Read Online Fox's Bride by A.E. Marling - Free Book Online

face her.
    “Hiresha, you deserve to know something.”
    She lifted her chin to him, her lashes dipping as if trying to hide the dark mystery of her eyes. A tremor ran through him, and though he was sure of his skill with weapons, he was not so confident that he had the strength to speak.

    Hiresha struggled to focus on the spellsword. The ship listed to the side beneath her, and she pressed a hand against the wall to steady herself. The rocking motion lulled her toward sleep, and she fought against it, wanting to hear Chandur.
    His teeth flashed white a few times as he started to say something then stopped. He struck the wall with a fist.
    The cracking sound jolted her closer to wakefulness.
    “We can't ever marry.” He rubbed his knuckles. “We won't. It's not in my fate.”
    Hiresha felt that something deep within her was felled with a booming crash and chopped to pieces. Her future trembled with uncertainty, and she hated nothing more than changes to her life plan. Her eyes pinched together in a red line of pain.
    She asked, “The Priest Salkant of the Fate Weaver told you this?”
    “He did.”
    Hiresha had met with the priest last year in Morimound when he had predicted a flood that never came. She knew that the Fate Weaver spun the futures of all men and women in the cavern at the center of the world. But priests must interpret the webs, and man can err.
    A warm breeze of hope flowed over the enchantress. She could tell the spellsword of the failings of the priest, that the fate he had been given could be false. She and Chandur might yet marry. Not now, maybe not even soon, yet someday. The thought comforted Hiresha.
    She still hesitated. “The fate the priest read you, it was a bright one?”
    “Bright as a blade at midday.” The spellsword began to grin, but he straightened his face.
    “Mine, too.” A gulf of pain opened within her. “He—he said someday I'd wake.”
    She had toiled for years to delve into her own mind, searching for a cure for her condition. The brain was a maze of complexity, and she had struggled with her resolve even when she believed she would succeed in time. Now she had no assurance she would reach that fate. She had taken wounds before and regenerated herself with magic, but no pain had struck deeper than her loss of hope.
    I will not hurt Chandur the same way, she told herself. It'd be nothing but selfishness. He chose to side with me over the Oasis Empire, and maybe the priest told him his true fate. Maybe he told me mine.
    “Now I understand,” Chandur said. “That's why you couldn't marry the Golden Scoundrel. You know your fate.”
    “Yes.” No. “You should go.” Before I blurt out something you may regret forever.
    He fiddled with the door latch.
    Hiresha hurt with each breath she took. She wanted to tell him, We might yet marry, felt the pressure of it building within her. The only thing that kept her from speaking was the knowledge that she could always tell him later. Not now, maybe not even soon, yet someday.
    “It's locked,” he said. “Janny locked it. Not me.”
    “Janny.” Hiresha raised her voice. “I know you're there, Janny.”
    With a click, the maid snapped open the door. She shook her head at both of them. “You're disappointments stacked on frustrations.”
    “Thank you, Hiresha.” Chandur touched the gold snake wrapped around his forehead. “I promise not to let a hawk or eagle or anything feathered and hungry snatch it from my head.”
    He closed the door, shut her in. She let herself fall onto the bed and discovered someone had left her dress there. The garnets stabbed her back.

    Chandur had to stoop on his way up the stairs, and his hilt scraped against the doorframe opening onto the deck. Sand scattered across the planking. The wind beat against a sail painted to show sun beams branching down from a camel's hump. The ship tilted, cresting a dune then plunging down its steep side. Veils of sand washed over the prow and Chandur, yellow