Keepers of the Flame

by Robin D. Owens

  But she’d thrown herself into the healingstream, pulled it through her body, used all her own resources, too, and it hadn’t been enough.

  She should have been able to save him. She knew it. There was some technique or trick that would have healed him. Just doing what she had been all her life wasn’t enough, and it should have been.

  The other Chevalier wept silently. Elizabeth soothed him with touch and Song, trying to comfort. The loss of a spouse was devastating.

  The body convulsed under Bri’s palms in a final spasm. Death rattle. Bri jerked away, dazed, to Elizabeth. She’d dealt with this often enough to be able to function.

  “We’ll take care of him,” said a Castle medica, pulling a sheet over his face.

  “Appears as if the Dark or the Master knows we can heal the frinkweed disease and has designed something different,” Marian said grimly. “It can’t be cured by the Exotique medicas, can cause them to doubt themselves, and engender an additional terror into those fighting.”

  “Excellent analysis,” Alexa said.

  “An additional horror,” Calli said. “Something to take back from the battlefield that eats you inside.” She shuddered.

  Elizabeth, holding the other Chevalier and leading him from the room, glared back at the Colorado women.

  Stumbling to a chair, Bri flexed her fingers. Her hands had failed her.

  There was murmuring in the hallway, then Elizabeth returned and came to Bri, putting her hand on Bri’s shoulder. Easy. Alexa’s right. It wants us to doubt.

  What am I doing here? I’m a massage therapist! Bri whimpered.

  Elizabeth’s nails dug into her shoulder. Stop that! You’re a natural healer. Be glad you’ve helped so many. Helped me.

  Sevair walked in, dressed in elegant flying gear made of strange gray leather. With a little jolt, Bri realized that his tunic and pants were made of soul-sucker skin. “It’s time to leave for Troque City.”

  Bri stared at him blindly. “Leave?” She looked down at her hands that had betrayed her. “I can’t leave.” Her voice broke. “Not until we figure out why we can’t cure this. The Chevaliers need me—”

  Sevair’s expression went hard. “The Marshalls and the Chevaliers have Elizabeth.” He inclined his head to her. “And their own medicas. You are here for the Cities and Towns.” He made a sweeping gesture. “People are dying from frink sickness out there. In the other towns and villages, across the land. Your visit will give them hope. Your duty is to us.”

  Because they were the ones who paid for the Summoning. Bri tasted bitterness.

  “He’s right,” Elizabeth said. “The Circlets and medicas will be researching this new sickness.”

  “Absolutely for sure,” Alexa said, fingering her baton.

  “I’ll be here,” Zeres said heavily. “I’ll do what I can. Here and in Castleton while you are away. I can learn from—and help—Elizabeth.” His upper lip lifted. “Perhaps other medicas can learn from me.”

  The other medicas shared an uneasy glance as if disturbed at following Zeres’s path, discovering how to cure the frink sickness but surrendering some sanity.

  Bri’s fisted nails poked into her hands. “I thought we were leaving tomorrow?”

  Sevair came to her, lifted her to her feet, and wrapped a plush purple cape around her. “Why waste daylight when we can fly at night? Have a late dinner and rest at a fine inn at Troque—we’re visiting the main cities first—then you can begin healing when fresh.” He clasped the cape under her chin with a jeweled broach, kind eyes looking down at her. “You’re tired. You can rest on the way.”

  Bri didn’t know about that. Or this fine, warm cape. But that wasn’t her first concern. “We’ll be gone longer than a week?” She still didn’t like that idea.

  A short nod from Sevair.

  “Then I won’t get back until after our parents return and find out Elizabeth and I are gone.” Her voice rose. She hated thinking of that. Their frantic fear.

  Sevair’s jaw flexed. “I spoke to my colleagues this morning. The Cities and Towns have authorized payment to Circlet Bossgond to find a way of communicating with the Exotique Medicas’ parents.” One side of his mouth twitched up in a sour smile. “He wasn’t cheap.”

  Alexa drew herself up. “We Exotiques will reimburse you for half. We want this, too. To ease our friends’ minds and our own.” She shrugged. “Materials for Bossgond’s magic spells—”

  “Studies,” Marian corrected.

