Faucon rose, too. “I’ll distract her.”
Bastien grunted. “Good job if you can get it,” he muttered one of the Exotique phrases that was entering the Lladranan language. “I have to sit here and drink jasmine tea.”
Jikata had another dream of Ishi urging her to return to the Abbey, woke again with tears on her face. Why couldn’t she let the woman go? She’d thought she’d made peace with the fact they’d wanted very different things in life.
From the Lorebooks, Jikata knew she could speak with Marian or Calli. Both those Exotiques had difficult parents, too. But Jikata had had a mixture, loving parents and distant Ishi. She shouldn’t forget that. More and more memories were coming of her parents now that her career didn’t blind her—good memories and she welcomed them.
She thought of Luthan, wanted him, for more than sex, for the companionship they’d shared, the friendship they’d built. She was moving beyond hurt and that was good. He was giving her the time she needed, and she wondered if, despite his words, he needed it, too.
But this very minute she wanted another cup of jasmine tea.
She was filling the pot with hot water when Raine appeared at the top of the stairs. “I missed out earlier and the scent of it stayed in my head. Can I have some?”
“Sure.” Jikata poured two cups, put them on a tray and carried them to the low table in front of the loveseat where Raine sat. Jikata took hers and sat next to Raine, who reached down and cradled her cup in her hands.
“Ready for the battle?” Raine asked.
“No. I will never be ready.”
Raine seemed to ease at that. “Neither will I.” She looked to the darkened doorway to the bedrooms. “Sleeping alone?”
“Ayes.”
“So, when are you going to forgive Luthan for something he has no control over, say, like skin color?”
Talking about this only made Jikata weary and sad, but she didn’t want to go back to her bedroom and didn’t think Raine would drop the subject. “I’m working through it at my own rhythm. I would have expected you, of all people, to understand.”
Raine blinked. “Why? Luthan’s always been honest and honorable and good to me. He never stalked me. He never hurt me. He never tried to kill me. Did he do that to you?”
“No, he only made love to me. Before he showed how repulsive I was to him, thought of hitting me, tore our bond. That hurt, and takes some time to heal, too.”
Tilting her head, Raine said, “Okay, tough blow. But a tough blow to him, too. He’s had to fight this innate disgust from the moment Alexa arrived, experienced it with the aftereffects and consequences.” She frowned. “You know, I—we—have always accepted that what Luthan and the people like him do is unnatural and wrong.”
“Perhaps because the first one Alexa met tried to kill her, and one like that attempted your murder, too,” Jikata said.
“True. But why? What really happens to them?” Raine touched her heart. “What do they feel that makes them act that way? The guy who stalked me was a lowlife bully, but Alexa was attacked by a Marshall, and they’re well-respected. There’s no one more honorable than Luthan. Maybe we should have asked that question before. If we know what it’s like, then maybe we can change or prevent it.”
“I’m the last Exotique,” Jikata said, though her thoughts and speculations were following Raine’s.
“For now, and from Earth. Who’s to say there won’t be more from somewhere else? Those who might affect more than a small minority with the revulsion?” Raine paused. “It seems that a woman so in touch with Songs like you could understand how they’re affected and tell us about it. Marian, as a knowledge keeper, and Bri, as a healer, could take it from there.”
Jikata sighed. No, she hadn’t wanted to talk about this, but it was one more good thing to think about. She finished her tea and rose. “Good point, and good night.”
“Sweet dreams,” Raine said.
“I hope so,” Jikata replied.
“Raine?” Faucon called in a sleepy voice from the bottom of the staircase.
“Coming,” Raine said, and took the dishes to the sink.
Jikata went back to her lonely bedroom, ignoring her envy.
Raine, Faucon, Corbeau and Madam Lucienne Deauville were aboard for the first sailing trial—when a full crew took The Echo out. Their mental link was the only thing that prevented disaster. But many of the Seamasters and the sailors learned quickly—especially Jean and Ella, so a core group was chosen including them and Madam Deauville for the rest of the trials.
So Raine was stuck sitting in another grandstand while people fumbled at sailing her Ship.
