Keepers of the Flame

by Robin D. Owens

“Perhaps later you can try to sense your parents,” Marian said.

  Eyes firing, Bri said, “We’ll do that.”

  The Citymaster cleared his throat. Bri flung out a hand. “Sevair very kindly brought me.”

  “I board her volaran,” he said. “I would like to hear how the Circlets can contact Exotique Terre. It has always been our understanding that such a thing is impossible.”

  Now Jaquar smiled toothily. “Bossgond. We will be leaving very shortly. You can come if you want.”

  Sevair hesitated, then smiled. “I have heard he is as irascible as a retired Master merchant who hoards his gold and knowledge and whose gout pains him.”

  “That’s right,” Jaquar said. “Coming?”

  The Citymaster glanced at Bri, who was still a little shaky, and Elizabeth who felt wrung out and probably looked it. “Not this evening. But you can tell the great Circlet Bossgond that I will accept your invitation in the future.”

  “We must leave,” Marian said, whisking toward the door. She didn’t open it in time for the hawk and it flew through it. Then she and Jaquar left.

  Bri rubbed her eyes. “I thought I saw—”

  “You did,” Elizabeth said.

  “I knew he was magical, but….”

  “I suggest we leave here.” Sevair scanned the room. “I don’t want to be alone in Circlets’ chambers.”

  “Nope. Ttho,” Bri said. “No telling what would happen if we touched the wrong thing.”

  Elizabeth handed her the yellow bottle. “The language potion.”

  “Suppose we’d better.” As soon as they were in the hallway and the door locked behind them, Bri uncorked the bottle and drank. Her lips curved as her tongue swiped them. “Good. Tastes as good as it smells.”

  She stared at Elizabeth. Elizabeth would have preferred to wait until her speaking and comprehension skills had actually faded until taking the potion, but Bri’s gaze was challenging and Sevair was watching. Elizabeth opened her own. “It smells better.” Tossing it down, she licked her lips.

  “Jaquar must have refined them,” Bri said.

  “Yes.”

  As they walked to Elizabeth’s tower suite, Bri asked Sevair, “Can they teleport?”

  “What is this teleport?” Sevair said.

  “Moving instantaneously from one place to another,” Bri said.

  Sevair’s eyes widened. “Why would you even think of such a thing? Who told you—”

  Elizabeth slipped an arm around Bri’s shoulders, squeezed, and answered. “In the magical Songs of Exotique Terre magicians sometimes have this power.”

  “Tel-e-por-ta-tion,” Sevair said, as if tasting the word. A corner of his mouth quirked up. “Fairy Songs for children.”

  “Guess so,” Bri mumbled.

  “Let me tell you about the dimensional telescope,” Elizabeth said. “Come to my rooms and we’ll see if there’s a picture in the famous and fabulous Lorebook of Exotique Marian.”

  There was. It sprang off the page, a three-dimensional hologram. The telescope was set before an infinity of mirrors. Then the image pivoted, the gears moved, and they were looking through the eyepiece at a small, book-laden apartment.

  “Fabulous, indeed,” murmured Sevair.

  Elizabeth couldn’t say anything. Everything she’d experienced caught up with her. Her mouth went dry. A dull thunk reverberated throughout her body. Finally she understood to the marrow of her bones that this was not a dream.

  Everything she’d experienced was true.

  She was trapped in another dimension.

  Bri couldn’t help it. After the usual exhilaration of the volaran flight from Castleton to her house, she crashed. Sevair held her arm and she leaned on him, feet dragging. Evidently he didn’t believe her cheery forced smile.

  “You’re tired,” he said.

  “Not really. I’ve had a nap.” Even though her sleep had been a series of nightmares.

  “Really,” he said firmly and led her straight to her bedroom, pushing her gently onto the bed.

  She sank into the feather mattress. Another slight shove on her shoulder and she was flat on her back, tugs as he removed her shoes. “Maybe I can rest my eyes for a moment.”

  “Rest your eyes.” He rolled the words out, sounding amused. Maybe they didn’t have that saying here. Her lashes had already closed, but she sensed his smile. That was good. The man didn’t smile often enough. Her last thought.

