Moons' Dreaming (Children of the Rock)

by Krause, Marguerite

  “I’ll stay,” Chasa volunteered.

  His father turned his head, puzzled. “I thought we were going to weapons practice together.”

  “Dad,” Chasa said, trying not to be annoyed. “I’d rather help Feather.”

  “She’ll be here all afternoon,” Sene coaxed with his best persuasive smile. “I enjoy working out with you, son.”

  Chasa noticed Feather watching them. Actually, she was watching Sene, and melting slightly from the effects of his father’s charm, even though it wasn’t directed at her. Chasa clenched his teeth. The noise of many people moving lots of furniture into position around the large room made any thought of a serious conversation impossible.

  “I’ll be out soon. Really.”

  “Suit yourself.” Sene continued along the relatively uncluttered side of the hall, directing his devastating smile at Feather. “I knew you’d come in handy. You’re a good Brownmother. I can tell.” He waved his arm toward the busy workers. “All of the servants are terrified of you.”

  She grinned, showing her teeth. “I do my best.”

  Sene laughed as he went out the other end of the hall. Chasa moved a stack of chairs closer to one of the tables. Dektrieb came by at once, frowned, and moved the chairs back again. Chasa sighed and looked around. So much for being helpful. He found himself facing the middle of the room, where Feather stood, hands on hips, as three people wrestled with a newly cleaned tapestry that didn’t want to get back up on the wall.

  While she was distracted he slipped up behind her. A fragrance of lemon soap hung around her. Her black hair, which she usually wore loose, was trying to escape from being tied at the back of her neck. Bending close to her ear, Chasa whispered, “I have to talk to you.”

  She spun to face him.

  “I’m busy,” she hissed back at him.

  “I know. But this is important.”

  She turned her back on him. “Go bash something in the practice yard, Highness.”

  The only thing he wanted to bash was his father. And maybe Jenil. To Feather, he said, “That can wait. This is important.”

  “The gathering is important. It’s tomorrow.” A cook chose that moment to appear and head directly for Feather. Chasa waited stubbornly while the two women discussed the menu. Feather ignored his presence. The cook glanced at him curiously and rather uneasily once or twice, and finished her questions as quickly as she could. He supposed he was frowning thunderously at the poor woman. Or maybe she just didn’t know what to make of his presence. When Jeyn organized the gatherings and festivals he’d happily run off to kill sea monsters rather than take part in any of the planning. Planning was harder work than killing monsters.

  Especially planning how to court a wife.

  After the cook was gone, Feather started to walk away. Chasa followed. Ivey had said to go get her. He intended to. But to get her, he first had to get her alone. The side door that led to the garden was propped open to allow fresh air into the crowded hall. She reached the opening, then whirled on him again. He took another step forward. She had no choice but to back out into the garden.

  The air was still cool, the sky a sharp blue. The garden plants were bright with color, and the scents of many flowers mingled with birdsong and the thrumming of insect wings. It was as romantic a setting as he could have chosen. This might be his only chance. His father was too adept at grabbing any romantic moment for himself.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he began.

  “Good for you.”

  That did it. “Sometimes I wonder why I want to marry you!”

  “So do I!” she shot back. “Why not forget the whole thing and leave me in peace?”

  “Because you’re not in peace! My leaving you alone wouldn’t help.”

  “Tormenting me will?”

  “I’m just trying to talk to you!” Belatedly, Chasa turned and glared at the gaping servants. Dektrieb shooed everyone back to work, and Chasa pulled the door closed.

  “I don’t want to listen to you!”

  “I know!” Chasa spun back to confront her. “And I know why!”

  She blinked. “What are you talking about?”

  “You don’t remember. But I do.”

  “Remember what?”

  “First, I don’t think you remember what you said the night that you got drunk.”

  She flushed. “I talked while I was I drunk? All I remember is being sick. And the pretty colors of the wineglasses against the tablecloth.” Screwing her face in a frown, she continued, “And Dektrieb. He was angry. And there was someone else. That was you?”

  “It was me. We had a conversation.”

  “I’m not responsible for anything I said while I was drunk.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “Fine. I apologize. Can we go in now?”

