She didn't squeal. After the initial shock, she knew it was Jonas. He released her once they were hidden from the view of casual passers-by.
“You shouldn't be out here.” Jonas poked his head around the corner of the inn, checking she hadn't been followed.
“Neither should you,” she said, resting her clenched hands on her hips. “Yet here you are. And you knew I'd come, or you wouldn't have waited on me.”
He turned back to her. “I didn't want you goin' alone. But it ain't safe for you to come. You should go back.”
“You know I won't.”
He appraised her before replying. “I know. But you gotta do exactly what I tell you.”
“Okay.”
“Alright. It don't look like anyone heard you leave. Come on.” Jonas stepped onto the street and Llew followed.
They had crossed the bridge on their way into Stelt. The river ran through a deep stretch of green grass on either side. There would be no light from nearby buildings, only what the moon threw down in between scurrying cloud cover. The night air was cold, and Llew hoped that whatever this Braph had to say he would say it fast, but she wanted to hear what he had to say – especially about her parents.
“Who is Braph?” she asked, trotting to keep up with Jonas's brisk strides.
“Someone I'd rather you didn't meet.”
“Why? He called you 'brother'.”
“That's because I am— he is. My pa was his pa first. And he ain't never let me forget it.” Jonas maintained his pace and Llew had to throw in a few running strides to keep up.
“He talks so—”
“Like he went and got educated?” He cocked an eyebrow at her.
Llew floundered, thinking she'd insulted him. But he didn't look upset.
“Yeah, well, so did I. But I didn't feel the need to go denyin' my roots, did I?”
“Which are?”
Jonas clamped his lips tight for a few strides before relenting. “We grew up on a farm in Aldia, far north o' Quaver. Mostly kept us out o' trouble.”
“Mostly?”
Jonas kept walking in silence. Hmm. Seemed if she wanted to kill a conversation with Jonas, she simply had to ask about his family. They continued in silence.
When they arrived at the bridge, Jonas peered into the night and checked both sides of the river; there was no sign of the leather-clad man.
“Do you think he'll come?”
“He'll come.” Arms folded; Jonas leaned back against the end of the bridge.
“Why do you think he wanted you to bring me?”
“'Cause it's the only way he'll have any chance of beatin' me in a fight.”
“You think you'll fight?”
“He's got it comin'.”
Llew stooped and plucked a handful of grass blades. She started throwing them into the cold air one by one until she got bored. Then she brushed the last blades from her hands and hugged herself, rubbing her hands up and down her biceps. The cold was seeping right through her jacket.
“Why would my being here give him a better chance of beating you? Doesn't it put the odds in our favor?”
Jonas was silent a while. “'Cause it's harder to fight when I gotta worry 'bout him hurtin' you.”
“Don't worry about me.” She shoved her hands in her trouser pockets, hunching her shoulders up to her ears. She considered telling him why he shouldn't worry, but now wasn't the time. With his brother on the way, he had enough to think about.
Suddenly Jonas was at her back, warming her. His arms reached around from behind and he pulled her into him and rested his head on her shoulder. They stood watching the play of the moon's silver light on the rippling water for several minutes. Normally Llew would have brushed such intimacy aside, laughed it off. But she was cold, and even his warm breath across her cheek was welcome.
“Warmer?” he asked.
Llew nodded – a verbal affirmation stuck in the back of her throat. She was supposed to be nurturing his interest in her to keep that knife from her back, but the chill running through her wasn't from fear. It was thrill. Something she'd heard some of her companions talk about. Usually right before they got plucked from the streets into a far more domestic life.
“I will worry about you,” Jonas said. “Damn it, Llew! Everyone I've ever cared for is dead. It won't happen again.”
“You care for Aris, don't you?”
“That's different.” His voice was almost a whisper.
Had Jonas just said he cared about her? Surely not. Besides, it meant little. Her father had cared about her too. Didn't stop him leaving when he'd had enough.
