The Sorcerer's Concubine (The Telepath and the Sorcerer Book 1) by Jaclyn Dolamore

Author:Jaclyn Dolamore [Dolamore, Jaclyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Catlord Press
Published: 2016-07-02T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

They didn’t travel the same way they had come, but veered north. He pulled out another large map and pointed to their final destination: a small military outpost in the hills to the northwest, right on the border of the Miralem nation of Otare.

“They try to be pretty strict with border crossings these days,” he said, “but you can’t keep out Miralem telepaths who want to make money. The border towns always have a higher concentration of telepaths who will slip over here for a few days, make some money, and go back to their own hoity-toity nation.”

“Are they that bad? Apparently I used to be one of them in my past life, you know.”

“They’re not that bad, if you like them feeling out your emotions, and going on about their goddess. The one who sleeps in the moon and wakes up when they need her, which apparently is never in all of recorded history. Except sometimes she sends her children, who supposedly happen to be the palest of Miralem, the ones who look the least like Daramons.”

“I really don’t like people,” Velsa sighed.

“Well, we need one, in this case. A Miralem person. I want to get a reading on your soul and see if it’s damaged.”

She tensed. “And what if it is?”

“I’ve heard that some Miralem can repair souls. So we’ll ask. Either way, I don’t believe that you should suffer for it. And if I’m wrong, may the fates bring us both back as Fanarlem together.”

“Don’t say that,” she said, thinking immediately of the Fanarlem man and woman in the hut. “Don’t tempt a curse on our heads.”

“Never.” He kissed the top of her head. “With this in mind, we may be sleeping in more barns. I want to save my money.”

The travel was grueling at times, the long days on Fern’s back, the weather turning colder by the day—and the mile—as their path led northward. Passing through small towns and hamlets along the route, she was a novelty and everyone stared, so she learned quickly to wear her hooded cloak at all times. They were comfortable alone, if sometimes a bit pricked from the beds of hay in their humble accommodations.

When they rested together after a long day, Grau would kiss her or stroke her thigh, and in another moment they were tangled together. She felt safe now, when he was inside her, with every affirmation of his need for her and every tender kiss and caress. His body felt like a shield against the horrors of the world, against which they stood.

They came, at last, to the larger town nearest his post, with a few days to spare. The town was nested between hills, with a river flowing beneath it—not the Atlantis River but one of its tributaries, the Sirian River, which marked the border between Atlantis and Otaré. The architecture looked different than in Nisa; more vertical, as if to compete with the surrounding hills. Spires marked the important buildings. Even the houses were often four narrow stories tall.

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