  A tinkling bell woke her up. The water clock. She’d adjusted it to ring at twelve-hour intervals, the least amount of settings. Groggily she stared at it. Six p.m. local time. Of course they probably didn’t say p.m. Frowning, she recalled them saying “of the evening” or “of the morning.” Then fuzziness vanished and she sat up, irritated at herself.

  She didn’t believe in naps. They were a waste of valuable time when she should be off doing something new and exciting, but two days in a row she’d fallen asleep in the afternoon, and today, twice! Yesterday, she could justify the sleep after the long day she’d put in the day before, but today…. She slipped from her wrinkled clothes and dressed in fresh ones, bundling the others down a laundry chute. Her mind provided rationalizations: she was still recovering from the time changes, Sweden to Colorado, Denver to Lladrana; she’d worked hard and needed rest; she was coping with an entirely new situation and dealing with many emotional shocks; she wasn’t connected to Mother Earth, and for some stupid reason tears flooded her eyes.

  A crash came from downstairs. Tentatively she probed the house with her senses.

  Zeres. Messing around in the kitchen. Probably eating her food, and she was starving. She grabbed her shoes and put them on and headed downstairs.

  He was munching a sandwich and vegetable salad in the dining room and she simply stopped to take in the sight. Big, unshaven, barrel chest and beer belly, shaggy hair, though it didn’t appear as dirty. In fact he looked well scrubbed.

  Light streaming through the windows lingered on the rough old man and the gleaming, perfectly fashioned table, the delicate china. He didn’t look right here.

  Hands on hips, she said, “Make yourself at home.”

  He grunted around a mouthful of food, swallowed, then his keen dark-brown gaze met hers. “Merci, I will.” He raised his brows at her scowl. “I am your mentor. You accepted me and sent the rest of those red tunics away.” Pointing a finger at her, he continued. “Despite all your successes, little girl, and your confident words, you need a mentor here.”

  Unfortunately he was right. She looked at him, then around the room, thought of the pretty, fussy bedroom, the purple guest room she’d already given him, all the elegant and expensive furnishings. “You don’t really fit here.”

  He glared, but, mannerly, he didn’t answer since he was chewing. Shifting from foot to foot, she realized that not only did he look out of place here, she felt strange. The house was beautiful, filled with beautiful things that intimidated her. What if she broke that china, scarred that table? She understood that everything was hers, or hers and Elizabeth’s, but it felt like a big responsibility. She had enough big responsibilities right now. And the house wasn’t her style—it was traditional, fashionable with the most elegant of the past. Elizabeth and their mother would prefer it.

  Furthermore, she felt a small pull, a hint of knowledge that there was some other place that called to her more. She’d had feelings like this before, walked a city until she found the neighborhood, the building she felt most comfortable in. Sometimes lodging wasn’t available there, but often it was. She’d been lucky more than once. She wondered what sort of place in Castleton would pull at her. No harm in finding out after dinner.

  So she fixed food and ate. Zeres apparently took his mealtimes seriously and didn’t speak. When she was done and Zeres swallowed the last of his apple cider, she pushed her plate aside and leaned over the table toward him. “We aren’t staying here.”

  “No!” He drew the smooth, pretty cobalt-glazed pottery mug toward him. “I wa
nt to stay.”

  Now she leaned back in her chair, the carving of the heavy back pressing into her. “This place isn’t my style.” Even the fancy patient room was too upscale. She wasn’t a doctor, she was a healer.

  She gestured around them. “Face it, we don’t belong here. My sister Elizabeth, maybe, but not us.”

  Frowning, he said, “Those medicas at the Castle will never let her go. She should be down here, like you.” He glanced at the kitchen. “And there’s the food.”

  “Wherever I go, they will feed me.”

  He perked up. “That’s right. They want you to concentrate on the frink plague. Always knew those things would be trouble.”

  “You and Sevair Masif.”

  “A good boy. Trifle stiff, but a good Citymaster.” Zeres scratched his cheek. “Pity about the betrayal of his man. Nasty situation, him being the new servant of the Dark and the Master of the horrors. Been a year, probably not much human left.”

