Quatrain

by Sharon Shinn

  “I wish you would kiss me,” I said. “But not if it means I have to leave Alora.”

  “No matter what I do,” he said, “you must leave Alora.”

  Jaxon had lost his patience; he charged over and shouldered between us, making Orlain drop my hands. “She doesn’t want to go with you. How plain can she make it?” my uncle blustered. He wrapped one arm around my shoulder and seemed to be protecting me from unwanted attention, but I was a little sorry. I liked the feel of my hands in Orlain’s.

  Orlain turned to face Rowena, his hands open and extended in a gesture of supplication. “I know you want to keep her,” he said quietly. “I know you want to keep any human who wanders into your path. Let her go. I will remain in her place.”

  Rowena put her hand up, gentle as mist, and brushed it across his face. I saw him flinch and then tremble, but he did not pull away. “There is no need for such sacrifices,” she murmured. “You need not be parted. Both of you may stay.”

  “At least one of us will be riding back toward Auburn before nightfall,” Orlain said. I wondered how he could resist her touch. Most men would be too dazed to speak once Rowena trailed her fingertips across their skin.

  “Then I am afraid it will be you,” Rowena told him, dropping her hand. “Zara has made her choice.”

  I fidgeted in Jaxon’s embrace. “Don’t go just yet,” I begged Orlain. “Stay the night at least. Maybe—maybe in the morning you will change your mind.”

  He turned to me again; his face was set. “Nothing will change my mind,” he said. “I must leave—and now.”

  Wistful, I pulled free of Jaxon’s arms. “Will you not kiss me good-bye anyway? Even though I will not leave with you?”

  I was a little surprised but more delighted when he gave one decisive nod. “I will,” he said. “But I must first wash away the dust of the road, for my journey was hasty, long, and dirty.”

  He lifted a small water bag to his mouth and drained the contents in a few quick swallows. Then he took two steps to my side, swept me into his arms, and laid a desperate, grieving kiss upon my mouth.

  I tasted winter in his kiss, a season that never comes to Alora; his water bag must have been filled with the melt of a thousand snowflakes. I tasted a splash from the great fountain that plays incessantly in the courtyard of Castle Auburn. I tasted cider from Cotteswold, spun sugar from Faelyn. I tasted nectar from the rare red orchid that grows only in Chillain.

  I tasted gold. Pounded and powdered and poured into a potion and transferred to my lips by a single sweet kiss.

  I cried out and broke free, clapping my hands to my cheeks and staring around me in alarm. Orlain called my name—Jaxon and Royven and Rowena called my name—the gathered aliora chittered and cooed and reached for me with their attenuated fingers. I backed away from all of them, trembling with heat, flushed with memory. I felt as if I had been flung back into my body after a week of fever, as if I had reentered my own mind after a period of delirium.

  I was the Princess Zara, my country had been at war, and my place was with my family.

  “Orlain,” I whispered. “Take me home.”

  There was an outcry, of course, and sweet pleadings from Royven and Rowena. Jaxon planted himself in front of me and took turns wheedling and arguing about how I should stay just another night and see how I felt about my decision in the morning. But Cressida had already bustled back to her place to gather up my clothes and trinkets, and Orlain wasn’t taking any chances. He had produced another water bag filled with the selfsame elixir and bid me to drink the whole thing down. With every taste my past became clearer; with every swallow I grew more resolute.

  “At least promise you will return to visit us—someday very soon,” Royven was saying as Orlain and I set out on the path toward the Faelyn River. We were trailed by half a dozen aliora, but I figured none of them would actually cross the border.

  I laughed. “That would be a terrible promise to make! Alora is a dangerous place to visit.”

  “You could come to us armored in gold,” he suggested. “You could drink nothing but your mother’s potions night and day.”

  “I am not strong enough to resist you—any of you,” I said regretfully. “I do not think I would be safe from your blandishments if my very bones were made of gold.”

  “Though that’s an idea,” Orlain said. “You could seek out a surgeon who might replace a finger bone, say, with a shaft of metal. Then you could visit Alora with no risk at all.”

  “Somehow I don’t think even that would keep me safe,” I said.

  As I expected, the aliora fell behind as we approached the boundary. I waved good-bye to all of them; the only one I dared to hug was Cressida, and even that might have been a mistake. Just that brief embrace filled me with an almost irresistible longing to scurry back across the border and drown in the sumptuous serenity of Alora.

  She pushed me away when I started to cling. “Go. Try to cross the river before nightfall. Don’t be too sad about what you’ve left behind. And tell your mother I have repaid some small part of my debt.”

  I had to brush away tears as I stepped back from her. “What debt?”

  “She set me free. Now I have done the same for you.”

  “Princess,” Orlain said. “We must go or we will be swimming the Faelyn River in darkness.”

  “Good-bye,” I whispered—saying it to Cressida, to Royven, to Alora, to my alternate life, I didn’t know. “I do not think I will ever be back again.”

