He knew that he would remember how she looked right now down to the smallest hair. Every nerve seemed to tingle, and he felt almost as if he were wearing his skin inside out.
* * *
When Dirk finally let go of his shoulders, Kris said, with a grin that was bordering on malicious, “You haven’t welcomed Talia, brother. She’s going to think you don’t remember her.”
“Not remember her? Hardly!” Dirk seemed to be having a little trouble breathing. Kris hid another grin.
Talia and Rolan were less than two paces away, and Dirk freed an arm to take Talia’s nearer hand in his own.
Kris thought he’d never seen a human face look so exactly like a stunned ox’s.
* * *
Talia met the incredible blue of Dirk’s eyes with a shock. It felt very much as if she’d been struck by lightning. She came near to trembling when their hands touched, but managed to hold onto her self-control by a thin thread and smiled at him with lips that felt oddly stiff.
“Welcome home, Talia.” That was all he said—which was just as well.
The sound of his voice and the feeling of his eyes on her made her long to fling herself at him. She found herself staring at him, unable to respond.
* * *
She looked a great deal different than he remembered; leaner, as if she’d been fine-tempered and fine-honed. She was more controlled—certainly more mature. Was there a sadness about her that hadn’t been there before? Was it some pain that had thinned her face?
When he’d taken her hand, it had seemed as if something—he wasn’t sure what—had passed between them; but if she’d felt it, too, she gave no sign.
When she’d smiled at him, and her eyes had warmed with that smile, he’d thought his heart was going to stop. The dreams he’d had of her all these months, the obsession—he’d figured they’d pop like soap bubbles when confronted with the reality. He’d been wrong. The reality only strengthened the obsession. He held her hand that trembled very slightly in his own, and longed with all his heart for Kris’ silver tongue.
* * *
They stood frozen in that position for so long that Kris thought with concealed glee that they were likely to remain there forever unless he broke their concentration.
“Come on, partner.” He slapped Dirk’s back heartily and remounted Tantris.
Dirk jumped in startlement as if someone had blown a trumpet in his ear, then grinned sheepishly.
“If we don’t get moving, we’re going to miss supper—and I can’t tell you how many times I dreamed of one of Mero’s meals on the road!”
“Is that all you missed? Food? I might have known. Poor abused brother, did Talia make you eat your own cooking?”
“Worse—” Kris said, grinning at her, “—she made me eat hers!” He winked at her and punched Dirk’s arm lightly.
* * *
When Kris broke the trance he was in, Dirk dropped Talia’s hand as if it had burned him. When Talia turned a gaze full of gratitude on Kris, presumably for the interruption, Dirk felt a surge of something unpleasantly like jealousy at the thanks in her eyes. When Kris included her in the banter, Dirk wished that it had been his idea, not Kris’.
“Beast,” she told Kris, making a face at him.
“Hungry beast.”
“He’s right, though, much as I hate to agree with him,” she said softly, turning to Dirk, and he suppressed a shiver—her voice had improved and deepened; it played little arpeggios on his backbone. “If we don’t hurry, you will be too late. It doesn’t matter too much to me—I’m used to sneaking bread and cheese from Mero—but it’s very unkind to keep you standing here. Will you ride up with us?”
He laughed to cover the hesitation in his voice. “You’d have to tie me up to keep me from coming with you.”
He and Kris remounted with a creak of leather, and they rode with Talia between them; that gave Dirk all the excuse he needed to rest his eyes on her. She gazed straight ahead or at Rolan’s ears except when she was answering one or the other of them. Dirk wasn’t sure whether he should be piqued or pleased. She wasn’t favoring either of them with a jot more attention than the other, but he began to wish very strongly that she’d look at him a little more frequently than she was.
A dreadful fear was starting to creep into his heart. She had spent the past year and a half largely in Kris’ company. What if—
He began scrutinizing Kris’ conduct, since Talia’s was giving him no clues. It seemed to confirm his fears. Kris was more at ease with Talia than he’d ever been with any other woman; they laughed and traded jokes as if their friendship had grown through years rather than months.
