The only person who wasn't assigned to a regular patrol, in fact, was her.
'Eyde. Why don't I go?'
'What.'
'I'll go with your agent. My shortig and Rikbeek will go with me. We'll get the job done faster that way, I'm sure. And I won't have to make a mess of my patrol teams.'
'No,' he said flatly. 'It's dangerous. Besides, aren't you needed here? You're High Summoner.'
'Oh, really. It's an empty title half the time; you know that. My second can take care of the administrative side of things for a couple of weeks. As for its being dangerous, well. I can take care of myself.'
'You can handle a whurthag unaided, can you?'
She paused, thinking. It had been difficult, before, but then it had been a new experience. In battling the whurthag, she had learned its weaknesses, learned how to deal with it. She still wouldn't dare to try full mastery over a whurthag, but all she had to do was push it through a gate.
'Yes,' she said. 'Now that I know what to expect.'
He stared at her, obviously warring with himself. Her offer presented the perfect solution to his problems, but she knew he'd hate letting her go.
'Eva,' he said at last, 'please reconsider. Surely you can find someone else. Send your second.'
'No,' she said, firmly. 'I've made up my mind.' If she was honest with herself, there was more to her offer than Vale's convenience. She was tiring of meetings and discussions and patrols; the prospect of taking more direct action excited her. 'We'll leave tomorrow. Angstrun had better be prepared to send a good sorcerer with us.'
'Eva-'
'Do you want children?'
'What?' He stared at her, nonplussed.
'Children,' she persevered. 'Small, screaming human beings that stink and break everything you own-'
'I know what they are.' His lips twitched. 'Stop changing the subject.'
She grinned. 'Were you expecting to have some?'
'I was thinking about it.' He spoke carefully, trying to guess at her opinion. 'Why, do you?'
'I'm open to it.'
He leaned down to kiss her. 'Why don't we discuss that in a bit more detail?'
Chapter Eleven
Llandry bent over her workbench, wielding her jeweller's tools with precision. Her father had made them for her years before, and she treasured them almost as much as she treasured her stones. Her equipment had been moved from her tree to her mother's balcony earlier in the day, and she had set to work immediately, eager to return to her trade. She'd chosen the balcony because the hazy forest light soothed her, the breezes caressing her wings as she worked.
Light-globes hovered just above her head, illuminating her delicate close-work. She drew one down to the bench, blinking until her eyes adjusted to the stronger glow. On the bench lay a piece of sapphire, its polished surface reflecting the light perfectly. Sapphire had been her favourite gem before she had discovered the istore, and she still loved its rich blue colour. She was preparing to cut the stone; it was large enough to make a fine brooch, or a centrepiece for a necklace. It kept her busy in her mother's absence.
She braced the jewel and lifted her tools, beginning to cut.
'Good morning.' That cursed deep, musical voice spoke from the doorway, aggravatingly pleasant even when he was carelessly disturbing her work. Her concentration broke, her hands slipped, and a diamond-tipped edge slammed into the stone in entirely the wrong place. She gasped, gathered the gem up like a hurt child and anxiously inspected the surface.
It hadn't cracked. She wrapped it quickly in soft cloth and replaced it in her jewel box.
'The stone doesn't crack under a sudden fright, but I might,' she said without turning around. 'Mere flesh and bone, me, susceptible to surprises.'
'I'm sorry,' he said, and he did sound contrite.
Irritation had made her uncharacteristically verbose before; now she felt discomfort creeping over her, stealing her words. She changed her mind about the stone, took it out of the box and slipped it into her pocket. It was cold, and remained so despite its proximity to her skin. The way a proper gem ought to feel.
She turned away from her bench at last, and forced herself to look him in the eye. She managed something like a smile. To her dismay he smiled back, a wide, uninhibited smile full of warmth. She felt heat coming into her face again and looked away, focusing her gaze determinedly on the floor.
'So, um. How are you?' Her words emerged almost inaudibly.
