24. Aemon
24
W e break camp in the morning and set out in silence, only speaking when it’s absolutely necessary. Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem. I usually prefer my own company to others’ anyway, but right now, that’s the last thing I want. She’s right. I’m bringing her back, expecting Troi to forgive both of us, but what if he doesn’t? I can coerce and manipulate him however I want, but in the end, he’s the one with all the power. What if he tries to torture her again? It doesn’t matter that he knows she’s innocent or even that she might be somehow useful to him. Logic doesn’t always work with him. So, what would I do then?
You’d have to kill him.
An elbow to the ribcage breaks me from my thoughts. “Will you stop huffing back there?” Katya says. “You’re getting spittle on my neck.”
I let out another huff without even thinking, and she twists around to glare at me .
I respond with a dashing smile, and she turns back around.
My thoughts return to Troi. If she can’t actually replicate whatever trick she used on Fredrick to escape—and I’m quickly beginning to believe that’s the case—he would have no reason to keep her alive. I rub my stinging eyes. How could I be so stupid? I never even considered the possibility that she tapped into something she didn’t understand, or that it could have been something else altogether and not this magical ability I’d assumed she possessed. I’ve got to work this all out. I have to have a plan for how I’m going to keep her safe when I get back to the palace.
She is bright; I do know that much, and I’m fairly certain she speaks at least a couple of languages. Maybe I can twist that to my advantage. “You never told me what that writing was in your journal?” I ask. That must have been the wrong thing to say because she goes from one moment resting her back against me, her body moving with Balor’s gait and the next, she’s gone ridged.
“Why are you asking me this now? Why does it even matter?” Her voice is calm, almost dismissive, but her body language says otherwise.
“Just curious. Maybe if you were honest with me about what you were doing, I’d be better able to help you.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“You said yourself, that it doesn’t matter? So, tell me.”
She lets out a long exhale and sags back against my chest. That’s so much better. “I’ve always had a talent for languages, and Leodin wanted me to listen around and let him know what everyone was talking about. He thought I would be unassuming enough that no one would pay any attention. So, that’s what I did—no sneaking into quarters or listening behind doors. I just listened to what was being said around me and wrote it down to tell him later.”
Interesting. “And the writing?”
“It’s an ancient form of Cardemian. Only a few people know it, and I figured anyone who glanced at it would just think it was a bunch of scribbles.”
Holy mother. “How many languages do you speak?”
“Five, if you include Cardemian. Though, nobody can actually speak it. We only have the writing.”
Gods, I knew she was intelligent, but that’s insane. “Why languages? Aren’t you witches supposed to be spending your time learning spells and whatnot?” I meant it as a joke, but the silence that follows feels very un-funny.
“I don’t have any magic.”
The words hang in the air between us. We move on in silence for a time, questions beating around my brain just screaming to be let out, but I keep quiet. She gave me a piece of herself, and I’m only going to ruin it if I push.
“Is he dead?” she asks, breaking the silence.
“Who?”
“Leodin.”
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.
She just nods like that was the answer she’d expected.
By the time we reach the inn I’d planned for us to sleep in tonight, we’re both shivering from the cold, our breath misting in front of us like puffs of smoke. It’s a shitty little place, the wood rotten and moldy and chewed up by insects, loose boards dangling from the eaves and the porch, just begging for repairs. But the lady who owns it is an excellent cook and keeps the inside clean. She also has a kid who can run a telegraph into town for me—though I’m starting to wonder if notifying Troi of our return is a good idea.
“Are you sure this isn’t going to come crashing down on our heads while we sleep?” Katya asks, staring up at the dilapidating inn.
I lead the horses toward the stable and dismount. “Not one hundred percent, but if we die, at least we’ll die warm.”
She takes this as an acceptable answer and reaches her hands out for me to help her down. I don’t think she even realizes she’s doing it, but I’m not about to complain. I grab her around the waist, and she hangs onto my shoulders as I lower her to the ground, her body sliding against mine the entire way. When her feet touch down, I don’t let go and neither does she. Our eyes lock, and it’s as if we’re caught in stasis, in a moment that goes on forever.
My body sings against hers, like they belong together, and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to lean down and press my lips to hers, so soft and plump. I’d tease the seam of her lips with my tongue, and she’d open for it to sweep inside, tasting her. I bet she tastes like honey or sunshine. My fingers flex on her hips and the spell is broken. She takes a step back and just stares at me for a moment with an expression I can’t decipher. Then she turns and goes to untie her horse from Balor, and reins in hand, steps around me to hand the mare over to a young stable hand I hadn’t even noticed was there.
