“Eat up!” Lydia chirped. In a moment a door closed and Raine sensed she was alone.
She stared at the food, the clothes, the furnishings of the room. So much opulence! She’d finally landed in a place where people might give her a chance.
Breakfast in bed. She didn’t think so. She slipped from the bed—remembered too late it was a little higher than Earth beds as she thunked a few inches to the floor—and took the tray through the living room to the kitchen. The drafting table in the corner of the living room looked good, but she wanted food!
She ate. No, she gobbled. Tastes she’d only experienced in dreams exploded in her mouth. She moaned at the simple crunchiness of crisp bacon. She’d once read that cross-culturally on Earth, bacon was considered to be a smell associated with the wealthy. She understood that now. She hadn’t seen bacon, or ham or any other part of pig for six months, and she’d rarely eaten pork before then. For a moment she wondered how her stomach would handle such rich fare. It didn’t stop her from shoveling buttered toast in her mouth.
When she was done, she washed the dishes automatically, though the soap wasn’t a scent that she recognized—lots less harsh on her hands than at the tavern. Then she went back to the bedroom and opened the drawers where the housekeeper had put undergarments. She pulled out fine lingerie like long underwear—chemise and leggings—then she dressed in the blue tunic and skirt. They fit.
Raine sauntered into the living room, checked out the drafting table, noted that the stand was made of wood, not metal, and played with it until she had it raised and angled just right. A cabinet had been added, which contained feather pens, ink, straightedges, protractors and other tools. Sheets of paper and parchment lay atop the cabinet. Her rescuer had an agenda.
Hell, from what she’d understood about the previous Summonings, the whole damn planet, literally, had an agenda. Nibbling her lower lip, a habit that probably made her look stupid and hadn’t helped her in the past, she went back into the bedroom and looked at the books.
They weren’t in English and she didn’t know how to read Lladranan. A flush heated her neck. How could she have learned how to read! But she opened one at random, saw the picture of a blue-eyed blonde and her breath came a little quick. No way could this woman be from Lladrana. She flipped through the volume, studying the pictures of a Castle and volarans. As she riffled the pages, more pictures flashed before her, and when a 3-D image of a fire-breathing monster popped out at her she dropped the book and let it stay on the floor.
She was breathing fast again, eyed the other books with extreme caution. Yes, they wanted something from her, and she got the idea that designing and building a ship was the least of it. As far as she was concerned, she’d already paid her dues.
Don’t think of that, or the past. Go open the door and stand in the sunlight, feel its warmth, loiter for a few minutes. Precious little free time in the past six months.
She strode to the door, realizing that her posture had improved. She no longer walked as if ready for a blow.
Then she flung open the door and let the midmorning sunlight in, stepped out onto the landing that led to the dock.
Travys attacked her.
He grabbed her in a bear hug from the side. She sank low, flung herself with his momentum, and they both crashed to the ground. She kicked and pounded and freed herself and jumped up and hobbled fast with a hurt body to the door.
He was faster than she recalled—she didn’t get the door closed. She retreated and looked for a weapon.
The man would kill her.
But not if she took care of him first.
44
Faucon woke and his standard morning rush of sorrow mingled with irritation at the thought of the new Exotique. Progress. He showered, ate the breakfast set on the warming mat in his sitting room, then reluctantly decided he could avoid his duty no longer. He walked down to his den.
He didn’t want to call Alexa, or Marian. Really didn’t want to call Bri. That notion was like a splinter in his heart. But she was the best medica in Lladrana and he had a sick Exotique woman. He tapped a beat on his crystal ball.
Bri’s face filled the small one she held at eye level. “Faucon?” She sounded startled. For the first time he noticed that she didn’t seem so cheerful either. Shadows were under and in her eyes. She’d lost a sister, her whole family. But he didn’t want to be reasonable.
Bracing, he said, “I have some news. Sit down.”
Her eyes widened. She nodded. “You aren’t sick, are you?”
