Warrior's Touch (Deadly Touch book 2)

The gate hung from one hinge.

Aris should have taken that as a sign right there.

Then there were the dusty corridors, the empty mess hall, the rats, and the airy silence. Any one of those signs could have told him the place was deserted. He could have chosen to turn back, abandon this stretch of his search, begin his hunt for the next Aenuk camp. But he had to know for sure. He would not leave a single Aenuk alive. If they were here, they were dead.

He stood at the entrance to one of the sleeping rooms. Bedroom seemed a too intimate word for it, even to an amateur wordsmith as him, when it was a hall with fifty-odd trundler beds in varying states of made, unmade, upright, or upturned. Signs of a quick getaway, perhaps. Or signs of a massacre.

On closer inspection, the floorboards were stained in blood. A little over a year had left it looking like a design choice, rather than inflicted by an enraged Syakaran. Now Aris was here, and had all his powers back, it irked him that Jonas had taken some of his fun. He pictured Aenuks trying to flee for their lives, the determination to burn him in retaliation when he caught and squeezed the life from them, then the surprise and fear when he healed as fast as they drained. It almost saddened him to have to kill them all. If he could leave some alive, they would spread word of his return. He would evoke fear and awe simply by showing up.

He remembered those days well.

They would come again, once all the Aenuks were dead.

No more Ajnai trees. No more Aenuks. Aris could sire a new generation of Immortals on Karlani, and then Jonas’s Syakaran daughters once they came of age. The age of gods on earth would return, and he would be its Father.

But there was one Ajnai left, and he had no idea where. Neither did Turhmos and its Aenuks, by the sounds of it.

Karlani stepped past him into the room. “Abandoned?”

“Abandoned.”

Jonas hadn’t killed them all. He’d swooped in, in a rage, lashed around with his knife, killed, and injured many, but not all. The maimed had touched him, burned him. Some had earned themselves death. Others had beaten him back, drained and scorched him enough to send him scurrying.

Aris could imagine the anger and frustration the Syakaran boy must have felt at the time, unable to fully revenge the people he held accountable for his wife’s death. By the time he had returned to Quaver, though, guilt had taken fury’s place, especially once he realized that Aenuks had not been to blame. And by then he’d cooled off, listened to reason, done as he was told and let Aris smooth things over. It had led to a good year, really. Never had Jonas been so compliant. Until that Syaenuk girl came along.

“So, what are you?” Karlani asked.

“I’m sure somewhere in that pretty head of yours you’ve got some idea.”

“Some. Where to next?”

Good question. He’d only known the approximate location of this camp thanks to Jonas’s efforts the previous year.

He looked around at the carnage and emptiness one last time.

“We regroup. We use our heads,” he said. “There are other camps. We just need to find them.”

Jonas helped Llew from her bed. She could now take herself to the chamber pot, although she still needed help to stand after. Then it was time for a sponge bath and finally he helped her into a light, white, shapeless dress – something that wouldn’t put pressure on her damaged belly.

“How many street kids you think get a daily bath?” Jonas asked quietly, standing behind her, running a comb through her short, but growing, hair. Standing before her wardrobe mirror, she saw the smirk touching his lips. He was back in the habit of shaving. Llew liked it better, mostly because Braph tended to let his grow.

“In a city? I guess they don’t get much chance to. But I lived by a river; I’ve always bathed regularly. A girl could get used to not having to do it herself, though.” She caught his eye in the mirror, giving him a shy smile. A risky move, given her current condition, but worth it to engage in friendly banter again. It had been too long.

He leaned in close to her ear. “Don’t get used to it. My designs center more on gettin’ you dirty.”

Llew’s breath caught and, when she risked a glance in the mirror, Jonas’s face was aglow, and he wouldn’t meet her gaze for more than a fleeting moment. Perhaps the words had come as much a shock to him. Llew closed her eyes to silently suffer a painful cramp.

She had been getting used to, and comfortable with, Jonas assisting her, bathing her, dressing her. However, neither of them had yet dared dance the lines of sexual innuendo since the attack, and Llew found that doing so made her belly ache; any hint of pleasure wiped out by the painful reminder of all that had been lost. Every time Jonas did something or said something to spark desire, pain fired through her, effectively training her to consider him little more than a helper, a nurse.

“Sorry,” Jonas said, scowling at the floor. Then he suddenly looked up, determined and with a confidence Llew didn’t think she’d ever seen in him. “No. I ain’t sorry. I want to be with you. Mind, body and soul.”

Llew turned and let him draw her into him, pressing her ear to his collarbone, listening to the distant tha-dub of his beating heart. Despite all that had happened, she was beginning to feel okay with letting herself want what he wanted. It didn’t seem to matter how many doubts she had, how many men had hurt her; he kept being there for her, and she was beginning to think her heart might be safe with him.

“No one’s seen or heard nothin’ ‘bout Aris. Seems he’s gone into hidin’.” Jonas must have sensed her reluctance to act on their teasing, as his change of topic was abrupt, and he stepped from the embrace. Turning her from him again, he resumed her pampering, concentrating on his real gloved hands, rather than the reflection.

What they weren’t discussing was why Llew was heading out of doors for the first time since Aris’s attack.

