Ailim rose from the ornate Sage’s Chair behind the rainbowstone desk placed in the center of a stone-paved stage that stretched between two towers. The front of the stage was curved, with shallow steps leading down to more pavement, then to the huge grassy glade between two lines of trees that were in the grove. People stood in colorful groups. Blankets and smallchairs dotted the lawn.
She crossed to the far tower and with a low Word opened the door. This tower was larger than the other, meant to be the Residence of the SupremeJudge of Celta. The room was empty. But here, where even Yeldoc didn’t come, Ailim could finally relax.
All her actions, every decision, would be scrutinized and critiqued by the ruling FirstFamilies Council, the NobleCouncil, and the GuildCouncil.
She couldn’t afford to make any major missteps. While she was confident in her skill as a judge, she was ambivalent about her ability to keep her live-in Family in line, as the head of a House should be able to do.
And she knew she couldn’t let the emotional woman inside her surface, the one who yearned for another chance to speak with Ruis Elder. To associate with him would mean ruin. Last night she’d stood at her bedroom window and looked out across the glittering water in the moat into the darkness, wondering where he was in all the huge world outside Druida. For a moment she’d hungered to be with him away from the city. Close to him. Close enough to experience the marvel of her senses freed from her Flair and her shields.
Her shoulders slumped and she leaned her forehead against the cold stone. For an instant it shocked, then felt wonderful. She stayed that way for several breaths before raising her head.
Bel streamed sunlight into the many-paned window, giving the room of golden stone a cheery aspect. For a moment Ailim contemplated how it would be to live here, away from her relatives at the Residence, then set the unattainable notion aside with a sigh.
The bell tolled once. “Two minutes before the sacred circle is closed and Grove begins,” announced Yeldoc.
Ailim did a quick mind-sweep. Throughout the morning she’d felt two distinct currents of antipathy. One was hostility and resentment with a known pattern, Aunt Menzie. The second force-stream contained a repulsive taint of evil. She had an enemy.
An enemy stalking her!
Ailim pressed her hands together and sucked in a deep, controlled breath, sending her mind into a spiral that would deflect panic. She didn’t know why she had a deadly enemy, but there was no doubt that was the case. A bitter smile tugged at her lips. Politics as usual.
Her psi-sense whisked through the Grove as she struggled to discover him, to no avail.
Yet she sensed a blankness at the far west end of the Grove. She hesitated, thinking Celtan plant or wildlife interfered with her Flair. But the image of Ruis Elder rose in her mind. She wished she’d known him better. He was the most complex man she’d ever met. It would be interesting to depend upon her powers of observation when with him.
She suspected he could teach her a great deal about living in the moment, not always expecting perfection from herself.
Yeldoc rapped on the door. “Time, SupremeJudge GrandLady.”
She reeled in her Flair and shook her arms to release the tingling energy coursing through her. Straightening her robes, she opened the door. “Call me Ailim,” she said to Yeldoc.
His eyes rounded. “I can’t do that.”
“Of course not.” A corner of her mouth lifted.
He marched ahead until he stood on the outermost curve of the stage, then banged his staff on the pavement. “JudgmentGrove is now in Session. SupremeJudge GrandLady Ailim D’SilverFir presiding. All rise.”
“You may close the sacred circle,” Ailim said before walking to the Sage’s Chair to sit.
When mid-afternoon came and with it her last case, Ailim was ready to be done with the day.
She looked at the boy before her. The weathershield cast shadows over his face, making him quite unprepossessing. He stood petrified with fear, clutching a small cream-colored cat.
Antenn Moss, no older than nine, was held in place by a DetainSpell. His eyes looked wild.
“The next case is the People of Celta and the Maidens of Saille against Antenn Moss, juvenile,” Yeldoc announced.
The Maidens of Saille was a religious order of celibate women who ran the sole orphanage. Several Maidens, from teenage novices to elders, stood near the edge of the terrace.
“This Antenn Moss is accused of assaulting a Maiden of Saille, in the Maidens of Saille House for Orphans,” the prosecutor declared.
