Keepers of the Flame

by Robin D. Owens

  Bri and Sevair spent more time at the Castle. Sevair was coordinating a coeur de chain ceremony between Bri and himself and between Bastien and Alexa, that Bri was willfully blind to. Bri herself worked smoothly with the Castle medicas.

  Faucon had moved his quarters to a suite in Horseshoe Hall, and remained mostly in Lower Ward, or in the stables. Being around the volarans helped.

  Seeing Bri at the Nom de Nom had been the last straw, Faucon decided as he and his volaran set down in the Landing Field. He’d grab a few things, then go home. Let his cousins wrestle with him, the women pamper him, work with the tough Seamasters on their problems.

  I am sad, too. Starflower said, trotting up. It was the first time he’d ever heard Equine clearly and Faucon wished he had not. His emotions nearly overwhelmed him. He thought only the clenching of his jaw kept him in control. So that was how one spoke with volarans, with emotions. He slid off his mount and leaned against him. Then Faucon looked at Elizabeth’s volaran, blinking slowly, keeping his eyes to the slight breeze so they would stay dry.

  Sad, Starflower had said. His heart was broken. Damned if he’d ever trust it to another Exotique. When three had rejected him, he should have known that the Song did not have such a lady for him.

  Now he hurt worse than he ever remembered. Starflower’s head drooped. He took one step, two. Flung his arm around her neck and buried his head against her. The wind hadn’t done its job.

  “You should take her with you,” Bastien said quietly. “She’ll pine with us, even Calli, but you comfort her.”

  Faucon didn’t ask how Bastien knew of his decision, didn’t want to think about that. Starflower’s emotions washed over him, blended with his. Knowing he was not alone with this pain helped. A stupid idea to him, but true all the same.

  “I see that you’ve finally allowed your mind’s pathways to open and can now learn volaran,” Bastien continued.

  Faucon didn’t care, didn’t reply.

  “Partner with Blossom-Greeting-The-First-Warm-Spring-Wind. You can learn together what a real flier-volaran relationship is like. Your war volaran will thank her.”

  He felt Bastien move, heard the man croon to Star—Blossom? Windblossom?—and the high notes of the volaran’s mental sobbing eased. As she relaxed under Bastien’s touch, her calming emotions let Faucon settle. Sharing the worst of her sorrow alleviated his own.

  Raine stared down at Travys, bleeding from his head, curled on the ground near the pilings of the pier.

  Her breath came in pants. Her fingers trembled so that the rock fell from her hand.

  Blood thundered in her ears. Doubling over, she braced her arms on her thighs, took longer breaths, tried to think. He’d lust for revenge.

  She had to leave, now!

  No one would protect her. He had status and money.

  She was nobody. No one would care if she died. He could kill her and lie about it. Or he’d just make her disappear. She was only a pot-girl after all, and one who spoke Lladranan with an accent and looked odd. A half-breed half-wit.

  No one would believe her if she’d said she was an Exotique. Everyone knew the Marshalls Summoned them in The Castle.

  She’d be beaten. Would be beaten anyway for hurting Travys. Or worse. She blinked slowly, studying him. He’d fallen into the deep shadows beneath the pier. Lucky. His chest went in and out.

  She had to leave, and now, before the man came to. No reason to return to the tavern. She had nothing there—not even the tattered blanket was hers. Her Earth clothes had long since disintegrated.

  Late afternoon, evening coming. Get a move on! So she turned and let the northward pull she’d felt lately lead her.

  No one knew her mind or character, either. They wouldn’t be able to think like her and follow her, if they bothered.

  With one last glance at Travys, she began her journey. He’d follow her. She was an obsession of his, God help her. She didn’t know why. But he’d be finished playing with her. Now he’d kill her.

  She’d prepared the only way she could, traded sex with the local cobbler for good shoes.

  She walked and she walked, on the coast as long as possible, and fell into a stupor where she dreamt of ships. Ever since she’d landed on this world, ship designs had haunted her, even more than when she’d been part of the family yacht-building business. She tripped over a rock in the beach and snorted.