She almost forgot why they were there; his body against hers and his breath tickling her ear. She let her head fall back onto his shoulder, a thrill shooting through her as her smooth cheek brushed his unshaven one. The chilly air breezing across her exposed neck didn't bother her, and she wondered if this was what it was supposed to be like to be with a man, courting. She had heard other women and girls talk of sparks and tingles – not the cringing revulsion she had experienced with the men who used to visit her pa, one of whom had been the first to take her, nor yet the despairing touch of Kynas. This was all new. She turned her head toward him and blew out a ragged breath as his lips pressed lightly against her exposed neck.
Jonas guided her down into the grass. She sat, and he knelt before her. He stared questioningly and she replied with a tiny nod and smile. He leaned in to kiss her and then, cradling her head, he guided her to lie back. One knee between her thighs, he continued with ever more probing kisses, loosening her top button with one hand. Llew pulled his shirt free of his trousers and slipped her hands up to take advantage of every ounce of heat.
“I hope he doesn't come,” she said.
“Let him come.” He planted a kiss at the corner of her mouth. “I'll kill him before he draws breath.”
“When did you last see him?” she asked as he moved down her neck again.
“I ain't talkin' 'bout Braph while I'm puttin' the moves on you.”
“Oh, you do make it sound so romantic.”
“Well, I don't know nothin' 'bout romance.”
“Sex on the other hand...” She finished for him and froze, while he chuckled and kissed her skin.
Was that what they were doing here? A flash of Kynas writhing on top of her appeared in Llew's mind and suddenly she felt sick. She couldn't think about Jonas like that. She couldn't do it. They couldn't do it. His lips on her skin felt so good, but where they were leading filled Llew with dread.
“What was that word he called you?”
Jonas's head came up and he sighed with frustration.
“Get up.” A sword tip smacked the ground by Llew's ear, and she cracked her head against Jonas's jaw.
Rubbing his jaw, Jonas stood. When Llew went to follow suit, the sword tip was pressed against her chest, where her shirt hung open. She was stuck on her elbows, too scared to move.
“Don't you touch her,” said Jonas, moving toward the man. But he had to back up a step when another sword was leveled at him. “Let her go.” Llew didn't think Jonas was in a position to make such demands.
“Actually, it's her we want. You can go,” said the first man. One more stood behind him. All three were thick-set, muscular men with unshaven chins and unkempt hair.
“No.”
“I know what you are,” said the leader. “But there are three of us.”
“Drop your swords,” Jonas commanded, speaking slowly and carefully.
“Aghacia's magic-free. We don't need your kind here. Hers neither, but she's worth somethin' to us.”
The tip of the sword pressed more firmly against Llew. She gasped at its touch even as she tried not to break Jonas's concentration. He was a capable fighter – he had, after all, defeated the Zaki warrior in a hand-to-hand fight – but here he faced three swordsmen. And each of the men was nearly twice his size.
The man holding the sword against Llew grinned, pressed harder and allowed the sword to slip, slicing her skin. Her fingers tingled in the grass below her and the skin healed almost instantly.
His back to Llew, Jonas only saw the sword move. Both swords were swept aside, and Jonas had the two men on the ground in little more than a second, knives sunk in their chests. One man lay silent. A gurgling breath came from the other and then he too lay still. Crouching between the prone men, Jonas looked to the third, who held his sword half-drawn from its scabbard.
“Leave,” said Jonas.
Llew's attention was caught by a shadow passing in front of her. Something grabbed the hair at the back of her head and a stinging, burning sensation stretched from ear to ear. She was vaguely aware of the third swordsman turning to flee when her breath caught in her throat. She tried to swallow but didn't seem to know how to work the muscles anymore. In her dulling vision, she saw Jonas move and distantly she heard him shout after the man. She tried to call out to him but blew bubbles instead and choked on the warm liquid filling the back of her mouth. She put a hand to her throat in a strange belief that doing so would fix things. Her ears rang. She pulled her hand from her throat. It glistened black. Her stomach lurched, and she fainted.
