Guardian of Honor

by Robin D. Owens

  Alexa could attest to that. She leaned forward and ran her fingers down Faucon's long, elegant hand, hardly scarred. "Back home in Exotique Terre, if women were talking, we would say such a man was sometimes as brilliant as a diamond and sometimes as dumb as a sack of rocks." She gave him a slow smile. "Of course, if women were talking, that wouldn't refer to only one man, but all men."

  Faucon's eyes went wide, then he threw back his head and roared with laughter.

  Suddenly she felt more on an even keel. He was suave. Noble. Rich. Strong in every way. Excellent sense of humor which included being able to laugh at himself. What more could a girl want? She was sure if she gave him a chance he could make her toes tingle. Time to put heavy thoughts out of her head and enjoy herself. She settled back into the booth.

  A second later, she was pulled away from her seat by Luthan Vauxveau, who carried a red bird with a long tail on his shoulder. Sinafin.

  "Sorry to interrupt, Creusse, but Singer's business. You must come with me now, Marshall Alyeka," Luthan said.

  17

  Luthan lied. Alexa knew it in her bones. His damn Power flow told her so. And he was awful at lying too, but his grip on her arm was solid.

  "Are you crazy?" she said. She'd just spotted Broullard and attendants coming through the kitchen door of the inn with a baked and stuffed bird that smelled like the best Thanksgiving Day meal she'd ever had. She dug in her heels.

  "Singer's business," Luthan repeated, not meeting her eyes, ignoring the inn full of people watching the little drama.

  Sinafin transferred herself from Luthan to Alexa. The bird's claws hurt. With her beak, Sinafin tugged at a lock of Alexa's hair.

  Time to return to the Castle.

  Alexa swept her hair away from the bird's hold.

  Faucon stood, face expressionless in the usual Chevalier's way, but Alexa thought everyone around him could gauge the anger inhis Power flow. What a useful concept. She hadn't transferred the knowledge from her lessons to real life.

  "Vauxveau," Faucon said, holding himself arrogantly. He was not quite as tall or broad as Luthan, but Faucon's attitude made a statement.

  Broullard hovered with the—whatever—too little to be a turkey, too large for a Cornish hen; sure didn't smell like chicken. Alexa's stomach grumbled. She noticed all the Chevaliers in the tavern were focused on the group. Only one of them was looking at the people; the rest were drooling and ready to pounce. On her dinner.

  "You can't do this," she said in a near whimper.

  "Singer's business!" Luthan announced.

  Faucon gave way, Luthan dragged at Alexa. She glanced back. The stuffed bird looked glorious; only the tiniest of crumbs marked where the sweetcheese had been. The maid beside Broullard held another pot of tea.

  "Noooooo."

  Luthan didn't listen. One of his brawny arms encircled her waist and lifted her off her feet. Where was her baton? How could she use it to get out of this mess?

  She couldn't. Everyone on Lladrana followed the oracle, the Singer. She smacked the flat of her hand on Luthan's shoulder. He didn't wince. Didn't let go. He was trying not to make a scene. Her stomach gurgled again.

  "You jerk. You creep. You..." She continued to swear, and he took it stolidly.

  She figured her cursing lacked a lot since she was swearing under her breath and in English. All the good Lladranan swear-words had gone clean out of her head. She wriggled around and almost slipped free before Luthan did something magic—and suddenly they were out the door into the cool night. Her last sight had been of Faucon, staring at them thoughtfully.

  As soon as her bottom touched the volaran's back she went still. She didn't want to spook it; she knew it fought in tumultuous battles. She didn't want to spook herself either.

  It was a moment's ride to the Castle. Sinafin chattered in bird talk that sounded cheerful.

  Since she'd left her cloak at the Norn de Nom, Alexa hurried off the Landing Field and into the Castle. There she swung to confront Luthan.

  "What Singer's business?"

  Leaning against one of the Castle walls, Luthan looked at her blandly and stuck his hands in his pants pockets. "It doesn't look as if you've had dinner yet. How about joining me in the Castle kitchen?"

