They’d been heading north since they began walking. It was getting cooler the higher they went but it was still relatively mild—enough that Evie had rolled up her cloak and tied it to hang at her side. She felt ridiculous in this garb but the more she looked around at this landscape, the more foreign it all felt. The growing pit in her stomach had begun to assure her that she was nowhere close to anything familiar.
Corbel, as he now insisted she call him, looked anything but awkward. In fact, he seemed to stand even taller than she recalled and was that a slight swagger in his walk? Where was the withdrawn, closed individual she had loved all these anni? Now there was a glint in his eyes and a smile playing constantly at the corner of his lips. He was happy, Evie realized, and almost childish in his excitement, pointing out this plant or that landscape, none of it of any interest to her.
She was still trying to come to terms with the alienation she was feeling, not to mention the anger at him as much as fear. And yet instead of explaining he insisted they walk.
“Reg!”
“Corbel,” he replied.
She took a breath to ensure her words came out calmly. “Corbel, where exactly are we going? And why exactly am I here?”
“I’ve tried to explain—”
“Except you’ve explained nothing,” she huffed, catching up with him. “Slow down. I can’t walk as fast as you.”
He halved his long stride with obvious effort. “I wish there could have been a better way to ease you back into your world.”
“My world?” she hurled at him, her voice full of accusation. “My world is the city I belong in, where I’m a healer and everything makes sense.”
Corbel stopped. “Nothing made sense! Nothing. And you know it. You were the misfit there. You said it often enough. The world you belong to, Evie, is here. It was called Denova and your place of belonging is Penraven. And yes, you are still a healer.”
“Have you any idea how this feels?” she begged.
He gazed at her for several moments and she saw only pain in his expression. Finally, he nodded. “I do. I have lived with that confusion and despair every minute of the last twenty anni, looking after you in a strange land.”
She hadn’t expected that. She bit back on the ready retort as she considered his words . . . “I . . . I haven’t considered it from that point of view. I’m trying to wrap my mind around the notion that this is where you come from. Rationality and science is my life. Magic has no place.”
“Really?” he asked. “Search your heart, Evie, and perhaps you can privately call yourself a liar. I won’t.”
She glared at him. “That’s a ridiculous accusation.”
“Is it?” He shrugged. “You can’t keep pretending what you did every day to save lives was science. Both of us know that’s a lie. Perhaps you couldn’t explain the strange skill you have to heal people, but I can assure you, Evie, it wasn’t all scientific training. I’m taking you to a place where you can ask all the questions you need and you will get a far better insight than I can provide.”
“Where? To the man you call Sergius?”
He shook his head. “He told me never to look for him should I ever bring you back. He made me promise that when I came back I would first take you to meet someone called the Qirin.”
Her mistrust deepened. “Who and what is the Qirin?”
Corbel shrugged. “I don’t know. But I suppose we shall soon find out.”
“Corbel, I’m tired.”
“It’s not far and I promise you a roof over your head tonight, perhaps even a bath.”
She felt deeply weary. “I admit that is a seductive promise.”
He began walking again. “There,” he said, as she clambered up beside him.
Her gaze narrowed as she focused on the buildings in the distance, nestling among an almost perfect crescent of rocky outcrops. “It’s beautiful.”
“The mountains in the background are called Lo’s Teeth.”
“They look daunting.”
“They are. I’ve never been further north than this region. But people called the Davarigons do live in the mountains.”
She shook her head in wonder. “Mountain dwellers?” She shook her head again. “I can’t—”
“I know, Evie. I really do understand how hard this is. Please don’t cry.”
She bit her trembling lip. “I’m sorry. This is all so impossible to calculate.”
“Don’t calculate. Analyze none of it. Nothing will make sense. If you can accept that it’s not worth wasting the energy trying to understand but instead just try to blend in as best you can, I promise you that you will adapt.”
“Yes, but what if I don’t want to?” she snapped.
Corbel sighed silently but she saw his frustration. “Evie, I don’t want to keep saying this because it sounds as though I’m the villain here, but you have no choice. I can’t say it any plainer. Your pathway was mapped out a long time ago. Your father chose it. He also chose mine, to protect you until you could return to the land of your birth.”
She nodded, swallowed a soft sob of her own frustration and confusion. His voice was so tender. She had never questioned his friendship or his honesty. Evie lifted her chin and made a silent promise that she would trust Corbel de Vis until this nightmare ended. She had to believe it would, even though this place he called Denova certainly looked and felt real enough.
Evie sniffed. “So what is this place you’re taking me toward?”
The anxiety in her friend’s eyes lessened and she saw a sense of relief relax his expression. He had obviously thought she was going to crack. Grinning crookedly, he said, “A convent. There you will have your bath and I hope there is where you will find some answers. A word of warning,” he cautioned. “If we’re going to blend in, we both need to leave our most recent lives behind. Forget the hospital, Evie, forget everything you know. In order for you to survive, I need you to trust me and do your utmost to avoid all mention of what has gone before for you. Today is the first day of your life.”
“To survive? That sounds scary.”
He nodded. “We should be scared. There are people who wish you dead.”
She looked at him, aghast. “And still you brought me here?”
Corbel looked back at her sadly. “I take some comfort that you’re at least acknowledging that you are here. But I don’t know how to answer your question. I had no choice. I am the son of Regor de Vis and my duty is to the Crown of Penraven, and to the Valisars.”
“And what about me?”
He gave a sad smile. “I’m fulfilling my duty, Evie. You are a Valisar.”
“So I’m just a duty now. A chore to be done?” She watched his eyes flash with pain but for once she felt no guilt; her confusion demanded more answers.
“Don’t ever think that,” he hurried to say. “I have loved you as . . .” He appeared flummoxed. “I care about you as if you were the most precious thing in the world.”
She nodded, hating to see her favorite person looking so tongue-tied. Reg had never been anything but a rock in her life. If she were honest she couldn’t imagine her life without him in it. “I love you too,” she said without hesitation, surprised when he glanced at her with strange sorrow.
“You say it so easily,” he replied, looking away.
“Because I mean it. I only hesitate if I’m telling a lie.”
“I know,” he said softly. Clearing his throat, he continued more curtly, “If I’m going to keep you safe, you must listen to what I say and follow my lead in all things. There is no technology here. None at all. But there is magic, as you’ve discovered for yourself. I know it all sounds like a confusing dream but I stress again, this is your new reality. You must . . .”
