Isobel and Arlin were locked in some kind of staring contest, and without lowering her gaze, Arlin said, “Shirin said she trusts her?”

  “Yes.”

  To everyone’s relief, Arlin nodded and held out her forearm. “Then I’ll trust Lady Isobel as well. Well met, Lady Knight.”

  Isobel tilted her head in acknowledgment of Arlin’s words. She grabbed Arlin’s forearm in a tight grip. “Well met, Lady Dumerier.”

  Arlin’s easygoing manner was as well-known as her hatred of most nobles. As quickly as her distrust had arisen, her affability replaced it before Isobel had finished speaking. “I’d love to hear the account of what really happened in Dreyutha seven turns ago. Perhaps I could buy you dinner and a drink before you leave Sarlogne?”

  One side of Isobel’s mouth lifted. “I would be honored. But for now, if you’ll excuse us, we need to be on our way.”

  Geller rolled onto her back and blew out a breath. “I’ll say it again. Fowk.” Staying low, she moved to where Benú was waiting out of sight. “Come on. Let’s get to th’ townhome so we can make sure yer handler and her shiv drop off th’ Lady Knight without nothin’ else happenin’. Does it seem to ya like naught but problems come up durin’ Festival?”

  Benú shrugged, “It sounded like the shiv used her head to keep Arlin from saying something we’d all regret, so I’d count that as being a positive, wouldn’t you?”

  “Aye.” Geller grudgingly agreed. “Th’ shiv has a good head on her shoulders, good common sense, but that temper of hers needs watchin’.”

  “Don’t I know it?” Benú ran forward and leapt across the alley. Geller followed, and several buildings later, the two Primes climbed down to the street level and were concealed behind a stack of crates when Harkins, Shaya, and Isobel arrived at their destination.

  CHAPTER 17

  Isobel asked the other two to wait on the street while she knocked on Sábria’s door. Since their assignment had been to escort Isobel to the townhome, Harkins bowed. “If you’re comfortable with us leaving, My Lady, our shift begins soon, and we have weapons practice we need to attend.”

  “Of course.” The side of her mouth lifted again. “I’m sure no one will accost me when I return to the Temple, and if they do….” She shrugged because they all knew if anyone attacked Isobel, it would be the attacker’s blood that the Blades would be scraping off the cobblestones and not hers.

  Harkins acknowledged her words with a nod. “There is an around-the-clock guard on the townhouse whenever the Arch Priestess is in residence. When you leave, you can expect an escort back to the Temple.” She held up her hand when Isobel’s brows drew together. “Nothing to do with your skill level, My Lady, which I happen to know is impressive. It’s protocol. Nothing more.”

  Before Isobel turned to go, she waited for Shaya to bow as well.

  Shaya bowed low, holding it a beat longer than courtesy dictated. When she rose, she looked straight into the Lady Knight’s eyes.

  Isobel dipped her chin slightly to acknowledge the extra portion of respect and then turned and made her way to Sábria’s door. Facing warriors was one thing. Facing someone she hoped was still her friend but feared otherwise had her heart beating painfully in her chest. She rubbed her tunic over her heart, hoping the action would steady her nerves. It didn’t. It did, however, leave a slight stain from the sweat that had gathered in her palms.

  This was ridiculous. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Well, maybe she had, but what other choice could she have made? Leave Ty as a slave to a boor who cared more for his livestock than his slaves? Set her free in Dreyutha? Hardly. Take her to one of her estates? That would have been a better solution than leaving her or setting her free, but then her friend would never have discovered the fate of her child.

  Pulling in a deep breath, she raised her fist to knock, but before she rapped on the door, she splayed her fingers. There had been very few occasions in her life where her hands actually shook, but that’s exactly what was happening now. What was wrong with her? Even when the last Pheodran knight had driven his blade through her shoulder, she’d had the courage to put her booted foot into his stomach and step back, dislodging the sword and giving her the distance she needed to kill him.

