Retribution Falls - Chris Wooding [63]
The voices faded as they turned the corner, and Frey relaxed. It seemed the hermitage was still patrolled, even in the dead of night. Out to catch acolytes sneaking into the pantry or some such thing. Well, he’d have to be careful. He didn’t think his conscience could handle punching out a woman.
He found the girls’ dormitory shortly afterward and slid inside.
For a time he stood just inside the door, in the dark. Moonlight fell from a pair of skylights onto two rows of bunk beds. Perhaps fifty girls were sleeping here, their huddled outlines limned in cold light. The room was soft with sighing breath, broken by the occasional delicate snore. There was a scent in the air, not perfume but something indefinable and female, present in a dangerous concentration. Frey began to feel strangely frisky.
He was something of an expert in the art of creeping through women’s rooms without disturbing them. By waiting, he was being careful. The slight disturbance caused by his entry may have brought some of the girls close to the surface of sleep, and any small noise might wake them. He was giving them time to slip back into the depths before proceeding.
That, and he wanted to exult in the moment. It really was quite special, being here.
He moved silently between the beds, looking at the moonlit faces of each girl in turn. Disappointingly, they were not quite as luscious in person as he’d imagined they might be. Some were just too young—he had standards—and others were too plain or too fat or had eyes too close together. Their hair was cut in boring styles, and none was in any way prettified. One or two slept beneath their pillows or obscured their faces with their arms, but they didn’t have Amalicia’s black hair, and their hands—always a giveaway—were too old.
He’d almost reached the end of the room when he saw her. She was sleeping on one of the bottom bunks, her head pillowed by her folded hands, mouth slightly open, face relaxed. Even without the elegant hairstyles and the expertly applied makeup he remembered her wearing, she was beautiful. Her long black hair had fallen across her face in strands; the curve of the lips, the tilt of the nose, the line of her jaw were just as they were in his memory. Frey felt a throb of regret at the sight of her and smothered it quickly.
He knelt down, reached out, and touched her shoulder. When she didn’t respond, he shook her gently. She stirred and her eyes opened a little. They widened as she saw him; she took a breath to say his name. He quickly put his finger to his lips.
For a few moments, they looked at each other. Her gaze flickered over his face, absorbing every detail. Then she pushed her blanket aside and slid out of bed. She was wearing a plain cotton nightdress that clung to her hips and the slope of her breasts. Frey felt a sudden urge to take her in his arms as he’d often done before, but before he could act on it, she grabbed his hand and led him toward a door at the far end of the dormitory.
Outside was another corridor, as dark and spartan as the rest. She checked that the coast was clear and then pulled him down it. She took him through a door that led to a narrow set of stairs. At the top was an attic room, with a large skylight looking up at the full moon. It had a small writing desk in a corner, with several books piled atop it. A private study chamber, perhaps. Frey closed the door behind them.
“Amalicia …” he began, but then she roundhouse-kicked him in the face.
Chapter Fifteen
AMALICIA’S REVENGE—FREY’S TALENT FOR LYING—PLANS ARE MADE—INVITATIONS, LEWD AND OTHERWISE
t wasn’t so much the force of the kick but the surprise that sent Frey stumbling back. He tripped and fell to the ground, holding his face, shock in his eyes.
“What’d you do that f—”
“Two years!” she hissed, and her bare foot flashed out again and cracked him around the side of the head, knocking him dizzy. “Two years I’ve waited for you to come!”
“Wait, I—” he began, but