The serving maid set mixed greens before them with dressing and they ate in silence. He was enjoying the moment too much, the gentle pulsing of her fabulous Song, twining with the wonderful Songs of home. He treasured his home now.
At this point in the past he would have led the conversation to the fascinating topic of life on Exotique Terre, but he didn’t want to know any more than he’d learned and seen in his lover’s—Elizabeth’s—mind.
He wasn’t going to court or care for this Exotique. More than any of them, she’d seen the harsh side of Lladrana and would not stay. “So, you don’t come from the same place the other Exotiques do?” he said and was appalled. He stuffed a bite of crisp greens in his mouth before something else came from it he didn’t want.
Raine gave him a cautious look. Because he was being civil? Because he’d asked a question he already knew the answer to? Faucon chewed longer than necessary.
“Ayes, I come from the east coast of the continent.” A small, charming smile flashed across her face. “The others’ home is landlocked, they know very little about boats.” She speared a curl of onion and ate it. “I’ve never been to their area, either. I don’t know much about mountains.” She stopped abruptly.
The mountains of Lladrana were in the north, where the horrors invaded, sent by the Dark. Hardly anyone lived there now. Since Faucon didn’t believe in ignoring a topic once it was brought up, he said, “We won today, no casualties.” Another sharp pang, he’d lost the man he’d considered his father a couple of months before. His chest tightened. What would Broullard have said about this situation? But he knew. Broullard would have told him to grab all the pleasure life had to offer, even if it hurt later.
“We are winning more often, replacing the old magical fence posts that fall.” He hesitated. “Of course we must repel the invading horrors, but the main effort of the Marshalls and the Chevaliers is on planning the invasion.”
Raine put her fork down, a third of her greens remained. “When will they have trials for the invasion force?”
“Soon. Now that the last Exotique has come, everyone thinks the time of the Singer’s prophecies has also arrived and this cycle has passed.” Determination strengthened every muscle. “We must rid ourselves and our planet of the Dark or watch Amee die.”
12
Raine shivered, but Faucon knew it wasn’t from cold. The summer evening was nice, the sea breeze only freshening. He raised a hand and the maid came and took away the plates, bustled back into the castle. She should have done that without his request. Broullard would have been disappointed in her.
The fading of the day was working on Faucon, bringing depression. He should have stayed with his Chevalier team, gone carousing with them to a tavern, not come to check on what this strange, lovely woman was doing at his castle when his volaran had told him she was here. No one would treat her poorly, nor would any be less than discreet about his affairs. He’d guessed she’d gone to examine his yacht.
She looked away and Faucon followed her gaze to see the incoming tide break whitely against the rocks curving into the northern headland of his estate. She rubbed her arms. Maybe she was cold. Faucon lifted a finger and a footman came.
“A shawl for Raine,” he said.
Her look was surprised and again he was irritated by the thought he’d been less than courteous. He was walking too fine a tightrope—fighting his awareness and attraction on one side, and on the other thinking of his grief at losing Elizabeth, and trying to treat Raine as a gentleman and nobleman should. He was juggling, too, wasn’t he? Like some damned player come to the fair—his business affairs, his Chevalier teams, his sessions with the Marshalls and other Exotiques. Plenty to juggle. He wanted to shove back his chair and pace. Instead he smiled charmingly and Raine’s expression became even more wary.
The footman came back with a shawl and handed it to Faucon, who stood and went to Raine. He draped it over her shoulders without actually touching her. Since she tensed, she must have noticed.
“About ships…” she said as he took his seat again.
“Ayes?”
“How are they built here?” Her brows dipped. “Marian seems to think that my ship will be built in a few days, maybe a week.” She shook her head. “Magic, Power,” she muttered.
“Most are built by hand, with Power imbued in them as they are constructed.”
The serving maid was back with the fish entrée—lightly breaded and spiced, caught that day. Faucon’s mouth watered before he cut into a flaky slice. On the side were green beans and thin rounds of potatoes in an herbed cream sauce.
Raine’s eyes widened. “I haven’t had creamed potatoes since…” Remembrance and hurt flashed in her eyes and Faucon knew it was before she’d come to Lladrana.
“From what I understand, all noble cooks are experimenting with this new vegetable,” Faucon said easily, staring at the stuff on his plate. He hadn’t eaten anything like it, either. Even with Power helping them grow, potatoes were rare.
But Raine had dug in, savored a mouthful, closed her eyes. “Mmmmm. Could do with a little pepper, though.”
“Pepper?” Their meal was interrupted by the chef herself. She bowed to Faucon but didn’t leave. Her hands clenched in her apron. “On behalf of the noble households I am asking the Lady Seamistress Exotique if we could have recipes other than twin fries and Mickey potatoes that the Exotiques might remember. No one has been forthcoming. Concentrating on other things than food, they say.” She gestured to the plates. “This is my own concoction.”
Raine licked her lips and desire stirred in Faucon. Raine said, “Have you tried them baked and loaded?”
“Baked?”
“Um…wash, bake in a hot oven for about an hour, incredible,” Raine said. “Good with just butter, but some people can make a meal with them by adding bacon bits, sliced peppers, cheese, sour cream—” Raine waved “—other stuff. Very good.”
