That was the good that had come from the hard.
She nodded to the few people who were on the grounds, then making sure they were unobserved, went into a storage building and climbed the stairs to the second floor.
It was absurdly easy to slip out the window of a room that was no more than two feet above the west wall, throw her pack to the ground about fifteen feet below, slither on her belly ’til she hung from her hands and drop to the ground. She wasn’t even out of breath, though her heart beat quicker.
She picked up her pack, checked to see how her various pretty pouches had fared. All beautiful. The variety of them made her smile—the recycled silk saris, the embroidered Irish linen, the fancy velveteen, the cheerful and casual clear plastic for her makeup. She looked at her energy bars. They seemed fine. Smiling, she shrugged it on. Food for the first little while, Chasonette would be a magical guide to the village, and then…new vistas.
She walked for about a half mile down the hill, a short ways into the trees and through a meadow dappled with long shadows, the grass underfoot giving off a sweet scent. She’d had a good pair of new cross-trainers in her pack, and her feet felt fine. She could walk as far as necessary.
They probably had actual cobblers here, and she liked the idea of shoes handmade for her feet, but didn’t know how long that would take. Now she was away from the Abbey, time pressed more upon her, as if there were a deadline to a show coming up and she should be putting in twelve-hour days of practice.
Was it the Abbey that was under a spell, or her? Best she was away from it. Without the sleep Songs in her rooms, she should be able to read the Lorebooks faster. They’d tell her what needed to be done.
Now she was closer to the forest, the trees gave off trickles of mysterious tunes, wild trees with shadows beneath and between them. Old trees with long lives and rings of melodies emanating as if describing those lives. Different than the cultivated, beautiful, pampered trees in Singer’s Abbey.
As Jikata had been cultivated and pampered to be useful.
When Luthan stepped out of the shadow of large trees—and how had he managed to hide wearing that pristine white?—she knew a sense of inevitability. A handsome white knight, followed by two volarans, one of which might be for her. It only needed this to be a European fairy tale.
Or a standard story of a quest against great odds.
28
Chasonette whistled a ripple of bright notes of welcome and Jikata’s jaw flexed. This was why her companion had disappeared. Scanning the man up and down, Jikata couldn’t complain.
They met at the edge of the forest. He bowed, but kept his dark brown gaze on hers, tilted his head as if listening hard to her personal Song. Then he relaxed. “Salutations, Exotique Singer.”
She could understand him. She bowed. “Salutations, Luthan Vauxveau.”
He turned to the large white volaran. “This is my companion, Silver Lightning Spearing into the Dark Mountain. I call him Lightning.”
Intelligence was in those eyes. More than a horse, less, she thought, than human. Or very different than human. She didn’t know how different they were temperamentally from Earth horses, but they still had eyes on the side of their heads—prey animal eyes. She dipped a bow. “Salutations, Lightning.” The lilt of his name came naturally, matching his personal Song.
The other stallion pranced forward. He was a beautiful buckskin color with dark mane and tail, wings a golden brown edged in darker brown. Stunning.
“This volaran was sent by the alpha mare for you, Exotique Singer. He is, simply, Hope.”
Fabulous. Jikata held out her hand and fell in love. They didn’t have hair but tiny feathers on their hide. Their wings were made of varying sizes and lengths of feathers. They looked horselike but were not. Their wings were angled across their shoulders, making a perfect place to ride, with legs before or behind the wings. Maybe even two people could ride, though the volarans were smaller than Earth horses.
“Now we’ve been introduced, I’d like to know your plans,” Luthan said with an intensity that let her know she’d better have plans, otherwise they’d be following his.
She smiled. “I was going to the next town to hire a horse or a carriage or a volaran.”
His brows went up. “You have zhiv?”
“I have jewelry.”
Nodding, he said, “That would do. Where do you think this transportation—had you been able to find a stables or get one from the local noble—would take you?”
She widened her eyes. “Why, through Lladrana.” She glanced around. “From what I see, it’s lovely.”
“It’s the most beautiful place on Amee, here in the south the land is very pretty. The north is mountainous. All but one of our Exotiques…you know of the Exotiques?”
“Ayes.”
“All but one is from a place with mountains, and you?”
“Originally. And you?”
He appeared surprised, then his smile flashed and it warmed his expression, hinted that his eyes could be lively. “I have a manor close to here, a few miles, should you care to visit?”
“Perhaps. So you’re a southerner?” She didn’t know what that meant here.
His face closed again. “The main family estate I inherited is north of the Marshalls’ Castle.” Again testing her knowledge?
“Which is in central Lladrana. I’ve seen a map.” Her own lips curved. “Plenty of interesting maps.”
Lightning pawed the ground, removing a divot of rich black earth. Too much talk…bird…castle. He said something more but Jikata didn’t catch it. The volaran spoke more in images, feelings, than in words, and the words weren’t pronounced by the volaran mind the same way they were by the human tongue.
Jikata frowned. “Sorry?”
“Lightning is impatient. He wants to fly, though we came from the Castle this morning, using Distance Magic.”
