Cameron watched Sophie straighten her shoulders under the quilt and tried to ignore the sensation of a door closing firmly behind them.
“Agreed,” he said. It was a choice. Perhaps not the right one—though only time would reveal that—but a choice. And, in truth, there were no truly good choices in this situation. Only the choice to stay with Sophie and work to make sure they survived. That one day they could have a life that held a greater resemblance to normality than the one that currently lay before them.
He was about to become a student at the Academe di Sages—Maison Corbie, as the Illvyans called it affectionately. Which was something he’d never even thought of imagining, so far was it from the realm of things that were possible or even desirable when he’d been safely back in Anglion.
But they were in Illvya now.
Alive despite the best attempts of their unknown enemies.
He intended to stay that way.
Intended to keep Sophie alive, too.
She still had shadows under her eyes, the darkness draining some of the golden glow from her skin. Tired from their headlong flight. As he was, too.
The quilt she’d pulled around her shoulders was a rich blue that should have suited her. Instead it served to emphasize how exhausted she looked.
She shivered again, despite the enveloping folds of the quilt, and he made a decision.
First things first.
They needed to tell Maistre Matin of their decision and, after that, there were a hundred details to determine and questions to ask. But now, looking at the edges of Sophie’s battered gray dress peeking out from beneath the quilt—and, as he moved to tuck the quilt around her and caught a whiff of stale sweat and salt and smoke wafting from his own clothes—he knew the thing he wanted most of all was a bath. To feel clean and comfortable and not quite so much as though he was running for his life.
If he felt that way, then no doubt Sophie felt the same.
Plus, a bath would help speed the chill she still seemed to feel from her bones.
He stood and held out a hand. “Come with me.”
Her brows rose. “Where are we to go?”
“I thought we might investigate that bathing chamber Willem pointed out to us.” He lifted an arm and sniffed exaggeratedly. “I, for one, need to renew my acquaintance with hot water and soap.”
Her brows rose higher. “Are you saying I smell?”
“You, milady, could never smell.” He grinned at her. “Though, right now, I will say you are somewhat . . . fragrant.”
Sophie smiled. “I did wonder whether maybe that crow liked me because I smelled like a dead thing.”
He laughed. “If that were the only attraction, he would have chosen me first.” He pulled on her hand and she rose obediently to her feet, fingers tightening on his, letting the quilt slither from her shoulders to fall back on the bed. She did smell faintly of sweat, and her clothes had the same tang of salt and smoke and too many days’ wearing as his, overlaid with the more recent scent of their breakfast. But underneath it all she still smelled warm and female. Like Sophie. A smell he was extremely fond of.
He turned toward the door.
“Wait,” she said.
“You don’t want to bathe?”
“I do.” She glanced down at her dress. “But we need fresh clothes.”
He hadn’t packed any other clothing in the small bag he’d brought. He’d saved the room for any valuables he could find, ammunition for his pistol, and a spare dagger. Then matches and anything else he’d thought might be useful. “Did you bring any?” He’d told her not to, if he was remembering rightly. To focus on valuables. Clothes could be purchased, if they had the funds.
“Just underthings.” She wrinkled her nose. “If we bathe and then put these clothes back on, it will surely defeat the purpose of bathing in the first place.”
She was right, but he couldn’t see an alternative. Clothing required cash, which would require changing some of the coin or jewels they had brought. That was not a simple matter. For one thing, he had no idea if they would be permitted to leave the Academe to go into Lumia.
“We’ll feel cleaner, at least,” he said. “Then we can ask Willem for assistance to find new clothes.” The boy had told them how to summon him or one of the Academe servants. “We can always bathe again.”
Sophie didn’t look pleased at the prospect, lips pursing. “We could call for a servant now.”
“Yes, but that might take some time. Not to mention all the fussing that would go with finding clothing that may fit. That could take hours.” If the maids in the Academe were one-tenth as fastidious as those who attended the court ladies in Anglion, it would take hours. “And those hours will be a little more pleasant once we are more refreshed.”
