Stalking Darkness

felt the last of his trepidation giving way to sensuous anticipation.
    A fire cracked invitingly on the hearth, its flames softly illuminating the small, elegant room. The bed was high and draped with patterned hangings. Huge cushions were piled near the hearth, together with a few oddly shaped stools. An elaborate washstand was half-visible behind a painted screen in a shadowy corner.
    Myrhichia stood demurely at the center of the room, offering him the choice of where to begin. “Does it please you?” she asked, cocking her head prettily.
    “Yes,” he whispered. Closing the door, he went to her and loosened the jeweled pin holding her hair. It tumbled free over her shoulders in dark, sandalwood-scented waves.
    Where his experience with Ylinestra had been out of his control from the first, this woman seemed content to let him direct things. He touched her face, her hair, then hesitantly brought his lips to hers. Her hands found his face, his shoulders, then slid slowly lower.
    The fastenings of her gown were no challenge for Alec’s expertly trained fingers; her clothes and his were soon in a pile at their feet.
    “Shall I light a lamp?” she whispered as he took her hungrily in his arms.
    He shook his head, pressing his body against the yielding roundness of breasts, belly, and thighs, letting the feel of her envelop him. “The fire’s enough.”
    Still holding her, he sank down onto the cushions by the hearth. The warring sensations of the long, confusing evening seemed to coalesce and clarify as he at last abandoned himself to the powerful simplicity of desire.
    Eirual was half Zengati, Aurënen’s traditional enemy. It was that, together with the dark beauty of her race, that had first attracted Seregil. Though hardly more than a girl at the time oftheir first meeting, she’d been a fiery lover and he’d entertained notions of taking her away for himself. She’d been the one who’d dashed that plan; she liked her work, she’d told him firmly. What’s more, she planned to own a brothel of her own one day, just as her mother and grandmother had before her. Although his pride had been somewhat jarred, Seregil had respected her wishes and over the years they’d become friends.
    She’d achieved her dreams. She was now the owner of one of the city’s finest and most nobly patronized pleasure houses. This often brought interesting bits of information her way and, though she was no gossiping whore, she was aware of Seregil’s supposed connections to Rhíminee’s mysterious “Cat” and had often found it lucrative to pass on certain facts and rumors.
    Their reunion this night had been spirited in spite of Seregil’s earlier activities. Afterward, they lay tangled together in the damp, disheveled sheets and laughed together over little things.
    Presently she sighed, then said, “You know, I saw something rather odd a few weeks ago.”
    “And what was that?” he murmured, contentedly admiring the contrast of his skin against hers as he stroked her thigh.
    “I entertained a new visitor last week, a stranger. He was well turned out and behaved himself, but I could tell from his way of speaking and the state of his hands he wasn’t upper class, just a common fellow who’d come into gold and meant to treat himself. You know the sort.”
    “But he was handsome and broad-shouldered and smelled of honest labor,” Seregil teased. “Sounds delightful. Let’s have him in.”
    “As if I’d share you! But I admit I was intrigued at first, though he turned out very ordinary in the end. No, I think you’d be more interested in what fell out of his coat than what fell out of his breeches.”
    “Oh?” Seregil raised a questioning eyebrow, knowing better than to hurry her. She always enjoyed spinning out a tale.
    “He’d thrown his clothes every which way, so when he was snoring afterward—which was all too soon, I might add—I decided to tidy up a bit. A letter fell from his coat when I picked it up. The ribbon had come loose and I took a quick peek. He stirred a moment later and I had to put it away, but I had time to recognize the handwriting, and the seal at the bottom.”
    “Did you, you clever girl? Whose was it?”
    “Lord General Zymanis’.”
    “Really?” Zymanis had recently been appointed to oversee the defenses of the lower city. “How do you know it wasn’t a forgery?”
    Eirual traced a playful finger around his navel. “Zymanis is a very dear friend of mine, as you well