by CJ Brightley
Hanion was there among the rest, as pleased as everyone else to see the travelers returned. Larine snatched glances at him whenever he wasn’t looking, testing her feelings against her new experience. He was still the most handsome man she’d ever seen. She imagined how it would feel to do with him the things she and Shiar had done together, and her face got hot and her stomach clenched in longing. She liked Shiar, and she was coming to care about him on a level deeper than merely physical attraction, but if Hanion ever so much as took her hand and looked into her eyes, she’d tumble head-over-heels into love with him without a second thought.
After Dabiel finished telling the highlights of their trip to Gemgeda, with Larine chiming in occasionally, the lute player who’d been quietly strumming in the background resumed singing, as she’d been doing when they arrived. She was very good, her voice sweet and high, the melodies and words of her songs enhancing each other. Larine applauded enthusiastically with everyone else when she reached the end of her set, and dropped a generous tip in her cup.
It was growing late. A number of the wizards were bidding their friends good-night and leaving for their rooms. Larine pressed her lips together and took a deep breath. Now was the perfect time to draw Hanion aside and say the things she’d been rehearsing in her head the whole trip home.
She looked around, but didn’t see him. Just as she was about to conclude, with a mixture of disappointment and relief, that he’d gone to bed and she’d missed her chance, she spotted him coming from the kitchen, a cup in each hand. Before she could lose her nerve, she hurried over and planted herself in his path. “Hello, Hanion.”
He beamed at her. “It’s so good to have you and Dabiel back. How was Gemgeda? I bet your family was excited to see you after so long.”
She smiled at him, trying to convey her pleasure at his company without betraying the full depth of her feelings. “Mother didn’t stop talking the whole time, and Father cooked me a five-course feast every evening. Maple in everything, of course. I didn’t get tired of the taste, but it was close.”
He laughed. “Bring back any of that amazing maple mead?”
“Three cases. Enough to last through the winter, if I’m careful who I share it with.” She took a deep breath. “You’ll get your portion, of course.”
“There’s nothing better than sharing a bottle of mead with a friend by the fire on a cold winter night.” His voice was warm and sincere, but she couldn’t tell if there was more than brotherly affection in it.
If their relationship was going to change, it was up to her to make the first move. She crushed her fear and forced her voice to remain steady and casual. “How’s Tonia? I haven’t seen her here tonight.”
Hanion shifted his weight. “She’s fine, as far as I know. We’re not actually seeing each other any more. She called it off not long after you left.”
Larine’s heart leapt. Dabiel had been right. She fought to keep the pleasure out of her voice. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine.” He shrugged. “It was very amicable. We both agreed we weren’t right for each other.”
This was her chance. Now or never. Larine gathered all her courage. “In that case—”
But his eyes had traveled past her, and his face lit up with a tender, wondering smile that sent Larine’s heart crashing into her boots. “In fact, it was the best thing that could have happened, because then I met Semira.”
Larine turned to see the singer approaching, her face as bright and joyous as Hanion’s. She accepted one of the cups from him and drank eagerly. “Oh, that’s exactly what I needed. Singing is thirsty work.” She grinned at Hanion, then turned to Larine. Her expression was open and friendly, no trace of jealousy or suspicion. “Introduce me to your friend.”
Hanion put his arm around Semira’s shoulders. “This is Larine Hunterkin Wizard. We’ve been friends since we were apprentices. Larine, this is Semira Playerkin Singer.” He gave her a doting look. “We’re going to stand up together at Harvest.”
A wave of ice swept Larine from her scalp to her toes. She couldn’t speak, but it didn’t matter, because neither Hanion nor Semira was paying any attention to her.
Semira giggled, gazing into Hanion’s eyes, clearly as besotted as he was. “We didn’t want to wait that long, but my sister’s troupe won’t be back until then, and I’d hate for her to miss it.” She stroked his cheek. “I’m so glad your friends are back, too. Everyone we care about should be there to support us when we begin our lives together.”
“I agree.” Joy radiated from Hanion’s face and sang in his voice.
