Warrior's Lady Read Online Free PDF

felt the force of it radiate through every fiber of her being, filling her with warmth and light and the promise of a rainbow when the storm was over.
    “I must go.” She felt a sharp stab of regret as she dropped the hood in place. She saw him shudder, sensed the revulsion that swept through him as the cloth settled over his face.
    “She?”
    “I must go,” she said again, but she made no move to leave the cell.
    It was growing more and more difficult to leave him, and so she lingered at his side, holding his hand in hers.
    It still amazed her that she could so easily read his thoughts. She knew how he hated the hood, how he loathed the long hours of being alone in the silent darkness. His emotions were so strong, she felt them as keenly as her own, his rage, his turmoil, his driving need to be free, his desire for vengeance.
    She gazed at his fingers, entwined with her own, and knew she had no right to care for him as she did.
    “I must go,” she said hoarsely, and giving his hand a squeeze, she hurried from the cell, fleeing from thoughts and feelings she was afraid to acknowledge.
    That night, she lay in her narrow bed, staring up at the curved ceiling. Tomorrow. She would act tomorrow. A bit of noxious gimweed in the Giant’s evening ale would render him unconscious. She would take his clothes and his weapons, the keys to the manacles that bound Jarrett’s hands and feet. In the dark of tenth hour, when the dungeon was quiet, she would free Jarrett. They would climb the winding staircase that led to the kitchens and escape through the back door into the huge yard that housed the stables.
    If luck went with them, if the herdboys did not hear them, if the helldogs did not raise an alarm, if the horses did not shy from strangers, they might make it safely out of the Pavilion. If, she thought, and prayed that the gods of the Maje and the Fen would be with them.
     
    She felt his pain even before she opened the door, and all her doubts fled. It was time to go, now. Knowing that the Games were soon to be ended, the Gamesmen were being less careful with their weapons. Even though the Games were played in secret, the players had always held to the Rules of the Games: no wounds above the neck, no wounds that were fatal or crippling or emasculating. But now the Games were coming to an end and they were no longer obeying the Rules. Prisoners were being allowed to die horrible deaths each night since only one participant was needed for the Final Game.
    And that one was here, waiting for her.
    “She?”
    “I am here. Do not try to speak. All is arranged.”
    His breathing was shallow, labored, painful to hear. With gentle hands, she removed the hood. His face, she thought in despair. His beautiful face, swollen and discolored. She wept as she placed her hands upon him, infusing him with her warmth, letting the gift flow from her hands to his, her spirit to his. She choked back a groan, not wanting him to know the pain she felt.
    There seemed not an inch of flesh that was untouched. How had he endured so many months of abuse? She had seen some of the other prisoners—prisoners who had gone mad from the pain, from the constant fear and abuse, their spirits crushed so completely that even her powers could not call their minds out of darkness.
    His skin was flushed, hot beneath her fingertips, his muscles rigid. Slowly her hands moved over him, withdrawing the fever, soothing the pain. The blood returned to his veins, the torn flesh meshed, leaving neither scar nor blemish.
    Exhausted, her own body quivering with the pain that had been his, she dropped her hands to her sides. For a moment, she stood there with her eyes closed, willing her limbs to stop their trembling. Usually, she sought sleep after such an extensive healing, but there was no time to rest now, no time to waste.
    She had not removed the manacles earlier in case someone should enter the chamber unexpectedly. Now, taking the key from her pocket, she unlocked the