The cat grumbled. Its yellow eyes flashed, and it rose and headed out into the night. Ezren looked around, peering through the shadows. He’d stripped down to trous for sleeping, so he’d no worries there. But there was no need for everyone in camp to see him going to Bethral’s tent. This was a private matter.

Harsh whispers broke the silence. It was Lander and Ouse, by the sound of it, arguing about something, their voices faint but urgent.

The darkness was almost complete. Ezren left the shelter of his tent. With a few steps he moved to Bethral’s tent. The grass was cold under his feet, but the chill in the air felt good on his fevered skin. The alders rustled around him, promising rain soon.

A rustle of leather, and the top of her tent lifted. Warm air escaped, carrying a wisp of her scent.

A flash of lightning through the sky, and he caught a glimpse of her long legs and hopeful face in an instant.

He slid in through the opening of the tent, and eased down to stretch out beside her. She lowered the top of the tent slowly, her breast brushing his shoulder. Ezren shuddered with the effort of controlling his body. She settled down, and he pressed close to her.

Bethral shivered. “I—”

“No,” he whispered. “Let me show you how I feel.”

He felt her barest of nods. With trembling fingers, he reached out and pressed his hand to her cheek. She sighed, and turned her head to kiss his palm.

The darkness was complete now, but he did not need to see. His thumb brushed over her soft lips, then he traced her brows with his fingertips. When his fingers stroked the soft skin behind her ear, she shivered again.

“Ezren.” It was a sigh, and he felt her joy and surprise.

He ran his fingers through her hair, along its entire silken length, working it from under their bodies. The long strands slid through his fingers. Pulling her closer, he nuzzled her, breathing in her warm scent.

He slid his free hand down her side, feeling the cloth of her tunic and then the softness of her thigh. He chuckled as he realized she wore nothing but the tunic, and started his hand back up, letting the cloth bunch as he slid his hand over the swell of her buttocks and up her spine.

Bethral arched against him with a breathless moan, and helped as he worked the tunic up and over her head. His hands were free to roam now, caressing her soft skin.

“Ezren,” she whispered, but he covered her mouth with his own, and kissed her. He had a thought to curse the darkness, but there was no need to see. Her breasts filled his hands, her nipples taut buds against his palm.

He could not resist the soft skin under her breast, and moved his mouth down to follow that curve, teasing her nipples with his forefinger and thumb.

She moaned, and reached for his trous, but he stopped her questing hands. “Not yet,” he whispered against her skin.

He trailed a line of kisses up and back to her shoulder, grazing her collarbone lightly with his teeth. She drew a shuddering breath, bringing her hand up and winding it in his hair. He followed the course of her collarbone to the other shoulder, enjoying the taste of her skin and her soft urgings. He brought his hands to rest on her sides, avoiding her breasts deliberately now, just letting his thumb stroke the sides.

She moved, trying to urge him on.

Ezren chuckled, and bit at her neck, kissing the soft skin until he found his way back to her mouth. He claimed her mouth hard, and groaned into her lips as they parted beneath his. Ezren was grateful for his trous, or this would be over before it began, and he wanted this exploration to last.

The kisses were long, slow, and sweet. He was lost in her as she filled his senses. He didn’t need any light to see her beauty. It was readily apparent in the warmth of her body and the gentleness of her touch. And she responded to him, to his hands, to his body, and that filled him with a sense of awe.

It was only when Bethrall grabbed his hand, and tried to bring it down to the core of her heat, that he came to his senses. He murmured in her ear, keeping his voice soft. “There’s no rush, Angel.”

“Ezren.” Her voice was in his ear, filled with yearning. “We may not have tomorrow.”

Lord of Light, there was more truth to that then he wanted to think about. Ezren kissed her hard, and let her guide his hand within her wet folds.

One touch and she exploded against him, bringing her leg up over his, crying out something he didn’t recognize but understood completely. He claimed her mouth again, stifling her cries, and stroked her hard. No more than that, and she was shuddering against him, taking deep gasps of air.

She melted down, her entire body relaxing beside him. He covered her face in kisses as her breathing returned to normal, enjoying the salty taste of her skin.

The rain started then, with a pounding of thunder. Rain poured down on the top of their small tent, but they stayed warm and dry.

Ezren thought he could stay like this for hours, listening to Bethral’s soft sighs, feeling her body against his. His body ached, but that could wait. They had . . . well, they had this night. And truly, the Lord of Light and Lady of Laughter never promised more than that, now did they?

“Ezren,” Bethral murmured, rousing slightly.

“Angel,” he whispered.

“I could wish the rain never ends,” she said, her voice growing stronger. Her fingers found his lips, and traced them lightly before she kissed him.

Ezren nodded, pulling her in close as they lay in the soft darkness of the tent. The rain continued for a while, as he listened to Bethral breathe.

Finally, she stirred in his arms. “My turn.”

She pushed Ezren to lie flat on the blankets as she explored his chest, circling his nipples first with fingers, then her tongue.

He tensed slightly as she touched one of the scars on his chest. Her hand paused, then slowly traced it up over his collarbone and over his shoulder.

