Entranced, Kit let his fork fall into the bowl.

The man waved his arms around, creating shadow puppets. There had to be magic in his artifice because the pictures were more real than they had any likelihood of being.

‘The maid was haughty. She knew her worth and the value of what she had. Poor men came and tried. They failed. Rich and powerful men failed, too. The maid was free in spirit and in body and intended to stay that way, until one day there appeared a man with eyes that danced like violets in a rainstorm.’

Valentine hissed sharply, drawing breath in. Kit slid his eyes sideways at the sound. Like everyone else, she was sitting forward, watching and listening.

The storyteller lifted his hands and the shadows became a box. Jewels cascaded from them in the shadows but nothing fell from his hands.

‘The merchant came not to woo the maiden but to sell his wares to her.’

There was a clattering. Kit, who had been as spellbound as anybody else, looked round. Valentine had been toying with a fork and dropped it. Her hands shook.

‘I’m tired. I’m going to bed.’

‘Wait a little longer,’ Kit urged. ‘I want to hear what happens next.’

She stood. ‘Do you really? Do you? Don’t you know this story?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Kit said, taken aback by her vehemence.

‘I do.’ She looked at the storyteller with intense hatred. ‘I know and everybody here knows, and I will not suffer to listen to it.’

Kit reached for her hand, but she snatched it back and pushed past him. She ran towards the stairs. A man with the ears of a spaniel reached out to grab her, but she spat something in a language Kit didn’t understand. The dog man laughed. Kit was halfway to his feet before Valentine had kicked the man between the legs and he doubled over, whining. The storyteller had momentarily lost his audience in the quarter of the room where Kit was sitting, as many had turned to watch the disturbance. The rest appeared not to have noticed, but the storyteller himself stood still with an unpleasant grin on his face.

‘I have offended. A thousand apologies.’ He didn’t sound remotely sorry.

The old woman sitting opposite Kit snorted, clearly thinking the same. ‘Best go comfort your lady.’

‘She’s not my lady,’ Kit said, thinking that even if she was, he’d give her time to calm down before attempting to talk to her. ‘What happens in the rest of the story?’

‘The usual.’ The old woman dipped a piece of crust in her wine then sucked at it. ‘The maiden either falls for him or falls for what he’s selling and lets herself get seduced. Too proud to pick a poor man who loves her, too prideful not to realise she’s getting herself trapped.’

Kit poured another glass of wine and sat back to listen. The story played out exactly as the old woman had predicted. The peddler showed the maiden his wares and she tried to bargain a price with him for a necklace but when she could not afford the cost he offered the exchange of a kiss from her lips. When she obliged and he gave her the necklace, he clasped it around her throat and it became a shackle, trapping her as his servant. It was rather horrible, no wonder that Valentine hadn’t wanted to listen to it. It left Kit feeling slightly tarnished having done so himself. It seemed he wasn’t the only one because there was only a smattering of applause and not as much enthusiasm as Kit’s songs or the previous tales had generated.

‘My story is done,’ said the storyteller. ‘Who goes next?’

‘Sam Cole,’ the innkeeper cried, looking around to find a means of lightening the atmosphere. ‘Give us the latest verse of yours, if you will.’

An old man sitting in an armchair in the corner of the room stood up and cleared his throat. ‘Gladly, I will oblige.’

‘Not more of this,’ the old lady groaned. ‘Bloody wedding guests and bloody shipwrecks and bloody canyons. It’s never ending. I’m off for a piddle in the compost heap. Good luck to you and your lady fair. I’m sure with bravery in your heart you will free her from her servitude.’

The old lady picked up her skirt and walked out. She had the clawed feet of a chicken and somehow this did not seem at all odd to Kit. Certainly not as odd as the fact she appeared to know about Adelaide. He mopped up the rest of the stew and ate the last few cockletails, which turned out to be some sort of flower in batter. There was half a flask of Rosy Wine left so he took it with him. As he neared the bedroom door, he heard the sounds of the trio still (or again) having sex. His stomach curled. He shouldn’t have let Valentine go off alone in such a place when she had been so upset.

The room was lit only by moonbeams slanting through the high window. They cast everything into greys and mauves but there was enough light to see Valentine’s huddled form beneath the bedspread. Kit put the wine flask on the table, planning to drink it as he sat in the chair. He moved around the room stealthily, trying not to wake her up. It was only after he’d finished brushing his teeth, changed into the night shirt and put his discarded clothes inside the chest, that he became aware of the sound of muffled sobbing. Valentine might not have been awake the whole time he had been clumping about, but she was now, and she was definitely distressed.