  “Not until you listen to me. You told me you don’t like to hear my voice. I think my voice has gotten deeper, more attractive, since we were children, but maybe not.” He tried his own charming smile on her. It didn’t inspire her to run away. In fact, she seemed to be listening.

  Encouraged by her attention, he continued, “Jenil took your memories because they were making you very sick. She and Dad thought you might go crazy. I didn’t think so. I thought you were stronger than that, that you’d grow out of the nightmares. But who listens to a child? They didn’t listen to either of us, and so you lost your memories. Then I lost you, because they took you away. To Garden Vale. They wouldn’t let me come visit you, either.”

  “A prince from Sitrine would hardly have been welcome in Rhenlan.”

  “I still wanted to come. You were my best friend, Feather.”

  “I don’t remember!”

  “I know!” His voice rose again, years of frustration pouring out. “But I do! We were friends, more than friends! We did everything together! The betrothal was our idea! I’m a Shaper. When a Shaper falls in love he stays in love! Child, adult, it doesn’t matter. I love you! Let me give you back your memories. Our memories!”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Uh….” No other sound came from her for several long seconds. She blinked suspiciously liquid eyes, closed her mouth, and swallowed, her throat working. In a small voice, she asked, “You love me?”

  “Yes,” he insisted. “Even if you are the meanest, most bad-tempered person I’ve ever met.” That sounded a bit harsh, so he added, “But then I haven’t spent much time in Dherrica. Ivey says their women are worse.”

  Thank the gods, she laughed. It was slightly shaky, but it was a good-humored reaction. After she caught her breath, she said, “I’ve been wondering how long you people were going to let me get away with it.”

  “With what?”

  “Being a brat. Now,” she continued, “what do you mean, you’ll give me my memories?”

  “I was there,” he repeated. “Part of your childhood. I also heard a lot about what happened in your village. Jeyn remembers, too. And Aage. When you were little, you really liked him. I remember it used to surprise him.”

  Curiosity lit her eyes. “I used to surprise the wizard?”

  “By crawling into his lap and asking for stories. You weren’t afraid of him. You and Jeyn were the only children in Raisal who didn’t run away when they saw him coming.”

  “Run away from Aage?” Feather was bemused. “Why? He’s the best-looking man in Raisal.”

  “I’ll ignore that,” Chasa said dryly. To his delight, it made her blush again. “Children don’t notice sexuality. All they see is his frown.”

  Behind them the door opened. Feather reluctantly looked away from him. “Yes, Dektrieb?”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt.” The depth of sincerity in the man’s voice added to Chasa’s sense of triumph. He didn’t mind the interruption now. Feather had finally responded to him as a person. It was the start he needed. He stepped aside graciously to allow his betrothed to go back to her work. Dektrieb nodded politely, and Chasa hoped his answering grin didn’t look as idiotic as it felt.

/>   They’d made a start!

  He sobered again at once. Now, for the next step.

  Chapter 33

  The target dummy swayed close as the guards on the wall heaved on the line. Sene ducked under the heavy wooden arm, caught his balance, and swung. His sword whacked against the padding with a satisfying thunk. He jumped back, lowering his sword.

  “Enough!” he called to the corporal in charge of the practice yard.

  The girl grinned down at him. “So soon, Your Majesty?”

  “Yes, so soon,” he growled, and pulled off his helmet to aim a mock glare at the pretty youngster. She laughed.

  “Not bad, Dad.”

  Sene tossed his helmet to one of the nearby guards, then turned. Chasa was watching him from the entrance gate.

  “How long have you been there?” Sene asked.

  “Not long.”

  His son was still dressed in a quilted vest over a white shirt, tucked into a pair of cream trousers. Sene shrugged out of his padding, feeling all the more sweaty and grimy next to his son’s elegance, and walked toward the gate.

  “Thought you were going to join me.”

  “Something came up. Dad, I need to talk with you.”

  “Excellent.” He took Chasa’s arm and escorted him out of the yard. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, too.”

  Chasa gingerly extricated his sleeve from Sene’s grip. “You need a bath, Dad.”

