Page 100 of A Song of Ash and Moonlight

“Gods, no,” I burst out, making us both laugh. Then he buried his head between my thighs again, and I was no longer laughing. I had no lover to compare him to—Gareth had not done such a thing, perhaps hadn’t known to do it orhowto do it; we’d been so young—but Ryder’s skill was obvious even to me. He flicked his tongue lightly, sucked at my tender skin, kissed the damp crease of my thigh. I grabbed fistfuls of the quilt, twisting hard under his mouth. He reached up for my wrists and firmly pinned them to the bed, stilling me. The weight of him holding me down, the sureness of his kisses—I could hardly breathe, every inch of my body pulled tight. Then, with one more hard press of his tongue, I shattered.

Pleasure rushed through me in hot waves, each golden crash unwinding all the tension of my body. The world was soft and dark, pulling me into a delirious haze—until I felt Ryder moving up my body, his skin hot against mine. We were both sweating, both breathing hard. Everywhere he touched me was too much, a lightning bolt of sensation that bordered on pain, but I craved it even so and twistedagainst him, pleading with only my body, my breath. I felt him between my thighs, let my legs fall open to welcome him. He grabbed them, hooked them roughly around his hips.

“Like this,” he said, his voice hoarse, desperate. When he kissed me, I could taste myself on his tongue. “I want to feel your legs around me. Understand?”

I nodded, breathless, my blood roaring. To be handled by him with such certainty, such quick masculine strength, nearly made me come apart again. I teetered on the edge of pleasure, ravenous for it, murmuring nonsense, practically begging. Almost there, he wasalmost there. I let out a soft frustrated cry, shifted my hips underneath his.

He went still above me, his weight heavy and hot and fitting perfectly against me. He fisted one hand in my hair, gently pulled my head back to bare my neck, and nibbled lightly at my skin. So held by him, I couldn’t move, and I didn’t want to. I wanted to live forever in the sturdy nest of his arms, in the gorgeous freedom of this surrender.

“Should I stop?” he whispered. He lifted his head, and our gazes locked. My legs trembled around his hips.

I shook my head. “Don’t stop.”

And he obeyed.

Chapter 21

I woke with a chill of warning on my neck. Something was near.

I lay still in Ryder’s arms, listening. The room was quiet, soft. Our clothes lay scattered across the floor. The fire in the stove had burned down to embers. Was the feeling merely a remnant of a dream?

Ryder’s arms tightened around me. He was awake too. Even in my watchfulness, I couldn’t help delighting in how sweetly we fit together. I was naked, and so was he. Our tired bodies were curled around each other, cocooned under the blankets—him flat on his back on the pillows, me tucked against his side. His arms were warm around me, one hand cradling my head protectively against his chest.

I silently cursed whatever had woken us. How dare it disturb such a perfect peace?

Then I noticed a glint of light in the room’s corner, where I’d hung my sodden clothes to dry. Ankaret’s feather gleamed in the pocket of my jacket. Each of the feather’s fibers—scarlet, gilt tangerine, rich violet—glowed with its own inner light and stood alert, trembling, as if awakened by a static charge.

Ryder noticed it the same moment I did. “Ankaret?” he murmured. “Maybe she’s close.”

“Or something else is, and the feather is frightened of it.”

“Stay here.” Ryder brushed a kiss across my forehead and released me, rolling out of bed with a lion’s grace. I watched him dress for a moment, admiring the lines of his body in the dim light, and then rose and put on my plain slate-blue dress, my tights, my boots. Quickly, my fingers shaking, I tucked the feather into my bodice. I could have sworn it curled happily against my skin.

Before Ryder could protest, I said, “Whatever it is, I’m hardly defenseless. You’ve taught me a few things, and besides that, I have my voice. My old power, remember? Ankaret said I shouldn’t be afraid of it, and she was right. I can help.”

He looked unhappy about it but nodded sharply, opened a drawer in the bedside table, unfolded a piece of velvet cloth, and withdrew from it four polished knives. He slid two into hidden sheaths in his boots, gripped a third serrated blade in his right hand, and handed me the fourth—an elegant dagger with a smooth obsidian haft. I followed him out, creeping quietly down the hallway just behind him.

Out among the stalls, the horses were restless, tossing their heads and prancing uneasily, snorting out warnings. A soft word from Ryder soothed them, but they were still alert, their ears pricked, their gleaming bodies poised and ready. I shivered to imagine what they could do at Ryder’s command—charge any enemy, kick an attacker’s chest in, tear off ears and fingers.

I wondered if they had done such things to Lord Alaster, ordered to violence by little Ryder or little Alastrina. I wondered what Lord Alaster had done later as punishment.

Pushing those dark thoughts out of my mind, I kept to the shadows as Ryder patrolled the main broad hallway, where we’d punched our leather targets what felt like ages ago. I breathed deeply, readying my voice. I would sing down the entire forest if anything tried to hurt him.

At the far end of the hallway, he paused at the door for a moment before flinging it open, knives at the ready.

Out in the woods beyond the stable yards paced Ankaret, a dazzling figure of feathers and flame. And before either of us could move to greet her, she flung two bursts of fire right at us.

We were ready and dodged the fire easily, but it landed squarely on the stable wall, and suddenly the horses were shrieking in terror. The flames spread fast, even though everything was storm-soaked.

“Go!” I shouted at Ryder. “Help them!”

Then I ran for Ankaret, dodging more knots of flying fire that raced past me, singed my dress, and struck the stable again and again. As I ran, I sang—another of the Gallinoran battle chants from the War of the Isles—and though my heart raced with fear, my voice came out strong. As I sang, I thought only one thing, a single word:Stop. I let the familiar notes bring the thought into sharp focus.Stop.Into my voice I imbued images of a doused flame, a fresh downpour snuffing out the stable fire, the faint hiss of steam.

Distantly, I noticed that the fire bursts wheeling through the air were growing dimmer, smaller. They no longer reached the stable, instead plopping harmlessly to the drenched earth. And by the time I reached Ankaret—livid with anger, buzzing with power—her glorious firebird form had shrunk to a mere peacock-size chick in the moss.

I stood over her, trying to catch my breath. “Can you stop the fire?” I snapped. I gestured back at the stable, where the flames were climbing high and Ryder was frantically throwing pails of trough water.

Ankaret looked up at me with those strange unblinking eyes, bright as stars. As before, I could not read her expression, but when she spoke, her strange multi-tonal voice sounded pleased.

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