His heartstrings tugged.

‘I hope I didn’t wake you,’ he whispered. There was no reply, but the bundle shifted slightly.

‘I brought the rest of the wine. Would you like a glass?’

She still said nothing and the sobbing became more audible and more violent. Kit sat on the edge of the bed and cautiously patted what he hoped was Valentine’s shoulder. He wasn’t prepared for the long string of obscenities that resulted, and pulled his hand back sharply. She emerged from beneath the covers. Her hair was in disarray, sticking up all over her head, and her eyes almost glowed.

‘What do you want?’

‘I wondered why you are crying.’

‘Why do you care?’ She pulled the cover to her chin. ‘Go away and leave me to be.’

‘Leave you to cry, you mean? I’m not going to do that.’

‘Why not? You owe me no kindness,’ she said, rolling over in an eiderdown cocoon.

Kit sighed deeply. ‘I suppose I don’t, but I owe you no unkindness either. I can’t bear to see anyone cry, but if you’d rather spend your night sniffing under a blanket then don’t let me stop you.’

He fetched the flask of Rosy Wine from the table.

‘I’m still thirsty. Let’s drink this.’

She rolled over and looked at him suspiciously.

‘It’s the one we opened before, so there’s no obligation or trickery involved,’ he said.

She gave a half-smile. ‘You’re starting to learn, aren’t you.’

‘I’ve had to!’

Valentine took the flask and swigged from it then passed it to Kit. There was an extra taste of sweetness on the lip of the flask that hadn’t been there before, and he assumed it had come from her lips. He sniffed the top suspiciously.

‘What are you doing?’

He slid his eyes to her. ‘Did you put something in this? It tastes different. More floral than before.’

‘You saw me take it from your hand, put it to my lips and hand it back. When would I have put anything in it? You go from kind to insulting so quickly.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘And my kind is supposedly capricious! I didn’t put anything in it.’

‘I’m sorry I meant no offence,’ Kit said, floundering.

‘Then choose your words more carefully!’ She tugged the flask out of his hand and tilted it back. Her lips plucked at the opening. Kit couldn’t take his eyes off them, even when she lowered the flask and passed it back to him. He leaned closer to her, and caught the trace of mimosas that he had come to associate with her.

‘I think it’s your scent.’

‘It could be.’

She leaned in a little closer. Kit put his nose closer to the hollow of her collarbone and inhaled. Desire bowled him over, sending him spinning. He let out a soft growl and raised his head. Valentine was very still with an inscrutable smile on her lips.

‘Is that how you bewilder people?’ he breathed.

‘It can be. But I’m not doing it to you.’ She reached out a hand and touched his face, skimming it from his ear down to his jaw and leaving a trail of heat in its wake. ‘Not intentionally, that is.’

She smiled. Kit’s blood pounded as another spool of desire overwhelmed him. He was barely breathing. He swallowed, feeling a ray of sunshine pulsing within his chest. Valentine leaned forward and kissed him. He stiffened and she pulled back.

She sat motionless staring at him.

‘You kissed me back before.’

‘I shouldn’t have.’ Guilt wrenched him back to cold reality. ‘I have a fiancée.’

‘Yes, you do. If you’re feeling guilt, then ask yourself why.’

‘Because I’m promised to her.’ His voice sounded hollow. Almost as hollow as the feeling that it had been the only reason he could convincingly summon.

‘Even though she’s let herself be wooed by Silas!’ She tutted. ‘Besides, it’s common knowledge that what happens in a Safe House doesn’t count.’

He would never have instigated a kiss himself, but he wasn’t at all displeased when Valentine tugged his face around and pressed her lips to his.

The taste of Rosy Wine from her lips, coupled with the scent of mimosas, was dizzying. He took her face between his hands and slowly let his tongue trace the contours of her lips, exploring her parted mouth. When they had kissed before it had been full of surprise and anger, hate and mistrust simmering between them, but this was something new. She tugged at his lips with hers then bit down gently and at the same time she slid her hand up to cup the back of his head. Taking control of the pace. His pulse hammered in his ears and he got up from the bed, quickly turning away so that Valentine wouldn’t spot how very aroused he was.