Thump-thump, pause, thump-thump-thump, pause, thump-thump.
It took a moment for Raine to realize that the siren was echoing the pattern that had shadowed her dreams, circled in her brain when awake, stayed in the back of her mind as the first, then second, then third hour of the sailors’ trials passed.
But on her left, Jikata was rising from her seat, face impassive. Alexa had already leapt from the Exotique spectator box, followed by Bastien, both running toward the stables. Calli’s volaran waited for her, caparisoned for battle, hovering beside the stands.
Blood drained from Raine’s head and her knees felt weak when Faucon took her hand and drew her up.
Jikata passed them and her telepathic whisper came in Raine’s mind. Showtime. I’m petrified. The Singer didn’t look petrified. Raine figured she did. Then Faucon was moving fast and she was running, mind completely blank.
They sped to the manor house and up the stairs to Faucon’s suite. Three squires, one male and two female, were already there, and the moment Raine stopped, one of the women started undressing her. As the light silk blouse was drawn over her head she realized she should have already been wearing leathers, like Faucon, but his were dreeth leathers. He hadn’t said a word to her about that when they’d dressed this morning.
“The teams?” asked Faucon, drawing on his gauntlets.
“They are standing by, prepared to fly with you and the Seamistress Exotique. She will be protected at all times. We have our orders to bring down one of the fire-breathing dreeths so that the new Exotiques can deal the killing blows.”
“Dreeths? Plural?” Raine squeaked, then sucked in her breath as the buckles around her waist were pulled tight.
“Three,” one of the women said, handing Raine her helmet, turning to tighten a fellow squire’s tunic.
“Three.” Raine panted, tried to envision three fire-breathing flying dinosaurs raking the sky with their talons, spewing flame. She thought her eyes would roll back in her head. So stiffened her knees. “Let’s go,” she said, making her voice normal.
Faucon glanced at her, gave her a sweet smile. You will be wonderful.
Yeah. Sure.
They stepped out of the suite and Koz was waiting. He held a tiny box and earbuds. “Here.”
Raine’s eyes widened. “What?”
Tucking it into a small pocket in her tunic over her chain mail, Koz grinned. “My backup music player.”
“What?”
“Okay, it’s my second backup. I brought three, and I charge them with Bri’s solar-powered pack.”
“We need to go.” Faucon was impatient.
“Battle music for Raine,” Koz said.
Jikata and Luthan, together but not touching, stopped on the staircase, came over.
“Better not be ‘Ride of the Valkyries,’” Raine muttered.
“Nah, that’s strictly Marian’s cup of tea,” Koz said. “I heard you like heavy metal.” He jerked his chin. “That has it. Industrial, power metal.”
Raine put a hand over the pocket. “Those aren’t the same.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Koz said. He fit the earbuds in her ears. Raine heard rippling strings. She snorted, reached for the plastic buds. Koz brushed her hands away. “Traveling music first, calculated to last ’til you get to the battlefield. Starts soothing, then goes to energetic. Works good with Distance Magic. Sublimi
nals.” Koz was talking faster as Faucon frowned. “Once you get to the battle, the heavy rock’ll kick in.” He grinned. “Help you kick ass.”
“Thanks.” She left the new age sound humming in her ears, thought if she listened closely she might sense the subliminals…confidence? All to the good.
Koz raised his voice. “Faucon, spread the word that all dialogue with Raine should be telepathic.”
Ayes, Faucon said. Battle is too noisy for anything else.
Raine’s insides jumbled, then she stiffened her spine.
Looking at Jikata, Koz said, “You want my backup player?”
She laughed, shook her head. Her long hair had been bound up in a braid circling the back of her head. It looked like it might give her extra protection under her helmet. Her leathers, like Raine’s, were pristine. Not one singe, claw scrape, or any sort of monster or human blood. Luthan’s white leathers were perfect, too, though that was expected. Dreeth, of course.
Anyone who was anyone wore dreeth to battle. Which is why this whole thing was going down.