Sophie looked torn.
“Nice big bath,” he coaxed. “Soap. Clean hair. Warmth.”
Perhaps the thought of the simple pleasure of hot water and soap was too much to resist. because her expression eased, and she headed for the door.
Like many of the other rooms in the Academe, the walls of the bathing chamber were tiled. But here the tiles extended all the way up the wall and then covered the floor as well. Like the other rooms, the tiles were painted with intricate designs—in this case fish, watery-looking plants and flowers, and tiny suns. And however they were glazed—was that the right term?—it wasn’t simply a layer of shine but instead glimmered somehow, making the tiles look almost like pearls, a sheen of color adding depth and movement to the images painted on them.
Though surely, here in Illvya where the sanctii had free rein, it wouldn’t actually be pearl? Anglions wore pearls to protect themselves from demons. Born of the sea, it was said they would keep a sanctii—for whom salt water was anathema—from being able to work their magic on the wearer.
Having seen a sanctii now, Cameron wasn’t sure he still believed it.
Still, the tiles gleamed pearl-like before him. Added to the flickering light through the lamps on the walls—the chamber had no windows—and the walls seemed almost alive.
Or maybe that was just his still-tired brain.
Sophie hadn’t wasted time staring at the walls. She was bent over the huge bath, working the brass taps. Hot water poured from the faucet. The expression in her deep brown eyes as she straightened to watch the bath fill was near to lust. It didn’t change when she turned to study the glass bottles lining the tiled niche in the wall at the end of the bath closest to him.
“You first,” he said. Her head twisted, one brow arching as though she didn’t believe he meant what he said. He wasn’t entirely sure he did. Just looking at the steaming water made him even more acutely aware of the thin layer of grim and dust ground into his skin.
But she would be more at ease if he watched the door while she bathed, so he just nodded at her and pointed toward the bath. Sophie didn’t wait for a second invitation. She fumbled at her dress and soon enough it lay in a puddle of gray wool at her feet.
Cameron’s breath stilled. The light of the lamps turned Sophie’s skin a deeper shade of gold. And between the lamplight and the steam, her thin chemise was practically transparent. She reached for one of the glass bottles of oil, lifted the stopper, sniffed once and then bent to pour some into the water. As she leaned forward, the curve of her breast was perfectly silhouetted. Something flared in his gut as he watched her, the scent of spice and smoke and flowers rising around them from whatever she’d put in the water.
It made his head spin a little, the sudden fierce heat of longing.
His wife.
The past few days had been fear and flight, and there was maybe more of that to come, but here and now, there was the two of them. He moved toward her without thinking, fingers loosening his own clothes.
“On second thought, that bathtub is big enough for both of us,” he said, bending to press his lips to the back of her neck. Her skin was slightly damp, warming from the steam. Salt and Sophie. A heady combination.
They’d had no time for this in their flight. Survival was more important than satisfaction, after all. But now they were safe. And he’d slept and eaten.
Those basic needs satisfied, he found he suddenly wanted to satisfy some other urges.
His wife.
It still surprised him, this strength of wanting when it came to her. Having subsumed it for the last few days meant that it only returned more strongly now as he curved his body over hers, letting his hand stray around to capture the breast that had tantalized him.
Sophie gasped.
There. That sound. That was the one he liked.
Sophie liked it, too. Her nipple had hardened to his touch. But then she wriggled free.
“Bath,” she said firmly. “I’m filthy.” She looked him up and down with a frown. “So are you.”
“You taste just fine to me.”
He reached and she dodged. “Bath.”
“How about we combine the two?”
The tub was more than big enough for the two of them. Positively decadent. Which made one wonder exactly why the Academe needed such luxurious facilities for its guests. But maybe they were just being hospitable.
“Sounds slippery,” she said.