It was worse when they reached the Field and the tackshed, and Kris offered her an assist down with mock gallantry. She accepted the hand with a teasing hauteur, and dismounted with one fluid motion. Had Kris’ hand lingered in hers a moment or two longer than had been really necessary? Dirk couldn’t be sure. Their behavior wasn’t really loverlike, but it was the closest he’d ever seen Kris come to it.
They unsaddled their Companions and stowed the tack safely away in the proper places after a cursory cleaning. Dirk’s was pretty much clean; but Talia’s and Kris’ needed more work than could be taken care of in an hour—after being in the field for so long, it would all have to have an expert’s touch. Dirk kept Talia in the corner of his eye while she worked, humming under her breath. Kris kept up his chatter, and Dirk made distracted, monosyllabic replies. He wished he could get her alone for just a few minutes.
He had no further chance for observation. Keren, Sherrill, and Jeri appeared like magicians out of the thinnest air, converged on her, and carried her off to her rooms, baggage and all, leaving him alone with Kris.
“Look, I don’t know about you, but I am starved,” Kris said, as Dirk stared mournfully after the foursome, Talia carrying her harp “My Lady” and the rest sharing her packs. “Let’s get the four-feets turned loose and get that dinner.”
* * *
“Well?” Keren asked, her rough voice full of arch significance, when the three women had gotten Talia and her belongings safely into the privacy of her room.
“Well, what?” Talia replied, glancing at the graying Riding Instructor from under demure lashes while she unpacked in her bedroom.
“What? What! Oh, come on, Talia—” Sherrill laughed, “—you know exactly what we mean! How did it go? Your letters weren’t exactly very long or very informative.”
Talia suppressed a smile, and turned her innocent gaze on Keren’s lifemate. “Personal or professional?”
Jeri fingered the hilt of her belt-knife significantly. “Talia,” she warned, “If you don’t stop trying our patience, Rolan just may have to find a new Queen’s Own tonight.”
“Oh, well, if you’re going to be that way about it—” Talia backed away, laughing, as Sherrill, hazel eyes narrowed in mock ferocity, curled her long fingers into claws and lunged at her. She dodged aside at the last moment, and the tall brunette landed on her bed instead. “—all right, I yield, I yield! What do you want to know first?”
Sherrill rolled to her feet, laughing. “What do you think? Skif hinted that you and Kris were getting cozy, but he wouldn’t do more than hint.”
“Quite cozy, yes, but nothing much more. Yes, we were sharing blankets, and no, there isn’t anything more between us than a very comfortable friendship.”
“Pity,” Jeri replied merrily, throwing herself onto Talia’s couch in the outer room, then twining a lock of her chestnut hair around one finger. “We were hoping for a passionate romance.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” she replied, not sounding sorry at all, “Though if you’re thinking of trying in that direction—”
“Hm?” Jeri did her best not to look too eager, but didn’t succeed very well.
“Well, once he’s managed to shake Nessa loose—”
“Ha!”
“Don’t laugh, we think we know a way. Well, once she’s no longer hot on th
e hunt, he’s going to be quite unpartnered, and he’s just as—um—pleasant a companion as Varianis claims. Jeri, don’t lick your whiskers so damned obviously, he’s not a bowl of cream!”
Jeri looked chagrined and blushed as scarlet as the couch cushions, as Sherrill and Keren chuckled at her discomfiture. “I wasn’t that bad, was I?”
“You most certainly were. Keep your predatory thoughts to yourself if you don’t want to frighten him off the way Nessa has,” Keren admonished with a wry grin. “As for you, little centaur, he seems to have cured your man-shyness rather handily. I guess I owe Kyril and Elcarth an apology. I thought assigning him to you was insanity. Well, now that our prurience has been satisfied, how did the work go?”
“It’s a very long story, and before I go into it, have you three eaten?” Three affirmatives caused her to nod. “Well, I haven’t yet. You have a choice; you can either wait until I’m done with dinner for the rest of the gossip—”
They groaned in mock-anguish.
“Or you can check me in and bring me something from the kitchen. If Selenay or Elspeth need me, they’ll send a page for me.”
