Looking for You Read online

  Reaching into one of his pouches, he withdrew several smokebombs. Making note of where each man was, he pulled up his heavy outer mask and sent the smokebombs flying.

  Shouts of surprise rapidly turned to cries of pain as the peppersmoke got into their eyes and lungs.

  Omar charged the closest one, easily disarming him and snapping his neck. He dropped to the floor as he heard footsteps, swept that one to the floor, and slit his throat.

  By the time the smoke started to dissipate, he had all of them dead but the big guy.

  He charged the moment the man became visible enough to do so, but his attempt at a neat thrust was knocked away by an improvised shield. Omar brought up his buckler barely in time to block a retaliatory swing and nearly toppled over from the strength of it. He dodged out of range as the man made to swing again and considered new tactics now that he'd lost surprise and momentum.

  Running was probably the wisest recourse, but the more dead men there were, the fewer there were to relay bad news—and their location—to other parties. Not to mention this man seemed an important link in the local smuggling chain, and any disruption Omar could cause to the smuggling of people, he was happy to do.

  "You are the bodyguard."

  Omar didn't bother to reply; the bastard would have to try harder than that to distract him.

  "Do you think this little escapade will end the matter? I am not the only one hunting that pretty little noblewoman. That pale skin and fiery hair, she'll fetch a nice price, probably wind up the pet of some wealthy prince after the people paying for her capture are done with her. Almost tried her myself. Tell me, bodyguard, how is she paying for your services?"

  In reply, Omar threw another smoke bomb right at the man's feet, rolled out of the way when he charged, and pulled the bolas he kept in a pouch at his back. Whipping it around his head as quickly as he could, he let it fly—and heard the satisfying crack of success, followed by several curses and the sound of a body awkwardly hitting the floor.

  His eyes stung slightly, but he ignored it as he rushed forward through the smoke, found his target, and finished him off.

  He could just barely see the light of the back entrance, and headed for it, spilling out into a bitter, gloomy afternoon. Scooping up snow, he used it to clean his eyes, swearing the whole time. At least the eyedrops hadn't completely failed.

  Omar then knelt to clean his sword and gave the yard and street a thorough look-over before heading off. If there were witnesses, they were either being quiet about reporting trouble, or preferred to keep their heads down—very likely the latter. All to the good for him.

  Thankfully, getting back to the inn was an easy matter. And it gave him plenty of time to yell at himself for being so fucking stupid and careless. To think he considered himself a bloodgiver! He deserved to be stripped of that title and thrown on the streets.

  At the inn, he climbed the stairs and rushed into their room. Astira rose so fast from the table she knocked her chair over. "I'm sorry—"

  Omar rushed across the room and embraced her tightly, one hand threading through the long, loose tangle of her hair, the other looped around her back. "You're all right?" he asked roughly. "I'm so sorry for failing you, my lady."

  Astira was trembling as she hugged him back, words barely audible as she replied, "I'm fine. You didn't fail me."

  Reluctantly Omar drew back, impatiently stripping off his gloves and dropping them to the floor before cupping her face in his hands. "I did fail you. I should have better remembered that you were assigned a bloodgiver of your own, instead of behaving like Symaia was the only one at risk."

  She stared at him, brown eyes so intent, her hands soft as they covered his. "I'm fine, and I should have known, too. The moment they burst in here, I realized I'd been a damned fool, especially for using the inn I always use when I travel through here. Th-thank you for finding me. And so quickly."

  Omar could not keep from holding her close again, unable to banish the foul words of the man he'd killed, even though he knew full well they'd only been meant to make him angry and drop his guard. "They came closer to succeeding than I care to think about. I was careless. I'd have never forgiven myself if I'd lost you. I would have knelt and let Symaia kill me."

  "You're both so dramatic," Astira said, her smile soft and affectionate as she drew back and this time cupped his face. "This isn't the first time I've nearly been kidnapped or otherwise attacked. I am a capable diplomat with a bad habit of making people mad. Please, set your mind at ease."

