Echoes in the Dark

by Robin D. Owens

  “Raine won’t pilot,” Terry said. “She’s a big weenie.”

  “Thanks, bro,” Raine muttered.

  “What’s a weenie?” asked one of the Lladranan guys.

  “What’s the timeline?” asked Raine’s father.

  Another hesitation by the judge. Raine’s father whirled back to face him, the mirror, his face stark, his eyes grieving. His expression was a blow to Raine, and she moaned.

  “We’re not sure of the timeline. That depends on Raine and the Ship. It will go down before the end of the year. Maybe even next month.”

  “Next month,” Raine’s father repeated.

  “We prefer not to hear ‘go down’ with regards to a ship, particularly one we’ve built,” Terry said.

  Raine’s father tossed back the last of his drink and when he turned his gaze back to the judge he asked, “Why Raine?”

  “Because she’s the best.”

  “Yes, she is.” Her father threw his glass in the fireplace. It shattered with an ugly noise. “She’ll pilot. It’s her ship.”

  Singer’s Abbey

  That evening Jikata and the Singer held the dreamquest of a female Chevalier who wished to become a Marshall.

  The Chevalier’s Song, dreams and images were dark. She wept during the process and Jikata felt an odd tug as she watched the woman—girl, really—cry. She was lying on her back, fingers twined tightly in the Singer’s and Jikata’s grip.

  “Why do you wish to test?” the Singer said in a soft voice that the hypnotized woman answered.

  “Because my lover tested and became a Marshall, and will be going through the trials.” The girl flailed her arms.

  “But you do not want to go through the trials.”

  “No, it’s suicide. Talk is, it’s a grand adventure, but it’s suicide.” More tears a Friend wiped away with a soft cloth as the woman’s head thrashed back and forth.

  “You could stay,” the Singer insinuated, rather evil-snake-like, Jikata thought.

  “No.” The woman calmed. “No. She’s my Shield. I’m her Sword. We’re a Pair.”

  “But not pairbonded,” the Singer said.

  Jikata tried to keep up with the strange words, concepts.

  “Not yet,” the woman said, “but if we bond, I think it will be better. Ayes, it will.” Now a note of determination.

  “My apprentice will awaken you now,” the Singer said, and withdrew her fingers from the girl’s.

  Jikata set her teeth at the title, but did so. The young woman sat up from the mat of rugs on the floor with a watery smile. Jikata and a Friend helped her to her feet, the Singer had already gone to her throne. Taking the warm, wet cloth from the Friend, the Chevalier wiped her face, kept the smile on, though her personal Song screamed she was nervous. She ran one hand down her scaled armor. There were odd-colored stains on it, along with old blood. “Did I pass?” she asked brightly.

  “It is not a matter of passing or failing,” the Singer said. “It is a matter of sensing the future and deciding how to act.”

  The young woman lifted her chin, her mouth was mulish. “I’ve decided how to act.”

  “Then I will tell you what I told your partner,” the Singer said. “You are a Marshall now. Pairbond.”

  The girl broke into a smile. “Merci!”

  “Do not undertake the trials. Your partner has a rare gift and could contribute more if she remained behind.”

  A low breath whooshed from the Chevalier. “The fence posts, she’s canny in drawing horrors to make fence posts.”

  “The fence is not yet whole. Some must guard the northern border while others are gone,” the Singer said. “Do you not think Alyeka knows your Shield’s worth?”

  “Ttho…ayes…ttho.” The ex-Chevalier threw her hands up. “I don’t know.”

  “Speak to Alyeka.”

  Now the girl was glancing at Jikata from the corners of her eyes, but she bowed to the Singer, deeply, and only a little less deeply to Jikata. “I’ll speak to Alyeka,” she said, jaw set. “She’s a little scary.” The new Marshall looked at Jikata more fully as she walked to the door. “Exotiques are so Powerful. They are all scary.”

  All the Friends accompanied her when she left.

