“Open your mouth, Ghisla. I want to taste you.”
She pulled away slightly, uncertain. His sightless eyes were closed, and his voice was sweet. Pleading. And he pulled her mouth back to his.
If it had been anyone but Hod she would have grimaced. What an odd thing to say. What an odd thing to do. But it was Hod, and she obeyed, parting her lips against his.
His tongue was tentative, the way his hands had been, as though sensation was dependent upon it, and she opened her mouth wider, welcoming him in.
The humming within her became a quake, and his exploration became her own. Then the music changed, the movement changed, and their kiss took on a new tempo.
They were not so careful and not so sweet. Tasting became suckling. Suckling became plundering, and kissing was no longer enough. She wanted to be closer. She wanted to crawl inside him. She wanted to sink beneath his skin.
“I want to be inside you,” she said, panting against his mouth. “And I want you to be inside me.”
Hod’s hands and mouth stilled. A shudder moved through him, and he moved his lips to her brow.
“That is not wise, Ghisla,” he whispered.
She repeated the words in her head and realization dawned. She knew what women and men did to make children. Morgana had explained in great detail.
That is what sisters are for, Ghisla. Mother will not tell you. Father will not tell you. And Gilly and Abner do not know. At least they don’t know it from a woman’s perspective. But there is pleasure in it for you too, if you aren’t too bashful to take it, and if your husband wants to give it. If you love him, and he loves you, he’ll want to give it.
Ghisla had had no interest in imagining Peder and Morgana giving each other anything, and she’d been horrified—and a little sickened—by her sister’s descriptions. But she thought of them now, and the images drew her up short.
“I did not mean . . . I did not mean that,” she stammered, mortified. She’d only wanted to be closer. To get as close to him as she possibly could.
“I do not want that,” she insisted, twisting his jerkin in her hands.
For a moment they simply listened to each other breathe, his lips on her forehead, her hands over his heart.
Maybe she did want that. Maybe that was exactly what she wanted.
There was nothing and no one to stop them. The world was sleeping, and at present, they were the only two people in it. They had only each other, and their time would soon end. The thought made Ghisla ache, and she reached for him, desperate. For a moment, his kiss matched her own. His hands and mouth clung, frantic and frenetic, but then he lifted her from his lap, pushed himself away, and stood.
“Hod?” she whispered.
He extended his hand to help her stand, and she took it, wanting only to touch him again, but he released her as soon as he felt her rise.
“You have been the light in my world from the moment I heard you singing,” he said, and his voice was bleak again, back to where they started. “And I want nothing more than to be with you. In whatever way I can. But you are a daughter of the temple. What do you think would happen if we were discovered?”
“I don’t know.” But she did. He would be flogged or put in the stocks . . . or worse. An image of Bilge and the other men swinging from the gates rose in her mind.
“We will not be discovered,” she said, refusing to entertain the idea. “That will not happen.”
“No. That will not happen,” he whispered, and she heard the words he did not say. He stepped back, and she stared up into his unseeing eyes. The moonlight made them glimmer like glass, like the fourteen stars that shined brighter than the rest. And like the stars, she could not reach him.
“Will I see you again?” she asked, knowing their time had, once again, come to an end. He turned his palm and she pressed hers into it. The work-rough ridges of his hand scraped against hers, and emotion tickled her nose.
“Yes. Tomorrow. But I am always right here.” He ran his thumb over the rune on her hand and then tugged her close. He embraced her quickly, fiercely, and melded back into the shadows. She closed her eyes, unable to watch him go, but he left silently, and she heard nothing but her own longing.
She traveled back through the tunnel, but when she neared the opening in the sanctum, there were voices on the other side, and she froze, fearing that they were looking for her again. She listened, trying to determine who occupied the sanctum at such an hour. A metal grate in the stone door allowed her a narrow view of the room beyond.
Master Ivo and Keeper Dagmar were deep in conversation, and neither of them mentioned her name. They were not looking for her—or anyone—and she wilted against the wall, prepared to wait them out, but when she heard the Highest Keeper’s query, she straightened once again.
“Do you remember the woman with the blind child, Dagmar?” Ivo asked.
Ivo sat in his throne, his back to the opening in the wall, but Dagmar faced him, and she could see the frown that furrowed his brow.
“I do not.”
“You let her into the sanctum. You should remember,” Ivo grumbled.
Dagmar shook his head.
“It was during the Tournament of the King, only months after Bayr was born. You were distracted.” Ivo waved his hand like it was yesterday. “The child’s eyes were cloudy. No irises. He was just a little boy. Three or four years old. Old enough to talk.”
Dagmar’s face cleared in remembrance. “I do remember. I found the woman sleeping against the garden wall. She was sick and asked for a blessing.”
“A blessing for her son,” Ivo corrected, his voice dry.
“Yes . . . well.”
“I could not fix his eyes. But you knew that. That boy . . . is now a man. He is the blind archer they call Hod.”
“No!” Dagmar marveled. “I met him just today. He was extraordinary. The talk of the mount. He reminded me a little of Bayr. Mayhaps it was just his humility about his own prowess, but he was a pleasure to watch.”
“Hmm,” Ivo grunted. “He has an aptitude for many things. I thought he might be a keeper someday. He showed a great affinity for the runes at our first meeting.”
Ghisla tried to moderate her breaths, the dust from the tunnel tickling her nose.
“He came to see me today—he and his teacher—and pled for me to make him a supplicant.”
She covered her mouth, moaning into her hands. Oh, Hod. Why did you not tell me?
“He is not the first since the scourge,” Dagmar said. “He will not be the last.”
“No. And I turned him away as I have turned away all the others.”
She could not breathe. She would go back to the hillside. She would find Hod. But the conversation continued beyond her hiding spot, and she was frozen in place.
“Our mission has changed, Master,” Dagmar said. “We have to think of the daughters.”
“Yes . . . but I would have turned him away, regardless.”
“Why? You say he had an affinity for the runes.”
“He has been trained by Arwin, the cave keeper. In truth, he has been a supplicant all his life. His knowledge is already vast, his skills great. And that frightens me too.”
“Why?”
“I have not decided if he is good or evil.”
Dagmar’s gasp cloaked Ghisla’s. “Why would he be evil, Master?” Dagmar asked.