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I took them, grateful for his kindness, though
I don’t think either of us slept very much.

Mingled with fear and doubt was a profound sense
of relief. I wasn’t alone anymore. Magnus Tyrix had reclaimed me from the dead.

I
t was slow going at first, but with a little
encouragement, Kymber’s health began to improve. She still complained of
dizziness, nausea, and the occasional crushing headache, but the day came when
she finally felt well enough to travel.

That decision was hers. I would’ve stayed at
the inn forever if that were what she needed to heal. I wasn’t worried about
Seacrest, my estate back in Adamar. My people took good care of it in my
absence.

The subtle nuances of romance had always escaped
me, much to Kymber’s chagrin, but I cossetted this new life with her as one
would cup their hands around a newborn flame. Every morning, I sang to her as I
washed her face and hands, then made her sit on the bed and brushed what was
left of her hair.

I helped her into the clothing Amori provided –
tunics and leggings left behind by the inn’s patrons. Kymber fussed, reluctant
to stand naked before me, but I fussed right back, reminding her that she still
listed like a drunk every time she got to her feet. We usually ended up
laughing, though a few tears were shed as well.

We left the inn eight weeks after Kymber opened
her eyes and socked me in the jaw. That stuffy room had become a prison for
both of us, I think. In any case, it was delightful to watch the sun rise and
breathe in the crisp morning air.

 Migs and Amori Grok, kindhearted souls if ever
there were any, stood wailing like infants, clutching soggy kerchiefs in tight
fists as we turned to wave goodbye.

I seated Kymber behind me on Fitz, savoring the
feel of her hands on my hips as we rode. She was quiet, but she didn’t seem
especially fearful. More than once, I wondered what the future held for us.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Adamar. I moved there eight years ago.”

“Why?”

“Do you want the truth?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I thought living near the ocean might do me
good. Jalartha held too many memories.”

“I see.” She was silent for a moment. “Of me?”

“Of you. I couldn’t stand the thought of you in
that grave. We hadn’t even been given a chance to say goodbye.” Agony caught me
right in the chest. “I was slowly going insane, so I packed up and left.”

 “While I was slowly going insane in Pentorus.”
She sighed. “What a pair we are.”

“I am so sorry, Kymber. I haven’t…”

“Done anything wrong. Neither one of us is to
blame for what happened to me.”

“I’m angry. For both of us. We might’ve had
children…”

“Don’t say that. I thought of all the things
I’d never get to do or see or
be
for the first four years of my
captivity. I was sure I’d burst into tiny pieces from the anger I felt. I knew
my situation was hopeless. Up and down, back and forth. There was no end to it.
I finally talked myself into an uneasy peace. If I think about what I’ve lost,
I’ll never be able to go forward.”

“It’s not too late for children. You’d be
twenty-eight. I’m a young thirty-two.” I smiled at her, only half-joking.

She stiffened and withdrew her hands from my
waist. “You don’t know me anymore. You have no idea what I’m like.”

I had enough patience and love for both of us.
I could wait.

T
he trip to my seaside
home in Adamar should’ve taken us right past the small village of Pitka, but
Kymber needed suitable clothing. Pitka, populated by artisans and crafters, was
an excellent place to procure them.

“Why are we stopping here?” she asked as I
dismounted and reached up for her. Her gaze darted nervously over the crowd
milling about on the street.

“You’ll need some clothes of your own. Tula the
seamstress lives here.”

Her eyes widened. “Tula is still alive?”

“Yes. And lucky for you she’s still sewing. She
continues to make garments for lady warriors.” I took her by the hand. “Come.”

She pulled back. “But I have no coin to pay her.”

“I do. Come.”

Though it was sweltering outside, Tula’s shop
was surprisingly cool. Brightly colored garments made from linen, cotton, and
velvet hung from the shop’s terra cotta brick walls. Small tables piled high
with neatly folded shirts, leggings, and harem pants stood in regimental rows
from one wall to the other. If Kymber couldn’t find something in Tula’s shop
that pleased her, she simply wasn’t looking.

“Her garments are so beautiful. It was easy to
fight in the pants she made for me. A girl could kick a man in the face and
never tear a stitch, nor lose her dignity by showing her most private self to
others.” Kymber laughed as she ran her hands over a pair of blue velvet harem
pants that buttoned at the ankles.

I thought I saw a happy spark in her eyes,
which is what I’d hoped for. The first order of business was to help Kymber
recover a sense of self. Of what she’d been. Yes, but it had to be done in
small steps. Familiar clothing – clothing that was
hers
– came first. A
safe and peaceful place to live came second.

