“Appearances matter down here,” he replied, eyes darting left and right as he chose their path. “Our behavior determines the nature of our relationship. So stop struggling and laugh a bit. Just pretend.”
They worked their way up the street they were on, down one alleyway that connected to another and then on for several more blocks to an inn called Port Arms Redoubt, its sign decorated with a military crest that Aphen did not recognize.
“We stay here,” he told her, opening the door for them.
“We can do better,” she pointed out, looking around doubtfully.
“Much. But remember who we are supposed to be and how we should look to those around us. We are not people who can afford to do better or even care about where we stay. We just want to get into bed with each other.”
He squired her up to the innkeeper’s desk, requested a room in a decidedly salacious manner, patting her rump possessively as he did so. He signed the register with a flourish, gave the innkeeper a knowing wink, then wheeled Aphen away from the desk and practically dragged her up the stairs to the second floor.
When they were in their squalid little room with its single bed, its worn chest of drawers, and its rickety wooden chair, she gave him a look. “You enjoyed that.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at her. “Maybe just a little. Look, I did what I felt I had to do in order to prevent the innkeeper from thinking we were anything other than a man and a woman out for a good time. There are dozens just like us passing through this fine establishment, so we fit right in. He will already have forgotten about us. We don’t want him talking about us while we’re here, and we don’t want him remembering us after we’re gone.”
She stared at him a moment. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you? You know all about it.”
He shrugged. “I know how to blend in. I know how to pretend to be something I’m not. I learned that when I was spying for the Home Guard. I was sent to the Southland cities to find things out, and I had to disguise who and what I really was from everyone around me. Sometimes for months.” He paused. “And, no, I haven’t done this before. Not this exactly. I was always on my own.”
She nodded quickly, chagrinned by her outburst. What was wrong with her? He brushed at his white-blond hair and watched her closely. “Are you hungry? Do you want to get something to eat?”
She stood where she was, studying him some more. “I know barely anything about you. We’ve been together for weeks, and I know next to nothing.”
He looked away. “You know what matters. You know why I’m here. Arling told you, didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want something to eat?” he repeated.
“No. I’m too tired to eat. I just want to sleep.”
He got up from the bed immediately. “Lie down. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t want you to do that. Stay in the bed with me. It’s cold in here.”
He lay back down and she scooted against him, arranging their cloaks to cover them both. She could feel his warmth through her clothing.
“That’s better,” she said. “Put your arms around me.”
He did so, saying nothing, but she could feel the tension in him. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, so she put them where she wanted them. “Just hold me. I want to feel good about something. I’m tired of feeling wrung out and lost.”
They lay there for a long time without talking, allowing the warmth they generated to infuse and wrap them about. Aphen listened to his breathing, to the rustling he made with little changes in his position. She felt him pressed up against her from behind, and it gave her a sense of peace and well-being.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so difficult,” she whispered into the darkness.
“Would you mind if I kissed you?” he asked.
“No.”
So he kissed her on the back of her head and then on the side of her face and then on the mouth before pulling back. “I would like it if you really were my wife,” he said.
She was on the verge of saying she didn’t think she would mind it, either, when she found herself remembering Bombax. She felt a sharp pang of guilt, or perhaps only sadness. Her promised, her partner, her lover—dead such a short time ago. It gave her pause. It suddenly felt strange to be thinking of Cymrian when she had just lost Bombax. Yet the Borderman was gone, and he was not coming back. And she had come to love her protector, perhaps as much as he loved her. She had kissed him fiercely when he had gone off to face Stoon and his mutants. She had been so afraid she would lose him, too.
Was there good reason to mourn Bombax any longer than she already had? How long was long enough?
“We could pretend to be husband and wife,” she said quietly. “Why don’t you kiss me some more?”
So he did as she asked. His kisses were slow and sweet and welcome, and she let them continue without pulling away.
Then she began kissing him back, and suddenly neither one could stop.
When she woke, he was turned away from her and she felt the cold that the separation had left between them. She took a moment to study him in the pale dawn light—the lines of his face and the strength in his features—before rising. She found herself captivated by what she saw, drawn to him with fresh need, warmed by memories of what they had shared. But last night was gone, and Arling needed them.
There was a basin on the chest of drawers, and she splashed some of the water it contained on her face to help wash away the sleep. She went to the dingy window and looked out and wondered when her life would ever become something she valued again.
They ate breakfast on the street from a food cart and walked back to the shop they had visited the night before. It was still early, but neither gave a thought to waiting just because Rushlin had been out late the night before. Finding Arling was far too important for delays, and they had already lost the better part of four days.
Cymrian knocked in the same sequence he had the previous night, and this time the door opened almost immediately.
“I knew it was you,” the man standing there announced. “I could smell you.”
He was young and smooth-shaven with dark hair and quick, anxious eyes that kept looking around as he waited for them to enter. He had a fox face, sharp-featured and narrow, all planes and angles. For someone who had been out and about for most of the night, he was surprisingly alert and rested looking.
“We came looking for you last night,” Cymrian admitted.
“I was working,” the other replied. “Come in and sit. I’ve made some tea.”
They went into a small sitting room with a work desk and some chairs and sat. Rushlin brought out a worn tea service and filled the cups. For a few moments they said nothing, enjoying the aroma and taste of the tea.
“A green tea,” Aphen ventured.
“Good guess. What is it you think I can do for you?”
Cymrian told him, giving a full and careful description of the building they were looking for. “We need to get inside. But we can’t be caught going in or coming out.”
Rushlin whistled. “That’s Edinja Orle’s residence. Why don’t you just find a cliff and jump off and be done with it? Word is, no one who goes into that building uninvited ever comes out again.”
Aphen gave him a look. “My sister is in there.”
He shrugged and smiled. “Then you can be the exception that disproves the rule, I guess.” He glanced over at Cymrian. “Are you sure about this?”
“If you can point out the building and tell us a way to get inside. Or even if you can’t.”
Rushlin nodded, his features crinkling. “Like that, is it?” He gave them a conspiratorial grin. “Hope it doesn’t lead to tragedy. I’ll need today to find out what I can about possible ways to get you in. Getting out will be up to you.”
He stood, and they did the same. “Come back a few hours before nightfall. You won’t want to try entering that place until dark anyway. Find something to do. Take a carriage ride in Federation Square. Visit the museum of culture; that’s always good for a laugh. Go be a tourist. See the sights.”