Read Online Lady Of Regret (Book 2) by James A. West - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James A. West
Tags: epic fantasy
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enter where they don’t belong.”
“You know a secret way into the keep?”
“Before you agree,” Lynira said, holding up a cautioning finger, “I must take back what I said about favors.”
“Name your fee,” Nesaea said, doing her best to keep the hesitation from her voice. She quite literally owed Lynira her life, both for keeping her safe from the men who had followed her from Giliron, and for sowing into her mind and heart the means by which she could make her way in the world.
“One thing I ask,” Lynira said, “and it is no harder than what you intend.” Nesaea accepted that with a nod. “I would have you leave a note, something to prick Arthard’s pride, and to give warning that he is not untouchable.”
“And if I fail?” Nesaea asked.
“Why, then, dear child,” Lynira said flatly, “you will surely die, and my heart will be broken.”
Chapter 10
“Run!” Nesaea cried. She tried to reach Rathe, sensing a grave threat closing in on him, but unseen bonds held her in a cold embrace.
Rathe did not hear her. He turned a slow circle, sword raised against darting, stealthy foes. Thick mist plastered his black hair to his brow. Concern etched his hard, dark face.
“Run!” she cried again.
Rathe reached blindly with a free hand, grasping at shadows. His lips moved, but made no sound. Equally silent were the figures emerging from the murk to slowly surrounded him. Rathe thrust his head forward, intent on one of those shapes, never seeing the others at his back.
“Behind you!”
Nesaea bolted upright in her bed, a quaking hand at her throat. A dream. Only a dream. She wanted to believe it, but could not. Never had a foretelling come on her so vividly. Or was it only a dream, dark and frightening, to be sure, but no more real for all that?
As her heart slowed, sleep cleared from her eyes and mind, and she began to doubt. She had never seen through the veil of the present without using enchantments or magical devices. Even then, she saw only reflections of fate, vague impressions attached to the accursed or the blessed. With the dream of Rathe, there was a difference. She had never witnessed anything so clear, as if she shared his destiny.
“We share nothing,” she murmured bitterly, fighting back tears. “It was only a dream. He is gone, and good riddance.”
The gray light of dawn seeped through a porthole in the wagon, telling Nesaea it was time to prepare. She climbed out of bed, tugged off her sweaty shift, hung it to dry. She opened the carved doors of a corner wardrobe, frowned at the fine gowns and dresses. Today, her usual garments would not do. In a drawer at the bottom, she found a pair of snug leather breeches, a linen tunic, a leather vest, and a long brown cloak of thin wool. Hunting garb. Perfect.
After dressing, she cinched an iron-studded belt about her waist, tied back her sable hair, and pulled on a pair of knee-high boots. Next she gathered everything she would need. A belt knife and a short sword, she would wear in plain sight. Two daggers and lock picks, she tucked into hidden sheaths sewn into her boots. A third set of picks she tucked into a pocket inside her breeches. One could never be too safe. A few choice potions, and the folded scrap of parchment Lynira had given her, found a home in small leather purse at her belt.
She considered the two fist-sized orbs resting in bronze sconces attached to the bedposts. The orbs looked like glass, but were not. The Eyes of Nami-Ja, named for the Giliron god of light, had been given to her by a wizard after hearing her sing. Each gave off golden light. She had only seen that light fail once, when she told Rathe he had been marked by the Khenasith, the Black Breath, an inescapable spirit-curse of ill fortune. As far as she could tell, the woe of the Khenasith also fell upon those foolish enough to become enamored with Rathe. She refused to name her feelings for him love. Who is he to decide what is best for me?
“You know a secret way into the keep?”
“Before you agree,” Lynira said, holding up a cautioning finger, “I must take back what I said about favors.”
“Name your fee,” Nesaea said, doing her best to keep the hesitation from her voice. She quite literally owed Lynira her life, both for keeping her safe from the men who had followed her from Giliron, and for sowing into her mind and heart the means by which she could make her way in the world.
“One thing I ask,” Lynira said, “and it is no harder than what you intend.” Nesaea accepted that with a nod. “I would have you leave a note, something to prick Arthard’s pride, and to give warning that he is not untouchable.”
“And if I fail?” Nesaea asked.
“Why, then, dear child,” Lynira said flatly, “you will surely die, and my heart will be broken.”
Chapter 10
“Run!” Nesaea cried. She tried to reach Rathe, sensing a grave threat closing in on him, but unseen bonds held her in a cold embrace.
Rathe did not hear her. He turned a slow circle, sword raised against darting, stealthy foes. Thick mist plastered his black hair to his brow. Concern etched his hard, dark face.
“Run!” she cried again.
Rathe reached blindly with a free hand, grasping at shadows. His lips moved, but made no sound. Equally silent were the figures emerging from the murk to slowly surrounded him. Rathe thrust his head forward, intent on one of those shapes, never seeing the others at his back.
“Behind you!”
Nesaea bolted upright in her bed, a quaking hand at her throat. A dream. Only a dream. She wanted to believe it, but could not. Never had a foretelling come on her so vividly. Or was it only a dream, dark and frightening, to be sure, but no more real for all that?
As her heart slowed, sleep cleared from her eyes and mind, and she began to doubt. She had never seen through the veil of the present without using enchantments or magical devices. Even then, she saw only reflections of fate, vague impressions attached to the accursed or the blessed. With the dream of Rathe, there was a difference. She had never witnessed anything so clear, as if she shared his destiny.
“We share nothing,” she murmured bitterly, fighting back tears. “It was only a dream. He is gone, and good riddance.”
The gray light of dawn seeped through a porthole in the wagon, telling Nesaea it was time to prepare. She climbed out of bed, tugged off her sweaty shift, hung it to dry. She opened the carved doors of a corner wardrobe, frowned at the fine gowns and dresses. Today, her usual garments would not do. In a drawer at the bottom, she found a pair of snug leather breeches, a linen tunic, a leather vest, and a long brown cloak of thin wool. Hunting garb. Perfect.
After dressing, she cinched an iron-studded belt about her waist, tied back her sable hair, and pulled on a pair of knee-high boots. Next she gathered everything she would need. A belt knife and a short sword, she would wear in plain sight. Two daggers and lock picks, she tucked into hidden sheaths sewn into her boots. A third set of picks she tucked into a pocket inside her breeches. One could never be too safe. A few choice potions, and the folded scrap of parchment Lynira had given her, found a home in small leather purse at her belt.
She considered the two fist-sized orbs resting in bronze sconces attached to the bedposts. The orbs looked like glass, but were not. The Eyes of Nami-Ja, named for the Giliron god of light, had been given to her by a wizard after hearing her sing. Each gave off golden light. She had only seen that light fail once, when she told Rathe he had been marked by the Khenasith, the Black Breath, an inescapable spirit-curse of ill fortune. As far as she could tell, the woe of the Khenasith also fell upon those foolish enough to become enamored with Rathe. She refused to name her feelings for him love. Who is he to decide what is best for me?
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