He lit several wall torches and used a sharp knife, some soft soap, and piece of shiny bronze to shave his itchy beard and then the sides of his head as well. Not as good a shave as provided by modern razors in front of illuminated mirrors, but it sufficed. Then he sank his stinksome body into the steamy water, scrubbed himself clean, and half reclined along the steps so he was covered up to the waist. He felt human at least now, or as human as he would ever be again.
He heard the door creak and cracked an eye open, half expecting Thorkel or one of the men to have come out after a night of bedsport. But it was Andrea instead, coming in on a waft of coconut.
“What are you doing here? I hope you aren’t planning on pouring more of that soup down my gullet.”
“What? You don’t like my soup?”
“I like your soup fine. But after five bowls, I’m beginning to cluck.”
She didn’t even smile. “I was worried about you,” she said, sitting down primly on one of the benches, tucking her long wool cloak around her tightly and crossing her booted ankles. Her blonde hair was pulled off her face in a ponytail tied with a red silk ribbon. Finn had told him what Andrea had done with several ells of priceless samite silk fabric, not that he particularly cared, though there was a time when he would have. “I went in to check on you in the middle of the night and you weren’t there,” she continued.
“Do you always check on me?”
“I have been since you got sick. You shaved.”
He nodded and rubbed his chin. “I was getting itchy.”
“You look good, though you’ve lost some weight, I think.”
“It will come back, believe you me.”
“What happened out there? Did you run into some of those . . . things?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“I killed them.”
“Them? More than one?”
“Three.”
“Getting information from you is like pulling teeth. What aren’t you telling me?”
He hesitated to tell her, but what if Zeb should follow through on his mission from Jasper? Shouldn’t she be forewarned that she might be left here alone? “I met someone else. Something else. Zebulan the demon.”
“Whaaat? The demons have names?”
“Of course they do. Why wouldn’t they? Anyhow, Zeb is sort of a double agent for the vangels. He hopes to join our ranks one day, or so he says, and therefore feeds us information on occasion.”
“And why does your meeting with this guy . . . thing . . . Zebulan have you worried?”
“How do you know I’m worried?”
“I can tell.”
“Am I oozing even more peppermint eau de cologne?”
“You don’t have to be so sarcastic.”
“Sorry. But how do you know I’m worried? Do you think you know me so well?”
“I hardly know you at all. But if we’re lifemates, I can probably sense your feelings.”
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! What leap of faith or logic or insanity made her suddenly believe we’re lifemates?
“Not that I think we’re lifemates.”
Whew!
“You should see the expression on your face. I should be offended.”
“Very funny.” He made a face at her. “Here’s the deal. Zeb has been given orders to bring back one of the VIK, meaning one of us seven Sigurdsson brothers. And it appears I’m it.”
She stiffened and went silent before asking in a small voice, “Can he do that?”
“He can try.”
“What will happen if he succeeds?”
“He’ll take me to Jasper’s castle of horrors which is aptly named Horror.”
“And?”
“And try to convert me into a Lucipire.”
“How?”
“Torture. Endless torture. Possibly for years. Once Vikar was taken, but only for a few days. We could scarce recognize him when he returned. Among other things, he’d been crucified.” Cnut realized immediately that he shouldn’t have been so candid with Andrea.
She had both hands to her mouth. Her eyes were wide with shock. “Can’t you fight him off . . . Zeb, I mean . . . like you did the other Lucipires?”
“I can try, but he’s older and stronger than me. It would be an even match. Fifty-fifty.”
“Cnut! We have to get out of here!” She stood as if it was that simple. Decide to leave and poof, you leave.
“You have to leave. I obviously can’t. But if I should suddenly disappear, this is what—”
“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare say that!” She dropped her cloak, and she was nude underneath.
“Oh my God!” he said, and, for his sins, it was not a prayer. Leastways, not a holy one.