Braph cursed under his breath as he returned his bloodied knife to its sheath. He cursed the stupid idiots for getting themselves killed without achieving their objective, and he cursed the girl. It was simple. Kill her. That was all. Kill her so Braph could see what happened. He supposed he had to accept some blame. He had underestimated Jonas's speed – he hadn't seen him for, what, going on fifteen years? Jonas had grown, matured. What was the girl doing with Jonas? It was a complication he hadn't anticipated.
Crouched at the base of a tree a hundred yards from the action, he watched her struggling for breath while Jonas saw off the last of the men. How could he have guessed that, of all people, the girl would meet Jonas? What was he even doing in Aghacia? Braph needed the girl if he was to face Jonas on equal terms. Assuming she was what he thought she was.
The girl toppled over, and Jonas ran to her. Braph narrowed his eyes and wondered what Jonas would do when he saw what she was: or did he already know? Braph doubted it, and it seemed the men had interrupted the pair... exploring each other. He didn't think Jonas would have been caught in such a position with one of them. A shadow of regret touched Braph. He'd already taken his brother's wife and child. But he had to take this girl; there was no other way. If she died now, she was dead. If she recovered, then Braph needed her.
He cursed again. I'm getting soft. What did he care if Jonas was upset? What had Jonas cared when he'd been born, taking all their father's and Aris's attention? Braph hadn't needed to be anyone special, but it was hard not to covet it when everyone thought your younger brother was. And what did Jonas ever care about that, huh?
He gave you his knife.
And I gave it back.
He rocked back on his heels. Watching. Waiting. Was she her mother's daughter?
Jonas could have chased and killed the fleeing swordsman, but he was just a man caught up in a family feud he had no part in. He wouldn't return, not without significant backup, anyway, which would take time to muster.
He turned back to Llew. She was still sitting in the grass, but there was something wrong. A black stain spread across her white shirt and she held a hand in front of her. Then she toppled to the ground. He ran to her, his heart in his throat.
“Llew!”
He gathered her to him. So alive moments earlier, now limp. All he could see was blood. It covered her hands, soaked her shirt and pooled on the ground. He clasped her chin, turning her to him. The touch sent a tingle through his fingers even as more blood gushed from her open throat and he jerked his hand away, letting her head fall back. His eye was drawn by movement in the grass. One of Llew's hands had fallen to the ground and the grass around it was dying in an ever-increasing circle.
Jonas swallowed down his revulsion and dumped her unceremoniously on the ground, jumping to his feet as her body settled face down. In a daze, he reclaimed his knives from the corpses, taking them to the water's edge to clean with vigorous sweeps of his fingers down the blades. He berated himself for even toying with the idea of getting involved with her. What did he really know about her? He knew her name. And now he knew all he needed to know.
He wiped the half-clean blades on his thigh, sheathed them in his vest and drew the big knife at his hip. He cradled it in his hands, watching the moonlight fly off as he tilted it back and forth. There was one purpose to this knife's existence: to kill the unkillable. And there was no safer time to make an attempt on the life of an Aenuk than when they were already half dead.
Jonas turned from the water. The meadow was now like a hayfield. Each blade of grass, each leaf of clover, each dandelion had given its all to provide but a tiny fraction of the energy – jin, as it was known in Turhmos – needed to bring a person back from near-death.
She lay unconscious, but her breathing was steady now. He had limited time to act. He crouched beside her, knife hovering over her back right where her heart should be, assuming Aenuks had a heart. But this was Llewella. She wasn't like the Aenuks he had faced on the Turhmos killing fields. She wasn't trained to fight, to continue to fight, and to take the enemy with her when she faced final death. She was merely a girl doing what she had to do to survive.
And she smelled good and felt nice to hold.
Her back rose as she breathed, her spine beneath her shirt pressing into the point of the knife. Jonas wavered, cursing softly. He shouldn't have got involved with her. Llew. Llewella.
