Despite her faint protests, he escorted her to her door, bowed and left. But the night air had awakened her. Her nerves hummed with a anticipation. Faucon Cruess was flying her way.
She turned and descended the tower stairs, out to Temple Ward and saw more than one window of Faucon’s suite lit for his homecoming. She was still expected. She heard the rush of the first warriors returning. A moment later, Alexa’s grumbling came. “You’re as tired as I am. You shouldn’t be carrying me.”
A swat as if on muscular buttocks. “I’m not tired. Yet,” Bastien replied. His quick, wet footfalls sounded from the open door of the Assayer’s Office to Elizabeth’s right and she faded into the deep shadows of the cloister.
“Damned wild magic black-and-white,” Alexa muttered.
When Bastien jogged past, wife over a large shoulder, he said, “Salutations, Elizabeth.”
“Salutations, Elizabeth,” Alexa said at the same time.
“A good night.” Bastien’s teeth flashed in a smile. “Good battles,” he added with satisfaction. “Good results.” Though the rain was falling harder, they appeared only damp. He didn’t slow his pace as he entered the keep.
More voices rose from the Landing Field and Elizabeth considered her paths—through the Assayer’s Office full of monster parts, God forbid. Or backtracking through the keep then threading a dripping maze, or down to Lower Ward and through the Chevaliers’ Horseshoe Close. That was a long walk, but was mostly covered.
As soon as she passed through the gate to Lower Ward she saw two hawks perched on a stone gutter, grooming.
Salutations, Elizabeth, said Sinafinal.
Salutations, Elizabeth, said Tuckerinal.
With a flutter of wings, the feycoocus lifted into the air. We will accompany you to the Landing Field so you don’t get lost.
Ha. Something in the fey-coo-cus’ tones made Elizabeth think the beings didn’t trust her to go there on her own.
Faucon gets a lady at last. Tuckerinal craned a look back at her, smirking around his beak.
“We’re not staying,” Elizabeth protested. But the magical shapeshifters were already flying across the ward. Elizabeth didn’t spend any more breath on them, and when she reached the Landing Field, they bulleted into the sky and away.
Again Elizabeth took to the shadows. This time the weary Chevaliers crossing to the stables and Horseshoe Hall didn’t discover her or paid her any mind. Nor did the returning Marshall pairs. A few radiated sexual tension as Bastien and Alexa had, but most stumbled wearily through the back door of the Assayer’s Office and to their quarters.
She’d kept count of the little markers moving on the map, and soon all but two had returned. Faucon and one of his Chevaliers.
Long minutes later, she heard the tired, irregular beat of volaran wings and two dark shapes landed, separated into men and volarans, the larger supporting the other. Faucon had flown back to help one of his people.
Both winged horses drooped. Faucon’s squires rushed from the stables where they’d waited. He waved them to his man, glanced her way. “Help Renny to bed and send for a Castle medica,” Faucon ordered. “Let the stablehands tend the volarans.”
Elizabeth wanted to volunteer her help, but hesitated. She’d never healed anyone by herself, and no medica had visited the Map Room. They’d be fresh, she wasn’t. So she stayed where she was.
The three limped away to Horseshoe Close as the volarans folded bedewed wings and trudged into the stables.
Faucon crossed toward her, eyes gleaming.
“You’re here. You stayed up and waited for me.” His voice was rougher than the usual lilt. Desire flamed in his eyes, ignited an answering sensuality in her. There was something about watching a man come to you, focused on you, intent on sex.
Heat sent langour through her limbs, tightened her breasts, her body readying for him.
She had to be the one to break the passion building between them, but she couldn’t. She didn’t want to. God help her, she was going to take what she wanted.
He stopped, gaze on hers, not a foot from her. Pheromones blazed off him, his aura fiery with passion.
Elizabeth swallowed. This was no sauntering, charming nobleman. This was a man who’d fought and killed monsters, had led men in battle and brought them out. He knew as much about fighting for life and against death as she did. More.
She couldn’t move.
Braced, he reached for her hands, took them gently, lifted them, then kissed her cupped palms softly. Did she feel the touch of his tongue? She didn’t know. The thought of that had her swaying toward him.