A thorough examination of that maimed right
hand came third.

Tula glided out of the back room. She wore a
turquoise and bright pink sari, her arms open wide. “Magnus, my sweet. How
happy I am to see you again.” I got a surprisingly strong hug and a very wet
kiss on the lips from the diminutive gray-haired woman. “Where have you been
hiding yourself?”

I folded Tula into my arms, just as happy to
see her. She brought back memories of a time when life was good. “I live in
Adamar now. Seaside.”

“Lucky you. Are you married? How many children
have you sired?” Tula poked me in the abdomen. “I’ve always said it’s a
fortunate woman who shares your bed, Magnus Tyrix. If I were but thirty years
younger . . .” She pinched my cheek and laughed.

“No wife or children yet.” I felt my face
flush. “I brought someone with me though. Someone you may remember.” I spun Tula
around to face Kymber.

The seamstress stiffened for a moment then put
a shaky hand to her mouth. “No. It’s not possible. Is this . . . Kymber Oryx?”

“It’s me, Tula.” Kymber stood frozen between
the tables, her chest heaving.

“You were supposed to be dead, child.”

Kymber shook her head and smiled a sad little
smile. “I’m not dead.” 

Tula turned a questioning gaze to me. I bent to
whisper in her ear. “It’s a tale for another time. I’m taking her back to
Adamar with me. She needs clothing. At least five or six outfits of the type
she used to wear at the academy. Can you help us?”

“Of course.” Tula clapped her hands, trilling
like a songbird. “I loved sewing for you, little one. You wore everything so
well. The drape of my clothing upon your body was flawless. Come with me.” She
turned and motioned for us to follow her into the back room.

“Thank you, Magnus.” Kymber gave me the
brightest smile I’d seen so far. “This is wonderful.”

You have no idea,
I thought as I followed,
my heart soaring.

A
n hour later, Kymber
stood before me in black linen harem pants and a tightly laced sleeveless
jerkin of purple velvet with gold-and-blue stars embroidered upon it. 

“Stunning,” was all I could say.

Tula had even taken the time to wash and trim
Kymber’s hair. Still barely two inches long, it now lay in smooth, even lines.

 A crooked grin crossed Kymber’s face, her eyes
alight with pleasure. It nearly brought tears to my eyes. The filthy,
frightened stray cat was gone.

“Do you think so?” Kymber ran her left hand
over her abdomen. “Gods, I never dreamed I’d wear anything like this again. I
feel like I could conquer the world.”

“You will.” I caught her up in my arms and spun
her around Tula’s shop. “And I will help you.”

I swear I saw stars flare to life in her bright
blue eyes.

W
e stopped to make camp
just as the sun was sinking blood red beyond the mountains. I made a fire for
Kymber then left to hunt for our meal.

It took me longer than I expected. Just one
small wild boar later, I stood before the fire. 

I found Kymber sitting between three men who
were passing a bottle of wine between them. She sat stiffly, shoulders forward,
gaze down so as not to antagonize.

Gesturing wildly, the men spoke in a language I
recognized as Torithinese. At least they were dressed in the garb of those tribesman:
long, flowing robes of scarlet and black silk scarves tied about their heads
and left to drape behind them.

Kymber lost all color when she saw me. I
dropped the boar near the fire and addressed the men in their own language: “Is
it possible I could help you with something?”

A tall, wiry man with dark eyes rose and threw
me a hostile smile. “We will share your fire tonight. And now we see you have
brought food. We will share that as well.” He took a menacing step forward.
“Then we will share your woman.”

Over my dead body. I shifted my attention to
Kymber. “Did they hurt you?” I asked in our common tongue.

“No.” She shook her head. “Not really.”

“Did they touch you?”

“Yes, but not… They didn’t…”

I raised my hand to silence her and smiled
coldly at the man. “I would be glad to share my fire and my food, but not the
woman. She belongs to me.” The Torithin understood ownership and possession,
whether it was horses or humans.

The two remaining tribesmen leapt to their
feet, pulling Kymber up with them. The man I’d spoken with pulled a wickedly
curved scimitar. “Then I will take her from you, and she will belong to me.”

“The woman is not negotiable. She is mine.” I
slid Bloodreign from the sheath across my back and assumed a stance. “Try to
take her and I will kill you.”

Kymber may not have understood their language,
but she understood my intent. The moment they released her to pull weapons, she
twisted free and ran.

 I immediately brought my sword to life,
swirling and slashing. Soon the sand beneath my feet was soaked with blood.