“Slippery is good. If you’ve forgotten that over the last few days, then I definitely need to remind you.”
She shook her head at him. “You have a one-track mind.” She pulled her chemise over her head and dropped it. He took a step forward, wanting her more.
“When it comes to you, milady wife, then yes, I am guilty as charged. I want you.”
Sophie stepped into the bath and sank down into the water, her face turning blissful. “You’ll need to take off your clothes. I don’t mind sharing a bath with you, but I’m not doing your laundry.”
“Spoiled.”
“Not spoiled. I am perfectly capable of washing dirty clothes. But I’m not bathing with them.” She reached for one of the bars of soap next to the oil bottles, wet it, and started to wash. Seeing her rub lather into her skin, the movements slow and careful as though she was intent on ensuring that she didn’t miss even a single inch of her body, was enough incentive to stop talking about his clothes and just take the damn things off and join her.
He wanted his hands stroking her body. Her hands stroking his.
And that was just the start.
It didn’t take long, though he was cursing his long boots by the time he got those free. Sophie looked up as he came back to the edge of the tub and then wriggled backward so he could climb in, passing him another bar of soap. She sluiced the soap bubbles off her arms as he scrubbed himself down rapidly, then ducked under the water to wet her hair.
When she surfaced, he reached for her. “Turn around. I’ll wash your back for you. Or your hair, if you’d prefer.”
Wet, the long dark lengths of her hair fell around her like dark silk. They caught the light, too, shining with glints of gold and red.
Earth magic reddened women’s hair. He didn’t know why. It was just one of those facts of life that one didn’t question.
The sun rose. The wind blew. Earth witches had hair the color of the deepest heart of a flame if they were powerful.
He had no doubt the unfamiliar red in Sophie’s hair would continue to deepen and increase until hers reached that shade.
He reached out and touched a strand, tracing its path down her body.
Sophie smiled, then handed him one of the bottles from the end of the bath. “This says ‘hair,’ doesn’t it?” she asked, pointing at the label.
It did indeed. He opened the glass stopper and took a sniff. It smelled like lemons. And something green. The liquid sloshed in the bottle, moving faster than oil would. It seemed likely it was intended for washing hair.
“Turn around.” He poured a little into his hand and then lifted half a handful of her hair and rubbed the liquid in. It foamed like soap and rinsed away clean when he followed with a handful of water from the bath.
Sophie sniffed appreciatively and tilted her head back so he could continue. As he washed her hair, he watched her skin turn pink from the warm water, saw the tension running out of her neck and back as he rubbed slowly and rinsed. He didn’t stop when he was done, just transferred his attention to her shoulders, easing the knots he found beneath her skin until she sighed and leaned back against him.
He put the bottle with the lemon-scented liquid back on the shelf, then reached for the oil he’d seen Sophie pour into the bath.
Maybe oil and water didn’t mix, but he was going to have fun seeing if that were true.
He dribbled oil into his hands and reached around to cup her breasts. The little pleased sound she made seemed promising.
He continued his explorations, Sophie’s skin slick beneath his hands. Soon enough she was breathing hard and making sounds even more pleasing.
He was making some himself as she writhed under his touch, her wet back rubbing tantalizingly against his ever-hardening cock.
He wasn’t sure how much longer he could torture himself by focusing solely on her. He wanted more. Wanted to be inside her, to feel her slick against him in more ways than one.
Seemingly she had the same idea because she twisted in his arms, the movement sending water spilling over the edge of the bath. She was kissing him and the need turned to fire.
This. This was the thing they were fighting for. This need between them.
This truth that neither was truly whole without the other. He didn’t care if it was the bond or love or both. All he knew was that he needed Sophie like air.