'I can't speak for the floor, but I am well enough, thank you.' His tone was lightly teasing. She looked up, startled, to catch a renewed smile just fading from his face.
She nodded vaguely, becoming too aware of that smile. She looked back at the floor, feeling awkward, and drifted to the balcony rail, seeking an excuse to avoid Devary's gaze. To her dismay he followed her, settling only a couple of feet away. Much too close... and he was looking at her again, trying to catch her eye.
'Llandry?'
'Mhm.'
'You do not like me very much. Is there something I did to offend you?'
Curse him, he actually sounded sad about it. 'Why should it matter?' she said, almost savage. 'You're here for Mamma.'
'I - well, yes, but that doesn't mean-' He broke off. She glanced at him, briefly. He looked bewildered and sorry. She dug her fingers into the balcony rail, wishing he would go away.
'I don't dislike you.'
'You behave as if you do.'
She struggled with herself helplessly. How could she possibly explain?
'I don't dislike you,' she said again.
He looked away. 'All right,' he said, after a moment.
She wanted to apologise, but she couldn't find the words. 'I just don't...'
'Don't what?'
She looked at her hands. 'I need time to get used to you.'
He didn't understand, obviously. Probably he was one of those people who easily charmed others. That smile was dangerous enough.
'Well,' he said awkwardly, 'I'll be around for a while. I hope we can get along, more or less.'
She merely nodded, tired of the effort of speech. He waited for a response for a while, then seemed to give up.
'I'll be going out again soon. After I sleep, a little.'
'All right,' she said.
He nodded and turned to leave the balcony.
'Devary? Why are you here, really?'
He stopped and looked back over his shoulder at her. 'Really? I came to see your mother.'
'I know, but...' She fumbled for words. She couldn't ask her question without admitting she had eavesdropped before.
He sighed and turned around. 'We were friends, years ago, but... things did not end well with your mother. My visit was not as it should have been, and she was right to reproach me. When I tried to see her again, she hadn't forgiven me.' He smiled slightly. 'You were only about two years old at that time. You looked like your mother, even then.'
'What happened?'
'I don't think I would like to explain in more detail. I hope you will understand that. It was all a long time ago.'
Llandry sighed inwardly, but she didn't press him. 'Has she forgiven you now?'
'I think so. I hope so.' He gave her a crooked smile and left.
Curses. She hated family secrets, but neither Devary nor her parents would discuss this one with her. Ignoring the tug of unsatisfied curiosity, Llandry restored her sapphire to the bench and took up her tools again. She had to work carefully around her injured arm: the wounds had knit firmly, but her muscles were still weak. As she worked, she became distantly aware of an odd sound.
Clack clack clack.
Turning, she observed Sigwide in his basket. Since he preferred to be near Llandry at all times, a bed had been placed for him on the balcony. Devary had done it without being asked, layering it up with blankets and even a small pillow. Sig had obviously promoted it to the position of favourite bed, for he spent a great deal of time in it.
Curled up and sleeping, normally, but now
he was turning and turning, his jaws working, his sharp teeth clacking loudly on something hard.
‘Sig, what are you eating?' She felt for his thoughts, but for once he wasn't sharing. Llandry crossed the balcony, crouched down, and picked him up. He squealed in protest and wriggled, but she maintained her grip.
In the centre of Sigwide's blankets rested a large stone, indigo in colour, gleaming silver when the light hit it. A surge of excitement rushed through her. Tucking Sigwide - still protesting - under one arm, she scooped up the istore stone. Holding it in her hands gave her that familiar and so welcome feeling of calm and well-being, and sharpened her senses.
'Sig, you little... thief.' He was fighting hard to be released and at last succeeded in squirming free of her grasp. He rushed at the stone, trying to win it back. She saw his mind clearly: he remembered taking the stone off her desk when her back was turned one day. There had been several lying in a cluster on her work bench, and she hadn't noticed the absence of one piece.