“Bethral.” Ezren lifted his head, starting to apologize, but her fingers pressed on his lips as she pressed her mouth to his scar. Tracing it with open-mouth kisses, teasing his hot skin with her moist tongue. Groaning, he fell back, letting her do as she wished.

Bethral followed the scar along its length, past his nipples, down toward his navel. Ezren shifted as he hardened, his trous putting additional pressure on his sensitive skin.

Bethral shifted, careful to stay low, keeping the tent closed. She was above him now, her hair moving over his chest, the tips lightly brushing already sensitive skin. Her hands fumbled at his trous, to undo the bindings. Her struggles pressed his crotch, and the touch seared him through the cloth. His turn to gasp, then, as his body responded.

She almost had him free when his mind cleared for just a moment. He caught her hands in his, his breathing unsteady, his voice rough.

“Bethral,” he gasped out, trying to think. “Your cycles. Is it safe?”

She tried to pull her hands free, then froze. For a moment, all he heard was their harsh breathing.

“No,” she admitted. “I never thought . . . it didn’t occur to me.”

Ezren groaned.

“We don’t have to . . .” Bethral said as he eased her over on to her side. “I could—”

Before he could really think about what he was doing, Ezren rolled out of the tent and into the cold rain, gasping as it hit his fevered skin.

“Ezren!” Bethral’s voice came from the depths of the tent. He couldn’t see in the darkness, but it sounded like she was peering out at him. “You didn’t need to do that!”

“Oh, yes, I did,” he muttered, rising to his knees. He pulled out the top of his trous and let the icy water flow down and kill his erection. “Trust me, I did.”

“I am so sorry,” Bethral said. “I never hoped that you . . . that we . . .”

Sane now, Ezren knelt and reached out, fumbling for her hand. “I know.”

She tugged, trying to draw him back inside. “I could have returned the favor, you know. You didn’t have to douse yourself.”

Ezren sighed. “I don’t think anything else would have stopped me. I want you so damn bad.” He took a deep breath, released her hand, and stood. The rain had soaked him, and he pushed his wet hair back from his face. “But I will not risk you, and I will not bring a child into this. Not here. Not now. But in other circumstances—” he paused. “But I am presuming. I do not know how you feel about—”

“I’d love to bear your children,” Bethral whispered. “I want to build a life with you, a hearth and home filled with joy and stories.”

“Lord of Light,” Ezren groaned. “I am going back to my tent. Now.”

“It’s pouring,” Bethral said. “Crawl back in here. We can sleep warm and—”

“No,” Ezren growled. “You are too great a temptation, Angel.”

“Really?” Bethral sounded quite pleased.

“Really,” Ezren said. Before he could change his mind, he stepped away, feeling for his own tent in the darkness. Two steps and he found it, and slid inside. With a sigh, he stripped down, and used one of the blankets to get himself as dry as possible. The gurtle fur blankets started to warm around him, and he settled down, resigned and alone.

“All’s well?” Bethral’s whisper came to him.

“Better than well,” Ezren said with a smile.

“And this isn’t a dream?” Bethral said, her voice sounding tentative, and a bit fearful.

“No,” Ezren said. “Sleep, Angel. In the morning, you will see the truth of it in my eyes. I promise.”

“I thought you were sleeping with the Storyteller,” she grumbled as she shifted so that it had enough room.

The cat made its own grumbling noises, kneaded her blankets, and curled into a tight ball beside her.

Gilla got comfortable and was starting to drift off when her eyes snapped open. If the cat was here . . . that must mean. . . .

She closed her eyes and let sleep take her, a satisfied smile on her face.

The rest of the camp was up and stirring. She’d overslept, which was rare for her. She yawned and stretched out her legs as far as she could within the tent. She felt good, warm, and relaxed, and—

Memory flooded back of the dark night and whispers in the night. Sweet kisses and his touch. Was it true? Had she dreamed it?

She was suddenly afraid. Afraid to learn the truth.

Only one way to know. Bethral dressed in the tent as best she could, pulling on her gambeson and reaching out to pull her armor inside. Somehow she felt in need of its protection. The day was cold and wet, and the rain dripped from the leaves of the alders as she emerged from the tent. They’d rigged a shelter by the fire with cloaks draped from the alders. Chell was cooking something on a low bed of coals, and the others had gathered to eat. Ezren was kneeling by the fire, filling a mug. Tenna said something to him, and he rose and turned as Bethral came up to the fire.

“Kavage?” Ezren asked.

Bethral met his gaze, looking for . . .

His green eyes were warm and steady, filled with something she’d never thought to see in this life. Confidence surged within her, and she knew that Ezren Storyteller loved her.

She returned his gaze, trying to put her heart in her eyes as she reached for the mug. The corners of his eyes crinkled, the confidence growing within him as well. “Thank you,” she said, letting her fingers caress his in passing. Her skin tingled at his touch.

Chell started to hand out fried meat on pieces of flat bread. Ouse poured out kavage. Everyone ate either standing or kneeling by the fire, as if it was a perfectly normal day.