‘What’s wrong?’ Valentine stretched out, throwing the eiderdown back so that one naked leg was visible.

‘Why are you trying to seduce me?’

‘What makes you think I am?’ She crossed her other leg over the one that was visible. The silk nightdress pooled around her thighs, providing scant modesty.

‘You kissed me,’ he said. ‘Wasn’t that a prelude to … to something more?’

She gave a short laugh. ‘It was only a kiss, and not even a very passionate one at that.’

It had been more passionate, by a number of degrees, than any kiss Kit had recently had. Possibly more than he’d ever shared with Adelaide.

‘Don’t play games,’ he snapped. ‘If you’re not trying to seduce me, then what did you kiss me for?’

‘Curiosity, mainly,’ Valentine said. ‘I wanted to see what you’d do.’

‘Well, now you know.’

He sniffed and she rolled her eyes.

‘What, are you offended that I didn’t say that it’s your rampant charisma or your handsome face that made you irresistible?’

‘There’s no need to taunt me.’ He put his hand to his cheek, feeling stupid. It was the first time one of her references to his face had succeeded in wounding him and he was disappointed at himself for caring.

‘I wasn’t taunting you,’ she said, shuffling so that she knelt upright.

‘Really? That’s not what it sounded like.’ He began dragging the chair in front of the door. The scraping of the feet on the wooden floor was awkwardly loud and he hoped whoever was in the room below wasn’t disturbed.

‘What are you doing?’ Valentine asked.

‘Going to sleep,’ Kit muttered, standing up and stretching out his spine to release the cricks. The swim, which had eased his tension, now felt a long time ago. He shook out the dressing gown, planning to use it as a blanket. ‘Tomorrow is going to be another long day and I’m tired.’

‘No, I mean, why there?’ Valentine asked.

‘Because it’s a damn sight comfier than the floor.’

‘But why not here? There’s room in the bed for two.’ She sat back and spread her arms wide to illustrate her point.

He faced her, crossing his arms, unsettled by the way his leg muscles had involuntarily twitched to walk in her direction. ‘After what just happened between us, do you really think that’s wise?’

He sat down, stretched his legs out and shook the dressing gown so that it billowed and settled over his legs. Ignoring Valentine, he folded his hands over his belly and closed his eyes. After a couple of minutes of silence, he heard her cough, then speak.

‘I didn’t tell you the complete truth before.’

‘You surprise me,’ he said grumpily. ‘When exactly are you referring to? I’m sure I couldn’t possibly tell which occasion you mean.’

She sighed heavily.

‘I kissed you because I’m feeling melancholy and you were being kind to me,’ she said quietly.

He opened his eyes. She was still sitting up but now her shoulders were slumped, and she’d gathered the eiderdown around herself and looked like a child hugging a soft toy for comfort.

‘The bard’s story reminded me of what I am, and it pains me to think of it. I feel cold where my heart longs to be. I want to feel some heat.’

She pressed her palm to her chest and gave him a smile that was edged with sheepishness, as if it pained her to admit it. ‘I lied, too, when I said it wasn’t passionate. It was, and it was very good. I did want more, but I won’t take it from you. Come and lie with me for the night.’

‘I really can’t do that,’ Kit said. Her honesty – and he had no doubt this was the truth – was disarming; more seductive than any kiss could have been. He understood. He longed for that closeness and companionship. ‘A kiss is one thing but anything else would be completely inappropriate.’

‘I’m not asking that of you.’ She tilted her head on one side and gave him a grave look that reminded him of a little bird. ‘I just think I’d rather not lie here alone. Please, come sleep beside me.’

She held her hands towards him, palms out in supplication and invitation. It was probably a bad idea, but Kit barely hesitated before tossing aside the dressing gown and joining her beneath the covers. The chair had proven to be less comfortable than he had anticipated, and it was that, he told himself as he lay beside her, that had been the deciding factor.

They lay rigid beside each other at first, but they both began to grow drowsy and shift around the bed. There was a brief organisation of limbs as they negotiated positions that would suit them both. Valentine curled onto her side facing away from him with her back pressed against his side. Her frame went limp, and she gave a soft snuffling snore. Kit stared into the shafts of moonlight. This was a much more sensible way to spend the night if he wanted to awake ready and prepared. Tomorrow, he’d have to face the man who had abducted Adelaide and enslaved Valentine. The man who had committed grave wrongs against the woman he had long cared about and another he believed he was starting to.