  Slowly Jikata turned to look at the Singer, definitely time for answers. The woman had her eyes closed and looked unexpectedly tired, her lined face reminded Jikata of the texture of crepe, as if it might be tissue thin. She appeared older than Ishi had been and for the first time Jikata wondered just how many years the Singer had. She’d always been so intense.

  Then the Singer opened her eyes and pierced Jikata with a hot, bright gaze that stopped her breath like a force of nature.

  “My Thomas taught me to count in your language. I am one hundred and thirty years old.”

  A tiny gasp caught in Jikata’s throat.

  The Singer’s smile was as sharp as her eyes. “You have never met someone as old as I?”

  “No. Ttho.”

  With an incline of her head, the Singer said, “It is a great age, even here where we are bigger, stronger, older and more Powerful and beautiful than you.” Her gaze traveled down and up Jikata. “Though you have possibilities. I am weary. Your questions can wait until another day.”

  Jikata had opened her mouth, but respect for age had been instilled in her and she could not deny the Singer since Ishi had returned to her thoughts. It suddenly struck Jikata that she was missing Ishi’s wake, would miss the funeral, and whatever daily memorials there would be…she’d been so busy here…

  So busy pretending on so many levels—denying Ishi’s death?—that she hadn’t thought. But the funeral would be long past, and any of Ishi’s old friends who were still living would think Jikata a totally ungrateful person not to show up. That hurt arrowed to her heart and she breathed through it.

  Not her fault. She hadn’t been present because this old woman had Summoned her.

  For some purpose Jikata had yet to learn. But as she raised her gaze to meet the Singer’s forceful one, Jikata knew the Singer, this live old woman, needed her. Ishi, if she’d ever needed Jikata of late, had not indicated it by the lift of a finger, let alone calling her. The needs of the living must always precede the needs of the dead.

  Jikata gave a little curtsy. She was wearing a damask robe, richly embroidered and it was heavier than most fabrics. She’d loved it, but now felt stiff. Stiff from hurt, from anger, from confusion. “Until tomorrow,” she said.

  The Singer closed her eyes again and clicked her tongue and several Friends hurried in. Jikata walked out. Her escort of a bodyguard-type man and the housekeeper of her building were there. Both would ignore her if she asked questions.

  Chasonette swooped down and lit on Jikata’s shoulder, gave her a bird-peck kiss, then flew up to perch on a gargoyle a few yards ahead of them, and tilted her head. You are weary and sad. I will Sing for you.

  The bird did and that Song and the soundtrack of Jikata’s life rose to fill her, gave her peace. She let out a soundless sigh, concentrated on keeping her carriage proud.

  I will Sing you home and Sing you asleep. Music is the cure for all.

  Jikata smiled, let the music of the growing things, the buildings, the people, surround her. Music was wonderful.

  Ishi had never been able to appreciate that. She’d been tone deaf.

  Tears trickled down Jikata’s face.

  Creusse Crest

  Faucon walked Raine to her room and she was glad of his undemanding company. Servants were moving around, preparing the castle for night, helping the retiring Exotiques and their men, or getting it ready for morning. She didn’t know what all. But it was a lot quieter than being with a bunch of people, or watching a bunch of guys.

  Just having Faucon hold her hand and match her steps was soothing. She still got a little sparkle inside from him and his Song, and even his nearness, but it wasn’t overwhelming. Somehow the events of the day and night had given her more inner balance. Maybe it was the time
on the water, maybe it was just that so many experiences had crowded in this day that she was numb, perfectly happy to sort them all out later.

  Then they were at her door and she glanced up at him. God, he was handsome. Steady brown eyes, sculpted mouth, strong jaw. Looking just like a nobleman should.

  “I’m not captaining that ship for the invasion,” she said.

  A line formed between his brows. “We all know that. You’ve made that clear, including tonight. You are free to choose.”

  “Ayes.”

  “But you are designing and building the Ship.”

  “Ayes.”

  Keeping his gaze on hers, he lifted her fingers and brushed a kiss over them and suddenly the sexual attraction was there, rushing through her, heating her skin from the inside. She put her hands on his shoulders and somehow the floor beneath her feet began to rock like the deck of a boat and she hung on tight.

