The few yards across the square barely took the edge off the massed emotional onslaught. Alana knew she should put a mile or more between herself and the festival, but she could not go. Her hand still tingled with the memory of Deryn’s touch. She needed that touch, and not just on her hand. If she could withstand the emotions for a little while longer, surely it would be very easy to talk Deryn into leaving with her. She could do it, and at least now that she could not hear Regan’s words, it was possible to resist the sway and assert her own consciousness.
Alana waited until she judged the story was nearly complete before returning.
“When Caylee saw how she’d been betrayed, she threw herself from the crag where she’d bid good-bye to Delmar, and her body was broken on the rocks below. The lovers were thus united in death, but the Witch-Lord was still bound by his oath. His body and his four great weapons lie in state beneath the mountain but he can have no release from this world. The demons have gone, but the evil they wrought remains. The shade of the Witch-Lord haunts Voodoo Mountain, a spirit of cruelty and malice, forever seeking Caylee, until the day he will rise again from the dead and fulfill his oath.”
The story finished and the crowd drifted away. Beer and cider had been flowing freely, and the mood across the square was getting ever more riotous. The blacksmith and his friends embarked on another vulgar song. The activity described in it was physically impossible, or so Alana suspected, but it would be fun putting it to the test. All she needed was a willing helper, and she was not the only one to feel that way. Certain spikes in the emotions around her were getting harder to ignore. Alana could not withstand the bombardment of sexual tension for much longer—not when it so closely coincided with her own desires. She had to leave but she would not go alone.
Alana slipped her arm through Deryn’s “Let’s walk a bit.”
“Do you have anywhere in mind?”
“How about somewhere where there aren’t so many people watching?”
“That’s an interesting idea.”
Together, they strolled toward the river along the path between two buildings. With each step, Alana could feel the impact of the people in the square fading. Everything was going to be okay. She had survived the festival, and now it was just her and Deryn. Alana was sure she could cope with that. Deryn walked with only the faintest limp. Her knee was clearly much better. Alana was pleased, and not just in her role as healer. She did not want any impediments to physical activity.
“Didn’t you like the story?” Deryn asked.
“What makes you think that?”
“You missed part of it.”
“I’ve heard it before, and I was hungry. It’s a good tale, and it explains why everyone keeps away from the mountain.”
“Not everyone. I saw footprints up there.”
“Really?”
“Yup. Of course, it could have been the Witch-Lord’s ghost, but I don’t think ghosts leave footprints.” Deryn was obviously not overly superstitious.
They reached the river and wandered a short way along the bank, eventually stopping in the shelter of a clump of trees. Sounds from the village square were a distant hubbub, punctuated by the occasional whoop. The full moon reflected in the water. Its beams picked out the surrounding envelope of mountains, dotted with the lights of distant farmsteads. A breeze pulled strands of Alana’s hair across her forehead. The day had been warm for the time of year, but the temperature was dropping fast—not that Alana needed an excuse to snuggle into the circle of Deryn’s arms.
She stood in the embrace, getting used to the feel of Deryn’s body pressed against hers. Her head fitted into the curve of Deryn’s neck. The warm scent of leather, horses, and smoke was so right for the mercenary warrior. Alana ran her hands over Deryn’s back. The muscles were hard and defined.
The implied strength was intriguing. All Alana’s previous lovers had been aristocrats, for whom an hour-long stroll was unusual exercise. The nearest any had gotten to being athletic was one devoted horsewoman, and even she had preferred petting her horse to riding it. Reyna had been soft and round, even after a year in the mountains. Deryn’s body was so very different.
“I want to kiss you.” Deryn breathed the words in Alana’s ear.
Alana pulled back her head and stared up into Deryn’s eyes. The blue of them was lost in the moonlight, but the rakish glint was still there.
“That sounds like another interesting idea.”
