Chapter Text
“Let me go, let me go, let me go!” Isha wailed as cruel fingers peeled back her skin. Stripping, stripping, stripping. Plucking and nipping at raw nerves. Claws rooted through her muscles until they reached her bones. Breath drawn inwards, she held stock still; one slip in the Psyker’s attention was all she required.
“Get away from me, witch!” she shouted, and managed to produce nothing but a frail whisper.
Darting upwards, she slammed into a brick wall. A supernova exploded in her body and disintegrated her mind into its subatomic particles. She hissed. A clamour of beeps and wails assaulted her ears.
Where was she?
“Shh, Isha.” Calloused fingers trailed over her cheek, their touch light and gentle against the firestorm ravaging her skin. “It’s alright. It was only a dream…”
She recognised the voice.
Heinrix?!
What was he doing in her bedroom?
“Ah, shereen, you had us worried for a second.”
Jae?!
Why was she here, too? And where was that caterwauling sound of a grox in heat coming from?
She blinked her eyes into focus in a nondescript room brimming with bouquets. Flowers? Where in the Emperor’s name was she?! And why did her limbs hurt as though she had been roasted in an oven until she had transformed into a lump of charcoal? She smelled like it, too…
“Where am I?” she croaked against the red-hot scalpel severing her vocal cords. Reduced to a whimper, she continued, “And can someone shut off the noise?”
Tilting her head, she winced. Again. Her brain had decided to remain in its former position and now smashed into the side of her skull. Repeatedly. She laboured upright. Before her companions had time to answer her, the attending nurse shooed Heinrix and Jae out of the room. A faint memory returned. The assault on the voidship. A fire ravaging the bridge. Her passing out...
“I have much work to do, so inject me with your strongest stimulant,” she barked at the man who studied the readouts from the monitors placed around the bed. “And shut off that damn alarm!”
Instead, a hand guided her back to a lying position. She flinched at the light touch as though a sledgehammer had smashed her shoulder joint. Although she struggled against the intrusion, she didn’t achieve much more than another burst of pain blazing down her spine. At last, the bleating and blaring stopped when the door slid open. Small mercies. A chirurgeon entered. The woman exchanged a few words with the nurse.
“Lord Captain, you were severely injured. It would be best to rest and heal,” she said, without looking up from the data-slate. “It was only–”
“Bah, pump me full of whatever or fetch me van Calox.” She swallowed the sour taste coating her mouth. “He’s a Biomancer. He can heal me!”
Instead of a command, her voice produced a hoarse whisper. She tossed the blanket back. Her eyes watered. Clenching her teeth, she swung her legs out of the sickbed for the nurse to direct her torso back into the pillows. Still gentle but with a firm emphasis that she would do better not to resist a third time.
“Master van Calox is the reason Your Ladyship is alive.”
The chirurgeon passed the data-slate back to the nurse. The man scrolled down, nodded, and administered a drug through the cannula stuck in the back of her left hand. The attention-grabbing pain eased into the background. Easy to ignore.
“Your Ladyship suffered from near-complete and fatal cardiac and respiratory arrest because of severe smoke inhalation. This is not something many people walk away from alive, even less with a prognosis of full recovery without the need for supportive augmetics. Your Ladyship is progressing well, but I insist on another two days of strict bed rest, at least.”
She had been dead?! Or nearly dead? And Heinrix had brought her back to life?
Tapping her ear to hail the Vox Master, she found it empty. She pinched her nose. She could not spend two days in bed, doing nothing while her ship was lingering in danger…
“I require a status update on the damage and loss of life! And something for my…”
She motioned to her throat. The nurse filled a glass with water and handed it to her. After a careful sip, she cradled the drink in her lap. The stale liquid scorched down into her stomach without dispelling the sour taste in her mouth.
“Why don’t we start with grox broth first, Lord Captain, and see how well you tolerate the fluid intake? Loss of life has been minimal, and the rest will have to wait until Your Ladyship has fully recuperated,” the chirurgeon suggested in a friendly tone that nonetheless didn’t brook dissent. The woman plucked the drink from her grasp to place it on the side table. The glass thumped on the wood, underlining her point.
“May I at least read reports?”