She straightened, tapped her bag again. “I recently received some Lorebooks. I’ve read Alexa’s and part of Marian’s, so I’ve heard of Distance Magic and of flying on volarans.” She gave him a smile. “She flew with you…and Lightning.”
Ayes! Lightning’s affirmative came in Jikata’s mind, along with a small, silver-haired woman.
Luthan nodded. “Calli has ingrained the idea that we ‘partner’ with the volarans.”
“Ah.”
“Lightning and Hope would like to know if you plan on going to the Marshalls’ Castle.”
There was that word again, “plan.” Though she’d left the Singer’s Abbey, a lot of other people would have plans for her.
“What if I said I wanted to see the city of Krache?”
Lightning’s ears pricked forward, and he whinnied in excitement. A city of square buildings and steep spires flashed in her mind.
Luthan’s brow lined. “I wouldn’t recommend Krache for an Exotique new to Lladrana, but we would accompany you.” She heard a rapid beat as if calculations marched in his mind.
“However,” Jikata continued smoothly, “I had planned to make a slow journey to the Marshall’s Castle. Now that I don’t have to worry too much about being followed and taken back to the Singer’s Abbey.” Her gaze surveyed his wide shoulders, the muscularity of his body. He was a Chevalier, a fighter, no one—no group—of Friends from the Abbey would prevail against him.
He bowed. “I am at your service. I will protect you with my life.”
He’d said it simply, but it rang like a vow, and the air and Songs around them stilled for a moment. Red sparks of vision coalesced in front of her, she heard the distant shrill of Chasonette’s cry, the stamping of the two volarans, but that didn’t stop the prophecy.
They—she and Luthan and the volarans—were circling down toward a smoking volcano. What she could see of Luthan’s face within the helmet was grim and determined…and she saw herself, dressed in strange Chevalier leathers, too. Helmeted, too. Determined, too.
Her mouth was open and she was Singing and she knew it was a great Song,
and that the moment they plunged was the climax of her life.
Then the vision haze vanished and she saw Luthan, standing straight, feet braced, hand entwined in Lightning’s mane, face nearly as grim as in the vision. He blinked.
She said, “You can see prophetic visions, too.”
His chest rose with a deep breath and he nodded. Rustily, he said, “I will…help…you with your gift of prophecy.”
She tilted her head. “You sound uncertain of that.”
He met her eyes squarely. “It is my gift, too, though not as great as yours. Not something I ever wanted, and that I usually suppressed.”
Jikata nodded. “I know about that. On Earth—Exotique Terre—I mostly suppressed it.” Her face stilled. “The Singer didn’t allow that.”
“Of course not. The Singer has definite ideas about what should and should not be done.” He scanned the area. The Abbey was out of view, but Jikata believed he was extending his senses to see if anyone was checking on her…or him, the Singer’s representative.
“They haven’t missed you yet. Good.” He gestured to her stallion—a very male “Hope”; and Jikata would have to get used to that name—and said, “Perhaps we should progress.”
She went to Hope. “Salutations, Hope. May I admire your beauty?” She rubbed his forehead, then ran a hand down his neck, along his back to his rump and dock, walked around him. He stood perfectly still but shifted his stance to one of pride.
I beautiful. Very status large.
Luthan’s volaran, Lightning, snorted. Because you fly with her, the Exotique Singer, not because you have proven yourself in battle. Lightning formed each word/image/feeling better, as if he’d already learned Jikata’s speech limitations.
Hope grumbled but said nothing.
“We’d better get going,” Jikata said lightly, and swung into the saddle. It was comfortable and she’d already noticed that the volarans had no bits, but only thin halters.
The sound of Hope’s Song increased and flickered through her, then his mind was there, next to hers. An easy mind.
“Ride first,” Luthan said.
“So you can see my form?” she asked, leaning over and patting Hope’s neck, staring down at his beautiful wings. She wished she had boots.
Luthan raised his brows. “Exactly. I want to see your form.”
She chuckled, and said Run! to Hope and he took off to angle down a long meadow. The wind whipped through her hair and she couldn’t suppress a cry of glee. So wonderful! And it had been so long. Why hadn’t she made time for horses in her life?
But a horse would never be as lovely as Hope. He turned, and with lifted wings, ran back to Luthan and Lightning, who had not moved, though Luthan had mounted his volaran.
“So you can ride,” Luthan said. His seat was such that he looked as if he’d spent much of his life on horse—volaranback. Not even her rancher lover had looked as well in the saddle.
Mmmm. She caught the hum of pleasurable attraction in her throat before it rose to her lips. Though when his mouth quirked she supposed that he’d heard something in her Song that betrayed her interest.
We well-matched. Hope pranced in place and tossed his head.
“Indeed,” Luthan said. “Interesting. Four of the seven Exotiques Summoned were horsewomen before they were Summoned.”
“I know from her Lorebook that Alexa didn’t ride,” Jikata said. “Who else?”
“Raine and Elizabeth.”
“Ah. The one who returned home. I have her Lorebook.”
Luthan slanted her a glance. “Of course. Who do you think obtained those volumes for you?”
“Oh. Of course.” She inclined her torso. “Merci.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Shall we ride?” He smiled. “Slowly. North toward my manor?”