He needed to hit something, something solid. The nearest tree was a hundred yards away, and while he could run there and back in seconds, the exertion would replace most of the relief one good punch would achieve. Swapping the knife to his left hand, he crouched and punched the ground below him in one smooth movement, leaving a fist-deep crater and filling the air with a cloud of dead grass, roots, and dirt.
Standing once more, he looked down at her. One of her fingers twitched. She would wake soon. She was Aenuk. But she was Llew.
He rammed the knife into its sheath and turned away. It was tempting to leave her there, to wake the others and get out of Stelt. But that would leave an Aenuk free, and that wasn't something he could live with. He should have killed her already. It was what the blade was designed to do with its core of Ajnai wood, a tree once abundant in ancient Turhmos, coated in the hardest steel.
He was growing concerned that she hadn't stirred yet. It had been a grievous wound, certainly, and she must have almost died. He knelt by her again. Had she died? She couldn't have. Even Aenuks didn't come back from death. But she was taking a long time. He peered into the dark again. Their side of the river was pale in the moonlight as dead, yellowed grass spread out from where she lay, while the other side was dark with lush green grass. Was there enough life within the perimeter of these dusty roads to bring her back?
Cursing even as he made the decision, he knelt and took up one of her hands. There was the gentlest of squeezes back. Then her grip tightened with the involuntary Aenuk reflex. If he was anyone else, he might lose his fingers before pulling free. As a Syakaran, he wasn't so trapped, but he didn't fight it; he also had more to give than others. The tingle that began in his fingers wasn't a result of her grasp, and it soon spread up his arm, across his chest, and from his heart, radiated throughout his core.
And then she stirred.
Llew's face was itchy. It took a minute to recall where she was and how to communicate to her limbs that she wished to right herself, but eventually she managed to pull an arm from under her and, balancing herself on the forearm, raised her head. She took in the state of the meadow. It had been lush green. Now there might as well have been nothing living for miles: if there was, she couldn't see it, nor hear it. The meadow was eerily silent. She could still feel ghi pouring from the ground through her exposed skin. Her head was clearing slowly.
She brought one hand to her throat. The blood was sticky and thick, but her skin was smooth. She didn't know what she had expected. Looking down, she saw strings of blood stretching from her shirt to the ground below. Not quite as disturbing as being attached to a dead body by strings of her own blood, but still disgusting. She must have lost nearly all she had. Memories of the dead Renny merged with memories of having been here with Jonas and she was sickened at the thought of what she might have just done.
She rolled to a sitting position. The bodies of the fallen swordsmen lay nearby. She turned her head and started fearfully. A dark silhouette stood over her. Expecting another attack, she brought an arm up over her face, only to recognize Jonas just before she blocked him from view. His shape was unmistakable with the glint of knife handles around his middle and that big knife at his hip.
Joy and fear washed through her. Since she'd left Cheer, he was the closest thing she'd had to a real friend. But now that he knew what she was he was going to kill her. Yet the knife was still in its sheath. She looked up, trying to see his face, but it was in shadows.
“You didn't kill me.”
“I'll probably regret not doing so. Get up.”
It was fair that he should be angry with her, she hadn't told him what she was. But how could she after he'd told her he killed her kind? She gathered herself to rise, but when she wasn't up fast enough, Jonas grabbed her elbow and pulled her up. He wasn't gentle.
“I said get up.”
“And I was doing it.” She scowled at him, brushing herself off. Her hands came away sticky with blood. She poked out her tongue in distaste and searched out a dry patch of her trousers to wipe her palms.
Without another word, Jonas began striding back to town.
Llew didn't know if she should follow or not. Did he want her to? Or did he intend to leave her behind? But he hadn't killed her. She ran to catch up.
