by Alisha Basso
He could not allow himself to become used to her. To depend on her. To expect anything.
His hand curled around the glass. He downed the rest of the masava in one gulp, closed his eyes and savored the smoky flavor. He needed to concentrate, but his senses kept circling to her. To the angle of her jaw and how she squared her shoulders with determination when faced with difficulty. The way she lost herself around the horse, became one with him, like two fluids combined. The way he wished to be with her but never could.
That was a problem but not the problem.
He extended his awareness, lightly caressing Lauren’s still form burrowed beneath the quilt, through the barn and around the horse, Armody, and Malek, and the Horseguard, making sure they remained alert. Then, into the village surrounding the inn, over the rock encrusted hills to the south, and beyond.
Something was coming. And it was not good.
Chapter 18
A herd of horses surrounded her, just out of reach. They were large, their manes and forelocks long and wavy, their eyes dark, luminous, beseeching. She put her hand out. They stepped back. She tried to get closer, they turned and moved away, then stopped. She hesitated to follow, knowing from experience how this game was played. All horses used the same strategy when they didn’t want to be caught. They would let her get close, but never close enough. Still, she couldn’t keep from pursuing them. They trotted, she ran. They stopped, she closed the distance, breathing hard. If only she had carrots or corn. But she was empty-handed, without even a halter or lead rope should she get next to one.
She stretched forward again and the wisp of a tail slipped between her fingers. Off they went, this time picking up gallop and disappearing into a a cloud of dust. She stumbled to her knees, unequal to the task, unable to stop.
Lauren rolled over, half awake, half still in the dream. The fire had burned down and the dark room had grown stuffy. She rose and fumbled with the front window until she found the catch and it swung out. A gust of fresh air blew her hair back from her face, and she sucked it in, shaking off the last of the dream. Damned horses. Why did they run away?
The twin moons hung high in a clear sky, waning now, now, not quite full. A few stars as well. Oh, sure, it cleared after she was inside.
In the yard below stood a man with his back to her, scanning the area like he was listening keenly, a hunting dog who’d just scented his prey. Straight and still, one hand grasping a staff, the other resting on the stock of his crossbow. Wavy blond hair cascaded past his shoulders, reminding her of the horses in the dream. Snug leather pants, a sleeveless tunic, moonlight bouncing dully off wide metal bands at his wrists.
He turned his head just enough for her to see his right ear and a short, tawny beard. She was sure he could hear her breathing. He continued the circle. She took a quick step back, then dove under the covers, afraid to move, wondering if it would be improper to run to Leinos. She held her breath, listening hard, just like the warrior below. And finally returned to sleep as dawn suffused the room with ivory light.
The horses were coming. She could hear them.
Clack, clack, clack, clack.
Trotting on the pavement, not far from Steven’s barn.
She wasn’t ready. The stalls weren’t clean and no matter how many loads she ran to the manure pile, there was more when she returned. Or the wheelbarrow was empty when she got to the dumping place.
Clack, clack, clack.
Closer now. Usually, she loved the sound, but it was so loud, they were so close, and she was so unprepared. There were too many. Where would she put them?
Now she couldn’t find the pitchfork. Call someone. Get help. The phone in the office had no dial tone. She upended her purse on the desk and her cell landed with a clunk, but it was a complicated piece of equipment she’d never seen. She threw it down in frustration.
They were at the gate.
She ran outside.
And woke swimming in tangled sheets. Someone was coming through the door. She snatched the covers up. Evidently, she’d managed to strip to her skin the night before. It was daytime. How late? Sunshine flooded the room. Sun? Full sun? A gift.
Clack, clack.
That annoying sound was not horses. It drifted through the open window.
She watched a woman around her own age drag a large tub in and position it in front of the fireplace. Another followed with buckets of steaming water. Still another stoked the fire. They left and returned with more hot water and other supplies. Then, a tray of tea. And more hot water.
Lots and lots of hot water she’d said when lecturing about the meaning of comfort. And here it was. Her eyes drifted to the window. She’d opened it and stood there. Naked. Oh, God. And there’d been a man. But he hadn’t seen her, she was sure of that.
Fairly sure.
She wrapped the quilt around herself and tiptoed over. Below, Leinos swung his staff and connected hard with the shoulder of another man. The other hadn’t gotten his own stick up fast enough to block the blow. His hair was slicked back with sweat, he bled from various small cuts, and he grunted with the effort of parrying a thrust to his midsection.
