Guilty as Sin (23 page)

Crastin Market by now.”

The thief hissed a curse under his breath. “Keep that stretched out.” Carefully, he

slid away and rose, moving a little stiffly. “I
‟
m goin
‟
for water.”

“Wait.” With a grunt, Dax forced himself to his feet, his shoulder protesting. He

must have wrenched it. Ah well, he
‟
d had worse in Pinion training, but the deep

punctures were another matter entirely. “I
‟
ll bathe it in the stream. It
‟
ll be easier.

Better.”

“Mmm.” Michael slid under Dax
‟
s arm on his good side, into a mantle of bronze

feathers. He gripped him around the waist. “Come on then.”

Dax said nothing. He knew he wasn
‟
t the one who needed the support, but

presumably Michael was, so that was all right. The shared body warmth and the strong,

lean form pressed against his side were actually very pleasant. He was sorry to give

them up for the biting chill of the mountain stream, but Michael insisted, finding a pool

where the water ran quick and clean, and there was a rock shelf just under the surface.

He helped Dax out of his shirt then made him lie on his belly on the edge. Michael

spread the injured wing himself, straightening and smoothing the crumpled feathers,

swearing when he encountered the sad gaps. His touch was firm yet surprisingly

gentle.

He
‟
d be excellent at grooming. Dax smiled, thinking longingly of the well-

appointed bath chamber at the Winged Envoy
‟
s palazzo, with its deep tubs and shelves

of different featheroils. The punctures were nasty, the cold water stinging like a bitch,

seeping into his bones.

Veil-it, think of something else, something pleasant. Sitting in a warm bath, his

wings spread, being groomed. Yes, that was it, concentrate on the details, make the

distraction real. Lise
‟
s strong, deft hands, carding through each plume, working the oil

in properly, all the way down the shaft to the root, making every feather gleam an

iridescent bronze. He purred, deep in his throat, imagining her kissing his cheek,

nibbling his neck, sighing in his ear. And by way of contrast, he
‟
d have Michael do the

other side, with his clever thieving fingers. He
‟
d put an arm around each of them and

hold them close, and when he wanted a kiss, all he
‟
d have to do would be turn his head.

From one to the other and back again. Unconsciously, he stretched a little, the purr

deepening to a rumble.

A pleasant tenor said in his ear, “C
‟
mon, sleeping beauty. We have to go.”

112

Aetherii—Religion:

Aetherii cosmology proposes a universe comprised of an all-consuming fire. Only the Veil of

the sky protects the world from complete annihilation. What others among the Ten Nations see

as stars in the night sky, the Aetherii believe to be rents in the fabric of the Veil where the light of

the fire shines through. It is commonly referred to as the Tattered Veil.

Excerpt from the
Great Encyclopedia
, compiled by Miriliel the Burnished.

* * * * *

Trying not to breathe in the acrid reek of the creature
‟
s blood, Michael hunkered

down over the first Hssrdan, the one who had injured Dax. The TailSoldier
‟
s halberd

lay abandoned a few yards away, but it was of no use, the weapon too long and heavy

for a human. In any case, the thing
‟
s real weapons were its crushing bite, the wicked tail

and those dreadful claws. Michael stared. They were stained red, all the way to the

knuckle. A single feather still shone jauntily, crushed and broken beneath one

outstretched paw.

In fact, the area was strewn with feathers, long shards of polished bronze streaked

with blood. A breeze wandered past, picking them up and dropping them again as if it

didn
‟
t care, so that they fluttered in a pathetic parody of flight.

Dax
‟
s blood, Dax
‟
s feathers.

He glanced at the Aetherii, lying stretched out in the last of the sun, one wing

floating gently on the surface of the water, the other extended like an exotic cloak in the

dust. His head rested on one forearm, his eyes closed, peaceful as sleeping child. His

hair shone every color of tawny imaginable, spilling over one side of his square jaw,

half concealing a neat, pointed ear. The only signs of life were the gentle rise and fall of

his shoulders and his tail, which gave an occasional lazy twitch.