“Your Ladyship will rest without any stressful events or news, but I can allow some light reading aloud by a member of your retinue. A romance novel, perhaps? Your Ladyship should speak as little as possible to allow your larynx to heal properly.”
Sniffing her armpit, she sank deeper into the pillow. “And a bath? I smell terrible…”
“A sponge bath.” The chirurgeon adjusted the flow on the drip infusion before dimming the lumen in the room. “I’ll have the nurse attend to you, and now rest, Lord Captain!”
“No!” she wailed, and her regret was instantaneous. “I am the Lord Captain! This is my ship! And I will not be treated like a damn prisoner on my own…”
Her voice broke. She slammed her fists down on the bedding. No! Had her disfigured claws been on display the whole time? Glancing around the room, she hurried to hide her right hand under the blanket.
“Your Ladyship, you were critically ill just a day ago, and to experience the potential loss of another Lord Captain so soon after the death of Lady Theodora was a devastating blow to the crew. Rest. Your ship can take care of herself for a few more days; thousands owe you their lives. No more heroics, chirurgeon’s order.”
The nurse left. With the door opening, Jae, Heinrix and Abelard streamed into the room. The chirurgeon exchanged a few words with them. The muted conversation didn’t last longer than a few seconds, and the woman excused herself.
Hands clasped behind his back, her seneschal took position at the end of the sickbed. “Lord Captain, seeing you awake and well is a relief. Permission to deliver my report?”
She motioned for him to continue. Without a word, Heinrix dropped a pair of leather gloves into her lap. They exchanged a tense look. Worry had carved deep ravines into his forehead and amassed as steep crags around his mouth. When she didn’t pick them up, he nodded at the gift, and his usually well-groomed hair fell in straggly strands into his face. She smiled at him. Of course, he would care enough to provide her with the means to cover herself up. His eyes crinkled. Colour flooded his cheeks to whisk the ashen tone hiding underneath the pronounced five-o’clock shadow away.
“Lord Captain, pardon my expression, but what in the Emperor’s name were you thinking? Risking your life for the bridge crew?”
She darted upright. Instead of a rebuke, her throat produced a hoarse protest.
Glowering at her seneschal, Heinrix’s half-lipped smile slipped off his face to be replaced by a stern line. “Werserian, enough! This is not the time for a lecture! Deliver your report or return once you have cooled your temper!”
“Young man, I won’t be reprimanded by a rookie who wasn’t even born when I was already a commanding officer in the Navy. I,” he stabbed at Heinrix’s chest, “know a thing or two about the optimal running of a ship, and the Lord Captain’s behaviour was reckless at best, idiotic at worst. And I won’t allow it–”
“Seneschal, with all due respect,” Heinrix said in a tone that didn’t leave room for doubt that the respect owed amounted to zero, “this is not your prerogative. Last time I looked, it was still Lady von Valancius who was the supreme commander of this vessel.”
With mouth agape, she followed the exchange. Fists would start flying at any moment if nobody stepped between the two squabblers. As charming as Heinrix’s defence of her actions was, once they were alone, he would echo Abelard’s sentiments, and she would not apologise for saving people’s lives. Neither to him nor to her seneschal.
“Gentlemen, take your quarrel outside. Lady von Valancius is still on the mend.” Flashing her a toothy grin, Jae shepherded the men towards the door. “Write a report, both of you, for the Lord Captain’s sake.”
Heinrix voiced his protest, but her friend whispered something in his ear, and he allowed her to shove him outside. There, the shouting continued unabated. Jae’s hug squeezed the air and her unanswered questions out of her lungs. It felt terrific to be embraced by her friend, and a profound sigh slipped from her lips as the tension slipped from her shoulders.
“Isha, shereen, it’s good to have you back. You had me worried there for a moment. But your paramour saved your life most courageously, or so I’ve heard.”
“He is not…” she whispered. “My paramour…”
“Oh, that’s a simple formality. Can I get you anything?”
“A mirror, a stim, and a recaf.”
“Let’s start with the gloves.”
Jae motioned at her lap. She stared at the gloves as if she had seen them for the first time before slipping into the right one. The cold, smooth leather enveloped her fingers like a protective cocoon.
“Who? Why?”
“Do you really have to ask? Your beloved wanted me to fetch a pair of gloves and your vox-bead for you. I don’t want to know what you two did in that place, but it took me some time to find that thing. At least searching for your vox was a distraction from worrying and waiting for you to pull through.”