“Ttho,” Jikata was answering Koz. “A multitude of Songs surround me always. And if I want music…” She opened her mouth and her voice soared in a purity of notes that reverberated through the hall and through the earbuds and had Raine staring. Jikata smiled at Raine. “Not the ‘Ride of the Valkyries,’ but classical. Hildegard Von Bingen.”
It sounded like something nuns would sing. Well, the woman had just come from an ‘abbey.’ The complete opposite of metal. Raine nodded. “Beautiful.”
Jikata smiled. “Thank you. I’m working on a battle Song.” Her forehead creased. “I should have had it for today.”
“These things can sneak up on you,” Koz said.
“I hope not,” Faucon said. “Let’s go. Later, Koz.”
Koz was only allowed one more battle by the healer, Bri. This wasn’t it.
Raine forced out the Chevalier blessing to Jikata and Luthan, wondered when they were going to kiss and make up. “Good hunting.”
Another smile from Jikata, this time almost impish. “And to you. See you at the dying dreeth.”
“Gotcha,” Raine murmured, and gave in to Faucon’s tug. They ran down the stairs, all of them, and out the side door where their volarans waited. Then on the flying horses and off they went.
To battle.
39
Battlefield, Northeast Lladrana
Whether it was the harp music with subliminal messages or the fact that she was surrounded by fifteen seasoned Chevaliers wearing orange and red, Raine was as prepared as she could be by the time they banished the Distance Magic bubble and flew into battle. She clutched her sword in her clammy grip, gritted her teeth to keep from whimpering.
Another bubble snapped around her—defensive force field, provided by a Shield, a Chevalier specializing in defensive magic. Raine was still looking around for Alexa and the Marshall team when Faucon’s voice came to her, to all his people. Let’s take the small brown one with the yellow spines. He arrowed to it, and there was nothing Raine could do but follow.
Heavy metal thumped into her ears, pounded into her blood, bolstering her determination. She would do this. She was a fighter.
She found herself screaming with others, a burst of flame came close and Blossom squealed, dodged. Raine looked up and up and up.
There it was. A dreeth.
A little one, only about the size of a bungalow.
The magical 3D pictures didn’t do it justice.
They missed the pure evil in its beady eyes, the glee as it snapped its wicked curved beak with sharp teeth, swiped with the claws at the end of its wings, aimed its spiny legs to kill.
She hated it at sight. It was an abomination, a monster with only one purpose—to kill.
Not if she killed it first.
Yelling, with the music thundering in her ears, she raised her sword, checked on Blossom as she’d been taught, gathered the volaran’s thoughts to her own, infused them with confidence and resolve.
Aim for the wings, cripple it. She recalled tips. Go for the belly to rip and kill.
Blossom outflew others, taking chances they shouldn’t have to kill.
A small warhawk accompanied them, whistling its battle cry.
The distended belly. Ayes.
Dodge the beak, the legs, the spines.
Drop! Down under the flame!
The belly, the belly, the belly.
Blossom was shouting wordless challenge in Raine’s mind.
Faster! After the warhawk!
Raine was there, stuck her sword in the belly, ripped. The sword stuck and she lost it.
Next to her was a battle scream and a huge beak plunged into the dreeth’s underside. Bri’s roc.
Horrible glistening organs pushed through skin, the smell was gaggingly gross. Blossom and she and Enerin zoomed away, rose above the flailing dreeth. Saw it spinning out of control.
Faucon was next to her, sent her a battle grin, eyes wild. Then he and his volaran dove, slipped under a wing.
Blood up, Raine followed.
She and Blossom caught on the wing, sending all three of them tumbling. The world tossed around Raine, Blossom pulled out of a steep curve. The dreeth screeched again, a death cry, plummeted to the ground.
Raine had to kill the dreeth. Had to! Her task. She leapt from Blossom, lit on her feet. The dreeth thrashed around, but she was nimble, dodging jerky claws, snapping teeth. Nasty, nasty stink. She ran toward her sword, still sticking out of its stomach.
Even as its eyes glazed and it thumped around, with its snakelike neck aiming the head at Enerin the warhawk, Raine set both hands around her sword and jerked down. Next time she’d get a bigger sword.
