Kinked

SEVENTEEN

After he spoke, they fell silent, as if they had gone more than far enough for one conversation. There were implications everywhere in what had just happened, and Aryal didn’t want to consider any of them, nor did she want to decipher any of the unfamiliar emotions that rioted inside of her. That crowd of strangers, yelling in an incomprehensible language, was back in her head.

Except one of those strangers was perfectly understandable, as it held up a giant spongy finger that pointed to a placard that said, “Total fucking win-win.”

She considered sinking back into despair, because at least she understood that emotion, and it hovered around the edges of all the others, ready to bring down the weakest in the herd.

But she was no longer as shaky and hollowed out as she had been before the nap, the food and the cuddle, and she couldn’t manage to give in to it.

Sometimes being too stubborn for her own good turned out to be the best thing for her.

So she broke things down into words of one syllable, since that was apparently what she could handle at the moment.

Fuck it then. Kill the bitch, have some great sex, go home.

She counted backward. Yep, all one-syllable words. That’d do.

While she deconstructed her life, Quentin eased off of her and stretched out on his back again.

Somehow, something had shifted when she hadn’t been paying attention, and the part of him that was feline no longer bothered her. She simply enjoyed his animal grace.

He tucked one hand behind his head with a sigh. “Are you going to come over here or not?”

She decided that it sounded like a great idea, so she edged close to settle against him, putting her head on his bare shoulder. Fitting herself against his body felt incredible, her leg hooked up over his. She shook out her tablecloth/blanket over both of them and draped her arm across his chest. He put his arm around her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He seemed to be more demonstrably affectionate than she was. It took her outside of her comfort zone, but she … liked it.

Sleep stalked her, but she fought it off enough to mumble, “I bet you act romantic with every female you’ve ever dated.”

His response was a long time in coming, more of a grunt than a real word. “Yup.”

Not that they were dating, but … “You talk like shit to me.”

He grunted again. “Can’t tell you what a relief that is.”

Tucked in between pockets of decency and a conscience, he was still a bastard.

One corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. She let sleep take her.

The pale light of predawn woke her.

Razor teeth. Crushed.

Adrenaline flooded her system, bringing with it a wash of nervous energy. Her body ached all over. Caerreth had closed her wounds and started them on the right path, but they were still healing. She needed more rest. She needed real rest and recuperation, but she couldn’t relax enough to let sleep claim her again.

She eased her head off of Quentin’s shoulder and looked at him. He was sound asleep, his lean jaw covered with more pale gold beard. His face wore the marks that the last couple of days had put on him. Even asleep, it made him look edgier and more dangerous than he did back in New York, and she had thought he’d looked dangerous then.

Then, he’d looked like a sleek, well-fed predator cruising through a crowd of unsuspecting pussycats. Now he looked more like what he really was, a man who would do anything he had to in order to survive.

A man who tried to be good in spite of himself, but who was really bad enough that she wanted him at her back in a tough fight.

She hadn’t told him that she liked him too, when he wasn’t driving her batshit crazy. It wasn’t any of his business how she felt about him.

But in the predawn silence, in the privacy of her own mind, she admitted a truth. Maybe she more than liked him.

The crowd in her head woke up and tried to riot again. She rolled her eyes and eased away from Quentin, trying not to disturb him. He had not been as injured as she had, but he needed more rest too, and he didn’t stir as she sat up.

She tucked the tablecloth around his torso, crawled over to the food they’d left strewn over the floor and ate a weird but filling breakfast. Actually, pickled eel and apple brandy weren’t so bad together. Then she went into “her” cell, where the blood on the floor had dried, used the crude latrine in the corner and splashed her hands off with water from the wineskin. A proper wash and clean clothes were high on her list of needs that day.

Second only to finding weapons and Elven armor.

When she went to peek out of the window, Linwe was keeping watch by the cell block door. She nodded to the young Elf and looked outside. The sky was cloudless, the wide expanse of water calm. It was going to be another scorcher of a day.

She went around to the other side of the cell block, gesturing to Linwe to follow her. The other woman did, her fine-boned face sparking with curiosity. “Let’s wake the other two,” Aryal said to her quietly. “We need to make some plans and act on them.”

“Okay,” said Linwe.

Together they shook Aralorn and Caerreth awake. The males sat up readily enough, wiping at their tired faces. Despite the short night, they all looked miles better than they had before.

Aryal sat back on her heels, testing her thigh wound. It held. The other three were watching her expectantly. She said, “Here’s the plan. You guys are leaving as fast as you can.”

“Wait, what?” Linwe said. The two males looked confused.