Her eyebrows shot up. Beloved??? Had she heard right?
“Jae…”
“You don’t think Heinrix would have left your side, do you? No, he stood watch over you for the past two days. As far as I can tell, he didn’t sleep a minute, so be nice to him later. He deserves your gratitude. For once.”
Tilting her head to the ceiling, her brain smashed into the back of her skull, and her protest died in a wince. Outside, the shouting had stopped. She brushed against the ribbon tied around her wrist. Although the velvet was singed at the edges, the knot had held firm. Was Heinrix still wearing his?
“Shereen, don’t you think it’s high time to move past your grudge? And don’t tell him that I said that, but Heinrix isn’t such a terrible guy once you get past the whole Inquisition rigmarole. Underneath that stuffy exterior, he truly cares for you, and the way I see it, he deeply regrets his stupid behaviour…”
Mirror, she gestured. And recaf.
Jae bowed with mocking fluidity. “One moment, Your Ladyship.”
Her friend searched the side table. A sprawling bouquet in a rainbow of colours crowded the surface, and its perfume threaded into the sour smell of days-old sweat. Above the cloying scent hovered the stink of burnt promethium.
“The flowers?” she asked.
The nightstand wasn’t the only free space in the room filled with vases. A rap on the door halted the quest for the mirror and thwarted an answer to her question. The nurse entered. Apart from a sour look, he carried a tray with a steaming bowl and a sponge.
“Let me take this. We need a mirror, and the Lord Captain wants a recaf.”
Contorting her lips, she pleaded with the man to fulfil at least that minor request. How humiliating that her injuries had reduced her to begging. On her own damn ship! This was more confinement than convalescence. The nurse pointed to a table at the opposite side of the room. A wall of flowers obscured the desired item.
After setting down the tray beside the bed, Jae handed her the mirror. Hissing through her teeth, she recoiled from the face staring back at her: gaunt cheeks stained with soot, which someone half-heartedly had tried to wipe away, only to create a worse mess in the process; cracked lips, coated with dried blood; singed eyebrows and lashes framed by equally singed hair. Her ordeal had been written on her skin. Heinrix had seen her in this state?
Impossible!
Jae dipped the sponge into the bowl and wrung it out before dabbing it over her cheeks. The warm water left a sheen of cosiness on her skin. Sinking back into the pillow, she shut her eyes as her friend narrated every step, as if caring for a child. Jae hummed a soothing melody that lulled her into a calm. The last time Jae had done the same for her, she hadn’t been her friend yet, and Isha had also barely evaded death. She bit her lip. The memories dredged up by that comparison were too upsetting to linger on.
“Look at you. Do you want me to clean you further?”
She nodded. The person in the mirror almost resembled the face she remembered as her own, although grimacing still hurt. She pinched her cheeks to return a speck of colour to her pallid skin.
“I don’t think that will do much good, Lord Captain.”
“Heinrix…”
Leaning in the door frame, he balanced a tray on his arms from which the seductive smell of freshly brewed recaf and grox broth wafted to her. Her stomach announced its existence with a grumble. She tried her best to reciprocate his smile when a cough wracked her body. She winced with each rasp. He handed off the tray to Jae to hurry to her side and stroke her back in long, calming motions. Under his attention, the constriction in her chest lessened. With another deep inhale, she wiped away the moisture that had gathered in the corner of her eyes.
“How are you feeling?” he whispered, his voice a rumble in her gut. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, please. I was going mad with worry, Isha…”
He settled beside her on the bed to cup her face, drawing her closer until his breath grazed over her cracked lips. Tucking a stray lock behind her ear, his touch lingered far longer than necessary.
“I’ll leave you two to it. You surely have a lot to talk about.”
Jae’s voice startled them both. He pursed his lips, ready to fire a broadside at her friend, who winked at them before she slipped out of the room. Her departure left a hint of warm spices in its wake. Outside, her laughter intermingled with the sounds of an animated conversation, then the door shut behind her.
