Of mischief and magic, p.10
Of Mischief and Magic, page 10
“Power. You mean magic,” he said slowly, narrowing his eyes as he studied her. “As in you used a spell to try to get these people to talk to you.”
She sniffed. “Hardly. I’m half-elf, Aryn. I am magic. I don’t need to grind out wyrmwood and cast bones to focus my magic and make it work. And I didn’t do anything that would cause harm. I simply impressed the fact that if any of them were to share information with me, I might be able to help.”
“Hmmm.” Not sure how he felt about that, Aryn looked away. “It doesn’t seem like anybody took the bait.”
“No. At least not yet. Sometimes, it can take time for the suggestion to sink in. Especially if the hurt is carried deep.” She shifted her gaze toward the market and sighed. “These people have been carrying their hurts for quite some time.”
“Pushing them to talk to us won’t help.”
“No. We need to wait until they’re ready…or until they relax enough to talk freely around us.”
Something in her voice had him studying her yet again. “And you have an idea on how to make that happen.”
“An idea…perhaps.” She batted her lashes at him, all but oozing female charm.
Instantly, Aryn felt wary. “What?”
“I know the perfect way to have people relax.” She leaned closer to him, clutching at his arm while her face softened until she looked like some dewy lass, gazing up at her first love. “A way for us both to listen, learn…if you think you can carry your part.”
“My part?” His voice came out scratchy and rough while his blood heated. In the back of his mind, he felt Irian stretch, the enchanter’s awareness growing.
“Yes.” Her voice dropped. “We’re being watched. Two men, walking toward the market, coming from my side. Likely harmless, but we don’t want anybody aware we’re here for a specific purpose, do we?”
The constable was already aware, but Aryn doubted the man would tell the villagers that two mercenaries had offered to find the youth missing from the village.
Understanding Tyriel’s intention now, or part of it, he pushed off the wall and turned, pinning her against it in one smooth movement.
Her eyes widened slightly as he left his back exposed and he smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “If you can hear people approaching, and deduce that it is two men, before I even realize we’re being watched, I trust you can warn me should I need to guard my back. What’s this idea of yours? Are we to play at being lovers? For what purpose?”
“Two mercenaries in such a small village would raise questions otherwise. But if we were thought to be lovers, simply taking a rest after a long job, or during a long travel, fewer questions arise.”
“We’ve already mentioned that we are passing through, had just finished a contract.” He dipped his head, as if to nuzzle at her neck. Doing so let him glance to the side and he could see them now, two men, just as Tyriel had said, neither of them so brazen as to call attention to it, but both watching Aryn and the woman he had pinned against the town’s protective outer wall.
She shivered as he skimmed a hand up her arm, the lower half bared, revealing taut, firm muscle. He felt that nearly imperceptible reaction all the way to his toes and before he knew what he was doing, he moved closer. She smelled divine and felt even better, lusciously female but supple and strong.
He’d been telling himself for weeks that he’d only been craving a taste because he’d gone too long without a woman, but now that he had his hands on her, he knew it for the lie it was.
But Aryn didn’t fuck sword mates.
Oh, but he wanted a taste of her.
Another taste…the gruff murmur came from the back of his mind, a mind now overflowing with images of them together, bodies naked and entwined, her dusky skin glowing in the firelight as he kissed a path down her torso, all the way to the curls to that would guard the sweet, wet delights between her thighs.
She felt right in his arms, familiar even, like he had lain against her before, scented her skin as arousal burned hot within her, tasted her mouth as she cried out her need, held her quivering body against his while she dug her nails into his flesh.
“What all does your plan entail? We split up? Look for short contracts or daily work?” He forced his mind to think about the task at hand.
“No. We stay together.”
He turned his head toward hers and their lips brushed. Aryn barely held his composure, fisting the hand braced on the wall near her head as she continued to speak. Averting his head slightly, he waited. This was bloody torture.
