His arms slacken, and he pulls forward, closing the gap between our bodies. The pressure of him knocks the wind out of me. I gasp for air as he kisses me, his mouth desperate as it comes for my lips, my tongue, my neck. His stubble sends shivers dancing across my skin. And then his hands show no mercy. He holds me fast, pushing me desperately against the wall, pinning me there.
I grab at his shirt and pull, ripping the arm. He stops, snapped out of his frenzy. He looks down at the torn fabric and then gives a wicked grin. He lunges at me and paws at my own shirt, letting out a whimper when my breasts are revealed. He takes my nipple in his mouth, cupping me with his hands. He looks at me, and I buckle. He fumbles with my skirts, his fingers snaking through the fabric to find me. I’m slick and his fingers sink into me smoothly, parting the damp fur between my legs.
Sea spray laps at the boat’s edges and drenches us. The boat rocks and Finlyr’s arms tense, bracing me against the wall. I hoist my legs up and wrap them around him. Finlyr raises me up and holds my weight, and then I push at him, forcing him to tumble onto his back, taking me with him. I crawl on hands and knees until I’m above him, tugging at his belt and breeches. He reaches for me between my legs again. I slap him away. I grip his arse while I stroke him until he howls. He looks to do something desperate, clutching at me, forcing me close. But I won’t give in, not yet. I move up so my knees are either side of his head and lower myself onto him as he squeezes my arse. I would come, or he would die.
He goes to the task with frantic vigour, with an eagerness that makes me wonder how many other cunts he’s devoured. I barely havetime to think before I come all over the decks, knees shuddering, threatening to crush his skull. I slowly release him, and he tries to sit up, to reach for me. I slam him down again, pinning his arms above his head. I take a loose rope and wrap it around his wrists. My fingers fumble as I unwrap the sheath from my pocket and slide it onto him. He gives out a cry as I mount him. I hold him down as I sway and rock my hips, rolling and bucking slowly at first and then speeding up until he screams and cries out for me.
‘Don’t you dare give up on me,’ I tell him as I hold his gaze, riding him hard.
I fuck him so hard I think he’s concussed himself on the wood. I hold him then, rolling my hips back and forth slow and deep. He dives for me, kissing and biting my mouth and breasts. He tastes salt-swept and pushes himself deeper inside me. I let go of the rope then and his hands come loose. We grip each other like weathering a storm. I come hard as he bites down on my nipple. I shudder, muscles seizing up. I feel him inside me as I tighten, and he gives a sound of surprise and pleasure.
There’s a moment of stillness where I don’t want to dismount him, to feel the emptiness where he’s just been. I breathe hard in his ear and then bite the lobe. He gasps, and I get up, letting my skirts fall. Warmth drips down between my thighs. He looks at his shirt, ripped beyond repair.
‘Well, that’s done for.’ Finlyr laughs.
I offer a hand and Finlyr stands. He removes the sheath and cleans up, tucking himself back into his breeches. My heart leaps into my mouth as I hear the crash of a door opening, followed by the unmistakable sound of one of the undead, broken ribs knocking against each other.
Finlyr rushes over to the door, holding up his breeches, and flings his full body weight against it.
‘A bit of privacy for the lady, please.’
He takes off his torn shirt, offering it to me as a towel. Suddenly I feel shy and turn around to clean up under my skirts. There’s so much of his skin on show. He brings me towards him, placing his lips tenderly on the bare skin of my shoulder.
‘Looks like we needed to work it out physically,’ Finlyr says with a grin.
I punch him on the arm. ‘Is that how you work out all your conflicts?’
‘Only with the prettiest opponents,’ he says.
I shake my head and try to hide my smile. He takes my hand and interlocks our fingers.
‘You like someone who pushes back,’ he says, pushing against my palm. I meet him with equal resistance. Eventually he breaks the grip. Something has softened between us.
‘Looks like we’re both disarmed now.’
chapter forty-seven
hanan
My body tries toheal itself, painfully slowly. For every piece that tries to knit itself back together, I rip again, as though I’m in a storm of glass. It’s flaying my skin and dousing my insides with alcohol. It’s pulling my body through a jagged hagstone. Like a fist around my lungs and someone holding my head underwater. My eyes and nose and mouth are full of dirt. I am buried at the base of the Tree, the hum of the dead a deafening cacophony.
My body is useless to me right now, so I reach out with my mind. I feel lighter, like I’m crawling out of my bones into the dirt. My mind grasps out for the roots that bind me fast, connecting with everything and everyone that has ever been. I try not to let it overwhelm me this time and I begin to move my fingers, my physical body, within the dirt.
I writhe and stretch until I find something solid. I try to make out its shape with my fingertips: rough and smooth in places, long and narrow. Then another, similar to the first. And then something round, with two holes and a serrated line. By Aistra, my touch tells me what it is, but I want to disbelieve it. Touch is the only sight I have down here. It is a body, a skeleton. My mind is penetrated by another’s thoughts, a distant singing:
She was a trickster and a thief.
She was a traitor to the crown.
She was corrupt beyond belief.
Follow her way and you will drown.
The same song the drunken Umasans had sung the night of Magliyab: the festival of flames.
I can feel the roots extending even deeper into the ground, following them like a winding path to another place, distant yet connected. There’s an energy there; it burns bright and brilliant, like nothing I’ve felt before. I ache to go to it. It is like a fire for a lost traveller.
The Magliyab festival is for her. Priestess Sinaya, my ghostly adviser. So the priestess did succeed in stealing the gift before she was expelled. They made an example out of her. Obey or die.