He coaxed her up on her knees, straddling him. Her skin was wet and shining, warming pink across her face and chest, her brown eyes molten as she stared down at him. He spread his thighs a fraction, moving hers wider and slipped his fingers against her. Into her. She was ready. Slicker than oil. Warmer than the steam. She clenched around his fingers and he bit back a groan as he moved his hand to position himself against her
“This, love. This,” he said, and then pulled her down onto him. The relief of it almost killed him, pleasure roaring through his veins like a lightning strike. He moved beneath her, or her above him, he couldn’t have said which. Didn’t care which. Cared only about the sensations. The need. He wouldn’t have cared if the room had tumbled down around their ears as they fought this brief private war, both of them fierce and hungry and frantic. Until finally he heard her call his name—the sound seemingly far away from where he was, so lost in her—and then he let himself go as her body tightened around him and drove him over the edge.
It was somewhat surprising to find that they hadn’t drowned in the aftermath. As his breath eased, Cameron opened an eye. Sophie was draped over his body, her breathing rapid, her muscles limp. The bath water had cooled though he didn’t feel cold. Yet. But he didn’t want Sophie to get chilled.
“We should get out, love.”
“Only if you can levitate me,” she said, sounding more than half-asleep.
“Sadly, no. And I’d be sorry to see you drown.” He cupped her ass gently. “It would be a waste of all this.”
“Brute,” she said. But she wriggled a little—goddess, how could he want her again so soon?—and then rose to her knees, smiling down at him. She looked so well satisfied that he couldn’t stop the smug smile that spread across his own face.
Sophie yawned hugely. “I could sleep for days.”
“Me, too. And, as we have no pressing appointments, I suggest we return to our chambers. I could be persuaded to sleep. Eventually.” He pulled her down to kiss her, then pushed her away again. “Out you get.”
By the time he’d extricated himself from the bath, Sophie was wrapped in a towel and staring down at the floor in dismay. Her dress was sopping wet. As were his own clothes. Well, perhaps the two of them could conjure a drying spell. In the meantime, there were plenty of towels that would suffice for a dash back to their chambers.
He wrapped a towel around his waist, scooped up the sodden clothes, and bowed slightly to his wife. “Shall we retire, milady?”
The damnable chiming woke Cameron for a second time. He blinked, then rolled to see Sophie asleep beside him in the bed, lying on her stomach, sheet only covering her from the waist down. She didn’t stir as he sat up.
Good, better to let her sleep. He pressed his hands into his eyes, wishing he could join her. His memory of how they’d gotten from the bathing room back to their chambers was hazy, but apparently they’d fallen asleep at some point. It was still bright day outside. And the damn chimes indicated that someone wanted to see them.
He pulled the covers over Sophie, tugged on shirt and pants, and went over to crack the door open just far enough to see who was outside. He’d been half expecting Willem, but instead the mottled gray face of one of the sanctii was peering down at him. He only just managed to stop his instinct to slam the door and grab his weapons.
“Yes?” he said. He had no idea if this was the same creature he’d seen the night before or in Henri’s office. He hadn’t precisely been paying attention, too distracted by the fact that there was a sanctii in front of him—and he hadn’t yet seen enough of them to know how different they were from one another.
“Maistre,” the creature said.
“Maistre Matin wants to see me?”
A nod. Which produced interesting effects in the sanctii’s skin. Where a human’s would have flexed and folded, the gray flesh appeared to almost crack . . . though that wasn’t entirely the right word. It formed ridges. Something that suggested that the skin wasn’t as supple as a human’s. Or else was a trick of the blotches of mingled color.
“Both of you.” The demon gestured at the door.
“My wife is sleeping.”
“Both. Soon.”
No arguing with a summons from the maistre, it seemed. Cameron’s stomach made a gurgling noise. How long had they slept? Hopefully not through the appointed hour for lunch, if there was such a thing. He wouldn’t last until dinner.
“What time is it?”
“High sun.”
Cameron tried not to look blank.
“Noon,” the sanctii added.