Pain stabbed Larine’s heart, but he was so happy, she couldn’t even wish things were different. This was her answer. Hanion was her past, and Shiar was her future. If she and Shiar could find even a tenth of the love that Hanion and Semira so obviously shared, they’d be lucky indeed.
She cleared her throat. Her voice sounded stilted and cold in her ears, but neither of the others seemed to notice. “Congratulations.” She forced her lips into a smile. “You two aren’t the only ones who’re going to be standing up soon. I met someone while I was gone, a sailor on our ship. The captain’s journeyman. We haven’t decided when yet, but Harvest might be good. His ship should be in port then.”
Semira’s delight was so genuine it obviously hadn’t occurred to her to consider Larine a rival or threat. It might have been easier if she did. It wasn’t comfortable, liking the person who’d destroyed your dreams. “That would be wonderful! Who else can we get together by then, Hanion? I have an extensive repertoire of love songs, if a few serenades would help. Let’s see if we can make next Harvest a bigger day for weddings than last Springtide.”
“Whatever you want.” Hanion tore his gaze away from her and focused on Larine. Something in the way he looked at her told her he’d known she might not take the news well and was relieved to find that his fear was apparently baseless. “Congratulations to you, too. You’ll have to bring your sailor to the Hall and introduce him.”
“I’ll do that. Tomorrow, maybe.” Shiar had been pressing her for a decision. He’d be delighted when she agreed. After she introduced him to everyone in the Guild and he’d won them over with his easy charm, she could take him upstairs to her room and they could celebrate in greater comfort and privacy than the ship had afforded. They’d have to talk about whether they wanted to look for an apartment to share, or whether she’d keep her lodgings in the Hall, since he’d be at sea so much. Wizards’ spouses and families were welcome to live in the Hall, although most couples moved out before they had children.
Semira chatted away while they settled into seats near the hearth. When Hanion told Dabiel the news, she shot Larine a quick look, then turned back to offer her congratulations with sincere enthusiasm. Later, Semira took up her lute again and sang, love song after beautiful love song, never taking her adoring eyes off Hanion.
Larine wanted to flee, but she made herself stay and listen to the music. Tears gathered in her eyes, but she dashed them away before they could fall. Her future was bright, holding the promise of great happiness, if she was willing to embrace it. She wouldn’t spoil it mourning for something that never could have been.
Finally Semira brought the music to a close, and the gathering broke up. Larine bid everyone good-night and headed to her room. She shut the door behind her, savoring the quiet solitude.
Before she could start getting ready for bed, a knock sounded. Larine cursed beneath her breath and opened the door. Dabiel stood there. She studied Larine with worried eyes. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.” Larine stood aside. “Only for a minute, though. I’m very tired.”
“Me, too.” Dabiel waited while she closed the door, then took Larine’s hands. “Are you all right?”
Larine swallowed hard and nodded.
Her friend squeezed her hands. “I’m so sorry.”
Larine shook her head and pressed her eyes shut. Dabiel pulled her into a long, wordless hug. Larine dropped
her head to Dabiel’s shoulder, the grief she’d tried to contain breaking free and pouring from her in deep, wrenching sobs. Dabiel stroked her back and hair, silently patient, until Larine’s tears were spent and her shaking stopped. Finally, when her breathing had slowed to something approaching normal, Dabiel led her to the bed and made her sit down. She fetched a washcloth from the cupboard, dampened it at the washbasin, and came to sit by Larine’s side and gently wipe her face. The cool cloth soothed Larine’s hot cheeks and burning eyes.
“Forget Hanion. He’s a jerk. He doesn’t deserve you. If he hasn’t noticed how you feel about him in all this time, you’re better off without him.”
Larine nodded mutely. Part of her wanted to defend Hanion, but a bigger part relished Dabiel’s disdain.
“Marry Shiar and get busy enjoying life. Show Hanion what he missed. In a few years when he gets tired of that giggly songbird, he’ll be sorry. But you won’t care, because you’ll be deliriously happy with your strong, handsome sailor, who’s twice the lover Hanion will ever be.”