“I’m so glad you are with me again. I wouldn’t have… I can’t imagine…”
Careful not to press down on the cannula, he clutched her left hand and brought it to his mouth to place faint kisses on her fingertips. Each touch travelled along her arm into her chest to rouse the bird from its slumber. Unable to resist, she cupped his face. The stubble on his chin tingled like a light summer rain in her naked palm. Her thumb brushed over his lower lip. It trembled with each exhale, and his breath sweltered against her skin. She should remove her hand! Instead, she leaned into his caress and their foreheads almost touched. The low light of the lumen must have played a trick on his eyes, as one appeared to be a different shade of grey than the other, the longer she gazed into them. After a few, much too short moments, in which the warmth of their shared touches had soothed them both, he released her hand.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…” Ruffling his hair, he stood up. “I’m getting ahead of…”
I can’t speak, she mouthed, gesturing at her throat. Something to drink.
He rounded the bed and handed her the cup. “Careful, it’s hot. And tiny sips only; you haven’t drunk anything in the past 48 hours.”
She pinched her lips, but followed his advice. The recaf seared her tongue with the taste of triple-distilled and rewarmed grox piss, and she struggled to swallow. The next sip blazed down her oesophagus, worse than the first. She choked on the scorching liquid. Her chest heaved under her failure to suppress a cough, and the recaf sploshed dangerously close to spilling over the rim and onto her hand and blanket. Before it stained the bedding, Heinrix seized the cup from her grasp.
“Will you do something about my throat or…” she rasped as her vocal cords were raked over gleaming coals.
Slumping back into the pillow, she crumpled the blanket in her fists. It was frustrating!
“Are you sure? This could hurt, Isha.”
His fingers traced along her collarbone until his thumbs settled into the hollow of her neck. Her pulse quivered against his thumb pads. Are you sure? his look inquired again. Was she? Could she trust him not to hurt her? He had healed her before, had saved her life; he would not exploit this opportunity to torment her… Squeezing her eyes shut, she inclined her head. Enduring his Biomancy couldn’t be worse than the state she was in now.
“Focus on your breathing and relax.”
His voice was a susurrus for her agitated mind. Soothing. Warm and heavy. His palms cupping her throat, he tilted her neck and chin to prod her skin. Satisfied, he removed his hands again. Although she had braced for what was coming, she still gasped when a slush of ice flooded her mouth. Within seconds, her memories surged into her mind. Wave after wave threatened to wash her out into the open sea of her nightmares.
It’s Heinrix; nothing terrible will happen, she repeated over her thrashing heartbeat.
She seized the blanket with a force that might rip it in half. Her anchor to reality. The machines in her back beeped to signal to the whole medicae ward that she wasn’t well, that she was tortured and could do nothing to resist her torment. In the blank canvas of darkness, Heinrix’s face merged with another’s who had enjoyed choking the life out of her. His caress had reduced her to a whimper.
Against the leaden dread paralysing her, she forced her eyes open.
The Psyker wasn’t here!
“Isha, are you okay?”
“Yes, continue,” she gasped.
She would see it through.
Now, a caress as gentle as the faintest breeze sweeping over sun-kissed skin permeated every cell inside her body. Her mind entered a lull. The soft susurrus left a comfortable numbness in its wake. Although she was exhausted, she was cared for. She placed her hand on his as it trailed away from the hollow of her neck to her collarbone. There, they both found rest. She marvelled at the difference in their size: hers was slender, ending in elegant fingers not used to hard labour, but no longer so fragile that a day of exertion would bring blisters to her skin. His hand was that of a fighter: muscular, with calloused digits. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the tuft of dark hair on its back that vanished under the cuff of his uniform.
“Thank you. Thank you…” she whispered. “For everything.”
He slipped her grasp and returned to the tray. “The broth… You should try it before it’s too cold to eat. It should no longer hurt to swallow.”
“I can eat on my own, Heinrix, thank you very much.” She took the bowl from him without spilling its contents down her chest. “My ship? My crew? How are they?”
“If you promise to eat the broth…”
“Yes, yes, I can eat and listen. I’m not deathly ill, you know…”
“I see that,” he chuckled and placed the tray over her lap. “And I should have kept you mute. Much easier to care for.”
“Heinrix!”
“Is it not the truth?”
“Ugh…!”
She took a spoonful. A rich and hearty aroma filled her mouth. After a few more careful sips, she abandoned the cutlery and all pretences of manners to slurp the broth directly from the bowl. When her stomach didn’t protest the assault of salty goodness, she sank back into the pillows.
