What he had not reckoned on—although, given her quick temper, he should have anticipated the difficulty—was her impatience with him.
She wanted answers, and she wanted them immediately. And when he was already impatient with himself, he didn't feel like explaining himself to an Outlander who had barely even seen magic in action before she came south.
Her insistence on forcing years' worth of learning into a few weeks was enough to drive the most patient of savants to distraction, much less her current teacher. She can be so irritating....
He leaned his head back and stared up into the pattern of faint light and deep darkness created by moonlight, mage-lights, and tree branches. There was randomness, no discernible pattern, just as there was no discernible pattern to his life. A season ago, he would never have been able to imagine the events of the past several weeks. A year ago, he never would have believed his life would change in any meaningful way, except for the worse.
He sighed, and ran his hand through his hair, fluffing it to cool and dry it. Elspeth was a disruption to an already confusing situation. The problem was, she had the infuriating habit of being right now and again in matters of magic—matters in which she had no experience and little knowledge.
He'd dismissed all of her suggestions initially. Then, when she'd been proven right a time or two, he'd thought at first that it was pure luck. No one could always be right or wrong after all, but a day or so ago, he'd finally seen the logic to her ideas' successes. In general, when she saw something that she thought could be done magically, but that he had never learned, her theories turned out to be, in principle, correct.
One case in point that still annoyed Darkwind was treating the lesser lines of power as if they were a web, and the mage was a spider in the midst of that web. She'd reasoned that anyone working magic within the area a mage defined as his "web" would create a disturbance in the lines of power, which the mage at the center would feel, in the same way a spider felt an insect in its web. The advantage of this was that it was a passive detection system; there was nothing to alert the intruding mage that he'd been detected.
It was nothing he'd been taught. He'd been certain it wouldn't work—until she sketched a diagram, extended a few tendrils of energy, and proved to him that it would. It had been something of a shock to his already-bruised pride, and he followed along numbly as she refined the idea.
As if it weren't enough that she was attractive, in her unadorned way. She had to be innovative, too.
The mage-lights dimmed, sending the boughs above vanishing into shadows; and he looked back down from his perusal of the branches to find that everyone had left the clearing but him. The celebration was winding down, as couples and groups sought ekeles or hot springs, and the rest, not ready to seek beds, gathered in the meeting-circle or beside the waterfall.
He stretched his legs, carefully, to make certain they hadn't stiffened up on him. They weren't cramping as he'd feared; he was in better shape than he'd thought, apparently. But he didn't feel much like rejoining the rest who were still celebrating; he rose slowly, and began pacing, making a point of walking as silently as he could. It was a lot easier to do that here, on the clear paths, than out in the forest. There was no point in losing his hard-won scouting skills just because he was resuming his position as an Adept. There was a Tayledras saying: "No arrow shot at a target is ever wasted, no matter how many break." It meant that no practice or lesson, however trivial it might seem, was a loss.
Now, reclaiming his magery, he was discovering the downside of that saying.
I didn't realize how much I'd forgotten until I started trying to teach her, he admitted to himself. If she'd just be a little more patient with me....
When something went wrong, Elspeth wasn't particularly inclined to sit and wait quietly until he got it right again. Magic wasn't simple; spells had to be laid out methodically, and when something got muddled, a responsible mage couldn't just erase things and start over. Spells gone awry had to be unmade. Generally Darkwind had to retrace his steps carefully, in order to find out exactly where he'd made those mistakes. Only then could he undo what he'd done, go back to the beginning, and start again, constructing correct paths.
Whenever he was forced to do that, Elspeth would invariably ask questions at the worst possible time, when interruptions would be the most irritating. She never seemed to know when to keep quiet and let him work. Why was she in such a hurry to master every aspect of magic? Mastery took time and practice; surely she was bright enough to realize that.
Even now, he realized, she was irritating him. How can she do that? he asked himself, pausing in his pacing for a moment to examine his reaction. How can she annoy me when she isn't even here? It has to be me, not her—
As he folded his arms and pondered the question, he recalled something that seemed to have nothing to do with Elspeth. It was the reason why he had given in so quickly to the demand that he perform the Wind Dance. And it had nothing to do with Tre'valen's request, either; he'd have found some excuse to perform that dance before the evening was over, no matter what.
The reason? Stormcloud's boast of fifteen consecutive split-jumps.
Challenge. He couldn't resist it. And Elspeth annoyed him because she challenged him in a way no one else ever had—or at least, no female ever had. He wasn't facing the challenge of a teacher toward a student's potential, nor, precisely, was he facing the risks of an explorer. There was, though, that annoying realization that he didn't have the safety of being able to lord skill over her; he was as uneducated in his way as she. It didn't sit well with him, but that was the truth of the matter. Therein lay the challenge: she was a virtual equal.
Now that he had identified the source of his irritation, he realized that he wasn't going to be able to do anything about it. Perversely, he enjoyed the frustration, just as he enjoyed Elspeth's company though she grated on his nerves.
She was too impatient, but that was not damning. There was no reason why she shouldn't intrigue him, just as what he was teaching should be a challenge to her. She was, after all, a bright student. Alert and eager.
