The ambassador led the way, Larana following, with Torren bringing up the rear. Her foot caught on her robe, and she flailed backwards. Torren caught her before she could fall.
“I’m so sorry.” Larana scrambled to hitch up the robe so it would trip her no more. He held on to her as she did so, her embarrassment, gratitude and still permeating trepidation radiating from their touch. He couldn’t help but notice Rux’s nervousness at the continued contact.
The stairs opened up into a wide hallway on the second floor. Columns and realistic paintings of blue skies lined the way. Directly across from the hallway was a carved door. It was here Rux led them.
He opened the door and stepped to the side. “I hope you’ll find it satisfactory. I will send someone back to let you know where your friend will be staying once a place has been made for him.”
He didn’t look in Torren’s direction, his back stiff, wings bunched together.
Larana stopped in the doorway and stared at the floor before turning around and looking the ambassador bravely in the face. “I–I would much prefer it if he was able to stay here with me.”
Rux blanched. Torren felt the sudden urge to chuckle but kept his unexpected amusement in check.
“He won’t hurt me. He’s protected me and has gone out of his way to get me here. Without him I would never have found out I was the Vassal.” Larana spoke in a rush before Rux could try to deny her. “I would…I would feel a lot more comfortable knowing he was here. Please.”
The ambassador studied her a moment then glanced at Torren, his eyes veiled. He finally nodded, it being only too obvious he didn’t trust himself to speak.
“Thank you!” Larana reached out and gave him a hug. His eyes widened as their skin touched. Larana backed away after a moment, her eyes searching his. “Goodnight.”
Rux’s face noticeably softened. “Goodnight. I’ll send someone to wake you in the morning and bring you breakfast. There’ll be some people here then who’ll be very eager to meet you.” He gave her a smile. “It is truly a miracle you’re with us again.”
He made a slight bow to both of them, turned and went back the way they’d come.
Torren followed Larana into the ambassador’s bedroom. A small bed was set in the corner, not taking up much room. Tall windows took up the back wall, giving a darkened view of the garden below. A nook in the spacious room held a less ostentatious desk than the one downstairs that was littered with papers. A door close to it led to a dressing room while another open doorway revealed a large bathroom with a sunken tub. A round table with chairs sat close to the door.
Larana walked from one end of the room to the other, staring at all there was to see. He grabbed a well-padded chair and dragged it closer to one of the lit braziers, then sat down.
“Torren, what’s this?” She was examining the small bed. At the top it was wide but then narrowed down through the middle before spreading out again. The upper third was set at a slight incline.
“It’s a Flyer bed.”
She glanced over at him. “A Flyer bed?”
“Yes. They don’t enjoy sleeping in the same types of beds we do—they force them to sleep on their stomachs, and most prefer to sleep on their backs. Only on a bed like this can they do so.”
“Oh.” She tried lying down on it and almost fell off trying to balance herself on the thin backing. “This is hard.” She sat up. “Will I have to sleep on one of them, too?”
“No, not if you don’t want to,” he told her. “As the Vassal, you can have any kind of bed you want.”
Larana blinked several times. “I see.”
He stood up at a soft knock on the door. Opening it, he found one of the bronze-armored guards with two others behind him.
“The ambassador asked us to bring your possessions. We’ve brought a cot as well.”
The men’s stance was tense and stiff, their eyes hard.
Torren said nothing but moved out of the way so they could come in. The tension was thick as they brought in Larana’s clothes, his pack, a cot and several blankets.
The girl watched; and as they turned to leave, she gave all three a shy smile. “Goodnight.”
They bowed curtly to her but said nothing. The last sent a hateful glare in Torren’s direction. He shut the door behind them.
“Why are they angry?” Larana’s voice sounded suddenly small.
He shrugged, grabbing his pack and checking through it. The contents were all there except for the dagger he normally kept in a side pocket. None of his other weapons had been returned, either. “Flyers don’t like Landers.”
Her small brows bunched together. “Why?”
He shrugged again. “They have wings, Landers don’t. They were chosen, others weren’t. It’s forever been this way.”
“I don’t have wings, will they look down on me?”
He glanced at her, sitting back down on the chair and covering up with a blanket. “You’re the Vassal, not a Lander. It’s not the same.”
“Why?” she asked, her face perplexed.
“It just isn’t.”
Larana walked slowly to the cot and sat down, gaze locked on her hands, clenched in her lap.
“You’ll be safe with them. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Yes, I know, but…”
Torren frowned. “But?”
She sighed heavily. “All I’ve ever been is a farmer’s niece. I know almost nothing about the world, El or the Chosen, and even less about being his Vassal.” Her large eyes turned toward him, revealing her doubts. “They…they seem so happy to have me here, so relieved, but I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. I’m going to disappoint them.”
At times it had been said the Vassal communicated directly with El—that he or she innately knew about their people, their god. Yet this girl held no such knowledge, had no such communications. He’d seen the shock in the ambassador’s eyes as he, too, realized this. To him it was only more proof of certain beliefs he’d come to possess.