  “You didn’t come down here to tell me that. Never mind. We’ll talk in the bathhouse.”

  Chasa followed him past the stables to the stone bathhouse. A servant stoked the fire higher, then began to draw water for the king’s bath.

  Sene stripped off his clothes and tossed them into a corner. “It’s about Feather, son. I notice that you two aren’t exactly getting along.”

  Chasa remained standing near the doorway. “Oh, really?”

  “Yes. You know how Jeyn felt about the marriage I’d arranged with Daav. He’s a good man, and a good friend. But he’s my friend. She was right to decide not to marry him. I was pushing her to do something I wanted. She was wise enough to know what she wanted.”

  “Are you saying I don’t have to marry Feather?”

  Sene paused before moving toward the tub of hot water. This was difficult for him to say, but he’d been giving it a lot of thought.

  “No, you don’t. Not if you don’t want to. I’m very fond of the girl, but that shouldn’t effect your decisions on such an important matter.”

  His son took several steps toward him. He did not look relieved, which was what Sene had been expecting. In fact, he looked angry.

  Chasa met his gaze firmly. “I want to marry her. I want you to leave her alone. That’s what I came here to talk to you about.”

  “What?”

  “I want her. I’ve wanted to marry her since we were children. You sent her away. I never wanted her sent away. I never thought it was a good idea, what you and Jenil did to her memories. You know why she doesn’t come near me? The sound of my voice frightens her, that’s why.”

  “What do you mean, doesn’t come near you?”

  “You wouldn’t have noticed.” Anger, and hard sarcasm, roughened the boy’s voice. “Every time I try to come near her, you get in the way! If you want her for yourself, fine. Let’s get it out in the open.”

  “For myself!” Sene sputtered. “What are you talking about? She’s a child! A baby! My foster daughter, by the gods!”

  “You don’t treat her like a child.”

  “I treat her exactly as I do you and Jeyn. I enjoy her company. She makes me laugh. My behavior toward her is beyond reproach! The way I express my affection—”

  “The way you express your affection,” Chasa interrupted him, “has made her fall in love with you.”

  “Nonsense!”

  “Truth. The question is, are you in love with her?”

  Sene remembered the bath behind him, and belatedly sat down in the tub. Warm water was supposed to be soothing. His whirling mind needed soothing. He looked at Chasa through the rising steam. The boy was furious. He’d never seen his son furious before. Or jealous. This was jealousy! If it hadn’t been such an unthinkable situation, he might have been amused.

  It was unthinkable. Feather was clever, a bright, stimulating person to share conversation with. He liked her skepticism, and her intelligent questions, and her acid wit. He’d begun to think she was too much for Chasa to handle. But love her for himself?

  “Nonsense,” he repeated aloud. “I love her, yes. But, in love? No.”

  Chasa bent toward him, bracing his hands against the edge of the heavy cedarwood tub. “Are you sure? Are you sure you aren’t seeing Mother in her?”

  “Jeyana?”

  “That was our mother,” the boy returned impatiently.

  “Feather doesn’t have a thing in common with Jeyana!”

  “That’s not what you used to say.”

  “Your mother,” Sene stated with growing anger of his own, “was a tall, willowy, mature, silver-haired beauty. Does that describe Feather?”

  “In looks, no. But that’s not what attracts you, is it?”

  “Nothing attracts me!”

  “Then why do you spend every free minute with my betrothed?”

  “Because you don’t!”

  “Because you’re always there first!”

  Sene opened his mouth to shout again, then shut it abruptly. “Am I?”

  “Yes.”

  Grandmother taught him to recognize the truth, to remember that he could be in error. She insisted he accept defeat with dignity. If necessary. This time, it was necessary.

  “She is like your mother,” Sene admitted quietly. “I didn’t see it. But you’re right. Jeyana was a difficult woman, and I loved her for it. Feather is very like her.”

  More like her than Chasa and Jeyn were. Loneliness flooded him. Jeyn could tease as her mother once did, but her wit never cut. His son, however, might have more of Jeyana’s inner strength than Sene had guessed. Chasa hadn’t shown it often. Sene was glad to find it there.