  Stew with stringy beeflike stuff, mushy dumplings. That's what she'd get. She snarled, hauled out her baton.

  Luthan's expression turned quizzical.

  Alexa fumed. She studied the glowing green of her baton. Surely there was some way to get from the Castle to the Nom de Nom instantly. Before those wolves of Chevaliers devoured her dinner.

  She stomped her feet. "Moron," she shouted.

  He looked pained. Yeah, that was one of the words that was the same in both languages.

  "Moron," she said again, then, "Jerk!"

  He didn't react, so that word hadn't achieved the effect she wanted.

  She slid her baton into its sheath at her hip, narrowed her eyes and pointed a finger at him.

  Nothing changed. She must not look terrifying enough.

  A thought came to her and she smiled.

  Luthan pushed away from the wall, wariness flickering across his face.

  She waggled her finger. "You can tell the Singer," Alexa said sweetly, "that she owes me one lovely baked and stuffed bird of the sort Faucon provided and three large pots of excellent tea, and whatever else the man had in mind for my dinner."

  His eyes widened. She could almost see him tallying up the cost. He swallowed.

  "A week from today. I want it served in my suite a week from today. And as punishment for that very poor lie you told, I want the sweetcheese too." She turned on her heel and marched away.

  Sinafin squawked a laugh and flew next to Alexa.

  Alexa thought again of the dinner she was missing. She sniffed, trying to remember the fragrance of the new pot of tea. It had been different from what they'd drunk with the sweetcheese, another variety. She still had the yen for more tea. Her stomach felt hollow and she nearly groaned. It would have to be the generic tea, after all.

  When Bastien was discharged from the clinique he flew home. Luthan had given him the option of home or the Castle, and Bastien wasn't ready for the Castle, yet. Didn't know when he would be.

  Within five minutes the caretaker of his estate had informed him of his new neighbor—the Marshall Alexa—that she'd visited her estate twice and her staff were pleased. Always curious, Bastien sauntered to her house himself.

  He met with Pierre, the head of the stables, who was the best vet around and had helped Bastien with his horses and volarans.

  Bastien sat with the tough old guy in the front room of a cottage that looked out on the main wing of stables. The walls were whitewashed plaster and held paintings of volarans. Wooden beams protruded from the low ceiling; the wooden floor was plain scrubbed pine planks. They drank ale.

  Tipping his chair back on two legs, Bastien asked, "What do you think of the new Exotique Marshall?"

  "Doesn't like horses, wary of volarans," Pierre said, and took a gulp of beer.

  "Not like the Janins, the previous owners," Bastien said.

  Pierre snorted. "Those folks were worthless. I misspoke. The new little Exotique doesn't know horses, and I heard they don't have volarans where she comes from." He shook his head in pure disbelief.

  "I've heard that too. Bad if she's not interested in the stables."

  Clunking his mug down, Pierre wiped his mouth with a purple napkin. "Didn't say that. When I heard that she toured the house but wasn't coming to the stables, I went up to get a good look at her—you can believe that."

  Bastien nodded.

  "She's a funny-looking one, but she had this expression in her eyes. Like she'd already come to love the place and would die before she'd let anyone take it from her. She's a fighter. She'll be good for the estate, and good for Lladrana. The Marshalls picked a good one, there."

  That wasn't what Bastien wanted to hear.

  "Furthermore, I'll make a horsewoman
of her in three years, and in five she'll be dive-bombing her volarans. Or you'll train her."

  Bastien choked.

  "Guess I wasn't supposed to hear those little notes running from you to her? Wasn't supposed to know you came here for information or advice?" Pierre chuckled. "This is her home, she has ties to it already, and come Summer Solstice and the Land Bonding ritual, she'll do it, mark my words. It holds some of her energy and yours from when you've visited. Of course the energies Sing when they're linked."

  Bastien was surprised. First Luthan knew of the bond between Alexa and Bastien and accepted it, now Pierre. It didn't sound as if fighting his destiny would work. He'd still try.

  Pierre continued, "I approve of her. I approve of you. You're both fighters. Go to her. That's my advice."

  "Marshall—" Bastien strangled on the word.

