When he stepped from the bedroom, Broullard bowed and indicated the set table. Faucon smiled at the weathered face of his major domo. They’d been together for years, fought together. Broullard had stepped into his father’s shoes when he’d died when Faucon was thirteen. Everything that he knew about being a noble estate owner, a Chevalier, and a man he’d learned from Broullard.
Sniffing, Faucon smelled hot, fresh bread and eggs, knew they’d be prepared exactly as he and Elizabeth preferred. “I’ll take my breakfast with me,” he said. “Can you prepare the same for Luthan?”
Broullard raised his eyebrows. “Of course.”
“Thank you. Luthan mind-spoke me, requested a consultation.”
“I would guess that he chafes at the Singer’s restrictions,” Broullard said. “He’s been…restless…for some time.”
Faucon hadn’t noticed. “Interesting.”
A couple of minutes later, Faucon took a loaded tray and walked through the door Broullard held open. “I’ll let you know what Luthan says, what he wants.”
Broullard nodded.
“Take care of my lady,” Faucon said lightly.
“Of course.” Broullard smiled. “She’s a good woman. Good for you.”
Faucon smiled himself, warmed by the approval. “Ayes, she is.”
Whistling a Chevalier flying tune, he walked the wide corridor to Luthan’s door. The man opened it as Faucon reached it. Faucon was reminded that Luthan and Bastien had lived under the heavy Song of their father for a long time.
Glancing at the sterile sitting room, Faucon clucked his tongue. “I sensed you were hungry, so I brought food.” He sighed. “Set the table. You need a major domo, someone like Broullard to take care of you.”
“There’s only one Broullard,” Luthan said, and hurried to put hot pads on the small wooden table for the dishes and Faucon wondered why, the piece of furniture was so scarred it wouldn’t have mattered. Broullard had wrapped silverware in napkins and placed them on the tray.
Luthan helped unload the tray, sat and ate and fiddled with his cutlery. He was restless. An oddity. The man was usually as calm as a mountain, wasted no motion.
“Thank you for agreeing to come, the confidentiality, this breakfast,” Luthan said.
Faucon’s brows winged up. “You’re welcome.” He grinned. “You’ll find the food not nearly as expensive as the dinner you paid for last year.”
A snort came from the man and his lips curved, too. “Trying to keep you from seducing Alexa. I knew she and my brother would be together, then my ingrate brother goes and gets a fine feast out of it.”
Faucon stilled. Luthan’s words had been off-hand, but had reminded him all too well that the man had a touch of prophecy.
Faucon put down his fork. “Perhaps the Singer bade you be silent on matters that we, the nobles and Chevaliers and Marshalls, should know of.” A conflict of duties would trouble the man.
“Ayes.” Luthan stood, swept a hand over the plates and silverware, Sang a cleansing tune.
Very efficient, not quite polite, and an evident habit that the preoccupied man didn’t even notice.
Standing himself, Faucon replaced his possessions back on the tray. He hesitated as he heard the opening and closing of his door down the hall, the strengthening of Elizabeth’s Song, then its diminution as she left the building.
Luthan was at the window, watching. “Your woman wears her medica robe well, with authority. I always think of her twin bouncing along like a cheerful puppy. They—” Luthan’s hands gripped the window frame until his knuckles whitened. He paled. Faucon froze. The man was having a vision, one of the reasons the Singer, also a prophet, valued him.
Crossing to the window, Faucon laid a hand on Luthan’s shoulder. “Can I help?”
Luthan’s shoulder heaved under his hand once, twice as the man drew in deep breaths. “No. Thank you.”
“And your vision?
“I must think on it.” Luthan’s voice was sober, with a trace of sadness in it. When he turned and met Faucon’s eyes, his gaze was as cool as usual. “Several paths, I believe.”
Cold touched Faucon’s spine. He didn’t doubt that Luthan had seen tragedy. Wanting a reassuring look at Elizabeth, Faucon glanced out the window, but only saw a whisk of red before the door to the keep opposite closed.
