Read Online Fifth Quarter by Tanya Huff - Free Book Online Page A

larger than a man's hand.
     
    It was very important he be able to see clearly who he was.
     
    "Gyhard i'Stevana." His reflection looked young and confused. "Why did I give her that name?" He hadn't used that name in… A quick frown knitted in the high arc of the brows as he counted back. He hadn't used that name in over ninety years.
     
    He'd just jumped into his third body, had just used his ability deliberately for the first time. He'd been haunted and lonely when high in the Cemandian Mountains he'd met someone in infinitely worse shape.
     
    The hand holding the mirror began to tremble and memory laid the reflection of a dark-haired, dark-eyed young man over Bannon's brown on brown features. It wasn't a handsome face, it could even be called plain—except for the dark beauty of the eyes.
     
    "No." He'd worn that face for only five short years and had no desire to remember any of them. Forcing the memories aside, he stared down once more at the image of the boy he'd become, and then slid the mirror carefully back into its padded case. The dark eyes had rotted with the rest of the discarded body, and the man who had found them beautiful was no doubt long dead.
     
    It had, after all, been over ninety years.
     
    He should've pulled a name from the air. One that didn't drag the past along with it.
     
    Jaw set, he lightly touched his throat where the assassin's blade had caressed the skin. He couldn't take the name back. He couldn't let even the suspicion of weakness disturb the tenuous balance of power necessary to achieve his goal.
     
    Still, it was only a name.
     
    "And none of this," he muttered, his voice self-mocking, "explains why I gave it to her in the first place."
     
     
     
    Vree folded her arms behind her head and stared up at the shadowed ceiling. The edges had all been rounded and the whole gentle arc, extending about two hand spans down the wall to a dark tile border, had been painted a pale blue. She supposed it was intended to mimic the outdoors and give the room a feeling of openness, but it made her feel as though the sky were closing in on her.
     
    "You think we can trust him?"
     
    Bannon's presence shifted, as though he were pacing in the confines of a cage. "Who? That carrion eater in my body? Probably as much as he can trust us—and the first chance we get, he's out of there."
     
    "Great." Her jaw creaked with the force of her yawn. "Can you keep watch while I sleep?"
     
    "Depends. Can you sleep with your eyes open?"
     
    Sighing, she pulled a dagger with each hand and arranged herself into a more defensive position. "This doesn't seem to come with any advantages."
     
    "Yeah well, I'm alive… Vree?"
     
    Her eyes closed, pretty much of their own volition. "What?"
     
    "Thanks. I mean, thanks for taking the chance, for not… you know."
     
    For not wanting to go on alone. Vree bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling.
     
    "Are you crying , sister-mine?"
     
    Sister-mine. It had always been as much a possessive as an endearment, and this was the first time he'd used it since he'd landed in her head. She ignored the moisture trickling out from under the corners of her lids. "No. Of course not."
     
    "Of course not," he repeated.
     
    She didn't want to guess what he meant.
     
    "Vree?"
     
    "What?"
     
    "Remember if you have to defend yourself, don't strike to kill. I mean, it is .. ."
     
    "… your body. Don't worry, Bannon." The dagger hilts lay loose within the circles of her fingers. "I'll remember."
     
    Almost asleep, she barely heard him call her name again.
     
    "Vree?"
     
    "What?" In spite of everything, she smiled. This was beginning to remind her of too many nights in the children's barracks when Bannon had kept her awake with question after question.
     
    "I always thought I was taller…"
     
     
     
    Hunger woke her. She lay, frozen in place, fingers tight around her dagger hilts, senses straining the silence for threat. She couldn't hear anything. At all. For a moment