“I’ll check her in.” Jeri shot out the door and down the spiral staircase.
“I’ll go fetch you a young feast. You look like you’ve lost pounds, and when Mero finds out it’s for you, he’ll probably ransack the entire pantry.” Sherrill vanished after Jeri.
Keren stood away from the wall she’d been leaning against. “Give me a proper greeting, you maddening child.” She smiled, holding out her arms.
“Oh, Keren—” Talia embraced the woman who had been friend, surrogate-mother and sister to her—and more—with heartfelt fervor. “Gods, how I’ve missed you!”
“And I, you. You’ve changed, and for the better.” Keren held her closely, then put her at arm’s length, surveying her with intense scrutiny. “It isn’t often I get to see my hopes fulfilled with such exactitude.”
“Don’t be so silly.” Talia blushed. “You’re seeing what isn’t there.”
“Oh, I think not.” Keren smiled. “The gods know you are the world’s worst judge when it comes to evaluating yourself. Dearling, you’ve become all I hoped you’d be. But—you didn’t have the easy time we thought you would, did you?”
“I—no, I didn’t.” Talia sighed. “I—Keren, my Gift went rogue on me. At full power.”
“Great good gods!” She examined Talia even more carefully, gray eyes boring into Talia’s. “How the hell did that happen? I thought we’d trained—”
“So did everyone.”
“Wait a moment; let me put this together for myself. You finished Ylsa’s class; now let me remember…” Keren’s brow creased in thought. “It does seem to me that she mentioned something about wanting to send you to the Healers for some special training, that she didn’t feel altogether happy about handling an Empath when her own expertise was Thought-sensing.”
Keren turned away from Talia and began pacing, a habit the younger woman was long familiar with, for Keren claimed she couldn’t think unless she was moving.
“Now—I’d assumed she’d taken care of that because you spent so much time with the Healers. But she hadn’t, had she? And then she was murdered—”
“As far as Kris and I could figure, the Heralds assumed that the Healers were giving me Empath training, and the Healers assumed the Heralds had already done so because I seemed to be in full control. But I wasn’t; it was all instinct and guess. And when control went—”
“Gods!” Keren stopped pacing and put both of her hands on Talia’s shoulders. “Little one, are you sure you’re all right now?”
Talia remembered only too vividly the hours of practice Kris had put her through; the painful sessions with the two Companions literally attacking her mentally. “I’m sure. Kris is a Gift-teacher, after all. He took me all the way through the basics, and Rolan and Tantris helped.”
“Oh, really? Well, well—that’s an interesting twist!” Keren raised an eloquent eyebrow. “Companions don’t intervene that directly as a rule.”
“I don’t think they saw any other choice. The first month we were all snowed in at that Waystation—then we found out that those damned rumors had made it up to our Sector and we didn’t dare look for outside help. It would have just confirmed the rumors.”
“True—true. If I were on the Circle, I think I would be inclined to keep all this under the ivy bush. Letting the world know that we blundered that badly with you won’t do a smidgen of good, and would probably do a lot of harm. Selected people, yes; and this should certainly go down in the annals so that we don’t repeat the mistake with the next Empath—but—no, I don’t think this should be generally known.”
“That was basically Kris’ thinking, and I agree. You’re the first person to know besides the two of us. We’ll both be telling Kyril and Elcarth, and I think that’s all.”
“Ye-es,” Keren said slowly. “Yes. Let those two worry about who else should know. Well, what ends well is well, as they say.”
“I am fine,” Talia repeated emphatically. “I have absolute control now, control not even Rolan can shake. In a way, I’m glad it happened; I learned a lot—and it’s made me think about things I never did before.”
“Right, then. Now, let’s take these rags of yours down to the laundry chute—yes, all of them; not even one outfit for tomorrow. After being in the field, they’ll all need refurbishing. Here—” she dug into Talia’s wooden wardrobe, and emerged with a soft, comfortable lounging robe. “Put that on. You won’t be going anywhere tonight, and in the morning Gaytha will have left a pile of new ones at your doorstep—though from the look of you, they’ll be a bit loose, since she’ll have had them made up from the old measurements. We’ve all got a lot of news to catch up on. Oh, and I’ve got a message from Elspeth; ‘Thank the Lady, and I’ll see you in the morning.’”