He kissed her, a press of lips on hers and the scent of him, man and stranger, trembled through her. She could hear his Song, loud with the percussion of sexual arousal. Yet there was more—the innate attraction women like her had for him. That was an undertone to all his thoughts and actions. More still, caring. Already, respect. That she yearned for.
His hands were on her, curving around her hips, sliding up to her breasts, and the heat and their Songs thundered in her ears. She wanted this, the lust of the man, the caring, the respect.
He touched her with knowledgable hands, sending her blood pressure high, stimulating a sex drive she’d thought dead.
He wanted her. He knew what she was, of her gift. He admired her gift.
Taking both her hands in one solid grip, he held them above her head as he rocked against her, nibbled her neck. “I need. I need,” he panted.
She needed, too. Comfort, security, passion. Rational thought sizzling away in physical pleasure. “Yes,” she said and rose tiptoe to run her tongue along his jaw. He groaned and turned his mouth as she’d wanted him to, and plunged his tongue into her and she tasted him and savored him and let the firestorm of passion rule until she shattered in release moments later.
Faucon came back to himself with a rush, followed by inward cursing. He’d taken her, a prized Exotique, with no finesse or tenderness. He opened his mouth to apologize, stopped. Looking down at her flushed face and curved smile, he felt the softness of her yielding body and knew enough about women that an apology might be an insult.
Just seeing her aftermath of pleasure, hearing her humming Song of satisfaction, aroused him again. A quick glance around the Landing Field confirmed that they were alone. Relief trickled through him. A couple of volarans were around, but most had retired to the stable, and volarans were uninterested in human sex unless it affected their flier and volaran status.
Would Elizabeth stay with him for the night, or let him stay with her? In Alexa’s tower. He winced. Not optimal circumstances for an affair with an Exotique, in a chamber under Bastien and Alexa. Bastien had never quite forgiven Faucon for trying to claim Alexa. Then Faucon recalled dinner and eased. The night was late, or the morning was early, he’d persuade her to stay with him.
“Faucon?” Elizabeth opened her eyes and he thought he could see the hazel of them even in the dark.
Her wrists pushed against his grip and again he suppressed a curse. He’d pinned her against the wall, with hands and body. Sliding his hands down to her waist, he said, “One moment.” Though his sex stirred again with their movements, he needed to show her tenderness more than another bout of mindless passion. No matter how good it had been.
Lifting her from him, he hummed a quick little ditty that most adolescent boys learned for circumstances like these.
She blinked rapidly. “Faucon!” The word was strangled.
Merde! He’d forgotten. Again. That she wouldn’t be used to Lladranan ways. Heat crawled up his neck. “A little cleansing and drying spell,” he muttered. “For both of us.”
“I…see.” She snorted. “Or rather feel. Very efficient and tidy.”
“Ayes.” He made sure she was on her feet, then managed his clothes, as did she.
She stood, head tilted, watching him. He brushed a kiss against her lips. Tracing a thumb over her cheek, he stared into her dilated eyes, couldn’t fathom her emotions. “I didn�
��t hurt you?” His primary concern.
“No. Ttho.” Her smile was wobbly. “It was wonderful. You’re a wonderful man.”
His fingers drifted over her mouth. “Don’t say ‘but’. I want to know you better.” He couldn’t help the flash of a grin, he felt triumphant. “In all ways.” He hesitated. “Dinner awaits us.” He dropped his hand.
A little sigh came. “I should think about this.”
He wanted to say that she shouldn’t, that she should follow her heart.
Taking a step away from her—more difficult than he expected—he offered the crook of his elbow. “Then, lady medica, let me walk you to dinner.”
She chuckled, disconcerting him, like her earlier snort. “Ayes,” she said. “I’ve found Lladrana very dangerous. You never know when you’ll be accosted, say, on the Landing Field.”
He didn’t know how to respond. Again he thought an apology might be a misstep. “I can only say that my experiences on the Landing Field have been exquisite.” He gave a half bow.
“Oh.” She blinked and blinked again. “Ohhh.”
