Alone once more, she returned to the balcony. As she surveyed the tumultuous sea and breathed deep of the salt air, she mused over her current situation.
Plots and subplots. She wanted Tornin for herself and for Lanthe. Yet after tonight, she suspected Omort would try to force her to surrender before she ever even got a chance to make her play.
She shivered. He'd been emboldened to come into her room, bringing with him coldness and misery hanging over him like a cloak. She felt pensive, unclean.
For the first time ever, Sabine's gaze wasn't held fast by the sea. She turned to the south, toward the dungeon tower.
The demon was such a force of nature, she imagined herself getting lost in him. Ultimately, she found her feet taking her in his direction, her heart aching for ... something.
9
Without a word, Sabine climbed into bed with the demon.
Though she sensed his instant tension, she lay on her back beside him, not touching him, but close enough to feel the heat from his big body.
For long moments, they lay side by side in silence, as if they'd called an uneasy mice. They both stared at the ceiling, so she made it appear to fade away, revealing the night sky.
He tensed even more. "Your power is great." His voice was rumbling.
In the dark, she seemed to feel it. "It is."
"Is this all illusion or did you make the ceiling disappear?"
"My vanity tells me that you're impressed with my goddesslike gift and curious about it. Experience tells me you want to learn my strengths and weaknesses so you can kill me."
"I'll spare your life, if you free me now," he said.
"You've served me ill. But you've done nothing irrevocable yet."
"Demon, give me time." How could he be so warm? Unbelievably, she felt herself growing relaxed. "To answer your question, all is illusion. Optical and auditory."