So he turned away to find Luthan staring at him, as if weighing him, then Luthan shook his head. “Too many melodies tangling,” he muttered. Abruptly, he said, “It’s the Seamasters.” He stopped, ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. She knows something too, but isn’t saying.”
“The Singer?” Faucon allowed himself a little sigh. “A strange and difficult elder.” He sat in a comfortable chair. “If it’s information you want of the Seamasters, you’ve come to the right person.”
“You have seaside estates.”
“Ayes. I know the Seamasters, individually and as a group, though I’m not in their counsel. My cousin handles all my sea business except the mercantile trading. Do you want me to ask him about the Seamasters?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.”
A skiff of wariness zipped though Faucon. Again, very unlike Luthan. “Have you spoken to Bastien of this?”
Luthan turned squarely to him. “No. I only have feelings.” Luthan sounded irritated, both at the vagueness and the fact that feelings weren’t logical.
“Hunches?” Faucon said.
“Ayes.” Luthan’s lips narrowed. He closed his eyes.
Faucon waited in silence.
Finally Luthan shook his head, opened his lashes and met Faucon’s gaze. “There is something disturbing about the Seamasters. They are hiding something. But it is a relatively old secret.” Luthan made a frustrated gesture. “Some moons old, but still affecting,” he paused, tilted his head as if listening. “Still affecting Amee’s Song.”
“And the Singer does not tell you of this secret that she might know.” Faucon kept his tone even.
“Ttho.” Luthan shrugged. “I hinted at the topic, she ignored it.”
“Understood. I’ll speak with my cousin, my heir. He’ll be as discreet as possible.”
“Thank you.”
Faucon clapped Luthan on the shoulder. “We’ll figure this out.”
“Please don’t tell Elizabeth.” Luthan shifted his stance, muttered, “Too much going on.”
Raising his brows, Faucon said, “I don’t hear how this affects the Exotiques, but I’ll say nothing to my lady.”
Luthan turned back to the window. Faucon followed his gaze to see Alexa and Bastien volaranback rising to practice battle exercises with a new Chevalier class.
“It affects them all,” Luthan muttered. “I don’t know how, but it affects them, us, all.”
26
One night Raine hunched by the fire of the Open Mouthed Fish tavern and listened to tales and old news brought by a traveler to Seamasters’ Market. He came from inland, Castleton by “The Castle.” She wasn’t sure where this was, but knew it was far enough away that she’d never make it on her own.
They spoke of the others. That’s what she called them, when she thought of them. Which was often, ever since she’d heard of them a couple of weeks before.
She dared think of them in a superstitious whisper. If she said it aloud she might jinx the idea that she was like them. That belief would shrivel up and blow away like that hideous web thing in the older story and leave her hopeless.
She was afraid to hope. Hope was a glittering shard of a sharp mirror. You’d hope, and then it would be ripped from you and you were so much worse off. Hope and despair, a vicious cycle.
There were others like her. She’d heard them called Exotiques, women who’d come from another dimension, and from what she could make out, Earth. They were spoken of with respect by all but Travys, and when he sneered he was shut up by the rest.
There was the Swordmarshall, the Circlet, the Volaran partner, and the Medicas. When they were gossiped of, they were al
l spoken of as being together. Stories went that when a person dealt with one, they dealt with all.
Considering that idea was when her heart would start thumping hard and she could hear the tide of her own blood thunder in her ears—because of hope. If she could get to them, contact them somehow, would they welcome her?
Travys swaggered into the Tavern and Raine tensed, faded into the deep shadow of the taproom’s corner. It didn’t matter. His gaze went straight to her.
She’d frozen too long. He crossed the room with a few strides, lifted a meaty hand. “Why you starin’ at your betters, girl? Want a piece of my cock? Well, it ain’t got no likin’ for half-breed trash like you.” His heavy arm swung down.
Pain! But she’d ducked in time. The blow only grazed her cheek. Good luck, then. Not as bad a bruise as the last two times. She didn’t fight back, not when he always hit her in public and no one protested. He’d kill her if she fought.
