by JANRAE FRANK
"Ah, Yahni! I wondered when you would appear. And such lovely ladies. Especially Belyla. Where have you been hiding? Behind the butterfly bush?" He bushed his fingers in front of her face and they trailed butterflies in all the colors of sparkling jewels. Belyla gasped.
"No, not butterflies," Channadar said, rising in a slow, languorous fashion and drawing his other fan to circle her, assuming a pose like a crane beside her. Belyla froze, uncertain. Everyone was staring at her, and she flushed. Until then, Channadar had always ignored her like the rest of the court. His fans moved, trailing swans with long tails that swirled in a mad dance around her. "Yes, it is swans for Belyla, the birds of love and harmony. Dream happy, sweet Belyla." Channadar made another pass and a black swan came among the white, causing him to frown, but he said nothing, simply returning to the couch.
Belyla clutched at Yahni's hand and he caught it. "It's okay, Belyla," Yahni said. "Channadar didn't mean anything by it. It's just one of his stories."
She nodded at him. "He's never spoken to me before," she whispered hoarsely. "People don't speak to me." She stiffened at the social gaff she had made by saying that.
"Well, they do now." Yahni drew her close, pulling her into the circle of his arm, feeling suddenly protective of Belyla's sweet, helpless fragility.
Lord Channadar stretched out, yawning, seized Lady Montani with a sly grin, and imprisoned her in his arms while they watched. His head dropped and pulled back in response to her protests, his eyes gleaming as he looked at her through the drifting strands of black and copper hairs. His lips curled into a smirk as he drew his fan, tapped her shoulder, and she vanished.
"Oh!" Belyla gasped.
"Don't worry," Yahni said. "He hasn't hurt her. Does this all the time."
"So then she knew he would do this?"
Yahni felt her start to relax in his arms and it felt good. "No. The Fae don't play fair, just tag you're it. Startling. But they won't hurt you, otherwise our Lord of the Eastern Marches would have been minus a head long ago."
"Channadar! Oh there you are!" Lady Montani and three others rounded a corner of hedge walking quickly toward them, "I have been looking for you for over two hours. I was telling Derryl–"
The garden erupted in applause. "Oh, that's a fine one, Channadar!" someone shouted.
"And we thought she was here all this time!"
Channadar dropped his head and shoulders in a tiny bow of guilty pleasure, his lips pursing with the corners twitching. Then his Fae began a leaping dance, led by Tiderider, the only trueblood in his entourage – the others were half bloods like himself, part of the enclave, which had gathered at his Creeyan court. Tiderider had come from the Isle of Faewin itself in the Sundering Flood section of the Hillora River. The humans adored watching the Fae in their silken robes, dancing with their golden fans, thinking them silly and shallow – which was such a lovely conceit. How many Fae can dance on the head of a human? As many as can get their attention!
Yahni, seeing his sister, Leslie, and Derryl, pulled Belyla deeper into the concealing hedgerows. If he had to have an argument about seeing a Wrathscar, at least he would not have it in front of Belyla. "Let's walk, find somewhere we can sit and talk."
"Terrys–"
"Terrys is used to me kidnapping folks." By then he had her running with her skirts held up in one hand to free her lower legs. "Always bringing them to see my eyes. She's been doing that for years. Then, if I like them, we lose her." Yahni laughed. "It's a game."
Belyla laughed with him. Yahni decided he liked the sound of that. He knew his family's feelings toward the Wrathscars, but some rules were made to be broken.
M,
His lordship has brought his daughters to court, but ordered them to avoid the Guild. A waste of talent. Put the two eldest girls into play, but do not tell their father. Additionally, keep an eye on the youngest. She is unstable.
Star.
My dearest, Star,
At once,
As always,
Your beloved,
M
CHAPTER TWO
LITTLE GIRL LOST
Tiderider lay in the middle of his large bed between his fireflies with a golden-skinned arm around each of them. Leeza nestled beneath one arm with her glory of bright auburn hair and dark-maned Chucomei Who-Calls-The-Birds, Mage of Wings, curled within his other. He felt satisfied with the day, laying there in still serenity, observing the stars, and waxing moon through his windows. Signs of warding, written on the sills, sealed the edges against the entry of evil things.