Hmm. That's not the only challenge she represents. He enjoyed her company quite a bit more than he was fully willing to admit. Of all the possible partnerings he could have made tonight, he had only considered one. She attracted him quite as much as she irritated him, although he was certain that he was not ready emotionally for anything as deep as he had shared with Dawnfire. And there had only been one consideration that held him back from offering Elspeth a feather tonight.
Sadly, that consideration was a major one; one that was going to require any association with her—other than pure friendship—to be choreographed as carefully as any major spell. She was an Outlander; he had no idea of the ways of her people. It might be that the folk of Valdemar took sexual liaisons very seriously; they might even reserve sexual activity for formal bondmates only. Until he knew more about her and her people, he was not going to take the risk of offending her or her country by propositioning her. Even if she would accept an apology, the offense would continue to taint everything he did or said to her.
Lust is easy to come by, after all. I couldn't enjoy it with too much worry, anyway. There is simply too much at stake to permit a night of pleasure to complicate matters.
Not to mention the possible repercussions of bedding the designated heir to a foreign monarchy. Who knew where that would lead? He doubted anyone would declare war over it, but what if a liaison with Elspeth would make her subject to problems when she returned home? She was too important a personage.
Ah, now there's another thing that irritates me!
He began walking again, turning his steps out of the clearing and down the path that led to the waterfall at the end of the Vale. Now that he'd figured out what it was that was bothering him, it might help to have a talk with someone about it. He could do his best to try to watch his own reactions, but there wasn't a great deal that he could do about Elspeth's attitude.
It's this Heir To The Throne business. She never actually says anything about it, but she radiates it. As if—she doesn't wear a crown, but she carries herself as if she did. As if she is always thinking that she's being watched and admired, that she is an important person, and expects everyone else to be aware of that.
Never mind that the only Tayledras around who knew of her land were Starblade and Iceshadow, who had studied the old histories. Never mind that even those two had no interest whatsoever in her country and the Heralds who populated it, except as a curiosity and as it had impact in the past on Tayledras concerns.
Treyvan and Hydona might have some ideas about his concerns; they were ambassadors, of sorts—Hydona was female. That could help. In either case they might have some idea how to deal with another Outlander. Particularly an impatient, high-ranking, annoyingly impressive female Outlander.
At the waterfall, all the mage-lights had been extinguished. The moon was still high overhead, though, providing plenty of illumination, pouring down over this end of the Vale and touching the mist rising from the falls with silver. The two he sought were still there, lazing beside the pool like a pair of creatures from legend; both gryphons looked up at his footfall, but to his disappointment he saw that they were not alone. The shaman Tre'valen was with them, and he felt a certain reluctance to discuss one Outlander in front of another. For that matter, he wasn't certain he wanted to discuss Elspeth with anyone except the gryphons. He trusted them unfailingly.
Nevertheless, since they had seen him and nodded greetings, it would have been impolite to ignore them and walk on. It would be even worse to return the way he came. It isn't going to do any harm to make some idle chat. And Her Highness Elspeth isn't a problem I can't cope with on my own, if I just think carefully before I say or do anything.
So he approached the little group—which, he saw as he grew nearer, included the gryphlets. The little ones were tucked under their mother's wing, quietly sleeping, curled together into softly huffing balls of wings and limbs.
"Tre'valen brought the younglingsss when they began to fret and did not want to sssleep without usss near. And have you had enough of cccelebration?" Treyvan said softly as he neared. The shaman lounged beside Hydona, along the edge of the pool, his hair wet and rebraided.
Looks as if Tre'valen has been swimming. I didn't know that the Shin'a'in knew how to swim. I didn't think there were any bodies of water on the Plains deep enough for them to learn.
"Quite enough, I think," he replied, and nodded to the shaman. "Your Hawk Dance is very good, Wingbrother. In fact, I don't know that I've ever seen better. I should like to see you dance one day in full home regalia, with a proper set of Shin'a'in musicians and singers."
"If you enjoyed my dance, you should see my brother; I learned it from him." Tre'valen stretched, and turned to look him straight in the eyes. "I have been greatly curious, Wingbrother, and I think you will be willing to answer an impertinent question. Was it my imagination, or was there an air of desperation about all of this? As if folk were doggedly determined to enjoy themselves?"
Darkwind had been wondering if he was the only one to notice that. "It was not your imagination," he replied quietly.
"I thought not." Tre'valen nodded. "Your people escaped the hand of Falconsbane by a very narrow margin. Whether it was the hand of the Goddess or of chance, or both together, there was little they could have done of themselves to free this Clan from his influence. I wondered if they knew how narrow their escape was. Your father, for instance—"
"They know," Darkwind replied, carefully steering the conversation away from his father. That was another whole situation he was not quite ready to deal with yet. "They simply don't dwell on it. And they know that our troubles are not yet over, which accounts for that desperate enjoyment you noted."
"But the urgency iss lesss," Hydona said. "All that hass occurrred, hass bought k'Sheyna time. Thisss celebration—it wass a good thing. It iss a relief from the tenssion. Bessidesss... other changess arre coming."