She also gathered that he felt - very strongly - that he was the rightful owner of the stone and felt hard-used at her capture of it.
'You as well, hm?' It hadn't occurred to her that the widespread covetousness over this curious gem might also extend to animals. She chuckled at his distress, calming him with a quick hug.
'A deal, Siggy. We will share this one, all right? We can take it in turns to look after it.' She replaced the stone in the centre of his bed and he immediately curled up around it, looking like the draykons of legend with his long body wound around his treasure. 'You can have it for the rest of today.' The istore was trouble, undoubtedly, but this one was an unexpected bonus, a secret gift. It would be kept hidden, a private satisfaction only to herself.
Inspired, Llandry decimated her silver supplies and applied herself to the creation of the ideal setting for the stone. She didn't want to be stuffing it into a pocket or burying it in a bag; it ought to be worn next to the skin. Working with extreme care - her arm still twinged painfully if she overdid it - she crafted a pendant and chain of pale icy-white silver. As an afterthought, she engraved the metal with stars as a tribute to her original inspiration. The pendant was constructed to grip the stone in its hollow centre, allowing the back of the istore to sit directly against her skin.
The soft notes of a skilfully-played lyre reached her ears as she worked: Devary working at his hobby. He spent some time at this every day, plucking fluid notes from the golden strings and singing in his deep voice. She could not understand the words, but the melodies were glorious by themselves. He seemed to be composing something today; the music came in snatches, gradually lengthening into a full song. His voice was compelling; she felt an agreeable shiver when he sang, like a breath of cool wind over her skin. She wanted to go into the other room and listen, but she did not dare to intrude.
A streak of grey interrupted her thoughts. Sigwide's small form shot across the balcony, moving at speed. Llandry glanced up as Sigwide, yipping, hurtled after a scrap of flickering colour that hovered dangerously close to the balcony's edge. She dropped her tools and dived in pursuit, her wings unfurling with a snap. She stretched out her hands and caught the orting just as he leaped, heedlessly, into the open air.
'Oh, Sig...' She breathed the words in tones of despair and relief, clutching him close. He jerked his head this way and that, his jaws moving oddly. He had something in his mouth.
Applying her fingers and thumb either side of his jaw, she pressed firmly. His mouth reluctantly opened, and something colourful fell to the floor.
'Sig, what have you done?' She scooped the thing up and took both creatures inside, shutting the balcony door before she released Sigwide. He retreated from her, muttering.
The thing he had caught was only a few inches long from nose to tip, fitting into the palm of her hand. It lay on its side, weakly flapping lightly furred wings of jade green and rose. Its slender body was covered in soft, pearly fur, and it sported a long, oddly curled tail and a thin snout. Its four legs scratched at her skin without inflicting any damage: apparently it lacked claws. It looked like a miniature drauk crossed with a daefly.
It lay still, finally, and she worried that it had died; but it breathed still, its furred sides heaving in panicked hyperventilation. She couldn't see any wounds.
'Just shock, then,' she murmured.
'What?'
She looked up guiltily. She'd forgotten Devary for a moment.
'Sorry. I... found something.'
'Oh?' He stood up to come and look. He had to stand quite close to see the colourful little oddity that lay in her palm.
'Curious,' he said mildly. 'Another escapee from the Uppers, by the looks of it.'
She nodded, trying to ignore his unsettling proximity.
'Sig ate it,' she said.
'He is a fearsome hunter,' he replied with a smile. 'What will you do with it? I do not think it can fly.'
'Mm.' She moved away from him, carrying the thing up to her chamber. She laid it in a nest of soft fabric in the warmest part of the room, and left it to recover. She prudently closed the door as she left, keeping Sigwide out.
She didn't realise Devary had followed her. She found him standing on the landing, hovering politely outside the door to her room. He smiled as she emerged.
'Do you think it will live?'
'Hard to say,' she replied. 'If it lives until tomorrow, it might be all right.'