“Acclimatize?”
“Yes, but don’t use words like that again.”
Evie sighed. “Reg . . . I’m tired of arguing with you. All right, I’ll try to speak ‘plain Denovian.’ ”
He found a smile. “It’s in your soul. Hunt it down. You know how to do this.”
She looked at the impressive stone building as they slowed on their approach and shook her head.
Just as she fell into step alongside Reg, vowing to try very hard to acclimatize as her friend needed, three men rounded the bend in the path they had been following.
“Aye, aye, what have we here?” the eldest of the trio asked.
“Morning,” Corbel said, surprising Evie at how cheerful he could sound. “All well with you?”
“Now it is,” the youngest said. He had a black tooth at the front of his mouth and a smile that suggested he was a few strides short of a span.
Evie felt a tremor of alarm.
Corbel sensed the danger immediately. Years of training in his youth alongside his father and then two decades on the streets of a city in the other world had taught him plenty about people. And he’d learned that one could tell a great deal about a man long before he spoke. And Corbel was reading only the most dangerous of language from the silent newcomer whose gaze had yet to alight on him; so far his eyes were only for Evie.
“Morning,” Corbel repeated, deliberately slowing, loading his tone with lightness and cheer but all the while using the time to gauge what he was up against.
The black-toothed one was gormless enough not to trouble Corbel. The elder one who spoke first looked wiry and strong but he was small, with a limp, and carried only a dagger at his belt. It was the middle fellow who troubled Corbel the most. Silent, powerfully built and clearly with mischief on his mind, he wore a sword on his hip and moved like a fighter.
Evie had paused, he noticed, presumably sensing the man’s interest. He stepped slightly ahead of her to shield her.
“Tasty lady,” said Blacktooth, leering around him at Evie before grinning stupidly at his companions.
Corbel raised a hand. “We want no trouble here.”
“Forgive our Clem, he has no manners at all,” the dangerous one said.
The man’s voice was mellow, almost silky, but Corbel wasn’t fooled. “We don’t want trouble either.”
“None from her, anyway,” Clem said and now the older man grinned.
“This is a lonely track for travelers,” the dangerous man continued.
“Yes it is,” Corbel admitted. “But we are taking the shortest route to the convent.” He shrugged, noting as he did so that the man’s hand was resting easily on the pommel of his sword. “How about yourselves?”
“On our way to Francham.”
“Francham? You have a long walk ahead,” Corbel remarked, taking note that it wasn’t the old man’s leg that was injured; it was his hips, if he wasn’t mistaken. “No horses?”
“Lost them,” Blacktooth chimed in, chortling. That won a glare from their leader.
“Lost them?” Corbel repeated, using the time to take in his immediate surrounds.
The leader sighed. “An unwise gamble.”
Corbel gave a soft shrug as though he understood it was none of his business. “Well, we must continue. Come, my love.”
“Is this your wife?” the man asked.
“Er, yes. We are newly wed.”
“On our way to pay a tithe to the convent,” Evie piped up, surprising everyone, most of all Corbel. “My father insisted,” she added with a shy smile. “Well,” she said, “nice to meet you. Safe travels.” She took a step forward.
“Now what is a pretty young thing like you doing marrying a rough-looking older man, I wonder?”
Corbel stepped between Evie and the stranger, all of his senses on high alert. The older man was reaching for his dagger and the younger one had only dopey amusement in his eyes, as though he’d witnessed similar scenes previously.
“I thought you wanted no trouble,” the stranger remarked, still appearing loose limbed and relaxed.
“I still want no trouble,” Corbel replied, a new hint of warning in his tone.
“Then why this confrontation?”
“Stranger, my wife and I just want to continue to the convent. We have no money worth stealing.”
“Other than the tithe,” the man corrected.
“Other than the tithe,” Corbel repeated, “which I fully intend to pay to the convent and not to bandits.”
The man and his elder companion feigned shock. “Did you hear that, Barro?” the older man said. “He reckons we’re thieves.”
“I heard it,” the dangerous one drawled, and blinked slowly.
Corbel tensed and pushed Evie back. “Corbel!” she murmured, anxious, as the ring of a sword being lifted from its scabbard sounded harshly in the peace of the countryside.
“Hush, now, Evie,” he said, keeping his voice low and calm. “These men intend us harm.”
“It didn’t have to be like this,” the stranger said. “I just want your money but Clem here will probably settle for a grope between your wife’s legs.”
Evie made a gagging sound of revulsion. “Go fu—”
“Evie! Hush,” Corbel cautioned, not once taking his eyes from the sword that was now being weighted in his opponent’s hand.
“What a pity it had to come to this,” the man remarked casually. His companions sniggered.
“I have no time for thieves,” Corbel warned.
“Even when they are carrying weapons and you have none?” the man asked, surprised.
“Even then,” Corbel replied.
“Corb—”
“I said quiet, Evie. There is no further need for us to be civil,” he cautioned, silently measuring the distance between himself and the old fellow.
“Actually, I prefer civility when I’m working. There’s really no need for harm,” the leader assured. “I simply want your purse. What my companions require is their own business.”
The old man laughed and grabbed his crotch. This sent the youngest one into peals of shared laughter, his mouth wide open and showing more ruined teeth.
“My wife is not for your companions’ sport and my purse is my own.”
The man sighed. “Don’t make me take it from you. It might cost you more than money.”
“Don’t make me have to stop you,” Corbel said, his voice very quiet. His calm made the stranger hesitate momentarily, but his companions hardly registered the change.
“Let’s cut off his bollocks, Barro,” Blacktooth said, saliva forming at the corners of his mouth. “Then he can’t fuck his wife again.”
“We’ll have to do it for him,” the older one tittered.
“You’ll have to forgive my fellow travelers, sir. As you can tell, they have no refinement.”
“I forgive them nothing,” Corbel said, his voice so cold it was now brittle.
The man shifted his gaze back to Evie. “Your husband is courageous, madam. And he speaks like a noble. I think I understand your attraction to him.”
Corbel was glad to note that Evie remained silent. The man smiled, shifted his weight, and Corbel didn’t wait for him to make the first move. Instead, he bent sideways and kicked out suddenly with his leg, smashing his foot into the old man’s hip. The sound of a bone breaking in the old man’s skeleton was chilling and both Evie and the victim shrieked in tandem. But Corbel heeded neither. He had already regained his balance and crouched, spinning low and kicking Blacktooth’s legs out from under him. He was vaguely aware of the old fellow writhing on the ground and very aware of Barro raising his sword to strike.
