remember me.”
“If you fell for a thousand years, surely a few more days will make little difference? Stay awhile, heal. Then decide what to do.”
Tig’s voice, soothing and calming, cut through the panic and urgency. Wise words he could not ignore. Still, she was a woman and he could not allow her to dictate his destiny. He stared at the keen edge of the sword. The desire to lash out and vent his frustration made him tremble. How many people had he killed in a lifetime of battle and conquest? During the Fall, he’d met every one of them. Tig continued to wait, hardly breathing, silently watching his shaking hand. He caught the scent of her fear. The tightening as she tensed for flight.
After a suitable interval, he shook his head to clear away the demons and said, “I have decided to stay until my arm heals.”
“A wise decision.” Tig breathed again and nodded her approval. “Now, tell me my hair looks nice.”
“It is surprisingly beautiful. You washed it for me?”
She removed the sword, peeling back his rigid fingers from the hilt one by one. Carefully, she replaced it in its resting place. His gaze followed her hand when she swept the hair away from her face and her fingers when she smoothed the gown over her thighs. Choose life. Is that what she was trying to tell him? In the bathing room, he’d given her a clear enough indication of what he wanted from her. His heart beat heavy in his chest. He had not expected this. Not so soon.
“I hurt,” he said, the admission a gift more precious than gold. “This mortal body hurts. And this eternal soul - it burns me. Every breath I take burns me. I cannot live this life.”
“Yes you can.” Tig was beside him, her body pressed to the line of his, anchoring him in place when he would have run foolishly to his doom. “I can give you something for the pain. And whatever you did, it’s in the past. This is your chance to start again. To make amends. Not many get a chance like this. Take it.”
“It’s not that easy. There are wrongs to right. Histories to reset.”
“Sometimes it is.” Her fingers on his shirt buttons. A shaky laugh. Tig fastened the shirt and reached up to turn down the collar. “Pain-killers are in the cupboard over the sink. Small jar. White pills. Take two. They’ll make you feel a whole lot better. You gave me quite a fright just now. Glad I’m not one of your enemies.”
“I’m sorry for that. You are not my enemy.”
Tig stood back to admire her work. “I might be able to pass you off as a bondsman, if you could act a little more humble. Bit of a long shot, though. I’d have to make an awful lot of pots to afford a man like you.”
He understood the moment for intimacy had passed. And that he was still largely dependent on this woman for his welfare. With no knowledge of this society, he was like a babe taking its first tottering steps.
“You took a great risk bringing me here?”
“You would be considered treasure-trove. I should have handed you over to my ex and taken the cut. He would have passed you on, either for the slave markets, or for ransom. That’s how it works.” She glanced at the sword. “Do me a favour and don’t go charging around the farm wielding that sword like it’s been in your hand since birth.”
“I thought your ex looked on you favourably?”
“Not that favourably.”
She laughed softly to herself and Fabian wondered at her ability to make light of her circumstances. A survival tactic, no doubt, to stop the weight of this miserable existence crushing her flat.
“I understand. But if you will not teach me the rules of your world, then my death will be on your hands. I will leave, regardless of what you say. I do not think you want that.”
“That’s blackmail.”
“I do believe it is,” he said, strangely uncomfortable at the reproach in her eyes and voice.
“I won’t save one man so he can kill thousands.”
Fabian almost smiled, too. Sparring with this woman
“If you fell for a thousand years, surely a few more days will make little difference? Stay awhile, heal. Then decide what to do.”
Tig’s voice, soothing and calming, cut through the panic and urgency. Wise words he could not ignore. Still, she was a woman and he could not allow her to dictate his destiny. He stared at the keen edge of the sword. The desire to lash out and vent his frustration made him tremble. How many people had he killed in a lifetime of battle and conquest? During the Fall, he’d met every one of them. Tig continued to wait, hardly breathing, silently watching his shaking hand. He caught the scent of her fear. The tightening as she tensed for flight.
After a suitable interval, he shook his head to clear away the demons and said, “I have decided to stay until my arm heals.”
“A wise decision.” Tig breathed again and nodded her approval. “Now, tell me my hair looks nice.”
“It is surprisingly beautiful. You washed it for me?”
She removed the sword, peeling back his rigid fingers from the hilt one by one. Carefully, she replaced it in its resting place. His gaze followed her hand when she swept the hair away from her face and her fingers when she smoothed the gown over her thighs. Choose life. Is that what she was trying to tell him? In the bathing room, he’d given her a clear enough indication of what he wanted from her. His heart beat heavy in his chest. He had not expected this. Not so soon.
“I hurt,” he said, the admission a gift more precious than gold. “This mortal body hurts. And this eternal soul - it burns me. Every breath I take burns me. I cannot live this life.”
“Yes you can.” Tig was beside him, her body pressed to the line of his, anchoring him in place when he would have run foolishly to his doom. “I can give you something for the pain. And whatever you did, it’s in the past. This is your chance to start again. To make amends. Not many get a chance like this. Take it.”
“It’s not that easy. There are wrongs to right. Histories to reset.”
“Sometimes it is.” Her fingers on his shirt buttons. A shaky laugh. Tig fastened the shirt and reached up to turn down the collar. “Pain-killers are in the cupboard over the sink. Small jar. White pills. Take two. They’ll make you feel a whole lot better. You gave me quite a fright just now. Glad I’m not one of your enemies.”
“I’m sorry for that. You are not my enemy.”
Tig stood back to admire her work. “I might be able to pass you off as a bondsman, if you could act a little more humble. Bit of a long shot, though. I’d have to make an awful lot of pots to afford a man like you.”
He understood the moment for intimacy had passed. And that he was still largely dependent on this woman for his welfare. With no knowledge of this society, he was like a babe taking its first tottering steps.
“You took a great risk bringing me here?”
“You would be considered treasure-trove. I should have handed you over to my ex and taken the cut. He would have passed you on, either for the slave markets, or for ransom. That’s how it works.” She glanced at the sword. “Do me a favour and don’t go charging around the farm wielding that sword like it’s been in your hand since birth.”
“I thought your ex looked on you favourably?”
“Not that favourably.”
She laughed softly to herself and Fabian wondered at her ability to make light of her circumstances. A survival tactic, no doubt, to stop the weight of this miserable existence crushing her flat.
“I understand. But if you will not teach me the rules of your world, then my death will be on your hands. I will leave, regardless of what you say. I do not think you want that.”
“That’s blackmail.”
“I do believe it is,” he said, strangely uncomfortable at the reproach in her eyes and voice.
“I won’t save one man so he can kill thousands.”
Fabian almost smiled, too. Sparring with this woman
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