Bloodchild. Anna Stephens
how weird this is, though. Half the time I think I’ve just gone mad and no one’s had the heart to tell me.’
‘Crys, my love, you’ve gone mad. We just didn’t have the heart to tell you.’
‘Stop it,’ he snapped. Ash raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m not who they think I am. I mean, I am, but I’m me too. No one wants to know me; they just want to see Him. I’m invisible.’
‘You looked pretty visible when you were getting dressed this morning,’ Ash teased. ‘I remember it distinctly. The manly sweep of shoulders, the pale curve of your arse—’
‘This is serious,’ Crys almost screamed, fingers curling into claws in his hair. ‘I don’t know who I am any more.’
We’re us, the Fox God said, as if it was simple.
‘You’re you, you’re Crys, heart-bound to Ash.’ Ash echoed the internal words so closely it was eerie. The laughter fell from his face. ‘You’re mine,’ he added, ‘and you were mine before all this happened. You’ll be mine again afterwards.’
‘I’ll be dead afterwards,’ Crys said and the silence between them then was so profound he nearly fell into it. He caught Ash’s hand in his, waiting for his lover to denounce his words. He didn’t and Crys’s gut twisted within him. Every time they’d skirted the subject before, Ash had been vehement in his denials. Now, maybe because of what had happened with the Fox God and the stone in Green Ridge, his opinion had changed. He believed Crys was going to die and that meant Crys believed it too, bone-deep for the first time. Nothing could save him.
And the godlight will lead us all, to death and beyond. Thanks Dom, you always were a cheery fucker even before you tried to kill me.
Crys glanced back to where the calestar walked alongside Cutta Frog-dream. The knowing that had meant nothing for so long, that had been empty words easily forgotten, was coming true. The Fox God brushed against him, reassurance and gentle mockery, humour and love. Crys pushed Him away, feeling as if he was an intruder in his own body.
‘Maybe none of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t brought me back,’ Ash said and Crys registered the guilt in his face. ‘I mean, you made that promise in return for me. If you hadn’t—’
‘If I hadn’t I’d already be dead,’ Crys said, squeezing his hand hard and feeling a flush of guilt himself. He’d never considered how Ash must feel. They stopped walking. ‘I’d have got myself killed during the siege. Nothing mattered to me in those minutes when I knew you were dead, love. Nothing. I’d have made any promise, done anything, to have you back. And … the Fox God was always here, I know that now. He’d have found a way out when He needed to, no matter what. This way I got you. I got a whole life to cram into however long we have, and I intend to make the most of it. If you want?’
Ash wiped at his eye with a thumb, his palm sweaty in Crys’s grip. ‘I want,’ he said in a scratchy voice. ‘I want it all, but I’ll settle for this. For you and these next …’ He trailed off.
Crys swallowed and forced a smile. ‘Days. Weeks. Months. How about we don’t count?’
‘Numbers are overrated,’ Ash said, and although it wasn’t funny, they laughed anyway.
The snake of warriors had come to a halt behind them instead of carrying on, waiting in a respectful hush. Crys faced Cutta. ‘We’ll catch you up,’ he said. She paused; then she nodded and led her warriors on.
‘What’s wrong?’ Ash asked before he caught the glint in Crys’s eye. ‘Oh. Oh. Catch you up. Got it.’ His smile was hot. ‘Well, you know what they say: a bow long bent grows weak. Some time off should do us both some good.’
They wandered off the main track and Crys could feel eyes on them as they went, knowing they were seen. He squeezed Ash’s hand. He didn’t care.
‘You really need to stop saying “gods” when we make love,’ Ash said later, leaning on one elbow to pick pine needles from Crys’s hair. ‘It’s like you’re talking to yourself.’
Crys felt a flicker of annoyance at the words and suppressed it ruthlessly. Instead he arched an eyebrow. ‘Didn’t hear you complaining about my godlike abilities,’ he said.
Ash screwed up his face and slapped his bare shoulder, laughing. ‘Damnit, you’re not supposed to join in the teasing. I don’t have an answer to that one. As long as my merely mortal prowess is enough for you.’
‘Oh, it’s enough,’ he murmured, ‘believe me.’
Ash ran gentle fingers over the myriad silver scars in Crys’s skin and Crys relaxed, enjoying the caresses in the aftermath of their urgency. ‘Not sure when we’ll have time to be together again,’ he murmured eventually, knowing he was breaking the moment, unable to stay quiet. ‘Especially not once we’re back in Rilpor. Just because Mace didn’t arrest us when he found out doesn’t mean we can shove it in their faces.’
‘I have no intention of shoving anything in Mace’s face,’ Ash protested and Crys smiled. ‘But you’re right, I suppose. Let’s just hope your godhood means we don’t get arrested at all.’
‘Godhood? Is that a more impressive name for man—’
Ash clapped his hand over Crys’s mouth. ‘Worst. Joke. Ever,’ he warned, though he was struggling not to laugh. Crys kissed the palm against his lips, moved it aside and replaced it with Ash’s mouth.
‘Hate to say this, but we need to get back,’ Ash said after another breathless few minutes. ‘Unless you want Cutta’s warriors spying on this too.’
Crys grunted, horrified by the thought, and that’s when the attack came.
The Fox God screamed warning and Crys was up and on his feet, scanning their surrounds, an instant before the first warrior sprinted from the trees into the glade. ‘Up!’ he roared at Ash and leapt in between him and the assailant, naked and shining silver. The attacker, stunned by the nudity or perhaps Crys’s strange markings, missed his strike. Crys slapped the spear down and this time the warrior didn’t hesitate, driving the butt end towards him in a flat trajectory that just skimmed the flesh of his belly as he jumped backwards.
Four more pounding out of the trees, and Ash’s arrows took three but missed the fourth, who ducked and threw himself on to the archer. Crys’s new sword was somewhere beneath their clothes with his belt and dagger and the rest of Ash’s weapons, and the spearman was fast. Very fast.
Surely he could just let himself be skewered and then heal?
Move, the Fox God barked. Crys moved. He couldn’t get inside the spear’s reach, so he led his attacker further into the trees where the weapon’s length would be a hindrance. Jabs came fast and hard, aiming for his naked chest or gut, and Crys was feeling backwards with his bare feet; if he tripped, he was dead.
A grunt ratcheting up into a scream from the clearing and Crys’s blood turned to ice. If that was Ash … The spearman attacked, sensing his distraction. Crys jinked right and the spear tip scored a hot, ripping line through the inside of his upper arm. He bellowed hurt and got the tree between them, a second’s rest, wasted it looking for Ash instead of a weapon.
The spear came around the bole and Crys leapt high, left hand closing around a branch. Tucking his feet, he pulled himself into the tree, on to the branch – too thin to support his weight – skipped out along it and threw himself off the end even as it began to crack.
He landed in a tumble, came up on to his feet and burst into the clearing. Ash, on his back in the leaf-litter, brawling.
Sword. Crys dived forward, scooped up the weapon by its scabbard and clubbed Ash’s attacker between the shoulder blades as though he was splitting wood, reversed the blade and ripped it free, spun to deflect the spear thrust with the scabbard and punched the sword into the spearman’s ribs.
His attacker dropped