“Trust all you want,” Tessanna said. They occupied what had once been the king’s bedchambers, secluded and alone. “The dawn will not come. Not for you.”

“What do you hope for?” he asked. “What can you possibly obtain? Torture me, beat me, break my bones. Ashhur will take me home, no matter how bruised or bloodied I arrive.”

“Oh, he will take you,” Tessanna said. “But will you wish to go to him?”

She clenched the dagger between her teeth and circled him. With surprising deftness she unbuckled the straps to his armor. The heavy pieces of plate mail thudded to the carpet. She shoved his head, and the sudden movement forward made him scream. The demons had removed the spear piercing his side, but they had offered no healing, not even a bandage. The bonds around his arms and hands did well to hold him still, but the open wound bled freely.

“I smell the blood on you,” she whispered into his ear. Her fingers slipped underneath his arm, pressing against the wound. Jerico held in another scream. He felt her breath on his neck as she whispered words of magic. Light sparked from her fingertips, and to his amazement, the wound closed. He thought to thank her, but that thought died as she leaned closer, her cheek brushing against his.

“When were you last with a woman?” she asked, brushing her dagger across his throat. She giggled when he refused to answer. “What, no response? No clever comment?”

She stood and waved her hand. Magical forces shoved his back against the wall. She straddled him, her hands clawing the stone. Again she brushed her face against his, scar to scar.

“A strong man,” she breathed into his ear. “So strong. It’s been a w hile for you, hasn’t it? Would you take me, if you could? What would your god say about that?”

“You’re vile,” Jerico said. “May Ashhur one day forgive you.”

“You won’t counter me with love,” she said. “It’s love I want from you.”