“I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but after you said you killed healers, I couldn't. Don't you understand?” He kept striding ahead and she had to run to keep pace with him. “I didn't even know what I was till you were telling me about your knife. And I never died until just before I met you. It's all so new to me, and then I met you, someone who would kill me if you knew what I was, and I would've told you, I really would have—”
He stopped, spinning to face her, and she ran into him.
“Like you were goin' to tell us you were a girl?”
Llew swallowed. “I would have,” she said in a weak voice. She had never intended to, but neither had she intended to care what any of them thought of her other than that she was useful to have around. No, she wouldn't have told them. She peered up at him and knew that he knew it, too. “Would you have let me go with you if you'd known?”
“I never wanted you.” His words stung. Almost as an afterthought, he added, “You'll have to ask Aris, and he won't be happy.”
“Please don't tell him.”
Jonas laughed. “I already kept one secret from him. Your secret.” He leaned into her. “I opened up to you, and what did I get in return? A name? A stupid name!”
“Stupid?” How dare he? “You told me nothing! Everything I know about you I learned from that man at the bar tonight. You expect me to tell you what I am, knowing what you would do to me? You didn't even have the decency to reply in kind. And you didn't have the fear of death clamping your mouth shut.”
They stood, barely an inch separating their noses, breathing heavily.
“I gotta tell him.”
“Why?”
“I told you.” He stepped back. “One secret was one too many. He's my Captain.”
“What will he do?”
Jonas laughed again. “He'll ask why you're still alive, for a start.” He turned and carried on walking back to the inn, hands deep in his pockets. Llew followed, keeping her distance. It must have been well past midnight. It took a long time for her to heal from death and was surprised not to see the glow of dawn.
Jonas pushed against the inn door, but it was locked.
“Shit,” he muttered.
“They lock it?”
“Yeah, well, there's a witch on the loose, huh?” Jonas slanted her a look, but Llew couldn't tell if it was good-natured joking or disgust. She thought it safest to ignore.
“What do we do now?”
Jonas looked up then along the front of the building. There was one bench seat on the porch. “Try to get some sleep.” He swept his arm out, inviting her to take the bench. Llew gave him a small smile and curled up on the seat, pulling her blood-smeared jacket tight about her. Jonas sat on the porch, leaning against the wall by her feet.
“The others will wonder what we were doing out here.”
“That's fine. We're gonna tell 'em.”
“How does Aris feel about Aenuks?”
Jonas laughed – his usual brief, explosive laugh that subsided as abruptly as it began. “I'm tryin' to reconcile, Llew, with the fact that you are not like the Aenuks that killed my folks.”
She lifted herself up, supporting herself on her elbow and looked at him.
“I hate the Aenuks who took my family,” he said. “And I've killed a lot of Aenuks since. I killed my uncle who thought he'd take advantage of a young boy who didn't know his own strength yet. I hate my own brother, and one day I'll likely kill him, too. It's what I do.” He turned to her in the dark. “People come at me. I hate 'em. I kill 'em. And there are a lot o' people out there want to have a piece of me.” He shifted his weight against the wall. “But Aris... He's a good man. He grew up in a Quaver ravaged by war like I haven't known. When Quaver and Turhmos were both stronger, they fought constantly. He saw victories and defeats and destruction like you wouldn't believe. He saw a future he didn't like the look of, and decided to do somethin' about it. He started to build somethin'. And Turhmos, and its Aenuks, tore it down.”
Jonas rested his head against the wall behind him. Llew lay back down and closed her eyes, wondering if she should allow herself to sleep so near this man who should have killed her by now. But she was so tired. She doubted she would get much sleep before the sun's rays lit the sky, anyway. Still, she could rest her eyes.
“Aris just hates Aenuks. It's all he's got.” Llew's eyes flew open. She couldn't believe how close she had been to sleep.
So, Aris hated Aenuks. And by his side was Jonas, who killed Aenuks.
She waited, listening for a change in his breathing. Was he waiting for her to fall asleep first? Or was he going to drop off, and give her the chance to run? He'd already let her live once.
“And if he wants me dead? Is that your job? You and your knife?”