Despite herself, Larine choked out a laugh. Dabiel nodded in satisfaction. “That’s more like it. You don’t need anyone who isn’t desperately in love with you, begging your permission for the privilege of worshipping you. If that’s Shiar, good. If not, dump him, too, and find someone who will. Or don’t. You don’t need anyone else to be happy.”
Larine sniffled. Dabiel offered her a handkerchief, which Larine accepted and used to blow her nose. She grinned wanly at her friend.
“Feeling better?”
“Much. Thank you.”
Dabiel pointed imperiously at Larine’s pillow. “Get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow you can spend all day healing people. After the Mother’s power flows through you for a few hours, you won’t even remember why you were unhappy.”
The thought of the warm golden light filling her was comforting. Larine sighed and nodded.
A swift blur shot through the open window and landed on the perch beside the bed. Flutter regarded Larine with concern. Are you all right? I was hunting when I felt you crying. I came back as fast as I could.
I’m fine. Dabiel helped me. Larine reached for her familiar. He hopped into her lap and pressed his warm body against her.
Dabiel stroked the falcon’s head and rose. “Good. Flutter, I’m trusting her to you. Don’t leave her alone tonight. She should be over the worst of it tomorrow.”
Tell her I won’t. Flutter pulled away from Larine to bob his head earnestly at Dabiel, then plastered himself back against her body. No matter what happens, you’ve always got me.
I know. I’m glad. Thank the Mother she’d chosen Larine as a wizard. Between Dabiel and Flutter, she knew she’d always have steadfastly loyal support. “He says he won’t.” She bent her head to breathe the falcon’s wild, musky scent. “Thanks, Dab.”
“My joy is in the service.” She grinned at Larine to lighten the formality of the traditional words, but Larine knew she meant them. “I’m heading back to my room. Buttons is probably asleep already. If you need me, send Flutter to wake me up. I’ll leave my window open.”
“I will. Good-night.”
“Good-night.” Dabiel slipped through the door and eased it closed.
Larine stripped off her clothes and dropped them on the floor. She’d clean up tomorrow, before she brought Shiar up. Right now, all she wanted was to burrow under the blankets and go to sleep.
5
Restday, 26 Growing, 976, 23rd hour
A long line of grim, silent wizards emerged from the corridor that led to the Guildmaster’s office and wound through the main Hall. Larine couldn’t bear to look at any of them. Which of her friends and guildmates would die tomorrow? Which of the familiars who clung close to their bondmates would be forced to draw the last dregs of life from both of their bodies and throw them into the storm? Which of them would pass through the darkness into the Mother’s light, never to return?
Hanion and Thunder walked to the end of the line and took their place. Larine fell in behind them, Daisy at her feet. None of them spoke. There was nothing left to say.
The night wore on and the line crept forward. One by one, the wizards entered Dabiel’s office. Each emerged a few minutes later and walked silently with their familiar to the stairs. Larine studied their faces surreptitiously as they passed, but none revealed a clue as to what had been said.
Finally, they reached the front of the line. Hanion held the door for Thunder, shot Larine a look of anguish and resolve, and entered. The door closed behind him with a thud.
Larine strained her ears, but she could hear nothing from beyond the stone wall and thick wood. She rubbed Daisy’s head. The dog licked her hand.
Much too soon, the door opened again. Hanion strode out, his hand on Thunder’s neck. He gave her an inscrutable look, in which all she could read was deep and enduring love, and passed her, down the corridor and into the Hall. Larine took a shaky breath and forced her hands to open the door and her feet to carry her through.
Dabiel was seated behind her desk. She wore the Guildmaster’s cloak, its gold trim glittering in the light shed by lanterns on the walls. She nodded, carefully formal, as Larine sat down in the single chair facing the desk. Usually two stood there, but one had been moved to the far side of the room. Tonight each wizard must make their decision and communicate it alone.
