felt
so…so…unbalanced in years, swinging between amusement and exasperation,
embarrassment and enjoyment. Shit, his guts were one dark, spiky tangle, all conflict and confusion!
Slowly, he relaxed back against the wall. He hadn’t led a successful mercenary company by being a muddle-headed fool—about himself or about others. Griffid Ringman had the gift for friendship, for connection , Fort knew he lacked.
He’d only ever trusted one person completely and Bekah had gone and died on him, taking the babe with her. So long ago now, he sometimes had trouble
remembering her face. But he knew beyond doubt her dark, merry eyes would be the last image of her to fade from his memory. He’d first seen her across a Feolin market, arguing cheerfully with the merchant who’d owned the caravan he’d traveled with. She was so alive, so free and open with her tanned legs flashing beneath her swinging skirts. For a lad come directly from the Straight Church, she’d been shocking, fascinating, beyond him to resist.
Even now, he thanked Lufra for the chance that had brought a Feolin-bound caravan his way, before his father and the local Elders’ Court and the public bullwhip caught up with him. After what he’d done…
Disciplining his breathing, Fort rose to light the brazier and put on water for roberry brew. His movements practiced and precise, he lined up the Sereian pot and two of the small cups.
For the first time, he became conscious that out here on the outskirts of the Fair, near the menagerie, sounds were muted. The dull roar of a medium-sized crowd, the occasional high-pitched shout of a barker from the concourse. The shabby little wagon rocked when the wind got up, but inside it was snug and warm, full of golden light.
Smiling a little, he filled the pot. Then he turned to the worship niche.
23
Denise Rossetti
Fort rested the pad of his forefinger on Lufra’s dainty foot and gazed about him with pleasure. He hadn’t had a place of his own, his things around him, for twenty years. Not since the two-roomed hut he’d shared with Bekah, behind Brin’s ranch house. His smile grew wry. Goddess, he must be nesting, clucky as a rasa bird in breeding season!
But he knew what was due and to Whom. And it wasn’t the stern Ruler God of his childhood. Fort closed his eyes. Holy Lufra , I thank You for this place , this life . Hold Bekah and the child close in Your arms . Stretch Your hand over my mother and Gracie and Prue and Constance and Silence . Wherever they are now , in this life or the next .
He hesitated, seeing sloe eyes, fierce with concentration, the smooth turn of the wrist, the glittering, deadly blades. Curling his whole hand around the little Goddess, he added an addendum. Him too , Holy Mother . Guide his hand and keep him safe . And the woman , wossername . Ah yes , Katahaya .
At first he thought he’d imagined it, the warmth at the base of his spine. But it spread, as though a vast palm was pressed against the small of his back, the heat licking from one vertebra to the next and trickling back down into the cleft of his buttocks, pooling in his testicles, his cock. His heart picked up pace until it thundered in his breast. He had the impression of starry fields, cold and infinite, of an all-encompassing Presence, deeply amused, carelessly affectionate. You can ’ t hide , little one . Not from Me .
Not from the Lust Dragon .
Fort slid down the wall, landing with a meaty thump that jarred his spine and made the wagon shudder. His eyes flew open. Nothing had changed. Steam rose from the roberry pot in a gentle curl, a vran whickered from the menagerie.
He shook his head. Imagination. Had to be.
Fort gulped two cups of roberry brew, one after the other, until his pulse was as steady as his hands.
Then he rummaged through his old pack ‘til he found his shaving kit. He peered into the cheap, clouded mirror, tilting it for the best light. Cool gray eyes stared back at him, the nose with the
so…so…unbalanced in years, swinging between amusement and exasperation,
embarrassment and enjoyment. Shit, his guts were one dark, spiky tangle, all conflict and confusion!
Slowly, he relaxed back against the wall. He hadn’t led a successful mercenary company by being a muddle-headed fool—about himself or about others. Griffid Ringman had the gift for friendship, for connection , Fort knew he lacked.
He’d only ever trusted one person completely and Bekah had gone and died on him, taking the babe with her. So long ago now, he sometimes had trouble
remembering her face. But he knew beyond doubt her dark, merry eyes would be the last image of her to fade from his memory. He’d first seen her across a Feolin market, arguing cheerfully with the merchant who’d owned the caravan he’d traveled with. She was so alive, so free and open with her tanned legs flashing beneath her swinging skirts. For a lad come directly from the Straight Church, she’d been shocking, fascinating, beyond him to resist.
Even now, he thanked Lufra for the chance that had brought a Feolin-bound caravan his way, before his father and the local Elders’ Court and the public bullwhip caught up with him. After what he’d done…
Disciplining his breathing, Fort rose to light the brazier and put on water for roberry brew. His movements practiced and precise, he lined up the Sereian pot and two of the small cups.
For the first time, he became conscious that out here on the outskirts of the Fair, near the menagerie, sounds were muted. The dull roar of a medium-sized crowd, the occasional high-pitched shout of a barker from the concourse. The shabby little wagon rocked when the wind got up, but inside it was snug and warm, full of golden light.
Smiling a little, he filled the pot. Then he turned to the worship niche.
23
Denise Rossetti
Fort rested the pad of his forefinger on Lufra’s dainty foot and gazed about him with pleasure. He hadn’t had a place of his own, his things around him, for twenty years. Not since the two-roomed hut he’d shared with Bekah, behind Brin’s ranch house. His smile grew wry. Goddess, he must be nesting, clucky as a rasa bird in breeding season!
But he knew what was due and to Whom. And it wasn’t the stern Ruler God of his childhood. Fort closed his eyes. Holy Lufra , I thank You for this place , this life . Hold Bekah and the child close in Your arms . Stretch Your hand over my mother and Gracie and Prue and Constance and Silence . Wherever they are now , in this life or the next .
He hesitated, seeing sloe eyes, fierce with concentration, the smooth turn of the wrist, the glittering, deadly blades. Curling his whole hand around the little Goddess, he added an addendum. Him too , Holy Mother . Guide his hand and keep him safe . And the woman , wossername . Ah yes , Katahaya .
At first he thought he’d imagined it, the warmth at the base of his spine. But it spread, as though a vast palm was pressed against the small of his back, the heat licking from one vertebra to the next and trickling back down into the cleft of his buttocks, pooling in his testicles, his cock. His heart picked up pace until it thundered in his breast. He had the impression of starry fields, cold and infinite, of an all-encompassing Presence, deeply amused, carelessly affectionate. You can ’ t hide , little one . Not from Me .
Not from the Lust Dragon .
Fort slid down the wall, landing with a meaty thump that jarred his spine and made the wagon shudder. His eyes flew open. Nothing had changed. Steam rose from the roberry pot in a gentle curl, a vran whickered from the menagerie.
He shook his head. Imagination. Had to be.
Fort gulped two cups of roberry brew, one after the other, until his pulse was as steady as his hands.
Then he rummaged through his old pack ‘til he found his shaving kit. He peered into the cheap, clouded mirror, tilting it for the best light. Cool gray eyes stared back at him, the nose with the
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