  18

  Faucon bent his head, closer, closer, until she scented the liquor and dessert on his breath. She yearned for his taste, had for longer than she’d admit. Her neck tilted back and her lips parted. A whisper away, he said, “It’s not just the innate attraction, Raine. It’s just you.”

  “I know.”

  Then he pressed his lips on hers and she swept her tongue across his mouth and was lost. He gathered her close and it was just where she’d wanted to be, caught safe in someone’s arms, in his arms. The lovely sparkle went hot. She opened her lips, tasted his tongue in her mouth and knew that finally, something she’d needed all along was within her grasp.

  He was strong, and hard, and his Song thundered through her like the surf. Her arms curved under his, around his shoulders as she let him taste her. He angled the kiss deeper and she clung. He was a shelter, a harbor. She could almost believe he was hers, her man.

  He trembled and it was sweet and heady. His hands stroking her back was the touch she’d missed all this time.

  Then his mouth tore from hers and she moaned. He kissed the sweep of her cheeks, her brows, her temples. Lips hovering above her own, he made a rough sound and stepped back.

  She let him go. It seemed he was always pulling back and she was always letting him go.

  But, like all the other times, this time it was the right thing to do.

  Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his chin.

  “Raine…”

  “Ssshhh.” She stepped back and came up against the door, beyond it she could hear the ocean, or perhaps that was her own tide of blood. She found the doorknob with her fingers, kept her eyes on his. “Thank you, Faucon. Merci.”

  He jerked a small nod, his fingers came up and touched her face. “Sweet dreams.”

  “You, too.” She opened the door and backed in and fell on the bed. She didn’t sleep.

  Fool, fool, fool! Faucon ran lightly through his castle, knowing how to avoid everyone. Suppressing his Song, his turbulent emotions that threatened to burst out of him in a cacophony alerting all that he’d been a fool.

  Raine would be going home after the Ship was raised, he wasn’t deaf to that fact, had agreed with those who’d bet in the Nom de Nom against her staying. Despite what her father said. That man didn’t know this Raine, she’d changed from the pretty young woman he’d seen in an image hanging on her father’s wall.

  Faucon was a fool to want her in his bed, and especially in his heart, which was in bloody shreds from the loss of Elizabeth and Broullard. He flung himself through a door to the outside, couldn’t prevent a rough curse, shed his vest, shirt, undershirt as he ran until he reached the smooth spot on the cliff and dove into the sea.

  The impact was hard on his fists, the water sliced cold along his body. He let his breath out in a cleansing scream as he plunged. When he ran out of air, he shot to the surface, gasped for breath between wave ripples, shook his head so his hair was out of his face. And saw two pure white ducks with yellow beaks and one fuzzy duckling paddling serenely near them.

  He stared at the three feycoocus: Sinafinal, Tuckerinal and Enerin.

  A little cheep came from the duckling, Enerin, Raine’s companion, a lilting Song. Why do you fight your destiny so?

  Sinafinal gave her child an admonitory peck. Because he is human.

  Tuckerinal, the male, swam close. Raine will stay if she loves you.

  “She has family at home. I saw those pictures of ships on the walls, the metal ones with two hulls, near her image. We can’t give her that challenge here.”

  Snorting, Tuckerinal said mentally, She has plenty of challenge here.

  Faucon couldn’t argue with that.

  She will stay if she loves you, Tuckerinal insisted.

  Faucon didn’t believe that.

  Sinafinal came and rubbed her feathery body against his face. You have lost your faith. I am sorry.

  Peeping, Enerin said, You must find it again. Know that she can stay, that you can love her, that you can destroy the Dark together.

  His eyes stung. From the ocean.

  Tuckerinal gave him a look Faucon couldn’t decipher.

  “A lot of that going on, tonight,” the male feycoocu said. “Here and on Earth.”

  Faucon rubbed his face and swam to the pier.

  He’d ruined his boots.

  He was falling in love with Raine, might already love her. One more lost love would shatter his heart forever.