He wriggled into a more comfortable position on his side and put an arm around her, aware of the rise and fall of her body against his chest. They’d shared the dodo shelter the night before, but being in a bed was altogether more intimate and pleasant. On the cusp of sleep again, he realised there was nowhere else he would rather spend the night.

* * *

Valentine woke to find herself face down. Her leg was crooked between Kit’s and his arms were loosely around her back. Waking in a tangle of limbs in itself was not a new experience for Valentine. After all, she had courted and seduced many people and almost-people in her time at the behest of her master. He drove hard bargains when he bought and sold favours but wasn’t above throwing her into the negotiation as a sweetener, and often the price included a night in her purchaser’s bed.

One of her skills was to lock memories away in compartments where they could not hurt the owner. She’d used the trick on herself more times than she could remember after a night she’d loathed, but she didn’t feel the confusing lethargy in her limbs that accompanied a night she’d hidden away. It suggested that there was nothing she’d felt the need to obliterate, so she was fairly certain that she and Kit had not tumbled together. Somehow, that had not arisen, other than the brief and embarrassing moment he had accused her of attempting seduction.

Kit’s head lolled over and he yawned, though didn’t fully wake and Valentine closed her eyes, basking in the unaccustomed feeling of contentment. He had asked nothing of her, but had freely given comfort when he could have bargained for knowledge or favours.

He was too honourable to be true. He acted through compassion for her and the defence of his woman. It was torturous being unable to work out what she required of him and what would be the key to understanding him. In her time, she had played the part of the slut, the virgin, the wise woman, and the innocent waiting to be taught. None of the roles had ever failed but she suspected all of them would fall against Kit’s fortifications.

Her lip curled with frustration. It pecked at her head that she hadn’t yet found his weakness. No wonder she had failed to entice him when they were back in his world. She wondered if Valentin was the key but he closed himself off whenever there was any hint that he found men as attractive as he did women. How frustratingly stupid his world was!

He yawned again and stretched.

‘Good morning,’ she murmured, craning her head to look at him. She blew at the hair that had fallen across his forehead.

He leaned up on his elbow and blinked, bleary eyed, then smiled.

‘Good morning, Valentine. Somehow I thought you might have vanished in the night.’

His nightshirt was untied at the neck, and she caught a glimpse of his chest as the loose garment flopped open. Smooth and almost hairless. She’d seen it as they’d sun dried by the pond and her hand twitched as her fingers longed to stroke it. The solidity of his body was oh, so enticing, and she grew hot, aware of his proximity and calling out to taste what he might offer. She laughed to cover her discomfiture.

‘Where would I go? This bed is far too comfortable to do that. Also the company is pleasant.’

‘I agree on both accounts,’ he said. ‘This was definitely a better choice than the chair or floor. Are you happier today?’

She looked inwards. ‘Yes, actually I think I am.’

His eyes smiled and she glowed with pleasure. She rolled around to face him, leaning on her elbow as he did. He rested his hand on her arm. ‘I’m glad to hear it. I hoped I helped a little.’

The attraction between them was immense; the raw sexual need in him as potent as in anyone she had encountered, and she couldn’t believe he didn’t feel it, too. She knew how men worked. All she’d have to do was slip her hand down between their bodies, take his cock in her hands, and he’d be incapable of turning her away. Would her master even know if they swived? It might be a risk worth taking.

‘More than a little,’ she breathed, sliding her hand onto his waist in a tentative exploration of his rection. She was more disappointed than she could articulate to feel the muscles stiffen, not with desire, but with awkwardness. The time was not right. ‘We had better get ready to leave,’ she said with some reluctance.

‘Of course. Would you like to use the bathroom first?’ Kit asked.

Reluctantly, Valentine pulled herself from his arms and wandered into the dressing room. Her clothes had been neatly laundered and lay folded in the pearwood chest, smelling faintly of lavender. Kit’s clothes were there, too, with his vest and underpants on the top. She grinned at the sight of them, wondering how anyone could wear something so restrictive. She bathed in warm water, applied a creamy lotion to her skin and dressed.

‘Your turn,’ she said, coming back into the bedroom. Kit was still sitting in bed. Valentine had to resist the urge to clamber back on and straddle him. He climbed out and sauntered into the bathroom. He appeared more at ease with himself the longer he spent here and she wondered how eager to return home he would be.