The insistent rapping had been their sticks clacking together. Leinos was shirtless, and her breath caught at seeing his bare torso. She’d sensed his strength beneath the thick clothes they wore, saw it in the way he moved, and felt it when he held her. But none of that compared to seeing the taut muscles of arms, shoulders, and chest bunching and rippling, the focused power. He looked ferocious. Had the other done something wrong?
“My lady?”
Lauren didn’t turn right away. She still didn’t always realize they meant her when they said that. And, she was mesmerized by the scene in the yard. Twenty or so others stood around, watching. To one side, Pheeso and Artepa sat on a bench. Artepa glanced up, saw Lauren, smiled, and winked. Lauren gave a little wave.
With a loud whack, the man’s staff flew through the air and clattered to the ground. Leinos stepped back and gave a curt nod. Another came forward, looking nervous. Leinos plunged in, spinning and whipping the long stick around. The other man’s feet flew out from under him and he landed hard on his back.
“Goodness,” Lauren breathed.
The woman cleared her throat. “Been at it since sunup. We have more bruises than salve today.”
Lauren turned. “The sun’s out,” she said, as if that naturally followed the woman’s comment.
“And too long has it been.” She joined Lauren at the window. “I am Jana, sister to Belenn.”
Jana’s light-brown hair was tied back, but frizzy tendrils curled against her forehead and at the nape of neck. She stood a couple of inches above Lauren’s five-foot-six. Her slight build resembled Belenn’s, but she had more meat on her bones. Lauren wondered if he went without so others in his family could eat.
She returned her attention to the window, wanting, just for a while, to focus only on sunshine and a tub full of hot water.
Just for a while.
“I’m Lauren. It’s good to meet you. Thank you for bringing the bath.”
“Of course, my lady.”
Lauren sighed. “Please call me Lauren.”
“Yes, my—of course.”
With a shake of her head, Lauren changed the subject. “Why are they fighting?”
“No reason. Practice. Because they like it.”
A surprised “ooff” flew up from outside, followed by groaning. “Doesn’t sound like they’re enjoying it.”
“The Supreme Guardian ordered it. And if the Supreme Guardian—”
“—orders something, it is done.”
They shared a smile. “Right you are, my lady…Lauren. Now, speaking of the Supreme Guardian, he was most insistent about your bath here. Will you have a look and see if you need anything?”
Lauren moved toward the items laid out on a table. Hairbrush, comb, toothbrush, soap, oil, thick towels, a jar of cream. She opened it and sniffed. Faintly cucumber.
“T
hat is for your skin after you are done, if you are troubled by dryness.”
Jana walked over and pointed to the slab of soap. “You can wash your hair with that, but you will want to use this after.” She indicated a bottle with a stopper.
“Do you leave it in or wash it out?”
“It is oily. I would wash it out.”
A veritable spa. “Perfect.”
The woman looked satisfied. “And about your tea here,” she said, touching the lid of a blue teapot. “Not many like it. But Supreme Guardian suggests you try it.”
Lauren smiled wryly. “Suggests or orders?”
Jana laughed, a tinkling sound. “He does not order anything of the Horsecaller, that I know.”
“Ah, so everyone has heard, then?”
“That you are the Horsecaller? I think not. Belenn told me but said to keep it quiet for now. Orders of…” she caught herself.
They both laughed and happy tears filled Lauren’s eyes. It was good to laugh.
Jana smoothed her damp curls. “You should get in that bath before it cools. Supreme Guardian wants you to join him in his room to break your fast proper like as soon as you can.”
“But he’s down there beating the crap out of everyone.” Lauren hitched her thumb over her shoulder in the general direction of outside.
“He is about done with them. Belenn says he will be in a right better mind when he has. Oh, I was to keep that quiet as well. You will not—”
“Mum’s the word.”
Jana looked confused, probably not understanding the expression, but she went out without saying more.
And every fiber of Lauren’s body sang hallelujah as she sank into the hot water, soap in hand.
She soaked, scrubbed, rinsed, repeated. The tub had been placed precisely over a drain in the floor, so she yanked the plug, emptied it halfway, filled it again. Her sore back, stiff muscles, tension, and trepidation flowed out along with the dirty water. The edge of the tub held a stand that supported a bucket. Pull a chain and water flowed down. Shower and tub combined. Very ingenious and helpful for getting the soap out of her hair.