In a fluid move that was already in motion while he was spinning, Corbel retrieved the hidden blades stored vertically along the sides of his ribs. One quickly found its way into Blacktooth’s throat, and the young man began gurgling helplessly as Corbel straightened and leaped away from Barro’s sword in the space of the blink of an eye.
Turning back, both he and Barro looked at the dying youngster and his companion, who was on the ground next to him, screaming and covered in Blacktooth’s blood.
“That wasn’t very sporting of you,” Barro remarked. “Although perhaps I should offer some gratitude. I was desperately tired of them both.”
“I’ve simply made the fight a bit fairer,” Corbel remarked.
They both smiled. And began circling each other.
Evie watched in horrified disbelief. There was a sense of the unreal—as though she were participating in a piece of medieval theater. Except it was all sickeningly real. The screams were genuine, the blood was real, the knives and sword were not toys and this was not make believe. Corbel de Vis and the man known as Barro were engaged in what she sensed was going to be a fight to the death.
She stared at Corbel circling the man, a cold and calculating expression on his face that she had never seen before. She thought she had known Reg so well, but though the man who now accompanied her looked like Reg and talked like Reg that icy smile was chillingly unfamiliar. Reg meant to kill Barro, she was sure, because he had threatened her safety.
In fact, only now, as Barro began to laugh, did she realize she hadn’t taken a breath since the youth called Clem had fallen.
Clem! She looked again at the two figures on the ground. And finally her instincts kicked in and she moved into action.
“You fight like a soldier. I’m impressed.”
“Then engage me, or I’ll think you’re scared of me.”
“Engage?” Barro grinned, prodding at Corbel. “You speak like you’re from the old world.”
“Perhaps I am,” Corbel replied.
“Stop this!” Evie cried.
“Too late, madam. I think your husband is determined to fight for your honor . . . not that I had any intention of threatening it.”
“But your accomplices did,” Corbel snarled. “And you will share the punishment.”
Barro laughed again. “You have a single dagger, my friend. You’d better ask your wife to look away. I’ll tell you what,” Barro said, feinting with the sword and failing to lure Corbel into his trap. “I’ll marry your widow and treat her well when this is done. I can’t be more fair, can I?”
“I’ll tell you what,” Corbel replied. “As you have no wife to mourn you with flowers, I’ll bury you in this deserted landscape and piss on your grave so the weeds can at least grow over you.”
Barro appeared to enjoy his threat, laughing loudly. “I think I’ll regret killing you.”
“No more talking, Barro. Fight, or die as you stand.”
“As you won’t share your name, soldier, I’ll ask your wife for it later.”
Corbel was aware of Evie’s movement but his focus was now entirely on his opponent. He knew his dagger looked like a pointless weapon against the long sword but wielded with skill it could triumph. Barro’s sword was heavy—deadly, for sure, but cumbersome by comparison. Corbel would just need speed. And cunning.
Barro stabbed and though Corbel leaped backward the blade caught him high on the arm. He felt the telltale sting but had no time to even check how deep the wound was, for Barro continued advancing without pause.
He thought he heard Evie yell but then everything dulled to the roar of his blood pounding. Nothing mattered but the man before him. He could smell Barro’s sweat and noticed, for the first time, that Barro carried an injury. While the man was right-handed, he favored that right side. It must be his shoulder. And now that Corbel concentrated on it, still ducking and weaving and knowing he was entertaining Barro by permitting him to slash at him—taking the punishment but mercifully unable to register any pain for now—he saw that the man’s fighting arm was lowering. The sword was heavy, Barro’s fighting side was injured, and he had to keep adjusting and straightening his stance.
Corbel took a deep breath. He needed to unbalance Barro. His opponent’s natural inclination to re-align himself might do the rest and give Corbel the opening he needed. On the rim of his mind he could hear Evie still yelling, but he had to ignore it.
In that moment he felt a deep pain, one that made him want to retch and dragged him from the special place in his mind, back outside to where the smell of blood hung in the air.
“No, please, Barro, please . . .” he could hear Evie screaming.
Corbel had taken all the punishment that he knew his body could withstand. But wearing Barro out was working; the strength in the man’s arm had so dissipated that he looked lopsided now, as he struggled to rebalance himself. He lifted the sword one more time, and, oddly, Corbel heard his brother’s voice in his head: Now, Corb, now!
Without thinking, Corbel launched himself forward, dagger extended. He glimpsed a look of bemused surprise on Barro’s face before he hit the man in the belly and then toppled with him. Regaining himself quickly, he straddled the soldier and, to a howl of protest from Evie, he plunged the dagger with great force into the man’s chest, just beneath the ribcage, feeling the satisfying give of flesh and the sudden sigh of breath.
It was over. Barro stared at Corbel with confusion and then looked down at his own chest. “You got me,” he murmured. “Damn you,” he said, with what sounded to Corbel like a hint of respect.
“Corbel . . .” Evie sounded ragged. “Corbel!” Then suddenly she was upon him, shoving him off Barro, whose head had lolled back.
“No!” she screamed.
“Evie,” Corbel murmured, a tremor claiming him now as his mind began to accept that the immediate danger was over and his body began to register his wounds.
“Shut up!” she yelled into his face. “Just shut up, you fucking murderer!”
Corbel rocked back into the dirt on the ground, lost for words. Murderer? No. The fight had been fair. Unbalanced perhaps, but fair. He watched, disbelieving, as Evie replaced him on top of Barro and lay her hands on him.
Exercising the enormous control she had trained herself to wield when performing surgery, Evie wrestled all her nervous energy back under her own control and focused her mind on Barro.
She was surprised by how quickly she found her calm but she was genuinely shocked at the new and strange sensation that felt like electricity running through her as she went to work on her patient. She had no time to ponder what it meant, though. All that mattered right now was seeing if she could save Barro. It didn’t matter that he had attacked them. She was a doctor. She had taken an oath to preserve life.
Corbel was breathing hard, watching Evie, hardly daring to believe that she was offering ministrations to their enemy. The man had done his utmost to kill him and yet here she was snarling at him, accusing him of murder, swearing at him. His offense deepened when he realized that she wasn’t even going to turn her attention away from Barro for a second to check on his injuries.