Jonas didn't reply. Either he really was asleep, and she was fine for now, or he couldn't answer, which could mean several things. Maybe he didn't want to tell her Yes. Maybe he couldn't tell her Yes. Maybe the answer was Yes, that was his job, but maybe he would refuse.
He could have killed her by the bridge.
While Llew's mind tried to unpick it all – the relationships between her and Jonas, Jonas and Aris, and Aris and her – somehow, she slipped into sleep.
Llew hadn't been aware of the increasing brightness. It was the sudden shadow across her face that woke her. She opened her eyes to Aris standing before her, arms folded. It took her a moment to clear her head, to remember where she was, and why. Time to face the music, to find out if she was going to be abandoned or murdered. Sometime since she'd fallen asleep it had begun to rain in a light drizzle, but they remained dry under the porch roof.
“You went to see him, didn't you?” Aris wasn't looking at Llew. Then she remembered that Jonas was sitting at the end of the bench. “After I told you not to.”
Llew was cold. She looked down at her blood-stained shirt now sticking to her, and pulled her jacket tight, trying to hide the mess. The jacket was smeared, too, but it was cleaner than the shirt. The movement caught Aris's eye.
“What was that?”
“What?”
He reached down, grabbed the collar of her jacket and yanked it from her grasp. “What in the hell happened last night?”
Llew looked down at Aris's feet. She didn't know what to say. Well, she did. She could tell the truth. She hoped Jonas might have something to contribute.
The inn door swung open.
“No sign of them, Aris.” Alvaro stopped. “Llew!” He flew around Aris to kneel in front of her. He looked at her in horror. “What happened? Are you alright?” He half-turned her head and peered at her neck.
“I'm fine.” Her voice cracked.
Suddenly Alvaro had Jonas by the collar, dragging him to his feet and pressing him against the wall. “What did you do? You could have gotten her killed!”
“Nothin' happened. It ain't her blood,” said Jonas conversationally, his tone almost bored.
“'Nothin' happened'? Like hell!” Alvaro shoved Jonas's shoulders into the wall.
“Do that again I'll teach you to fly.”
“That's enough,” Aris said. He didn't shout, and he didn't take his eyes off Llew. “Step back, Alvaro. Go and get Llew a new shirt.”
Glaring at Jonas, Alvaro did as he was told. With but a quick glance at Llew, he headed back into the inn.
“You two've got some talkin' to do, and I suggest you do it now while we've some peace. You went to see him, didn't you?”
Llew couldn't look Aris in the eye. Instead, she turned to Jonas, hoping he could deliver the news in a way that wouldn't send the older man into a rage.
Jonas wouldn't look at Aris, either. But he nodded and told him about the men at the bridge, told him that Jonas had killed two of them and sent the third running, only to turn and find Llew injured. Then he looked at Llew before turning to Aris, and she knew he was going to tell everything. She closed her eyes, pleading for Aris to understand her need to keep the secret just as he had understood her traveling attire.
“She's Aenuk, Aris.”
There was a long silence.
“And yet here she sits. Alive and, it seems, well.”
Jonas didn't answer.
“So, who cut you?”
Llew and Jonas looked at Aris, both taken aback by the simple question. Neither of them had even stopped to wonder about her assailant. Llew hadn't seen anyone, only sensed a shadow cross her. Suddenly she felt as if she was being watched. She glanced up and down the street not even knowing what she was looking for. Few people walked the streets of Stelt this early in the morning, but Llew was suspicious of them all: one of them had run a knife across her throat.
Maybe. She hadn't seen anything. She didn't even know if what she thought she'd seen had been real.
“You don't think it was...?” Jonas gave Aris a meaningful look.
“Braph,” said Aris. He turned to Llew, looking her up and down.
“From the blood, I can see you must've been cut bad.” He nodded. “And why would Braph have you attacked and try to kill you?”
“Aenuks don't come back from the dead,” Jonas muttered.