  Omar shook his head, unable to form more words, still mad at himself, frustrated she wasn't angry at him for failing to do the one thing he was supposed to be good at, so tied in knots he couldn't seem to calm down or even take a proper breath.

  Any one thing could have gone wrong, and she would have been lost, eventually killed. No wonder nobody wanted him as a bloodgiver. He was terrible at it. Stupid. Careless.

  "Men," Astira muttered, and threw her arms around his neck, forcing him to look up.

  Then she kissed him.

  Omar jerked, but didn't break the circle of her arms, even as he tried to get through his own head that he really really should.

  She tasted like mulled wine and apples, and fit far too well in his arms, tall and slender, but even through all the layers of clothes and armor he could feel the distracting press—

  Omar tore away and backed up so many steps he struck the door. "What are you doing?" he asked, reaching up to touch his lips, not certain if he wanted to lick the taste of her from them to savor or scrub it away in shame and guilt.

  Astira, of all things, lifted her eyes to the ceiling. "Have we not been flirting this whole time? Come now, you do not think so little of me that you believe I would hurt Symaia with such an action, do you?"

  "No…" Omar said slowly. "It has always been apparent you love him, and it does not seem in your nature to act in such a selfish and hurtful way. But why…"

  "You know Symaia. He has never minded that I occasionally pass a few hours in the afternoon or evening with another person."

  Omar blinked slowly. "I… I am sorry, I think I am missing a vital piece of this conversation. I know Symaia, yes. What has that to do with your… dalliances?"

  She titled her head and pursed her lips. "I mean, you know that Symaia isn't attracted to people the way most are. He enjoys sex, but he's not sexually drawn to anyone the way I am. The way I think you are."

  "Oh." Omar considered that. "I didn't know, though now you've explained it, looking back it seems so obvious. Even when he went into the gardens, it was when he let others coax him there."

  Astira laughed. "So it has long been an agreement between us that he does not mind I enjoy dalliances. He's satisfied that it's him I love and want to marry."

  "I see," Omar said. "Still, it feels wrong to… to be so with the betrothed of my oldest—and to be honest, only—friend, especially while he is locked away somewhere alone and afraid."

  "Agreed. But I do not think a few kisses are out of place, especially when you seemed to be in so much distress." She crossed the room and rested her hands on his chest. "Anyway, do the two of you really think that a diplomat as skilled and capable as me does not see that both of you are madly in love with each other?"

  Omar's face burned. "Am I so pathetically obvious?" What did she mean by each other?

  As if she knew his thought, Astira replied, "Yes, you are. Just like he is. I told you, when we first met I thought from the way he spoke of you that you had been lovers—maybe even still were. Even after I knew he didn't desire people the way I do, I could tell that didn't keep him from loving you. Men are stupid, and even worse they're stubborn."

  "I don't want to hear that from a woman who chased after me to join a rescue effort despite being ill-qualified and already in danger herself."

  In reply, Astira simply grinned, pressed more firmly on his chest, and leaned down to kiss him again.

  Omar groaned and surrendered. Like he'd ever stood a chance of winning any battle against a woman who seemed to consume all the air around her and left the rest of them struggling to breathe. He wrapped one arm around her waist and hauled her close, the other sinking into that beautiful, glowing-ember hair. He also stopped holding back and kissed her with all the fire he'd been trying to smother since a beautiful woman threw herself into his arms and said he looked like hope.

  Her fingers twined through his hair, not quite pulling as she matched the fervor of the kiss, ardent and bold and so very, very skilled.

  Tearing away took every shred of strength he possessed. "I was terrified I would not get to you in time."

  "You did, though, and all this recrimination won't help anything," Astira said, and brushed his mouth with a soft kiss. "So stop. Did you learn anything useful?"

  "No," Omar said, reluctantly letting her go and moving to his bed to unload all his weapons. "This whole day was wasted walking right into their trap. They kept me distracted so they could kidnap you, and then tried to trap me in a room and kill me."

