by Cas Peace
She embraced him too and kissed him, and then turned quickly away so he wouldn’t see the moisture in her eyes.
Rienne was next, and the two women stood for long moments just looking at each other, tears making tracks down their faces. Then they fell into each other’s arms.
“I owe you far too much for thanks, Rienne,” murmured Sullyan. “But you were right about not letting happiness go by, and for that alone I’ll always remember you. Will you do me one last favor?”
Rienne nodded, too choked for speech.
“Will you look after my harp and guitar for me? I would hate to think they might never be played again, but with you they will always have an echo of that evening we shared. I wish ....” She couldn’t finish and had to push herself away from the heartbroken healer, leaving Cal to try and comfort Rienne.
Coming over to Bull, she managed to regain some composure. She took a deep breath and looked up into his brown eyes as he towered over her.
“You already know what I need you to do to tidy up my affairs,” she said, “but there are two other favors I would ask of you.” Bull raised his brows. They had already spoken of what he was to do back at the Manor. “The first,” she said, “is to ask the General to lend me Drum. I will need his battle skills to help me accomplish what I intend. I will have him returned when my need is over.”
Bull nodded, and Rienne knew that if he had his way, the General would never learn of this request.
“And the second is this.”
Reaching to the double thunderflash rank insignia gleaming above her left breast, Sullyan unclasped it and held it in her hand a moment. Then she thrust it toward Bull. Rienne heard Robin gasp, but the big man made no move to take it. Muscles along Sullyan’s jaw jumped with strain as she grasped Bull’s right hand. She placed the badge in his palm and firmly closed his fingers over it. His eyes were wide with shock and he shook his head in denial.
Sullyan’s voice was hoarse as she said, “Give this to General Blaine and explain for me, Bull. I would go myself, but you know I cannot. He will understand.”
Finding his voice, Bull said, “Sully, no!” but she stepped away and refused to meet his gaze.
“Go now,” she said, a catch in her voice. “Go quickly, Bull.”
There was nothing more to be said. They mounted up in the brittle sunlight, the icy cold catching their throats and stinging their eyes. As she turned the corner of the mansion, Rienne risked one final backward glance. Her last sight was of the two of them standing together, Robin’s strong arm around Sullyan’s shoulders, the sun tinting her glorious hair with russet sparks. Her hand was raised in farewell.
It was a long time before anyone spoke. They each rode absorbed in their own thoughts, some with tears still wet on their cheeks. Bull’s hand was clasped tightly about the gold badge in his palm, as if desperately holding on to the warmth from Sullyan’s body. Abruptly, he spurred his horse into a wild gallop, trying to outrun his grief and fear. Rienne and the others followed, but in the end it didn’t help.
* * * * *
Sullyan watched them go, holding tightly to Robin for comfort. It was also for support, although she was valiantly trying to hide from her lover what she had managed to hide from Rienne. The pain of the poison inside her was growing worse.
The distress of watching her friends depart had weakened her and she couldn’t conceal a sudden, agonizing pang. Robin had to help her back into the warmth of the kitchen. Once more, she turned her powers over to him. With her direction, he managed to repair the breach that had allowed the poison to surface. In the process, Robin felt her growing desperation that she wouldn’t be granted the time she needed to implement her plan against Rykan. He tried, but there was nothing he could say to reassure her.
They spent the morning resting and loving, not speaking much, just taking comfort from each other’s presence. Sullyan knew Robin was painfully aware that this was their last full day together. Bull would return sometime late the next day, and it was inevitable that Blaine would order Robin back to the Manor. Sullyan had deliberately made it impossible for him to follow his instincts and disobey the General, and she knew he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her again.
For her part, Sullyan’s heart was heavy. The knowledge that she would lose Robin just when they had discovered the depths of their love was a tragedy too painful to dwell on. So, after a light noon meal which improved her strength, she again asked her Captain to fence with her, taking refuge as she often did in the physical skills of her profession.
Robin recognized her need and raised no objections. He was happy to indulge in any activity that reaffirmed their awareness of each other, although he was obviously concerned for her lack of strength. Yet her skill with a sword was so great that it was Robin who had to call on his greater physical strength in order to avoid her swift and agile attacks. What she lacked in muscle and stature, she more than made up for in speed and cunning. She had been well taught from the beginning by Master Ardoch, the King’s legendary swordmaster, and her supple musician’s fingers gave her great control over the handling of her sword. Both of them were soon thoroughly enjoying their practice bout, and the afternoon slipped away.
They were still at it when the Count returned. Seeing him, Sullyan ended her bout with Robin by putting her sword to the salute. She couldn’t suppress a measure of surprise that Marik had decided to throw in his lot with her after all. His going off alone hadn’t concerned her—he didn’t want to end up Rykan’s captive again any more than she did—but she had wondered whether he might prefer to disappear, to take his chances somewhere else.
She smiled as he approached, and he gave her a challenging stare. “So, you did think I might not return.”
She stared him down and he flushed. “It crossed my mind, Ty. I confess I am glad to see you safely back.”
“Where else would I go? I might just as well go along with your plans, although how you’re going to convince the Hierarch to accept me, I can’t think.”
