Chapter Nineteen Simran #3
“If I had my strap to wear, you could ride me,” Vina said huskily. “I’d like that.”
“We have your hands,” said Simran.
She took Vina’s hand in her own, circling her wrists; trailing her fingers against Vina’s own. Vina’s eyes darkened. She understood.
Vina leaned back against the headboard, her hands between them as Simran straddled her.
She pinned Vina with her weight, pressing herself against the whipcord strength of Vina’s body: her breasts, paler than the rest of her, her toned arms, thighs thicker and stronger than Simran’s had ever been.
She rocked her hips, resisting the urge to close her eyes as Vina’s long, lean fingers slid inside her, filling her.
Simran moved, as Vina murmured encouragements; leaned forward and kissed Vina again. They moved, rocking together, slick skin and rising hunger. Then Simran said, “More.” And Vina made a wrenching noise, deep.
Vina withdrew, then rolled Simran onto her back. Simran moved with her, hooking her legs around Vina, welcoming her in. Vina made a sound of approval. Her eyes were almost black with pleasure as she filled Simran again.
When Simran came this time it rolled through her, a wave that lifted her with pleasure, then let her fall.
“Let me—touch you,” Simran gasped.
“You are touching me.”
“Come here,” whispered Simran. “Come—here.”
She guided Vina up the bed, to straddle her, thighs around Simran’s head.
Simran raised her head, and pressed her mouth between Vina’s thighs, where she was hot and wet with wanting.
Simran allowed herself the luxury of closing her eyes again—of feeling and tasting nothing but Vina, and listening to her breaths as they grew steadily more ragged, frayed velvet.
She only opened her eyes at the end, as Vina gave a cry and tipped her head back, her body all taut lines, her hips pressing Simran down to the bed, pinning her, using her.
Later they bathed and Simran laid Vina out at the water’s edge, tasting her, luxuriating in her one last time—mouth between her legs, the cold of the water a sharp contrast to the heat of Vina, the silk of her skin.
Then they wrapped themselves up in old clothes, taken from the bedroom, and returned to the bed, which looked a little worse for wear. They tried to neaten it, then gave up, collapsing on its surface with breathless laughs.
“That wasn’t bad at all, was it?” Vina said.
Simran slapped her arm, more playful than stinging. “You know it was better than ‘not bad at all.’”
“I do, I do.” Vina’s grin faded as she looked at Simran, melting into something smaller, sweeter.
Simran’s chest ached in response. Old disquiet was threatening to rise again, breaking through the small sanctuary they’d carved out.
“What is it?” Vina asked, soft.
“Isadora told me once her knight knew we both weren’t fit for the world. That we were broken. That the only good thing we could do for the Isle is die.” Simran’s gaze was searching. “That isn’t how you feel, is it?”
“I’d rather break the world to fit you,” said Vina.
“What about to fit you?”
“What about me?” Vina looked genuinely uninterested in the question of what the world owed her. No surprise there. “How can the world be any good if it doesn’t give you a soft place to land?”
“Don’t be sweet to me,” Simran whispered. “I can’t stand it.”
Simran rolled onto her back. Above her, the ceiling was a dome, painted with faint white stars, faded from years of neglect.
“We’re still alone here,” she said, shivering a little as the cold air touched her bare shoulders. “The pale assassin said he’d come. He hasn’t.”
“He’ll get a shock if he finds us now,” Vina said. Despite herself, Simran laughed. The mood lightened again.
“What would you have done if you hadn’t been an incarnate?” Vina asked.
“Why even think of it?”
“Go on, Simran. Humor me.”
“I like to think I’ve built the life I would have chosen,” said Simran. “But I’d be—I don’t know. Maybe a cunning woman, though I’ve got little patience for their gentle magic. I’d like to think I’d still be an illegal scribe, stealing limni ink from unwary knights. And you?”
“I have no idea,” Vina said, cheerfully enough. “But I’m glad that I’m here now, with you.” A pause, then she said, “Are you happy, Simran?”
Simran turned her head to look at her.