“Is that recaf still an option? And I would greatly appreciate an update on the status of my crew and ship. Right now!”
She would not stay silent until she knew about the fate of those in her care, and if she had to march onto the bridge to receive that status report, she would do that. Emperor and all his Saints!
“Of course, Lord Captain.” He stood up, removed the tray, and handed her the cup. “I am sorry that I have misjudged our current…”
“Don’t, Heinrix.”
“I don’t follow?”
“Don’t withdraw and return to unwanted formalities.” She took a sip. It still tasted horrible. “I… It’s… We shouldn’t pretend that there’s more or less between us than…”
“Yes, Isha? What should we stop pretending?”
“That there’s more than friendship between us. Or less. We care for each other, don’t we?”
“I know I committed a terrible mistake and have regretted my words ever since. Holding you in my arms, I… I thought you would die… And I can’t imagine a world without–”
“Stop! Heinrix!” She thumped the cup on her thigh. The lukewarm swill sloshed over the rim and dyed the blanket in a muddy brown. “This is not the right time for confessions…”
The cold stain wrapped around her leg like a wet towel. Before she could throw back the bed cover, he plucked the drink from her grasp and placed it out of reach. Then he sat down beside her.
“When is the right time? I’m sorry, Isha. I’ve hurt you, and I’ve been less than the ideal man in the past. Will you grant me another chance?” Perched on the edge of her bed, he leaned in to her, and his warmth enveloped her with the comfort of an oversized coat. “For you, I will strive to be a better man – a better partner. Will you grant me that chance?”
Plucking her hand, he glanced at her with soft eyes. Heat flushed her cheeks. Oh, how she longed to cup his face and tell him everything was forgiven. But she didn’t dare. His rejection had hurt her as a rope would, as it slipped from one’s grasp with the force of a gale catching in a sail. Sharp and acute. With a simmering burn that lasted until the broken skin had healed. He would abandon her. And she feared that day her heart would shatter into a million pieces, impossible to mend afterwards. As much as she desired him, his caress, his kisses —it was for the better that they stayed as they were: friends who cherished each other without their feelings progressing beyond that profound care.
“Heinrix, I… I don’t know what to say…” She lowered her gaze, or his ardent pleading would capsize her resolve. “I don’t wish to sound ungrateful. I’m glad it was you who saved my life. I won’t forget that and…” Her voice faltered. “We care for each other, and that should be enough. For both of us.”
Again, he kissed her hand, kissed each finger with such keen reverence that it was impossible to remain unaffected by his caress. Her chest heaved. She bit down hard on her lips as she balled her fists under his affection. With each kiss, a confession yearned to slip her throat. The words churned in her mouth until she no longer tolerated their tart taste.
“And my nearly dying hasn’t altered reality. What you said then still holds true now, doesn’t it? It’s not about our wants and desires; it’s about accepting the bitter truth about our lives. You are an Agent of the Golden Throne. You said it yourself more than once… and that hasn’t changed overnight, has it?” Unable to stall her hand, she cupped his cheek. It twitched against her palm in the rhythm of his fitful breaths warming the leather on her wrist. “I’m not even angry any more… Heinrix, I cherish you and I care for you, so quit apologising! However, both of us could die at any moment, and that realisation isn’t enough to throw–”
“Damn it, Isha!” Hiding a groan behind his knuckles, he leapt to his feet. “I’ve bitterly regretted these words ever since I uttered them, and yet… and yet and yet they are the truth. My duty to the Golden Throne must come before everything else.” He clenched his jaw. “Tell me, in all honesty and sincerity, that my wants and desires are not mirrored in yours, and I will… You must not fear any repercussions from telling me to restrain myself, I promise.”
She brushed over the green ribbon tied to his wrist, where his pulse throbbed against her thumb with an impossible pace. What should she say now?
Yes, of course, she desired him. Against her better judgment. He was the one person in the Imperium she yearned for, and who would never be hers. Hers alone. That fact hurt more than the worst torture she had endured. But to tell him to stop? Tell him to return to stilted formalities when they cared so much for each other?
Impossible!