“Tell the maistre we will be with him shortly.” He was fairly certain he could find his way to Henri’s office from their chambers now. Hopefully the demon didn’t have to wait and escort them. Sophie hadn’t reacted well to the presence of the creatures earlier. He’d be happier if she kept her distance until he understood exactly why that was.
The demon nodded. “Soon,” it repeated, and then it vanished.
Well, that answered that question.
Now he just had to wake Sophie and go find out what the maistre wanted this time.
Sophie was still not sure that she was entirely awake when they reached Henri’s office and were admitted to find not only the maistre but Madame Simsa waiting for them.
“Lord Scardale, Lady Scardale,” Henri greeted them. “Come in. Madame Simsa tells me that you are acquainted?”
“We met briefly this morning, yes,” Sophie said. She dipped a quick curtsy. “Madame.”
Madame Simsa, sitting in a chair near Henri’s desk, waved off the gesture. “No need to stand on such ceremony.” She tilted her white head at Sophie. “Though pretty manners never go astray, I suppose.”
“That’s what my tutors always told me. My mother, too,” Sophie added.
“Tutors?” Madame Simsa asked. “In magic?”
“Ah, no. Before my Ais-Seann. The other ones.”
“What preparation came before your—Ais-Seann, is that what you Anglions call it?” The older woman’s blue eyes were sharp in her face.
Sophie glanced at Cam. She didn’t want to give Anglion secrets away. “My mother has a little earth magic. I grew up watching her. And I had the standard lessons once I came to court. A year or so.”
“So little?” Madame Simsa scowled and turned to Henri, spitting something in rapid Illvyan that Sophie thought was “what a stupid”—or maybe that was “careless”—”system” before turning back. “And after?”
“Once I manifested, I had lessons with the temple, as all earth witches do.”
“Oh? And what did the temple have to say about your”—Madame Simsa waved a hand at Cameron—”entanglement with this one?”
“They were not pleased,” Cameron said. “But I don’t believe it impacted Sophie’s education. Though there really hasn’t been much time since her birthday to judge how she was progressing.”
“Madame Simsa has offered to assess you, Lady Scardale,” Maistre Matin says. “She is one of most our experienced teachers.”
“You are an earth witch?” Sophie said, curious.
Madame Simsa smiled. “That is one of my talents, yes.”
Meaning that she practiced more than one of the arts?
“I have decided that I only wish to pursue studies in earth magic,” Sophie said. “Does that change your interest?”
“Hedging your bets, child?” Madame Simsa said. “Well, that is understandable. But no, I’m sure I can find much to occupy myself with you in earth alone.” She turned her gaze to Cameron. “Though, it may take a little more than earth magic to sort out what exactly the two of you have done to yourselves.”
“Perhaps we can start with the basics,” Cameron suggested. “Sophie and I are happy enough as we are, for now.”
“I take it that you are going to concern yourself only with blood magic, Lord Scardale?”
Cameron nodded. “No one ever suggested I had any potential for any other kind.”
Madame Simsa snorted. It seemed she didn’t think much of the way magic was taught in Anglion.
Henri, on the other hand, merely nodded. “Venable Marignon, our senior blood mage, is out of the city just now. She is due to return tomorrow.”
“Women teach blood magic here?” Cameron blurted. He looked shocked.
“Yes,” Henri said. “It is not the most common choice, but women are free to study whichever of the arts they are suited to. And believe me, Verite Marignon is well suited to blood magic. I would prefer that she assessed you. So you will have wait until tomorrow, Lord Scardale.”
“Does that mean there are female battle mages in the emperor’s army?” Sophie asked, fascinated.
“Some,” Madame Simsa said. “The army, of course, also has instructors for those who take that path. As do the Imperial Guard.”
Madame Simsa snorted again. Did the Imperial Guard not do things to her satisfaction either?
Sophie pressed her hands into her skirts, trying to quell her sudden nerves. She was about to have to satisfy Madame Simsa as to her skills in magic. That seemed a daunting task.
