Free Living With Ghosts by Kari Sperring Page B

was something deadly in her tone. He did not intend to be afraid, but he shivered.
    Dry-mouthed, he said, “The moons were wrong . . . He shouldn’t have been able to see anything, but he did. Thiercelin duLaurier.”
    The change in her was like cloud lifting. She smiled and her face was contemptuous. “Thiercelin of Sannazar? He’s nobody.”
    “He saw Valdarrien d’Illandre last night. And at other times, too, when the conditions were wrong for it. At the masquerade . . . When I touched him, I could read his memory—and he experienced it with me.”
    She shrugged. “Perhaps he simply has a drop of good blood. Forget it. It’s unimportant.”
    If it was unimportant, why had she insisted that he go through with it? It was not in him to ask. She was not going to tell him. She knew something . . . Something to do with a ghost seen untimely by eyes that should have been blind to it.
    Eyes without undarii training, without undarii blood.
    Quenfrida was using him. As ever. He said, “That’s all, then. I’ve done as you wanted.”
    “Have you?” She sounded amused. “You forget yourself. You’ve grown self-willed.”
    “I doubt it.” He could smell her perfume, like a noose. “Lord Thiercelin has had what he asked for. There will be no further contact between us.”
    “No?” She came closer. “You’re wrong, I think.” She ran a finger along his cheekbone. He swallowed. “Your landlord told me he was here into the small hours. That suggests he’s concerned about you.” She sat down, let her hand stroke his hair. He shuddered. He had no strength for defenses. He doubted he had the strength to do what his body wanted. She continued, “And he’s attracted. You’ll see him again.” She leaned her face against the crown of his head. The softness of her breast pressed against his cheek. She said, “Won’t you?”
    He bit his lip. “No, Quena. He doesn’t deserve it.”
    She laughed. “He doesn’t deserve to be . . . pleased by you? Do you dislike him so much?” Her hands were traveling. “Will you deny him the pleasure of your talents?”
    “He doesn’t want . . .” Gracielis began and broke off, gasping. “Stop it. This isn’t fair.” He had opened his eyes again. The lieutenant’s ghost watched them avidly.
    “To whom?” She took one of his hands and kissed the palm.
    To both . . . “To Lord Thiercelin.” She licked his wrist. Raising her head, she smiled at him, then kissed his lips. It was hopeless. He could barely move, and she could still do this to him. He said, “Don’t.”
    “My poor Gracielis.” She had taken off her shoes. Now she slid to lie beside him. “I don’t deal in fairness. Only in truth.” Her hands were on him, sweetly tormenting. “Do this for me.”
    He shivered. “I don’t want to.” The lieutenant’s ghost leaned over him in lubricious spite. “I can’t.” Even Gracielis was no longer sure to what he was referring.
    She kissed him. “Oh, you can,” she said, softly. “Let me show you.”

    Thiercelin missed breakfast, but arrived downstairs in time for lunch to find both his sister-in-law and his wife present. He kissed the latter’s hand before taking his place. “This is nice. I didn’t know you were home today.” A servant placed soup before him.
    “I came back midevening yesterday,” Yvelliane said. “You were out.”
    “I wish I’d stayed in, in that case.” He raised his wine-glass to her. She looked tired. He wished the servants would leave so that he might take her in his arms and kiss her worry lines away.
    “You’d have been bored, home with me.”
    He could never be bored in her company. He said, “Are you here this afternoon? You could bore me then.
    I’d like it.”
    For an instant, a smile flickered across her lips. But then, she sighed and looked down. “I have to get back to the palace. I’m sorry.”
    “I wish you’d woken me.”
    “Was it fun, your party last night?”
    “Not really.” Thiercelin stirred