  “Do you want her?” Chasa asked. “If you do, we’ll be rivals. I’m not going to back down for your sake. All I ask is that you give me a fair chance with her. Give me some time alone with her. If she chooses you without ever knowing me, it’s not fair to any of us.”

  “I notice you don’t mention duty, or the Dreamer prophecy.”

  “That’s your concern, not mine. I love her! You taught me the old saying about Shapers, that once we give our heart it’s forever. I fell in love with her when I was six.”

  “You waited a long time.”

  “Too long to give up without a fight.”

  Sene forced his muscles to relax, to present as unthreatening a demeanor as he could. Easy, considering his present position. “I’m not your rival, son.”

  The boy’s eyes narrowed. “Are you certain about that?”

  “Yes. I’m certain. Feather’s your betrothed, as long as she wants it, too. That’s between the two of you. I apologize for getting in the way. It really was unintentional. I’ll stop, now that you’ve brought the matter to my attention.”

  Slowly, Chasa straightened and smiled. “Good.” He started to turn to the door.

  “Good luck,” Sene called after him.

  Chasa grinned over his shoulder. “I’ll need it.”

  After the boy was gone, Sene smiled to himself. Ah, well. His son was used to killing sea monsters. One mean young woman shouldn’t give him too much trouble.

  One special young woman. Sene rested his head against the edge of the tub, and his smile faded.

  Special. But not his.

  * * *

  “There! The last sleeve is in,” Vray said brightly. “Now I can start the interesting part.”

  Clack, clack, clack. The steady beat of the loom was the only noise in the house. Cyril showed no response to Vray’s comment, but Vray was used to that by now. She held the shirt up, knowing that the mo
tion would attract the woman’s attention.

  “I was thinking of green fern leaves across the yoke. Pepper should look good in green, shouldn’t she?”

  Cyril turned her head. Her eyes flicked over the garment with what Vray read as pleased approval, before she went back to her own work. The cloth on the loom was an intricate pattern of cream and blue, reminding Vray of birds and water.

  She set Pepper’s new shirt aside for a moment and bent down to rummage in her sewing basket for the medium-size embroidery hoop. Pulling it out, she rested it on her lap and chose a skein of pale green thread and her favorite needle. She settled back in the chair and wriggled her shoulders. The sewing had seemed to go fast, but the slight ache in her muscles reminded her she’d been at this all morning. She slipped cloth between the wooden circles, tightened the one on top, then looked at Cyril again. Her foster mother was surprisingly good company, despite never speaking, or hardly even looking at her. On second thought, perhaps that was precisely why she was good to be with. Vray enjoyed the peace, and appreciated having no demands made on her. No demands, but plenty of expectations. A morning spent working beside Cyril was satisfying. Expectations were encouraging as demands never were.

  Or suggestions. Or choices. In the days that had passed since her conversation with the minstrel, the idea of having choices kept cropping up in her thoughts. She was glad he’d spent only one night in the village. She’d heard from Herri that the minstrel was heading for his home village in Dherrica. She hoped he made it before the winter settled in—and once there that he’d be snowed in until spring. If he couldn’t report to Sene of Sitrine, he couldn’t deliver any more messages. She didn’t want to hear from kings. She was comfortable where she was.

  It was especially comfortable with the house quiet. The weather was threatening snow, so she’d made sure the girls were warmly dressed before letting them go outside to play. They wouldn’t be back until supper. A whole day without children arguing, questioning, pestering, and playing underfoot!

  Vray sighed. A combination of contentment and boredom suddenly made her wish she had someone adult to talk to. She studied Cyril. The woman’s shiny black braid fell to the center of her back. Her expression was closed and enigmatic, but alert with the concentration needed for her weaving. Someone to talk to, even if not someone to carry on lively conversation with. Cyril had limitations, certainly. Yet somehow she gave the impression of listening, although Vray could never be sure whether she was actually paying attention. Still, Pepper and Matti always came to her for help and comfort. Vray was her daughter, too. Or so Jordy insisted. She should act like one. Whine? Complain? Get into a fight with Pepper and Matti? She chuckled, and watched Cyril carefully for a response. She saw none. Very little made the Keeper woman react.