“Not quite.” Relos looked remorseful. “I’m afraid we have one more gaesh to perform first.”
He turned around and stared straight at Brother Qown.
And Brother Qown knew he hadn’t fooled Relos Var after all.
33: A FRIENDLY REUNION
Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Three days since Kihrin discovered who controlled the Gryphon Men
“Did Relos Var gaesh you, then?” Kihrin asked.
Qown shuddered. “What do you think?” Then he grimaced. “My apologies. I’m being rude. After three years of not being allowed to talk about it…”
Janel shoved her chair back and walked out of the room, toward the stable.
Qown stood. “Oh. She—”
“Did she know who Father Zajhera really was?” Kihrin stood as well.
Qown looked helpless. “No.”
Kihrin remembered how she’d spoken of Father Zajhera, how the Vishai priest had helped her recover from Xaltorath’s possession. Dorna’s words: When Janel came back to Tolamer, the father came with her …
A noise rang out. It sounded like something had just slammed into the front door. Everyone in the tavern paused.
Dorna stood. “I’d best go—”
“No.” Kihrin raised his hands to the group. “Let me.”
Not that he waited on their permission. He followed Janel.
He arrived in time to see her slam herself against the ice-trapped door. The sound of breaking ice filled the massive stone room. Chunks of the fire-hardened door split off and fell to the ground, but despite that, the giant frozen wall stood firm.
“No more games!” she screamed. “Where’s your uncle, Aeyan’arric? Tell that arrogant horse’s ass to come out and face me!”
Behind Janel, Arasgon whinnied and pawed the ground near her, angrily tossing his black mane. Whatever the fireblood said to Janel, the words fell on deaf ears.
She set both hands against the door.
It exploded into flame.
Kihrin thought Janel intended to melt her way out, but he was less certain what she thought she could do against the dragon outside.1
In any event, he couldn’t reach her with a screaming, parental fireblood standing in the way.
“Hey, Arasgon. Let me try.”
Arasgon spun to face him. Kihrin remembered … something. A flash of fire and hooves, the feeling Arasgon had blocked his path before, somewhere else. Kihrin thought the fireblood might strike out at him, but instead, Arasgon retreated toward Scandal and Talaras.
Janel’s fingers clenched around charring wood as she continued to burn her way through. “I won’t be Relos Var’s game piece! Do you hear me?”
Kihrin put his hand on Janel’s shoulder.
The fire died.
She spun around, swung at him, but she was suddenly no stronger than any woman her size and weight. Urthaenriel wouldn’t allow her magically increased strength to affect him.
Kihrin caught her wrist. “Janel,” he said, “stop. Please stop.”
Fury and tears filled Janel’s eyes. Her breath was ragged as she leaned back against the charred door, forcing a quiet sob from her throat.
“Father Zajhera used to tell me stories,” she whispered. “He’d sing me to sleep at night.”
Kihrin’s throat tightened, but he tried for lighthearted, anyway. “Wait. He can sing?”
Janel stared at him in despair. “No,” she said. “He really can’t.”2
She burst into tears.
He put his arms around her, drew her to him, and let her cry into his misha. He knew this wasn’t easy for her—crying was embarrassing, messy, a sign of stallion weakness. Kihrin was beginning to understand Jorat put the same expectations on its men that the Capital did; they just allowed some of those men to be female.
He held her as if none of that mattered, because it didn’t.
Janel made fists against his chest and sobbed with all the anger of someone betrayed by a loved one. Which is what Relos Var had almost certainly been.
After a while, the crying slowed, and Janel pulled away enough to wipe her nose and look embarrassed. She seemed seconds from excusing herself and retreating to a more private location.
Kihrin didn’t let go.
Instead, he touched her cheek. “I know what it’s like. Okay, sure, the person I trusted didn’t turn out to be Relos Var, but even so … I know how this must hurt.”
“He was grooming me.” Janel’s face twisted. “That ass…”
“He healed you after Xaltorath possessed you. I can’t hate Relos Var for that. Is Xaltorath the one who gaeshed you?”
“I don’t know—” Janel looked away. “If she was, she never exploited it.3 Anyway, Relos Var only healed me because he can’t use a broken tool.”
“His motives can go jump off a cliff. I don’t care why he did it, only that you’re here.”
They stared at each other. Then Janel walked her fingers up his misha until they reached his jaw, resting there with the lightest of touches. Kihrin wondered who’d started playing drums in the room and then realized that was his heart.
“I’d like to kiss you,” Janel whispered.
“Oh, good. I’d like that too.” He lowered his head to meet hers.
Their kiss started soft and slow and gentle, the touch of their lips against each other almost shy. That didn’t last long. He couldn’t even be sure which of them escalated, but suddenly their kiss graduated into something needful and fierce, a dance of lips and tongues that left them both gasping. She dug her fingers into his back and yanked him closer, until he felt every curve of Janel’s body pressed against him. He smelled the woodsmoke lingering in her laevos hair, heard their hearts beating in time. What had Khored called it? An immediate connection? That. A thousand times that.4
He pushed his hands up under her tunic and felt metal instead of skin. Kihrin blinked and looked down. “Are you wearing mail?”
Janel paused, embarrassed. “I want to be ready the moment Morios shows up.”
“Ah. Right. Makes sense.” Kihrin started kissing the side of her neck when several loud horse snorts interrupted them.
Janel looked over at the firebloods and rolled her eyes.
“Did they just tell us to find a room?”
“Worse. They’re critiquing.” Janel smoothed his misha over his chest. “We could always use a few straw bales in the back.” Her eyes were bloodshot from tears, but her smile told Kihrin she was serious.
Kihrin felt sure she was. As much as that idea excited him—and oh, did it excite him—he knew what this was. Another way of drowning the pain, using slick flesh and motion instead of aris and beer.
Kihrin kissed her forehead. “That sounds itchy and quick.” He whispered, “I don’t want our first time to be either of those things.”
Janel shuddered against him. The good kind of shudder. She gazed up at him with lidded eyes as her hands traced a path lower down his back. Then she pulled him flush against her again and ground her hips. Kihrin groaned and decided he could live with being used as pain relief.
But Janel pushed him away, panting. She exhaled slowly as she leaned back against the door. She didn’t seem to care that it was covered with melting ice. “Right. If you don’t want that, then we should stop.”