  Alexa snorted, shrugged. “Whatever. Bossgond uses a lot of dreeth parts.” Again she caressed her baton. “We’ll provide them. Anything he needs from the horrors. As for you,” she pointed a finger at Sevair. “The current Master of the horrors was your man. Consider how he might think. The frinks have been falling for a couple of years, so that was a part of the old Master’s plan to demoralize us. But I bet your guy developed this new Chevalier sickness.” She twitched as if she felt something between her shoulder blades. “It’s bad when you think that you might take something that will kill you slowly and painfully back from battle.”

  “That’s happened for years at home,” Elizabeth said. “Bri and I have seen it.” She met Bri’s gaze, and a tide of love and shared emotions washed between them.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Alexa rubbed a temple. “But I was a lawyer at home. Didn’t fight in stupid wars there.”

  “I will think on this,” Sevair said, biting off the words. “Though I’ve done little else since Jumme betrayed me. Now it is time for Bri and me to leave.”

  Bri stuck up her chin. She didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay exactly where she was. She’d always made her own decisions about when to go or stay.

  Elizabeth came over and hugged her hard. “Be safe.” So Elizabeth was sure this is what had to be done and therefore it was good. Bri kept hot, futile words from her tongue and mind.

  “I still don’t know how to ride a volaran well enough for Distance Magic.” And that sentence was so odd, so full of Lladranan concepts she shook her head.

  “Other Circlets have rented us a flying carriage.”

  Bri goggled at him.

  “They didn’t trust security in Castleton.” His jaw flexed again. “So it’s here in the Landing Field.”

  Marian sniffed, put her hands on her hips. “As if anyone in Castleton could fly it without knowing the songspell, even if they had the Power.” She eyed Sevair. “You’re stronger than you appear.”

  That had him smiling and a slight bow in her direction. “Thank you.” He said to Bri, “I’ve had your clothes packed and your special bag collected.” She thought of her solar-paneled backpack, of Tuckerinal. Since Sevair had re-commissioned the safe in the Tower, he knew the passwords. “My things are sitting in the coach?”

  “They are secure.”

  “From the fey-coo-cus?” she asked. “They like to eat electronics…uh, Exotique nuts.”

  He frowned. “I don’t think they’ve been invited into the coach.”

  “Knowing who built it, I’d say not,” Marian said.

  The little spurt of fear had distracted Bri from the greater. She stared at her hands. “I don’t know if I can heal.”

  Yes, you can! It wasn’t only her twin saying it. More than stereo resonated in her mind. She blinked and blinked again. Everyone in the room gazed at her, all of them with strong, supportive Songs wrapping around her, lifting her spirits and her confidence. Not one person in the room doubted her.

  She stared at them. All her life she’d wanted respect for her gift. Now she had it. She flexed her fingers. Despite all the Power, the healingstream, her twin, even, she’d failed. Might fail again.

  Closed her eyes and listened to an orchestral piece of blended melodies, all determined to fight the Dark and win with whatever tools they had: baton or spells or healing hands.

  Sevair took her hand and her exhaustion lessened. His hand was steady and calloused, as strong and reliable as his Song. She needed that, as a stranger in a strange land, leavin
g her twin behind.

  Elizabeth hugged her again. You’ll do great. And I’ll get a message to the folks.

  Bri doubted, but the Songs still bolstered her. She blew out a breath, hugged Elizabeth, opened her eyes and put her hand in Sevair’s again. His serious brown gaze reassured her.

  She squared her shoulders. “Let’s go.”

  25

  The flying coach was an elegant wheelless carriage of green and gold with little medica flags of red with a white cross. Elizabeth had expected something the size and color of a pumpkin.

  She watched it rise and zoom away. It was hardly ten feet above the ground before Elizabeth was missing Bri and wishing her twin back. They’d been separated for years and even here hadn’t been living together. But lately they’d usually seen each other every day, and that was a pleasure now gone—again.

  Elizabeth leaned back against the muscular form of her lover. Faucon held her. If he was near, he was touching her, and that she liked. Cassidy had been hesitant—she stopped that thought. She was not going to compare the men. Never mind that she’d never lived in the moment before, always planned. With this affair she was living in the moment. She shivered.

