Forbidden by Ted Dekker Page A

cream-colored chair and reading lamp. He had to lean out farther to see into the main part of the space but didn’t want to risk staring straight in, not until they knew who was with her.
    The voices rose again in such apparent discord that Rom began to worry less about being noticed. He leaned in a little more.
    “What do you see?”
    “A man, sitting in one of the living room chairs.”
    “A man? Since when does Neah have a man—any man—around? She didn’t get married, did she?”
    “Not that I know of. I didn’t even think she was promised.”
    Inside, Neah paced through her living room. A man seated in one of the overstuffed chairs stood up into Rom’s line of sight.
    Was that—?
    He felt a chuckle rise up from his chest and worked to stifle the sound and the odd levity that had caused it. He hadn’t known that emotion was associated with laughter, a social nicety. But the humor he felt was far more than a polite response. It was fueled by a hilarity that made him question again if he might be mad. Hadn’t his mother just died? Hadn’t his life as he knew it just ceased, possibly forever? And yet—
    “You’ll never guess who’s in there.”
    Avra stared blankly at him.
    “Triphon!”
    She blinked. “Triphon?”
    “Triphon.”
    It wasn’t merriment that flooded her face, but fear. “He’s with the guard! We have to go.” She pushed away from the wall, but Rom caught her by the wrist.
    “Wait. He’s only in training. He isn’t part of the guard yet officially.”
    “What’s the difference?” she hissed.
    Rom leaned toward the window. Triphon’s shirt strained across the broad width of his muscled shoulders as he sat forward in the chair and picked up a distinctive-looking paper from the low coffee table in front of him.
    Rom felt his pulse spike. “Hades.”
    Avra’s eyebrows shot up. She pushed around him and looked through the window. “What—oh. Maker.”
    “I think…” He glanced at her. “Are those papers…?” But they had to be. He had seen the same lettering on his own betrothal, several years prior.
    Triphon was proposing a marriage contract.
    Neah’s muffled voice rose inside.
    Avra shrank back. “We should go.”
    “Go where? We don’t have anywhere else.”
    “Training or not, Triphon’s with the Citadel Guard. It’s bad enough that Neah will turn us in the minute we tell her, but Triphon might kill us!”
    “Do you really think a trainee has any idea about missions having to do with old vials of blood, and chasing and killing ancient keepers of secrets?”
    She paused.
    “Come on.”
    “We’re just going to interrupt them?”
    “Why not? Neah will reject him. This is the business of parents. I don’t know what he’s thinking.”
    Not that rejection would mean anything to the dauntless Triphon. If Rom knew little of fear, Triphon knew even less.
    It took Rom a belated moment to realize that the voices inside had gone silent. He and Avra glanced at each other just as Neah’s front door flew open.
    Triphon stepped out on the threshold, all six-foot-six of him—seven, counting the stiff inch of his athletic haircut—filling the doorway. “Who’s there?”
    “Triphon,” Rom said, nodding.
    “Hey, Rom.”
    Neah stepped up behind Triphon and crossed her arms. Her blond hair was pulled back in its characteristic braid. Her beige sweater and pants looked more ready for the office—or assembly—than a day at home.
    “Well, if it isn’t Rom. And Avra. I hardly recognize you, it’s been so long. And don’t you look a fright. What are you doing here? Spying on us? Tell me you didn’t just attend assembly looking that disheveled.”
    “Good to see you, Neah,” Rom said. “Can we come in?”
    Triphon stepped aside.
    Rom registered Triphon’s nod as he stepped past, more conscious than ever of the fact that he was four inches shorter than Triphon.
    Inside, he turned back to see Avra step inside and face the full brunt of Neah’s stare.
    She turned from