“No.” He rubbed his jaw. He was not handling this smoothly. Perhaps he should have taken time to gather his thoughts. He didn’t know why he felt the pressure of time, but he did.
“I’m ready,” Bri said.
“I’ve got a very sick woman here,” he said baldly. “Another Exotique, Summoned months ago, I think by the Seamasters. They said they’d tried a Summoning and failed. Apparently not. To give them credit, I don’t think they knew they succeeded.”
Her mouth opened, closed, opened. Emotions too fast to read, too Exotique, flashed across her face. “Does she have the frink disease?” she asked in a focused, clipped tone that reminded him too much of her sister. He wished Bri still had purple streaks in her hair, that it was shorter.
“No. She is malnourished, has been ill-treated.” He was equally abrupt. “She can’t be moved far from the seashore without experiencing great pain.”
“I’ll contact the Castle medicas immediately for information, also Alexa and Marian. We’ll be there in an hour.”
That was pressing Distance Magic hard, but he nodded. She was already moving, calling for Sevair and the roc and volarans.
He said, “I will speak with Alexa and Marian.”
“No need, I’ve sent them word telepathically.”
“Fine,” he said between gritted teeth. “But—” Screaming hit his mind. Raine! Already he knew the tone of her. She was fighting for her life. He knew it, cursed, sped down to the boathouse. He’d been no better than the Seamasters, had left her unprotected. He prayed he wouldn’t be too late.
Her keening went on and on in his head, above the thundering of his heart, the heaving of his lungs. Power, fear, pushed him along until his feet barely touched the ground. He felt the smash of a fist against her face, tasted blood that washed into her mouth, yelled himself.
The door to the boathouse was splintered, half off its hinges. Now he heard half sobs, half cries, animalistic sounds of a fight, roars of a wounded man.
Then the male voice stopped.
He shot into the room to see Raine pounding a table leg onto the limp man’s head, brutal features showing deep runnels from raking fingernails. She saw Faucon, launched herself at him, a wild thing pushed too far.
He caught her, grabbed her hands, brought her close. She struggled and they fell on the man. Faucon rolled, wincing as broken china and glass cut his back through his shirt.
“It’s all right. All right!”
“Let me go!”
“Don’t hit me and I will.”
A trace of reason appeared in her eyes. She made a strangled noise, went limp. He rose and she crawled away from the man, fast, to a corner of the room.
It hurt Faucon to see that.
Then she huddled and watched him from wide eyes the color of the deep ocean—dark green and fascinating.
He threw off the thought, stood himself, and looked down at the man. He seemed to have two head wounds.
“Is he alive?” Raine’s voice was thin. “What will you do to me if he dies?”
Faucon brushed off his dreeth leather pants, flexed his back and felt pain and the stickiness of blood and wished he’d worn his dreeth leather tunic. He stared down at the man and let the curses come. “He’s alive and a freak. A man who is instinctively repulsed by Exotiques. There are some people like that, about one in fifty.” He could feel the brush of her Power, how it slipped along his skin, the spellbinding but broken notes of her Song. He met her e
yes. “There are some like me who are instinctively attracted to Exotiques.” He snorted. “I’m getting over that.”
She shrank into her corner, but said, “Yeah, right, I could see the attraction.”
He hunched an irritable shoulder. “I’m getting over that.” Then he toed the body of the rough fisherman. “As for this one, he tried to kill you, a valuable Exotique, which our country, our very planet, needs. He’ll get what he deserves.”
“Yeah, right,” she said again, mouth turning down.
But he caught her glance, willed her to believe him. “I’ll make sure of it, I promise you.” Then he smiled thinly. “If the other Exotiques get their hands on him, his life won’t be worth living. Better that he hopes the Seamasters judge him.”
“He works for them,” she said. “Travys. He’s the caretaker of the fairgrounds, Seamasters’ Market.”
“Ah.” With that information more clicked into place.
“You know something.”