  Faucon kissed her hair. “He’ll take care of her.”

  “I know.”

  “There isn’t a man steadier in the world than Sevair Masif.”

  Elizabeth sighed. “Odd to think of Bri needing someone to take care of her, but I think she does.”

  “They’re a good match.” He cleared his throat.

  “Don’t,” Elizabeth said. “Don’t mention us or the future.”

  His muscles tensed a few seconds, then eased. He cleared his throat. “That coach has benches that make into a bed. How do you feel about that?”

  Elizabeth snorted. “Sevair would have his hands full if he tried to seduce Bri. That I can’t see.” Exactly. Didn’t want to.

  But she wanted Faucon. Cowardly of her, to hold so tightly to him, but she didn’t want to be alone, especially not this evening.

  Night had fallen and those who’d come out to watch Bri leave had drifted away. Faucon’s hands slid up to her breasts and Elizabeth hummed in her throat as desire sparked.

  Then they were pushed hard, nearly toppled over.

  “What!” Faucon steadied them.

  A whinny came and a nervous white volaran sidled into view.

  Faucon said, “You need to go to the stables.” Then he hesitated. “I don’t know you.”

  The volaran took a couple of steps backward.

  A little hum sounded in her mind and Elizabeth received an impression of a white five-petaled flower bending to a breeze. From the volaran!

  She squinted and met big, shy eyes set in a gentle volaran face. The volaran radiated sweetness. Elizabeth realized that the winged horse was female. They looked at each other, Faucon once again stepping behind her and linking his hands at her waist, leaving her own free.

  The flying horse clopped forward, close. She was all white. In the starlight and moonlight her entire body had a silver sheen. Since the volaran wanted her head petted, Elizabeth did so, soft tiny feathers instead of hair. The volaran turned and Elizabeth’s fingers trailed across its head and down its neck. Its mane was soft, too.

  “I think it wants to be your volaran,” said Faucon.

  Elizabeth stiffened. Faucon stepped away and introduced himself to the volaran. Murmuring easy words, he stroked her from her head to her rump and the volaran made an approving sound, turned her head, and batted her lashes at him! That wrung a chuckle from Elizabeth.

  “I love your smile.” He smiled back.

  The winged horse nickered and Elizabeth sensed it wanted attention from both of them and that made her smile again.

  “You, Faucon, are the one who has a smile to melt hearts.”

  He looked at her, his gaze lingering. “I’m glad you think so.” Then he turned back to rub the volaran between her shoulders. “I am not one of those like Calli and Marrec who speaks Equine fluently, and has good telepathic rapport with volarans. My own volaran and I partner well, but I can’t understand what this pretty lady is saying.”

  “Me neither,” Elizabeth said.

  Once again the visualization of the huge flower waving in the wind came. Faucon met Elizabeth’s gaze. “I think that’s her name.”

  Clearing her throat, Elizabeth dipped a small curtsey to the volaran. She held out her hand and the winged horse licked it. Elizabeth laughed. “Lovely one, I am Elizabeth.”

  The volaran sent a red robe with a white cross on a glowing golden pole that looked like one of the fenceposts that held out the horrors.

  “Very strong, very Exotique, very beautiful,” Faucon said, lifting Elizabeth’s free hand and kissing it.

  “Merci.” She grasped his hand, looked at the volaran, bright silver against the black and starry night. “I’ll call you Starflower?”

  The volaran lowered and raised her head.

  “Starflower.” Elizabeth petted the volaran again.

  “She’s big enough to carry us both. We could probably catch up with Bri and Sevair,” Faucon whispered in her ear. “The coach is slower than a volaran, even with Distance Magic.”

  The foolishness appealed to Elizabeth. She glanced at the sky, clear and achingly bright and beautiful. A night ride with her lover on a flying horse! What would ever match that? “Ayes,” she said.

  In a few minutes, Faucon had Starflower equipped with a long saddle and simple reins. He lifted Elizabeth onto the volaran, mounted himself.

  “How will we find the coach?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Listen, the notes leave a trail.” Faucon swept his hand toward the sky.