Jikata studied him. “You’re the Singer’s representative. Won’t you take me back?”
No, he said mentally.
She heard his voice in her mind, easily, clearly, as if they were on the same wavelength.
I am not the Singer’s representative, though I have not formally turned in my resignation.
Ttho? she questioned. But she knew he didn’t lie. There was more than a “ring of truth” in his mental voice, it was as if he were incapable of lying telepathically. She listened closely, finally decided that it was the background lilt of his mental voice, as pristine as his clothing.
Ttho. I did not want to tell the Singer I was done with her until you were out of the Abbey in case you needed me, he said simply.
She’d heard him called an honorable man and knew it was true. Knew everything he’d said was true. He would protect her with his life, had determined to do that long before he said the words to her. Had done so from the moment they’d met when she’d been Summoned.
Merci, Chevalier Luthan Vauxveau.
He smiled again and her heart twinged. She’d met plenty of good-looking men here, but all had been Friends and usually devoted to the Singer. Not one of them had had appreciation of her as a female in the back of their eyes.
She stretched a little—physically, mentally and emotionally—when she saw his look, then let her lips curve. She was free of the Singer’s constraints. “Won’t the first place they look be your home? And won’t the Singer call on you to find me?” She shifted in her saddle, a cue to Hope to proceed, and he lightly stepped through the meadow northward.
Luthan shrugged. “Perhaps.” He and Lightning turned to join them. “But since you want to see the countryside, we will need provisions and shelter.”
“Shelter?”
“A tent. I have one with three rooms.”
Jikata’s mind went from the image of green canvas to a parti-colored medieval tent. She realized she was right when she received a mental picture from Lightning and Luthan of a campground with many tents in all colors dotting it. Then one of rusty red and dull gold, rectangular…with two outer rooms and one in the back. It appeared totally charming.
“A tent sounds wonderful.”
“Also, I’ve a training field where you can learn to partner with Hope. We’ll have you flying before we leave at dawn.”
Jikata winced. She’d had to rise early plenty of times to travel or to prepare for performances, but she didn’t care for that. “Very well.”
A smile hovered around his mouth. “I’m sure we can evade those Friends who will be sent to search for you.”
An offhand apology for rousting her out of bed if she’d ever heard one.
They rode in companionable silence, through copses and woods, and once when they reached another long meadow, she sent a mental message of running to Hope and he did, but then he lifted his wings and they glided. Airborne! Maybe only a couple of feet off the ground, but flying.
She laughed, let it ripple from her like a banner of notes, a melody…Jikata’s first flight.
In a show-off move, Lightning sailed by them, a full ten feet off the ground, legs tucked close to his belly. Luthan was grinning, something Jikata sensed was not common, and the sight fired more flickers of awareness of him as a man inside her, as lovely and joyful as the flight itself.
Then Hope was galloping across the field and in the distance Jikata heard the bells of the Abbey ring the hour.
Her mind whirled with a slight dizziness, the headiness of escaping—once again in her life—an old woman who commanded her, though Ishi had never been as autocratic as the Singer.
No, Jikata would not go back to the Abbey willingly. She didn’t know what her fate was now, but she would fight to hold on to it.
Marshalls’ Castle
Faucon had said his goodbyes to his friends during the long celebration the night before. It was more of a “see you later,” since the next day those on the invasion force would be preparing to leave for his place and the start of the true adventure.
Which meant he had to be there first. He trusted Corbeau absolutely, and knew preparations there were going apace, but Faucon wasn’t sure h
ow Corbeau would mix with the Chevaliers and Marshalls.
Not to mention the fact that Faucon yearned for Raine, was ever conscious of the short time he’d have with her before she returned to her home.
His foolish heart. But he was a man of his time, risking all—love, life, soul—to live the fullest and kill the Dark.
So he and his volaran, and his Chevalier team that had been on alert the day before and was still sober, flew to the North. The second team would remain assigned to the Castle.
Two pairs of his Chevaliers had made the expedition force. Only three pairs had tested. Most of his people had signed on with him for the reward at the end of their service—a bit of land of their own. He’d have to revise his will before he left.
As he arrived at his northern home, he saw the bustle of the inhabitants and townsfolk preparing for an invasion of their own.
Below, on the newly extended landing field that would hold fifty volarans, Raine was waiting for him.
His heart lurched as he saw her unbound brown hair lifting in the wind, her long-limbed body held like a sailor’s, the creamy skin of her face lifted to him.
His sex stirred and all thought of doing anything except taking her to bed for the rest of the day went from his head.
They landed and he dismounted, running toward her…he was always running toward her…catching her and feeling her body against his and tasting her mouth and hearing her Song—their Song—that ripped through them like an undertow.
This woman was his, and he was hers.
For the moment.
Living in the moment was all he had.
29
Creusse Landing
Raine spent the day in sumptuous sensuality…making love with Faucon with a hungry urgency. It had shocked her, the feeling they had for each other, but it hadn’t stopped her from exploring the man, making him tremble, making him surrender to the passion between them. As she’d been explored and had trembled and had surrendered.
A moment out of time with no expectations beyond pleasuring themselves.
Echoes in the Dark Page 27