The boy’s mouth opened and closed without a sound. No! screamed his mind.
Ailim saw it all unroll before her. Antenn had been part of a group of boys living Downwind, along with his brother, an older boy who’d renamed himself Nightshade. Nightshade had joined a mind-bonded triad and abandoned his younger brother, but Antenn tagged after the triad’s gang. When the gang disintegrated, Antenn had been sent to the Maidens of Saille Orphanage.
He’d tried to fit in. Ailim saw how desperately the Downwind youth had tried, but the confinement and the rules had been too much for him and his cat. He’d decided to escape.
Two nights ago he put his plans in effect. They’d sneaked into an empty room and run for the window over the bed.
He’d miscounted the doors. Ailim felt him writhe at the stupidity of his mistake. He’d hit the bed fast, and there was a Maiden in it!
“I am requesting the maximum penalty for Antenn Moss,” said the Prosecutor.
“No,” Ailim said.
A surge came from both the auras of Aunt Menzie and the vague presence of the evil one who’d watched her. Ailim repressed a start when she understood that the two people were together. She tried to see them, but the layered shadows of the trees hid them.
“No? SupremeJudge, the crime is loathsome!” The prosecutor demanded her attention. Ailim wanted to concentrate on finding and naming her enemy. She couldn’t. Her duty to this boy and the laws and people of Celta came before personal problems.
She addressed the Grove. “There was no crime. There was a mistake by a wretched boy. He wanted out of the House for Orphans, and thought he was escaping through an empty room.”
She heard approving murmurs from the crowd, as if finally understanding the matter. It had been an awful accusation. Tears ran down Antenn’s cheeks. He hid his face in the cat’s fur.
“SupremeJudge, are you positive?” the Prosecutor asked.
“I believe it has been some time since Druida had a telempathic judge, GrandSir Prosecutor, but I just told you the truth.”
Gleeful satisfaction leapt from her enemy. Ailim froze, as quiet as hunted prey. Her mouth dried and her stomach clutched. She’d always used her Flair when necessary in her work. But she’d just revealed the extent and skill of her power. She hadn’t needed even the most minor probe of any mind during the day, and in Antenn’s case, the truth was right before her eyes—obvious to her as it had been obscure to everyone else. Despite the bright sun stinging her eyes, she felt cold.
The Prosecutor bowed. “As you say, SupremeJudge.”
Ailim again wrenched her attention back to the trial. Anger stirred in her that she should have to deal with others’ hostility and her own fear in her JudgmentGrove.
But the boy’s trembling body focused her. She raised her chin. “However, Antenn did hurt the Maiden, even if inadvertently, so I do have a judgment.” Ailim narrowed her eyes. The boy was reaching puberty and she caught the faint pulsing shadow of incipient Flair. She chose her words. “I request that Antenn be tested for Flair. . . .”
“I’ll donate T’Ash’s Testing services,” GreatLady Danith D’Ash called from the grove’s edge and hurried to the center clearing.
“T’Ash is going to love this,” the Prosecutor muttered, too low to be heard by anyone except Ailim and Antenn.
“T’Ash?” the boy squeaked, and shivered.
“He is a wonderful Tester. I’m sure he’ll find exactly what you’r
e suited for.” Danith beamed.
“And after Testing,” Ailim instructed, “Antenn will apprentice to an appropriate Family and live with them. He will pay the cost of Healing Maiden Fern from his wages. Until then he is to be housed in the First Downwind Boys Center.” Ailim clapped her hands and made it echo through the Grove. “That is my judgment. Also, Maiden of Saille Fern is here and I require Antenn Moss to apologize to her. Detention spell dismissed.”
The boy was freed. He dropped the cat and wiped his nose on his sleeve, then set his narrow shoulders in the plaid commoncloth shirt. Antenn walked over to the small, elderly Maiden who leaned on a stick. She was still taller than he.
He fell to his knees, shocking Ailim. “Please, Maiden Fern. Sorry. Didn’t know you were there. Didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“Stand up, boy!” the Prosecutor shouted. “We kneel to no one here on Celta.”
