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was his turn to reach out
and raise her face so that she looked at him. He held her gaze steadily. “You’ve
done more than I could have asked. Thank you.” He said it with such gravity
that she did not deny her efforts, just nodded slightly. He let a moment go by,
closing that subject, then: “Masan
wants me to step forward. Take the reins of the barony.”
    “You already have.”
    “He wants to make it official.”
    She considered that. “The time may
have come for that, or it may come soon, but . . . I see no need for it.”
    “Exactly. There’s no cause, no
immediate threat to Fiarth. The fighting is far away. Without cause, it would
be unseemly.” And it would mean giving up
on Father.
    She drew closer to him. Her voice
lowered as she said, “Do what you think right. You’re a good man, Gi.” Her lips
brushed his. They were so soft.
    He hesitated. “Niara, I don’t know
how much longer I can do this.” He gestured around them. “How much longer I can
keep this—us—in the dark. I had planned—” He broke off suddenly. It was no good
talking of what could have been.
    “Tell me. What did you plan?”
    He let out a breath. “Lord Ryswin
is weak, dying.”
    “Lord Ryswin? The ambassador to
Havensrike?”
    “Yes. He’s an old man and wants to
return home, to die in bed surrounded by his family. King Ulea must choose a
new ambassador, and I’d been petitioning Father to recommend me to the King. I
think he might have done it, too, and then, after I’d been sent away, you could
transfer to the temple in Glorifel, and we could be together in Havensrike,
where they are not so devout as here, where a priestess is not supposed to be a
saint. Just think of it. We could be together, you and I, walking hand in hand
down the city streets of the most fabulous city built by Man, or riding through
the canals in a gondola . . . but now . . .” He sagged. “Now there is no chance
of that. Not unless Father recovers.”
    Tears gathered behind her eyes. “Oh,
Gi.”
    Gently, she kissed him, and he
could taste her tears on his lips. As he kissed back, a fire blazed brighter
inside him. She must have felt it, too, for suddenly her kisses became more
passionate, almost reckless. Then she tore at his clothes, and he at hers.
    “Yes,” she said. “Yes, my love,
yes, this is how it should be . . .”
    He kissed her breasts, her nipples,
and she moaned in pleasure. “Shhhh,” he said, and she quieted. He kissed her
more, working his way down her slim belly, past her navel, then between her
legs. He kissed her there for a while, and she gasped and breathed deeply, at
times closing her thighs tightly around his head, enfolding him in softness. At
last he spread her legs and entered her. She was tight and wet. She curled her
delicate white fingers through the hair on his chest and rocked her hips
against him as he thrust into her, at first slowly, then faster, harder.
    Her breaths came more and more rapidly.
Finally she reached for his hunting knife in its leather scabbard and stuck it
between her teeth to keep from crying out.
    Their lovemaking was desperate and
all-consuming, as if to deny the horrors of the outside world. For them, for
that one moment, there was only Giorn and Niara, and the hot, burning passion
that engulfed them. Then, panting, he spent himself inside her, and she held
him tightly. Both sweaty and exhausted, they lay together for a time, but at
last he fell asleep, and it was the deepest sleep he had ever known.
    When he awoke, dawn had turned the
canvas sides of his tent pink.
    Niara was dressing. She noticed
him, smiled, and leaned over to kiss him on the lips.
    “Good morning,” he said.
    “’morning.” Her voice was rich and
deep and soft. Her eyes shone happily, but with a tinge of sadness. She
straightened her clothes, stood and moved to the tent flap. “I must go.”
    “Yes.” Sudden concern made him sit
up and grab her wrist. “What if somebody sees you?”
    She smiled. “I’m