She ran into the kitchen, now off limits to all customers, and began washing a stack of pots. Not looking at the gleaming pitcher that might show her battered cheek. As she set the crude pot on the drainer and reached for another, she faced facts.
She’d have to leave. It had been a while since she last tried. Maybe she’d acclimated by now and the sickness wouldn’t claim her this time. Maybe she could walk inland more than a few miles. Maybe she wouldn’t be tied to the sea and this tavern on the pier. At least she could follow the coast, but so far this was the best place she’d found to keep the sickness at bay.
She’d wanted to stay and hear more about the others, ask about them where people might actually answer off-hand and truthfully.
Not now.
She fumbled to plan an escape. The timing would be tricky. To stay as long as she could, but not so long that she didn’t survive Travys.
The first couple of days passed and Elizabeth was kept busy with minor injuries and classes—with the medicas and Calli, who taught her and Starflower volaran partnering. To her chagrin, but secret relief, the townspeople didn’t expect her to keep the afternoon surgery office hours in Castleton. Nor did the city folk come to the Castle with the frink disease. Despite the fact that she’d healed the sickness, it was always with Bri. Doubt niggled at Elizabeth whether she could do it on her own. She just didn’t have the verve Bri did, throwing herself into that healingstream.
Elizabeth spoke with Bri every day by crystal ball. The other cities were keeping her busy, and Bri looked…subdued. Elizabeth could only imagine what it felt like to be seeing a portion of an epidemic, healing only for a few hours, knowing that before you came and after you left, people would die.
As for the Castle, no more battle alarms came. That concerned everyone, as if the Master was brewing up even more nastiness. Elizabeth fervently hoped the fact that they’d been unable to cure the sickness hadn’t reached the Master’s ears.
Most of her time outside of work, she spent with Faucon, learning magic, or flying, or making love. The man was a fabulous lover. She deliberately lived in the moment. She learned he was a rich man, born to title and wealth and privilege, much more than most. He could command resources, and when the Marshalls asked for his help, he gave it generously. Usually he’d do paperwork in the evenings with her in his rooms; he kept up a good correspondence with his cousin who handled his northern estate. She wrote reports on each patient, and kept notes regarding Lladranan healing for herself. She also endeavored to get down some basic medical information about germs, bacteria, viri, and other issues, translating them into Lladranan terms for her teachers.
Zeres, Bri’s mentor, came up to the Castle only once and irritated all the medicas so that they didn’t welcome him again.
Finally, on the fourth day, the doorharp sounded just after breakfast, followed by a knock. When Marian entered, Elizabeth’s heart thumped hard in her chest. “It’s time?”
Marian inclined her head. “Bossgond’s ready to experiment by sending something through the dimensional corridor to your condo. Despite your directions, we’ve been unable to locate it on our own. Marian shrugged. “It’s been years since I lived in Denver and my geography is no longer precise.”
“Let me change into flying gear and I’ll be right with you.” Elizabeth hurried into the bedroom and stripped off her formal medica robes. The day was cool and she finally settled on Chevalier leathers instead of the traveling medica costume.
“Can you fly on your volaran clear to the islands by yourself?” asked Marian.
“She certainly can,” Faucon said. “But I’m going, too.”
“Bossgond is slightly reformed,” Marian said, “but he still doesn’t like visitors.”
Faucon opened a desk drawer. “I wouldn’t dream of arriving without a host gift. Would Bossgond like a vial of jerir?”
Marian said drily, “I’m sure he’d find a use for such a valuable item.”
Faucon bowed.
A few minutes later Faucon’s squires had helped her saddle Starflower and all four of them were off. Her heart picked up beat. Her first long flight, and to the sea! She could hardly wait to use Distance Magic, the spells that shortened the time spent on a journey, spells Sung by both volaran and human. She yearned to see the geography of the maps that she’d become so familiar with.
The sky was pearly gray, with coal-colored clouds billowing in the distant north. The west, toward the sea, appeared clearer with wisps of silver-lined clouds.