One. Last. Horrible. Gurgling. Cry.
The dreeth was dead and Raine was screaming triumph when Faucon swooped down and plucked her up and away from a render’s claws.
With strength and agility, Faucon set her before him, hunched them both low over his volaran’s neck. Flew to the sidelines of battle, stopped and turned his volaran to face the carnage.
The monsters on the ground had no chance against the scything Marshalls, the best Chevaliers.
Raine shuddered in Faucon’s arms, panting, crying. Hating the beat in her ears, she flung off her helmet and pulled out the earbuds.
The battlefield noise overwhelmed her and she wept more.
Faucon waved a bright clean orange handkerchief and she took it, wiped her runny nose, blew, used a corner for her eyes.
“I did it,” she moaned as she panted.
“Ayes.” His strong arm around her middle tightened. “You could make a Chevalier.” He paused. “Not a good Chevalier, you have battle impulsiveness.”
She didn’t know what that was, didn’t care to. “I’m a shipbuilder. I’ll stick to that.”
“Ayes.” His breath was a long sigh as if he’d thought she’d want to do this again. Not in this or any other lifetime.
Except for that last battle. The Dark’s Nest.
She scanned the fight. “Where’s Jikata? Does she have her dreeth yet?”
“Ttho.” Faucon pointed with his gauntleted hand. Up to the sky.
The noise was incredible. Cacophony. Jikata shut it out with the Power of her own Song, of Hope’s, of Luthan’s. He was there, his arm swinging to kill monsters before they reached her.
He was so close that their Songs were mingling, and she knew he was determined to protect her and prepared to die doing so. All her feelings for him came rushing back, overcoming her heartache. Now was not the time. Put it away.
Now was showtime.
Hovering in the air, Jikata stared at the buff-colored dreeth, then found a quiet place within herself and listened for its sound signature. As it pulsed in slimy, staccato, minor key sharps, she clenched her jaw and learned to anticipate its movement. That squeal, there, it would dive. It did.
She’d been holding back, watching, learning, legs clamped around Hope’s barrel. Calli a
nd her husband Marrec, Shield and Sword, were with her, as was Luthan. He’d vowed to protect her with his life and was honoring that.
She heard a triumphant roar and glanced to her left, where Raine was ripping the guts out of her brown dreeth like a warrior woman. Then Faucon grabbed her, took her off the field, as was the plan…that Raine had obviously forgotten during the excitement of battle.
Chevaliers wearing orange and red streamed toward Jikata.
Luthan smiled. You’ll be wonderful, he repeated the words Faucon had said to a nervous Raine, packed them with the same sincere and confident punch.
Jikata blinked, inclined her head. Took a deep breath, focused on “her” dreeth. It would be…right there…in a minute. Short-term prophecy. A good skill in battle. Did Luthan…
Now!
She whipped out her sword, Sang the spell Marian—the other fire Exotique—had taught her to make it flame, made sure she and Hope were of one mind, and flew.
Just think of something you’d like to kill, Calli said.
Jikata had just the person in mind. The sleazy promoter who’d wanted sex for favors. She’d barely escaped and it had taken two years to work around him. Soon she would have had enough power to ruin his career.
The dreeth’s eyes had Bobby’s meanness. Big skanky flying dinosaur, little weaselly promoter. No problem.
“Fire!” she shouted and flame shot from her sword. Hit its left wing claw.
Howling, the beast flapped away, fanning the flames that ate at its wing. Jikata grinned in satisfaction. Too bad it wasn’t Bobby’s dick.
Then she was surrounded by Faucon’s Chevaliers. The outer Chevaliers dealt with the ground horrors—the renders and slayers and soulsuckers.
Luthan flew just ahead of her. Yes, he was anticipating the next move of the dreeth and would be there when it—
He took an axe and cleaved its head. It went down. Still on fire.
Jikata dimly recalled what she was supposed to do. Follow Luthan down to the ground. She did.
Leave Hope with a Chevalier Shield. Done.
Walk to where the dazed dreeth lay.
She ran, puffing, heart beating too fast, Song not steady, agitated. Who the hell cared?
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