Shaking her head at his gloomy tone, Sullyan took his arm and drew him into the kitchen. “How was Harva?”
He accepted the change of subject gladly and launched into all the things he had promised the old woman to tell her.
The evening passed quietly. Once they had eaten and exhausted what little conversation they felt like making, they lapsed into silence. Marik went out to tend the horses and came back shaking a dusting of snow from his shoulders. Sullyan hoped it wouldn’t snow too much, as a heavy fall might delay them on the four-day journey to Caer Vellet.
The Count retired early again, diplomatically leaving the two lovers to spend as much time alone as they could. Sullyan appreciated his thoughtfulness, although it pained her to remember why it was necessary.
Once more, Robin tried to coax her into allowing him to stay with her, but she was adamant he must obey the General’s orders, whatever they were. Reluctant to vex her on this last evening together, he desisted, and they retired to the simple little room that had become the focus of their love.
Their union that night was sweeter and more poignant than ever, minds linked as closely as bodies. Robin had a couple of brief affairs before meeting Sullyan two years ago, but apart from her brutal initiation by Rykan, Sullyan had never known a man’s touch. Robin found her a quick and imaginative learner, as she was in all things, but the one new thing she brought him was the depth and strength of her power.
He had never made love to anyone gifted and had no idea how the power could intensify the pleasure they experienced in each other. It also prolonged their physical endurance, but as they lay entwined together afterward, breathless and utterly spent, he wryly reflected that all power must be paid for. Their sleep that night was deep and profound.
She tried so hard not to disturb him, but in the end, the pain was too much. Her cry in the cold pre-dawn startled him awake. She was kneeling on the floor by the bed, arms wrapped tightly round her belly, a small patch of bloody vomit on the floor
. Instantly he was beside her, holding her while the spasm of trembling passed. Then he fetched a damp cloth from the kitchen and wiped the bloody froth from her lips. She allowed him to help her back into bed and then lay there panting, watching the fear in his eyes.
He took her cold hand, his face pale with concern. “Maybe you shouldn’t have sent Rienne away.”
“There was nothing Rienne could do, Robin. There is nothing anyone can do, except maybe Pharikian.”
He frowned. “Who?”
She could hear a hint of jealousy in his voice and tried a smile. It failed. “Timar Pharikian, the Hierarch of Andaryon.”
The frown deepened, and she realized he had never heard the Hierarch’s name before. Then he raised his brows. “Are you telling me you actually know the Hierarch?”
This time, the smile succeeded. “I have not been presented at Court, if that is what you mean. But I have seen him once or twice, and I know of him by reputation. He is the only Senior Master in existence, as far as I know, either in Andaryon or in Albia. It is possible that his greater power might be able to mitigate the poison’s effects for a while, before it grows too strong. Long enough, perhaps, for me to accomplish my task.”
“Well, I hope so, love.” Robin’s tone was bleak. “Because if it leaves you like this now, what’s it going to be like when it’s really bad?”
“Far worse.” She smiled again, unable to give him any real comfort, then reached up and drew his cooling body under the covers. “But we will not think about that now.”
* * * * *
They woke in the early dawn, the sky smudgy-grey through the thick-paned window. They lay twined together, Sullyan’s head cradled on Robin’s chest, one of her legs thrown over his and her wealth of tawny hair spread out like a glowing cloud. Neither one wanted to speak. Both were aware that the other was awake, both were aware of tear tracks on the other’s face. Neither wanted to stir and further the day.
Eventually, the increasing daylight made speech inevitable, and Sullyan finally found the courage to move. She raised herself on one elbow, her small breasts brushing the smooth skin of Robin’s chest. Her lover’s deep blue eyes met her gaze. They were damp with grief, and she ran her free hand through the soft curls of his short, brown hair. Gently, she brushed away the moisture from his face and kissed a smile to his lips. He returned it hesitantly, not knowing how he would bear the day’s events.
His profound unhappiness made Sullyan twist at the fire opal ring on her right hand. She drew it off and held it out on her palm. “My love, would you keep this for me?”
He struggled upright. “No, Sullyan, I can’t take that from you. I know how highly you value it.”
“I do value it, but not as highly as I value your love. Please, Robin?”
He couldn’t refuse the look in her eyes. “Will you exchange rings with me, then?” It was tentatively spoken, for an exchange of rings was normally part of a betrothal contract.
Her smile grew warmer and her gaze blurred as she watched him pull off the tiny gold ring he wore on the little finger of his right hand.
“But that is Jessy’s ring, Robin. Are you sure?”
Jessy, Robin’s beloved younger sister, had died of a wasting illness just over two years ago. Sullyan had tried her best to heal, and then soothe, the young girl and grew to love her in the short months she had known her as much as she did her tall and handsome brother.
Robin’s gaze dropped to the tiny ring of gold. “Jessy would have been overjoyed to see us betrothed. She would have been so proud to see you wearing a ring that was once hers.”
“Then I accept it gladly.”
Sullyan reached out and placed her fire opal on the little finger of Robin’s left hand. She saw his eyes widen fractionally when he realized she had chosen the marriage hand. Then she held out her own left hand and smiled when he slipped Jessy’s ring onto her middle finger.