He watched a thin cloud sketch skeletal lines across the bright white moon like clawed, grasping fingers. A trace of unexpected tension stole along his arms and up his back. Is this an omen forming? A warning?
"Look at the moon, Chucomei. What do you see?" He wanted her opinion, for she read moon omens better than he: she had been godmarked by Tala in infancy.
Chucomei rolled onto her side and glanced across his chest to study it. Leeza pushed herself up on her elbows to see it also.
Tiderider captained the Thirteen Chosen, a Fae battle unit. The Chosen had watched the enemy for another day, waiting for them to make the smallest misstep in their dance. They had come to court three years ago with their lord, Channadar of Hellsguard on the eastern marches of Creeya, and still they watched. They pretended to be simply Channadar's companions, never explaining to the silly humans exactly what it meant to be a Chosen. The enemy was clever, but so were the Fae. Yet, watching that cloud cross the moon, he wondered if that sign meant that they were not being clever enough by half.
Chucomei shivered. "A warning from the gods, I think." She crawled from the bed and went to the window, opening it and trilled. The air around the windows filled with the fluttering of wings and a multitude of noises from chirps to caws to shrieks and as suddenly it was gone. "I will know in a few days what the omens portend. I have sent the winged ones to speak with Tala. She-Who-Holds-Back-The-Darkness has ever loved me." Chucomei shook back her sleeve of her flimsy nightgown, revealing the godmark burned into her arm, a moon, three stars, and a runic squiggle. "Her daughter was slain here thirty years ago. She will answer all the sooner if there is a chance of bringing vengeance."
Tiderider rose from the bed and joined his lover at the window, slipping his arm around her shoulders. His bond with Chucomei was a quiet one, with little speech between them. Which was good, because compared to his fellows, Tiderider was taciturn and laconic; although he could laugh, sing, and dance with the best of them when it suited his mood. His name among his own kind in distant Faewin meant the Golden-Fae-Who-Has-Seen-the-Sea. But it was simpler to call himself, using the common tongue, Tiderider.
"Say my name," he whispered in Fae. Chucomei was the only firefly that could actually pronounce his Fae name and he loved to hear her say it.
She trilled it softly, bringing a small fond smile to his lips. Then the cloud engulfed the moon and Chucomei pressed her face into his shoulder in a sudden flinching. Tiderider gathered her closer.
Channadar's mother had sent Tiderider from Faewin to Hellsguard in Creeya to train the half-Fae lord's Chosen and lead them in his defense. Tiderider was the only trueblood among them: the rest were half-bloods and quarter-bloods. Tiderider was golden-skinned, light caramel-haired with golden highlights, stood nearly six feet tall – an effect of the unbridled magic still found around the edges of his homeland – and golden-eyed. His eyes, like all the Fae were very narrow, like slits in his face from the double epicanthic fold of skin along the edges of his eyes. That characteristic was more strongly pronounced among the Fae than with any other of the sylvan races. The Chosen he led were strong despite their mixed parentage. The only rough stone among the gems was Juna, Channadar's younger brother. They were both sons of Tiderider's Queen and the human lord Ky of Hellsguard who had perished fifty years ago, leaving his lands and titles to young Channadar.
He found himself thinking about Juna as he tangled his fingers in dark Chucomei's hair,
stroking her head. For once Juna had not managed to spoil the day. Channadar was wise beyond his years, while Juna was Juna – a child forever. It was a twist of the spirit, not of the mind or body, for Juna was a flawless warrior when he chose to be. There were days when Tiderider despaired of his learning anything, for Laughing Juna, as they often called him, was rash, heedless and joyfully erring in life and in love. Tiderider feared that Juna would one day cause his brother's death through some negligence or inattentiveness. Then Tiderider's Lady Queen would weep and he would mourn with her.
"You're thinking of Juna again?" Chucomei asked, nestling closer to him. His arm tightened around her.