  Pierre sent a sizzling flick of energy against Bastien's hands in reprimand, not as much painful as shocking.

  "You were always slated for a Marshall's baton. Go do it. Now. It won't take more than an hour to fly to the Castle using one of the wild volarans and your own magic to shorten the distance." Pierre stood, stalked to the door and opened it.

  After swallowing the last of his ale, and adjusting his hat, Bastien strode out the door.

  "By the way, that hat could use a few horses trampling it to make it prettier!" Pierre shouted.

  His laughter followed Bastien as he walked home.

  Thoughts circled in his head. If Alexa was such a fighter, why wasn't she fighting for him? The curiosity that had gotten him in so much trouble throughout his life piqued; Bastien stopped and leaned against a tree. The cheerful burbling of a nearby brook helped him visualize the bond between them.

  There it was. It wasn't white now, but midnight blue—his main color—and purple, braided together. He wondered what she'd do if he gave it a nudge, just a tiny quiver. Would she even notice? With the bond, could he put it in her mind to come to him instead of him having to go to the Castle and her?

  He moved it a finger's breadth.

  Nothing happened.

  Bastien plucked it again.

  He was yanked from his tree to land in the soft mud of the cold, shallow stream. He sputtered and laughed.

  She didn't. He felt her mental presence now, but it was distant and shielded, nothing like when they'd coupled together above the stables at The Singer's Hand. In his mind's eye an image coalesced. A pair of very large scissors with a handle in a color of purple he'd never seen before—maybe a color from Exotique Terre. The scissors positioned themselves on each side of their thread.

  "Wait!"

  The scissors paused an instant. Bastien thought fast, sent this thought: Do you know what will happen if you cut that thread?

  He did. It wouldn't be pleasant, but it wouldn't be debilitating either. He'd wager she didn't know. She didn't know a lot of things about Lladrana, especially that the Marshalls were a bunch of self-centered, obsolete snobs. And he had to admit he'd like to teach her some customs, especially some sexual ones.

  Jaws yawning wide, the scissors hovered, then withdrew—as she did—leaving him to pick himself up, shake himself off and slosh back to his stables for a quick ride to the Castle.

  Her emotions about him had been strangely flat.

  He'd known enough women to believe that his quick departure after a night of sex—no, it had been more, a real closeness of body and emotion—should have engendered hurt and anger and perhaps even bitterness. But none of those emotions pulsed from her.

  Oddly enough, that irritated him. Pierre had said she was a fighter, and Bastien had sensed the same basic characteristic when they'd been together. What, he wasn't worth fighting for?

  That steamed him enough to rationalize going to the Castle.

  He let the Chevalier coordinator know where he could be found and flew to the Castle on his best volaran—one he'd bred and raised himself, one his father deeply coveted.

  He smiled. Perhaps his fate wasn't too bad after all. He'd be in a position to rile his father and the other stiff-necked Marshalls, at every opportunity. Shake them out of their ruts and hideboundways. Helped along by the very Exotique they had Summoned and who was ruffling their feathers as well. Then the Chevaliers could get some answers, some help.

  This could be fun.

  And the thought of having sex with Alexa wasn't too hard to accept either. He hadn't gotten a good look at her and wanted to. Wanted to explore her differences, inside and out.

  Bastien and his volaran glided to a halt on the Landing Field of the Castle. He was met by Urvey, who looked at Bastien reproachfully for having left him behind, even though Bastien had paid the boy to stay and take care of his room in Horseshoe Hall.

  No need to ask how Urvey knew he was arriving, since the feycoocu in warhawk-form flew beside him and settled on Bastien's shoulder. It too, watched him with disapproving eyes set above a wicked bird's beak. He sensed that if anyone was behind the meeting between Alexa and him, it was this being. And he didn't want to think of that. Very wild magic at work.

  "Where's the... Marshall Alexa?" He had almost said "the Exotique," but recalled how he hated being called "the black-and-white."

  Urvey and the bird sniffed in unison.

  Bastien smothered a smile.

  "In the training yard," Urvey said stiffly.