“I forgive you, Antenn.” Maiden Fern laid a wrinkled hand on the boy’s head. “Blessings upon you—and Pinky.”
Antenn rose, snuffling, and wiping his nose again on his arm. The Prosecutor sighed. “I’ll take you both to the Center.”
For the first time Ailim picked up her gavel and banged it. “Grove is done. Now the closing prayer: By the Lady and Lord, let us give thanks that these actions have been resolved. Let us believe that our proceedings have progressed for the good of all and according to the free will of all. Blessed be.”
“Blessed be,” echoed from around the Grove.
Ailim glanced at Yeldoc. “You may dissolve the sacred circle and dismiss the weathershield.” She hoped to glimpse her enemy as he left.
Aunt Menzie sidled from the Grove. She wore dark gray, not D’SilverFir light blue, and blended into tree shadows. Ailim bit her lip and backtracked to where her aunt had emerged from the trees, but saw no one, only felt the baleful presence. A shiver rippled through her and she murmured a Word of protection.
She dismissed Yeldoc and told him that she wanted to walk the Grove, learning the trees, the small glades set amongst them, and reacquaint herself with the location of the brook that burbled in the background. But when JudgmentGrove was empty and Ailim sensed no other minds, she dropped her head to her arms folded on the desk.
She couldn’t remember a longer day than yesterday in her life, a culminating blur of the last two eightdays. The sole vivid moments were her conversations with Ruis Elder. Even the arguments with her Family smeared into one large altercation. She had the depressing feeling that her domestic life would continue to be a long battle with a few tiny moments of respite. Which is why she hadn’t gone home. D’SilverFir Residence didn’t feel like home anymore. Before she could shake the self-pitying thought, her vision grayed and she dozed.
The atmosphere changed around her. She was conscious, but too tired to do anything but distantly observe the sharpened fragrance of dying grass, hear the creek increase its burble and every chirp of the crickets, even feel the small delineation of the different colors of the stone beneath her fingertips. All her senses sharpened. The air on her left side stirred.
Scents teased her nose, ones she’d smelled just the day before, but she refused to catalogue them and accepted the easing of tight emotions. She knew who stood next to her, Ruis Elder, the Null.
She could not acknowledge him.
He was banished from Druida on pain of death. As a Judge it was her duty to report that he was flouting the will of the Councils and the Law of Celta.
She could not betray him.
She kept her mouth from forming his name, just heard it echo in her mind. Tentative fingers brushed against her hair once, twice, as if they had never stroked someone in comfort—or had luxury or permission to touch. Ailim’s throat tightened.
She could not resist him.
At her stillness, the soft touches stopped. Ailim’s thoughts scrambled at how to let him know she treasured this moment. She relaxed and snuggled her face deeper into the crook of her arm. “Mmmmmmmm,” she said, hoping he would not leave.
A moment later his palm curved around her head. “Mmmmmmm,” she approved.
His trailing fingers grew bolder, stroking her head again and again, then stopping at the rapid pulse in her neck.
Only the tension between them, his movements, led her to guess at his feelings. She felt no emotions or thoughts from him. For the first time in her life she wondered what another felt.
She concentrated on what his movements might mean—the hesitation of his hands as they smoothed out the waves of her hair that had been strictly bound in braids and tied with spellthreads. Ailim guessed that he was inexperienced in tenderness between men and women, and her heart ached. What had his life been like?
She sought to think, but his hands upon her drowned any thought. She could only feel.
Warm palms touched her shoulders, fingers found the knots in her muscles. Awkwardly, with several shifts of position, he began to massage her. Nerves within her prickled as the gentle touch continued, then increased in pressure as if his fingers were learning a new art. Wetness dampened her eyes and Ailim realized that her tears weren’t solely from released pain.
She blessed them anyway, since they kept her eyes from seeing what they shouldn’t.
Thumbs brushed at her neck and she tipped her head to give him access to her tight muscles. She enjoyed being at peace and without any thoughts or emotions intruding on her own. If she listened, she might even be able to hear herself think over the pulse of her heart.