Aryal told them, “You need to take enough food to get you through a two-day run, harvest water on the go, and leave Numenlaur. On the other side, one of you needs to hike out of the forest to update Ferion, and make sure that Ferion updates Dragos. The other two will stand watch. Don’t let anybody into Numenlaur. If the witch and her wolves are the first ones out, the news about us won’t be good. If that happens, don’t do anything. Hide and let her pass. But neither Quentin nor I are planning on letting that happen.” She looked at the three sober faces. “Who has magical aptitude aside from Caerreth?”

“We all have some,” said Linwe. “Caerreth has the most aptitude, but Aralorn has more offensive Power. I know some basics like how to spell a light, but my strengths are more physical.”

“She’s killer with a bow and arrow,” Aralorn said with a small smile. “A little like Hawkeye in the Avengers.”

Dear gods, he was talking about comic superheroes. They were so young.

Aryal rubbed her tired, gritty eyes. “Okay,” she said. “If I were Galya, I would have sent one of the shadow wolves back to the passageway to stand guard, so we have to expect that. I doubt it will try to follow you back over the passageway, because if there is one there, I think its purpose is to bring back word of someone crossing over. Plus it might not be able to travel that far away from Galya. There’s something that connects her and the wolves, and that connection might be a magical one. If it is there, it might not attack you. Then again, it might, so you need to be prepared. If you don’t know how to throw a simple repel spell yet, Quentin will teach you when he wakes up. You’re going to have learn it fast, because I want you out of here by midmorning.”

All three of them argued. They had heart, she’d give them that.

Aralorn said, “But you need us.”

She leaned her elbows on her knees and gave him a level look. “No, we don’t,” she said. She’d never been one to mince words, and now was not the time to start just to save this young man’s pride. “We need each other, we don’t need you. You need to leave so that you don’t become collateral damage. Two communities of Elves have lost enough. Your people need you, and you can’t forget it.”

Something happened then, a shift of their eyes, a change in the air. Even though she hadn’t heard anything, she looked over her shoulder.

Quentin stood behind her, arms crossed, leaning one bare shoulder against the frame of the cell door, and she was struck all over again by the differences between him and the others. He looked mature, muscled and mean, and his steady gaze met hers.

She didn’t know the words to describe his expression. All she knew was that his regard was so intent, it caused her to flush hot all over. He nodded to her. Then he looked beyond her to the other three.

“Who needs a magic lesson?” he asked.

Caerreth raised his hand. Aralorn said, “I know the spell.”

Linwe said, “To be honest, I won’t learn it fast enough. I’ll be of more use helping with something else.”

“Okay, Caerreth,” said Quentin. “It’s you and me, buddy. Let’s go into my office.”

He led the younger Elf away to the other side of the cell block. Aryal called after him, “Unlock the door as you go, will you?”

He raised a hand in acknowledgement just before he disappeared. She turned to the other two. She squinted at Linwe. “Weren’t you wearing battle armor back in January? Where is it now?”

Linwe looked at the floor. “Back home.”

“Ah,” said Aryal. As Linwe’s skin darkened, she said with a twisted smile, “I usually wear fighting leathers, but you know what? Leather tends to get squeaky in the cold so on this trip I decided to wear jeans instead. Who knew. Can you make the two-day run in full Elven armor?”

Both Linwe and Aralorn looked very sharp and alert.

Linwe said, “I can.” Aralorn nodded.

“Then here’s what I think,” said Aryal. “I think if Elven armor is magic resistant, then it’s very possible it’ll do a damn good job of protecting against those shadow wolf bites. We need to find a barracks and an armory, where we can get five sets of armor and weapons. You know that’s gotta be close by the palace. I’ll tell you what else I think. You remember that three-day feeding pattern you were talking about, Linwe?”

“Yes.”

“Yesterday was the day she was supposed to feed you and she didn’t, right?”

“That’s right.”

“I think Galya’s been traveling back every three days from the island to feed you. Bringing us down on the same trip yesterday was killing two birds with one stone.” Aryal rubbed the back of her neck. “And I think Quentin was right—she didn’t make the choice to stop feeding you until we showed up, and I recognized her. Anyway, the point is, if her search is focused on the island, I think she’s still over there now. And except for any sentry that she’s probably sent to the passageway, I think the shadow wolves are with her, or they would have attacked you and Quentin last night when you went to get food.” She paused to consider her own logic. “So I think it’s still a risk to go hunting for the barracks, but it’s a calculated one, and the odds are in our favor. Are you game to go with me?”

“Hell, yes,” Aralorn said. Linwe hopped to her feet in answer.

Aryal smiled. Galya Andreyev must want something pretty fucking badly, if she was willing to be responsible for six people’s deaths in order to get it. And if she was willing to kill that many people, what she wanted was something she wasn’t supposed to have.

