Soul of the Fire (Sword of Truth 5)

“Sweetheart, are you still working?”

Dalton looked up at the sound of the familiar voice. Teresa, wearing an alluring rose-colored dress he didn’t recall seeing before, was sweeping into the room.

He smiled. “Tess, darling. What brings you up here?”

“I came to catch you with a mistress.”

“What?”

She went past his desk to pause and gaze out the window. A green velvet sash gathered the waist of the dress, accentuating her curves. He envisioned his hands where the sash embraced her.

“I was pretty lonely last night,” she said as she watched people out on the lawns.

“I know. I’m sorry, but there were messages I had to—”

“I thought you were with another woman.”

“What? Tess, I sent you a message, explaining that I had to work.”

She turned to him. “When you sent word you would be working late, I didn’t think much of it. You’ve been working late every night. But when I woke up and it was almost dawn, and you weren’t there beside me… well, I thought sure you were in the bed of another woman.”

“Tess, I wouldn’t—”

“I thought of going and throwing myself at Lord Rahl, just to get even, but he has the Mother Confessor and she’s more beautiful than me, so I knew he would just laugh and turn me away.

“So, I got dressed and came up here, just to be able to say I knew you weren’t really working, when you later lied and told me you were. Instead of an empty office, I saw all your messengers scurrying around like they were preparing to go off to war. I saw you in here handing out papers, issuing orders. You really were working. I watched for a while.”

“Why didn’t you come in?”

She finally glided over to him and settled herself into his lap. She put her arms around his neck as she gazed into his eyes.

“I didn’t want to bother you when you were busy.”

“But you aren’t a bother, Tess. You’re the only thing in my life that isn’t a bother.”

She shrugged. “I was ashamed to have you know I thought you were cheating on me.”

“Then why now confess it?”

She kissed him, with a kiss only Tess could give, breathless, hot, wet. She pulled back to smile as she watched him look down her cleavage.

“Because,” she whispered, “I love you, and I miss you. I just got my new dress. I thought it might tempt you to my bed.”

“I think you more beautiful that the Mother Confessor.”

She grinned and gave him a peck on the forehead. “How about coming home for just a while?”

He patted her bottom as she stood. “I’ll be along shortly.”

Ann peeked and saw Alessandra watching her pray. Ann had asked the woman if it would bother her were Ann to pray before the meal.

Alessandra, at first taken by surprise, had said, “No, why should it?”

Sitting on the bare ground inside her grimy tent, Ann, in earnest, devoted herself to the prayer. She let herself fill with the joy of the Creator, in much the same way she opened herself to her Han. She let the Light fill her with joy. She let her heart feel the peace of the Creator in her, let herself be thankful for all she had, when others were so much worse off.

She prayed that Alessandra would feel just a ray of warm Light, and open her heart to it.

When she finished, she reached as far as the chains would allow and kissed toward her ring finger in fidelity to the Creator, to whom she was symbolically wedded.

She knew Alessandra would recall the indescribable satisfaction of praying to the Creator, of opening your heart in thanks to the one who had given you your soul. There were times in the life of every Sister when she had quietly, privately, piously wept with the joy of it.

Ann saw the twitch of longing as Alessandra almost reflexively brought her own finger to her lips.

As a Sister of the Dark, such an act would be a betrayal of the Keeper.

Alessandra had pledged that soul, given by the Creator, to the Keeper of the underworld—to evil. Ann couldn’t imagine there was anything the Keeper could give in return that could match the simple joy of a prayer expressing thanks to the One from which all things emanated.

“Thank you, Alessandra. That was kind of you to let me say my prayer before I eat.”

“Nothing kind to it,” the woman said. “Simply gets the food down easier so I can get on with my other business.”

Ann nodded, glad she had felt the Creator in her heart.

54

“What are we going to do?” Morley whispered.

Fitch scratched his ear. “Hush, I’m planning it out.”

Fitch had no idea what to do, but he didn’t want Morley to know that. Morley was impressed Fitch had found the place. He had come to depend on Fitch knowing what to do.

Not that there was that much to know. Mostly they rode hard. They had all that money Dalton Campbell had given them, so they didn’t have to know much. They could buy food; they didn’t have to hunt it, or gather it. They could buy any gear they needed; they didn’t have to fashion it themselves.

Fitch had learned that money went a long way toward making up for what a person didn’t know. Having grown up on the streets of Fairfield, he did know how to guard his money, and how to keep from being cheated, robbed, and tricked out of it. He was careful with the money, never using it to buy flashy clothes or anything that would make it look like they were worth knocking over the head, or worse.

The one surprise was that no one much cared they were Hakens, or even seemed to know. They were treated decent by most folks, who thought them polite young men.

Fitch didn’t let Morley talk him into buying drinks at inns; he knew that would be a sure way to let unsavory people know they had money, and being drunk only made it easier to forget to be careful. Instead they bought a bottle and only when they’d set up a camp for the night, somewhere people weren’t likely to come across them, did he and Morley get drunk. They did that a lot at first. It helped Fitch forget that people thought he raped Beata.

Morley had wanted to spend some money on whores at one town they went through, but Fitch didn’t want to. He finally gave in and let Morley do it, being as the money was his, too. Fitch had waited with their horses and other things outside town. He knew what sometimes happened to travelers coming into Fairfield to visit prostitutes.

Afterward, a grinning Morley said he’d watch over their things while Fitch went back and had his turn at visiting a woman. Fitch had been tempted, but the idea made him all jittery. Just when he thought he’d worked up the nerve, he’d imagine the woman laughing at him, and then his knees would get to shaking and his palms to sweating something fierce. He just knew they’d laugh.

Morley, he was big and strong, and manly. Women wouldn’t laugh at Morley. Beata used to always laugh at Fitch. He didn’t want to have some woman he didn’t even know start laughing at his skinny frame as soon as he got his clothes off.

He finally decided he didn’t want to risk his purpose, or waste any of their money on it. He didn’t know how much it would cost to get to where they were going and feared running out too soon. Morley called him a fool, and said it was more than worth it. It was all he talked about for the week after. Fitch had gotten to wishing he’d done it just to shut Morley up.

As it turned out, he needn’t have worried about money. They hadn’t spent much at all—not compared with what they had. The money had helped make it a swift journey. With money, they could trade for fresh horses and keep going without having to care for the animals by slowing their pace.

Morley shook his head. “All this way, and here we are stuck this close.”

“I said hush. You want to get us caught?”

Morley fell silent, except for scratching his stubble. Fitch wished he had more than a few hairs on his chin. Morley had a beard coming in. Fitch sometimes felt like a kid next to Morley, with his broad shoulders and stubble all over his face.

Fitch watched

as the distant guards patrolled back and forth. There was no way in except the bridge. Franca had told him that much, and now that he was here he could see it plain for himself. They had to get across that bridge, or it was over.

Fitch felt a strange whispering wind caress the back of his neck. He shivered after it moved on.

“What do you suppose he’s doing?” Morley whispered.

Fitch squinted, trying to see better into the distance. It looked like one of the guards was climbing up onto the stone side of the bridge.