But he told her none of this. “You’ll learn. And no one is expecting anything right now, they’re just glad you’re back. What matters is that you’ll be safe.”
The girl didn’t look too reassured. Torren’s frown deepened. “It’s been a long day and you’re tired. I’m sure things will look better in the morning.”
Larana nodded, not looking at him, and reached for her clothes. She made her way to the bathroom to change. When she came back, he pretended to be asleep in the chair so there would be no more questions. He wasn’t the person to still her fears; he possessed too many problems of his own.
An hour later, when he was still unable to fall asleep, he opened his eyes and glanced across the room toward the cot. Larana was curled on top of it, and it made her appear small and alone. He looked away.
But he’d actually done it. He’d found the Vassal and returned her to her people, though he’d despaired of ever being able to do such a thing. It was over. He’d be able to get on with his life and make of it what he could.
Now all he needed to do was figure out what that would be…
Chapter Thirteen
A soft knock at the door jerked Torren awake. Pushing to his feet, he rubbed at his stiff neck and hobbled toward the door. He glanced back and noticed Larana had yet to awaken.
Opening the door only wide enough to peer into the hallway, he found a grinning Micca waiting there. The young guardsman held a food-laden tray and was no longer wearing armor.
“I’ve brought breakfast.”
Torren nodded and opened the door enough to let him in. Micca set the tray on the table by the door, his bright eyes moving of their own volition toward the occupied cot.
“How is she?”
He was slightly amazed to find the ambassador’s nephew willingly speaking to him. He could only assume the joy at having the Vassal returned had momentarily set aside his normal abhorrence of grubs. It wouldn’t last.
“Still sleeping.”
Mic
ca nodded, still staring toward the bed. “I haven’t closed my eyes yet. I’ve been afraid of finding out it’s only a dream.” He grinned, finally turning to him. “My people owe you a great debt.”
So, that was it. He was amazed the Flyer didn’t consider the imagined debt galling, having the Vassal found by a grub instead of one of their own.
“I’ll be bringing some new garments for her. The council of elders has sent some representatives to do the final check, and they are all very eager to see her.” Micca glanced once more in Larana’s direction.
“I’ll wake her,” Torren volunteered. It wouldn’t be long before their paths would deviate once and for all.
“Wait.” The young Flyer’s gaze remained on the sleeping girl a moment longer before he reluctantly turned to Torren again. “What can you tell me about her? Do you know—what are her likes, dislikes?”
Torren found the second question a little odd. “I haven’t really known her all that long. Why do you ask?”
His cheeks colored slightly. “No reason. Just curious.” Micca turned toward the door. “I’ll be back before long.”
Torren followed and closed the door after him. Yes, it’d soon be over. He just wasn’t finding as much pleasure in the thought as he’d expected.
Figuring he’d best get on with it, he strode over to Larana’s side. He studied her for a moment, the loose strands of hair from her braid framing her peaceful face.
“Larana?” He got no reaction. “Larana, it’s time to wake.”
The girl moaned softly and half-turned from him. He reached to shake her lightly. The moment he touched her, her eyes snapped open. Panic filled them for a moment, but the second they met his they cleared.
“Torren.”
“Breakfast is here.”
As soon as she spied the tray full of cut fruit, rolls, butters and jams her face lit up—it was definitely better fare than she’d had since the two of them left the caravan. She got out of bed, eagerly reached for a roll and smothered it with a heavy layer of honey butter, then popped a slice of apple in her mouth.
“It’s so sweet!” She grinned from ear to ear then bit into her roll with relish.
She ate ravenously, but Torren only took one roll with a bit of jam. Strangely, he wasn’t hungry, though they had eaten little the day before.
Larana had just finished, sighing with contentment, when there was a knock at the door. Torren answered it and moved aside to allow Micca entry. This time he’d not come alone. Behind him, staring at the floor demurely, was an old woman carrying a small chest. Her wings drooped slightly, a yellowish tinge at the roots of her feathers.
At the sight of them, Larana went still. Micca dropped to one knee, followed closely by the old woman behind him.
“Good morning. I trust you slept well?” The joyous grin he’d greeted Torren with was back on his face.
Larana glanced quickly at Torren, as if at a loss, then nodded. Micca and the old woman stood up.
“This is Luta,” he said. “She’ll be helping you dress, if it’s acceptable?”
Her next glance in Torren’s direction lasted longer. “I…”
She bit her lip then nodded again.
Without a word, Luta headed toward the bathing room, still carrying the small chest. Larana hesitated a moment before following her.
Torren leaned against the wall, prepared to wait. Micca said nothing, meandering over to the table and filching some of the leftover fruit.
“You said you’ve not known her long…” he said after several minutes went by.
Torren wondered what this was about. “No, not long.”
“How did you…?”
“Find her?” He looked away. “It was an accident. If not for the men pursuing her, I might have never known.”
Micca’s eyes grew big. “Pursuing her?”