Their lips met. Deryn’s hand cupped the back of her hand, gently guiding Alana’s movements as the kiss became more ardent. Alana opened her mouth, inviting Deryn’s tongue inside, a prelude to what would follow. Alana had no doubts about how that evening would finish. She felt herself grow wet at the thought and moaned into Deryn’s mouth.
A sliver of fear crawled into Alana’s mind, at first no more than an easily dismissed discord against the desire that was consuming her, but then the fear grew, no longer ignorable. Alana had recognized the emotion and was trying to control it, even as it abruptly surged forward, a blinding white panic, pushing out all rational thought. She broke from Deryn’s grip and staggered away.
“What’s up? Are you all right?”
The fear was so strong Alana could barely form words. “Fire. Get me away from it.”
“Fire? The bonfire?”
“Get me away. I’m tied. Can’t run. Want to run. Smoke. I smell smoke.”
“You can smell the bonfire? What about it?”
“Smoke. Stable. Fire. Let me out.”
“The stable?”
“Smoke. Fire. Let me out. Let me—”
Alana was vaguely aware of Deryn trying to hold her shoulders, but there was no room in her head for anything other than fear and smoke. Tears of terror ran down her face, Deryn’s hands became ropes, and then nothing existed except the fear. She could not see, could not think. She knew nothing except that she had to run as far as she could. Twigs whipped her hands and face. A tree leapt out of the dark before her and she barely fended it off. Still she ran, until a bush snared her foot and brought her crashing to the ground, where she lay, dead to everything except terror.
Time passed in a haze of fear, and then slowly the world cleared and the panic slid from her head, allowing thoughts to return. Alana was alone, lying curled in a ball beside the river. She grasped the talisman at her throat with both hands and, by an effort of will, pushed the last tendrils of panic from her mind. She was herself again. Alana staggered to her feet and looked around.
How long had the panic blanketed her mind? Minutes certainly, maybe longer. Yet her crazed flight had taken her only a few dozen yards from the clump of trees where she had been standing with Deryn. She might even have been running in circles. Deryn was nowhere in sight. Had she fled from the madwoman?
Alana took a deep breath, steadying herself, but the blinding panic had gone. She no longer needed to resist it. The fear had not been hers. It had not been human. Alana recalled the wordless desperation. Now she could identify it.
“Horses. The stable.”
What had upset the animals? Had it been no more than the wind carrying smoke from the bonfire, or had they been in real danger? Whatever had given rise to the terror was now over, one way or another. Had the horses been rescued, or died? Or was it merely that the wind had shifted? Alana had to find out. She jogged back along the riverbank, toward the village.
As she approached the jetty of the dock, Alana felt a new bubbling up of emotion, but this was a very human blend of excitement and concern. The sound of voices followed, shouting instructions. She rounded the corner of the dock warehouse and arrived at a scene of hectic activity surrounding the stable. The festival had been abandoned while the revelers worked to put out the fire, but it was clear that the drama was nearly over. The air was acrid with smoke and bundles of smoldering straw littered the ground, but the blaze in the hay shed adjoining the stable was out.
In the corral, over a score of horses were milling nervously back and for
th. They were not happy, but they were unharmed. The wave of relief left Alana weak. Having shared their fear, she felt a bond with the horses, although this was a source of concern in itself. In the past, she had always been able to keep a mental distance from animals. Never had she been taken over like that. Why now? Was it a reaction to the strain she had put herself under that night? Was it the number of animals, in the grip of the same utter terror? Or was it that she had been so totally off guard and open? All barriers had been set aside when Deryn’s lips met hers.
Deryn. At the thought of her, Alana closed her eyes. That was something else to worry about, and even more serious. What must Deryn have made of it all? Alana buried her face in her hand, trying to remember exactly what she had said in the grip of the panic. How much had she given away? Would Deryn know that magic was involved? Or would she think—
Alana bit her lip. What? That she had suffered a mental breakdown, linked to a smoke phobia, that by a wild coincidence had occurred at the same time as a fire broke out nearby. Deryn might not realize she had mentally bonded to the horses, but the exact form the magic had taken was irrelevant. At the very least, Deryn must suspect that she had a trace of demon-spawn in her ancestry.