“If we’re thought to be together, most of the people here will assume I follow your lead. That means they’ll be more likely to discount me. The less they think about me, the better.” The warm caress of her breath on his skin felt almost as intimate as if she had run her hands over his body.
Aryn gritted his teeth as his cock swelled in response.
“Excellent point,” he agreed, straightening and trying to think in logistical terms instead of lustful ones. If they kept her gifts quiet, that meant a weapon none knew about. She had wrapped and stowed her blade, and none could possibly imagine how many numerous weapons she had hidden on her person.
Aryn swore silently.
He imagined he could find them—piece by piece as he stripped her naked. The dusky gold of her skin gleamed richly and she winked at him before nudging him back.
“I thought perhaps we could talk to the pub owner. I play rather well. See if he’d be open to me put out my cap for a few nights—I can play for coin while you have your dinner. We could have a few days to rest before we continue on our journey west.” Her eyes told him what she held back.
She would play. He would listen. And they would see if they couldn’t unearth the secrets in this village.
Still close enough to feel her body weight, Aryn nodded. “A good plan. When do we start?”
“Now.” Her cheeks were flushed. Lifting her hands, she braced them on his chest.
Aryn caught her wrists and held them, gaze riveted on her face.
“Pretty thing, the Jiupsu women have always been lovely.”
Irian’s presence was unwelcome and Aryn floundered, caught in a web of desire. Be silent, he thought.
But the enchanter wasn’t in a mood to listen. “Take her upstairs, touch her, taste her.”
“Shut up, you hunk of metal,” Aryn warned, putting more weight in his warning. “Or I will wrap you in silk and stow you under the bloody bed.”
Irian laughed. “Won’t do you much good now. You’ve opened your mind to me. Close me out, you can, but removing me from your body does nothing,” the ancient one said, his voice rich with amusement. “You’ve been too long without a woman, Aryn. And you’ve never known one like her, addictive as mead, rich as honey, spicy and hotter than fire. Let’s have her now.”
Aryn’s blood pounded heavily in his cock, his head. He already ached, but Irian’s seductive voice was making it worse, and Tyriel wasn’t helping, leaning against the village wall and watching him. He still held her wrists and they felt bewitchingly delicate, skin soft and smooth under his touch. Her eyes burned as they stared into his.
Aryn took back the distance he’d put between them, looming over her now and breathing her in.
“She will taste so much better than she smells, brother of my soul,” Irian promised. “Taste her…”
Taste her. Just a taste. That was all he wanted.
Dipping his head, he closed one hand around the thick weight of her hair and tugged.
Just before his lips would have brushed hers, Tyriel stiffened. The glint in her eyes faded and she shoved him back, this time with force and Aryn felt back several paces, the strength in her undeniable.
“You are not yourself, Aryn,” she said, her voice ragged. Her nostrils flared.
Aryn could scent of her arousal, knew she could detect his.
“I am.” His head did feel a bit…crowded, but he had wanted her for weeks, months, a lifetime.
When he would have come to her again, Tyriel held up a hand, staying him. “Enchanter, you hold much sway over his mind right now. I feel it.”
Aryn shook his head in confusion as she lapsed into a lyrical tongue—Wildling—but too archaic for him to follow and the ghost that lived within him wasn’t in the sharing mood.
He felt Irian’s rage, his refusal, his will trying to rise up. Pictures that didn’t make sense filled his mind—Tyriel, lying on the forest floor while he spread her thighs, her woman’s flesh, and tasted her. Him moving to cover her, riding her hard as she whimpered her pleasure.
Over it all, the ghost of another man tried to superimpose himself over Aryn’s body, as if trying to take Aryn’s place entirely.
Why did it feel like memory and not fantasy?
Irian reared up, tried to force his will onto Aryn and the bastard almost won—not because Aryn couldn’t fight him, but because they both wanted the same thing. To take Tyriel, haul her back to their room over the pub, lock the door behind them before stripping her naked.
Fighting the will of the enchanter was never easy, but now, when what Irian wanted so perfectly aligned with Aryn’s own desires, it felt almost impossible.