"Yes. Juna worries me." He kissed the top of her head distractedly, his thoughts circling again over the day and Juna. "Could this omen be about Juna?"
Chucomei, the Mage of Wings, had slept in his bed for five years. He knew her well and loved her deeply. Both she and Leeza wore the slender crystals around their necks with his runes that marked them as his fireflies. The crystals would capture their memories of shared love for him to savor for all the long span of his years. All fireflies and their partnered Fae wore them; it made falling in love with one of the short-lived more bearable for the Fae, the most magical of the sylvan races. They called their short-lived lovers 'fireflies' because of the comparative shortness of their lifespans.
Leeza remained a mystery to him. He prayed that she was not, also, a mystery to Channadar. So far as Tiderider knew, Leeza had told no one anything about herself, though she had lived with them for three years. Tiderider often wondered what she might be hiding, but had been unable to discover it. He was the only one of them who haremed other than Juna, though they all flirted and occasionally trysted in brief passages. His hareming was with these two alone and that was a deception; not a truth – for he kissed Leeza chastely on her forehead, telling her, "Go now, and do not be seen."
* * * *
The auburn-haired woman slipped from Tiderider's bed and then quietly from the room to the connecting chamber. Tiderider's room stood immediately to the right of Channadar's. She checked that it was clear and slipped into the lord's private chambers. Channadar rose from the table in his parlor. Wine, a garish red-violet in the dark green bottle, sat in the middle of the table beside two glasses. His elaborate robes lay thrown askew over a chair and he wore only his pants, royal blue with delicately woven palest azure patterns of birds. She took Tiderider's crystal from around her neck and drew Channadar's crystal from her pocket, fumbling with the catch.
"Leeza! I had begun to wonder..." Channadar gently took the chain from her and fastened the crystal around her neck.
"I always come." She wrapped her arms around him, her cheek pressed against his smooth chest.
"I love you, Leeza. Don't ever leave me. I have loved you since the moment I first looked into your furious eyes after you knocked me in the mud."
Leeza chuckled softly at the image. "How was I to know who you were? Just some preposterous dandy?"
Channadar did not laugh and that made her look up into his face. "I am serious, Leeza. I would not want to live without you."
"I will never leave, unless you wish me to."
"I will never wish that." He pressed his face into her hair, inhaling its fragrance. "It's just ... sometimes I think you are unhappy."
"Never with you."
* * * *
Mikkal came for Talons at nine bells and found her, along with Jysys and Arruth, struggling with the fastenings of a black dress. The Patriarch's assistant was a thin mon, his white hair long on top and trimmed close on the sides, the skin of his face starting to sag in three long half circles beginning beneath his eyes and softly shiny because of the fairness of his complexion.
"A Guildsmon in a dress?" he inquired mildly, watching them miss match the hooks in back of the bodice, which also laced loosely on the sides over a long silk blouse and matching chemise. Arruth and Jysy looked up from trying to unhook and rehook it all over again.
Talons' eyes lit with irritation. "My grandsire has commanded it as a bone thrown to the Wrathscars. This dress was delivered to me this morning. A gift from Bryndel."
"Ahhh. Well, there are ways around that."
Talons paused in her struggles. Jysy and Arruth, who were helping her even though the dress confounded both of them, sat down to listen. Sharani did not wear dresses, at least never such intricate things as these. Soft comfortable robes among the upper classes for leisure at times and frequently among the scholars and mages. They had gotten the fastenings all mixed up, including the side lacings.
"How?" Talons asked.
"What they want is something with a skirt on it. Loosely defined in our culture as female. My late wife explained it to me once."
"You miss her."
He gave a tiny snort at such an obvious understatement. "Yes! Yes. I miss her. Now, let me help you with this." He set to work immediately with a deft hand, which displayed familiarity with such garments. His eyes went soft with memories of how many times he had done this for his wife. "I'll speak with the Patriarch, have my duties set aside for a few days and get your wardrobe straightened out. Past that, I suggest you defy them a bit."
"They want me to give up my gloves."