'I like it,' he said. 'It is pretty. Do you know what kind of creature it is?'
'I've never seen anything like it before.'
'A pity; neither have I. Perhaps your mother will know.'
She nodded her head in agreement, wondering why he had followed her. Silence fell, and she sought for something else to say.
'I enjoyed your song.'
His brows lifted in surprise. 'I didn't realise you were listening.'
'I can hear you quite well on the balcony.'
'You like music?'
'I like yours.'
He smiled, gratified. 'You play an instrument yourself, perhaps.'
'I never learned. Unfortunately.'
'Unfortunately?'
'Well. I sometimes think it might be nice.'
'I could teach you a little, if you like.'
She thought fast. On the one hand, the prospect of spending any considerable length of time with Devary filled her with trepidation. She had survived thus far by limiting the amount of time she spent in the same room with him.
On the other hand...
She looked up at his handsome face, his hazel eyes friendly and inviting.
'Thank you,' she said. 'Why not?'
She spent the next hour seated cross-legged on the floor of the parlour, her left knee pressed against Devary's. She cradled the beautiful lyre in her lap, tentatively plucking the slender golden strings according to his direction. She blushed every time she made an error, but he didn't seem to notice. She took to the art rapidly, enjoying the sensation of the metallic strings under her deft fingers, revelling in every shimmering note she produced. Devary smiled and complimented her and taught her a short, simple song; by the end of the day she could play it quite comfortably.
Singing, however, she outright refused to do. Nothing he could say could prevail upon her to expose her singing voice to his scrutiny. In the end, she played and he sang. It seemed a perfect arrangement to her.
By the following day, Llandry had mastered her song and was rapidly learning another.
'You are a natural, I think,' said Devary. 'You must go to Nimdre someday, and learn from a real professional.'
'You aren't a professional?'
He smiled complacently. 'No, no; I am a poor hobbyist only. I play for my own pleasure, and I do not often teach.'
'Oh, I thought... then, what is your profession?'
'Ah, well. I travel a lot, and sometimes I do play to an audience. It is not the same thing as being a true professional, you understand.'
Llandry didn't. He played
like a master to her ears. Her fingers missed their mark as she pondered this and a wrong note sounded jarringly. Frowning down at the strings, Llandry said, 'I am doing you little credit as a student. Perhaps it's time for a break.'
'Certainly,' he replied, bowing his head. He rose and offered her a hand up. Ignoring it, she jumped lightly to her feet, thrusting the lyre at him.
'I'd like to...' An odd noise broke the peace of the house, coming from somewhere behind her. It reminded her of the sounds Sigwide made when he was angry.
'Moment,' she murmured, padding through to the balcony. 'Sig?'
Sigwide stood near the balcony rail, faced off against a beast she'd never seen before. It was five times the orting's size, scaled and clawed, with a snout that snapped warningly at Sigwide as it advanced. The orting refused to move, growling deep in his throat. He was answered with a roar as the creature charged.
She dived, grabbing Sigwide and rolling out of reach. She screamed in pain as her injured arm hit the ground, but she didn't pause; she was up in seconds, darting away, clutching her brave but foolish orting to her chest.
Devary appeared in the doorway, wielding a pair of wicked-looking daggers. Gaping in astonishment at this incongruous sight, Llandry almost lost her healthy arm to a snap of the beast's jaws. She rolled again, narrowly evading its strike. Her senses were suddenly crowded with information: she felt the beast's confusion and fear, its desperation at finding itself stranded suddenly in wholly unfamiliar territory. It had emerged through a gate, a direct escapee from the Uppers, but it wasn't here by its own desire.
Devary charged the beast, daggers ready to hack into its beautiful leaf-green hide.
'Don't kill it!' She released Sigwide and bounded to her feet, mentally reaching out to the creature. Its mind was little different from Sigwide's, its aggression a product of its fear and disorientation. Clumsily she thrust herself into its thoughts, trying to replace its notions of danger with sensations of safety.
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