“I see them,” she murmured.
The guards weren’t even trying to be subtle, ambling openly in their wake. Maybe that was the point—to tell Rowena and Slay that freedom was an illusion here—and that they were constantly being watched.
As if I could ever forget.
“Let’s give them something to talk about.”
Slay backed her toward the far wall, the boundary demarcating where the undercity connected to the labyrinth leading upward. Rowena noticed that he was careful not to touch her as he propped an arm on the rock face and leaned down. From the guard’s angle, it probably looked like they were kissing. She wished she could really sell it, and then some devilish impulse took hold of her.
What’s the worst that can happen? I panic? Get scared? Been there, survived that.
She stretched up on tiptoe and touched her lips to his, hardly even a kiss, because in all honesty she didn’t know how. Kissing was usually soft and gentle, born of affection, not part of the tyrant’s program. It was strange being so close, touching only with their mouths. His was warm and dry, and his eyes widened briefly in shock, then his thick lashes slowly drifted down.
I’m supposed to close my eyes?
It was better when she did, since she no longer had an embarrassingly close view of his eyeballs, and the side of his face. For a long moment neither of them moved.
Is this all there is to it?
Rowena silently admitted to faint disappointment, but on the plus side, she wasn’t panicked. This didn’t remind her of anything she’d suffered before. As she was about to draw back, Slay parted his lips and nuzzled at hers, sending a little shiver through her.
There’s more to it.
She’d seen people kissing with open mouths, tongues in play, but he didn’t do that, just soft sips and delicate presses that made her quiver. He didn’t put his hands on her at all, and she wished he would, even if she freaked a little. To test herself, she cupped his face in her hands and leaned into him. So far, so good.
The kiss heated and he dared more, a graze of tongue on her lower lip. She gasped and drew back, not because she was scared, but she didn’t want to ruin the moment. From start to finish, it was lovely and left her craving more, exactly how this was supposed to work.
Ro smiled. “How was that?”
“I could kiss you for days,” he said, low.
The husky rumble of his voice sent another wave of pleasurable chills through her. She risked a glance over his shoulder, finding that the guards were no longer interested in their doings. She’d talked to enough people in Hallowell to be able to term this a date, though the opportunities for leisure in the undercity were few and far between. Gambling, drinking, and sex offered the most diversion, but all carried risk in some form.
“I’m pleased with myself,” she confessed. Taking a deep breath, Rowena threaded her fingers through his as she moved off, ready to continue their quest. “Is this okay?” she added, feeling strangely shy.
“Fucking fantastic.” He rubbed his thumb over her skin, such a soft touch.
Her skin prickled on her back for some reason. That often happened with Slay, nothing she’d ever experienced before. Her nipples ached in the aftermath of their kiss, and when he whispered in her ear, the top of her head tingled. Was any of that normal? She could ask Hettie, if she was willing to tolerate the kindly teasing that would accompany the answers.
The feel of his hand in hers didn’t set off her alarms either. Maybe if they moved slowly and she set the pace, eventually—
Oh, here.
Quickly she checked the area and found no one out of place. While Slay watched her back, as he’d promised, she darted into the alcove to check the next drop. Five sites later, she was starting to despair of ever locating the message that must be waiting.
I didn’t imagine the signal.
If they had changed the drop sites since she was gone, she had no hope of finding it. Can’t get disheartened.
“Let’s take a break,” Slay said at last.
Rowena shook her head. Though she was tired and her whole body hurt, she couldn’t quit until they ran out of time.
Slay appeared to read her resolve and let out a quiet sigh. “We shouldn’t miss the evening meal. Neither of us can afford to pare down further.”
“True. I’ll make you a deal. If we don’t find it soon, we’ll head back and get our rations.”
“Holding you to that,” he said.
Two more stops proved fruitless, but the next one after that, the drop near the market, had a scrap of paper hidden in it. The characters wouldn’t make sense to anyone else, as the resistance had come up with their own pictorial writing as most in the undercity couldn’t read otherwise. Keeping the code secret reduced the risk. Rowena memorized the message and then ate the scrap of paper.
“Tomorrow night at eight bells,” she whispered. Louder, she added, “This was fun, I’m so hungry. Shall we eat?”
The next night, Slay battled amorphous dread.
To make plans, the resistance had to meet. But meeting meant that someone with no loyalty might hear about the assembly and rat them out to the guards. He wasn’t clear on the details, but it seemed like that was what happened before, courtesy of that scumbag Lucan. This time, they couldn’t count on Prince Alastor saving agitators from the block.
None of these fears seemed to trouble Rowena, who was wending a circuitous path through the undercity. After making periodic checks that they weren’t being tailed, they waited a full five minutes—she counted the seconds—before dodging into a rocky outcropping. The passage was tight and narrow, seeming to have been carved by hand, and it opened to a wide space that might be a natural cavern.
“Is this where you used to meet?” he asked.
Rowena shook her head. “That would be unwise. Before, we used the comfort house, and that’s why we failed. Too many people come and go, making use of the services and facilities.”
Slay blinked. “Facilities?”
“Hot baths for those with the means to pay. Warm oil massages. It’s not just sex. I always wished I could afford to pay someone to brush my hair and listen to my complaints.”
“If you have a brush, I can handle the rest,” Slay offered, wondering if she’d let him.
In all honesty, it wasn’t like he had any skill at doing hair, but how hard could it be? Rowena offered him a gentle smile, one that kindled an answering warmth in his chest. Damn, when she looked at him like that, his sternum hurt, like his heart wanted to leave his body and fly over to her on silly cartoon wings.
“You know I don’t,” she said, running a hand through hair that had become progressively lanker the longer she stayed here.
If she was pretty under these conditions, she might drive people to madness when she was clean. His fantasies used to be much different, but now he yearned for things like running water and hot food; clothes were a different matter. After working the sewing machines, he’d never buy anything without knowing how it was made again. He did enjoy imagining Rowena clad in a pretty dress, however, because then he’d have the pleasure of stripping it off.
Settle down. This is not the time.
Quietly grateful that she couldn’t tell when he was indulging in dirty thoughts, he followed her to the back of the cavern. There was no other word for this place. Slay and Rowena were among the first to arrive. He recognized Hettie, though not the woman standing with her.