  She’d been so dissatisfied with her father and brothers and their insistence on tradition and wooden vessels! How she’d wanted to push the boundaries—make twin hulls, using the newest metal alloys.

  A few days here and those dreams had shattered like spume on rocks. Now dreams came of building a massive ship, the like no fisherman or Seamaster of this world had ever seen.

  The narrow strip of sand disappeared and the coast became rocky. Raine walked in the sea, feet numbed, until she realized the tide was coming in. She struggled up to solid ground.

  The smell of baking bread lured her. Even though she had no zhiv to buy any. Could she possibly find the baker, just hold out her hand? Look pitiful? That last sure wouldn’t be hard to do. These people were mostly like everyone else, surely someone would have a charitable bent.

  With a last breath of salty air, she turned to a rough path toward the town. It took her only a half hour to reach the square, and she found the streets fairly deserted as people ate dinner. The people she met glanced at her, then away. Her mouth twisted at that. How often had she done the same thing when she saw homeless beggars on Earth?

  Her strength failed, as it always did, when she was forced inland, away from the sea. Wobbling on shaky legs, she headed for the town square, surrounded by buildings. She’d learned from experience it would be warmer there. The square was usually cobbled and had a fountain or pump in the middle. Proximity to water helped her land-sickness.

  As she prowled the square she realized that it had been market day. On the cobblestones she found a couple of moldy vegetables, a stalk of turning broccoli, and the heel of a burnt loaf of bread. She washed what she could in the fountain.

  Gauging the sun and direction, she found the best corner of the buildings on the square for sleeping. She drew into it, ate fast and greedily. She’d stay just for a little while.

  She was dozing when the volaran found her.

  One minute she was asleep, the next a soft whuffle came and sweet breath, and a scent she’d smelled before but couldn’t put a name to.

  A bright image of a five-petaled white flower in a spring sky flashed before her mental eye.

  I am Blossom-Greeting-The-First-Warm-Spring-Wind, said a quiet voice. A mental voice.

  Raine blinked grit from her eyes, stared at the horsey face. Touched its soft nose. A tongue came out and licked her palm. That would have been disgusting half a year ago, but ranked far down on the repulse-o-meter now. In fact, it was comforting.

  She’d heard of the winged horses. Most people spoke of them reverantly. But she didn’t really believe this vision. “Who?” she croaked with both voice and mind. Her mind voice was definitely clearer.

  Blossom-Greeting-The-First-Warm-Spring-Wind. YOUR volaran, Exotique of the Sea.

  She’d been called an Exotique! This being knew what she was. Her heart started beating fast and hard. Her mouth was drier than ever.

  She could see in Blossom’s eyes that the flying horse knew of the others.

  Finally, finally, this was the beginning of the end of her ordeal. Hope flooded her. She couldn’t breathe. Her shoulders were shaking too much. She was crying! Crying hard and holding herself.

  A man’s bootheels snapped on the town square’s cobblestones. He saw Blossom and shouted at them. Something about the guy roused all Raine’s instincts for evil. He was another one like Travys. Someone who’d enjoy tormenting her, killing her. Might like to do the same with a stray volaran.

  Mount! demanded Blossom with a mental image of Raine leaping gracefully onto the winged horse’s back.

  Raine had never bee
n on a horse in her life. She grabbed the mane, scrambled with her feet. Heard the volaran grunt. She was still half-on half-off when the flying steed rose into the sky. Her scream of terror was muffled by solid horse—volaran—flesh.

  Go! Raine cried mentally. Fly! She didn’t have the nerve to sit up, settled herself along the wide back, hands hurting from a tight grip on the silky mane. The volaran flew low, legs tucked up as they glided over the houses.

  North, Raine said when her fear subsided enough to squeeze a thought in.

  North is good. To Faucon, Blossom said.

  As soon as she cleared the town, the volaran headed northeast. Raine’s vision dimmed. Her limbs trembled. “No!” she shouted, but it was too late. Darkness fell. Hard.

  She awoke with sand in her mouth and spit it out, found herself on a beach. There was no volaran in sight, and no town.

  Hope and despair, a vicious circle. She wiped her face on her arm. She knew she’d dreamt the whole episode.