Anya had arranged a funeral for their children, to be held at the site of Jonas’s old home, the one he’d shared with Kierra. In part, it would double as a funeral for her. It was a nice touch, Llew supposed, though Jonas had given no indication of how he felt about the choice of location. If they had to bury their children in Taither, it seemed the best option, and Llew was making peace with that, even with the lingering ghost of Jonas’s first wife. She’d never met the woman and, if anything, Llew was grateful for her sacrifice. If Jonas had any objections, he’d kept them to himself.

Jonas gave her a gentle squeeze and helped her into a brushed leather coat before offering his leather-gloved hand. Something about those black fingers seemed so impersonal, so inhuman. She missed his touch.

Looking up at him as she reached for his hand, she saw that he was too choked up with emotion to even ask if she was ready to go, and her own throat constricted. She tried to give him a reassuring smile, but if hers was only as effective as his, then it achieved little.

She took that hand. So close to touching him, and yet unable to do so without the risk of killing him. She sucked in a shaky, wet breath, and they left the room in silence.

Their silence continued throughout the carriage ride. Occasionally an encouraging smile would pass between them, and Jonas held her hand the whole way, but words were still a challenge beyond them for now.

The carriage pulled up at the center of a row of others, and the soldier that had ridden with them opened the door.

The whole street was cordoned off, with a narrow corridor formed between two rows of soldiers leading from their carriage to the entrance to what used to be Jonas’s home. Anya and Gaemil followed Llew and Jonas as they made their way between the soldiers.

Llew was not pleased to see the lieutenant general from her first night in Quaver. As far as she was concerned, he’d been in cahoots with Aris all along. But Jonas returned his respectful salute with a muted nod. Llew glared at the man when he nodded her way. He smiled.

Hisham also formed a part of the corridor. At least he had the decency to look humbled.

The property was fronted by a low concrete fence, but temporary sheeting had been strung between tall posts, hiding the old destruction from view. At the open gateway, they paused.

All the charred concrete, iron and wood had been cleared away, or put to use in some way. Transplanted bushes were interspersed with naked saplings, spaced with room to grow around the edges of the garden. In an approximate circle a step in from those was a mix of flowering plants waiting for spring mingling with early-winter flowers. And in the very center, a clearing with a potted, white-barked sapling already most of a yard tall, and a hole dug ready to accept it. Under the cool sunlight filtering into the garden, the tree looked almost pearlescent, with pale pink and blue hues.

Llew looked over her shoulder at Anya. Had she brought the tree in its pot all the way from Rakun?

“Grow fast, don’t they?” Anya whispered. She nodded at the tree. “Three days since I planted it.”

Llew turned back to the garden, amazed, both by the tree and the landscaping. Anya must have recruited an army of her own to achieve it.

Llew took it all in. Beside her, Jonas stood like a rock, tense. She hoped he liked it. It had been his home, after all.

They stepped onto the garden path and took up a place around the center clearing. Anya drew Llew into a hug, rubbing her back and not protesting when their cheeks touched briefly. She stood beside Llew with eager pride bubbling beneath her carefully schooled subdued calm. Gaemil shook Jonas’s hand firmly, rested a hand on Llew’s shoulder as he gave her a sympathetic look, then took his place on the other side of Anya.

Hisham entered and stopped a couple of strides back, his glance darting between Jonas and some other spot in the garden, awaiting a clue that forgiveness was on offer. It didn’t come. Jonas made eye contact with no one. Any thoughts he had were his alone.

Hisham took his place in line.

After gracing Llew and Jonas with an acknowledging nod, Cadyn stood stoically beside Hisham. No doubt she was pleased the pair were moving a step closer to finding her nephew.

A pair of sober-looking men entered the garden. One carried a small leather-bound book. But despite her best efforts, Llew couldn’t pull her eyes from the wooden box carried by the other. It was barely bigger than the book, was varnished to a high gloss and had a burnished brass plaque on the lid. Her babies were in there. Twins. She still couldn’t believe she hadn’t known until they were gone. The spell broke as burning tears blurred her vision. She blinked them away and looked to Jonas, then Anya, finding comfort and strength.

The undertaker placed the tiny, dark-stained wooden box on a small concrete pedestal and Llew swallowed down a lump. She looked at Jonas again. He seemed to be struggling to know where to look. They were surrounded, and it seemed he still sought to avoid eye-contact or resting his gaze on the box.

“I think this is everyone.” Anya spoke quietly to the minister.

He nodded and began: “The loss of a child is always hard to bear...”

Llew closed her eyes as tears threatened once more and clenched her jaw tight. The celebrant’s speech seemed to go on for hours, and then she was invited to speak, and she stepped a little closer to the tiny box.

No longer flanked by Anya and Jonas, she focused solely on the box, shutting out everyone else in that garden. Just her and the box. Just Llew and her babies.

“I’m sorry I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” she said to the box. There wasn’t much one could say about someone, someones, you didn’t know, had never met. And yet the love Llew felt for those they were burying that day was very real. “Except... Thank you.” She looked up at Jonas, letting her gratitude to the children that had saved his life be fully realized. For the first time since they’d arrived in the garden, Jonas looked back at her.