“What?”
“I understand you better.”
Another grin he couldn’t suppress. “Of course you do. A benefit of lovemaking.”
“Really?”
“Ayes.”
She frowned, and he thought he heard her intricate Song as she considered the matter.
It had stopped raining. Calculating the paths he could take, he opted for the most romantic. “Have you been through the maze?”
“No, I came to the Landing Field by way of Lower Ward and the stables.”
He smiled down at her, covered her hand tucked into his arm with his own. “The hedges of the maze are verdant, and the brithenwood tree in the garden flowers early and stays long. The scent is wonderful.”
“Won’t it be wet?”
“The paths are large enough to accommodate two.” Especially since she was smaller than most Lladranan women. He glanced at the sky and the heavy clouds shrouding half the moon. “Though there will be more rain, so we’ll walk instead of dally.” He kissed the top of her head, smelled the scent of soap and persperation and Elizabeth. Swallowed his yearning. He hoped their meal would be good.
Then he led her into the maze.
“Ohhh,” she sighed.
“Diamonds of rain silver in the moonlight, giving life to the new leaves.”
She sniffed. “The fragrance is lovely.”
Yes, her scent still lingered in his nostrils. He hoped he managed to eat and converse before he made love to her again.
Her body relaxed beside him and he realized how tense she’d been. She obviously didn’t want to talk about sex or any stronger Song spinning between them. He should slow his wooing down, but his body clambored for more sex, more often. He’d wait and watch and judge the moments with her, and win her.
She was enchanting.
Bri jumped backward to the tower door, yanked. It wouldn’t open. Stuck or locked shut. She whirled. More rustling came and black shadows whispered and shifted and s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d.
She pulled her dagger.
It laughed in her mind and a creaky wheeze came to her ears.
Something dry and scaly fastened around her wrist, flexed closed and she dropped the knife.
She looked down to see the smallest claw of a bird’s foot holding her, trapping her.
“What are you?” she breathed out, and breathing in, caught its scent and magic and lingering evil.
Another chuckle in her mind, then a faint burp.
I am a roc, and I eat the evil. There was the clicking of a beak, the cluck of tongue. Just finished snacking on bits of monster left behind. Sangvile.
Bri stiffened. She’d been warned of the sangvile, heard the stories of its rampage.
This was its lair. Now the tower of this place will be my nest. The huge bird angled its head and tapped the ceiling and a large center portion slid open. Cold wind and rain blew in causing the bird to shriek a cry that made Bri’s ears ring.
A place of Power that drew me. It tilted its head and Bri saw a gleaming sapphire eye the size of a dinnerplate. The saffron claw dropped from her wrist. As the place drew you, healer-from-the-land-beyond-the-winds.
Rain slicked down Bri’s face like lost tears.
Or pehaps we drew each other, too. You will nest here, too.
Her lips were nearly too cold to answer. “Maybe.”
Another, quieter bird-caw of laughter. Surely.
It moved to the middle of the room and stepped to the floor above, hopped to the top of the stair tower to the right. Lightning struck behind it and the jeweltoned colors of its plumage dazzled Bri: ruby, emerald, sapphire, gold wing feathers, midnight-blue-black legs, golden head, a body the same color as its wings.
Fantastic.
Lightning and a surreal scene—a bird perched atop a tower crennelation, wings raised.
You should sleep in the room below, where I ate all the sangvile remnants and Sang the place clean, it said, fluffed a huge bush or two that looked torn from their roots, and with a melodious hum, closed the ceiling.
Bri just stood, shivering and cold and damp. Wondered if she was dreaming or if another aspect of this weird place had just hit her over the head. Again. She’d always had a good and flexible imagination, but lately it had been stretched so far out of shape that she didn’t know if she’d ever see things right.
“Bri, Bri!” Zeres’s irascable voice boomed over the thunder. His heavy, rapid footsteps sounded on the staircase.
“Here,” she called weakly, cleared her throat and yelled louder. “Here!”
The door shivered under his strength, jumped open. “Damn stuck door,” he grumbled. He looked at her but stood at the threshold, didn’t come into the room. “This place stinks of sangvile.” His gaze darted around, then his expression eased. “There was one here in Castleton a year back.”
