But before I could speak she said, “You have your father’s eyes.”
Her words shocked me silent; judging from her inscrutable smile, I guessed that she had known they would.
“Yes, I have seen him. I have looked into his eyes as I am looking into yours. I have sounded the depths of his moon sickness, explored his passions, his loves, his fears, the most precious memories he holds, and also the most daunting. I know him more intimately than you ever will.”
“You’ve tortured him,” I managed to say.
“I have tested him.”
“Well, you’d better stay the hell away from him from now on.”
“I have also saved your life, spared you when I did not spare others. You should show me some courtesy.” This last she said in a tone that made my breath catch in my throat. I wondered if Namid could protect me here, wherever “here” was.
But even wondering this, I didn’t back down. I’d always been kind of stupid that way. “You also hurt my friend.”
“The woman.”
“Yeah, her. Do that again, and if I have to I’ll rip you apart with my bare hands.”
“You have fire in you, which I can admire. But you lack discipline; you are ruled by your emotions. I could crush you where you stand, and would be justified in doing so. No one speaks to me as you have.” She considered me for another moment before appearing to come to a decision. “But I think I will not. You are angry, hurt, frightened. I will even admit that you have cause-that I have given you cause. And so, you have nothing to fear from me on this night. Not because Namid’skemu protects you, but because I choose to keep you safe.”
I felt like I should thank her, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak the words. Instead, I said, “You’re Saorla.”
“I am. And you are Justis Fearsson.”
“That’s right.”
She walked toward me and past me to the cooking fire, her hips swaying provocatively. “Come and sup with me, Justis Fearsson.”
I hesitated, catching the briefest scent of something sickly as she passed. But before I could name it, it was gone, swept away by another gust of wind. A memory stirred, deep in the recesses of my slumbering mind. The stench of decay clings to them still . . .
“The meat is not poisoned. But it is real and will offer sustenance. You have been wounded and must heal. Food will help.”
I followed her to the fire, but remained standing, even as she sat.
She picked up one of the goblets and held it out to me. I took it from her, taking care not to allow my fingers to so much as brush hers. Another smile curved her lips.
“You are cautious. That is probably wise.”
She sipped from the other goblet. I glanced down into mine.
“The wine is not poisoned either,” she said, sounding impatient. “Caution is one thing. Such mistrust is rude.”
I drank. It was honeyed and strong. With the first sip, I felt a small rush of dizziness.
“Food will help.”
“Why are you being so kind to me?” I asked. “You had intended to kill me tonight.”
“Yes. And I will want you well the next time I try. Your death will serve me better if you are hale and strong.”
CHAPTER 19
I laughed at her candor, even as a chill ran through my body.
She produced a knife from within the folds of her dress and began to cut pieces of meat from the rabbit. “You think I jest?” she asked as she worked.
“I know you don’t.”
“And yet you laugh.”
She held out a strip of meat to me. I took it and bit into it without pause. It was succulent and smokey and delicious. Suddenly I was ravenous. I downed the rest of what she had given me in two bites and took another piece the moment she offered it.
“I laughed,” I said, chewing on yet another mouthful, “because it’s not often that someone is so up front about their intention to kill.”
“Do you fear death?” she asked, tipping her head to the side and regarding me through her lashes. She really was quite beautiful.
I thought there might be a right answer to this, but I didn’t know what it was. “Yes,” I said. “I don’t want to die. But I worked as a cop for a long time, and I’ve learned to manage that fear.”
“So, you prefer to live.” She stood and took a step toward me. Again, a hint of decay soured the air around us.
I fell back a step. “All things being equal, I’d prefer to live.”
“I can arrange that,” she said.
“At what cost?”
“To you? Nothing at all.”
There was no such thing as a free lunch-my dad had taught me that years ago. “What about to Namid?”
“He uses you, as the runemystes all use their weremystes. You are little more than slaves to them, doing their bidding and in return receiving ‘training’ so that you can continue to serve their cause. Surely you see this.”
“I’ve known Namid a long time. You’re going to have to do better than that.”
“You don’t know him at all.”
The wind died down, and once more that elusive odor reached me. “At least I know what he really looks like,” I said. It was a hunch, but I’d long since learned to trust my instincts.
Her smile this time was bitter, and it made her far less attractive.
“You believe you do,” she said, “but that, too, is an illusion. He appears to you as he thinks you would like him to.”
“You’ve done the same.”
“Yes, I have. Like me, he can take on any guise he wishes.”
“So, let me see the real you,” I said.
“The real me,” she repeated. “They are all the real me.” She gestured at herself. “This is as real as any form I might take. Once I appeared as you see me now. But I can be this.” The figure before me wavered, as if heat waves rose from the ground before her. An instant later, she was transformed into a great, dark-pelted deer. “Or this.” She morphed again, this time into a gray wolf, with bright yellow eyes and paws that were the size of my hand.
“I can be a woman.” Abruptly she was herself again. “Or a man.” As quickly as she had taken on that familiar form, she shifted once more, this time to a burly, bearded Scottish warrior in a plaid kilt and brown leather vest. “Or I can be someone I’ve never even met.” This time I stumbled back, appalled and fascinated by what I saw. She was Billie, naked to the waist, her eyes and hair as I knew them, but the expression on her face too cruel, too predatory.
“Stop that,” I said, my voice shaking. “After what you did to her, you have no right.”
She shifted back to her original appearance. “So, you like this one after all.”
“No. It’s a lie; I can tell. I can smell you from here. You stink of rot, of death. This isn’t how you look. I want to see the demon beneath that skin.”
Her expression went stony. “You are his creature through and through. You belong to him and you do not even know it.”
“I belong to no one. But Namid’s my friend, and I trust him with my life. Now, let me see you.”
She smiled, as thin as a blade. And when next she shifted it was to something hideous, ghoulish. Her flesh seemed to melt away, and with it her dress and shawl, leaving little more than an animated corpse, rotted, skeletal in places. Only her eyes remained even remotely the same. They gleamed in their desiccated sockets, white orbs, blue at the center. And she kept them fixed on me.
“Is this what you wanted to see?” she asked, her voice unchanged.
I could smell her now, the stench of decay so strong it made my eyes tear; it was all I could do to keep from gagging.
“Yes,” I said. “This is the first form you’ve taken that seems genuine.”
“Your precious Namid’skemu would look the same, if he were as honest with you as I am being now.”
“I don’t believe that,” I said. “I understand more than you think I do. He was granted eternal life by the Runeclave. And in giving him that, they also gave him the form I see when he appears to me. He’s a creature of magic, and that form is as elemental to him as his voice and his thoughts. But you and your kind-you took everything that you are now. It wasn’t a gift, it was . . . it was plunder. And so you stink of corruption, because you are, in fact, corrupt.”