His cock still ached, but a vicious pain began to pulse inside his head as he battled Irian back.
“Stop fighting, brother,” Irian said coaxingly. “Let us touch, taste…”
Aryn clenched his jaw and fought harder as he tried to retain control over his body and his mind.
Tyriel’s voice cut through the dull roar of blood.
“Eyastian, Irian. Myiori, tymio efavo.”
“You would not dare,” Irian growled, surging up to take control, forcing the words out through Aryn’s mouth even as Aryn seized control over his body and backed up, putting enough distance between them so her scent no longer flooded his head.
Irian continued to use his body like a bloody puppet, words he barely understood flowing from him as he glared at Tyriel.
“You break our law by even speaking to me so, woman. I am Irian Escari, High Priest of the Jiupsu, Enchanter, Swordsman. You would not dare—”
“Oh, please.” Tyriel laughed.
That enraged Irian even more and his control over Aryn faltered, giving the swordsman a chance to seize the reins.
“You have no idea how much the world has changed since you walked the earth,” Tyriel said. “You can’t compel anything from me. I am not of your clan and I owe you no fealty. More…if that’s how you try to claim bedmates…” A smirk lit her face and she flicked her hand dismissively. “Really, Irian. I’d have thought better of you.”
Aryn shoved the enchanter down, slammed the door in the other’s face mentally and finally, finally felt alone in his head. But the echo of Irian’s anger and embarrassment burned inside him.
“I can fight my own battles,” Aryn growled, his cheeks flushing red.
“True. Although you’re not used to fighting them with an enchanter who has seen millennia pass—one who has planted himself inside your own mind and tries to use your own body against you. It’s not like the playing field is level.”
“You taunting him isn’t going to help.”
“I didn’t taunt him.” She smoothed her shirt and the leather jerkin before glancing at him. “I just made him aware that if he keeps trying to overwhelm you, I had access to magic and a weapon that could rid you of him.”
Cutting around him, she said, “We should go, have word with the pub owner before the night gets too busy.”
“Wait.” Aryn caught her arm and immediately wished he hadn’t touched her again. He could still scent her, could imagine the taste of her on his tongue. “What weapon?”
Tyriel didn’t answer as she tried to tug free of his touch.
“Tyriel…”
“You’re like a dog with a bone, Aryn.” Sighing, she lifted her eyes to his. “Myself. If you choose, I could break the bond between you.”
* * * * *
Aryn settled into a corner, looking foreboding and somber, his pale hair pulled back in a queue, Irian strapped at his back, a sleeveless leather jerkin revealing the muscles of his arms and shoulders.
Occasionally, he would glance at Tyriel and smile, or glare at the men who slid her long, lingering glances, but mostly, he was silent. Looking grim, possessive, and serious was his role.
Playing pretty music on her flute and smiling sweetly was Tyriel’s.
Both were doing a very good job.
This was the second day and the frustration ate at Aryn like a tumorous growth.
Although it felt like they were going nowhere on this, Tyriel’s face was less animated today. He doubted anybody else noted, but the shadows under her eyes spoke of her restless night and he could feel the uneasiness within her.
Something will happen soon, she’d told him as they journeyed down the steps to the pub earlier in the evening. I can feel it.
She had sensed something the past night, slept poorly. Several times, he’d woken to hear her mumbling in her sleep. He’d wanted to demand she tell him what was amiss, but didn’t feel right in pushing. She’d come to help him—she didn’t have to be here.
He, on the other hand, did. Irian no longer compelled him. Even if the soul in the sword suddenly disappeared, Aryn wouldn’t leave her until he unearthed whatever foul magic plagued this seemingly idyllic village.
“Stop it, lad.” Irian came to awareness on a quiet sigh.
Aryn had the disturbing image of another man, a bit taller, broader, thick dark hair and black Wildling’s eyes—the man seemed to stand beside him, watching Tyriel as intently as Aryn did. “She does have t’ be here. She feels the same gnawing in her gut that you feel right now. Her heart compels her t’ be here the same as does yours.”