  42

  Bri dreamt of a woman. She was scared, hurt, running. It reminded her of the night she’d left the rock star. She woke with a shudder and let her heart slow. Sevair lay beside her, breathing evenly, radiating heat. It wasn’t late, but they’d had a full day, and she’d begun to adjust to Sevair’s schedule of up at dawn. And they’d jumped each other as soon as he’d come home and actually ended up in bed.

  She set a hand on his back and felt more connected. Their Songs were merging.

  She hadn’t had an anxiety attack for two days, but she’d been pretending that she was just on the other side of the globe from home, not cut off completely. She thought her inner child was buying it so far. Maybe.

  Sevair rolled to her, reached for her, drew her into strong arms. He was aroused, ready, and that sexy song and the scent of him had her own arousal speeding through her. She didn’t want to think anymore. Didn’t want to feel stupid, childish panic.

  Her hands touched, stroked. He groaned and that pleased her. Equal. They’d be equal. He, Lladrana, were not assimilating her, they were allowing her to go the way she’d always wanted.

  He thrust into her and thought vanished in her body’s needs. “Bond with me,” he murmured in a dark, sensual voice as his hands slid under her bottom, raised her up.

  She let passion take her, let her Song spiral high and join with his, and hoped the panic wouldn’t return.

  Faucon, brooding that night on the top of his Castle, heard a volaran’s mental call. He’d begun to communicate better with his mounts in the past couple of days. Calli would be proud of him. Calli…his mouth turned down. Another Exotique who was not meant for him.

  He hadn’t realized he could experience so much pain and still live.

  Faucon, come. You MUST come, now! It was Starflower, Elizabeth’s volaran. No. Elizabeth hadn’t stayed, so the volaran was partnered with no one.

  Faucon, help! The volaran shouted, forming easy Equine.

  The sigh was more groan than a exhalation of breath. His very bones ached as if the malaise of his heart affected his whole body. But he was Hauteur Faucon Creusse, nobleman, master of several estates. Responsible for many people and volarans. He could not ignore a call for help.

  He pushed away from the battlement. Night had fallen and he couldn’t see anything except the white line of seafoam breaking against rocks in the distance.

  Hurrying through his home, he noted that his people still watched him with concern. Impatiently, he wished they’d just let him be. At the door, his new valet held out a short, light flying cape. Never breaking stride, Faucon took it from his hand and whirled it on as the footmen swung open the door. Broullard wouldn’t have allowed him to sulk so long, or kept quiet about Faucon’s moods, but Broullard was gone. Another grief.

  Starflower circled the courtyard, showing nerves and impatience. Probably wasn’t wise for them both to be in such an irritable mood while they flew, but Faucon had no inclination to soothe her fidgets. He doubted his own distress would fade soon.

  At the side of the stone steps, she stopped in front of him. Come, now! So he leapt on her and she angled upward. Grief was replaced by sheer terror as his hands scrabbled for reins, a hackamore, something. No tack. He entwined his fingers in her soft mane and held on tight and prayed. He hadn’t flown with a volaran bareback since—never.

  They didn’t fly high, nor did she request help with Distance Magic, so they weren’t flying far. They kept to the coastline that changed from the small smooth beaches between rocky coves to long beaches and dunes as they flew south. They were almost at the point where they’d be over open sea. He didn’t want to do that with no tack. He leaned close to her neck. He wouldn’t let her lose him.

  The moon had risen and was large and full and bright, low to the water. An exquisite sight, but it reminded him that he and Elizabeth had made love under the last full moon. Anger spurted through him. Why did his first thoughts always have to be of Elizabeth? Time to place her Song firmly into the past. Stop brooding. Stop mourning. Live life and believe in the future.

  Then they were over the sea and Faucon Sang prayers for long minutes.

  Finally Starflower lowered to the ground, landing gently. Faucon saw a figure walking toward them. Her Song hit him hard.

  Exotique. How could this be? He gasped. He knew all the Exotiques well. This wasn’t any of them. He stared at the scrawny woman slowly shambling toward them, head down, as if she didn’t realize they were there. As if lifting her foot for each step was an effort.