I throw a few coins at the boy, and with my hand pressed to the small of her back, I lead Katya inside. It’s a simple one room joint—white paint peeling off wood walls and filled with a mishmash of wrought-iron tables that were probably pretty nice twenty years ago and a long glossy wood bar that doesn’t fit the general shittiness of the rest of the place.
We enter in awkward silence—the weight of which must be palpable because Jen, the owner, immediately stops her fussing behind the bar, plants her fists on her hips and gives us a sharp look like how dare we bring our personal shit into her inn. She slaps her hand towel down on the bar. “Come along, then. I’ve got one left.”
“Hello to you too, Jen,” I say, in a lame attempt to lighten the mood. “This is Katya.”
“Mmm-hmm,” is all she says, barely sparing Katya a glance. She grabs a set of keys and steps around the bar. “Grayson,” she shouts over her shoulder.
The boy from the stable bursts through the swinging door behind the bar like a hurricane. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Watch the bar,” she says to him. "I’ll be right back."
“Aye, aye, captain,” he replies with a salute.
Jen rolls her eyes and leads us to the stairs. “My grandson,” she says. “He’s a good boy, but a handful.”
“Where’s his mother?” Katya asks.
I grit my teeth against the tirade that is about to ensue, but Jen just gives her a thoughtful look and says, “She died a few years back. The flu.”
“I’m sorry,” Katya says.
Jen simply nods and continues up the stairs. When I asked that question the last time I was here, she about ripped my head off, but Katya asks and that’s just fine? Maybe she’s got a sweet spot for girls. Jen’s fairly young by fae standards—maybe fifty or so, and pretty. It’s obvious from her rough demeanor that the years haven’t been easy on her, but it’s the way she leans on the rail as she climbs, her knuckles white from gripping the wood that makes me wonder if there’s something more worrisome going on with her. I’ll have to ask her about it later, after we’re settled.
We follow her down the narrow hallway. Someone shouts in pleasure from behind a door as we pass and Katya jumps. She looks at me, her eyes wide in question. I just shake my head and hope she drops it because I do not want to explain that to her right now. Or ever, really.
Jen feeds the key into the lock, opens the door, and steps aside for us to enter. “You rentin’ by the hour or staying the night?” she asks.
Fuck.
A very cute little line appears between Katya’s brows. “Why would anyone rent by the hour?"
Jen’s lips spread into a wide, gapped-toothed grin. Her eyes dance with humor. “I’ve got a few that can get by with only 20 minutes, but I try to be optimistic.” She winks, and Katya’s jaw drops. Guess she just figured it out.
“The night,” Katya says in a rush, like she’s afraid Jen will get away before she can say she isn’t a prostitute.
“Got it. Well, here you go.” She stuffs the keys into Katya’s hand, and moves around her, giving me a pat on the shoulder on her way to the stairs. “You two have fun.”
Katya steps into the room tentatively, like the copious amount of bodily fluids left behind by the previous residents could jump out and attack her at any moment. “There’s only one bed,” she says, eyes scanning the tiny space. It’s the smallest room Jen rents, which is why it’s always the last to go. I don’t know that I’d even really call it a room, more like a large closet.
“There’s only one bed,” she says again, seemingly still a little dazed by her interaction with Jen.
“Yes, there is.” Only one bed is a bit of an understatement. There’s only one child-sized bed pushed up against the window with so little room between the mattress and wall on either side, you’re forced to climb over the footboard just to get in.
“Where are you going to sleep?” she asks.
“In the bed.” I’m already taking off my boots. I know I’ll have to put them back on to run downstairs for food in a minute, but lying down sounds too damn good to resist. I drop my saddlebags and coat on the floor because there is literally no other place to put them and climb my aching body onto the bed. I lie back and groan in relief as my muscles stretch and relax. All these days on that horse are starting to catch up to me.
“Aemon?”
I push up onto my elbows to find Katya still standing in the exact same spot in front of the door, staring at me. “Yes,” I say, holding the ‘e’ because it’s just too fun to mess with her.
“Where am I going to sleep?”
I pat the sliver of space next to me. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but her eyes get even bigger.
“I can’t sleep there.”
“Sure, you can.”
“No. No. No. No,” she says, shaking her head as if that’s going to do something.
“Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes,” I reply, nodding mine because I’m an asshole .
“N-no. You’ve got to sleep on the floor.” She points to the square of space between the bed and the door that’s maybe big enough for a medium-sized dog.
“I don’t think so. You’re more than welcome to sleep there if you want, but I’m just fine in the bed.”