You shouldn’t care only about other people, Simran wanted to say. You should care about yourself. Why can’t you care about yourself, Vina?
But Vina was lying there, bare-chested, loose-limbed. Her smile wasn’t the fixed thing she used as a shield; it was lopsided, her eyes crinkled with joy. She looked like she didn’t have a care in the world.
Simran placed a hand over Vina’s own. She felt like she was holding the world in her palm.
“Yes,” Simran said softly. “I’m happy.”
She woke in the dark, and knew he’d arrived. There was no evidence of it. Just the knowing in her heart.
She dressed and left the room. The broken garden was the closest, and she would have passed it, if she hadn’t seen a shadow move—and then heard a voice call her name.
“Simran.”
She stopped dead. There, among the broken pots, the lacework of dried thorns, stood Hari.
Her heart stuttered, losing a beat. Hari’s eyes were wet, his mouth shaped into a trembling smile.
“Sim,” he said. “I’m here. God, you’re here.”
She didn’t care if this was a trap. She ran into the room and gripped his shoulders, then his face, then his arms—reassuring herself he was real, that he was unhurt.
He felt broader than he had when she’d last seen him, like he’d had a proper meal or two.
There were no visible wounds on him, and his skin was sun-darkened, a deeper brown.
But she was trembling still, so relieved she could have flown, she felt sure of it.
“I’m fine,” said Hari, crushing her tight. “I’m safe.”
“Did he hurt you?” Her voice was savage. “I’m going to fucking kill him, Hari, I swear it.”
“He didn’t hurt me,” Hari assured her. “I’ve got to admit, Sim, I was fucking terrified but he was—he was decent to me, for a murderous kidnapper. He…” Something flickered across Hari’s face—an emotion she couldn’t read. “He was all right.”
“That doesn’t really put my mind at ease.”
“He was decent,” Hari affirmed. There was a conflicted twist to his mouth; something tucked in his eyes. His grip on her was still firm, like he was afraid to let her go. “It’s you he’s after. I don’t get why, but it’s the truth.”
“He told me he’d kill you if I didn’t come here and find him.”
“He told me he’s trying to save you from being an incarnate,” said Hari.
“I told him if he kills you I’d kill him myself.
He said I’d have to learn how to use a knife properly before I tried to kill anyone.
” Hari shook his head. “He—it doesn’t matter.
I’m alive. I’m safe. I wasn’t even as afraid as I should have been.
But he is here, Sim, and however decent he was to me, I’m not trusting him with you.
You should leave now, while you still can. ”
Simran almost agreed. She and Hari and Vina—they could leave now, run to the woods. There were spells Simran could carve to hide Hari, at least. She could get him to Lydia, and once he was there, she’d know he was safe. That would be enough.
But something about this wasn’t right.
“He let you leave his side?”
Hari nodded.
Simran thought of the boy—the man—she’d seen in her chalice-fall into her own past. She thought of the man who’d deceived her and entered her home. She took Hari’s hands in her own and lowered his arms. She rolled up his right sleeve, then his left. He let her, frowning but silent.
There was a mark on his left arm, hidden out of his line of sight at the back bend of his elbow. He probably hadn’t even noticed. It was not burned or inked in—it was a dye, carefully made from berries, sung over under a full moon, traced into the shape of a hook.
She hissed under her breath. The pale assassin really had been raised by a witch, once.
“What? What’s wrong?” Hari asked, sounding alarmed.
“He’s tethered you,” said Simran. “It’s an old magic—crude.
It doesn’t hold long without being reapplied.
But if you leave he’ll draw on the poison in this ink, and place you into a magical sickness.
” It probably wasn’t enough to kill Hari, but it could be.
It was certainly enough to prove that the assassin wasn’t simply going to allow Simran to leave.
“You’ll be fine,” Simran said brusquely. “Wait here.”
“Simran—”
She strode back to the bedroom, calling Vina’s name. Stopped dead.
The room was empty. Vina wasn’t in the bedroom.
Vina was gone.