  Everything inside him squeezed at the knowledge that she would be nothing but trouble. Complicate his life. By the Song, he was sick of Exotiques!

  She stopped, raised her head and he saw that her skin showed patches of dark and light, as if she’d tried to disguise herself. With dirt, he supposed. Her hair was to her shoulders and looked like a solid mat, dark—he couldn’t tell if it would be any strange color like the other Exotiques.

  He sat tall on the volaran. “Salutations,” he called.

  She stood still.

  Let me go to her, Starflower said. She knows me. I found her earlier tonight. She has been in Lladrana for months.

  There was only one explanation. “The Seamasters didn’t fail in their Summoning like they thought they had,” he whispered. Sighing, he slid off the volaran.

  Truth.

  Faucon watched as Starflower trotted forward until she was within arm reach of the woman. Then the volaran stretched out her neck, lifted her wings as if to show them for admiration. It was a strong person who could ignore a volaran’s advances. The woman raised her hand tentatively, but had to take a couple of steps toward her, toward Faucon, to touch Starflower.

  Come get her. She is weak and does not walk well. She needs to be taken to the Marshalls’ Castle.

  “Perhaps I should call them to come and pick her up.” The wind was flowing toward Starflower, and volarans had good ears. He had no doubt the steed would hear him.

  Starflower snorted. Stamped. The woman stumbled back. The volaran crooned.

  Come, it will rain later and there is no town nearby.

  “Gentian is only a few miles,” he said. She’d probably come from there.

  She cannot walk so far.

  Since the woman was swaying on her feet, Faucon reluctantly agreed.

  Aren’t you curious about her?

  “Not enough to touch another Exotique.”

  Starflower tensed. Alarms ring at the Castle.

  His gut clenched. What was he doing here, indulging his emotions? Lladranans still had battles to fight and win, the Dark to defeat. Best focus on that. But he could do nothing right now without Starflower.

  The Marshalls and the Chevaliers are occupied. You are here for her.

  His turn to snort. Grumbling, he walked toward the woman and volaran. Gave this strange Exotique his briefest bow. He felt the instinctive slide of attraction and ignored it, for once not thinking at all how he would charm and impress her. Over that affliction, thank the
Song.

  “Salutations,” he repeated brusquely. She didn’t turn her head but eyed him. “We should go. Rain’s coming. Do you fly?”

  She only continued to stroke Starflower’s silky hide.

  A rocky point of land rose ahead of them. They were coming up on the last easy path up the incline

  “Ttho,” she said, her voice husky. A little curl of sexual interest teased his groin. Merde!

  “I don’t ride,” she said. Her accent was strange—all the Exotiques had varying accents, but a commonality, too. Her underlying tongue was different, reminded him more of how the Singer spoke the Exotique language.

  By. The. Song.

  The more he looked at this woman, the more it became obvious that she had not been treated well. Not like the other Exotiques. There was a bruise on her swollen cheek, something dark and crusty under her fingernails. Blood?

  He didn’t want to think about it. He drew out a practiced smile, bowed again, a little deeper.

  Her eyes glittered some color he didn’t think was brown or black, but were set deeply and surrounded by dark smudges.

  Then he took her arm and walked inland.

  “Ttho!” She jerked her arm away. “Not again. I still feel sick.” Not only was her underlying accent different, her words were overlaid with the thickness of rough southern fisher-tongue.

  Impatience gnawed at him. “We have to go. My duty lies elsewhere, and rain is coming.” Again he gripped her arm and nearly dragged her up the path.

  She doubled over and clutched her belly, screaming, flailed an arm to fight. But she was half-starved and sick and weak.

  It hurts her if she goes too far from the sea. Starflower tramped nervously in the sand. And she has had a hard day.

  Faucon gave the volaran a disbelieving stare.

  The woman turned her head aside and retched. Not much came out of her.

  The volaran lifted her head, met his gaze and repeated herself. It hurts her if she goes too far from the sea.

  Snorting, ready to prove Starflower wrong, Faucon walked toward the lap of waves that was the tide going out. The woman relaxed beside him. “Merci.” It was spoken so quietly that he didn’t know if she whispered it or the word insinuated itself into his mind.