Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
A growling sound vibrates into my ear.
And then I don’t hear anything at all.
I’m flying free of my body on a rushing wave that turns my blood into sunshine as Merc pushes into me one last time and stays here, his sex kicking deep within me.
Forcing my lids open, I look to the ceiling again.
I’m breathing heavily. So is he.
The rain seems loud as our panting.
When he withdraws and puts me on my feet, I feel the cold again, even as something hot comes out of me. His seed, on the inside of my thighs. From where he left it inside.
Merc never stumbles. He does now.
He trips over one of his own boots as he yanks up his britches, and he turns away as if to spare me.
“Considering what we just did,” I say roughly, “it’s a little late to worry about modesty—”
“We’re settled up now.” He pivots back around, but not toward me. Toward the door. “I got you here. You gave me what I wanted. What was started between us … is finished.”
Merc goes to the table and picks up his pack.
He doesn’t look at me as he leaves.
The door closes as quietly as a last breath.
The pain is indescribable, a horrible counter to everything I just felt when we were joined, and if I weren’t already leaning against the wall, I’m certain I would collapse. This is not how it’s supposed to end. This is not …
Across the way, I stare at the bolt.
I go to the door and try to calm my breathing. Before I open it, I tap the latch for luck—
He’s not waiting for me.
Leaning out, I look down the hall. Merc is nowhere to be found, and the next thing I know, I’m all the way to the head of the stairs. I expect to see his shoulders and that broadsword descending to the lower level. All I get is a pair of drunks bumping their way up the steps.
“He left.”
I turn to the female voice. Through an open door, I see the blond. Bethle, I think her name was.
“Yes,” I hear myself say. “I know.”
“It’s better this way.” Her eyes drift down me, lingering on my underskirts. “Once Thale gets involved, if you have any regard for your husband, it’s best he moves along.”
Crossing my arms over my heart, I turn away and walk back down to my room. This time, as I close myself in, I throw the bolt even though I’m no longer worried about my safety here. Thale’s authority, like Merc’s, precedes me among the patrons and anyone else who might seek to harm me.
And my own reputation precedes me with Thale.
As I glance around the room, the whole of Anathos seems barren, and I can’t believe it all happened so fast. The sex. Merc’s leaving.
My return to solitude in a dangerous place.
That’s my final thought as the oil in the lamp runs out and everything goes dark.
Fifty-Eight
My Solo Journey Begins.
When I wake up the following morning, I’m curled on my side facing the door, my hands tucked in at my heart as if I’m praying. The grit in my mouth abrades my tongue and the insides of my teeth as I try to swallow, and this comparatively small unpleasantness makes me feel all the big pains to an unbearable degree.
Forcing myself to sit up, I—
There’s something in my hands.
His journal.
I glance back at the window seat and try to re-create why I have it. That’s right, he left the thing behind, taking only his pack. So sometime during the night, I must have gone over and picked it up.
As I put the journal down on the bed-sheeting, the small, leather-covered folio opens to the last picture he sketched, of the gates and the meadow beyond. I touch the edges around the drawing, not intruding on the depiction of the stone pylons or the curling pattern of the iron …
With a frown, I look up. Listen hard to all the silence.
Shifting off the bed, I go to the window seat. There are a series of hooks securing the sash in place, and then the shutters have inner locks as well. I finally get it all open, and stare out over the gray sprawl of the Outpost’s shops and homes.
The rain has stopped.
Overhead, the cloud cover remains low and thick, and everything is dripping, from the rooflines to the porch corners to the fences, suggesting that the cessation is recent. Maybe it will start up again, but surely all of the water in the sky is wrung out.
As I regard the town sprawl, I can’t help but wonder where Merc is. I doubt he would have left in the night, and I have to wonder if he stayed with the blond. But with the storm moving along and daylight arriving, I’m guessing he’s well departed by now. Did he take our horse, I wonder.