With the fire in the hay shed out, people started to drift away from the stable. The party was due to continue, with a whole new edge of excitement. The force of it battered Alana’s mind. She had to get away, gather her strength, and maybe after a night’s sleep she could work out a plausible explanation for Deryn.
“Good job you spotted the fire when you did.” Regan’s voice was close, but not loud enough to be addressing her.
Alana raised her head. A few feet away, the mayor stood with Deryn.
“Pure luck. Me and Alana were—”
They were both looking at the stable, standing with their backs to Alana. Presumably they had not seen her in the deep shadow. Alana tried to slip away, but the sound of movement caught Deryn’s attention. She glanced over her shoulder and their eyes met. Surprise and confusion were easy to read. Was there also hostility and fear? Before she knew what she was doing, Alana reached out to feel the emotion, but in the overexcited atmosphere of the interrupted festival, picking out Deryn’s thread was impossible.
“You and her were doing what, eh? As if I need ask.” Sergeant Nevin waddled over. His voice held an undertone of crude innuendo. “I saw you creeping off, hand in hand for a quick fuck. It’s what they say about Iron Wolves—anything with a pulse.”
“We were just walking by the river.” Deryn glared at the sergeant in unconcealed dislike and then turned back to Regan. “And we heard the horses neighing.”
“Didn’t hear them in the square.”
“It was quieter by the river, and I’ve got good hearing. I need it for my job.”
Regan patted her arm. “Anyway, it’s a damn good job. Wouldn’t have wanted to lose them.” The mayor smiled and left.
Deryn’s eyes returned to Alana. The doubts were hardening into anger. Even without sensing her emotions, her scowl said it clearly enough. Without another word, Deryn also turned and walked away, back to the town square.
*
Deryn dismounted and stared at Alana’s cottage. Her doubts multiplied. For a moment she thought about getting back on Tia and riding away again, but she had to understand exactly what had happened the night before. She needed answers, and the only person who could give them was Alana.
The cottage was in silence as she approached, but then she heard the rattle of pans inside. Deryn raised her fist and knocked. The rattle stopped at once, but almost a minute passed before the door opened.
Alana’s expression provided half the answers on the spot, not from what was there, but from what was missing, no surprise, no reproach, no confidence.
After an awkward moment of staring at each other, Alana stepped back. “Do you want to come in?”
Did she? Would turning around and leaving be the wiser course? Yet wisdom never had been Deryn’s guiding light. She ducked under the doorway.
The room was unchanged from the last time she had been there. Alana went to the same chair and sat, waiting. Her face was impassive, but Deryn read other signs; the rapid pulse beating in her throat, the raised tendons from tightly clasped hands, the paleness of her lips.
Deryn had intended to remain standing, but intimidation was for thugs, and whatever else Alana might be, she was also a beautiful woman who was frightened. Deryn shoved the chair around so that she sat facing Alana rather than the fire.
On the ride up, Deryn had rehearsed her questions a dozen times, and variations on them. Now they all seemed naive, duplicitous, boorish, or out-and-out inane. From Alana’s face, she could tell there was no need to browbeat or trick her way to the answers. They would come. Deryn crossed her arms. She would give Alana the first go at picking the route.
“Have they found out how the fire started?”
Was that really the most important issue on Alana’s mind?
“No. It might have been a spark carried from the bonfire. More likely it was somebody who doesn’t want to own up being careless.”
“There’d be a lot of angry people to own up to.”
“True. Normally only a half dozen horses are in the stable, but a lot of folk had ridden in for the festival.”