It felt good to take steps toward stopping her.

She stood too. “Let’s go.”

She walked around to the other side of the block where Quentin was teaching Caerreth the steps to throwing the repel spell. Caerreth wouldn’t be able to practice it until he left the cell block, but at least he would know how to do it.

“You need to practice this every time you stop to eat and rest,” Quentin was telling him. “If the shadow wolf attacks, it’s going to be wicked fast. You won’t have time to dither.”

The young healer looked even more scared than he had last night. Aryal said to him, “Imagine it’s like an arterial wound. You have to act fast before your patient bleeds out. This is the same thing, only you might become the bleeder.”

Caerreth paled. “I guess I see your point.”

Quentin said to her, “You’re not helping, sunshine.”

She gave him a wide-eyed look. “Was it something I said?” She watched with furtive pleasure as he bit back a smile. She told him, “I’m taking two of the kids, and we’re going to the mall, honey. You know, looking for weapons, armor, that kind of thing. We’ll be as quick as we can.”

“Drive safe,” he said, his gaze going sharp.

She gave him a limpid glance. “Oh, you know me. I can never parallel park the minivan right.”

He burst out laughing. “Now that is a nightmarish image.”

She smirked and walked out.

He called out after her, “Be fast. Don’t make me come after you.”

Linwe and Aralorn waited for her at the cell block door. Aralorn looked a little leery of the banter, but Linwe’s eyes were dancing.

When Aryal reached them, she said loudly, “What can I say. When your dad hit middle age, he turned into a worrywart.” More quietly, she said, “Let’s go.”

Finding the barracks was as much an exercise in logic as anything. They had to work their way upward, and for the first part of the journey, Linwe took the lead until they reached the kitchens, which were on the ground floor and not dug into the cliff itself.

The kitchens were located on the side of the palace that faced inland, away from the Temple of the Gods and the sea, and they had plenty of windows to allow for fresh air and natural light.

Dawn had long since broken, and the cloudless morning had turned bright. The heat was beginning to build up. The Elves were going to have a challenging run on their hands, wearing the armor. Aryal walked through the large kitchen area, looking out windows as she considered the placement of the nearby buildings.

She said, pointing, “There. That long, low building. That’s the barracks. There’ll be an armory of special shit somewhere here in the palace, stuff that Camthalion himself and any of his heirs would have worn, but I don’t want to waste time hunting for it. I’d rather go for the plain battle armor.”

“How do you know that’s it?” Linwe asked as Aralorn joined them at the window.

She shrugged. “I don’t for sure, but logic tells me it is. The building is plain. Also, look at its position. It almost completely blocks the way from the mainland, except for that road. It is an effective barrier, which is great protection. You would want soldiers in that building, in case of attack.”

Linwe smiled at her. “I’m kinda girl crushing on you right now.”

Aryal gave her a wry smile. Once not that long ago, she would have taken the opening Linwe gave her and started a flirtation, but now she couldn’t summon the interest. “You’re awfully cute too. Let’s go.”

She took the lead as they headed out the door at a jog. The building was around two hundred feet away, which they crossed within a few minutes. When they found a door and entered, they discovered that Aryal had guessed right. Rows of bunks filled a large open area. Attached to one side of the building was an armory with suits of armor and a wide variety of weapons: longbows and arrows, short swords, long swords, maces, battleaxes, spears, throwing stars and knives. Despite her desire to hurry, Aryal had to pause a moment to stare at the treasure with covetous glee.

In one special cabinet, they found shelves of Elven healing potion. Each bottle shone against her mind’s eye like stars.

They moved fast and collected everything they needed, enough armor for all of them, a basic complement of weapons, and supplies of the precious healing potion. As tempted as she was by some of the weaponry, Aryal focused on getting long swords for herself and Quentin, along with longbows and arrows. The shadow wolves wouldn’t be overcome with physical weapons, and she doubted that Galya would either. The real treasures were the armor and the healing potion.

Linwe and Aralorn had buckled on armor right away, which was an intelligent choice—it gave them immediate protection and made everything else easier to carry. After she saw what they had done, Aryal did the same.

As she finished buckling the chest plate into place, Linwe came to join her. Linwe said telepathically, I’m really happy about you and Quentin.

What?

Aryal’s head came up. Her internal crowd of new emotions started to riot again. She stared at Linwe. What do you mean?

The younger woman’s friendly smile faltered. You and Quentin. You’re together, aren’t you? I mean, you spent last night together, and the way you look at each other … and he follows you with his eyes with an expression I’ve never seen before. I just thought … I mean, it seemed obvious.…

Aryal ran her fingers through her hair and tried to massage some kind of rational thought into her tired brain. He follows me with his eyes?