He
‟
d come barreling out of the setting sun like the wrath of the gods, reckless and

magnificent. Michael shook his head at the thought of such foolishness, but his breath

caught in his chest. He swallowed hard. An avenging angel might look like that—

sword of fire, mighty thews, thundering wings. Gods, he
‟
d been good too. Who
‟
d have

thought it? The farm boy had disappeared as if he
‟
d never been, his place taken by a

warrior of surpassing skill, a poem of breathtaking violence and terrifying grace.

Daxariel the Burnished to the rescue.

The vision would be engraved on his brain forever, which wasn
‟
t a comfortable

thought for a man who believed in checks and balances. If it hadn
‟
t been for the

113

Aetherii… Michael
‟
s balls tried to climb into his body. Gelded like a beast, enslaved and

beaten, or meat for the stewpot.

For a moment he thought he might be physically ill. Pressing a fist hard into his

belly, he dragged in rasping breaths until the churning in his gut was under control.

Then he set his jaw and extracted the broken feather from under the Hssrdan
‟
s taloned

paw. Painstakingly, he moved about the clearing, gathering up every plume, even the

one that had fluttered away into the bracken. He ended up with six or so, all

bloodstained to varying degrees. Frowning, he glanced around. Good. It wouldn
‟
t do to

leave evidence. He
‟
d retrieve their weapons in a moment, but first—

Choosing a spot where the stream frothed over an obstacle course of half-

submerged rocks, he washed the plumes one at a time, until every trace of blood was

gone. Then he held them up to the light to check the deep metallic luster. For those that

were bent and broken, he did his best to smooth with his fingers, cursing under his

breath. Ripping the sleeve out of Dax
‟
s shirt, he tied them together like an outré bunch

of flowers. Then, gritting his teeth, he went to jerk the blades free of Hssrda flesh and

wash them clean of the green blood.

The Shadow had nearly caught the Sun. There wasn
‟
t much daylight left. Michael

nudged the Aetherii
‟
s leg with his boot. “Dax.”

“
Mmm?
” Dax
‟
s generous mouth curved, but he didn
‟
t open his eyes.

Michael sighed. The setting sun struck sparks from one wingtip, but most of Dax
‟
s

big body lay in shadow. It made him a study in lines and contours, delineated in shades

of gray, like a marble effigy on a tomb. Michael knelt so he could touch the warmth of

living flesh. He gripped Dax
‟
s biceps, the shapely swell of muscle smooth and hard

beneath his palm.

“C
‟
mon, sleeping beauty.” The impulse to tighten his fingers, to feel the resistance,

was irresistible. “We have to go.”

The Aetherii raised his head. “I was resting my eyes.”

“Don
‟
t give me that, birdy. You were sound asleep.” He set his hands on his hips.

“Was it a good dream?”

He could have sworn Dax blushed. “What do you mean?”

“You were grinning your fool head off.”

Dax
‟
s lashes swept down then up. “Oh yes,” he said in a velvet rumble. “
Mmm.
” He

stretched, the long body undulating in a ripple of muscle and sinew and acres of golden

skin.

He froze. “Ow,” he said plaintively, and winced. “Rip the Veil.” Huffing, the

Aetherii furled his wings and rose slowly.

Michael pulled himself together. “Can you walk?” Shit, it was a good ten miles back

to the city. The dark was no problem for a thief, the night was his country, but

Twister—out in the open, no sheltering walls, no buildings for cover? Exposed. His skin

114

crawled. Flying was out of the question, not with injuries like that. He set his jaw. Too

fucking bad, he
‟
d walk.

Dax
‟
s lips thinned. Not speaking, he set off up the slope with long strides, angling

to the right. Michael caught him in a couple of paces. “The road
‟
s that way.” He pointed

in the other direction.

“I know, but I need a decent tree. You get going. I won
‟
t be long.”

“Hang on.” Michael grabbed a thick forearm, planted his feet and hauled.