He emerged shortly thereafter, dressed and with his hair slicked back. He picked up his bag and strode to the door to move the chair away. Valentine gathered her belongings and looked around to discover Kit staring at her with a hostile expression.

‘The door is locked. What have you done.’

‘Nothing. You locked it. What have you done with the key?’ she asked, scowling at the accusation in his words.

‘The key is in the lock. I’ve just tried it, but nothing happened.’ He demonstrated turning the key in both directions and lifting the latch.

‘Let me try,’ Valentine said. She turned it clockwise and anticlockwise hearing the tumbler fall in and out of place, but the door would not move. ‘The key isn’t the problem,’ she said anxiously. ‘Something is wedging the latch itself, or it’s been bolted.’

‘Who would do that and why?’ Kit said, joining her.

‘I don’t know. Somebody who doesn’t want us leaving.’

They stared at each other in silence then Kit turned back to the door and hammered on it with his fist. The wood was thick and he barely made a sound. He slapped it open-palmed and spun around.

‘What are we going to do? Is this Silas’s doing?’

Valentine exhaled loudly. ‘Why would Silas lock us in a bedroom together? He doesn’t even know where we are!’

‘Then, who?’ Kit demanded.

Valentine hugged herself defensively. ‘I don’t know, but someone is trying to stop us carrying on with our journey, and that’s not in Silas’s interests. He needs us there.’

Kit had caught a lot of attention the previous night. A young, handsome human who could create pictures with his words would make a valuable asset to any number of households, though she thought better than to tell him that.

His expression changed from anger to anxiety. She inhaled deeply and the smell of something familiar caught the edge of her attention. She dropped to her knees and sniffed along the bottom of the door. Citrus and almonds. She threw herself backwards.

‘ Sour Sansevra ! Kit, cover your mouth quickly and your nose. Someone is trying to drug us.’

Even as she spoke, there was an increase of heaviness in her head from being so close to the source. Kit began to hammer on the door again, demanding to be let out.

‘Save your breath and don’t inhale it more than you have to,’ Valentine snapped. ‘This is intentional.’

‘Is it gas?’ Kit said. His face was a sickly, pale colour, except for the scarring which had not changed and now looked more prominent due to the contrast. ‘Not that. I cannot be trapped. I just can’t. There aren’t any windows. We need to get out.’

He began to pace around the room then rushed to the door and beat on it again with his fists. Valentine seized him around the waist. He wheeled around, eyes wide and panicked.

‘Kit, stop!’ She released him and held her hands up in front of her. ‘We’ll find a way! It’s not a gas but a soporific plant. When the leaves are burned, the smoke causes unconsciousness.’

‘The same effect, though.’ He closed his eyes and she feared he might pass out, but he shook himself from the stupor, ran to the bathroom and returned with the towels. ‘Pull down the curtains from the bed,’ he instructed, as he began wedging the towels at the bottom of the door.

Valentine obeyed, dragging the eiderdown, too. Kit grabbed the silk nightgown from the bed and began to rip it. ‘Put this around your face,’ he instructed. ‘It will slow the gas down.’

‘How do you know to do this?’ Valentine asked as she wound the strip around her nose and mouth.

‘From the trenches. I got caught––’ He stopped winding and put his hand to his cheek. ‘How long should it take for our enemy to assume we’ll be unconscious?’

‘It’s quick to work. The cloths won’t keep it out for long, but it will buy us a little time. Perhaps ten minutes,’ Valentine said.

If the intent was to capture not kill. Half an hour would be long enough to ensure they never woke from the sleep they would fall under. She had to hope it was the former.

‘Then we’ll just have to hope whoever is out there is impatient and we’re not completely insensible when they open the door,’ Kit answered, reaching for a candlestick from the dresser and squaring himself. His eyes had taken on a dangerous glint.

Valentine marvelled at the change in him. Jeopardy appeared to bring out his best side, though he would surely deny that if she mentioned it.

‘If only the window was bigger,’ he said, glancing at the gap in the eaves.

‘Oh, Kit, you are an absolute marvel,’ Valentine exclaimed. ‘I’d forgotten all about the window.’

‘It won’t provide much fresh air,’ he said with regret.

‘No, but I can get out of it.’

He looked her up and down. ‘You’re small but not that small.’

She rested a hand on his arm, astonished that he still hadn’t realised what she could do.