She flipped the blanket back and swung her legs out of bed. The infusion line stuck in her left hand yanked her back like a bandog on a chain. She ripped at the cannula until the tube came loose. Clear liquid dripped everywhere. Another alarm blared its solitary warning through the ward. She huffed. She would no longer stay bed-bound in her misery. If nobody updated her on her crew and ship, she would have to inquire on her own. On the bridge. It beat languishing about an impossible future or continuing this futile conversation with Heinrix.
“Isha, what in the Emperor’s name are you doing?” He nudged her back into the pillows. “You must rest.”
“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”
Swiping his arm away, she stepped onto a merry-go-round. Her knees buckled. She tensed her muscles, but they failed to support her weight. Insistent on ignoring her aching body, she hopped off the carousel and into a pit of jelly. Congealed corpse starch swallowed her whole. Blinking against the blackness encroaching her from every side, she stumbled forward and into a solid wall of flesh. Where was that sound coming from?
A clammy sheen coated her forehead. She swiped at it. And missed. Couldn’t someone shut off that ringing?
She took another step into a warm embrace.
“Isha!” was the last word she heard before darkness claimed her.
***
She awoke again, constrained to the same sickbed she had tried to flee. She glanced around the darkened room. Heinrix napped in a chair by her side, her hand resting in his palm. Listening to his steady breathing, she disentangled her fingers from his grasp, one after the other, until she had freed them all. As silently as possible, she tugged the bedspread down. And waited. A single beeping in her back wove itself into Heinrix’s snoring. She counted the sounds. With the tenth beep, she ripped the infusion line out of the cannula and tied a knot into its end.
“Where do you think you are going?” Heinrix said without opening his eyes.
“Nowhere.” She slipped her left hand under the blanket. “How long have I been unconscious? And you awake?”
“Another twelve hours. And I was never asleep.”
“Sure, that snoring was an act…”
With a corner of his mouth quirking upwards, he looked at her. “How are you?”
“Better. Much better,” she lied. “In fact, I’m well enough already that we can finally plan our assault on Kiava Gamma. And since nobody wants to provide me with any updates…”
She flipped the blanket back.
He leapt to his feet with impossible speed to nudge her into the pillows. “You’re still on strict bed rest, Isha. Last time you tried to leave your bed, your ill-advised escapades saw you collapsing into my arms.”
“Good grief, man,” she groaned. “You’re not the one who decides if I can or cannot leave the bed!”
“Neither do you. And the chirurgeon insisted on more time spent recuperating.”
He tugged the blanket to her chin. She yanked it down again. Pulling it back up, he placed a hand on her sternum. I dare you! said her eyes as she extracted the bed cover from his grasp and bunched it around her waist. He clicked his tongue but didn’t insist on covering her up once more.
“We can’t waste more time. How long since the first attack? Three days?”
“Four.”
“Four! So the cultists had four more days to organise their resistance? I can’t believe it!”
“So had we,” he rubbed his neck, “and if the Lord Captain allows it, I can lead the assault team, and you can stay aboard the ship and continue convalescing.”
“That’s out of the question! Either we all go down to the surface under my leadership, or we must wait until I’m released from my sickbed.”
“Then it might be too late…”
“Make up your mind. Either we can wait until I’m well again, or the matter is urgent enough that we must act immediately. It can’t be both.” Pursing her lips, she batted her eyelashes at him. “So what will it be?”
“We shouldn’t tarry much longer, at least not as long as it will take you to be fully recuperated.”
“I’ll accompany you then.”
“How often must I repeat myself?” He leaned down to her until their eyes were level. “You are not well enough to embark on a combat mission.”
“Allow me to prove it to you.”
Her gaze skated over the stubble-free planes of his face down to his jaw, twitching with each exhale. The urge to run a finger along that line to the dimple in his chin and kiss him to shut him up prickled in her fingertips. She flared her nostrils, and his musky perfume curled in her nose. It was not fair! His attractiveness was a distraction to her argument.
“Prove it? How? You’re still in a weakened state, and no amount of determination will change that.” He softened his voice. “You must not pretend, not around me.”
“A sparring match to demonstrate that I can take care of myself.”
His brows clashed together over his nose like two gigantic walruses fighting over a mate. “No, are you insane?!”
“We could also try shooting at different targets. However, I might have an unfair advantage since I’ve never seen you wield your Las-Pistol in combat. Let us up the ante: if you win, I’ll stay aboard, and you’ll lead the mission. But if I beat you in a sparring match, I’ll accompany you to Kiava Gamma.” She held out a hand. “Deal?”
