Cursor's Fury by Jim Butcher Read Free Book Online Page B

wanted to ask her, and that he was uncertain about whether or not to speak. His hand slid over her belly, strong and gentle.

    p. 32 She knew that he could not feel the scars that the Blight had left over her womb, but she flinched for an instant regardless. She forced herself to remain quiet and relaxed, and covered his hand with both of hers. “Not yet,” she said. She swallowed, and said, “Bernard . . .”

    “Hush, love,” he said, voice strong and sleepy and confident. “We’ll keep trying.”

    “But . . .” She sighed. “Two years, Bernard.”

    “Two years of a night here, a night there,” he said. “We’ll finally have some time together in Ceres.” His hand drifted over her skin, and Amara shivered. “Weeks.”

    “But love. If I can’t give you a child . . . your duties as a Count call for you to pass the strength of your crafting down to children. You owe it to the Realm.”

    “I’ve done my part for the Realm,” Bernard said, and his tone became unyielding. “And more. And I will give the Crown its talented children. Through you, Amara. Or not at all.”

    “But . . .” Amara began.

    He turned to face her, and murmured, “Do you wish to leave me, my lady?”

    She swallowed and shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

    “Then let’s have no more talk of it,” he said, and kissed her rather thoroughly. Amara felt her protests and worries beginning to dissolve into fresh heat.

    Bernard let out another low growl. “Think we’ve thrown off sufficient suspicion for this visit, my lady?”

    She laughed, a throaty sound. “I’m not sure.”

    He let out another low sound and turned his body to her. His hand moved, and it was Amara’s turn to shiver in pleasure at a touch. “We’d best play it safe, then,” he murmured. “And attend to duty.”

    “Oh,” she whispered. “Definitely.”

     

    In the coldest, darkest hours of the night, Amara felt Bernard tense and sit bolt upright in bed, his spine rigid with tension. Sleep dragged hard at her, but she denied it, slipping from the depths of formless dreams.

    “What is it?” she whispered.

    “Listen,” he murmured.

    Amara frowned and did. Gusts of winds rushed against the stone walls of Bernard’s chambers in irregular surges. From far away, she thought she could hear a faint sound on the wind, inhuman shrieks and moans. “A furystorm?”

    p. 33 Bernard grunted and swung his legs off the side of the bed and rose. “Maybe worse. Light.” A furylamp on the table beside the bed responded to his voice, and a golden glow arose from it, allowing Amara to see Bernard dress in short, hurried motions.

    She sat up in bed, pressing the sheets to her front. “Bernard?”

    “I just have to make sure it’s being taken care of,” Bernard said. “It won’t take a moment. Don’t get up.” He gave her a brief smile, then paced out across his chambers and opened the door. Amara heard the wind slam against it, and the distant sound of the storm rose to a deafening howl until he shut the door behind him.

    Amara frowned and rose. She reached for her flying leathers, then regarded the sliced ties with a sigh. Instead, she dressed in one of the Count of Calderon’s shirts and draped one of Bernard’s capes around her. It was large enough to wrap around her several times and fell past her knees. She closed her eyes for a moment and breathed in the lingering scent of her husband on the fabric, then opened the door to follow him.

    The wind hit her like a physical blow, a cold, wet wind heavy with a fine mist. She grimaced and willed her wind fury, Cirrus, into the air around her in order to shield her from the worst of wind and rain.

    She stood at the top of the stairs for a moment, peering around the fortress. Furylamps blazed against the storm, but the wind and gusts of cold rain blunted their radiance, reducing it to little more than spheres an arm’s length across. Amara could see men hurrying through