Though she didn’t really speak Equine to Starflower, the volaran was sweet tempered enough to take direction well. They flew southwest, Faucon on her left, not quite within reach, but reassuring nonetheless. He’d fought in many battles and he and his volaran knew how to rescue a falling comrade. Not that she wanted to think about that.
To her right was Jaquar, Marian’s husband. Both he and his volaran were large. As a weather Circlet, he commanded air. He, too, could catch her, magically, if she fell. Behind her was Marian. Elizabeth had some doubts whether the Exotique woman was trained enough to help her, but she kept that to herself.
A half hour into the flight, Jaquar gave the order to initiate Distance Magic. Elizabeth felt the brush of minds on her own, inhaled, then Sang. She heard the others Sing the few couplets too.
A not quite translucent bubble surrounded her. She got dizzy if she looked at the ground. With each sweep of her wings, Starflower covered more than was natural to a volaran. The rolling hills gave way to green plains, then grassy dunes, then the island-studded Brisay Sea.
Too bad Bri is so far away, Faucon said.
Elizabeth gritted her teeth. She didn’t want to do this alone. Too bad, was right. Soon they were spiraling down to the largest island of the chain, Alf Island, which always belonged to the premier Circlet of the age, currently Bossgond, Marian’s mentor.
Marian’s volaran picked up speed until she came next to Elizabeth and pointed down. The towers I raised as my last test!
Elizabeth goggled. She’d read Marian’s book, so she should have expected Tower Bridge from London, but it was different. No bridge, just the towers, connected by a walkway. Before she could get a good look, they’d landed close to a tall round tower, of the ubiquitous gray stone. Elizabeth slid off Starflower and Faucon took Starflower’s reins, gestured to the rest of the volarans who moved around him. He bowed to the short, bony man in the doorway. “Salutations, Circlet Bossgond. I will care for the volarans.”
The old man just gave a loud snort, turned and went into the tower.
“Oh, dear,” Marian said, frowning. “Not a good sign.”
Elizabeth didn’t like the sound of that. Faucon gave her a kiss and she clung for an instant before following Marian and Jaquar. This journey was probably tame compared to what Bri was enduring, but Elizabeth had qualms.
Their parents. That was the bottom line. Trying to spare them grief by transporting something from here to Earth.
As they climbed the inside stairs that circled the tower, Marian spoke to Bossgond, then threw words over
her shoulder. “You’re sure your parents will check your condo if you don’t return.”
“Yes. Of course. They both have keys.”
Marian cleared her throat. “Ah, when is the mortgage payment?”
Beneath her breath, Elizabeth said, “Too bad you didn’t ask that before you jerked us away.” She was cold. Her hand was trembling on the stair rail. Aloud she said, “I have automatic withdrawal for most of my bills. I’ll be fine.”
“That’s good.”
They finally reached a large circular room, covered in shelves crammed full of strange objects, with a few windows high in the wall. There was a grouping of several fat pillows on a thick pad of colorfully patterned rugs in the middle of the room, a conversation pit. The most riveting item was a huge brass telescope with a multitude of gears and levers pointed at many mirrors. Elizabeth just stared until the man, about her height, which made him short, came up and got in her face. “Come along. No time to waste. This task is not easy.” He examined her up and down, then moved away. “Would have liked to have seen the set,” he muttered.
Elizabeth followed.
He gestured to the eyepiece of the telescope. “It is fixed on your city, but Marian could not locate your abode.” He harumphed. “Not good enough directions.”
Marian stiffened, folded her hands. Jaquar slanted a sardonic look at the old man, put his hand on Marian’s shoulder.
After one last glance around, Elizabeth bent to look into the telescope. Colfax Avenue sprang into life, cars trundling along. She caught her breath. It appeared completely alien.
People wore shorts and T-shirts, the sun was harsh, she could almost see heat waves rising from concrete and asphalt. Not at all like the cool Lladranan weather.
A bony finger poked her side. “The sooner you indicate your home, the sooner I can get my experiments underway. I understood that there is a time limit.” The old man’s voice held a rasp, but like most Lladranans’ of Power, it was compelling.
Keepers of the Flame Page 24