  Bri stood. “Do people blame Sevair?” She took her dishes into the kitchen and put them in the sink, saw no soap or dishcloth to clean them, so she rinsed them off and let them stay, unhappy at leaving them dirty.

  Zeres followed her. “No, folk don’t, none of the gossip I heard. They admire him, know he took the defection hard. The Marshalls spread it around that the whole mess coulda been worse. The traitor’s a less effective Master than that one the Volaran Exotique defeated last year. Philosophical about it.”

  “Huh.” She really did need to read those Lorebooks. She shrugged, and the gesture made her think of her backpack. She wanted it while she explored the town this evening, followed the call, soothed her itchy feet.

  Zeres set his dishes in the sink and walked away. Sighing, Bri rinsed them, too, called, “Just a couple of minutes and we’ll go find our place.”

  Elizabeth kept busy with training sessions and when the Circlets didn’t communicate by crystal ball about her parents, her chest constricted.

  Finally she went to her suite, and skipping Alexa’s Lorebook, she started reading Marian’s. Elizabeth wanted information and fast. She found out Marian had created the best globe of Earth the Lladranans had, and wondered how well the woman had delineated the Hawaiian Islands. Though Marian hadn’t seemed to think finding the twins’ parents would be a problem, the Lorebook didn’t sound as if it was easy.

  On this discomfiting thought, Elizabeth fell asleep and woke as evening fell, stiff from sleeping at her desk. But she was used to grabbing sleep where and when she could and had slept sitting up more than once. The first thing she did was check the crystal ball on the table. It was clear. No calls.

  For a while she just wanted to hide, but she was hungry, so she tidied herself and left the suite, descending the stairs.

  Remembering the scene with the Circlets revived a bruising ache inside her. Despite all the interesting things she’d been learning, the igniting of her gift from a match to a torch, this wasn’t her place, wasn’t a vacation between her residency and practicing medicine as an emergency room physician. For an instant she wondered what Cassidy would think of the whole situation. If she’d still been engaged to him would she have been Summoned?

  So far in the past, two days ago and another life. Life would never be the same for either her or Bri.

  A man pushed away from where he’d stood in the shadows at the bottom of the stairs. Her hand went to her throat.

  “My apologies.” Faucon Creusse, the startlingly attractive man who was instinctively drawn to Earth women, swept her a bow.

  She found herself curtseying, though she’d only done that in occasional school plays.

  He stepped up to her. “I would never have startled you.”

  “Why are you here?”

  20

  Faucon’s brow furrowed, then he smiled wryly. “I think I sensed your distress. No one would stop any Chevalier from guarding any Exotique.” He held out a hand.

  After a moment, she put her fingers in his, and his bright aura flared to her other sight, even as his Song met hers, clashed, wove with hers.

  “Ayes,” he said and lifted her fingers to his lips. “This is good, the Song blesses us.”

  Elizabeth took a step back, drawing her hand from his. She’d liked the little sensual shiver as his mouth had pressed against the back of her hand, but was wary of it, too.

  “Please dine with me in my suite,” he said.

  “I don’t think—”

  “I assure you the food will be much better than what you will receive even in the Marshalls’ Dining room.”

  She believed that. “Thank you for your offer.” She hesitated. “Perhaps another time.”

  “Then may I escort you to the Marshalls’ Dining Room?”

  Cocking her head, she said, “Are you allowed in?”

  He smiled and her pulse quickened. “Of course. I’m richer and of a higher social status and have larger estates than many of the Marshalls. They don’t want to irritate me.”

  “Ah, I’d anticipated a discussion with the Exotiques—”

  “Calli is dining with her family. Alexa and Bastien have already supped. But I have spent much time with each Exotique and would be happy to answer any questions, tell stories.” He took her hand and tucked it in his arm and led the way down the hall.

  Elizabeth said nothing more as they made the long walk to the Marshalls’ Dining Room, but she watched his aura from the corner of her eye and listened to the faint melody of his Song. She was very aware of him, his hand covering hers on his arm, the easy muscularity of his body. She was very aware of his effect on her, the heating of her blood.

  She stepped away outside the door. “You’re here because of your attraction.”

  “Certainly.” He spread his hands. “Behold a poor moth dazzled by flame.”

