Ilona Andrews - Fate's Edge

“Is Audrey doing okay?” Gaston asked.

“She’s fine.”

“Oh good. She came by asking for a knife. I think she’s scared to sleep by herself.”

“It’s a harder thing for her than it is for us,” Kaldar said. “George deals with death every day. He’s come to terms with it. Jack has killed things in the woods since he could walk. He has a simple way of looking at it. You and I are from the Mire. Audrey has had very little experience with brutality. It wasn’t a part of her life.” And the last time she experienced it, it scarred her. She didn’t seem like she was falling apart, but Audrey was an excellent actress.

Genius conman. Yes, there was the pot calling the kettle black.

There were nights when he was afraid to go to sleep by himself as well. He’d planned on making it easier on both of them tonight, but even the best of plans occasionally came crashing down.

“She’s funny,” Gaston said.

Kaldar looked at him.

“And pretty. And she doesn’t buy any of the bullshit you’re selling.”

“I think it’s time for you to go to bed.”

Gaston grinned, his eyes shining. “Whatever you say, Uncle.”

He started toward the stairway and turned, walking backward. “If you had a kid, would he be my cousin once or twice removed?”

“Keep walking.”

Gaston laughed. A moment later, a quick staccato of footsteps announced his going down the stairs.

Kaldar looked back to the moon. It stared back at him, beautiful and indifferent. The moon was the same everywhere, here over some small river in the Broken or back in the Mire, hanging over the dark cypresses, serenaded by ere-vaurgs. He used to look at it like this from the balcony of the old Mar house. Thanks to the Hand, the family home lay abandoned now. None of them could ever return to it.

He missed the Mire but less than he’d expected. The family had built a new house on the edge of the Red Swamps in Adrianglia. The Red Swamps differed from the Mire, but it felt like home. He’d built his own house too, not too far from the family’s, on the edge of a quiet river. It wasn’t grand—the Mirror’s pay wouldn’t buy him a palace, and since the builder had wanted cash, the purchase had wiped out his accounts—but it was large and comfortable, and in the late afternoon, when the sun shone through the living-room windows, the polished floor and wooden walls seemed to glow.

He hadn’t gotten around to putting furniture in it, except for a rocking chair on the porch. But he did own a house. At least that part she was wrong about.

Kaldar closed his eyes and pictured a woman in his kitchen. She laughed, turned, and he realized she was Audrey.

He couldn’t have Audrey. He’d have to think up a different fantasy.

Audrey smiled at him from his kitchen.

They were perfectly in tune. Birds of a feather. She understood him. Oh yes, she understood him too well. She knew exactly how things would play out between them, and she had decided against it. And she was right. One hundred percent right. He was a scoundrel, and he would use her. Both of them would have the time of their lives while they did. But in the end, he wouldn’t be caught, and she refused to try.

It was said that there was honor among thieves; there wasn’t. But there was honor between him and Audrey. Well, aside from the theft of the cross, which she had taken rather badly. She could’ve led him on, she could’ve seduced him into her bed—not that it would have taken much. He’d climb a mountain to taste her again, and then, when he was comfortable and happy, she could’ve tried to trap him with guilt. Most men got married because they were comfortable where they were, and breaking free was too hard and too unpleasant. She didn’t go that route. No, she told him up front that he wasn’t good enough for her.

And why exactly was that? He was good at what he did. The best thief, she’d said. The best swordsman, the sexiest man she’d ever met. The genius conman. Genius. She told him he was better than her father, for crying out loud. It wasn’t often a woman said something like that.

It wasn’t like he couldn’t provide for her. Not that he ever intended to marry, but if he did, his wife wouldn’t want for anything. He was a Mar, after all. Mars took care of their families.

Besides, if he ever did bring Audrey to his house, she wouldn’t stay home and bake pies. She would insist on going with him. Now that would be an unbeatable pairing. The things they could accomplish together . . . It was almost too tempting to contemplate. Not only did Audrey understand his schemes, but she could change direction on the fly. She had no trouble improvising under pressure, and say what you wanted about her aversion to violence, when push came to shove, she’d blow an enemy’s brains out. In their world, there would be no unlocked doors. It would be so much fun.

Kaldar pushed himself back from the rail. Unfortunately, their cooperation would end after they retrieved the diffuser bracelets. That was, after all, the goal of the whole exercise. Where would she go after this was over? Her old job and identity in the Broken were burned. She’d have to start fresh. And do it quietly, too. If they pulled this off, Helena d’Amry would make it her mission in life to hunt them down . . .

Kaldar froze.

His mind painted an image of Audrey, funny, beautiful Audrey, dead, hanging off a tree limb. Or worse, sliced to pieces. Or skinned alive. The anxiety punched him right in the gut with an icy fist. The Hand would kill Audrey. They would murder her. She was hellishly smart and slick, but the Hand simply had too many resources, and Audrey knew next to nothing about them.

Kaldar paced along the balcony. She would die. No more bright smiles. No more laughter. No more sly winks and wide-open eyes.

He lived in a bitter cold place, a deep darkness where he plotted revenge on the Hand for all their wrongs, past and future. Audrey was like a ray of sunshine in the middle of his night. She had lifted him out of the dark hole he had dug for himself into a place where he laughed, and his mirth and humor were genuine as long as she stayed around.

The Hand would crush that light.

He could live in a world where Audrey existed, even if it was far away from him. He was never fond of the idea of suffering nobly; still, he could resign himself to living without her if he knew that she was happy somewhere. The Hand would not take her from him. They had taken two-thirds of his family, they had killed Murid, and he would be damned if he let them butcher Audrey while he cowered in the shadows like a frightened dog with his tail between his legs.

He loved Audrey. The realization came to him, plain and simple. He would give anything to keep her safe. The only way to do that would be to know where she was at all times. If he had to marry her to keep her safe, he would marry her. He would be respectful and responsible and all the other things that turned his stomach. If he knew she would wake up next to him, safe and happy, it would be worth it.

Kaldar stopped pacing. It was decided, then. He would marry Audrey.

He just had to convince her to see things from his point of view.

THE church sat abandoned, its doors flung wide open. Helena marched through them, the rest of her team moving quietly behind her, afraid to make a sound. Inside, overturned benches and shattered wood greeted her. The sickening, cloying stench of decomposition hit her nostrils. A stage and a pulpit at the far end of the structure still smoked weakly, their wood charred to blackness. A twisted thing of jagged metal and melted rubber lay on its side on the right—one of the Broken’s vehicles, destroyed beyond recognition. The acrid, bitter reek of Cotier’s explosive darts emanated from it, and from another spot, farther to the left.