“You’re impossible, woman.” He wiped over his forehead to shoo the warring walruses away. “There won’t be a way for me to dissuade you from your plan, will there?”
Grinning at him, she flung the blanket back.
***
With the stim coursing through her veins, she bounced on her feet, ready to charge at Heinrix across the sparring ring once her seneschal gave the word. She felt invincible. Gone was the sense of dread. Gone was the tiredness in her muscles. Gone was the shortness of breath. She could take on the world if she must, and she would beat Heinrix. Handily. With time to spare. Whatever it was that Jae had injected her with before Abelard had called them into the ring was incredible.
Passing the sabre back and forth from one hand to the other, she glanced at her feet, then up again. It had been a mistake to insist on wearing traditional fencing armour. The skintight bodyglove revealed everything. Every perfectly sculpted muscle. And Throne take her, were there many! If she had considered Heinrix’s face carved from marble, then his body was chiselled by a sculptor with a perfectionist streak. Impeccable tailoring alone was not responsible for his imperious build. No, he possessed the vigorous physique to support his posturing. When she imagined herself peeling him out of his armour after the sparring match, tracing every inch of revealed skin with her hands and her mouth, her lap pulsed with a sweltering urge. It was unfair. Would there be chest hair? She bit her cheek. She hoped there would be much of it for her to rake her fingers through until he purred like a cat.
“Attention, fighters!”
Abelard’s voice boomed her back into reality. Above her, the air recyclers laboured against the sweat of decades of training permeating every surface and failed to whisk the stench away.
Focus!
Stretching out her limbs, she gripped the sabre in her left hand. She had been adamant that they wield proper weapons for their duel, not dull training swords. She rolled her neck. Not a strand of hair moved. Her locks were plaited into a long braid, pinned up into a topknot to hinder her in her movements as little as possible. And to deny Heinrix an advantage.
“Ready your weapons! On my mark!”
Opposite her, Heinrix had assumed a wide-legged stance. With elbows out to the side and shoulders squared, he resembled a shelf edge on which she longed to run herself aground. The lumen bands cast their clinched doppelgangers on the mat.
“We can still call this off, Lord Captain. You have proven your point already,” he addressed a spot a few feet before him. A gust of cold air swept over her face to bristle the hairs on her neck.
She cocked her chin. “Never.”
“Very well, but don’t complain afterwards.”
“And go!” Abelard commanded.
The words had not yet left her seneschal’s mouth as Heinrix lunged at her. He thrust his sabre towards her centre. She yanked up her sword. Their blades connected. Sparks flew to ignite a predatory lust in his narrowed eyes. Their weapons whistled through the air with another incursion. She deflected his attack to the outside and spun around him with a dancer’s practised ease. Next, he would feign a bout to the left. Instead, he swept in on her right, and she missed his blade by an inch. Her parry cleaved the air in half.
She hissed. He had nicked her bodyglove at the waist. That was close. Too close.
He withdrew to charge once more and caught her off guard. She stumbled backwards. With another flurry of blows, he pursued her. Although he was careful in his strikes now, he granted her no reprieve. Their weapons crossed between their bodies. Again. She leaned forward. Pressed down. Testing. Taunting. Panting. Wishing for a pause. Where was his weak spot?
“Not expecting me to fight left-handed, were you?”
“Lord Captain, if I were you, I would concentrate on freeing myself instead of taunting me. It accomplishes nothing.”
Ha! Pompous ass, she would show him how a Fydean princess fought!
With a shift in her weight, she lunged backwards. Then to the side. She ducked out of the arc of his sword, and he stumbled a step forward. Twirling around him, she slashed at his thigh. A feint here. Followed by a riposte there. Her strikes aimed to unbalance him and keep him from regaining his centre. He caught her attacks, just so, and directed them away from his body. Tiny droplets of sweat had gathered above his brows. They gleamed in the stark light. He charged forward. Their weapons connected again. The impact travelled up to her shoulder joint. Clenching her jaw, she leaned on her full weight, but the blade edged closer to her throat. Inch by inch. The muscles in her biceps convulsed under the exertion, and she stumbled backwards. Driven back by his determination.