‘I can be smaller. You might not want to watch this,’ she said. She took a step back, preparing to change. It would come as a shock to him, but there was no time to prepare him or explain, not while the room was filling with the Sour Sansevra smoke. ‘Do you remember when I said that I would be travelling as the crow flies to get my things? I wasn’t lying exactly.’

She spread her arms out and concentrated, feeling for her other form, letting her fingers become pin feathers. The world was sharper through the bird’s eyes, and she could read every creased line of astonishment written around Kit’s eyes. He pointed at her dumbly, mouth opening and closing beneath the wound silk. She hoped there would be the opportunity for discussion later, but now she was feeling the effects of the soporific more acutely with her smaller frame. She flew clumsily up to the gap in the eaves and out into the fresh air.

Time was of the essence, she knew, but she darted higher to where the air was fresher, and as she did, she wheeled around and looked in the direction they were heading. They were so close to reaching the foothills of the mountains. Her resolve doubled and she flew down again tucking her wings and gliding into the open door of the inn.

The room was busy with travellers eating breakfast and having a drink before they set off and it was busy, so her arrival went unnoticed. The innkeeper was bustling around, talking to his guests. If only he was aware of what grave assault was being conducted beneath his roof, he would not be so cheerful.

She cooed a warning then flew up the stairs. At the top, she landed on one of the sconces that lit the corridor with a gently burning torch. A man was kneeling by her bedroom door, a long pipe in his hand as he blew the smoke into the gap between door and floor. She recognised him as the bard who had told her story the night before.

Anger seized her at his impertinence, but it was tinged with relief. This maggot was seeking not to kill, simply to drug them. Once he assumed they were both unconscious, it would be her that he carried off, not Kit. The feathers down at the band that encased her leg ruffled. She hadn’t planned what to do once she had left the room, but now she acted instinctively. She stretched her wings to their full width and flew at her would-be tormentor. Her claws were short and blunt but his hair was long and loose, so as she reached him, she dived down and grabbed hanks of it, beating her wings and screeching.

As she had hoped he would, the bard flailed trying to swat at her. She was ready for the moment he let go of the pipe and released his hair, diving down swiftly so that she could seize it. Smoke trailed along the corridor, rancid and greasy. Too late, the bard realised what she was doing and tried to catch up but she was too high. That was one problem dealt with, now to free Kit. She flew back to the stairwell, suspecting rightly that the man would give chase and thinking quickly.

Valentin would be best now, she decided. He was slightly larger and stronger and marginally less at risk of rape. By the time he rounded the corner, he had returned to his human form and grasped a torch from the wall sconce. As the bard appeared, Valentin thrust the flaming torch into the assailant’s face. He shrieked with pain and raised his hands.

‘How dare you!’ Valentin snarled. ‘Whatever else I am, I am still a Gentle of my house. You dare to raise a hand against me and the one who is under my protection! In a Safe House!’

The man dropped to his knees.

‘I was going to save you, my lady, my lord,’ he whimpered.

‘By drugging me?’ Valentin stepped back in disbelief.

‘I know the story. I told it last night for you. I would fight for your release and your hand.’

There it was: the reason for his actions. Not Valentine’s liberty but a transfer of sale from their master to him. The conditions of their release from enslavement would be a different servitude. The flaming torch had been all but extinguished, so Valentin blew it out and beat him around the head with the smouldering end.

‘You make me sick to the stomach.’

The uproar had finally been noticed. The door of the room next to Valentin’s opened and the love-making trio stuck their heads out. The landlord and a handful of his staff appeared at the top of the stairs.

‘Gentle, is there a problem?’ he asked Valentin.

Valentin retrieved the pipe from where it had fallen. ‘This knave was in the act of filling my room with Sour Sansevra smoke. He has broken all the laws of hospitality.’

The landlord’s face darkened, and with good reason. If this became general knowledge his reputation as the proprietor of a Safe House would be in tatters.

‘Then I will deal with him,’ the landlord said. ‘It’s just as well you managed to escape.’

‘Yes, I...’ Valentin’s stomach plummeted. ‘Kit!’