Aryn shifted against the wall. “I liked it better when you were just a sword.”
Irian laughed. “Never was I just a sword, Aryn. And well you know it. Part of you has always known.” The ghost-like image of Irian that lingered in Aryn’s mind seemed to shift and he propped one fur-lined boot against the wall, watching as a man lifted his mug of ale to his lips and drank while watching Tyriel as she left the stage. “He is wondering if she’s for hire. Not from here. Getting ready t’ toss some coin her way for a quick fuck.”
Aryn had noticed the man earlier—he’d been here the previous night and had spent much of the night staring at Aryn’s partner then, too.
“Is he now?” he murmured. “Apparently my possessive act needs a bit of work.”
“Lad, if you only knew—he’s a bloody fool. Everybody else knows t’ whom she belongs.” The ghostly image slid him a narrow look. “Well, almost. But he’s daft and stupid. Thinks Lady Tyriel is a lovely, hot young thing with naught much between her ears, a woman good for no’ much more than a hard fucking. And he’s monied. He thinks that’s all that matters. Men like him, they never change.”
Aryn watched through slitted eyes as Tyriel passed by the man in question. A merchant, Aryn suspected. Rich, too. He had two guards with him and neither of them reacted as the man reached out to stop Tyriel.
She slowed her steps and gave him a polite look.
“Should have just kept walking, elf,” Aryn muttered. Some of the pub’s customers were already looking toward Aryn, but the merchant took no notice as he settled a hand on Tyriel’s hip, smiling as he spoke.
With a firm shake of her head, Tyriel stepped away.
The merchant fisted his hand in her skirts and yanked. Aryn winced, wondering if that move would end with a knife in the man’s bollocks.
But Tyriel stayed in character and wobbled, as if thrown off balance and when the merchant caught her arm, she tumbled into his lap, her mouth an open, startled oh.
“Stupid man,” Irian said as Aryn shoved away from the wall. “Very, very stupid.”
Aryn ignored him as he strode across the room. The two guards were already on their feet, one moving to his employer, the other coming around to intercept Aryn.
Aryn pulled his sword from the leather sheath at his back without breaking stride and swung, clipping the guard on the temple. He went down hard.
“Stay out of this and you can keep your tongue and your sword arm,” he warned the other guard.
The man glanced between the merchant and his fallen partner and backed up, hands raised.
Satisfied, Aryn turned his attention to the merchant who had just now noticed he was the center of attention.
Pressing the tip of his blade to the man’s nose, he said, “That’s my woman.”
“She’s got no marriage band.” The merchant glanced at his guard.
Aryn lowered the blade and pressed it to the merchant’s throat.
“Do you want to leave this town with bloody stumps at the end of your wrists, and a bloody hole where your cock once hung? If not, I suggest you let her go.”
The man’s answer came out more a squawk than anything else and Tyriel slid smoothly from his lap. Aryn thought he glimpsed laughter in her eyes, imagined she could have dealt with the pig in fifty different bloody ways, but it would have shown her hand.
“Now,” Aryn said, letting some of his savage temper bleed through in his voice as he hauled the merchant up. Kicking the man’s feet out from under him, he let the bastard drop to the floor, side by side with the fallen guard. “Perhaps we should establish rules of etiquette.”
“Don’t hurt him, love,” Tyriel said as she rushed to his side. Once there, she pressed her face to his chest.
Aryn pressed his free hand to her back, groaning inwardly at the soft, sleek feel of her against him.
And damn the wench. She was laughing.
Aryn stroked a hand down her arm, aware that the people in the pub saw her trembling form and suspected tears.
He had to get them out of here.
“You’ve upset her, you bastard pig.”
“I did not know she had a man!” the merchant bellowed. He went to rise but Aryn pressed his blade to the man’s throat. “Bloody hell, she’s been up there half the night twitching her ass and swaying her hips, looking like a bitch in heat—”