He angrily shifted his gaze to the other two bandits. Blacktooth looked to be dead, lying in a surprisingly large pool of blood. The old man was groaning, also prone; Corbel had probably dislocated or re-broken that hip. He didn’t care.
“Finish it!” Barro growled at him. “Soldier to soldier.”
“Don’t compare us,” Corbel replied. “Suffer on. I—”
“Quiet! Both of you, just shut up!” Evie yelled. “I need to concentrate.”
He heard Barro sigh but it didn’t sound like the sigh of someone accepting a rebuke so much as the sound of someone resigning. Corbel had heard it before. And he was sure Evie had. Barro sighed once again, accepting his death.
“No, please, no! Hang on. Stay alive, Barro. For me.”
“Evie. Let him die,” Corbel urged. “I hope you’re not thinking of—”
She turned on him, though her hands never left Barro’s major wound. “Don’t you dare!” she raged, her voice barely under control. He had seen her annoyed before, he’d even seen her angry but he had never seen this; this hot rage, and the temper directed at him! Corbel bit back on his next words and staggered slightly, shocked by the snarl on her mouth, the contempt of her tone. He was sure he could see disgust in her gaze. “Don’t you dare tell me what to do, de Viz, or whatever the hell your bastard name is!”
It felt worse than a shock slap, worse even than a punch in the belly. Corbel felt his very world tilt. “It’s de Vis,” he corrected, unable to think of anything else to say. He heard his own voice sound soft and shocked.
But she didn’t care, it seemed. “Go to hell!” she spat at him before returning her attention to Barro.
“Evie,” he began.
“Don’t,” she warned. “Don’t say anything more.”
He didn’t. He left Evie to her ministrations. He carelessly hauled Blacktooth’s body away and left it behind some rocks. Then he busied himself, studiously ignoring the old man prone nearby, pushing soil around with his boots to disguise the pool of blood that had begun to dry into the ground. Satisfied that the worst of it was covered, he glared at the injured man.
“I won’t be helping you,” he snarled.
“Just something for the pain—arack perhaps?”
Corbel shook his head.
Evie silently moved in front of Corbel and knelt down beside the wheezing old man, laying her hands on him. Corbel was desperate to speak but bit back on his words, this time looking away in despair. Her defiance might get them both killed.
He looked back over at Barro and saw what he most dreaded. The man was sitting up, holding his head. “What just happened?” Barro asked, touching his chest, his belly, looking down at his body with incredulity.
Corbel walked over to him but said nothing.
“You killed me. I died. I’m sure of it. I felt the life leave me.”
“Seems you imagined it,” Corbel muttered.
Barro’s crazed eyes searched his own. “You killed me, damn it!”
Corbel put his hands up defensively. “All right. Hush.” His mind was racing. How could he keep this situation under control?
Barro’s confusion deepened, his brow almost hooding his eyes. “All right? All right?” he demanded. “You mean you agree?”
Corbel sighed. “I clearly didn’t kill you,” he said, his exasperation spilling.
“It’s done,” Evie said, sounding suddenly drained. “I’ve put him to sleep. We need to talk,” she said, her voice hard, eyeing them both.
Barro shook his head. “I don’t understand any of this.”
Evie glared at Corbel. “Are you going to explain?”
He shook his head slightly. “You’re the one taking control. Why don’t you throw us straight into deeper danger? Your father—” he began but was cut off by Evie.
“My father, whoever he was, was a cowardly dog. If I’m to believe what you’ve been telling me then what on earth was in his head to think he was doing me a favor sending me off with you in the manner he did, all the secrecy, and the risk of such dislocation?”
“He kept you alive,” Corbel said.
“For what? Ask yourself. What do you think we can achieve in terms of the grand fight you seem to believe we are up against?”
Before Corbel could think of how to answer her, Barro began to get to his feet and Evie snapped her head around to glare at him. “And I’d suggest you remain still for a while longer.”
“Who are you both?” the bandit asked, sounding deeply bewildered. “I thought I heard the name de Vis being bandied around. But perhaps that’s just part of my present madness because I am sure I am dead.”
Corbel felt momentarily sorry for the man. He walked over and helped Barro to his feet. “Slowly,” he said. “Listen to her regarding your health. She knows what she’s talking about.”
Barro’s fist bunched Corbel’s shirt. “Answer me, damn you. I should be dead, right? Gar knows I felt the keen pain of your sword entering my flesh.”
“Listen to me, Barro,” Evie said, her tone plain. Gone was her polite bedside manner. “You’re going to have to accept something that seems impossible. You are walking proof that magic happens. Get past it!”
Corbel threw her a glance of gratitude. He’d feared for a moment that she was going to launch into a discussion about medicine and physiology. But she ignored his gaze, continuing to stare hard at Barro. “Do you believe in magic, Barro?”
The man looked between them both but Corbel refused to look at him. This was too difficult. Besides, it wasn’t right. It was opening them up to a raft of new problems.
“I believe only in what I see,” Barro answered carefully.
Corbel watched Evie’s eyes flare. “Excellent,” she said, all brisk efficiency. “Then you believe yourself healed?”
“I have no choice, do I? But I want to understand how it comes that I am whole.”
“I’ll explain again. I used magic on you,” she said matter of factly. “I healed you.”
“But that’s impossible,” he began, again flicking his glance between the two of them. “Prove it. Heal the boy,” he said to Evie.
“I don’t have to prove it to you. I have already shown you by the fact that you are not bleeding out into the soil. I’m sorry to say that it’s too late for him. He is already dead.”
Barro laughed. “And you can’t bring back the dead?” he said, his voice ringing with sarcasm.
“No,” she replied gravely. “That’s something I can’t do. I have to be with the dying person, lay my hands on him before he gives up his last breath.”
Barro swung his attention fully onto Corbel. “What is this madness?”
Corbel shrugged. There was no point in denying it. “She speaks the truth.”
The two men held each other’s gaze for a few moments as they sized each other up. Finally, Barro raked a hand through his hair. “I will need time to ponder this situation.”
“I know the feeling,” Evie said, moving back to the old man to check on him.
“And you?” Barro continued, pointing at Corbel. “I heard the name de Vis. Is this another jest?”
“No jest,” Corbel said, no longer attempting to keep up the pretense. “Why is it important to you?”
“I’ve only ever seen one other man fight like you do. He carried the name of Regor de Vis,” Barro said. “A man I loved and respected.”