Chapter Ten
Acouple of hours later, they finally emerged into the kitchen. Such an open admission of commitment and love had put all thoughts of the day from their minds. Marik had set out a light breakfast for them and water was heating over the fire. Robin made some fellan and the two lovers sat drinking it together in silence.
The skin around Sullyan’s neck where the spellsilver had burned her was finally healed, so she was now wearing her fire opal necklace. She would probably carry the marks of those wounds forever, she thought, and then remembered with a lurch that she wouldn’t likely have the time to heal further.
Sunlight glared into her eyes as Marik opened the door and entered. He stamped a light dusting of snow from his boots. She saw his eyes swivel toward the full packs lying on the table. He raised his gaze to her face and she regarded him calmly, knowing he could see the pallor of her skin and the hint of dark bruises under her eyes. The obvious marks of Rykan’s abuse had almost disappeared, but she knew he was wondering if she could survive the four days of hard riding it would take them to reach Caer Vellet. Although she would never admit it, the same thought had crossed her own mind.
To distract them both, she smiled. “I trust you have everything you need, Ty? Bull should return sometime late this afternoon, and we must be away soon after.”
From the corner of her eye she caught the paling of Robin’s face and the expression of pain which flitted across his features. So, she thought, his outward calm did not extend very deep.
Marik crossed to the fire and helped himself to fellan. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. It’s perishing out there. Do you have enough warm clothes?”
“Bull will bring what I need.” Sullyan squeezed Robin’s hand as she sensed the clenching of his heart. There was nothing more she could do or say to ease him. He would have to find his own strength now.
She turned back to the Count. “What is the state of your armory, Ty?” Marik’s head came up at the unexpected question. “Did Rykan’s men loot it when they took us away?”
The Count shrugged and she realized he hadn’t bothered to check the arms store. “I’ll go and see if you like,” he offered. “Why?”
“I need an Andaryan longsword, if you have a spare. The Hierarch’s forces use heavier blades than my Albian steel.”
Marik cocked his head. “Can you wield a longsword?” He sounded dubious, as if he couldn’t imagine her even holding such a heavy blade, let alone using one effectively.
Robin snorted and Sullyan smiled. “Perhaps you could give me some pointers, Ty.”
He fell for it. “Well, I will if you like, but I warn you, it’ll be very different to what you’re used to.”
He left the room. When he returned, he carried his own blade, plus two more. They all went out into the bitter sunlight of the early winter day. The mansion’s training ground was more sheltered than the kitchen yard, and no snow had settled there. Marik offered Sullyan the two blades to test and she weighed each in her hand for balance. Satisfied with her chosen blade, she took it in her right hand and faced Marik, ready to fence.
His face showed concern. “Just let me know if you get too tired,” he advised. “Use a double-handed grip if it’s easier.”
She smiled sweetly at him, a look that would have put Robin instantly on his guard. He moved to one of the benches surrounding the training ground to watch.
Marik began the bout gently and didn’t press her too hard. She responded in kind, testing her agility and stamina against the unfamiliar feel of this heavier weapon. After a few minutes of what she regarded as a gentle warm up, she was comfortable enough with the balance of the weapon and her own reactions to practice some advanced moves. Marik suddenly found himself harder pressed. Sullyan saw his eyes narrow.
She had already noted that his attention often wavered. Unlike most well-trained swordsmen whose eyes never left their opponent’s upper body, Marik didn’t seem capable of making up his mind which part of her to watch. His focus often flickered from her eyes to her upper body, even to her sword arm. This was a grave mistake, for by the
time the sword arm moved, it was far too late to take evasive action. Watching anything but the body—and especially the eyes—was a complete waste of time, and in fencing, as in most things, Sullyan never wasted time.
A sharp twisting movement of her longsword sent Marik’s blade skittering across the ground. He stood dumbfounded, staring at her.
“You evil witch! You’ve bloody done it to me again, haven’t you?”
Hearing Robin’s dry chuckle, she smiled, remembering her first meeting with Marik and the duel that had resulted in a humiliating defeat for the Count. Retrieving his weapon, she handed it prettily back to him, giving him a small bow. He shook his head and grimaced as he accepted it.
She switched the sword to her left hand. “So, shall we do it properly now?”
Marik looked both annoyed and alarmed. “I think I’m the one who needs lessons!”
A lesson is exactly what she gave him for the next hour or so, leading him with painstaking precision through the various moves and improving his technique. Robin shouted helpful comments about his footwork from the bench, comments which were not always gracefully received. The three of them were so engrossed in what they were doing that Sullyan only belatedly realized she could feel a familiar prickle in her mind. Someone was opening a substrate tunnel nearby.
Robin felt the prickle too. She could see him looking around. Surely, she thought, it was far too early for Bull to return? Although, judging by the angle of the winter sun, it was mid-afternoon. How could the hours have passed so quickly? Tears stung her eyes. Her time with Robin was nearly over. Suddenly, she resented the time she had spent coaching Marik, although it made sense if the Count was going to be guarding her back from now on.