“After we have established your skills with your magic, then we can look at other classes for you,” Henri said. “History and geography, at least, I think. And language classes for you, Lady Scardale.”
Sophie’s cheeks went hot. She knew her Illvyan wasn’t as good as Cameron’s, but that didn’t make it less embarrassing to have the deficiency pointed out. However, it would be stupid to pretend she didn’t need instruction. And she would take whatever other classes they offered her. She and Cameron needed knowledge to navigate this place.
“Your husband probably only needs some more conversation opportunities to refine his accent. He’ll get plenty of those in his classes, but we will see what else we can contrive.” Henri pursed his lips. “How well do you read Illvyan, Lord Scardale?”
“Well enough,” Cameron said. “There weren’t many books in your language in Anglion.”
“We have some texts in Anglion,” Madame Simsa said. “But you may need to improve your skills. Perhaps you can join your wife initially. We have students who were born in other parts of the empire, and most of them take Illvyan here. It is taught throughout the empire but more successfully in some places than in others.”
“Whatever you think is best,” Cameron murmured.
He had his diplomatic face back in place. How did he feel about effectively returning to studies? He’d been in the Red Guard for years. And now to be reduced to being a mere student once more?
“Well, child, no time like the present,” Madame Simsa said, rising from the chair. “Your husband should be able to survive without you for a few hours, surely. He cannot have recovered so fast from . . . earlier.” She grinned at Cameron, the expression approving.
Sophie felt her cheeks go even redder and pressed her hands to her face. How in the name of the goddess did Madame Simsa know what she and Cameron had been doing in the bathing room?
“Bonds are noisy,” Madame Simsa added. “For those who know what they are.”
Henri coughed.
Cameron looked like he didn’t know whether to be horrified or amused.
“It is an easy enough thing to teach you to shield the noise,” Madame Simsa said. “Perhaps we will work on that tomorrow, once Venable Marignon is done with your husband. That will make life simpler—and quieter—for everyone.”
Sophie nodded, trying to will the heat out of her face. She wasn’t sure what would be appropriate to say anyway.
Nor was she certain what Madame Simsa meant by “simpler”. She’d said the bond was noisy. Noisy like sensing a ley line? Or something else?
“Good,” Madame Simsa said. “That is settled. Now come along and we will find an empty practice chamber. Somewhere safe for you to show me what your temple witches taught you on your little island.”
“Yes, Madame,” Sophie said. She took a step. Stopped, turned back to Cameron. They hadn’t yet gone anywhere alone since arriving in Lumia and the thought was suddenly terrifying. Cameron was safety, here in this strange place. The one person she could trust. It was possible that all of this was just a ploy to separate them.
But refusing point-blank didn’t seem to be an option. Cameron, watching her, seemed to know what she was thinking. He gave her a tiny shrug and then a reassuring nod. She breathed out. If they took her, he would come for her, she knew that much. Find her or die trying.
She was just going to have to trust that it wouldn’t be necessary.
“How long will this take, Madame Simsa?” Cameron asked.
“As long as it takes,” Madame Simsa said. “Why, do you have another appointment?” She looked amused.
“I was hoping to take Sophie into the city soon. We need clothes and other things.”
Henri cleared his throat. “I think it would be preferable for Sophie to stay within the Academe walls for now. You, Lord Scardale, can blend well enough if you don’t talk too much, but her accent gives her away. The palace, in my experience, leaks rumors like an ill-tended roof. And your wife is not to be risked.”
Cameron’s brow furrowed. “Are you saying she’s not free to leave?”
“No. If you should choose to give up the protection I have offered you, I will not stop you. But while you accept it, I am asking you not to do something needlessly foolhardy.”
And what exactly did he think was going to happen to her in the city? Sophie’s fears rose again, but Cameron was nodding as though he agreed with the maistre’s assessment. Which left her with little choice other than to follow Madame Simsa out of the room to whatever awaited her.