Page 134 of The Eyes of Tamburah
“You owe me a favor,” he’d said.
She waited.
“I’d like to use it.” He held up his hand, stopping her. “This is a rather simple request. Come back alive. Not cooked by the sun or shot by an arrow or stabbed or drugged with holy water.”
“Is that all?” she teased, but Rendor was not in a teasing mood. “I’ll try.”
“Not good enough.”
“I’ll try really hard.”
“Shyla.”
“What do you want me to say? I don’t want to be injured or killed. But I can’t promise something like that.”
“All right, then I’d like something else instead.”
That seemed too easy. “What else?”
“A kiss.”
Her heart reacted immediately, thumping its approval. She didn’t need magic to read his emotions or to know his thoughts. They spun in his dark umber eyes, sparking on the flecks of gold—desire, uncertainty, frustration, fear, and a soft yearning.
Shyla closed the distance between them and tipped her head back. He was at least twenty centimeters taller than her. He cupped her face with his hands. A shiver raced along her skin, lifting the fine hairs on the nape of her neck. Dipping his head, Rendor kissed her.
This time his kiss was tender and laced with longing. Shyla snaked her arms around him and tugged until his body pressed against hers. Then she slid her hands underneath his tunic, seeking skin. He sucked in a gasp as her cold fingers brushed the small of his back. Heat poured from him and he deepened the kiss.
Aware of the limited time, she broke away. Taking a moment to recover, Shyla rested her head against his chest, listening to his wild heartbeat.I did that.She grinned, then pulled from his grasp.
“Iwillsee you later,” Render had said before releasing her. It had sounded like a promise.
“Not if I see you first.”
His deep laugh had followed her into the desert and it was now nestled deep in her heart.
* * *
The murmur of voices interrupted her memories. The citizens were gone and it was angle two-fifteen. A hand touched her shoulder and she clamped down on a cry of alarm.
“I’m sorry, sister, but we could use your assistance,” a man said.
“Of course,” she said, standing.
Without looking at her, the deacon gestured to six others grouped at the back of the chapel. “We have… er…special visitors coming soon and there might be trouble.”
“Why kind of trouble?”
“We’re hoping everything goes smoothly, but if it doesn’t, then protect the Blessed One from harm.”
“I will.” Not.
She helped the deacons move all the kneelers to the sides of the room, creating an open space so they had room to fight if necessary. The chapel was about five meters wide by twelve meters long. Shyla hovered at the back of the group.
It wasn’t long before the Heliacal Priestess entered. She came through the doorway behind the altar, following her came another six deacons—no, six Arch Deacons. Two of them escorted Jayden. Scorching hells.
The waiting deacons all bowed. Shyla copied them, but she gazed at Jayden. His hands were tied behind him. Cuts and large bruises marked his face. Blood matted his hair and stained his torn clothes. He staggered and it appeared the only thing keeping him upright was the Arch Deacons holding his arms. Although exhausted and beaten, Jayden glared at everyone with pure hatred. Atta boy.
“Put him in one of the back rooms,” the priestess ordered two of the bowing deacons. “I’ll send for you when it’s time. The rest of you, spread out.”