“Hot oven, bacon bits, butter.” The chef nodded.
“Also cheddar potatoes, sort of like these,” Raine said.
“Cheddar?”
“Potatoes in a cheese sauce,” Raine said, taking another bite, eating with more gusto than she had her greens. All the Exotiques loved potatoes, enough to have the twins bring some from the Exotique land three months before.
“Cheese sauce!” The cook turned.
“And mashed and whipped,” Raine said.
The chef whirled back.
“Mashed potatoes and gravy. You peel them, boil them, mash them when they’re warm to…uh…different consistencies, maybe add a little milk if you want them fine, then make gravy from meat drippings and thickened with flour and more milk and put it to the side.” She frowned as if searching her memory. “I come from a house with men so I didn’t make them with my mom, she died when I was little, or with my grandmothers—”
But the cook was already racing back into the castle, on a mission to pummel potatoes, Faucon didn’t doubt. He found himself again smiling genuinely. Just being with Raine lightened his spirits. He should shut that door hard, but couldn’t, heard Broullard admonishing him to choose joy.
He watched as Raine ate with fierce delicacy, the worry about whether she’d have a next meal was ingrained in her now, and he suppressed a sigh. “Have you been assured of your future?”
She glanced up, the frown between her brows again, a line that didn’t belong there. “I’ll be building the ship. I’m hoping that’s my task and the Snap will come after that.” Her gaze slid away from his, she put her silverware down. “I’m not a fighter, I don’t want to go to the Dark’s Nest and Sing that Song Marian’s crafting to destroy it.” She pulled the shawl more tightly around her. Then she lifted her chin defiantly as if in expectation of his condemnation.
“I think you are an excellent fighter when you must be,” Faucon said quietly. “You survived what many would not.”
She sniffed, still didn’t meet his eyes. “All of the other Exotiques would have survived, too
.”
“Probably…” He kept his voice matter-of-fact. “Those who are Summoned are always exceptional.”
With a flicker in her eyes, she said, “Even those Summoned in a half-assed way?”
“Especially those,” he said.
The moment spun between them, a gentle moment, his absolute belief in her and her acceptance of that. He continued eating and she picked up her cutlery again and ate, slower this time, savoring every bite.
When his maid came to clear, he said, “Thank you. Since the meal was light, we’ll have dessert.”
“Crème brûlée, Hauteur, your favorite.”
Raine made a little noise, her hands crushing a thick linen napkin. “Crème brûlée?” she asked in a sexy, breathless voice with a tiny whimper of anticipation that stirred his body. She looked at him, licked her lips and his blood heated so he could barely hear the last of her words. “My favorite, too.”
Finger bowls had been placed with soapy water on the table and she used hers. “Thank you. Merci.” She shut her eyes and her whole body seemed to go lax. “I’ll have my crème brûlée for breakfast, please,” she mumbled and fell asleep.
Faucon shook his head. She was doing too much, had no one noticed that? She felt too good in his arms when he carried her to a guest room.
Singer’s Abbey
Jikata had dozed the rest of the day and through the night, starting awake from nightmares of the leech or disturbing dreams of the crying woman, lifting a sword that was too heavy.
Her own heart hurt, simply ached, with a depth of compassion she hadn’t been aware she’d held. She did want to help the world—Amee—fight. The idea of becoming the Singer—a different sort of Singer than the old woman before her—tantalized.
Magic was in every sound all around her and she loved the music of her new life.
She knew there would be a price to pay.
Killing that evil leech, whatever it was.
She didn’t think that destroying it would be easy.
Creusse Crest
Raine woke in sheer luxury. For a moment she was disoriented as her blurry vision focused on the gold-toned canopy over her bed. She wasn’t in her little house in Castleton, not even that bed was as soft and decadent as this one.
A rap came at the door and Raine realized that’s what had awakened her. Clearing her throat, she called, “Entre.”
The housekeeper strode in with a maid, and Raine gripped her covers in a dizzying moment of déjà vu. This had happened the morning after Blossom and Faucon had rescued her. Memories of that day—more horrible than pleasant—washed through her and had her shaking.
“The room is too cool,” the housekeeper snapped and immediately rectified it with a little Song that heated the air. She shook her head at Raine. “You should have pulled the bed curtains.”
“In the summertime?” The room was fine, now overwarm.
“It’s been cooler than usual,” the housekeeper said, and gestured to the maid with a tray holding a steaming pot of tea and a plate of eggs and bacon. “You eat this and you can have crème brûlée with Faucon in a half hour in the breakfast nook.”
Raine did and didn’t want to eat with Faucon. She liked him, and he’d been so kind! As she scooted up on the pillows, she touched the yoke of a fine nightgown accented with little green ribbons.
“We undressed you and put you in the nightgown,” the housekeeper said, but Raine had had no doubt about that. Faucon never touched her.
“Hauteur—” that was Faucon’s title “—said you were working too hard.” She sniffed. “We should never have let you go to the Castle, they aren’t caring for you properly.”
“Thank you.”