Hearing his father’s name tore at Corbel’s heartstrings. “Then why do you shame him by your monstrous actions? Regor de Vis was a man of honor, not a thief and cutthroat.”
“How are you related to Regor de Vis?” Barro demanded.
“Who said I was?”
“The fire in your eyes, the tremble in your voice. You speak of him and I hear the awe. Besides, didn’t you just admit to her to the name?”
There was a silence, which Corbel refused to fill and Barro seemed equally determined to hold.
“This is his son, Corbel de Vis,” Evie said suddenly, wearily.
Barro seemed to be even more shocked by this revelation than his coming back from the dead. He visibly paled before Corbel.
“Well, say something,” Evie urged, sounding exasperated as she looked between them both.
“You can’t be,” Barro exclaimed.
Corbel scowled. “Get used to the idea.”
“Why can’t he?” Evie asked.
Barro frowned. “I . . . well . . .” He shook his head as though clearing it of a fog. “My general was slaughtered ten anni ago. His fine sons had not yet completed their second decade. You look too old.”
“How do you know either of the sons of Regor de Vis?” Corbel demanded.
Barro was still looking stunned. “I never met either of his sons but like all the soldiers of the Penraven army we saw them from a distance, watched them grow up from that distance. Prove you are who you claim!” he suddenly demanded.
“Not to you, I won’t,” Corbel said disdainfully, “not to anyone but a royal.”
The man actually laughed. He turned to Evie. “Your friend is deluded. Now I know he is not who he claims to be. There are no royals left. I’m sure the emperor will be as amused as I am to meet him.”
“As he will you when you try and explain that I killed you. You’ll be thrown into the madhouse,” Corbel snarled. “Are you coming, Evie?”
“The emperor and I share no friendship. I remain loyal to the Valisar Crown, even though the Valisars are long gone. Why do you think I find myself roaming Penraven like a soul lost?”
Corbel swung back to face the man. “Loyal? By being a cutthroat? King Brennus would turn in his tomb. As for my father—”
“If you are who you say then you should know that I loved your father. I would have gladly followed the Legate into death and never questioned the order.” Barro looked down. “I’m not proud of where I find myself. After the death of the royals, your father, those of us who were loyal to Valisar lost our way. I’ll hand it to Loethar; he didn’t slaughter us as I’d anticipated. Sometimes I wish he had. I didn’t cope well under the new regime, not after watching how the Legate was treated, how the royal family was destroyed. We heard the king was butchered, the queen murdered by her own aide . . .” His voice trailed off. He shook his head, seemingly trying to rein in an old emotion. “There was nothing else for people like me. I had no place in the new empire. I was a soldier. I knew nothing else but I refused to take orders from Stracker.”
“So you decided to steal from honest Penravens,” Corbel finished, winning a glare from Evie.
“I had no trade. I couldn’t offer my services as a mercenary. I did odd jobs. I slowly slid from proud Valisar lieutenant to a pathetic cutpurse. You should have let me die. You would have done me a favor in ending my miserable life.” Suddenly, unexpectedly, he rounded on Evie. “You should have let me die, you witch!”
Corbel leaped at Barro, pummeling him. “You bastard!”
Evie flung herself at both of them and wrenched Corbel away with a string of colorful insults. They all stood, breathing hard. Finally, Evie spoke. “I saved your ungrateful arse because I could and I didn’t think you deserved to die. Corbel’s got a strange fire in his belly that you haplessly stoked. That’s why I saved you.”
“For a lady, you have a foul mouth,” Barro muttered.
“Really?” she said, a hand moving to her hip. “And for a soldier meant to defend a Valisar you have a strange way of showing your loyalty.”
Barro’s face creased in yet another wave of confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Evie,” Corbel said softly. “Please.”
Barro looked between them. “What do you mean?” he repeated, angry now, urgent even. “The Valisars are dead and gone. I would give my life for any one of them.”
“You almost did,” Evie snapped.
“What?” Barro looked frantically at Corbel. “What is she talking about?”
“Nothing. She’s raving. Come on, Evie, let’s go.”
Evie addressed Barro with thin lips despite her suddenly overly polite air. “You might feel a bit shaky for a few hours so don’t do anything too strenuous. Drink fluid. Your companion will sleep for a while. When he wakes I suspect he will remember little of what occurred.”
Corbel frowned at her. She shrugged. “It’s a trick I used to use to help patients forget the horror of an accident or the pain of an injury. I thought it was just a mind game I played with them but I realize now it’s something real I can do. I used it on the old man because I suspect his lips are looser than Clem’s.”
Barro put a hand up. “Please,” he said, his voice pleading. “Help me make sense of what’s just happened. Are you really Corbel de Vis?”
A fresh silence lengthened as Corbel took Barro’s measure. His skills definitely singled him out as an army man. And he was proud, eloquent. Perhaps he was loyal. Perhaps he did deserve better. “I am.”
Barro did a sort of skip. He began to laugh and then he clapped his hands. “How have you escaped his notice?”
Corbel didn’t need it clarified who “he” referred to. “It’s a very long story.”
“I would hear it if you’ll share it.” But before Corbel could respond, Barro bowed deeply and unexpectedly before him. “De Vis, I pledge my life, my service, to you.”
Corbel was speechless for a few moments. “You owe me no fealty.”
“I owed your father. And I lost my way, as I’ve explained. You have not, it seems. Let me walk with you, de Vis, let me serve whomever you serve. Here.” He crossed his arms across his breast in the Penraven way. “You have my loyalty. Until my blood is spilled and I am dead . . . again, I am your servant. It’s time to regain my sense of worth.”
Watching the man sign, as he had watched so many sign before his father, Corbel was touched . . . far more deeply than he was ready for. He suddenly felt choked by strong emotion.
“Accept me, de Vis,” Barro urged. “I will help protect you and your wife.”
Corbel hesitated. An extra pair of eyes, an extra sword. They needed all the help they could win. And it did seem that Barro was in earnest. Amazing what death could bring on, he thought cheerlessly.
“She is not my wife but she does need protection.”
He noticed relief flare in Evie’s eyes and Barro, who seemed to have been holding his breath, let it out with a sigh. “Thank you.”
“I will kill you sooner than wait for explanations should I ever believe that you are insincere.”
“And you have my permission to kill me . . . again . . . should I prove myself below my word.” Barro held out a hand, and Corbel took it.
“Will you tell me your story?” Barro asked, intensifying his grip. “I have to understand everything, especially you,” he said, glancing at Evie.