He ran to the door. The latch had been wedged with a thick piece of wood. He tore it free and pulled the door open. Kit had pulled the chair over to the window and was slumped beside it on the floor in an odd reproduction of the scene in the plate room. Presumably, he had been attempting to breathe in as much fresh air as possible but had been overcome and collapsed. Valentin rolled him onto his back, pulling the cloth from his face. His lips were pale and tinged with blue and his head lolled like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

‘Oh, breathe, please,’ Valentin pleaded, slapping his cheek to try to rouse him. He groaned softly, proving that he was at least alive.

‘Oh, thank Mab!’ Valentin let himself sag down a little with relief.

Kit opened his eyes, which were slightly glazed, and smiled up at him with a stupid expression on his face.

‘You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. The handsomest, too. Thank you for saving me, darling. My dear little dove.’

He reached his arms around Valentin’s neck and pulled him down into a kiss. For someone who had been close to death only moments before, Kit showed more passion than Valentin would have anticipated him capable of. He began to kiss Kit back but tasted the citrus and almonds on his tongue. This was the Sour Sansevra , at work, not Kit. He didn’t mean a word of it and would probably not even remember saying or doing it when he recovered. Even knowing that the passion was an enchantment, it took all of his to strength pull away rather than take advantage.

The room was still heavy with the scent of the smoke. Valentin stood up and tried to heave Kit to his feet but he might as well have been trying to drag a sack of rocks. Even in his male form, Kit was too heavy for Valentin, and in no state to help himself.

‘Somebody, help me!’ he called and presently one of the serving boys came in. Between them they dragged Kit downstairs and outside where they laid him on the grass. The innkeeper brought a pot of chicory tea and a mug containing a large lump of waxy honeycomb. Valentin poured the tea over the honeycomb and held it to Kit’s lips.

‘Drink this.’

He shook his head. ‘Can’t. No debts.’

‘There is no debt involved in this,’ the innkeeper said fervently. ‘Your money is no good here, either, Gentle. Any debt you might have owed is paid by what almost happened to you.’

Kit nodded, but his mouth remained a tight line, Valentin wasn’t sure he really understood.

‘If you’d have died, his Safe House would have been forfeit.’

Kit reached for the tea and gingerly sat upright to sip it. He paused and looked at Valentin.

‘I know you, I think?’ he asked suspiciously.

Valentin smiled and concentrated, slipping back into her female form. Kit gaped.

‘You were a bird,’ he mumbled. ‘And a man.’

‘I was,’ Valentine confirmed, waiting for disapproval or revulsion, but Kit gave her a lopsided smile.

‘You saved my life,’ he said.

‘I did.’

‘That’s a debt I can never repay.’ He took her hand and pressed it to his chest. The blood in Valentine’s veins turned to liquid fire and an unseen fist punched her chest. It was unnerving.

‘Gentle, what shall I do with the bard?’ asked the innkeeper. ‘He’s bound and awaiting his sentence.’

When she didn’t answer immediately the innkeeper coughed discreetly.

‘Should we send him to your family?’

Valentine looked at him sharply. ‘No!’

There was no one left to send him to that she still associated with.

‘Do what you want with him. The trespass was against you as much as against me. I’ll leave the matter in your hands.’

The innkeeper’s eyes gleamed. ‘Yes, Gentle, if you desire it. I think a couple of decades scrubbing the floors in my kitchens will be adequate.’

He bowed and went back inside.

‘Who is your family?’ Kit asked, clear interest in his voice.

She froze. ‘No one I want to speak of.’

The innkeeper’s boy had brought their bags out. She gestured to them.

‘Are you fit to walk yet?’

Kit clambered to his feet. ‘I think so.’

She regarded him thoughtfully, then strode back into the inn. The unfortunate bard was sat on the floor, his hands bound behind his back, while the innkeeper plaited leaves and raw wool into the charm that would hold him as servant.

‘You trespassed against my friend, and he deserves recompense,’ she said, kneeling down and pulling the boots from his feet. They were fine, fawn leather, looked about Kit’s size, and the bard wouldn’t be needing them any time soon. She walked back to Kit and held them out.

‘Here, I said we’d get you some better footwear.’

He didn’t take them. ‘Do they belong to the bard?’

‘Not any longer.’

He folded his arms. ‘In my world it would count as looting to take the belongings of an enemy.’

‘We’re not in your world now. Put them on and let’s go. We still have a long way ahead of us,’ she said.

She put the boots on the ground and picked up her bag, wondering what he would do. When he sat down and began to unlace his shoes, she suppressed the grin of triumph and strolled in the direction of the mountains, knowing he’d be at her side before too long.