Except the delightful massage took all thought away. Her physical senses bloomed and her sheer awareness of everything fascinated her. She thought she could hear the trees drawing in an interminable breath, withdrawing deep into their bark to slow and prepare for winter. A small breeze rattled leaves, and she imagined them swirling and dancing in joy of being free from twigs and branches. The leaves and the grass and the brook scented the air with layers of fragrance she’d never experienced.
She recalled the fingers moving down her back were long. They hesitated to pursue a tangled spot of muscle or sinew, then continued. When she was utterly relaxed, hands stroked, comforted and discovered the shape of her back.
Heat rose within her, languidly unfurling from low in her torso to spread throughout her body. Tingles pulsated out from her temple along her nerves. Her blood pulsed low and steady, carrying the throb of desire. A unique desire flowing so sweet and heavy that she felt caught in a spell, too drugged to move, aching for the next caress of his fingers. She wanted more, to hear and feel and smell and touch and see. The way she had experienced all her senses yesterday when her Flair had been suppressed by Ruis Elder’s Nullness.
But to break the spell would be to set a lightning bolt of duty and danger against the cobweb of ease and comfort surrounding her. Better to doze and be dazed.
The light of Bel was blocked an instant, and something softer than fingers grazed her temple. Mint, another scent she remembered from before and ignored. This time when she sighed out her breath, it was of yearning, of a great need that had opened inside her. He was giving, of his time and himself. Tears backed up behind her eyes that a simple touch of comfort could so move her. But she hadn’t felt a gentle touch for more months than she could count.
His hand tangled in her loose hair again. One sifting of fingers and a harsh sound as he started to move away.
She couldn’t let him go without acknowledgment. With sheer instinct, she flung out her hand, caught his hand and clung. She did nothing else, just held on to him, savoring his strength.
For a moment they stayed that way, then she felt the brush of his lips on her fingers before her hand was replaced next to her face. Then his footsteps strode away.
Ailim shut her eyes tight, and wetness overflowed. She could not look, could not openly declare the lovely feelings that passed between them. It had to be Ruis. But if she didn’t see him, couldn’t swear that it was a banished Ruis breaking the laws, she couldn’t be forced by her vows as Judge to report him.
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When he left her, he took all the new brilliance of her senses with him.
She sat up and removed the tracks of tears with a spellword, then began to braid her hair again. Tight.
The hallway to his old apartment was as dark and dank as ever. Even several paces away, he could see that the door to his old rooms stood splintered and tilted in the corridor.
He hesitated, sure he wouldn’t like what he’d see beyond the door. He strode to the door, grabbed it, and heaved it aside.
A stench hit him and he breathed through his mouth. He forced himself to enter. The mainspace was a wreck, and someone had relieved himself on what had once been a chair.
Something was wrong. He stopped as still as the dead door, then pinpointed why his heart sped and his throat closed. Another scent lingered, a whiff of an expensive men’s cologne. The odor of Bucus.
Ruis swallowed, and swallowed again, pushing away images of his uncle leaning over him with a razorslit. Smiling. For some reason GreatLord Bucus Elder had visited his nephew’s lair. Ruis relaxed his tensed muscles, lifted a shoulder, and let it drop. So his uncle’s presence still triggered physical reactions, so what? He’d live with it.
His eyes went to the hidden cache in the far wall. If Bucus had found the T’Birch necklace or the gems, they’d be gone, secreted away by fat greedy fingers into a secret treasure box. Bucus might someday sell the Earthsuns, but would hoard the necklace to use it against Ruis.
He scuffed through the mainspace, kicking up debris at each step. He licked dry lips. The last time he’d been here, the earthmotor had been the size of his head. Now he couldn’t discern the remnants. Not one piece of the shabby furniture was whole. The odor got worse as his meager food rotted where it’d been thrown from the coldbox. Ruis counted bricks to the cubby. He pulled the brick out and reached inside. His fingers touched the rough leather of a satchel, and as he drew it out a metallic clink told him the T’Birch necklace was still safe.
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