Darkwind decided to leave that typically gryphonish—meaning cryptic—remark alone.
"You could be reading Iceshadow's mind," he smiled. "After all the troubles, the fear—"
—and the other things no one wants to talk about, like discovering what had been done to my father—
"It was just a good idea to give everyone something pleasurable to think about for a little while. A relief." He scratched Hydona's neckruff absently, and she half-closed her eyes with pleasure. One of the gryphlets rolled over, chirring contentment in its sleep. "A day or two of rest isn't going to alter the Heartstone question, but it might make all the difference in letting us gain a fresh outlook."
Tre'valen raised an eyebrow, but said only, "Some look as if they need a rest more than a fresh outlook. Starblade, for instance."
Don't ask too many impertinent questions, shaman. I might answer them, and you might not care for the answers. I am not altogether certain that the Shin'a'in are ready to embrace the problems of their cousins, no matter how many Wingsib Oaths are sworn. What you do not officially know, you need not act upon.
Treyvan raised his head from his foreclaws. "You look rrready for a frresh outlook, Darrkwind," he said, as Darkwind tried unsuccessfully to suppress a yawn. "The outlook you may have frrom yourrrr bed."
"I think you're right," he admitted, glad of the excuse to escape from a conversation that was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. He didn't particularly want to discuss the problems of k'Sheyna, at least not now, when his tired mind and tongue might let things slip he would rather were not revealed.
The way he felt about Starblade, for instance. His heart was still sore and shaking from the revelation that the cold, critical "father" of the past several years had not been the father who had taught him his first lessons in magic—and who had worn the costumes his son had designed for him with such open pride.
The fact that Starblade had worn one of those costumes tonight, which was not only the Wingsib Oathing, but the first time he had taken part in the social life of k'Sheyna since Darkwind had freed him, had left him on very uncertain emotional ground. In a very real sense, he had a new father—but Darkwind was years older, and there was deep-set pain between them. It was going to take some time before his feelings were reconciled.
He imagined it was much the same for Starblade. The only difference between what he and his father had to cope with was that Starblade had known the truth but had not been able to act upon it, while Darkwind had been able to act but had not known the truth. Equally painful situations.
He yawned again, and this time did not take the trouble to hide it. "I think I must be getting old," he said. "My ability to celebrate until sunrise is not what it once was. And I did promise young Elspeth that her lessons would continue when we both arose from sleep—" He ignored Tre'valen's suggestive smirk, "—so rather than finding her waiting at the foot of my ekele, I think I will seek my own bed and see if I might wake before she does."
"A good plan," chuckled Tre'valen. "Zhai'helleva."
"And to you, all," he replied, and rose from the soft turf beside the pool, brushing off his seat. He retraced his steps, this time heading for the path that ultimately led out of the Vale. Even though he was reconciled with Starblade the fluctuating power of the Heartstone made him uncomfortable, and he disliked having to sleep near it. Starblade and the rest understood, and his "eccentricity" of maintaining a dwelling outside the safe haven of the Vale was no longer a subject of contention.
His path tonight, however, was not a direct one. Three times he had to interrupt his path with detours to avoid trysts-in-progress. He should have expected it, really; the end result of a celebration was generally trysting all over the Vale, of whatever tastes and partners.
So why am I going back to my ekele alone?
He'd never lacked for bedmates before. Actually, if he hadn't been so choosy—or was it preoccupied—he wouldn't have lacked for bedmates tonight.
<
br /> He could say that he mourned for Dawnfire, and that would have been partially true. He missed her every time he thought of her, with an ache that he wondered if he would ever lose. She had been the one that he'd thought would actually work out as more than a bedmate; their interests and pleasures had matched so well. The fact that she hadn't died made the situation worse, in some ways. She had become something he could see, but could not touch. Now at least, after much thought, the first, sharp sorrow had passed, the sorrow that had been like an arrow piercing his flesh. Now what he felt was the pain of an emotional bolt lodged in place, poisoning his blood with regret.
He also knew that Dawnfire would have been the first to tell him to get on with his life. If she had been with him, if he had lost another lover, she would whisper to him to take a bedmate, and some pleasure, to ease the pain. That was just her way, another thing he had loved her for.
So why hadn't he taken one or more of those offers for companionship tonight?
Because he didn't want any of them. They simply didn't fit his real, if vaguely defined, desires.
And to tell the truth, he wasn't sure what he wanted. Elspeth was the only person tonight who had attracted him. But along with every other way she made him react, he was afraid—afraid that she might draw him into a deeper relationship than he intended.
She would leave the Vales and return to her Valdemar; and his people were here. There could be nothing lasting between them emotionally, save wistfulness over what might have been. But they would be spending most of their time together, now that she was a Wingsister; it was his duty to teach her, and hers to help defend the Vale for as long as she dwelled here. The Council had made it clear that he was responsible for her. If it turned out that Elspeth was equally attracted to him—that her ways were similar to his people in the matter of loveplay and they became more than casually involved—perhaps they could pursue some of the techniques in which sexual magic could be tuned and sublimated, and in so doing—
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