He gave her a charming, superficial smile. “I know many things. And we will talk.” He prodded the man again, but he didn’t stir. “After I have this piece of scum removed.”
Faucon went to the door where his housekeeper hovered, along with several of his home Chevaliers. “Get the mistress carpenter and bring her here to fix the door.” He stepped aside for three of his men to take the piece of merde to a locked basement room under the far tower of his Castle. He ordered three others—females—to stay and guard.
When he turned back to the woman, she’d barricaded herself in the kitchen, with the upended table across the door. She stood holding a long, sharp kitchen knife. He sighed. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Doesn’t look as if you are going to help me, either.”
His face stiffened; he could feel his expression chill. He inclined his torso in a straight, formal bow. “I did not protect you as I should have. You have my regrets and my apologies.” He gestured to the door. “Many of my best Chevaliers are female. Do you want a guard with you here in the cottage?”
She considered him. “Ttho.”
“Very well. I have spoken with Bri, the Exotique Medica, at Castleton and she has alerted the other Exotiques, their men, and probably all the important personages of the Castle, as to your existence. They will be here shortly. Do you wish me to wait with you until they come?”
“Ttho.”
“Do you have any more questions?”
“Ttho.”
Frowning, he studied her, but he couldn’t read her. Was she as tough as she seemed? She didn’t appear as if she was going into shock, but…He shook his head. She didn’t want him here and he didn’t want to stay. Duty had been fulfilled, though recompense for her injury remained outstanding.
Another bow in her direction. “I will go and wait for the Exotiques, and work to resolve the matter of how you were Summoned and no one knew.”
“Just line up your thoughts,” she said. “You know.”
He’d guessed, but wanted to confirm the details. With a last look in her direction that he hoped didn’t show his distaste, he left.
Raine’s knees gave way and she sat down hard on the floor. She didn’t feel it. Adrenaline was still racing through her body. But now the man was gone she began to shake. She should move, but she simply couldn’t gather the wits and energy to do so. Awful to know that she’d come to the end of her strength, while she was in the power of this nobleman. He could hurt her so much more than Travys, if he cared.
She sniffed. That song and dance about being attracted to her. Was that a pitiful lie or what? She put her head on her knees and tried to pretend she wasn’t trapped.
Bri arrived no more than fifteen minutes later. The first Faucon knew of her presence was when she rapped briefly on his study door and walked in. He dropped his pen. “How did you get here so soon?”
“I rode the roc. She has better Distance Magic than the volarans.”
“Ah, of course.”
She lifted a bag made from the dreeth she’d helped kill. A twinge of pain went through him. Elizabeth had designed that bag, said it was traditional medica equipment on Exotique Terre. She’d never used hers, which he’d given her. She hadn’t taken it home. So she probably had nothing to remember him by. Just as well since she was with another man. The taste of bitter ashes coated his mouth. “I’ll take you to the new one.” He was up and around the desk and striding away, Power pushing his steps. “The sooner you treat her and arrange for her to go to the Castle, the sooner you all will be gone.”
“Gee, Faucon, thanks for the lovely welcome.”
Heat rose to the back of his neck. He hadn’t ever been so rude in his own home in all of his life. “Excuse me,” he said stiffly. “Come this way, please.” He headed through the Castle.
Bri caught up with him. “I’m sorry. I know that you still hurt. So do I.” Her tone was short.
“Exotiques have been more pain than pleasure for me, that’s certain,” he said. “I would appreciate it greatly if you took her back to the Castle as soon as possible.”
“Who’s her? What’s her name? You did—” Bri stopped abruptly. She was more than a little irritable, too. Two people mourning or something more? Not his concern.
He didn’t want it to be his concern, didn’t want to remember that he cared for Elizabeth’s twin and had thought of her as the sibling he’d never had. Once. He mastered his unaccustomed temper and tried a smile. Was fairly sure it didn’t look sincere. “Her name is Raine Lindley.”
Raine Lindley. The new Exotique’s name echoed. Then he understood Bri had sent it to the other Exotiques.