Corbel nodded. “I hope I can trust you with it. Walk with us. We are going to the convent.”
“What about your friends over here?” Evie asked.
“The old man is nothing to me. You have made him safe and he is whole. Presumably he will wake and remember nothing. And the boy was a halfwit. He had no family, no friends, no way of caring for himself. He’s better off where he is.”
“That’s harsh,” Evie protested.
Barro shrugged. “That’s his lot.”
Corbel felt a pang of sympathy for her. She had not been raised in this way of life; she had little concept about how cheap life could be.
“If the old man finds the body and remembers,” Barro continued, “he’ll just be glad to have got away with his own life. I imagine he’ll wake up and walk away. He’s a drifter, an opportunist. He’ll fall in with the next halfwit he can persuade into some scam alongside him.”
Evie gently touched Corbel’s arm. “Let me heal those injuries.”
He shook his head. “I can stitch myself once I reach the convent.”
Her eyes narrowed in fresh irritation. “How do you think you will look when you present yourself to the nuns bleeding from these wounds?”
Corbel hadn’t considered this. Her logic was correct. He nodded unhappily and tried not to react to her touch when she guided him to sit against a big boulder so she could concentrate. He noted Barro watching in awed fascination and chose instead to close his eyes, lean his head back as he felt his beloved’s hands placed against his chest. She was leaning near enough that he could feel her breath against his face; close enough to kiss. He ground his jaw, turned his head away and hoped she wouldn’t sense his despair but it seemed Evie was too entranced by her ministrations to notice his discomfort and he was glad of the distraction of the strange ice-like sensation that spread through him as though moving within his veins, the magic swimming with his blood to all parts of his body and healing as it went.
Finally her hands lifted and he felt their removal as a private grief. He missed them already but wasn’t prepared to feel them touch his face. He flinched.
“Sorry,” she said gently. “How do you feel?”
“Grateful,” he replied. “Thank you.”
Evie sighed and he couldn’t bear her looking so deeply into his eyes. “I hope it didn’t hurt.”
“Worrying about you hurts more,” he said, trying to be flippant, but his voice caught.
She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, slow and deliberate. “No more fighting. I should be honored, I suppose, that you’d risk your life, but don’t do that again for me. I couldn’t bear to lose you.”
Corbel swallowed. If only she knew how unbearable this closeness was for him. He nodded perfunctorily. “Help me up, Barro. We need to get going. But Evie’s right, we should wear our jackets to hide the bloodstains.”
The big man offered a hand and heaved him up easily. They turned away from the bodies and continued toward the convent.
“So, my lady,” Barro began. “You have my name. May I know yours?”
“I am called Evie.” She looked to Corbel and Corbel haltingly began to tell their tale.
The small opening revealed a pair of rheumy eyes. “Yes?”
“Visitors to speak with the Mother, please,” Corbel began.
“She is not seeing anyone today. Make an appointment for next moon.”
“Er, please, sister. We are so weary. We have come from a long way. Please tell her that a man by the name of . . .” He hesitated. “Please say that an old friend called Regor awaits her patiently. It is important, sister. I am a former noble. That alone should open the door.”
“Pushy . . . and arrogant!” she remarked as though tasting something sour.
The opening closed abruptly and he flinched.
“That went well,” Evie commented.
He bit his lip. “I have this immense charm with women, as you can tell.”
She burst into laughter. It was the first reason she’d had to smile in what felt an age.
Barro had been silent for a long time. She noticed he’d begun regarding her with awe, stealing furtive looks as though he had to keep mentally pinching himself that she was real. So she was surprised when he spoke up. “It’s nice to hear you laugh, your majesty.”
“It certainly feels good,” she admitted. “Barro, Corbel has asked you to stop addressing me in that way.”
He adopted a contrite expression. “I promise it will not happen again, although you understand, my lady, that I am still in a state of utter disbelief.”
“I do understand but according to Corbel your disbelief—if you don’t rein it in—could get us killed.” He nodded somberly, no doubt more aware than she could ever be how true her statement was. “Now how exactly should I behave here if I’m supposed to be royal?”
“Humble,” Corbel replied. “Only Sergius knows of your existence and he won’t know you have returned. I don’t even know if he is alive, although it was his magic that brought us back.”
Evie blew out her cheeks. All the anger she’d previously felt had diffused. She wanted to speak with Corbel in quiet. He had said so little to her directly in the last few hours. She knew he would have been hurt by her earlier attitude toward him, but how was she supposed to react to witnessing such savagery and death? She still saw the young man’s face, slack and lifeless, in her mind’s eye. He hadn’t had to die. “I am so confused.”
“You are?” Barro queried with an edge of sharp sarcasm.
They had waited several long minutes, talking quietly. But at last the door was unbolted, interrupting their conversation. It swung open with a loud sigh, as though unused to the movement. Before them stood a woman of senior anni and behind her, scowling at the gate was another, a bit younger, and likely the sour-sounding sister who had tried to turn them away.
The elder smiled.
“Are you the Abbess?” Corbel asked.
“I am. Call me Mother. It wasn’t so long ago that I welcomed another Regor.”
Corbel hesitated, surprised.
She noticed his reaction. “A relative, perhaps? Though you’d have to be close to share the same birthname.”
“It . . . it’s a family name. I don’t use it often.”
“Just to open doors?” Her eyes twinkled in amusement. “Regor?” She tasted the name on her lips. “Such a steadfast, proud name of the former Denova.”
Former Denova. If they had shocked Barro with their story, he’d certainly surprised Corbel with a few of his own. Corbel felt he was now as well informed as he could be about the new empire and its politics. But he was on such unsafe ground now not really knowing who might be a potential ally . . . or enemy.
“Are we allowed to say that now?” he said with a wink.
The wrinkles around her eyes creased as her smile deepened. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it. We’re all accustomed to saying empire now. Come in, my dear,” she said to Evie, eyes sparkling. “And welcome,” she said to Barro. “Follow me; you all look starved.”
They glanced at each other and fell in behind her. “Thank you,” Corbel said.
“We’ll talk in a moment,” she said over her shoulder. “Go in there. Be comfortable. I am going to send for some food for you. I hope a plate of soup will suffice?”
“Soup, porridge, anything, Mother. We are grateful,” Evie said carefully. Corbel gave a smile of gratitude her way.