  Isobel bit her lip, contemplating whether she should turn and leave without contacting Sábria. When she’d been at the Temple, it had all seemed so straightforward. She’d hurt her friend, and now, because of that hurt, her friend needed her. “You’re being ridiculous. Just knock already.” Before she could talk herself out of it, Isobel used her knuckles to rap on the door.

  The harbor wasn’t that far away, and as she waited, she listened to the men and women shouting at one another over the persistent sound of several people hammering as they refitted one of the sailing ships docked at the pier. A soft breeze lifted wisps of hair off her brow, and she fingered the familiar grooves of her sword’s hilt to help calm her nerves.

  The door remained closed. She hadn’t counted on Sábria not answering. Knocking twice wasn’t an option, so after she’d waited what she considered long enough for Sábria to get to the front door from anywhere in the townhouse, her shoulders drooped, and she turned to go.

  A slight movement of the curtain in the front window caught her eye, and when she looked, she saw Sábria holding the edge of the curtain back while she leaned her head against the window frame. She looked tired, more tired than Isobel had ever seen. The time she’d spent with Sábria had been limited, but whenever Isobel had visited the Temple, there’d been a vibrancy about her that shone through even in the most stressful of times.

  They stared at each other a moment before Sábria straightened and let the curtain fall back into place. Isobel waited to see whether she’d come to the door, and when no other sounds or movements came, she slowly walked down the path toward the gate. The distinctive rasping of a latch being pulled back stopped her, and she turned just as Sábria pulled open the door.

  The color of Sábria’s eyes seemed almost gray in the dim light of the interior. She didn’t come forward into the light but stayed back, silently staring and waiting, for what, Isobel wasn’t sure. It only took her three strides to return to the threshold, and when Sábria still didn’t invite her in, Isobel retreated a step. “I’ll go if you want, but I thought you could use a friend. If…we’re still friends, that is. I hope we’re still friends.”

  Sábria let go of the door and retreated inside. She’d left the door standing open, so Isobel decided that was an invitation to enter. Isobel crossed the threshold, but when she shut the door, the darkness enveloped her. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, and as she looked around, she saw that all of the curtains on the first floor were drawn, and there was no fire burning in either the room to the right or the one to the left.

  There was, however, a faint glow at the end of the hall, where she found Sábria leaning against a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf with her arms crossed. Not wanting to invite herself into the room Sábria had apparently appropriated as her sanctuary, Isobel waited in the doorway and took in the mess surrounding her.

  Sábria’s sword lay halfway out of its scabbard in the middle of the floor, where it seemed she’d dropped it after removing it from around her waist. Remembering her own weapons, Isobel pulled on her belt’s metal-covered tip and undid the leather harness containing her sword and knife. Her sword hung off her left hip and a knife on her right. A fighter’s dagger was tucked into a sheath sewn into the back of her trews. She neatly wrapped the belt around the sword and knife and leaned it against the doorframe in the hallway.

  Removing the dagger, she retreated a few steps and laid it on a half-moon table pushed against the wall. She admired the spiral fluting running the length of the table’s legs and the intricate carving and metalwork adorning the top and edges of the tabletop itself. Isobel had collected many beautiful pieces of furniture over the turns and appreciated the craftsmanship of the few furnishings she’d seen so far in Sábria’s townhouse.

  She returned to find Sábria pacing the room like a caged animal. Books lay open on her desk, the floor, and various chair seats as though she’d begun to read and had given up after the first few pages. Wood that should have been neatly stacked in the box next to the hearth lay scattered around the fireplace as though the logs had been brought in and dropped at the bearer’s feet. Speaking of feet, one of Sábria’s boots lay next to an overstuffed chair, and the other looked as though she’d thrown it across the room, where it landed half on and half off the writing desk.

  It had only been four or five candlemarks since Shirin had returned with her Arch Priestess, but the amount of reckless disorder spoke volumes about Sábria’s state of mind. Isobel always found that if she didn’t know what to say in situations like this, it was better to remain silent than to blurt inane tokens of comfort that generally served to inflame rather than soothe.

  She still hadn’t been invited into the library, so she crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe, waiting to see what would come next.