“Yes.” Bri’s voice sounded odd to her ears. “I think it laired here.”
He sniffed, sneezed, took a rag from his pants pocket and blew his nose. “Smells like something else, too.” He frowned.
“Roc,” Bri said faintly.
“Roc!”
The ceiling slid aside and a head thrust down, saffron beak clicked. You Sing for me?
Zeres’s mouth fell open. He stepped back. Thumps and swears as he missed a couple of steps. He didn’t return.
She hurried down.
The ceiling clunked into place. The roc laughed in her mind.
Zeres stood panting, Bri listened to his groans, but knew he wasn’t hurt. “Roc.” He swore, clumped a few steps down. Cursed again, entered the second level, gave a liquid snort. Limping into the middle of the room, he surveyed it. “Roc.” He shook his head. “Not a smidgeon of sangvile in this chamber. Some in the room below, and up there,” he jerked his chin up, “but nothing here.”
“The roc said it ate the sangvile, then cleaned the room.”
Zeres grunted. He shook his head again. “Roc.” Lifting his brows, he said, “Something about you Exotiques draws magical creatures. Fey-coo-cus. Volarans. Rocs, by the Song.” He went up to a window and squinted at it, waited until after the next boom of thunder to speak. “Don’t fancy goin’ back out into the rain to your pretty little house.”
Standing there in the dark, with squares of windows light against the night beyond, cold drips of rain dribbling down her body, one of the windows whining in the wind, Bri agreed.
Muttering under his breath, Zeres stripped off his cloak, spread it on the floor, which the next bolt of lightning showed to be an attractive wooden parquet pattern.
“Girl, get over here and I’ll teach you a Song to boost your body heat like a blanket all night.”
“The roc said this is a place of Power. I feel it, too.”
Silence from the corner.
“You were going to teach me. To be honest with me.”
“The spell is called Sinedre, a simple refrain.”
“Okay.” He said the English word most Lladranans knew irritably. “Mebbe if I let myself, I’d feel some Power.”
“Healing Power,” Bri insisted.
“Specifically?”
“Yes. What might cause that?”
“I dunno. Mebbe I’ll sleep on it. You want a parta this cloak or not?”
“Wood isn’t as cold as stone.” Bracing one hand against the wall, Bri pulled off her shoes. Her toes curled. Her socks were damp, too.
“Stone’s under the wood.”
“The roc’s nesting on top of the stair tower. Does that make it a she?”
Zeres grunted, rolled to put his back toward her. “Don’t wanna thinka the roc t’night, either.”
Bri padded over to him, sat on the cloak and shivered as she felt the warmth of it. Magical cloak. Of course. It was dry, too. “So how does this spell go?”
He Sang and his rich voice so amazed her that she missed the first few words. “Again?”
“You Exotiques are so slow. Child’s play for medicas.” He Sang again, and Bri could almost see motes of Power gathering around him, encircling him, encasing him, keeping him warm. Her feet felt like blocks of ice. She licked her lips and Sang.
Magic sifted down on her, warmed her like an electric blanket. “Are rocs nocturnal birds?”
Zeres gave a fake snore.
No, whispered in her mind. We will talk in the morning.
22
Raine Lindley, once of Best Haven, Connecticut, and now of the Open Mouthed Fish tavern somewhere else, scrubbed the iron pot hard. She tried to ignore her distorted image in the dented silver pitcher that was the owner’s pride and joy.
She hated seeing even a little of herself, particularly her face. She didn’t look younger than her twenty-seven years anymore. Lines had sprouted around her eyes and mouth.
That happened when a person was yanked from one world to another, and didn’t know the language, or look like the natives.
She kept dirty. If she washed her hair it showed dark brown instead of black and her skin was whiter than these people had—Lladranans, she’d figured out in the six odd months she’d been here. Nothing she could do to disguise her dark green eyes except keep a hank of hair in front of her face. The locals thought she was from “that filthy city full of foreigners some leagues down south” and didn’t have all her wits.
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