questioned your fortune telling skill. But we will not deal with that
now … perhaps some other time."
Her intuition told her he was hiding something, but what? She feared to even consider the suspicion that lurked at the back of her mind, the possibility that he might be one of the undead. Everyone knew vampires were old and decrepit, with sharp fangs and bony hands. They reeked of rotting animals and death.
His voice jolted her from her thoughts. "When I asked the tavern keeper about your hours, he told me you would soon be finished with your readings." He smiled, a slow smile that spread across his face and reached his eyes. "And so I've been waiting here for you, hoping you might want to escape the confines of the tavern." He gestured toward the street. "Shall we walk together for a while? That was your intention, wasn't it–to go for a walk?" he asked with a questioning look.
"I thought I'd head for the meadow by the river." Still unsure if she could trust him, she decided to take a chance. If he'd wanted to hurt her, he could have ravished her when they shared the cave.
"Never by yourself, but with me, you're safe." He placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, and she felt the strength in his arm, the pull and play of his muscles. A rush of warmth enveloped her body, a feeling she'd never experienced before.
They walked in silence for a while, her bare feet padding on the cobblestones, the stones cooler now. A light breeze caressed her body and lifted her hair from her shoulders. After leaving Tavern Street , they turned west and headed for Aventina Way , one of the main avenues where the library, Talmora's Temple , and hospital dominated the area, a street that led to the meadow and the river.
He glanced down at her feet. "Madam, I–"
"Fianna, remember?"
"Yes, of course." He glanced down at her feet. "Are you sure you want to walk without shoes? I wouldn't want you to hurt your feet. These streets may have broken glass on them."
"I'll be careful. I'm used to going barefoot. Did it all the time at home. Anyway, I should have a pair of shoes within a couple days. When I left home, I wore a pair of shoes but they …" She wondered how much she should tell him about her misadventure along the way.
He slid her a glance. "Yes?"
Her earlier trouble came back to torment her, as if it had happened only yesterday. "Some tramp stole my shoes and my dress! My jewels were sewn in the hem!" Aware of her rising voice, she lowered it. "And gold coins! After that, I had no money, nothing." On the verge of tears, she stopped talking and stared in the window of a sword shop.
"But you don't want to tell me why you left home." He said it as a statement, not a question, but something deep inside her made her want to confide in him, to believe in him. "And where is your home?"
She took a deep breath and spoke with resolution. "I'm from Ros Creda. My stepfather wanted me to marry a man I didn't love, didn't even respect." She told him the whole story then, about her stepfather locking her in her room, her escape down the ivy-covered wall, her misbegotten trek to the capital. "I must confess I lied to the tavern keeper, made up a name," she concluded her tale. "You already know my real name. I fear my father or Angus will come after me, or send someone after me. Either way, I'll have to keep my identity a secret." She prayed he would, too. "In the tavern, I am known as Angharad Cullain, so you must use that name when addressing me there." What if she had to move again, go to another city or village? The fear remained a continual torment.
Throughout her tale, he'd said not a word, but now looked her way again. "Then perhaps it wasn't wise to seek employment as a scryer. Bound to attract attention."
"That wasn't my original intention." As others strolled past them, she held up a hand to indicate she'd explain momentarily. They passed the library and the hospital, the temple across the avenue, the streets quiet now, their
now … perhaps some other time."
Her intuition told her he was hiding something, but what? She feared to even consider the suspicion that lurked at the back of her mind, the possibility that he might be one of the undead. Everyone knew vampires were old and decrepit, with sharp fangs and bony hands. They reeked of rotting animals and death.
His voice jolted her from her thoughts. "When I asked the tavern keeper about your hours, he told me you would soon be finished with your readings." He smiled, a slow smile that spread across his face and reached his eyes. "And so I've been waiting here for you, hoping you might want to escape the confines of the tavern." He gestured toward the street. "Shall we walk together for a while? That was your intention, wasn't it–to go for a walk?" he asked with a questioning look.
"I thought I'd head for the meadow by the river." Still unsure if she could trust him, she decided to take a chance. If he'd wanted to hurt her, he could have ravished her when they shared the cave.
"Never by yourself, but with me, you're safe." He placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, and she felt the strength in his arm, the pull and play of his muscles. A rush of warmth enveloped her body, a feeling she'd never experienced before.
They walked in silence for a while, her bare feet padding on the cobblestones, the stones cooler now. A light breeze caressed her body and lifted her hair from her shoulders. After leaving Tavern Street , they turned west and headed for Aventina Way , one of the main avenues where the library, Talmora's Temple , and hospital dominated the area, a street that led to the meadow and the river.
He glanced down at her feet. "Madam, I–"
"Fianna, remember?"
"Yes, of course." He glanced down at her feet. "Are you sure you want to walk without shoes? I wouldn't want you to hurt your feet. These streets may have broken glass on them."
"I'll be careful. I'm used to going barefoot. Did it all the time at home. Anyway, I should have a pair of shoes within a couple days. When I left home, I wore a pair of shoes but they …" She wondered how much she should tell him about her misadventure along the way.
He slid her a glance. "Yes?"
Her earlier trouble came back to torment her, as if it had happened only yesterday. "Some tramp stole my shoes and my dress! My jewels were sewn in the hem!" Aware of her rising voice, she lowered it. "And gold coins! After that, I had no money, nothing." On the verge of tears, she stopped talking and stared in the window of a sword shop.
"But you don't want to tell me why you left home." He said it as a statement, not a question, but something deep inside her made her want to confide in him, to believe in him. "And where is your home?"
She took a deep breath and spoke with resolution. "I'm from Ros Creda. My stepfather wanted me to marry a man I didn't love, didn't even respect." She told him the whole story then, about her stepfather locking her in her room, her escape down the ivy-covered wall, her misbegotten trek to the capital. "I must confess I lied to the tavern keeper, made up a name," she concluded her tale. "You already know my real name. I fear my father or Angus will come after me, or send someone after me. Either way, I'll have to keep my identity a secret." She prayed he would, too. "In the tavern, I am known as Angharad Cullain, so you must use that name when addressing me there." What if she had to move again, go to another city or village? The fear remained a continual torment.
Throughout her tale, he'd said not a word, but now looked her way again. "Then perhaps it wasn't wise to seek employment as a scryer. Bound to attract attention."
"That wasn't my original intention." As others strolled past them, she held up a hand to indicate she'd explain momentarily. They passed the library and the hospital, the temple across the avenue, the streets quiet now, their
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