Whatever else might have been said was lost as soft giggling trickled into the room from the bathing area, distracting them both. Torren straightened, as if the sound had snapped him out of a half-dream. What was he doing? He’d finished what he’d set out to do. This would be the perfect time to leave. Larana was safe; she was being kept busy. He could avoid a long farewell and tears. He was sure none of the Chosen would object to his leaving. All he needed to do was pick up his pack and go.
But now that the thought was there, he hesitated. He’d left her once that way. On that occasion he’d been forced to come back. She’d not taken his leaving well. This was supposed to be a time of joy and discovery for her—he’d ruin it by just leaving. He’d go, of this there was no question. This time, though, he wouldn’t just run away.
“I’ll be back shortly.”
Torren had forgotten for a moment he wasn’t alone. The ambassador’s nephew picked up the emptied tray. Torren’s thick brows drew together as he thought he detected a strange expression partially concealed on the other’s face. He wasn’t sure what to make of it.
When Micca returned the look was gone, and he seemed as before. Not long after, the door to the bathing area opened.
Luta came out looking as serene and serious as before, until she glanced at Micca. Then her eyes seemed to get a life of their own and a small smile dabbed at her face. Torren totally dismissed her from his mind as Larana came into view.
Startled, he could do nothing but stare. Gone was the farmer’s niece with the banged-up knees and disheveled hair. She’d been replaced by something astonishing.
Unlike the robe she’d worn the night before, Larana’s new garment was a startling white. The folds and loops were wrapped correctly and it fit her to perfection. Her hair had been loosened from the eternal braid and cascaded in waves behind her, held back from her face by a golden headband. Her face looked scrubbed and fresh, a touch of color augmenting her cheeks and lips. Golden armlets adorned her upper arms, and there were rings on her fingers.
Before him stood a person worthy of the title of Vassal.
Micca went down on one knee at her entrance, sending a glowing grin in Luta’s direction. Then his eyes were only for the girl before him. “You look wonderful.”
Larana held her hands self-consciously before her and blushed. It made her look lovelier still and hinted at what beauty might be hers in the future. Torren finally managed to look away.
“If you’re ready, Aen, we should go present you to the councilors.” Micca rose to his feet, all smiles.
Larana looked up for the first time. “Aen?”
Micca nodded. “Forgive me, but it’s who you are, without a doubt.” He saw she was still confused. “All Vassals are given the name Aen. It was the name of the very first of their kind. It was the name you were given once you were born. Unless you would prefer your other name?”
“Oh, either…either would be fine,” she said quickly. “I’ll try not to forget it.”
Micca chuckled, looking embarrassed and reassured at the same time. “I’ll remind you, if you wish.”
Larana nodded.
“This way, then, please.” He opened the door and waited.
For the first time, Larana looked at Torren. She blushed even darker than before and stepped forward. He didn’t meet her gaze, instead moving to retrieve his pack. Luta fell in step behind the girl, and he brought up the rear.
Micca led them to the stairs they’d used the previous night. He offered his hand to Larana to help her down.
Larana hesitantly took it and descended slowly, as if afraid she would stumble at any moment. Torren couldn’t help but think what an astonishing entrance that would make.
When they entered Rux’s office several people were waiting for them. All eyes turned in their direction as a hush settled over the room. Torren stayed in the stairwell, half-hidden in shadow and out of the way.
Rux hurried forward and knelt before Larana, then took her hand and escorted her to the others. There were three Flyers, all wearing white robes with a purple stripe at the sleeve and golden wings on the shoulder marking them as members of the Chosen’s c
ouncil.
“Gentlemen, as promised,” Rux began, “the Vassal of El has been returned to us.”
The three Flyers stepped eagerly forward as Rux turned Larana so her back was to them. The oldest of the three, his face pruned with wrinkles, shouted with wonder, his wings making small, flapping jerks behind him.
“It’s true!” He immediately dropped to one knee. “El has not forsaken us.”
“I don’t believe it, though it is here before my eyes.” The second councilor, his back stooped, also went down on one knee.
The last man, younger than the other two, stood with his wings pulled straight back, an unreadable expression on his face.
“What more proof do you need, Tel Valerian?” Rux asked as the last did not move to kneel. He guided Larana to face the men again.
Valerian remained still a moment longer, and then a subdued smile stained his square face as he, too, dropped to one knee. “Welcome home, Aen.”
Torren watched the girl as she tried her best to look brave. “Th–thank you.”
Now they would whisk her away. Her days of toil and trouble were over. Homespun clothes would be replaced forever with fine robes. If she continued tripping over everything in sight, there would always be someone there to catch her before she hit the floor. Her every need would be attended to. The waif he’d traveled with would soon be nothing more than a memory.
All three councilors stood up.
“So, tell us, Aen,” Valerian prompted. “How is it you’ve been returned to us?”
The eyes in the chiseled, handsome face stared into hers as he towered over her.
“Sir,” she said meekly, “it was my friend’s doing. He knew what the markings on my back meant and knew where I needed to go.”
“Friend?” Valerian stared questioningly at Rux. Then he registered Torren’s presence in the background for the first time. “A grub?”
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