  Elizabeth strained her ears, but heard nothing more than usual. So she peered where she’d last seen the carriage. Concentrating, she saw an iridescent rainbow swath sparkling in the sky, almost lost in the thick starfield. The path was fading. “Let’s go!”

  So they rose, and this was nothing like the prosaic little hops to Castleton. Now she felt darkness and light envelope her, and Faucon’s arm went around her waist. The scent of him and sweet musk of the volaran added spice to the mystery of the night. She settled against him, warmth in the cool air.

  They flew. The freedom of it blew through her like the evening breeze, lifting her spirits. Magic swirled around her. She was one with the night, the volaran, Faucon.

  He didn’t talk, nor did the volaran. They were in tune, surrounded by a golden aura.

  God, this was wonderful! Laughter rippled from her.

  She saw the fancy carriage almost too soon. There was disappointment that they’d be sharing this moment, then came a wild spurt of glee that she’d surprise Bri.

  Drawing up to the coach, Faucon yelled with voice and mind, Hail the coach!

  Elizabeth felt the jolt of surprised minds within, then the curtain over the large window vanished, and so did the glass. Bri shrieked with surprise and laughter.

  Elizabeth!

  Bri!

  Bri stuck her torso out of the coach window, screaming with laughter, waving her arms.

  Everything in Elizabeth tightened. Bri in a flying coach, off to Somewhere. Herself on the back of a horse with silver wings, flying in the beautiful night with a strong man who adored her behind her, and a winged horse that had come just for her.

  She waved at Bri, watched as the two large hands around her twin’s waist, steadied, then tugged at her to come in.

  “See you later!” Bri screamed.

  “Later!” Elizabeth waved back, feeling Faucon’s arm around her. Then the volaran turned back.

  It was like a fairy tale.

  Faucon awoke the next morning, arms wrapped around Elizabeth and smiled. She’d loved the volaran ride. Loved Starflower already.

  He dared to hope Elizabeth loved him.

  Last night they had sweet, wild sex for a long, long time. She’d given more of herself.

  He could only hope that they’d bonded enough or would bo
nd enough to keep her here with him. His arms tightened around her. She murmured and snuggled close.

  She didn’t say the other man’s name.

  It had only passed her lips once, and that during one of their lovemaking bouts the first night, and Faucon didn’t think she knew she’d said it. The moment had been one of exquisite agony for him. But she hadn’t mentioned the man since.

  He knew the fool had been stupid enough to let her go, and she knew that Faucon understood she was raw from a heart wound, but they didn’t speak of it. He’d been gentle and tender with her.

  Faucon, someone whispered in his mind. Ah! That call had wakened him. Glancing at the window, he saw it was full light, past time for him and Elizabeth to be up. He didn’t care. His major domo, Broullard, would hold breakfast for them.

  But Broullard didn’t call him. Frowning, Faucon considered the timbre of the Song. Luthan. A noble Chevalier like himself, a man who lived only a few doors down the hallway, and more, the representative of the Singer.

  Faucon, again the murmur. He smelled the sweetness of his woman’s body, cherished her against him, thought whether he wanted to answer the man. No.

  Yet Faucon, like Luthan, knew of duty. Ayes?

  I need to speak with you, confidentially. Everyone else has left for the day.

  I’ll come to your suite shortly. Keep our meeting secret, except—

  Please do not tell Elizabeth.

  No, she’s too new to our world. I don’t keep secrets from Broullard.

  A sigh from Luthan. Telling him is fine. Hesitation. I need your help. You may have to enlist others.

  Curiosity piqued, as Luthan had probably intended, Faucon said, I’ll be there soon.

  Thank you.

  Faucon disentangled himself from Elizabeth, watched her stretch out on the bed. She appeared older than Bri, with more faint lines. He liked that. A mature, womanly lover. From their bonding during sex, he’d gotten impressions of her long and rigorous training to become a medica, harder than here on Lladrana, and that had aged her.

  He smiled as he scanned her nude body. She slept raw, and he liked that, too. He’d stopped wearing short trous to bed. As he felt the stirrings of arousal, he turned away, went to the shower and let cool water diminish his ardor. Dressing, he saw it was another gray day. This year had been more gray than sunny and that was a concern. But he didn’t let it bother him, just added another layer of clothes.