  She was waiting for him on the dock, wearing a long robe that shimmered in the moonlight. He climbed from the water and shivered. Her gaze was as deep and fathomless as the sea. Her tongue touched her lips nervously.

  Their Songs had mingled and the links between them were stronger than ever, but her Song had a little hitch that betrayed those nerves, no matter how serene she appeared.

  He wanted her, again and forever.

  “I couldn’t sleep.” Her hands pleated the sides of her gown.

  She was beautiful beyond compare in the moonlight. When he said nothing, she lifted her chin. “You were all churned up, and so was I.” She swallowed. “I want you, have wanted you from the moment we met. Is it wrong to wish for pleasure and comfort and companionship with a man you want in times like these?”

  He couldn’t think. He should definitely say “ayes” in the answer to her question, “ttho,” to her…or was it the other way around? He wished he was anywhere else.

  A lilt of a woman’s teasing laughter came from one of the castle’s open windows and he was swamped with loneliness. Not just for friends, but for a lover who understood him, an intimate companion. In the past months he’d lost his lover and his father-friend. He needed…he needed. And he needed Raine. For herself, the person whose Song he’d finally heard yesterday and today. The friend-woman-companion he’d found on the sea, sailed with and meshed with.

  Raine’s eyes widened, her face fell into those soft, sad lines that hurt him. “It’s not time,” she whispered, as she made an awkward gesture. “Still too early or too late.” She turned.

  And the sea breeze flattened her nightgown against her and his body reacted as usual, even encased in cold trousers. His blood wasn’t cold.

  “Wait,” he croaked. He couldn’t step away this time, couldn’t protect his heart, had to trust the Song. His breath whooshed out and when he inhaled the air was delicious, freeing. All the masks he’d used with her fell away. Denial was over. “I want you, too.”

  Overhead three seabirds called out and he thought a cheerful blessing settled over him—and Raine. “I want you, too.” He slicked water from his hair. He glanced up and down the pier. There was his yacht and the boathouse. Both would have towels.

  The boathouse had a better bed.

  “I’m having a hard time knowing what I feel, knowing what I truly want.” And those words that came from him emphasized his foolishness. Was denial back? What was foolishness, giving in to his and her need, or running away from her?

  But she smiled. “Thank you.”

  “What?” He was incredulous.

  “Why should I be t
he only one floundering around in a net of tangled emotions? Thank you.” She took a gliding step toward him. “You are the most beautiful man.”

  The breeze of the sea was offset by a flush of embarrassment. “No—”

  Her delicately arched brows raised. She touched outside her eyes. “To me you are the most handsome of all.” She held out her hand. “And the kindest.”

  He felt even warmer, hunched a shoulder, didn’t move a step.

  “That responsibility bred into you,” she said, and walked up to him, took his cold, wet hand in her own. She glanced at the castle, sighed, her mouth turned down before she said, “I’d love to go there, but we are always aware of the future, aren’t we, Faucon? That’s why there’s been so much friction between us, we both know there will come a time when I’ll leave.”

  Her hand was hot, as hot as the licks of desire heating him, his blood pooling below his belt, as fast and strident as his Song. He could barely hear her words as his body angled to hers, wooing her with brushes of skin against skin.

  “And when I leave—” Her voice broke and he sensed it was from that confusion of emotions in her…sorrow for what might come, grief at what was past. Once again he lifted her fingers to his mouth, kissed her hand gently, tasted Raine and the sea.

  She quivered, shook her head as if to clear it. “You will see me in places I was, after I am gone. So I will leave you your private castle rooms. You’ll not see me there.”

  He didn’t know what to say. She, too, was kind.

  And terrible with her knowledge.

  “Come to bed with me in the boathouse, Faucon. Where you sheltered me that first night we met. We will find a harbor together.”

  And desirable.

  Then she hesitated. “Perhaps it will be worse for the both of us if we do this—”

  “No.” The time for questions was over. His fingers trembled as he tilted her pale face up so he could study it, wished he could see the green of her eyes. She didn’t want heartache, neither did he—who did? “This time between us is meant to be. Don’t deny us this.”