Verrick’s cheeks colored. “You noticed?”
“I’m good at noticing.”
The young garda shrugged. “He doesn’t think Eithne’s old enough to get married.”
“Married? You’re engaged?”
“Well. I asked, and she said yes, but her father won’t give permission so…”
Bael made a face. “Right.” This didn’t bode particularly well for him.
“Oh, you’ll be all right,” said Verrick, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. “Eithne says he’s always moaning about how Kett ought to find someone.”
“Really? He wants her to settle down?”
“Well, she’s-” Verrick blushed again. “She’s not getting any younger.”
“Apart from men of legend, none of us are,” Bael agreed gravely.
“Eithne says it’s not fair, and I think she’s right.”
Well, of course you do, Bael thought, you lovesick dollop, but out loud he said, “What do you mean?”
“Well, it can’t be about age, because Eithne’s older than her mother was when she got married. And she’s much older than her father was when Kett was born.”
“Yeah? He was pretty young?”
“Only a teenager. A misdemeanor when he was in the army,” Verrick confided. “And by all accounts-” He broke off.
“By all accounts what?” Bael asked.
“Well, Kett was a bit of a wild child. I suppose he just doesn’t want Eithne growing up like that.”
In the middle of the busy hospital ward, there was silence.
“Like what?” Bael asked pleasantly.
“Well…well, like, er, well,” Verrick stammered. “Like, um, well, she got attacked by that tiger,” he said. “That was, um, bad. Could have killed her.”
“Sure,” Bael said, “but it was three years ago. Hardly when she was a ‘wild child’. And what does that mean, exactly? She shagged around a bit when she was younger? Who didn’t? Her father’s a damn hypocrite.”
“Yes,” Verrick agreed weakly.
“He’s a jumped-up highwayman,” chipped in Willifus, just begging for another beating.
“Been a while since I turned anyone into a smudge on the floor,” Bael snapped at him, “but if you don’t shut up, I’ll be glad to begin practicing again.”
Willifus turned green.
“Now,” Bael said, fixing his gaze on Verrick. “Tell me everything about Kett.”
It was well after midnight when Kett made her way back to her room, tired and aching more than a little. She’d been showing off, pressing into service muscles she hadn’t used since the last time she’d required wings, or legs that could leap five feet into the air.
She had a loose plan in her head. And it was a good plan; it would work. But if her Koskwim training had taught her anything, it was that a plan should never be put into practice until all the kinks had been worked out.
Her right leg in particular was killing her. She draped the slightly grass-stained dress over a chair, hoping guiltily that Nuala wouldn’t be too annoyed by the state it was in, kicked off her boots and rubbed some liniment into her thigh. Then she fell into bed and wondered, as her eyes closed, where the hell Bael was.
Five minutes later her eyes slammed open as she heard the window slide up, and a pair of feet thudded on the floorboards.
Her hand was already a claw as the figure righted itself and came toward the bed, and she tensed to attack. In the dark room she couldn’t see clearly, and any intruder was a threat.
Then she breathed in, and a scent she hadn’t even realized was familiar came to her, reassured her.
“Bael?”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
Kett turned her hand back to human again as he shed his clothes. “You could have used the door.”
“Why be dull?”
He slid into bed beside her, pulled her into his arms and Kett relaxed there for a moment, enjoying the feel of his body, his face and hands cold from being outside, his heart thumping against her chest.
Then she pulled away, annoyed with herself for liking it too much.
“I’m really tired,” she said.
“Me too. Dear gods, I wanted to kill those three little fuckers.”
She smiled despite herself and Bael rolled against her, his body warm and hard against her back, and his lips brushed her neck.
“I said-”
“I heard. I’m not trying to shag you, Kett, that was a goodnight kiss.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and snuggled her against him, and she told herself she could enjoy it for one more night.
She woke for the third morning running with Bael’s arms around her. He was solid, warm, his breathing even. And he didn’t snore.
On his body there were small scars, some fine and neat like surgical cuts, others curved, jagged and messy. One or two looked like arrow or crossbow-bolt scars, and she remembered how he’d been shot in Xinjiang by the kelf he’d attacked.
Stupid man. Why attack a kelf? They couldn’t be harmed and they lived to serve anyway. It was like shooting at a horse wearing armor. Cruel and pointless. All right, so Nasc and kelfs didn’t get on, but did he really hate them that much?
She moved away from him carefully, quietly, not especially pleased that this had become one of her talents. Of course, it was easier when you were a shapeshifter, but bloody depressing to realize she’d woken up next to so many men she wanted to get away from.
Pulling on her clothes, old jeans and a clean shirt, she looked back at Bael, sleeping there so peacefully. He looked really beautiful with those dark lashes and the stubble dusting his jaw. Great jaw, she thought, great cheekbones. Great shoulders, great chest…hell, everything about him was great.
Except that he was a complete nutcase. He beat up kelfs and he scared the dragons, and he thought she was his fucking mate, for gods’ sake. He’d been thrown out of Nihon for something he couldn’t even remember, which wasn’t a great sign. How many indiscretions had he committed if he forgot the details?
No. He might be great in bed, but Kett had had “great in bed” before, and it hadn’t been good enough for a lasting relationship. And she didn’t want a lasting relationship, dammit!
I am happy with my life as it is, she told herself, not for the first time. I like where I live and what I do, and I don’t need a man. Men screw things up. Men get you flogged or thrown in jail or cheat on and divorce you. I can live without head-banging sex.
Probably.
If he knew what she could do, he’d take it as a sign they should be together. That it was fate. And Kett believed in signs and fate like she believed in leprechauns.
If you hadn’t gotten married, he couldn’t have cheated on you. If he hadn’t cheated on you, you wouldn’t have stabbed him. Probably. If you hadn’t stabbed him, you wouldn’t have gone to jail. And if you hadn’t gone to jail, you wouldn’t have been so mad for freedom that the second you got out, you ran into a bloody tiger that ripped your leg open.
If Chance hadn’t fallen for Dark, she’d never had ended up with a sword through her back, fighting to free his sister last year. If King Talis and his wife hadn’t been so in love, the queen wouldn’t have sacrificed herself to save the people he loved all those years ago. If Striker hadn’t fallen for Chalia-well, thousands of people would still be alive and the city of Vaticano wouldn’t still be half-ruined.
Kett regarded the man sleeping in her bed. Love hurts, she thought, and I’ve had quite enough of that already. The Curse of Kett would inevitably fall upon him.
Her leg felt stiff, in need of exercise, so she headed toward the gardens, intending to change her shape and go for a run. It was still early and the only people up and about were the servants, an annoying number of whom curtseyed and bowed to her.