Alana nodded, but her eyes were fixed on the wall. She was not interested in details of the fire, any more than Deryn was. Why waste time, skirting around the real issue? Deryn’s mood hardened. She had given Alana a chance. Now it was her turn to call the shots. “How did you know the stable was on fire?”
Alana flinched, but answered steadily. “I sensed the horses’ fear.”
Deryn had guessed as much, leaving only one possible explanation. “Do you know which of your ancestors was demon-spawn?”
“All of them.”
The answer went beyond anything Deryn had expected, or feared. She paused, making sure she had her voice under control. “All? Who are you?”
“Alana”—she paused, catching her lower lip in her teeth—“Quintanilla.”
“You’re related to Lady Kyra?”
“She’s my mother.”
Deryn felt sweat break out on the back of her neck and her pulse speed. I’m a fool to have come alone. Not just demon-spawn, but a member of the second most powerful family in Galvonia. “What are you doing here?”
“Like I told you, getting away from Ellaye.”
“Why?”
“I’m an empath. I can feel the emotions of others. The city was overwhelming me. I had to get as far away from as many people as I could.”
“People? It’s not just frightened animals?”
“No.”
“Can you feel my emotions now?”
“Yes.”
The simple answer hit Deryn like a fist of ice in her gut. She looked down trying to calm her breathing, fighting the urge to flee. Don’t let her see you’re frightened. But was there any way to hide it?
“You’re reading my mind?”
“No. It’s not like that.” Alana’s sigh was somewhere between weariness and defiance. “I know that you’re scared and angry, and think I’ve cheated you. You feel betrayed and invaded. But I could work that out from looking at your face and using a bit of common sense. It’s how anyone would feel in your place.”
“But you could tell if I was trying to hide something.”
“Depends. Maybe I’d pick up on your anxiety. But even if I did I couldn’t be sure of the cause, and I certainly wouldn’t know whatever the something was. Maybe you have an important secret. Maybe you want to fart and are worried about making a noise.”
The attempt at humor failed. Deryn stared at her hands, resisting the urge to ball them into fists. This was not something she could fight, but nor was there any point in acting calm. Alana would know exactly what she was feeling. That had been the case since the first time they met. No wonder Alana had been able to draw so much out of her. She got inside your head. Deryn had th
ought the same words before, but she had not realized the literal truth of them. The demon-spawn bitch toyed with you, like a cat with a mouse. The thought was intolerable. How could she stand this? How could anyone?
Deryn raised her head. “Was that why your partner left you?”
“Reyna? No. She was demon-spawn too. We were lovers in Ellaye. She moved up here with me, but didn’t love me enough to stay, once it became clear I could never go back.”
Alana’s story had holes. How much was she still hiding? “Why did you come here?”
“I told you. I can’t cope with loads of people, they drown me out.”
“But you used to live in Ellaye, so what changed?”
“The king’s high counselor, Orrin, supposedly tried to help me.”
“Supposedly?”
“I think it was more a case of getting rid of a potential rival. I used to be able to block everyone out of my head. I had barriers, but he destroyed them. I would have gone mad if I’d stayed in Ellaye.”
“It wasn’t because your family didn’t want you snooping around inside their heads either?”
“No. I sense your cynicism, and your anger and fear. And I don’t blame you for feeling any of them. But believe me, if I could shut you out of my head, I would. Can’t you imagine what’s it like, being swamped by other people? Half the time, I don’t know what I’m feeling on my own account and what I’m picking up from others. I lose myself. At the moment I’m feeling really angry, but I suspect it isn’t me. I’m absorbing it from you. What have I got to be angry about, except that you’re blaming me for things I didn’t want and didn’t choose and are hurting me far more than they hurt you?” Alana’s shoulders slumped. “I just want to be me and nobody else.”
“Easy for you to say that.”
“It’s the truth. With all my family’s money, do you think I’d be living alone in a decrepit shack like this if I didn’t have to? Do you think I enjoy living like a louse-ridden peasant?”
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