  "Look, Urvey, I'm sorry I left, but if I'd taken you with me, you'd be dead." Bastien dropped a hand on the youth's shoulder. It hunched under his fingers. "All right. I owe you an apology. I apologize."

  With lips pressed together, the teen looked up. "Do you want me for your squire or not?"

  He hadn't thought he'd face his new life so soon. Accept responsibility for another? The boy studied him anxiously. It was unlikely anyone else would keep him as a squire, dip in the jerir or not.

  Time for Bastien to become an adult and a true Chevalier. Merde. "Yes, I want you as my squire. I'll be needing one here, especially if I Pair with Marshall Alexa."

  The bird squawked and flapped its wings. About time.

  Now Urvey's mouth curved slyly. "Chevalier Faucon's squire has been training me."

  That must have taken guts and initiative on Urvey's part. Good boy. But Faucon...that smooth bastard. An unexpected bite of jealousy nipped at Bastien. He wondered how far Faucon had gotten with the Marshall.

  The Exotique is innately attractive to some, the feycoocu said.

  Like me, Bastien thought.

  Like Faucon, it ended smugly. He is sparring with her in the training yard.

  "Huh" was Bastien's brilliant reply. He set off at a trot that caused the bird to rise and caw.

  Sure enough, he found the pair in the first training yard, a fenced circle. Half of the Marshalls and many Chevaliers watched, including his brother Luthan. Bastien could see the aura around them as they willed the newcomer to learn.

  Alexa and Faucon fought with short sword and shields. She was doing well, augmenting her strength and her blows with powerful magic, good in her footwork. A glow of jade green surrounded her. The Jade Baton lay on her left hip and could be deployed in an instant.

  Bastien frowned. Faucon was holding back.

  "Time!" Bastien called.

  The fighters dropped their weapons. Everyone turned and stared at him. He opened the low wooden gate, strolled through and latched it behind him. The feycoocu landed on the gate.

  Bastien walked up to Alexa and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  "Hello, sweeting." The scent of her rose to him and went straight to his loins. Merde!

  "I'm not your 'sweeting.' I am nothing to you. We are nothing to each other." She looked up at him with strange, cool green eyes, her face expressionless.

  Bastien didn't like her words, but kept a smile on his face as he turned to Faucon, who looked at him with a resigned, knowing gaze. Bastien offered his hand, and Faucon met his grip. They were well matched in every way, except Power. Bastien had been a black-and-white, and his hair still pro
claimed him that, but he was now fully in tune with his Power.

  Faucon's eyes widened and he dipped his head, a wry smile curving at his mouth. "Now I understand why Luthan has been so protective. You have a good brother."

  "The best."

  A little yearning flickered in Faucon's eyes. He was an only child. Bastien suddenly realized his life had been better than he'd thought. He had a weak mother and Reynardus for a father, but sharing kinship with Luthan made up for all of that.

  "You are doing her no favor in holding back," Bastien said quietly.

  Faucon shrugged. "I can't help it. She's so small and delicate—"

  "Are we going to practice or quit?" asked the lady sharply.

  "May I cut in?" asked Bastien, loud enough for all to hear.

  With a nod, Faucon sheathed his sword. He smiled and saluted Alexa and strode from the field.

  Slowly Bastien turned to face Alexa.

  She'd picked up a quarterstaff that was all wrong for her—too long and heavy, and leaned on it. He couldn't see her hair under her helm, but her face was so pale it seemed to glow, the color of cream with a touch of rose in her cheeks. Striking coloring.

  Her figure was like many women's and she was dressed like aMarshall, but the way she held herself, her attitude, was not of Lladrana. He couldn't pinpoint the differences, but they were there and would always remain so.

  Her gaze met his and he probed. She should be angry with him, but he sensed the distance she'd put between them, the magical block on her emotions. Whistling, he prepared for the fight by stripping off his riding gauntlets and untying the lace anchoring his sword to his thigh. He took a shield from Luthan, who handed it to him with a serious face but a twinkle in his eyes.

  Alexa set aside the quarterstaff and did some stretching that was nothing of Lladrana, but looked useful. When she was ready, her gaze met his with remoteness.