  Orlain and I traveled on in silence until we were almost at the river. I was such a mess of conflicting emotions that I hardly had the energy to walk, let alone speak. I knew without a sliver of doubt that I wanted to return to Auburn, be reunited with my family, take up the life I was meant to live—and yet it was hard, it was actually painful, to leave Alora behind. My heart felt as if it had developed a ragged crack that flinched with every beat. I did not think it would be mended soon; possibly it would never heal.

  But I was glad when I caught the boisterous sound of the rushing river—glad to know that within a few minutes we would truly be back in the kingdom of men. Sunset was just beginning to layer peach and amethyst across the western horizon. We had made this landmark none too soon.

  I took a deep breath as we paused on the riverbank. The current looked formidably rapid.

  Orlain glanced down at me, his expression quizzical. “Don’t tell me a girl who’s had all your adventures is afraid of getting wet,” he said.

  I stared right back at him, a challenge on my own face. The prospect of a confrontation with Orlain was chasing away some of my sadness, releasing a wash of adrenaline into my veins. “The last time we crossed this river together,” I said, “you carried me in your arms. Don’t tell me a man who’s fought your particular battles has lost his chivalrous notions.”

  It was hard to tell in the fading light, but his face appeared to redden slightly. “Maybe I’m thinking some of those chivalrous notions have led me into trouble.”

  “So tell me,” I said. “I assume my mother mixed up the brew that you carried in your water bags.”

  “Of course she did. I told her that I thought you might need a strong antidote to aliora magic.”

  “And did you discuss exactly how you thought you might induce me to taste her potion?”

  “She thought you would take a sip of it, of course.”

  “Did she? She expected me to be standing around in Alora with an empty glass in my hand, merely waiting for someone to offer me a strange concoction?”

  He eyed me uncertainly. “I don’t know what she expected, but perhaps we could discuss it once we’re across the river.”

  I stood my ground. “My mother is a skilled herbalist. She knows exactly how much halen root to grind up if a potion will be used to ease someone’s pain and how much will be needed if it will just help someone fall asleep. She changes any formula depending on how much it will be diluted. She made that concoction so strong that a single drop would clear
my mind. She knew you were going to bestow it upon me in the form of a kiss. So how did she know that?”

  “I have often thought your mother knew things an ordinary woman would not.”

  “Did you tell her? Tell her you were going to kiss me? Tell her you had kissed me?”

  “If you’re asking me if she knew I loved you, I suppose the answer is yes,” Orlain said, so deliberately that I could tell he had not actually capitulated; he was merely making a show of surrender so I could not have the satisfaction of defeating him. “That’s the reason she sent me with you to Alora in the first place. She said that love was a talisman stronger than gold, that it could not be laid aside and it would not be diverted. She said she knew that I would be able to resist Alora because I would never be able to resist you.”

  I caught my breath. “Then why are you trying?” I said. “To resist me?”

  Without warning, he scooped me up in his arms and waded into the bubbly blue waters. “It really would have been easier,” he said, “to leave you in Alora.”

  “Or to throw me into the river. You didn’t answer my question.”

  “It’s a stupid question.”

  This was the Orlain I knew best, scoffing, teasing, pushing me away, all the while watching out for me to make sure no harm could come my way. I relaxed in his arms. I said, “Since you don’t even like me, it’s hard to understand how you could love me.”

  “Since you aren’t lovable, it’s truly a mystery.”

  “Maybe the best thing would be to have my father grant you property of your own,” I mused. “Would you like land in Veledore by your father’s family, or someplace in Auburn, closer to the castle? Or I suppose there might be an estate available near Uncle Roderick.”

  Orlain climbed out of the river with a great deal of unnecessary splashing, so that I was almost as wet as he was. Two horses tethered to nearby trees offered soft whinnies of welcome. “I don’t want property,” Orlain said. “I don’t want anything. I’m a simple guardsman and happy with my life as it is.”

  “That’s unfortunate for you,” I said, “because your life is about to change.”

  He dropped me unceremoniously to my feet, but I noticed how his hands hovered near my shoulders until I had completely recovered my balance. How could I have ever failed to realize how closely he guarded me? It almost made me want to put myself in danger just to see what he would do to rescue me.

  Put myself in danger again. To see how he rescued me again.

  “I don’t want to be your plaything,” he said. “I don’t want to be the man you take up because he intrigues you and cast aside because he bores you. I don’t want to be a—a—summer novelty. It would be much simpler for me if you just let me go on the way I always have.”

  “I imagine it would be,” I said cordially. “What makes you think I want your life to be simple?”

  He stared down at me a moment in silence. Darkness was almost upon us, but I could see the expression on his face—a curious look of resignation crossed with faint excitement. And perhaps a bit of hope. “You’re the most wretched girl,” he said in a conversational tone. “I’m tempted to let you find your own way back to the castle.”

  I put a finger to my cheek. “Hmm. Why is it I don’t believe you?”

  He shook his head and turned away. “Time to make camp,” he said over his shoulder. “Do you want to cook or do you want to dig?”

  I laughed out loud. “Oh, I think I’ll cook,” I said. “Let me see. I may have a few of my mother’s potions left. I think one or two of them might be love spells—should I flavor our meal with those?”