The woman rang a bell and as they settled themselves into a room, sparsely furnished but brightened with fresh flowers and pretty tapestries. They heard her giving a request for food to a young nun, who quickly hurried away. The Mother returned to the room beaming. “There, now we can fatten you all up a bit. Where are you headed?”
Corbel had already decided he would need to be honest with her, sensing that she would see through any guile with those bright eyes of hers. “We are going higher into the mountains.”
“Good gracious, without transport or supplies? Why? It might be early summertide but it’s still dangerously cold up there. Most people visit us on their way out, when they are grateful to see civilization again. In fact, the other man called Regor was here just a few weeks back, in exactly that situation. He came down from the mountains with a Davarigon.”
“And?” Corbel asked, hoping he sounded offhand and casually interested.
She frowned. “I didn’t discover much more. He was traveling with a woman I like—I know her family and I trust her. They were good friends and I had no reason to fear him. He seemed rather confused about his past.”
“In what way confused?”
“He had lost his memory. Elka believed that bringing him to meet the Qirin might help.”
“Did it?”
She nodded, but smiled sadly. “I think Elka loved the man she brought here.”
“I don’t understand,” Corbel said, frowning.
Evie nodded. “The man who left here was different. Is that what you mean, Mother?”
“Female instincts,” the Abbess acknowledged with a smile at Evie. “You see, Evie understands. Yes, the man who left here was changed. They both knew it might happen and they took the risk.”
“Did he love her before?” Evie asked.
The Abbess’s expression clouded. “I cannot say. They were close friends. Had been companions for a long time from what I gather and he had been living in the mountains with her people for anni. What he discovered I suspected changed his outlook sufficiently that it meant his whole way of life might change.” She turned to Corbel. “Does this sound like someone you might know from your own family?” He hesitated. “Surely you know if you have family in these parts?” Both women watched the color drain from Corbel’s face.
“My friend has been away a long time, Mother,” Barro said, rescuing him, his eyes urging Corbel to take up the thread.
“Yes,” Corbel admitted. “I’ve been traveling to different lands,” he said carefully.
“Did you get as far east as Percheron? Now there’s a place I’d love to see, especially as our own queen came from that region.”
“To be accurate, she came from Galinsea,” Corbel corrected.
“That’s right, she did,” the Abbess acknowledged. “She was so beautiful. I saw her only once. Did you ever see the royal family? So handsome. I know we’re not supposed to talk about them here but it’s history now.”
Corbel cleared his throat, threw a glance Evie’s way.
“What is it?” the Abbess asked, and Corbel realized she missed little.
He searched for a way of covering their self-consciousness. “Evie here has some Galinsean blood running in her veins,” he said.
He wished he hadn’t. It only led to more tension. “Really? I thought all Galinseans were golden-haired.”
Evie looked up and calmly spoke. “I take my coloring from my father,” she said, startling Corbel. “I never knew him. He was a great traveler though, I’m told, and must have visited Galinsea and met my mother.”
“What did this Regor look like?” Corbel asked, desperate to steer the conversation elsewhere.
“Well, he had your build but the similarities end there . . . although to be honest it’s hard to tell,” she said with a smile.
Corbel scratched at his unruly beard. “I know. I hope you’ll indulge me with a bath, Mother. We will gladly pay,” he said, thinking of the money given to him by the King that he had buried in a park near the hospital for all those anni and had to dig up just before they left. “I hope you take the same coin,” he commented absently.
The Abbess frowned. “What do you mean?”
He felt color at his cheeks. That had been a mistake. His hesitation was about to undo him, he was sure, when Barro suddenly joined the conversation.
“Oh, my cousin has been away many anni. Wait until my mother catches up with you, Regor! I suppose you’ve been dealing with different coin in strange parts. Let me guess: you only have money from the days of Brennus.”
Corbel swallowed. “Er, yes. Ridiculous, isn’t it?”
The Abbess blinked. “You have been away a long time. We haven’t used that currency for six anni. Nevertheless, it is still accepted, particularly here in the north.”
Barro warmed to his theme. “And you can always exchange the coin at Woodingdene at the imperial mint.”
“But for now,” the Abbess smiled, its warmth touching her eyes and making Corbel feel safe, “you have nothing to worry about. Our food and our water are free.”
Corbel’s relief was huge when they heard a knock at the door.
“Refreshment,” she said happily. She looked at the door. “Come.”
A woman entered carrying a tray. The hood of her habit was up so they could not see her face. She set the food down between them. The tasty aroma of a steaming, meaty soup made Corbel’s belly softly grind. Warm buns and oil to dip them in was provided, along with a soft herb paste he hadn’t tasted in a decade.
“I hope you like beef and colac?” the Abbess inquired.
Evie glanced at Corbel. “Er, yes, delicious, thank you.”
“Help yourself to the sherret. I wasn’t sure if you preferred it with or without,” she added, smiling at Evie.
“Without would be an insult to the fine soup of the region,” Barro said, waving a hand widely and smiling somewhat wolfishly at the Abbess. Corbel inwardly smiled at Barro’s passing a disguised message to Evie.
“May I?” murmured the newcomer. Corbel watched the nun dollop a small scoop of the dark green paste into the stew and give the gravy a stir. Then she stepped back, gesturing for them to taste. Corbel’s first mouthful transported him back many anni. The nutty taste of the sherret paste mingled perfectly with the beefy richness of the meat stew, the slightly bitter crunch of the colac and the bright tang of citrus from a squeeze of lemon.
“Delicious!” he said, meaning it.
“This is so good that if we were in an inn I would feel obliged to leap up and give you a kiss, Mother.”
Corbel looked over at Barro quizzically and yet unable to hide the amusement that creased across his face as the Abbess gave Barro a searching glance.
“I suppose I should feel deeply complimented,” she finally said.
“Indeed you should, for I reserve my kisses for only the most beautiful women.”
The Abbess shook a finger at him but she was smiling. “Lo knows just how to deal with helpless flirts, young man. And you are a guest in his house.”
Barro held up his hands in mock defense.
“Mmm, this is good,” Evie added, giving a grateful look toward the Mother and a grin to Corbel. “Thank you,” she said, turning toward the woman who served them.
“Eat, eat,” the Mother said. “Let me pour you some water,” and she busied herself fetching the pitcher of cold water that was already in the room and pouring each of them a cup. “The convent’s well provides the sweetest water,” she said and watched as they ate and drank with vigor. “And while you eat, let me introduce someone to you. I would like you to meet Valya, our empress.”