  "I was scared for you," Astira said, crossing the room and, to Omar's shock, plopping down into his lap as though she'd done it a hundred times before. What about this woman made it so easy to do things most people would never even consider doing without months—even years—of acquaintance? He should be alarmed, possibly offended, but all he did was wrap his arms loosely around her as she settled against him. "I hated running away, leaving you there, especially with that big brute."

  Omar rubbed the space above her hip with his thumb. "Big men are easy to knock down if you know how to do it, and I most certainly do."

  She gave him a look. "I thought you said you only ever protected men who didn't do much of anything."

  "They didn't; but that doesn't mean people didn't try to do things to them. And no bloodgiver goes immediately into service. Part of our training is spending a few years as soldiers, so we learn how to do things like this."

  "So you'll likely be doing this again and again as Symaia's protector."

  "Hopefully not, but threats will emerge; otherwise he would not require me."

  "I think he's always required you," Astira said with a smile, and combed a hand through his hair before leaning in to kiss him again, long and slow and sweet. When she drew back a few minutes later, she said, "Anyway, I asked if you learned anything because I think I might have, but I was hoping you'd be able to corroborate it."

  "What did you learn?" Omar asked, hope sending his heart thud-thudding all over again.

  "They kept talking about Remnien. 'Recent deliveries' there, and one of the lesser goons asked if I was going to 'the same place' because if so he wasn't doing the transporting, 'one trip to that death trap' was enough."

  Omar shook his head. "That does not tell me anything, but it clearly means something to you."

  "Nesten Cliffs is a village in the mountains, just a few days travel from the royal city. Getting there is treacherous, especially this time of year, because the village is built on and into the Great Cliffs. If you wanted to kidnap somebody and keep them well-hidden, that's a good place to do it. But from here it's almost another month of travel. We're running out of time."

  "We can do it. Princess Shanna and the troops she's gathered in and around Morentia will take a couple more months to reach Remnien. If I still know Symaia, he had contingencies in place, and the army he's assembled is close to the border anyway, which means they must only travel through Tarrow, which is more province than kingdom. We have time, my lady. Let's pack, resupply, and head out."

  Astira nodded, kissed him, then slid off his lap and set to work.

  Chapter Four

  Thanks to the weather, it took them just over a month to reach Nesten Cliffs.

  It wasn't hard to see why people preferred not to visit if there was the slightest chance they could avoid it. By the time they came across the fourth frozen body that couldn't be moved until spring thaw, because it was simply too cold and dangerous, Omar was ready to quit.

  Only Symaia and Astira kept him pressing onward past the depressing corpses, along thin, slippery paths with a long drop at his back, climbing so high that breathing was more difficult than ever. Mercy of every god that did or had ever existed, he would give anything to never endure such miserable cold again.

  But it was something he would have to get used to, because if even one of those gods loved him, he would spend the rest of his life in Cormiana.

  The guide they'd hired led them to a small, unremarkable house at the very edge of the village, saying something Omar didn't catch—but Astira handed over several coins, so he assumed the gist was that their business was concluded, and this was where they'd be staying.

  Inside, the house was empty. He set his knapsack on the floor and pushed back the heavy, fur-lined-and-trimmed hood of his coat, pulled off the special mask that kept his face from turning to ice, and gave the place a more thorough looking over.

  "Abandoned," Astira said as she removed her own hood and mask. "The owner died a couple of years ago, and since no villager has need of it they keep it for the odd traveler 'crazy enough to visit in winter'. He said he would see that someone brought us food; everything else we need should be here."

  "Except a hot bath, but I didn't really think that would be possible," Omar said with a sigh. He scrubbed at his face, where his facial hair was again entirely too long for his liking. He moved stiffly to the large stove in the middle of the room and got to work on a fire. One wall of the small cabin was at least half taken over by firewood. There was one bed, large enough for two adults, and a trunk at the foot of it that proved to contain plenty of blankets.

