"Teesha?"
She stopped in surprise, looking at the water and the wind in the trees above the shore.
"My love?"
Edwan's empty voice echoed from behind her, and she turned. He floated just above the sand, his green breeches and white shirt glowing like white flame through a fog. His severed head rested on one shoulder, and long, yellow hair hung down his side all the way to his waist.
"My dear," she said. "How long have you been there?"
"A while. Are you going home… already?"
"I wanted to check on the warehouse and see if Rashed needs anything."
"Yes," he said. "Rashed."
Edwan's visage changed subtly, as if the corpse image were no longer freshly dead, but had been lying in decay for a week or two. The glow of his skin was now sallow, whitened, with the hint of bruises from stagnant blood beneath his tissue.
Teesha lost the moment's joy of strength and heat. She stepped lethargically up the shore and wilted to the ground against a leaning tree.
"Don't brood. We need Rashed."
"So you tell me." Edwan was by her side, though she hadn't actually seen him move. "So you told me."
Together, they listened to shallow waves lapping at the beach. Teesha did not know how to respond. She loved Edwan, but he lived in the past, as did most spirits among the living, barely able to grasp the present. And she knew what he wanted. It was always what he wanted. He was the hungry one now, and with no true life to live, memories were all he had.
But it drained her so much, depressed her to do this for him. Every time he needed, and she relented, for the next five or six nights, it destroyed her ability to live only in the delicious present.
"No, Edwan," she said tiredly.
"Please, Teesha. Just once more," he promised-again.
"There isn't enough time before sunrise."
"We have hours."
The desperation in his voice hurt her. Teesha dropped her chin to her knees and stared out to where the water disappeared into the dark.
Poor Edwan. He deserved so much better, but this had to stop. Perhaps if she showed him the sharpest of memories, played out to the end, he might be able to accept their current existence-her new existence.
She closed her eyes, hoping he'd someday forgive her for this, and reached out to him with her mind, reached back…
High in the north above Stravina, snow fell from the sky more days of the year than not, and it seemed the clouds continuously covered the sun. Day or night made little difference, but Teesha hardly cared. In her tightly tied apron and favorite red dress, she served up mugs of ale to thirsty patrons and travelers at the inn. The place was always warm with a burning hearth, and she had a smile for whoever came through the door. But that special smile, as welcome as a break in the clouds when she could see the sun, was only for her young husband, working somberly behind the bar, making sure all was right and not one guest had to wait for an ordered drink.
Edwan seldom smiled back at her, but she knew he loved her fiercely. His father was a twisted, violent man, and his mother had died of fever when he was just a child. He had lived in poverty and servitude. That was all Edwan could remember of childhood, until he left home at seventeen, traveled through two cities, found a job tending bar, and then met Teesha, his first taste of kindness and affection.
At sixteen, Teesha had already received several marriage proposals, but she'd always declined. There was just something not quite right with the suitor-too old, too young, too frivolous, too dour… too something. She felt the need to wait for someone else. When Edwan walked through the tavern door, with his dark yellow hair, wide cheekbones, and haunted eyes, she knew he was her other half. After five years of marriage, he still rarely spoke to anyone but her.
To him, the world was a hostile place, and safety only rested in Teesha's arms.
To her, the world was songs and spiced turnips and serving ale to guests-who had long ago become close friends-and spending warm nights under a feather quilt with Edwan.
It was a good time in life, but a short one.
The first time Lord Corische opened the inn's door, he remained standing outside and would not enter. The cold breeze blowing openly into the common room was enough to set everyone to cursing, and Teesha ran to shut the door.
"May I come in?" he asked, but his voice was demanding, as if he knew the answer and was merely impatient to hear it.
"Of course, please," she answered, mildly surprised, as the tavern was open to all.
When he and a companion entered, and Teesha could finally shut the door, everyone settled down again. A few people turned to look in curiosity, then a few more, as the first curious ones did not turn back to their food again.
Nothing about Lord Corische himself stood out as unusual. Not his chainmail vest and pieces of plate over padded armor, for soldiers and mercenaries were seen often enough. He was neither handsome or ugly, large or small. His only true distinguishing features were a smooth, completely bald head and a small white scar over his left eye. But he was not alone, and it was not Lord Corische the tavern guests stared at in any case. It was his companion.
Beside the smooth-headed soldier walked the tallest, most striking man Teesha had ever seen. He wore a deep blue, padded tunic covered in a diamond pattern stitched in shimmering white thread. His short hair was true black against a pale face with eyes so light she wasn't certain of the color, like the smoothest ice over a deep lake.
The two men walked to a table, but the bald soldier still hadn't taken his gaze off Teesha.
"Can I bring you ale?" she asked.
"You'll bring me whatever I find pleasing," the soldier answered in a loud voice, enjoying the moment. "I am Lord Corische, new master of Gдestev Keep. Everything here already belongs to me."
When the villagers around them heard Corische's announcement, hushed murmurs began, but all words were kept low enough not to be heard.
Teesha held her breath and dropped her eyes. Over a year had passed since the previous vassal lord had died of a hunting wound. No word of a new lord arriving had reached them in all that time.
"Forgive my familiar manner," she said. "I did not know."
"Your familiar manner is welcome," Corische said quietly.
He did not look remotely noble to Teesha, but then she had rarely seen a noble in her life. Corische did have a look about him that fit these mountain lands, cold and possibly cruel to the unwary. But if either one of these two strangers were a lord, Teesha would have thought it his companion.
Corische's striking companion did not speak. He even appeared detached, not listening to their conversation. After a slow gaze at the crowd, as if gauging for possible dangers, he settled back and ignored his surroundings.
"This is my man, Rashed," Lord Corische said, without motioning to his companion. "He's from a desert land far across the sea and despises our cold weather, don't you, Rashed?"
"No, my lord," Rashed answered flatly, as if this were a ritual simply to be completed.
"May I fetch ale, my lord?" Teesha asked politely, wanting some reason to move away from the table. "No, I came for you."
The answer stunned her into confusion. "Beg pardon?"
Corische stood up and pushed his cloak back. His skin was pale, but his shoulders and upper arms were thick beneath the armor.
"I have already been in the village a few nights, watching you. Your face is pleasing. You will come back to the keep with me and stay while I'm detained here. A few years at most, but you'll want for nothing."
Fear hollowed out Teesha's stomach, but she smiled as if his request were an ordinary flirtatious remark.