Not entirely alone. Daisy jumped into Larine’s lap. She’d grown too big to fit comfortably, but Larine didn’t care. She wrapped her arms around the dog. Daisy licked Larine’s face, and her tail thumped her side.
Dabiel gave them a bleak, exhausted smile. “The Mother asks you to sacrifice your life to save the people of Elathir from the approaching storm. Are you willing?”
Larine squeezed her eyes shut. There was only one thing she could say. “Yes.”
Dabiel sucked in her breath. Larine opened her eyes to find her friend staring at her. She ducked her head. “I am willing, Dab. I’ll go if you need me to. But please, if there are enough others who volunteer, don’t choose me. I know Hanion said no. At least, I hope he did. I don’t want to leave him. But if he said yes, and it has to be one of us, send me. I felt the Mother speaking to me, and he didn’t. I know this is my duty. If you have to choose me, at least let me know he’ll live.”
Larine raised her eyes to meet Dabiel’s. She flinched at the depth of pain and grief she saw there. “Dear Mother, Dab. Are you all right?”
“Of course not. How can I be?” Dabiel slumped in her chair and groped for Buttons.
Larine pushed Daisy out of her lap with an apologetic thought and jumped to her feet. She rounded the desk and threw her arms around Dabiel. The Guildmaster sagged against her, body shaking with silent sobs. “I’m here. It’s all right to cry.” She stroked Dabiel’s hair, remembering all the times her friend had done the same for her, and how much comfort it had given, even when she’d been empty and hopeless. Still, the gesture seemed pitifully inadequate. She’d never faced anything close to the horror Dabiel was enduring.
After a much shorter time than Larine thought she needed, Dabiel stilled and pulled away. She rubbed her eyes. “Blast it, Lar, I’m sorry.”
“You’ve got nothing to apologize for. I’m only doing what you’ve done for me a dozen times. You don’t have to go through this alone.”
“But I’m not the one who’s making the sacrifice.” She picked up her pen and opened a book on her desk. Larine carefully averted her eyes. “I can’t tell you what Hanion said.”
“Of course.” Larine returned to her chair, after eyeing Dabiel and deciding she was unlikely to break down again.
“Or any of the others.” Dabiel wrote, closed the book, and put down the pen. “But I promise I’ll honor your request and spare you if I can. You’ll only be on that ship if I’ve got no other choice.”
The knot in Larine’s stomach released. “Thank you.”
“Thank you.” Dabiel mustered a wan smile. “I would have preferred if you�
��d refused completely, but at least you gave me a chance to save your life.” She raised her hand as Larine started to protest. “And I know I can count on you to do what’s necessary, if that’s how things turn out.”
Larine clamped her mouth closed on the question she desperately wanted to ask. But Dabiel read the flick of her eyes toward the book with an effortlessness born of their long acquaintance. “It’s going to be close, Lar. Not many are left who haven’t told me their decision. I don’t know if there are going to be enough.”
Larine frowned. “I’m surprised. I would have thought almost everyone would volunteer.”
“I’m glad they didn’t.” Dabiel stared at the book, her fists clenched. “At least this way I know I convinced them to tell me the truth, not feel obligated to say yes no matter what. At least I know the ones who’ve volunteered mean it.”
“We do.” Larine put all the certainty she could muster into her voice. “You’re not sending anyone who isn’t absolutely certain they’re willing to do this. Freely, because the Mother asks, without any pressure other than knowing what will happen if we don’t.”
“Thank the Mother. I couldn’t bear it otherwise.” Dabiel waved at the door. “Go. Get some sleep if you can. All of us will need every scrap of energy we can salvage tomorrow, whether we go or stay.” One corner of her mouth turned up with strained but genuine humor. “Although I expect you’ll find a way to pass the time if you can’t sleep.”
Larine ached to be in Hanion’s arms. She didn’t know how much more lovemaking they could cram in before morning, but she intended to find out. She nodded and rose. Before leaving, she stopped at the desk and laid a hand on Dabiel’s arm. “If you need me, for anything, I’m here. Just ask.”