  The only other furniture was an old, heavy table, the kind meant for working more than eating, a smaller table near the bed and a cabinet above it that held washing supplies, and some large, thick floor cushions. The floor itself was covered with tattered rag rugs, save for the area immediately around the door.

  Once the fire was going and the room had warmed slightly, Omar stripped off his outer layers and hung them on hooks by the door. Retrieving his knapsack, he carried it to the table and set to work laying out the weapons he'd packed away and removing those he'd worn the whole trip.

  Thankfully, he'd spared no expense on his weapons, which meant they could handle extremes in temperature.

  A loud knock came at the door, and Omar jerked his head sharply when Astira headed for it. Picking up one of his daggers, Omar strode to the door and peeked out—and opened it wide as the face of an old woman and the smell of food registered.

  He let her in, and after she'd set the food on the table hastily cleared by Astira, thanked her and closed and barred the door. Leaning against it, Omar sighed. "I'm going to kill Symaia myself when we find him."

  "Not if I get to him first," Astira muttered as she opened the lid on the heavy, steaming pot the woman had brought, along with a basket of bread and a kettle of what was probably tea. "This smells divine. I miss Remnien food so much, especially in the mountains, where they're influenced by all the border countries and import these marvelous spices that Cormiana seems allergic to."

  Omar grunted in agreement but ignored the food in favor of grabbing the pitcher from the smaller table, filling it with water, and pouring that into the pot set on the stove. Once it had heated, he transferred it to the wash basin on the table, stripped completely, and cleaned himself as well as he could. Pulling on pants and an undershirt, he pulled out his own shaving supplies and lathered his face.

  "Let me," Astira said, and before he could even reply, took the blade and set to work.

  Rather than shave him completely smooth, however, she left him with a closely-shaved goatee. Cleaning his face with a soft, damp cloth, she stepped back with a pleased look on her face. "Perfect."

  "I do not know about that," Omar said, rubbing at it thoughtfully, picking up the small bit of mirror he kept in his kit.

  Astira looked disappointed for the barest moment. "I can get rid of it, then." She made to pick up the shaving cream again, but Omar captured her hand and dragged her close. She frowned.

  "Leave it," Omar said, and dropped a quick kiss on her lips. "If you like it that much, I'll keep it for a little while, at least. In this weather it's impossible to stay smooth-shaven, anyway."

  "You're always stupidly handsome, but this gives you a bit of naughty rogue," Astira said, and gave him a long kiss that expressed exactly how much she liked that bit of naughty rogue.

  Omar muttered, "Brat," against her lips and took one last kiss before pulling away. "I'll heat more water for you, if you want, and get dinner set out." She nodded, and Omar got the water going before he pulled on the rest of his clothes. Once she was cleaning, he worked on dinner as promised, and they sat near the stove on the cushions as they dug into the fragrant noodle soup, slightly stale unleavened bread that made good dipping, and cups of tea.

  Halfway through the meal, he started to yawn unbearably, eyes watering so much he could barely see. Next to him, Astira was already asleep, on the verge of falling headfirst against the stove. Omar smiled faintly, warmth curling through him. She fell asleep far too easily, and slept too deeply, for someone with such a dangerous life, but he would gladly give his own to see she never lost the trait.

  Standing, Omar scooped her up and got her settled in bed.

  He turned around and took one step toward the stove when the room spun around him, and darkness crept in at the edges of his vision.

  Drugged? But how?

  He wasn't able to figure out the answer before he crashed unconscious to the floor.

  *~*~*

  Omar woke up with a headache that at first made him think he'd overindulged in spirits.

  In the next moment, however, on the wings of recalling he'd had nothing but tea, he remembered passing out. Drugged. Someone had known they were coming and arranged to have them drugged.

  That was now twice he'd failed as a bloodgiver.

  He dragged his eyes open, wincing at the shards of sunlight slicing through the rickety boards of the empty cabin he was in, and took stock of his situation. His shoulders hurt because his hands had been tied behind his back, and further tied to the rope that was keeping his feet secured to the chair legs. So he hadn't been tied up by an idiot, unfortunately.