Free The Champion by Morgan Karpiel Page A

the left.”
    She stared at his wrists, the faded thread bands betraying someone unexpected, not a thief, or a brigand, but a man who lived comfortably with silence, who carried the dead with him wherever he went. “I did not know you had been a soldier.”
    “We each have our burdens,” he murmured, tracing a slow circle on her stomach, appearing lost in the task. “You far more than most.”
    “I do not feel so burdened now.”
    “You are no longer disguised.”
    “As a sultan.”
    “As a slave,” he corrected.
    Meeting her gaze, he kissed her, lingering in the soft touch for a moment before pulling away and rising from the grate. He lifted his shirt from the catwalk and pulled it over his head, turning away from her as he donned his long entari and tied the sash around his waist. The movements were routine, distant.
    She watched him dress and followed his lead, collecting her pants and padded silk jacket, rolling her wet hair into a bun.
    He washed his hands in the water, considering the sky through the open tower doors above them. She followed his gaze, recognizing the golden hue of the light. “You think they will attack tonight, when it grows dark?”
    He shook his head. “You should be safe in here.”
    “ I should…?”
    Looking down at her, he grimaced. “I will return before morning.”
    “Return? Where are you going?”
    “Outside the wall. It is necessary.”
    “You’re going out there, to them?”
    “Not to them.”
    She shook her head, feeling as if she couldn’t possibly have heard him correctly. “I do not understand.”
    “We cannot hold that miserable gate for long, but there is a possibility we may acquire some assistance.”
    “What assistance?”
    He shook his head. “I cannot tell you, not yet.”
    “Not yet? Not yet ? What have we just done? Who are you?”
    The thief—Jacob—swore under his breath. Walking toward her, he crouched on the grate, bracing her bare shoulders with his hands, reaching up to stroke her cheek. “I’m a man who will do anything for you, who will come back through hellfire, if I must. For now, I must beg your trust, just a little longer.”
    Trust? She shook her head, tears blurring his outline.
    “Your trust,” he repeated. “And your oath that you will stay in this tower, and unlock the door for no one, no matter what happens out there.”
    She closed her eyes, bowing her head. Who are you?
    “Nadira, give me your oath.”
    What point was there in withholding it, even if it meant nothing, an empty promise to a complete stranger?
    “I swear it,” she said dully.
    “Thank you, sweetheart,” he said. “Now I must ask for the diamond.”

    Jacob crouched at the rampart battlement, wrapped in a black cloak, his gaze set on the last glow of sunset on the horizon. The surrounding cliffs had gone dark, their looming gods now just shadows in the murk, passive witnesses to the slow movement of soldiers and torches along the valley floor. Beneath the defensive wall, the Grand Vizier’s men busied themselves with siege preparations, pulling teams of horses together, organizing heavy carts of ammunition procured from somewhere unseen.
    They were moving faster than he’d thought, a clear indication that the Grand Vizier had planned well for all contingencies. The man was also clever enough to keep himself out of sight, hidden somewhere in the maze of glowing tents, away from the watchful gaze of assassins.
    When I face them, I want to remember only this, only how it feels to love you. He closed his eyes, seeking distance, the strength to leave her, scale down the length of the wall and disappear into the darkness. The task was no easier for the knowledge that he planned to return—with help—once he made the airship rendezvous, or that she was safer inside the tower than she would be out here, with two thousand hostile soldiers preparing for battle. This was his world, out of duty, out of necessity. It should never have been hers.
    Looking back over