Page 13 of Lake of Sorrow

“They were fraught,” she said. “We’ve studied your maps, or at least Frayvar has, and we’ll put them to use and do as my lord ranger has commanded.”

“Good. It’s appropriate to obey one’s superiors.”

“Yes, you’ve informed me often about your superiority.”

His lips pressed together in disapproval. Maybe she’d taken her joking too far.

A groan wafted through the wall, the sounds from Targon’s room as audible in here as they were in the hall.

Vlerion sighed. “That’s another reason I prefer sleeping in the mountains while on patrol to being back in the city.”

After spending a few nights on the cold ground outside, Kaylina couldn’t imagine desiring that. But when Vlerion camped out alone, he wasn’t in danger of anyone bestirring his emotions and arousing the beast.

“It sounds lonely,” she said quietly.

“Peaceful. But one does sometimes wish for company.” His fingers shifted from her wrist to trail up her forearm, nails lightly grazing her skin as he looked into her eyes.

Kaylina gazed back, captured—if not mesmerized—by his heated gaze.

“Uhm.” Frayvar lifted the newspaper. “Should I… wait outside?”

“Yes,” Vlerion said promptly, not looking at him.

“No.” Kaylina didn’t trust herself not to do something foolish if she was alone with Vlerion. Besides, they’d come for a reason. “My brother needs to read you a bedtime story.”

“A lack of someone reading to me is not what’s kept me up,” Vlerion grumbled, but he released Kaylina and stepped back, finally looking at Frayvar. “Is that one of those new rebel-friendly papers?”

“It may be,” Frayvar said. “The front-page story implicates rangers in a murder and beast-wrangling.”

Vlerion’s face closed up, all hints of longing and lust disappearing. He studied Frayvar, his gaze long and assessing. Kaylina realized he was trying to tell if Frayvar knew the truth about the beast.

Of course, she hadn’t told her brother anything, but Vlerion might worry that she had. She didn’t think Frayvar’s face showed anything but mild puzzlement as he lifted the newspaper, but who knew what Vlerion deduced?

“Let’s see it.” He held out his hand.

Even though Vlerion had saved Frayvar’s life, and he’d spoken well of the lord, Frayvar approached warily. He held the paper out at arm’s length, as if he feared Vlerion would strike him for being the bearer of bad news. Not likely since Vlerion was an expert on not losing his temper, and Kaylina doubted he would strike an unarmed person under any circumstances. He simply accepted the paper with a nod.

“Prepare a room for the boy, Lenark,” Vlerion told the ranger in the hall and waved for Frayvar to go with him.

A zing of nervous anticipation ran through Kaylina. Vlerion wanted to be alone with her.

She knew he couldn’t plan to emulate the acts his captain was engaged in next door, but… what did he want? Not to flog her, she trusted. And he didn’t seem irked that she’d disobeyed his order and come to see him. Maybe he had an idea about what was in the paper and wanted to talk to her privately about his secret. She hoped nothing had happened and that he hadn’t been responsible for that death.

“Yes, my lord,” the ranger said, though he was likely an aristocrat as well—most of the rangers were. “And, uhm, for her? Or will she stay…” He glanced toward the rumpled bed. “Elsewhere?”

“Prepare a room for her as well.” Vlerion’s gaze shifted to Kaylina. “You’ll have to leave before dawn.”

“Because you’re being observed?”

“Unfortunately, yes. The king and queen are pleased that the rangers helped thwart the assassins, but the queen is irked that you escaped and thinks I had something to do with it.”

“I was afraid of that,” Kaylina said.

“She was unconscious when you were helping save her life, and the king… was too busy being senile and confused to notice you. I can’t fault the king for getting old, but the situation is frustrating. You fought with us.”

“With my elite sling skills.” Kaylina appreciated that he knew she’d been fully with him and had used her modest weapon to help where she could, but she couldn’t help but be self-deprecating. The taybarri she’d ridden, Levitke, had been the true battle master.

His eyelids drooped as he regarded her. The word sultry came to mind again. Never had she applied it to a man, and certainly not one with so many scars, but his gaze heated her again, making her wish…

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