Linwe grimaced, looking embarrassed. I got it wrong, didn’t I?

I don’t know, she admitted. And there was that giant spongy finger again, pointing to the placard. Total fucking win-win. She tried to give Linwe a smile, but it felt like it came out all twisted and wrong. It’s early days yet. We’re still feeling our way.

We’re perfect, he had said. And when he said it, everything inside of her pulsed in recognition of the rightness of it.

I don’t know, she said again.

For a moment she faltered. As her sense of purpose flatlined, she felt lost, even confused, and fear rose up to slash at her with black, razor-sharp teeth. Nothing felt familiar, not her physical surroundings and not the landscape within, and her future wasn’t looking very survivable. She had no business considering whether or not she was “together” with anybody. She closed her eyes as despair attacked.

“Here,” Linwe said gently, brushing her lax fingers aside. “Let me finish buckling that for you.”

As Aryal let the younger woman work the fastenings, she looked out the barracks door that they had propped open. The door faced the palace, and beyond that, the sparkling sea. At the height of the promontory, the island was more visible than ever.

A sailboat cruised the water, leaving a silvery trail in the water behind it as it approached the mainland.

Aryal’s hand shot out. She gripped Linwe’s shoulder with such force the younger woman looked up at her wide-eyed. “Which of you is the fastest runner?” she asked.

Linwe and Aralorn answered at the same time. Aralorn had been sorting out armor for Caerreth. He looked up as he said, “She is.”

“Me,” said Linwe. “Why?”

Aryal hauled her around and pointed to the boat. Linwe sucked in a breath, but before she could say anything, Aryal shoved her toward the door. “Get Caerreth out here now. Move!”

As if Aryal had shot her from bow, Linwe raced for the palace.

Aralorn joined her at the doorway. Unwilling to take any more chances of being seen, she pulled him back until she was sure they both stood in shadow. They stared out. Thus far the Elf had shown a steady demeanor, but as he wiped his mouth with the back of one hand, Aryal saw that it was shaking. He asked, “What are we going to do?”

She told him, “You and the other two are going to leave just like we planned. You’ll take this road past the barracks. It doesn’t matter where it leads, as long as it gets you out of sight of the piers. As soon as you’re out of sight, do whatever you have to do to get to the passageway as fast as you can.”

If he had looked shaky before, now he looked downright terrified. “Yes, ma’am.”

Moments dragged by. She watched the sailboat get closer. She guessed it was perhaps ten minutes out from docking. Come on Caerreth.

Then Linwe, Caerreth and Quentin exploded out of the kitchen door, racing toward them. She noted with approval that Linwe had had the presence of mind to bring one of the sacks of food.

Quentin searched the area until his gaze locked on her.

Aryal held up her flattened hand. Stop.

His hands shot out in either direction, and he grabbed the two younger Elves, dragging them to a stop. His gaze never left her.

She looked at the boat and at them, calculating angles and line of sight. If they could see the boat, theoretically, someone on the boat could see them. At their current trajectory, they would have about seventy-five feet when they might be visible from the water.

Probably the witch wasn’t looking in this direction, but she didn’t want to risk it. She gestured to Quentin, pointing to her left, their right. They needed to travel in a wide arc so that they put the bulk of the palace between them. She whispered, “Figure it out. If you can’t see the boat on the water, she can’t see you.”

He seemed to get it. He nodded at her and gestured to Caerreth and Linwe to go to their right. She said to Aralorn, “Come on. We’re going out another way.”

She helped him gather up their weapons and Caerreth’s armor. Then they walked through the long building to the armory section that had its own entrance. This time the angle was better, and she and Aralorn ran to meet the others.

“Her ETA is seven or eight minutes,” she said. She threw Quentin’s armor at him, dropped the weapons at his feet and joined Aralorn and Linwe as they worked feverishly on buckling Caerreth into his armor. As soon as the last piece was in place, she slapped him on the back and stood back. She ordered, “Go.”

Clutching their weapons, healing potion and food, all three of the Elves stared at her and Quentin as they danced backward several steps. Each one’s expression was conflicted, with things left unsaid and warring impulses. Furiously Aryal stabbed in the direction of the road with a forefinger. “Go!”

They bolted. Within moments they were out of sight.

She glanced at Quentin. He had almost finished buckling on his own armor.

She turned and made her way back through the armory and the bunkhouse to look out the doorway. Quentin followed. The sailboat had almost reached one of the piers. The witch was almost here.

Aryal had done a good job. She’d thought logically and put the others first, but in that moment, ladies and gentlemen, all sanity left the building.