“No names,” I bit out, and then I tugged on his arm, bent over the bed, and looked back over my shoulder. “Hurry up. Please,” I added.
He obeyed at once—put his meaty hands on my hips, thrust into me from behind. I fisted the bed’s quilt and closed my eyes. A mistake. Behind my eyelids were roaring flames, screaming girls, the memory of Petra’s flesh giving way to my blade. Nesset, howling with sadness, peeling off her gray skin in long strips. Gemma and Farrin—dead, flayed, dismembered, disemboweled. My whirling mind was a festival of violence.
“Harder,” I commanded. “Faster.”
The man hesitated, panting. “Are you sure?”
“You won’t hurt me.” I pressed back into him, taking him deeper, making him moan. Immediately he grabbed hold of my hair and droveinto me so hard I cried out—in pain, in delighted surprise. My eagerness encouraged him, and he kept going, more confident now. Sharp, hard thrusts, his hands digging into my flesh, his groans buried in my hair. He was big; I’d be tender in the morning, probably bruised. But that was what I wanted. That kind of pain I could bear.
This time, when I closed my eyes, I saw nothing but welcome warm blackness.
Chapter 5
The next morning, I awoke before dawn and left the sailor snoring in bed. A few coins and a note of thanks on the bedside table—the men especially liked mementos to show their friends—and I was gone. His snores followed me down the hallway. I’d worn him out. I envied the complete abandon of his sleep.
I was nearing the border of Fenwood, watching the sky for signs of what the Mist’s mood would be that day, when a dark figure caught my attention. It moved swiftly through the shadows wearing a hooded cloak like my own. I knew that gait and that silhouette, even draped in fabric.
The Warden.
I nearly pressed on back to Rosewarren. I needed a bath, a tonic from the infirmary to guard myself against infections, and some sleep. And I was in a wonderful mood that I didn’t want to give up, all my bad thoughts rigorously scrubbed away by the sailor and his impressive stamina.
But remembering Cira’s recent musings gave me pause.
The Warden is quite unwell, isn’t she?
She really ought to hurry up and have that child she’s supposed to bear.
It was entirely possible, of course, that the Warden was here inFenwood for any number of reasons that had nothing to do with taking a lover into her bed. My curiosity, though, was too eager to ignore.
I followed her down the main road at a safe distance. On either side of me was the sleepy morning bustle of the town waking up: a baby crying out, the bleat of a goat, the clang of kitchen tools, the smell of baking bread. A girl darted out of a tall, narrow house, followed by her little brother. I stopped with a flinch. For a moment, the girl’s hair was auburn, not black. For a moment, it was Petra giggling, Petra whirling around to hug the little boy, Petra catching me staring and throwing me an uncertain smile.
I hurried around the next corner, the taste of ash on my tongue, and stopped just short of barreling into the Warden.
“Madam,” I blurted out. I ducked my head in a sharp nod. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Mara,” she said, a twist of amusement in her voice. “I trust you slept well? I know you always do when you spend the night in Fenwood.”
Her comment should not have shamed me. I was far from the only Rose to seek comfort in the arms of Fenwood strangers. In fact, the Warden encouraged it. But a flush crept into my cheeks, and I was certain she could hear my pounding heart. I made myself look at her anyway.
“The best night of sleep I’ve had in weeks,” I replied.
Her smile widened. “Excellent. I’m gratified to see that you’re taking my orders to rest so seriously.”
With that, she glided past me, and I should have let her move on unbothered, but I was in a strange state. The little girl had smashed into my calm like a great stone, and now there were cracks all through it. For a moment I lost my head.
I grabbed the Warden’s arm and said quietly, “May I ask you a question before you go?”
The Warden’s eyebrows rose. She glanced down at my hand around her wrist; I immediately released her.
“Very well,” she said smoothly. “Ask me.”
My mind raced. I had to be careful here.
“The last few weeks,” I began, “I’ve noticed that you’ve seemed more tired than you usually do. And after the battle in Sector Three, a thought occurred to me.” I gathered myself with a shallow breath, then met her narrowed black gaze. “With these increased attacks and the regular Mistfall, the likelihood of something getting past our defenses, even at Rosewarren, is greater than ever. And with exhaustion comes mistakes, as you were wise enough to point out to me. If something were to happen to you before your successor is in place…” Another steadying breath. I lifted my chin slightly. “What would happen to us?”
“Oh, Mara. I’m touched by your concern.” She took my chin in her hand and looked steadily at me. “This is what happens when you stop moving, isn’t it? All the mean thoughts wriggle in.”
I swallowed the urge to apologize. “It’s a reasonable question, Madam. If there are contingencies in place, I should know about them.”