"Simply wear some elegant women's gloves over them. Camouflage them."
Jysy grinned. "I like your way of thinking."
"Thank you," Mikkal gave her a sweeping bow. "Eshraf likes my thinking also."
He got all the hooks and ties done up and then stood back. "I must say you do not look like a troll-slayer now. But I guess that is what they are wanting. They are trying to take away your sense of identity, Talons. We must not let them do that. Lord Wrathscar likes to break his women and by extension his son's. Eshraf has asked me to do everything in my power, use every trick I know to protect you. We're a pair of old foxes, but even old foxes need cooperation." He turned to Jysy and Arruth. "If either of you young scamps learn of anything concerning the Wrathscars that we can use against them, you must tell us. Do not be afraid, or ashamed, or whatever. Trust us to keep it private, but tell us."
His eyes rested on Arruth for a very long time. Something was wrong with that girl. She seemed withdrawn in some vague, almost indefinable way. Especially in comparison to her sister.
"Come now, all of you. You are my ladies for the day. You are under my priestly protection and I shall be your champion." Mikkal smiled broadly, escorting them out. Talons took his arm and he noticed the way she leaned upon him. "Are you tired so early?"
"Yes. I don't seem well."
"Then just lean on me all you require," Mikkal said, studying her face and seeing that her color was off as they crossed the green. "Have you talked to the healers?"
"No. The Wrathscars insist that I see only Solance, and I don't like him."
"So they are even dictating that are they?" Mikkal did not bother to hide his intense dislike of the Wrathscars and their controlling ways.
"Yes." Dynarien. Dynarien, where are you? Dynarien. Talons called out to him and continued calling all the way to the temple.
* * * *
Dynarien could feel Talons calling to him, wondering still more strongly why he did not come. Her need sent him lurching upward in bed. The pain still made him nauseous. Laurelyanne was at his side instantly.
She sighed at him and made a soft, clucking sound. "I wish you were one of the Willodarussons who possessed the tree gift like Teakamon and Jaran, your bones would heal faster."
Dynarien tried to smile at that. "I would not be as handsome. I get more ladies than they do."
Over the centuries, like most of his kind, he had scattered his seed widely across the inhabited continents, leaving a string of half-divine children in his wake. He had made love, but not been in love for four thousand years until Talons entered his life. Which was why Talons and others called him a rakehell and a scoundrel.
Laurelyanne touched his red-gold hair lightly, affectionately. She never expected to find her
self mothering an injured godling. She took his wrist and Read him. The yuwenghau, young rogue gods who wandered the world as divine-knights errant, fought monsters and the most dangerous of the hellgods' minions. Many of them perished. Most were half-bloods born of sylvan or human mothers, and a very few were like Dynarien with two divine parents. From what Dynarien had told her they might be in the first days of a new godwar. His enemy sounded powerful indeed. The aging earthmage wrapped her arms around him, hugging him gently. "I think you are strong enough to go to her. Just barely. Summon your pack and I will fill it with medicine for the pain and more of that brew to quicken the healing. Do not go openly. Go to the Patriarch first. He sounds like a canny fellow."
"If you ever need me, find a way to call me, and I will come. My Hearing isn't as keen as Dynanna's, but I frequently Hear. Sometimes it's hard to get my attention," he confessed, ruefully.
"I'll build an altar."
Dynarien laughed. "That's what the catkin did. No humans or sylvans ever have though."
"It will be a first. I'm sure that will get your wandering attention."
Josiah, who had lain listening to the conversation from a cot on the opposite side of the tent, pushed himself to his feet, and walked slowly over when he realized that Dynarien was leaving. The mage-master was terminally ill, the healers' were calling it a recurrent fever for lack of a better diagnosis, but Josiah and Dynarien knew different: Josiah had cast a dangerous spell to rescue the mon he loved from their enemies and the residue of the spell was killing him. He squatted by Dynarien, pushed his indeterminate shade of grayish brown hair back from his battered face, and said, "If you need me, fetch me."
"We messed up your life," Dynarien said uncertainly. "My sister and I should have looked out for you better."