“Quite welcome. Your flying leathers are being cleaned, but will be done after breakfast.” The housekeeper gestured and Raine saw underwear and several lovely dresses of crushed velvet being placed on the chest at the end of the bed. “These were made for you and we kept them here. Hauteur requests that you stay since he has called his cousin the Seamaster from his northern estate to consult with you and Corbeau won’t arrive until this afternoon. Those Marshalls,” the housekeeper tsked. “Expecting you to build a ship and not giving you any information. Besides, the Ship will depart from Faucon’s northern estate, Creusse Landing, of course.”
“Of course.” Had that been decided? Raine knew some of the Circlets had wanted to depart from a northern island. All her problems swooped down on her like crows. Like they did every morning. Her surroundings might have been upgraded a thousandfold, but so had her responsibilities.
The maid and housekeeper curtsied and left.
The pot of tea smelled wonderful. She was a coffee girl, but like many, associated tea with comfort in stressful times. The eggs and bacon were perfect and she wasn’t sure whether to be glad or not that the Lladranans hadn’t learned about home fries.
But her mouth watered for crème brûlée, and her mind demanded answers about how huge round stones could make a ship go and how a troop ship could be built in less than a week.
She had a busy day in front of her.
13
Raine stroked her hand down a pretty sapphire gown, visualized how Faucon might look at her if she wore it.
Foolish.
Why couldn’t she banish these foolish feelings for the man?
So she took a quick shower. When she came out her leathers were on the bed. She cast one last glance at the dresses, then put on the thin silk long underwear, leather pants, lawn shirt, leather vest and coat. They were supple against her skin and she realized she was finally breaking them in. Good.
When she entered the breakfast room, Faucon set aside a stack of papers and rose to seat her, smiling.
“Thanks for your hospitality,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” he said, and she didn’t think he realized he’d said it in accented English, which just reminded her that he’d loved a previous Exotique who’d dumped him. Keeping her wince inward, she sat opposite him at the damask-covered table that held a plate with a small bowl of crème brûlée.
She glanced at Faucon, who’d continued to smile, and said, “I suppose your cook disapproves of this breakfast.”
He nodded and dipped a shining silver teaspoon into his own treat. “And the housekeeper, and the maids. I don’t think the footmen care, though.”
Raine savored the custard and crunchy sugar and spice crust melting on her tongue. Perfection. She glanced around the place from under her lashes as they ate in silence. She hadn’t actually been in the castle. This was the ground floor of an octagonal tower room, with long windows in every section of the wall. She couldn’t see to the beach, but could watch distant waves rolling in from the ocean. Wonderful.
Faucon cleared his throat. “The propulsion of ships is usually based upon sail and Power.”
The crème brûlée became a little less tasty. A working breakfast, nothing personal. “Figured that,” she said. “You have those huge stones….”
He nodded. “Ayes, Power stones, they store Power and are magnets set for the four main directions.”
“The jewels.”
“Ayes. The jewels are tuned to each cardinal point.”
Raine had an idea. “Magnetic north and south poles?”
“Ayes.”
“But what about east and west?”
Faucon shrugged, then bent down and retrieved a book, opened it to a bookmarked map.
For a minute Raine expected to see little animated notes on the paper, then realized it was static and two-dimensional. With one long, well-shaped index finger, he indicated two gray rectangles on the coast of other continents, one to the east of Lladrana, one to the west. “Amee made these ages ago for us to tune our spell stones to.” He smiled briefly. “Legends say the locals worship the great plinths, but they’re only navigational tools, though huge and resonating in the proper frequency.”
An idea flashed through Raine’s mind, some strange connection, then was gone.
“So your jewels are tuned to the north and south magnetic poles and these, uh, plinths.”
Faucon nodded.
It sounded weird to Raine, but if she tried to think about Power logically most of the things on Lladrana were weird. “Your ships do have a rudder.”
Again Faucon nodded. “There are corresponding stones on the rudder and it controls the ship’s course. But it is also, ah, pulled by the magnetism of the great Power stones toward the cardinal directions. That makes sense?” His smile was crooked.
Not really. “Uh, how are the stones, um…how does one indicate the direction to the stones, steer the rudder?”
“Oh, a steering stick, of course.”
Huh.
She stared at him. “Wouldn’t a force that strong—” She waved her hands. “The magnetic poles and the monoliths, if they can pull a ship—” she was still having difficulty with this one “—pull the stones right out of a ship?”
He smiled indulgently. “The Power is not only in the monoliths. Those are like…beacons. The Power is in the stones, they hold huge stores of Power and are drawn to the poles and the beacons at a particular rate.”
“Particular rate,” Raine repeated.
“The direction and rate are controlled by the helmsman.” Faucon touched his right temple where a wide streak of Power showed. The streak was larger than it had been. In preparing for this battle, everyone was taking on duties that increased their Power. “One wills the stones to go a certain course and applies the—ah—spark to Power them.” His forehead wrinkled and his tone became stiff. “I don’t entirely understand the matter, myself. I understand wind and sail better. If you want a complete technical explanation, speak to Marian.”
Echoes in the Dark Page 12