Corbel dropped the knuckle of bread he was holding into the soup, his mouth open in astonishment as the woman who had served him pulled back the hood of her robe.
Janus took advantage of Loethar’s unconscious state.
“Well, that won a strong reaction,” Elka said, concerned.
“It’s good fun hurting the barbarian.”
“Is that your illness speaking?”
“No, it’s all me. This is the man who slaughtered hundreds of innocents.” When she raised her eyebrows doubtfully he added, “You are aware of the poem that begins ‘And the Set ran awash with its children’s blood?’ ”
Elka pinched her lips together. “Yes, I am aware of it,” she answered tersely. “But isn’t it true that Loethar only attacked soldiers who attacked his army?”
“His army attacked our soldiers first,” Janus replied, looking incredulous. “They were the invaders.”
She ignored his remark and his expression. “I wasn’t aware that he allowed any of his people to kill randomly.”
“What about the boys murdered across Penraven?” he demanded. She looked at him in query. He rolled his eyes and explained. “They say he would have killed every boy within a certain age group to be sure he had finished off the Valisar heir.”
“Janus, I’m not disputing that the man is capable of stunning ruthlessness but I would argue that any ruler is capable of the same, given the right circumstances.” She watched him stitch Loethar’s skin angrily. “Brennus might have done the same to save his people, his family.”
“I can’t say,” the physic said, shrugging. “The fact is, this man did do that and did kill a lot of our sons.”
“It was war.”
“That he brought to the Set,” Janus said, his voice gruff.
“Granted,” she replied, feeling torn. She stared at Loethar, vulnerable, near naked, totally at the mercy of Janus, she herself his only protection. “I’m sorry, Janus. I know this must be hard for you.”
He sighed. “No. When I’m working on a patient, everyone is equal. I could easily take this man’s life but I won’t, be assured. I’ll leave Lo to make that decision.”
“Thank you,” she said as Loethar groaned. “You know, when your ire is up, or you’re very focused on work, your ailment leaves you alone.”
He nodded as though he’d heard that remark before. “Here,” Janus said, offering her a tiny, silver cup. “Get this down him. He must sleep. He will heal faster if his body is at rest.”
“It is too dangerous here,” she warned.
“If that’s the case you should carry him to higher ground and hide him. But he needs a day of being still.” She nodded. “And during that time you will tell me how it passes that I am repairing the body of Emperor Loethar.”
“Have you finished stitching?”
“Yes. There is little more I can do now. I’ve realigned the bones in that hand. They’ll hurt for a while. His ribs I can do little for but he’s bound. And those other wounds are now closed properly. I had to clean them though or disease would have taken him faster than you can imagine.”
She nodded. “I know you had to do that. Hopefully he will forget the pain you inflicted without dulling it. I know you had the soporific in your bag.”
He made a fist. “Call it a small triumph for the Valisars.”
“You’re a royalist?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know what I am. I was incensed, though, like most Penravians, at what was done to our royals.”
“I understand. But you admit life is prosperous beneath this man’s rule?”
“Not for me,” he said, stretching from his concentrated work.
“It wouldn’t be, though, with your problem. Your fall from grace has nothing to do with Loethar.”
Janus sighed. “True. I have to blame someone. Perhaps you’d let me feel—”
“And it seems you’ve calmed enough to be offensive again. Perhaps you should blame Lo, for cursing you with the affliction.”
“Seems rather pointless.”
“That’s right, it is. There’s nothing to be gained by shaking a fist at a god. Nothing to be gained by drinking yourself to an early death. Why not make your life count?”
“I don’t know how.”
She smiled. “But you just did. Not only have you helped a man in need but the man you aided is a powerful one. He will reward you for your compassion.”
“I don’t want his money. I want to feel the sensation of your—”
“It’s as good as the next person’s. And it’s not money I’m talking about. Take some time to get to know Loethar and I swear, Janus, your opinion may change. Things are not always as black and white as we think.”
He sat back and stared at their prone patient as Elka dribbled the dark liquid into Loethar’s mouth, gently drying his lips when it was done. “You like this man,” he stated.
She shook her head in slight bemusement, admiring Loethar’s wiry physique. In clothes he looked surprisingly undaunting but she imagined, as she stared at him, that he was probably small and fast, probably a cunning fighter too. There was no spare flesh on his body and while it was obvious that the gauntness in his face was due to recent events, she rather liked the way his cheeks looked slightly hollow, accentuating the lines on either side of his mouth. “I do,” she admitted. “There is a darkness to him but also something very pure.” Janus looked surprised, and she gave an embarrassed smile. “I can’t think of any other way to describe it. There is an honor to him that I like very much.”
“Honor, my arse!”
She nodded despite his insult. “I don’t believe Loethar lies. Maybe I’m wrong but from what I can tell he is not only a man of his word but he has no reason for guile. He is what he is, he makes no apology, he hides from no one and I regard that as a kind of purity that is attractive in a person.”
Janus shook his head in confusion. “The barbarian is asleep. Move him carefully.”
“You’re coming too?” she asked, careful not to make him feel that he owed her anything more. “You’ve done what I asked of you.”
“I have nothing else more interesting to do right now than hear your long tale. I’m fascinated to discover what has led up to me being here and it also gives me the ongoing titillation that I might just see your—”
She nodded her thanks and quickly said, “Follow me. And, Janus—”
“Yes?”
“If you say a word about my arse, I’ll wallop you.”
“Cock!”
“Pardon,” she said, glaring at him as she gently lifted Loethar.
“That slips out a lot,” he admitted.
She exploded into helpless laughter and as he realized the innuendo in his words, he picked up his bag, chuckling. “I’m glad you find me amusing.”
“I’m glad you’ve chosen to come with us.”
“It’s big but she does have a nice arse,” Loethar murmured, drifting momentarily from his sleep before his head lolled against her breast. Elka ground her jaw.
Janus couldn’t help but smile. “I’m coming along because I think he needs my assistance still,” he said.
“You see, already you’re under his spell,” she accused.
“Rubbish! The man is a tyrant. But he is just a man and I am a doctor. My conscience won’t let me leave anyone who needs my care.”
“Fair enough.” She nodded toward Loethar in her arms. “He can get away with it because he’s drugged and isn’t fully aware of what he’s gabbling about, but if you mention my backside, I will hurt you.”
Janus pursed his lips to make it plain to her that he would try.