“Finally, Heinrix! Don’t hold back. Claim your prize!”
“Stop. Taunting. Me,” he hissed.
“Why? Don’t you enjoy the view?”
Heart pounding in her throat, her head bopped forward, and her mouth brushed over his cheek. Salt prickled on her lips. He blinked at her and lowered his weapon an inch. She ducked to the side. Without a counterbalance, he staggered a few steps forward. She slashed at his sword arm. And struck the hilt. With one flick of his wrist, her blade caught in his. Again. She grunted. The time for child’s play was over. She wanted to win! And to win, she must disarm him.
She withdrew to a safe distance. Her lungs blazed in a fire that spread to her lips. She circled him. He mirrored her. Neither committing to the next attack, they stared at each other. Spellbound. Entranced. Captivated. Until she broke the spell. Feinting at his left side, she lunged forward to slice at his sword arm. But her charge darted into the space he had been in moments before as if he had anticipated precisely where she would strike. Trapping her weapon at his side, he grabbed her wrist and flicked it to the outside.
“Unhand me!” she yelped over the pain wrenching through her arm.
Instead, he freed the sabre from her grasp as though he had been toying with her before and hurled it out of the ring. Dragged to his chest, she struggled against the airtight hold around her wrist.
“Let. Me. Go.”
“It’s over, Lord Captain. You’ve put up a good fight, now let’s end this before you injure yourself.”
“Never!”
Grabbing his chin, her head bopped forward. Their lips connected. He hitched a breath, eyes wide open and locked on her. It’s a distraction, nothing more! Chapped skin brushed over chapped skin in this impossible kiss. Neither blinked nor flinched. Time slowed to a standstill. At last, his grip loosened around her waist, and she slipped from his confinement.
“Come and get me, Heinrix!” Jutting her chin out, she bolted another step back. “I’m not the easy prey you think I am.”
He flung his sword away, and it thudded to the ground. A force in motion stays in motion unless acted on by another force. Charging at her, he became pure motion. Their bodies clashed like waves on rocks. Tumbling over each other, they rolled around the sparring ring until she was on top of him. His hips bucked into her lap. Hard and hot. She clenched her thighs around his waist and rooted her knees into the mat. She wouldn’t be unseated. Both were grunting, panting, and wheezing. Then he clutched her wrists and flipped her on her back. Effortlessly. As if he had been play-fighting before.
“Let go, you dumb grox!” she hissed.
Trapping her arms over her head, he lowered his chest onto her torso. One leg inside her thighs, the other outside. Both gasped for air. Sweat dripped onto her face. Each droplet sizzled on her flushed skin. His gaze glinted with the hunger of a predator who had caught his prey. Gone was his placidity. Gone was his gallantry. Gone was his cautiousness. Now, his body communicated his appetite for her. Unguarded. Unfettered. Unbridled. She savoured dragging her knee up and over the entire, considerable length of his arousal. Holding her breath, she waited for his next move. With a hiss, he pulled back his face an inch or their mouths would have connected in another kiss.
“Is this another way of confining me to bed, Heinrix?”
“Isha!”
Desperate as a prayer, her name breached his lips in fitful puffs sweltering on her cheek.
“Yes?” she whispered.
“Don’t. Test. My Restraint,” he expelled each word with difficulty. “It is. Not. Limitless.”
“You’d better let me go then, or my seneschal might lob your head off.”
She motioned with her chin over his shoulder, and he released her wrists. Righting himself on his knees, he held out a hand to help her up, but she stared at his crotch, at the considerable bulge straining against the thin fabric of the bodyglove. The urge to trace that outline sizzled in her fingertips. She licked her lips. Now an icy kiss prickled on her forehead. Glancing up, the same dark desire coursing through her veins drowned out the colour in his eyes.
By the Throne, she wanted this man! Against her better judgment.
“Draw?”
“I believe I’ve won this round,” he scoffed.
“You’ve cast your weapon away, or do you carry another one in your trousers with which you want to skewer me?”
“Isha!” His lips brushed over her ear, almost a caress. “Careful, woman!”
She cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t deny it, do you?”
“A draw.” He stood up and offered her his hand again. “What does that mean, Lord Captain?”
“You’ll lead the mission. However, I’ll accompany you to the manufactorum of Kiava Gamma.”