  That made her smile. He was handsome, charming, sexy, and in excellent physical condition. Despite his instinctive desire for Exotiques, she didn’t think he was a man who lacked control.

  “All right,” she said. “So you’re here at the Castle with me because I’m accessible, as opposed to courting Bri in Castleton.” She bit her lip as she speculated on the depth of his liking. She didn’t bother to hide her doubt. The man was easy enough in her company that she felt she could be herself. No masks. She wasn’t sure how long it had been since she’d lived without a mask. Only those close to her saw her without one, her parents, Bri, Cassidy—

  This man was nothing like Cassidy—charming instead of intense.

  Faucon chuckled, took one of her hands and squeezed it. “Your sister is very attractive to me, too, but I think I prefer the less—unpredictable.”

  “Hmm.”

  He opened the door. “Superficial attraction can diminish or change.”

  She noticed his qualification.

  Bending, he whispered in her ear, “I’ve made a study of the Exotiques. But nothing in-depth. Yet.”

  She shivered at the note in his voice, looked at him through her lashes.

  The Castle battle alarm sounded. His jaw set. He whipped her behind him, held the door wider for the Marshalls bolting from the dining room. Elizabeth ran downstairs with him. She could have escaped his tight grip, but her heart was in her throat and she wanted to see the mobilization.

  He went to the courtyard instead of the Landing Field, dropped her hand, whistled high and long. Elizabeth flinched. His bow was brief, his mind already winging to other things—to battle, no doubt. Her nerves jittered.

  “I’m on rotation,” he said.

  His volaran, large and gleaming, landed in Temple Ward, and suddenly a man and a woman in squire uniforms were before him. One helped him into his armor, buckled on his sword. The other checked the volaran’s tack. A group of eight other hastily armored Chevaliers wearing Faucon’s colors of red and orange hovered near. He scanned them, nodded.

  “All here!” he called. “Go to the Landing Field, mount up, follow me. I will claim no portion of your kills.” He swung onto his volaran, di
pped his head at Elizabeth and his expression softened, his mouth quirked. “Would you join me for breakfast tomorrow?”

  She knew night battles were rare, but didn’t know how long any battle lasted, whether this was a small or large invasion. She didn’t anticipate sleeping, but waiting, and studying the Lorebooks.

  Everything was real.

  Keeping her gaze steady on his own, she said, “What about a very late dinner?”

  A grin that would melt any woman’s heart slashed across his face. “Done!” He waved at the female squire. “Tell my major domo. Neither of you are on rotation tonight.”

  “Yes, Hauteur.” She ran across the courtyard to the Noble Apartments.

  Faucon reached down and skimmed a thumb across Elizabeth’s cheek. “I’ll see you later.” He made it intimate, though the ward around them boiled with others readying and flying to fight. She could hear the commotion from the Landing Field beyond. Then he drew on his helmet, secured it, and pulled on thin gloves that Elizabeth hadn’t noticed folded over his belt.

  “Dreeth skin, very tough,” he said. “Good evening, Elizabeth.”

  She swallowed hard and repeated words she heard echoing around the Castle. “Good hunting.”

  He nodded and with a muttered word he and his volaran lifted into the sky. Elizabeth watched them fly away north. Then her eye was caught by movement in a lit third-story bow window of the Noble Apartments. Faucon’s female squire and another man watched, too. The man’s aura flashed with worry and fear; she sensed he wanted to fly with Faucon. The major domo caught sight of her and bowed, then turned away, giving orders. To prepare a wonderful dinner for her and a man who might not return.

  Bri had intended to stroll the streets of Castleton to see more of the small city and find the place that called to her. Zeres had a different idea. When he pulled her into the nearest neighborhood tavern, as tidy as the too-groomed square, she knew he’d discovered there was no liquor in the house. She was dealing with a real alcoholic. As she watched him gulp down an ale then fill up his bota bag, after telling the barkeep to charge it to “the Exotique Medica’s account,” she considered whether she could clear that sickness from him. She’d handled plenty of hangovers, her own included. She’d used the healingstream on people who’d liquored themselves up to take away the pain of injury—and dealt with both the alcohol poisoning and wound.