Chapter 19

Chapter

Nineteen

M yrria sat at the table trying to remember how to breathe normally. Donya had left, but not without several sharp glances toward the bathroom. She might have been appeased for the moment because she'd been so surprised by Zala's claim, but Myrria was under no illusions that she'd been convinced. Her landlady would be back in the hopes of catching Myrria in a lie.

Myrria didn't know why the old crone cared. It wasn't like the Den of Thieves was a hotbed of moral fortitude. The city was comprised of pleasure houses, slave markets, fighting rings, gambling dens, bars, and slums. If there were houses of worship, Myrria had never seen them. Any missionaries who dared preach their beliefs would find themselves run out of town—if they were lucky.

Maybe it was because the woman was old and alone and had nothing to do but meddle in others' lives. Or maybe it was because she was convinced there was a reward in there for her. Myrria doubted Donya cared one way or another about her faithfulness.

She finally looked up when Rixx emerged from the bedroom, pulling aside the curtain and padding across the floor in bare feet and pants. Droplets of water clung to his bare chest and his wet hair dripped down his back.

"Jam the chair under the doorknob," Myrria told Zala with a quick flick of her wrist.

Her daughter quickly did as she was told, rushing to the door and dragging one of the chairs under the knob. Now if Donya tried to enter, at least she would be slowed down and they would hear her. Even so, Myrria knew that a chair in front of the door couldn't protect them forever, especially if Rixx was determined to walk around only half dressed. She could not pass him off as her long-lost husband looking like that.

The sight of his hard muscles and corded stomach made her own stomach do a curious flip. Her husband had never made her core churn and her skin tingle. Not even when they'd first met. She shook off that traitorous thought and stood.

"My landlord is gone—for now."

Rixx wrinkled his nose. "That old female was your landlord?"

Myrria released a breath and nodded. "She inherited the building after a relative died, which was after I was already living here. She's never met my husband, but she knows that he left on a mercenary ship."

"Do you think she would be convinced that I was him?"

Myrria held back the laugh that threatened to explode from her lips. It would have been hard to imagine a man more different than her husband than Rixx. Where the Dothvek was tall and broad-shouldered, Tobert had been shorter and wiry. Rixx had black hair that hung around his shoulders, but her husband had been fair and had kept his hair short. Myrria didn't want to think about all the intangible ways Rixx was different—his kindness, his courage, his willingness to help. None of those had been even a flicker within Tobert. All these years later, with a good deal of distance and hard-won wisdom, Myrria wondered why she had ever succumbed to her husband's charms, what little he'd had.

"No one who knew him still lives in this area." Myrria thought of Serena. She had known of him. "No one who would reveal the truth." Myrria cut her gaze to Zala. Not even her daughter would know what her father looked like since she'd only been a baby when he'd left. "That doesn't mean the old bitch will believe that you're him." She gave him a pointed once-over. "You don't exactly blend."

Rixx looked down at himself. "I can wear the clothes you made me."

Myrria's mind raced with plans for how they could make the Dothvek look less like himself. "I'll make you more." Her gaze alighted on the points of his ears. "And shirts with hoods."

"You'll need to talk like a dad," Zala added, her eyes twinkling. "And talk to Mama like you're her husband, not a guest."

Myrria's face warmed at the idea of Rixx talking to her like they were married.

Rixx's expression was serious as he contemplated this, finally locking his eyes on hers. "I can call you my love, if that is amenable to you."

Myrria's throat was so dry that she could do nothing but nod. Not even her husband had called her his love. All she'd gotten was the occasional "woman" or "hon." When he would get drunk, he'd call her "sugar tits," which she'd despised.

"What will you call me?" Rixx asked with a teasing smile.

What would she call him? She regained her ability to speak and cleared her throat. "I think calling you husband will work fine."

Zala looked disappointed by this but Rixx smiled. "I never imagined I would be called husband. It does not sound so bad."

Myrria's unease at calling the Dothvek husband was soon eclipsed as she realized that Donya would have no shame about sneaking in at night. Her landlady had made it clear many times before that it was her right to inspect her property at any time, and pop-in visits had not been out of the ordinary. The old crone also prohibited Myrria from using a dead bolt to keep her out, insisting that it would be a fire hazard.

That meant one thing. She and Rixx would need to share a bed.