Page 84 of Angel in Absentia
His kiss on the altar had been his knife, and she had been the offering, sacrificed then in a ritual, for he’d said even then that the only purpose of purity was sacrifice. And through every effort on his behalf, every time she’d risked her life, she’d been purified for such a thing as this.
This game was of another caliber, and he was an expert player, but in the strangest way, most bizarre, she had so much of the power, and there was a tragedy in that.
Soon, she would embark with him to face the Ashanas and end the plight that faced her people.
If they lost, that would be the end, but if they won, there would be a choice to make. Because she’d made a fatal mistake, a mistake, perhaps that many healers had been doomed to make. In falling in love with healing, she’d mistakenly fallen in love with the wounds of the world.
She looked at her body, retracing with her eyes all of the paths his hands had taken. She was convinced that anything more than what she’d just experienced tonight would transform her beyond recognition. In those moments, nothing else that she knew mattered, mattered. She was acquainted with that dangerous part of her self that cared for nothing beyond the sensations of him. It was no longer a fear of that possibility that haunted her. Tonight, she’d experienced the reality, and had slipped into it so easily, so wantingly.
Retracing the memories, she curled her arms around her body, already sensing the growing emptiness that wanted nothing but to go back to that moment again, to offer him more than a sparing moment in a temple. Tears prickled her eyes. She swallowed, tilting her chin up as she clenched her teeth.
Her feelings had evolved, but the facts hadn’t changed.
He was a Venennin, a slave to his vices. She was a Veilin, a slave to her duties.
She’d lain on the altar, but soon, he would be on hers, and her knife was infinitely sharper and more cruel. She’d wield the blade of his trust, and to salvage her city, and herself, she would have no choice but to kill him.
Chapter 25
Into the Storm
LEA PACED IN the throne room, changed and restless. Iris paced more slowly. Both women were silent. The agreement had been that Ryson would come for her here, and Iris had wanted to wait with her. Iris had not been surprised to hear that Clea would be going with Ryson to Ruedom as their healer. Rather, she was more surprised by the missing necklace whose absence she noticed almost immediately.
“Ryson has it,” Clea said, and saw a strange expression register on Iris’s face. Shock, perhaps? Clea didn’t understand it, but stopped her pacing, trying to read the expression as Iris scanned her over thoroughly.
“What is it?” Clea asked, suddenly embarrassed. She had bathed thoroughly, thinking perhaps the water might help wash away the woman who had squirmed and panted in Ryson’s arms only minutes before. The more time passed between this moment and that one, the more clearly she saw the crime. The only evidence was the missing necklace and the ghost of his touch.
Clea had to remind herself that Iris could not see the latter. As perceptive as the woman was, she could not see how Clea felt changed. She didn’t need to. No one needed to. Clea would finish this herself. No one needed to know what she’d done, or how helplessly liberating it had felt.
Despite the reasoning, as Iris watched her, Clea felt she saw everything. Iris’s expression softened, and carefully she offered, “It’s okay.”
The two women stood silent now, several strides of space between them. They regarded each other carefully.
She knows?Clea thought.How does she always know?No. There’s no way she knows.
Iris opened her mouth to speak again, approaching as if Clea were a frightened deer.
“It’s nothing,” Clea said, eyes intent and firm. “I have a plan, remember? He still wants me to heal him. He trusts me more now,” she started, “during the healing, I’m going too–”
“Clea,” Iris interrupted, still careful with her words, still gentle, her hands lifted slightly. “It’s okay. Whatever happened. I’m sure it’s fine. But the healing, don’t rush to the healing. I know the original plan was to,” she paused, paused as if she didn’t want to say the word:
Assassinate him.
Clea thought it, and looking into Iris’s eyes, knew they both had.
“Everything is going according to plan,” Clea reassured her, uncomfortable with the ambiguity between them. “The Insednians will defeat the Ashanas, and then after I will perform the healing.”
“Not everything needs to go according to plan,” Iris interrupted firmly.
Clea’s expression faltered as she tried to break down what Iris was suggesting.
“I’ve been breaking down the histories,” Iris said, “I am so close to figuring it out. Who the real enemy is. All I know is that both you and Ryson need to stay alive. I know you’re afraid, but don’t do anything too brash. Do you understand?”
No. She didn’t.
Clea’s expression faltered. She didn’t know what question to ask first.
“Tell me,” she said, but it was more of a challenge than an honest question. Who could possibly be more formidable than the Warlord of Shambelin?