“Everyone’s following. We’ll have a council here, then take her to the Castle.”
He stopped to give her a brief, insincere bow. “Merci.”
As they walked outside, she made a surprised noise and said, “You aren’t housing her in your home?”
Another comment that hit him on the raw. He sent Bri a long, cool look. “I told you she couldn’t be moved from the seashore.”
“I didn’t think you meant it literally.”
“I did. She’s at the boathouse.” He resumed his rapid pace.
They walked down the stone path from his castle to the dock and the small one-story cottage set at a right angle to the dock. Carpenters were already replacing the door as guards stood by.
“What happened here?” Bri asked.
“One of those who have a repulsion has been stalking her. He found her here.”
“You—”
He raised a palm to cut her off. “I didn’t know. I only found her last night. She hasn’t been forthcoming with me. Can we save this conversation until later? The lady needs your care.” With a gesture more brisk than elegant, he waved her into the cottage before him.
Raine was still barricaded behind the table in the kitchen, staring at them with big eyes and a large knife in her hand.
“OhmyGod.” Bri said, in English. Faucon hated that he still had the dregs of that language inside him from the lovemaking with Elizabeth.
The knife lowered.
“Full light,” Bri said.
Raine blinked as the crystals in the beams brightened. She looked terrible. Very thin, visible bruises all over her face and arms, torn clothing. Bri stared at her, then glanced at him.
Another short bow. “I’ll leave you alone.” He was glad to do that. He hesitated, then sent mentally, I hear that we still have this link between us. The mental Song that connected the Exotiques and their men. Another hurt. I have guards in place. Come back up to the Castle when you are done.
I’m sorry. I miss her, too, Bri said.
He turned on his heel and left.
Bri had treated abuse victims and refugees before. She walked over to a table in the sitting-dining room and put her bag down on it, pulled up a chair and sat. In English, she said, “I’m Bri Drystan, late of Denver, came here a few weeks ago. I’m a medica, a healer.”
“You’re one of them. One of the
others.”
“Yes. They call us Exotiques.”
The knife clattered to the floor. The woman began rocking herself, weeping.
Bri approached slowly, but Raine didn’t look at her, not even when Bri climbed over the table, righted it and slid the knife into a block. She sat down, then put her arms around the previously unknown Exotique, who clung to her and sobbed.
There was a brief knock on the outer door jamb and Bri looked up to see a large woman wearing a tool belt watching with interest and sympathy. She ducked her head. “Just wanted to let you ladies know that the door is back on. Solid. Hauteur Cruess has left guards.”
“Merci,” Bri said.
With another nod, the carpenter closed the door, tested it, and left.
Bri found herself stroking thick, damaged dark brown hair. “That’s right,” she said. “Let it all out. I can’t imagine how rough it’s been for you.”
The woman pulled back, grabbed a rag and blew her nose, stood, and moved near the door. “No, you can’t.” Bitterness laced her tones. Bri listened to her Song. More than her hair was damaged. But Bri had dealt with disadvantaged people hating those better off before, too. She rose.
“Please don’t dislike me because I’ve had it easier. There are only five of us here, and we need to stick together.”
“Then why didn’t you come for me before?” Anguish now.
Bri raised both her hands. “We didn’t know you were here.” She took in a breath, blew it out. “We were all Summoned in a big ritual ceremony by the Marshalls. They planned for us to come. Prepared for us for a month. I don’t—we don’t, the Marshalls don’t—know how you came here.”
“To Lladrana,” the woman said flatly.
“Ayes, Lladrana.”
Raine jerked her chin in the direction of the Castle. “He knows.”
“He?”
“The slick guy, Faucon.” She said his name as if it were a swear word.
“He has an idea he’s checking out.” Bri considered the description, of all she knew of the man. “Slick” was a good word for him, but so was “honest.” She shook her head. “He didn’t know you were here.”
Keepers of the Flame Page 40