Geran glanced down at himself. He noticed that he was scratched and bleeding in several places where the barbs of Valdarsel’s spectral chains had caught in clothing or skin. His shoulder and back ached where the point of the guard’s sickle sword had snagged him. I look like a ruffian who’s just come from a riot, he realized. No wonder the valet hadn’t liked the look of him. “Only scratches,” he said. “Otherwise, I’m well enough.” He cut his eyes toward Barrad before saying any more.
Nimessa took his meaning. She glanced to her servant and said, “Barrad, you can go back to bed. I’ll be fine.”
“As you wish, m’lady,” Barrad answered. The valet looked at Geran dubiously, but he bowed and withdrew.
Nimessa waited for the old servant to leave before turning on Geran, a small frown fixed on her face. “What are you doing here?” she asked urgently. “You shouldn’t be anywhere near Hulburg!”
“The Cyricists attacked my family in Thentia,” he answered. “I had to settle a score with Valdarsel.”
“We heard about that, of course, but I can’t believe that you’d dare to come into Hulburg alone. You must be out of your mind.” She leaned close to peer at his cuts and the torn clothing, and frowned. “This is no scratch. I’d better fetch some bandages.”
“It’s nothing,” he said, but he grimaced when she poked at a bad cut on the back of his left hand. She raised an eyebrow at him, and hurried off to what he presumed was the kitchen. He heard cabinets creaking open and thumping shut. A moment later she returned with a basin of warm water and a roll of linen bandages.
“Are you behind the fire at the Temple of the Wronged Prince, then?” she asked. “My armsmen woke me an hour ago to tell me the place was burning to the ground.” She took him by the arm and ushered him into the sitting room adjoining the foyer.
He nodded. “It wasn’t my intent to burn the place down, but I’m not sorry to see it destroyed.”
“For Selune’s sake, what have you done? Half the town’s been turned upside down to find those who attacked the temple.” She steered him to a couch, and sat close beside him, dipping a clean bandage into the water to begin washing his cuts. “Was Valdarsel there? What happened?”
“Valdarsel’s dead,” he said. “And more than a few of his guards and acolytes with him, I suppose.”
“You killed the high prelate?” she asked in amazement. She frowned and looked away, quickly thinking through the consequences of his actions. After a moment she sighed and took his hands in hers. “You must flee Hulburg at once, Geran. It’s far too dangerous for you to remain here after tonight.”
“That was my intent. Unfortunately, I hadn’t reckoned with the capabilities of Rhovann’s gray guardians or the alertness of his spies. I couldn’t reach the horse I’d left for my escape to Thentia. In fact, it’s not possible to set out on foot at the moment.” He made himself look into her eyes, bright with worry for him. “Listen, Nimessa … I know it puts you in a difficult position, but I need a safe place to lay low for a day or so before I attempt to set out again. I’ll understand if you can’t allow me to stay. But if that’s the case, I’d better leave immediately.”
“Did anyone see you come here?” she asked.
“Only your valet. I’m fairly confident about that.”
“Barrad can be trusted to keep things to himself. Still, it would be wise to keep you out of sight. Most of our folk here are loyal enough, but I’d rather not take the chance on someone carrying tales to the Council Guard in hope of a reward, or simply saying something they shouldn’t out in the town.” She wrapped a strip of bandage around his hand, and turned her attention to another gouge by his left knee.
“All I need is a pallet in a dark corner of your storehouse,” he said. He shifted and straightened out his leg so she could get at the minor wound more easily. He hadn’t realized how weary he was; it felt good to sit for a time, and even better to watch Nimessa’s deft hands at work, even if it stung fiercely at odd moments. “I’ll wait out the day and see if things have improved by nightfall.”
She smiled. “I’m afraid it’ll be nothing quite so heroic as a bit of straw and a crust of bread as you hide out in an attic or basement. I’ve got a guest room that you can have as long as you need it. I carry out a fair bit of business here in the house, but no one goes upstairs except Barrad, the maid, and myself, and the maid’s not due for another day or two. As long as you’re quiet, no one’ll know you’re here.”
“Are you certain you’re fine with this?”
“I’ve chosen my side, Geran,” she said. “Marstel is the wizard’s puppet, and I don’t trust Rhovann as far as I could throw him. I might have to conceal our sympathies in public for now, but if House Sokol can help you win back your realm, we will. I haven’t forgotten that you risked your life to rescue me from Kamoth Kastelmar, or that you stamped out the pirates who murdered my kinfolk and robbed our ships.” She stood, slender and graceful in her thin gown, and pulled him to his feet. “Come, I’ll show you where you can wash up and sleep. You might as well rest if you plan to set out at sunset.”
She took a small lamp from the mantle and led him to the house’s upper floor. He followed after her, carrying his sword belt over his shoulder. The second floor was as well-appointed as the rooms below, its wide hallway graced by half-a-dozen fine portraits. Nimessa’s house was no palace or grand manor, but it was a comfortable residence for the head of House Sokol’s concession in Hulburg. The merchant nobles of the Moonsea looked after their own, Geran decided.
Nimessa opened a door at the end of the hall, revealing a small room with a large canopy bed. She went to draw the curtains and quickly check that the linens were fresh. “It’s been a month or two since anyone’s used this room,” she explained. “I hope you don’t mind if it’s just a little bit musty.”
“It’s far better than a hayloft or an attic, which is how I thought I might spend my day.” He dropped his sword belt into a chair by the room’s hearth, slipped his cloak from his shoulders, and turned to face her. “Nimessa … thank you.”
“I don’t suppose I’ve ever properly thanked you for saving me from the Black Moon pirates,” she said with a smile. She leaned close to brush her perfect lips against his; the delightful sensation made him shiver down to the toes before she drew away. “How can I do any less for my brave rescuer?”
She walked to the door, leaving the small lamp on a chest nearby, and paused to smile at him over her shoulder. Then, as she opened the door to let herself out, Geran found himself moving after her without consciously deciding to do so; his legs simply carried him to her. His arms circled her waist and he buried his face in the soft golden tresses by the nape of her neck, drawing her to him. She gasped, and began to say something, but he reached up to turn her chin toward his face and covered her mouth with his. She hesitated, shivering in his arms, and then she responded, her breath warm in his mouth, her soft figure melting into him.
Once upon a time I kissed Mirya like this, he thought. For a moment he hesitated, too, surprised to find those memories surfacing when Nimessa sighed in his arms. That was a long time ago, Geran, he told himself. Ten years before, Mirya had been his first love, but he’d wanted something more out of life than the narrow confines of a small town at the edge of the wilds and the love of a girl whose simple dream was to live her life in the place where she’d been born. The rational part of him knew that Mirya couldn’t ever love him as she once had, not after he’d abandoned her once. Whatever it was that his heart hoped for now, it wasn’t fair to Mirya-or himself-to imagine that she might come to feel the same way about him. And if that was true, what was the point of keeping himself for her any longer?