The Aetherii spun around. “What?”

“You
‟
re not going to fly? With that wing?”“

Feathers rustled. “Well, I can hardly leave it behind.” Dax tilted his head in a

curiously birdlike gesture. “As for you though—I
‟
m tempted.”

Michael scowled. “Have it your own way.” He turned toward the road.

Bracken crackled as Dax moved away from him, heading for his godsbedamned

tree. Stubborn bastard. Stupid
bird
.

Then he remembered the feathers. Cursing, he thumped back down to the water

and retrieved them. By the time he crested the rise, there was no sign of the Aetherii.

The empty road stretched before him, pale and dusty in the light of the full moon

hanging a hand
‟
s breadth above the solid bulk of the distant mountains. At his back, the

forest was very still, save for the rustle of the evening breeze. Something hooted and a

small, tasty creature squeaked in terror.

Fuck! The space between Michael
‟
s shoulder blades prickled. Automatically, he

patted his knives, one after the other. Fine, he
‟
d be fine. For want of a better place, he

stuffed the bouquet of feathers under his shirt where they brushed his belly and his ribs

in a sly, tickling caress. Well, he wished the birdman joy of his lonely flight. Unless, of

course, the idiot fell out of the sky and landed on his stupid head. Keeping to the

shadows of the verge, he set off.

* * * * *

Rip the Veil and fry the world, it hurt. Every wingbeat sent spikes of pain throbbing

through nerve and sinew. Rolling his shoulders, Dax banked a little, trying to

compensate for the injury. It helped—a little. He released a cautious breath. So far, so

good. Provided he didn
‟
t attempt any acrobatics, he should make it back to Sere. Would

Lise worry? He gnawed on his lip. Anyone less protective he
‟
d yet to meet, but by

midnight she
‟
d be frowning, looking up from her paperwork every few minutes to

check the door.

Godsdammit, he knew it was childish, but he
wanted
her to miss him, to fret

because he was more than a colleague, more than a friend. Just enough so that when he

spiraled down to the palazzo
‟
s landing platform, she
‟
d be waiting, ready to kiss her

welcome into his mouth, to put her cool hands all over his body. She
‟
d ease him into a

115

warm bath filled with
bruisebalm
and after that she
‟
d take him to bed and make him

forget his own name.

He sighed. Too damn bad.

Because Michael was up ahead somewhere, tramping along in his soft city boots,

his handsome face set in a scowl. How long before blisters broke out on his heels? Dax

grinned. Serve him right, the boneheaded fool. What sort of man did he think Dax was?

As if he
‟
d leave a friend out here in the middle of nowhere!

All amusement vanished.

Because Michael had a different set of values. He thought Dax was the same sort of

man he was, a thief without loyalty or honor or feeling. And they weren
‟
t friends, were

they? They were— What, exactly? Dax
‟
s thoughts stuttered to a halt.

He could no more have sat in that tree and watched the Hssrda take Michael than

he could have flown right through the Veil and out the other side.

Michael in action had been a revelation, a sight to gladden the grizzled heart of

Dax
‟
s old Pinion trainer. A man who was intelligent enough to fight to his strengths,

every movement a combination of quicksilver and controlled fury. Dax shivered,

remembering his casual skill with a blade. Gods, how could he be so accurate when he

didn
‟
t even bother to take aim?

Rounding a bend, his pulse kicked up as he caught sight of a lean figure slipping in

and out of the shadows. Even on an open road, the man managed to remain

inconspicuous.

Time for the acrobatics, godsdammit.

Dax dropped to treetop height, skimming along. He pulled in a series of deep

breaths, one after the other, until his body buzzed with energy. Veil-it, this was going to

hurt like the seven hells. Narrowing his eyes, he fixed his gaze on that straight back,

estimating speed and distance. It wouldn
‟
t do to crack the man
‟
s spine. A little

discomfort, on the other hand…

Now!

Dax increased the strength of the downbeats, his mighty wings pushing the night