* * *
“Well, my old and rare, we have got a lot of news to catch up on.”
Dirk nodded, his mind so fully occupied with things other than his dinner that he never noticed that he was munching his way through a heap of ustil greens, a vegetable he despised with passion.
Kris noticed, and had a difficult time in keeping a straight face. Fortunately, the usual chaos of the Collegium common room at dinner gave him plenty of opportunity to look in other directions when the urge to break into a howl of laughter became too great. It was the height of the dinner hour, and every wooden bench was full of students in Grays and instructors in full Heraldic Whites, all shouting amiably at one another over the din.
“So, how did your stint go? We greatly appreciated that music, by the way, both of us. We’ve got a goodly portion of it memorized by now.”
“Sh—you did? You do? That’s—” Dirk suddenly realized he was beginning to babble, and ended lamely, “—that’s very nice. I’m glad you liked it.”
“Oh, yes; Talia especially. I think she values your present more than anything anyone else sent her. She certainly has been taking very good care of it—but that’s like her. I’m giving her highest marks; she is one damn fine Herald.”
Now Dirk took advantage of the noise and clatter at the tables all about them to cover his own confusion. “Well,” he replied when he finally managed to clear his head a bit of the daze he seemed to be in, “It sounds like you had a more entertaining trainee than I did. And a more interesting round. Mine was so dull and normal Ahrodie and I sleepwalked through most of it.”
“Lord of Lights—I wish I could claim that! Don’t forget, ‘May your life be interesting’ happens to be a very potent curse! Besides, I seem to remember you claiming that young Skif had you worn to a frazzle before the circuit was over.”
“I guess I did,” Dirk chuckled. “Did you know his Cymry dropped a foal, and he blames it all on you two?”
“No doubt, since neither of them have an ounce of shame to spare between them.” Kris ducked as a student burdened with a stack of dirty dishes taller than he was i
nched past them. “Lord, I hope that youngling’s got one of the Fetching Gifts, or he’s going to lose that whole stack in a minute—yes, Skif and Cymry deserve what they got. Poor Talia would have been ready to skin both of them given the chance…”
“Oh?”
* * *
Kris was more and more pleased by Dirk’s reactions. He needed no further urging, and related the tale with relish, stopping short of the fight—which had been caused, in an obscure sort of way, by Dirk—and the swimming match that followed. He insisted then that they ought to take themselves out of the way of those students assigned to clearing tables.
“Fine; my room or yours?” Dirk was doing his damnedest to keep his feelings from showing. Unfortunately, Kris knew him too well; that deadpan dicing face he was putting on only proved he was considerably on edge.
“Good gods, not yours—we’d be lost in there for a week! Mine; and I still have some of that Ehrris-wine, I think…”
The tales continued over the wine and a small fire, both of them lounging at full length in Kris’ old, worn green chairs. And every other sentence Kris spoke seemed to have something to do with Talia. Dirk tried his best to seem interested, but not as obsessed as he actually was. Kris let the shadows hide his faint smile, for he wasn’t fooled a bit.
But not once did Kris let fall the information Dirk really wanted to know—and finally, emboldened by the wine, he came out and asked for it. “Look, Kris—you’re the soul of chivalry, but we’re blood-brothers, you can tell me safely! Were you, or weren’t you?”
“Were we what?” Kris asked innocently.
“S-sleeping together, you nit!”
“Yes,” Kris answered forthrightly. “What did you expect? We’re neither one of us made of ice.” He figured that it was far better for Dirk to hear the truth—and to hear it in such a way that he took it for the matter-of-fact thing that it was. Talia and Dirk were probably tied neck-and-neck for the position of his “best friend.” And that was all he and Talia meant to each other. He could no more conceive of being in love with her than with the close friend he now faced. He watched Dirk covertly, weighing his reaction.
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