  Sábria stopped her pacing long enough to glare into Isobel’s grey eyes. “You came to…what? Console? Apologize? Let me get it off my chest? Whatever it is?”

  Isobel shrugged, “I came because I thought you could use a friend who wasn’t a Blade, an acolyte, or even a citizen of Cibía.”

  “Why? Do you think they’re not good enough? That I don’t have friends who could comfort me in my time of need?” Sábria resumed her angry pacing, clutching her hands behind her back with such intensity her knuckles turned white and the tips of her fingers red.

  When she reached the bookcase, she pulled out a leatherbound volume and launched it across the room. “Do you think I’m so pathetic that I don’t have people I can turn to when my whole world collapses around me?” Her voice lowered ominously, “Well, I don’t need them right now, and I definitely don’t need the gentle ministrations of the Kiprian Arts that Shirin would offer to soothe my wounded soul.” The sneer as she spoke of the need to gently soothe spoke volumes.

  She picked up a second book, tossed it in the air, and growled as she kicked it into the wall. She ran her hand behind one of the books on the shelf and, with a broad, sweeping motion, dislodged an entire row, sending the volumes flying. “I need—” This time, her growl was feral as she grabbed the front edge of the desk and upended it and all its contents onto the floor. “I… need—” She turned and stared into Isobel’s eyes.

  There was a flame in those eyes Isobel had seen before, and she knew the Priestess had no intention of being slow or gentle. Anticipation and desire ran through her, turning her concern for her friend’s well-being into a sensuous ache. Intense desire pulsed through her veins when Sábria stalked forward, pushed her against the wall and ran both hands into her dark hair.

  Sábria’s fingers tangled and grasped, pulling Isobel’s head forward until their lips were a hairsbreadth apart. “I need—” The final word was spoken in a low snarl, “Release.”

  Sábria’s lips fell on Isobel, biting and sucking with such intense urgency that the ferocity stole Isobel’s breath away. A matching fire ignited within her, and she wrapped her arms around Sábria’s waist, pulling her in close. When they couldn’t get any closer, she wrapped one leg around Sábria’s thighs and used that to grind their bodies together until she couldn’t tell where her body ended and Sábria’s began.

  Teeth nipped at Isobel’s throat, almost to the point of pain, over and over, drawing sultry moans that begged for more. Sábria jerked Isobel’s tunic over her head and then tore at her breast band, not bothering to unwind but ripping with such intensity the material fell to the ground in moments.

  The flames of Isobel’s hunger grew when her breasts were taken, not gently as Sábria had done on so many other occasions, but with lips that sucked hard and a tongue that rasped and circled, making Isobel’s nipples rise and harden to erotic, sensitive points.

  While she sucked, Sábria grabbed hold of Isobel’s booted foot that still clung to her thighs. She jerked the boot off and threw it behind her. Pushing back, she seized the front of Isobel’s trews and wrenched them open with such intensity that all five buttons tore loose.

  A primal desire Isobel had always kept firmly in check ran wild, beginning at her toes, moving up between her legs, and escaping her lips with a savage moan. Her fingers dug into Sábria’s back, and though she had to be hurting her, she raked them up and down her spine. “Oh Goddess, yes, Sábria. Do what you need. Please, do it.”

  With a strength Isobel had never suspected, Sábria lifted her and carried her into a room across the hall. She lay her on a bed and continued alternately kissing and nipping one breast while kneading the other. She moved down, and as she licked and bit the skin over ribs and stomach, she jerked one leg of Isobel’s trews off the bootless foot. Not bothering with the other half, she lowered herself to her knees and spread Isobel’s thighs wide.

  Isobel was so ready to come that when Sábria’s fingers dug into her thighs, and she paused to pull in the heady scent of the wetness between her legs, Isobel grabbed Sábria’s hair and pulled her head in close. This time, it was her turn to snarl between gritted teeth, “Now, Sábria. I need it now!”

