Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [173]
“Don’t look so surprised,” Sofen continued. “You see old men getting the services of young women all the time, so it should work just as easily the other way.”
“Right.” Tryst was beginning to feel desperate. He couldn’t hope to get Jeryd and his house destroyed properly if he didn’t obtain the relics.
“What’s wrong?” Sofen interrupted. “You don’t find me attractive?”
“It’s not that,” Tryst blustered. Although, let’s face it, hag, not even the tide would take you out. “No, it’s just that I’m a man of principle.”
“Principle,” she said. “Ha! What kind of principle is there in asking me for the means of killing another?”
“It depends,” Tryst said, “on why and who you’re killing.”
She observed him thoroughly. “At least you’re honest. I like that. Still, my price remains. You pay me and satisfy me.”
Tryst considered his options again, and didn’t like what he was being faced with.
“Shall I make it easier for you?” Sofen said.
“How d’you mean?” Tryst said, a little uncertain whether or not this was some form of threat.
“Wait a moment.” Sofen walked over to a doorway leading into darkness beyond. After reaching to lift what appeared to be a metal mirror off the shelf, she stepped into the umbrae.
Purple light spat outward, no sound with it, only a thin waft of smoke drifting like incense.
Tryst stood tensely alert, reaching for the short sword he carried under his cloak. A strange, almost floral smell caused him to frown.
“Sofen?” he said, and made a step toward the darkness.
A beautiful woman walked out of it.
Tryst was shocked at this apparition and its obvious similarity to how Sofen must have looked when sixty years younger. Her hair was now luxuriant, a glossy black, her eyes still a dazzling blue. Full lips, prominent cheekbones. She removed her outer robe to reveal an elegant white dress, plain but cut to cling to a slender frame, revealing just enough about the body beneath to win his approval.
The new woman spoke, with a smirk. “You can now pick your jaw up.”
“Who are you?” Tryst said.
“The same woman you were disgusted with moments earlier.” She grunted a laugh. “Magic: it’s all wish fulfillment really. This is an illusion of how I once was, and you’ve got me in this state for an hour, more or less, so take your time.”
The transformation was so remarkable, he was truly lost for words. “I … don’t know.” He hesitated.
She leaned in so close he could smell the clean fragrance of her skin, the freshness of her breath. Breasts were pressed up against his chest. All her wrinkles, all the sadness in her expression were gone.
His hand in hers, she steered him toward the darkness.
CHAPTER 42
RANDUR HAD TO ADMIT HE LOOKED DEVASTATINGLY HANDSOME.
He regularly cut a very fine dash, but now couldn’t help but stare at himself in the gold-framed mirror. With his hair tied back, wearing the latest black breeches, a dark blue shirt and matching jacket, a black cloak to finish it off, he looked ready for anything. It was surely what being here in Villjamur was all about.
Eir had even given him some jewelry: a plain silver chain to go around his neck, two rings for his fingers. She had supported him so much that he felt he owed her his very soul, if only he could give it. Eir’s biggest gift to him wasn’t monetary, but psychological. Perhaps all he’d ever needed was to actually love someone else.
Somehow, the importance of helping his mother to survive had subtly diminished.
“Stop admiring yourself in the mirror.” Eir walked into his chamber. “You do that far too much.”
Randur turned to gaze at her. “You look pretty damn fine yourself.”
As she came nearer, her sinuous movements were highlighted by her dazzling new outfit. The striking and revealing dark-red dress that clung to her body made her look so much older, more sophisticated, bringing her curves to his attention. Her hair was adorned with black ribbons while elaborate mock-tattoos adorned each cheekbone.
She approached him with a new walk that was hers and yet also wasn