  He was a dozen paces away, but he spun around to give me a sardonic look. “It hardly seems necessary,” he said. “Though I would be willing to drink an antidote if you have it on hand.”

  “No, nothing like that in my supplies, I’m afraid,” I said cheerfully.

  “I’ll just have to consult your mother, then. Maybe she’ll be able to help me.”

  “Indeed, I’m sure she and my father will both have a lot to say,” I said. “I quite look forward to seeing them again and telling them everything that’s happened to me.”

  Orlain merely grunted and headed off into the shadows to gather up firewood. I approached the horses and started pulling items from the saddlebags. It had been a long, head-spinning day, and I was hungry and tired—and energized and exhilarated. It would require a fifteen-course banquet to adequately celebrate all the emotions I had been through in the past few hours, but I would settle for river water and camp food.

  At least, I would for tonight. Things would be different once we arrived back at the castle. Once I had reassured myself that my family was safe, once I had heard Keesen’s tales about Cotteswold, then I would work on securing my future. To my father, I would praise Orlain for his courage and steadfastness. With my mother, I would plot the best way to turn my plain guardsman into a fashionable young man—or at least a man of enough standing to court a princess.

  Oh, yes, things would be very different once we got home.

  Flame

  One

  Finally the pain stopped. Senneth cautiously sat up to see if movement would startle the headache loose again, but it only crouched at the back corner of her mind, a ravenous monster satiated for the moment.

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed and contemplated standing up. At first she thought the effort would be beyond her, but the longer she maintained an upright position, the stronger she felt. Hungrier, too. She had lain there a full day, too blinded by misery to eat or speak. And now she was starving and just a little light-headed.

  The aftereffects of too much magic. She had learned—in the most unpleasant fashion imaginable—that calling upon her power while she was in the grip of rage resulted in crippling migraines; but she hadn’t been angry yesterday when she caused one after another of the small cottages to burn. She’d been sad. She’d been worried. She’d been expending a great deal of effort to control the fires. It seemed that such fierce concentration could wake that beastly pain almost as quickly as fury.

  She pushed herself to her feet, decided that walking would not be beyond her, and crossed the room to make use of the amenities in one corner. After using half the water to cure her thirst and half to wash her face, she pulled on a shirt and trousers that seemed cleaner than everything else in her bag. Barefoot, she padded out the door, through the long corridor, and down the curved, elegant stairs to the front hallway. Through the windows lining either side of the carved door, she could see that yesterday’s endless, wretched rain had turned to snow overnight. The slabs of gray slate that lined the foyer floor felt as cold and textured as river ice beneath her feet.

  She liked the sensation. Her soles were so hot that river ice would melt beneath them, but the slate stayed solid and wintry against her skin.

  She heard a rustle behind her and a woman’s voice. “Senneth! You’ve finally woken up! How are you feeling?”

  Summoning a smile, Senneth turned to greet her hostess. Evelyn was a small silver-haired woman with a big heart and a warm manner. In some complicated fashion, she was related both to Senneth’s mother and Eloise Kianlever, the marlady of this part of the world. Still, Evelyn had only the faintest trappings of nobility—a small manor house and a general air of good breeding, as opposed to the magnificent castle and attitude of supercilious hauteur that were the birthrights of most Twelfth House nobles. Unlike most of Senneth’s other relations, no matter how near or distant, Evelyn had not been shocked and repulsed at the news that Senneth was a mystic who could make fire do her bidding. She had offered Senneth a home and unshakable affection, but Senneth had not taken advantage of either one very often during the seventeen years since she had been banished from her father’s house. Too much contact with magic strained even the strongest bonds, Senneth believed. She tried never to stay too long in any one place, never to call too often on the reserves of friendship.

  “I’m feeling a little bruised and a l
ot hungry,” Senneth said. “Is there food? I’m afraid I won’t be able to concentrate on conversation until there is.”

  “Yes, yes, fresh bread in the kitchen, and the cook will make whatever you like for breakfast,” Evelyn said. She led Senneth through narrow back hallways to the small, cheerful kitchen, and they sat without ceremony at a little table pressed against a wall.

  The cook beamed at Senneth as she brought over a plate mounded with eggs, potatoes, and some kind of fried meat. The cook was a sloppy middle-aged woman, beefy enough to slaughter livestock, but she had her own kind of magic when it came to food. “Lady Evelyn warned me we’d need to feed you the minute you came downstairs,” she said. “Just call out if you want more.”

  “Let me finish this first,” Senneth said, digging in.

  Evelyn poured herself a cup of tea and let Senneth take the edge off of her hunger before speaking again. “You’ll be happy to know all three of the cottages are nothing more than cinder and ashes this morning,” she said. “Cinder and ashes covered with snow. There wasn’t even enough heat left in the coals to melt the flakes.”

  “I told you the fire was completely out before I walked away,” Senneth said.

  “Yes, but I didn’t really believe you,” Evelyn replied. “I mean, how is that possible? They were absolute infernos! Those fires should have taken hours to die down. But you wave your hands at them and suddenly every spark is gone? Two of the boys stood watch all night, just to make sure nothing else caught fire.”