  Glorious, sensual pain sliced through her as Sábria bit the inside of her thigh and then thrust two fingers inside. Hips rose frantically to meet them and then descended as Sábria pulled out and thrust in again. Isobel reveled in the animal lust coursing through her body, praying to every God and Goddess in the heavens that this hedonistic carnality would never stop. Her teeth ground together as she fought to hold back the orgasm that was building with such a frenzied intensity. When Sábria added a third finger, Isobel’s legs stretched shamelessly wide, begging Sábria to add a fourth and even a fifth if she could.

  Instead, Sábria’s tongue joined the fingers, lashing out like a whip, sending lightning bolts through Isobel’s clit and up into her core. A drawn-out, animalistic scream tore from Isobel’s throat as the orgasm crashed into her. She writhed and shook with a primal ecstasy she’d never felt before, had never even realized feelings so violently lustful lurked inside her body. Waves rolled through her, a tsunami of pleasure of the kind she’d never believed possible.

  Gradually, the intensity receded, and her body began to settle. It took a moment to catch her breath and as she lay panting with her legs still spread wide, she was nonplussed to hear Sábria chuckle.

  The Arch Priestess moved forward with an impudent grin, holding herself up with her elbows propped on either side of Isobel’s ribs.

  Isobel’s brows drew together when Sábria began counting backward, “Five, four, three, two⁠—”

  The front door bashed open with such force it hit the wall, “My Lady! Are you⁠—”

  Sábria called out, “I’m fine, Soirin. Some privacy, please.”

  Both women grinned when they heard, “Oh, fuck,” accompanied by the sound of the door slamming shut again. Sábria kissed her more gently this time and, with her lips still covering Isobel’s, whispered, “Exactly.”

  As heartbeats slowed and their breathing quieted, Isobel waited, unsure of their next moves. She used her powerful legs to push them up further on the bed and wondered whether Sábria needed Isobel to ravage her with the same feral intensity she’d unleashed on her. She was more than capable, eager, even, to return the favor. With grey eyes staring into blue, she raised a questioning brow and slid her hand between their bodies until her fingers cupped the mound between Sábria’s legs.

  Sábria’s eyes softened as she shook her head. When Isobel removed the hand, Sábria lowered herself onto Isobel’s chest, running her arms beneath her back and resting her head on her breasts. This time, Isobel’s fingers were gentle as she ran them up and down Sábria’s back, tenderly stroking and soothing long after she heard the steady breathing of sleep. The candlemarks of restless agitation had taken their toll, and Isobel would lie in this position for hours if that’s what it took to soothe her friend’s tortured soul.

  CHAPTER 18

  The following morning, Isobel awoke to lips gently kissing bitemarks scattered about her neck, breasts, and shoulders, evidence of the unbridled passion she’d experienced the night before. She tenderly tugged on Sábria’s now naked arm to pull her close enough to offer a few soft kisses of her own. When she deepened the kiss, Sábria slid over her and ran her hands into Isobel’s hair.

  Isobel was lulled back to sleep by the peaceful scalp massage she knew to be one of the many aspects of the Kiprian Arts. As she drifted off, she idly wondered whether Sábria had exorcized the demons plaguing her the previous night.

  She was awakened later that morning by two fingers gently rubbing back and forth inside her, and she marveled at how wet she’d become during sleep. Sábria had managed to arouse Isobel’s body even while she slept. Her body was humming as though they’d been having sex for the last half-candlemark.

  Her eyes closed of their own accord, and she felt Sábria’s lips and tongue moving slowly up her ribcage. Miraculously, the tempo of the fingers never wavered. When she spread her legs wide, a third and then a fourth finger was added, again, with no change in the slow and steady in and out of the hand between her legs.

  “Oh.” A tiny gasp escaped Isobel’s lips as the fingers filled her. Her body swelled around them, but now, Sábria slowed the movement, deliberately keeping her from climax. Isobel’s voice was hoarse when she barely managed to murmur, “Please.”

  “Shhh.” A subtle swirl of Sábria’s warm breath delicately flowed over her nipples, followed by a whisper-soft touch of sensuous lips.

  The feeling, the almost-not caress, sent a surge of electricity through Isobel’s body, and she gasped aloud, thrusting her breasts upwards in a sacrificial offering to the woman who played her body like a finely tuned instrument.