“It would be the gentlemanly thing to do,” she says, arms folded across her chest.
I drop back onto the mattress and stretch. “Guess I’m not a gentleman, then.” Closing my eyes, I rest my head back onto my hands and relax for the first time in days. Forget dinner. I just want to sleep.
Something hard clonks me on the forehead. I sit up and rub at the lump already forming. Katya stands at the end of the bed, holding her shoe like she’s seconds away from pelting me with it. “What is with you and throwing shit?”
“Get up,” she says.
Oh, she wants to play this game, does she? “No.”
She throws the shoe, and I snatch it out of the air. “Rude.” Surprise briefly flashes across her expression before morphing right back into annoyance. “And again, no. I’m not squeezing into that tiny little space just to make you feel less insecure about the sexual feelings that might arise if you have to lie close to me. I get it. It’s tough, but you’re just going to have to power through.”
“Oh, don’t put your issues off on me. I just don’t want to get molested in the middle of the night by your wandering hands.” She illustrates her point by wiggling her fingers in the air.
“Please. We both know it’s you with the wandering hands.” I flatten my palms to my chest dramatically and raise the pitch of my voice to imitate hers. “‘Oh, Aemon, your muscles are so big.’ ”
Okay. We might be getting into dangerous territory here, but I’m not sure I can stop.
“I never said that.” She stomps her foot.
I shrug. “That’s what I heard.” It’s a total lie. She never said anything like that, but I’d like to think she thought it.
“You think you’re so special with your hair and your teeth.”
“Yes. I have hair and teeth. I wouldn’t call either special—”
Ignoring my response, she continues, her slender finger pointed at me in accusation. “But you’re lying to yourself if you think I want to have anything to do with you. You’re the one trying to touch me. Your thingy’s been poking me in the butt for two days straight .”
“It’s not a thingy, sunshine. It’s a cock. And it’s a natural reaction to having a girl’s ass rubbing up against it all day. It could happen with anyone.”
She cants her head. “Really?” Her lips curl into a smile and her eyes take on a maniacal gleam. I don’t know if I’m afraid or turned on or what, but I am most definitely in trouble.
“So, if I were to climb onto this bed.” She gets up onto the foot of the bed and crawls, CRAWLS, over to me, looking like my every dirty fantasy. And it is becoming rapidly clear that I am in way over my head here because this girl hasn’t so much as touched me and my cock is already rock hard. She comes up beside me and swings a leg over my waist, so she is straddling me, then takes one long nail and drags it down my chest.
Yep. In way the fuck over my head.
“You should probably get up before I do something you wouldn’t like.” I’m trying to keep some illusion of control here, but the truth is, there’s a knot in my throat and no amount of swallowing is pushing it down.
Katya calls my bluff. She leans over and brings her lips so they’re almost but not quite touching mine, and the top of her dress is hanging open, giving me an expansive view of cleavage. Her breath tickles my lips, and I find myself licking them, hoping to taste her.
“What are you going to do now, Mr. Muscles?”
“Just remember you asked for it.” I spear my fingers into her hair and crush my lips to hers as I flip her over, pinning her down with my weight. Her lips part and my tongue sweeps in, tasting and stroking. I angle her head, taking the kiss deeper, and she melts against me, her hands fisting my shirt like she can’t get close enough. I’m on fire, molten. I’ve never felt anything this intensely in my life. In this moment, I need her more than I need air.
She turns her head. “Aemon. Stop.”
Fuck.
Pulling away feels like someone’s grabbed me by the heart and squeezed all the blood out of it, but I do as she asks. I sit back on my heels. Her chest heaves as she fights to catch her breath, her lips are swollen from kissing, and her hair’s a mussed-up mess.
And she’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever beheld.
Gods, I’m so fucked.
I scramble off of her, practically throwing myself off the bed in my haste. She pushes up onto her elbows and watches me like I’m some curiosity at a freak show. I can’t believe I did that. She’s my prisoner, for gods’ sakes. What kind of bastard takes advantage of their prisoner like that ?
“I’m—uh.” I look away. I can’t even look her in the eye. “I’m going to get us some dinner. I’ll be right back.” Spinning on my heel, I start for the door.
“Wait,” she says, and my stomach does a nosedive into my feet. There’s this niggling hope that she’ll say not to go or that she wanted to kiss me. Gods, I feel like a twelve-year-old boy with a crush.
“Yes,” I say, glancing over my shoulder. She’s sitting up, legs crossed in front of her, that inscrutable expression on her face.
“Please don’t go too far. I really don’t want to get shocked again.”
Right, because she’s my prisoner. “I’ll be careful.”