The meat tasted wonderful, but Bethral was certain that part of that was her quiet joy. The world seemed lighter, somehow. The kavage was hot and strong, and she savored it. Ezren was enjoying his meal as well, or so it appeared. He darted a few glances at Bethral, who looked away, trying not to blush. Which let her catch Gilla and Chell exchanging pointed glances. El and Cosana were in on the secret, too, whatever it was. They all were.

“Well?” Bethral asked. “Something?”

They all looked at her, and then at each other. Finally Gilla puffed out a breath, clearly annoyed with the others. “There is a matter, Warlord . . .” Gilla’s voice trailed off.

Bethral raised an eyebrow.

“I would ask for your token,” Gilla finally said.

Bethral reached for the kavage. “My token is in my tent. Let us take that as a given.”

Gilla’s eyes went wide. “There is no need for tokens between us?”

“No need, Gilla,” Ezren said warmly.

The others were all staring, then smiling, clearly pleased.

Gilla nodded to both of them, and her face grew serious. She reached toward one of the sacks by the cooking supplies, and pulled out two small leather pouches. “You’ll want to add this to your kavage.”

“Just two pinches, every morning.” Arbon added, as he started to eat. “Don’t forget.”

“What is it?” Ezren asked, but Bethral had a fair idea already. She opened the pouch to look at the dried leaves.

“Foalsbane,” El said calmly. “It will start to work around sundown, if you take it now.”

Bethral started to laugh as Ezren sputtered.

“The cat slept with me last night,” Gilla said. “So we assumed that you were both sharing. . . .”

“And if you share, you have to be protected,” Lander said. “All warriors take precautions when on campaign.”

“Wait.” Ezren managed to get his breath. “Don’t you mean just the women?”

“No,” Ouse said. “Men and women.”

Cosana gave Ezren a puzzled look. “You know it takes two to make a baby, right? A man and a woman?”

Bethral choked on her kavage.

“Yes,” Ezren replied, giving her an exasperated look. “I do know that.”

“So both take precautions,” El pointed out. “Especially on campaign. The penalties for getting pregnant while on campaign are severe, and the warlords are harsh.”

“The theas are even harsher,” Ouse added. “Better that both take responsibility, rather than risk their wrath.”

“In the cities, don’t they protect themselves?” Tenna asked.

Bethral arched an eyebrow at Ezren. She couldn’t wait to hear his explanation of certain forms of protection. The one with dried sheep intestines came to mind.

But Ezren Storyteller wasn’t stupid. “We do,” he said and left it at that. “Will it rain all day?” he said as he added the leaves to his kavage. Then he turned to Bethral and gave her a smile, his green eyes sparkling. Without a word, he held out the pouch.

Bethral extended her mug. Ezren let two pinches rain down into her mug with exaggerated gestures.

The young warriors all grinned, darting pleased glances at one another. “It will rain,” Arbon said. “It may not rain this hard all day, but there’s no wind. The clouds aren’t moving, and the herd is settled down around us.”

“Our horses could use a rest,” Tenna added. “And I’ve a bridle that needs stitching.”

Lander looked around at the alders. “Be nice if we can set some snares, and maybe find more ogdan roots to gather. If we can keep the fire going, we can bake them in the coals.”

“I can keep the fire going,” Ouse offered. “I need to sharpen my blade.”

“I’ve a tunic needs mending,” Chell added.

“Enough,” Bethral said. “We will spend the day here. No sense trying to travel in this weather, and the tents are sheltered well enough under the alders.” She took a sip of her kavage. The leaves didn’t seem to affect the taste. “Chell, I’ve needle and thread if you wish to sew up that tunic.”

“A metal needle?” Chell’s eyes gleamed. “I’ve only bone. Thank you, Warlord.”

“We could set a watch at the edge of the alders,” Arbon said. “At least until the rains start again.”

Bethral nodded. “I think so. It pays to be careful, even in this weather. We can choose our times after we eat.”

“After we eat and talk,” Ezren said firmly. “It is time you all knew everything we know. This is not just about our leaving the Plains.”

“We’ve pieced together some of it, Storyteller,” Lander said. “We know you throw fire, and that the warrior-priests tried to kill you.”

Ezren nodded. “But I want you to know everything we know. That’s only right. It seems to me that for too long the warrior-priests have used secrecy and mystery to hold power. No more secrets, not for us.”

It didn’t take as long as Bethral had thought it would, even though Ezren started with the moment he encountered the magic by the swamp near the border of Athelbryght. The warriors’ eyes went wide as he described being killed, then awakening to an explosion of power.

He explained how they had arrived on the Plains, and what had happened when the warrior-priests had appeared. Then the talk with Wild Winds, almost word for word. His audience remained silent and still, hanging on every word.

“There’s one more thing you need to know,” Ezren said quietly. “I can feel an odd sort of pressure, a kind of urge, that I need to turn around and head back to the north and west. As if I’ve left something behind me, and I need to turn back and get it.” He looked into his kavage mug. “I fear that pressure is the magic building up in my body.”

“It is,” Ouse said softly. “I can see it.”