Read Online Brimstone Angels by Erin M. Evans - Free Book Online Page B

pressed her mouth to the half-elf’s cheek, and with that kiss, wrapped his every thought with a trust for her so complete he would not realize she’d planted every word in his head.
    He blinked, glanced around at the hallway, and blinked a few times more. “What … what were we …”
    “Those sound like very clever plans,” Rohini said. “I only wish Brother Anthus were still with us, that he could assure us of their brilliance.”
    Brother Anthus, Vartan’s predecessor, had been well ensconced in the Sovereignty’s good graces when Rohini first came to Neverwinter. Anthus never pressed Sovereignty’s proxy past his limits. Unfortunately, he’d made the mistake of pushing Rohini past
her
limits, which wasn’t a mistake anyone made twice.
    She smiled sweetly at Brother Vartan. “I have to return to the acolytes.”
    “Oh, of course,” he said. “But … we must have evenfeast later to discuss things. I shall be in the chapel in contemplation. Would you meet me there?”
    Rohini smiled because she could not shudder. It might have been old and without a dedicated cleric, but the chapel was still hallowed ground. It would still be colder than a sword in a snowdrift in the heart of the Fifth Layer. It would still force her away.
    “Certainly,” she said. “Until then.”
    She watched Vartan walk away. She would simply have to find some task to engross herself in—caught up laboring over some poor spellscarred fool, perhaps. Or listening to an acolyte’s private heartbreak. She would pin her curls up, soft and loose, and find someplace where the sun’s low light would paint her in heartbreaking colors. That was the sort of follower Vartan wanted in her, romantic and feminine, traipsing after him with doting eyes and all the right, breathy questions. He would never think to ask why she hadn’t come to the chapel.
    Rohini was so distracted by her planning that she walked into the wardroom without noticing the acolytes, and the succubus had only a moment to register that the young man who’d spoken earlier was disregarding her instructions and casting a healing spell.
    Before she could stop him, his prayer was answered and traces of divine magic burst out in a scattered wind that bit into the succubus’s flesh like tiny icy needles.
    The succubus flinched. Broken planes, but she hated acolytes.

    The day had dragged on for so long, and the waybread Havilar had eaten a few hours before was nothing but a memory and an unpleasant taste in her mouth, but as the caravansary edged into sight, Havilar perked right up. A bed would be nice, dinner would be excellent, but most of all, Havilar was craving company. They were close enough nowto hear the shouts of a wagon master and the whinny of horses. The sharp laughter of a woman rose above it and for a moment, Havilar imagined herself that woman—wild and carefree and striking to any eye—
    “Havi!” Mehen barked. She looked over her shoulder to see Mehen watching her pointedly, and Farideh shaking out a wrinkled, hooded cloak. Havilar stopped cold.
    “Tell me you’re joking,” she said.
    “Put on your cloak,” Mehen said.
    “It’s hotter than a campfire!”
    “Put. On. Your. Cloak. You can take it off when we know what we’re dealing with.”
    Farideh was wrestling her hood over her horns. Havilar gave her a pointed look. Mehen worried too much.
    Farideh returned the look with a stern, wordless glare of her own, as if telling Havilar to put her damned cloak on.
    Havilar scowled. Farideh worried too much too. At least between those two, Havilar figured, she didn’t need to worry much at all. But she knew if she didn’t follow suit, they’d never get to the caravansary—the two worrywarts would insist they sleep in the woods for “safety’s sake.” Away from anyone interesting.
    “I think,” Havilar said as they crossed the mostly empty courtyard, “we should spend some of the bounty on new cloaks. Pretty cloaks. Ones that don’t look like