Honor Bound by Joey Hill (speld decodable readers .txt) 📕

split second of insanity, true, but—Gods, the theft of a foreign slave! Even a whisper on the breeze would get them both killed.

He could barely breathe. Blankly, he gazed at the collection of items he’d taken from Dancer’s pack. A few simple cosmetics, a small bundle of clothing, two packets of mothermeknot, the contraceptive herb all women of child-bearing age on Palimpsest brewed and drank as a matter of course, and a polished wooden box with a complicated latch.

His eyes narrowed. “What’s this?”

A full stomach, a warm fire—and a man who treated her as though she had a brain, as though she mattered. Amae gazed into the flames, enjoying the good things while she had them. Rhio’s snarl snapped her out of her reverie. Ah, well, it had been lovely while it lasted.

Reluctantly, she turned her head. “My box of oils.”

“Your what?”

“For massage. Remember? Giral offered me to the Queen.” When his brow creased, she added, “For her jointache.”

The Captain’s lips thinned. Placing the tip of his knife under the latch, he flipped it open.

One by one, he extracted the small vials from their padded slots and set them in a neat row on the desk. “Come here.”

So much for having a mind and a heart and a soul. With an inward curse, Amae

abandoned the fire and did as she was bid.

“Tell me what’s in them,” he demanded. “One at a time.”

Amae folded her arms. “They’re labeled.”

A rumble of displeasure. “I don’t read Trinitarian.”

“Very well.” She laid a finger on the lid of the first vial. “This is healall. You know it, yes?”

He grunted. “I’m a soldier. What do you think? Go on.”

“Scaldcream, essential oil of mothermeknot, boneknit, coolbalm, hotbalm, essential oil of Lady’s lace . . .” She worked her way from one end of the row to the other, while Rhio watched, his eyes flickering from her face to the bottles and back again, suspicion in every line of him.

Pity. For a moment there, there’d been companionship between them, something like the beginnings of friendship.

Gods, she was getting soft. Friendship— trust—was stupid. And stupid meant dead.

Unavenged.

Without waiting for the Captain’s permission, she pulled out a chair and sat. The too-big shirt slipped off her shoulder and she hitched it up again.

He said, “It appears you have many uses.” The moment the words were out, dark color bloomed on his stubbled cheek.

A decent man, probably faced by the reality of slavery for the first time and troubled by it. ’Cestors’ bones, he was even more dangerous than he knew. Bitterly amused by her own train of thought, Amae fought to prevent her lip from curling. “Yes,” she agreed. “I do.” She couldn’t stop herself from adding, “Giral gets his money’s worth from all his property.”

“How were you trained? Who did it?”

“Giral sent me to a Master Physician to be tested. When I showed promise, I had lessons for three years.”

“Hmm.” Rhio rubbed his jaw. “Why did the Ambassador have you tested in the first place?”

Amae shrugged. She had no intention of revealing any real information about the medical arts of her people. Healing was the gift of her Ancestors, sacred and private, handed down through all the generations from the First Mother.

“It amused him. He’s an intelligent man, something of a dilettante. About a year after . . .

after my people were . . . gone, he found a line in an old history describing the desert tribes and their primitive healing Magick. I was all that was left, but he was curious enough to try.”

“Can you? Heal the sick, I mean.” His gaze was level, assessing. Why were some men blessed with extravagant eyelashes? It wasn’t fair.

She refused to look away. “Not disease, or anything truly serious. I’m best with strains and sprains.”

A skeptical grunt. “How would you help me, for instance?”

Amae smiled without amusement. Yet another test. By the bones of Those Before, she was tired of it. “You’ve been wounded many times, I think? Your right shoulder is stiff.

It hurts you in the winter. I’m guessing you’ve dislocated it two or three times. There is some issue with the muscles in your lower back, probably related to the shoulder. They go into spasm when you’re overtired. You have a problem with the ankle you broke and the wound in the big muscle of your thigh. Now that you’re getting older, you worry about your eyesight and your stamina and your—”

“Enough!”

“You asked.” Amae showed her teeth. “I answered, yes?”

Rhio appeared to be breathing hard through his nose. “All right. What about my shoulder, then?”

Coming to her feet, she moved to stand at his side and folded back her sleeves. “Give me your right hand.”

Warily, he did so. His flesh was firm and warm, his fingers square-tipped and capable.

There were sword calluses on his palms, old scars and nicks marring the olive skin.

Enjoying the contact, Amae closed her eyes, allowing herself to sink into a state of concentration almost intense enough to be a light trance. Under her fingertips, his energy flowed and pulsed. By the First Mother, he was strong, not only physically, but mentally.

Like a great tree, firmly rooted in his world, knowing his place and what he stood for.

Carefully, she worked her way over the flesh at the base of his thumb. What would he do if she bent her head and nipped him there? Would he slap her away? Giral would, with casual brutality. Her breath hitched. No, the Captain would never be casual; she knew it in her bones. He might spread her across on the desk, crush her under the weight of his hard warrior’s body, breast to breast, hip to hip—but gods, she’d have his absolute attention. She’d fight back, a lover and an equal, knowing she was safe—that they both were.

A hot pulse pattering between her thighs, Amae breathed deep, trying to ground herself.

This was ridiculous. Desire was a tool to be used, a luxury she could not afford. Get onwith it.

Biting her lip, she followed the stream of