The angle of the sun indicated late morning. She should check on her horse, but knew he was in good hands. Though only a young boy, Malek had proved a quick study, and Pindar liked him
Pindar never minded being in a stall or a strange place. They hauled him to show after show, and he always behaved. An exceptionally well-mannered stallion. Although he always knew if a nearby mare was in heat. His nostrils flared, his head went up, occasionally he let out a soft whicker, but unless you knew him, you’d never suspect he wasn’t a gelding.
Yet, she couldn’t ignore the new side of him she’d seen the past few days. The side that stomped flying bird-men to death, calmly communed with the divine one day and thousands of dead horses the next. Was it a new side or simply an aspect unneeded in their world? Or had he decided, as her friend Carol always advised, to take the opportunity to reinvent himself?
Lauren drained the tub, sat on the bed, and combed out her hair. The tea Leinos had sent for her to try was a revelation. Dark and bitter with hints of chicory. Not quite freshly roasted and ground coffee, but close. Without milk or sweetener, it was almost too strong. The more she drank, the more she liked it.
Drinking the brew reminded her of long nights studying for exams. She and Carol had met in college. Not long after graduation, Carol took a job across the country. She’d been a good friend and confidant, but when she returned, just a couple of years later, she was different. Not changed exactly, but…more. As if she’d shed her skin, like a snake, and uncovered a brighter version of herself.
Carol had been encouraging Lauren to do the same ever since. They had remained friends, and Lauren had always harbored the wish to go where no one knew her history, where she could explore aspects of herself that never got a chance when surrounded by routine and habit, family and friends who expected her to always be the same.
Her wish had been granted. She’d traveled through a portal, fought monsters, had a conversation with a goddess, known the feelings of Cirq’s lost horses.
How could she not be transformed? She smoothed the greasy cucumber-scented cream over every inch of parched, new skin. She smelled good. Today held promise.
There were new clothes folded neatly on a side table. Lighter-weight, loose trousers, an oatmeal-colored overshirt similar to the one she’d been wearing, but with a more open weave. What she supposed was an undershirt had laces—whether they went up the back or front, she couldn’t be sure. It would provide support, but if it was made for a woman, she was flat-chested. It didn’t look comfortable. She’d stick to her bra, knowing it wouldn’t last forever, and chose her own shirt and breeches to meet the Horseguard. These had been cleaned for her after she first arrived, but since then, she’d been living in the serviceable garments they provided.
The top she’d been wearing the day she came through the Ravery was new, a rare splurge at the tack shop to celebrate being single again. It was snow white, long-sleeved, with a small horse embroidered on one shoulder and a zipper at the neck which she left open. Made of some high-tech wicking material, it fit snugly, flattered her figure, and gave her a boost of confidence.
The breeches weren’t new, but still held their shape, and their color was cinnamon, which matched the plain brown of the majority of Cirqian clothing she’d seen so far. Like all English riding pants, they weren’t much more than heavy tights, leaving little to the imagination, but making riding so much more comfortable than jeans or anything else.
She wished for her own boots, shiny, black calf-huggers that reached her knees and looked so elegant. The shorter brown ones would have to do. They listed together near the door like drunken sailors but were freshly cleaned and brushed. Someone had been busy overnight.
By the time she ventured out, a hard little nugget of joy had lodged beneath her breastbone. Sense of purpose, happiness, and anticipation had condensed right there. Unfamiliar but welcome.
Jana sat on a stool against the wall. She rose, her eyes widened, then blinked several times as if the sun had suddenly blinded her. But there were no windows in the small hallway. Lauren realized she must have been a fright earlier to elicit such a response.
“You look…”
“Better?”
Jana only nodded. “You are to go right in.”
Lauren stopped and put her hand out. One of the many little ways she’d kept her old life small and safe was by never extending herself to others. She patted Jana’s arm. A small gesture, maybe, but she tried to infuse it with as much warmth and gratitude as possible.
“Thank you again for the bath. It…” She didn’t know the language of big living. “…made all the difference,” she finished lamely, wishing for more.
Jana put her hand on the door latch, keeping her eyes on Lauren. Lauren hesitated. Did she have soap stuck in her hair or what? She ran her fingers through a few strands, and whispered, “Is something wrong? Do I look funny?”
“No, my lady. You are…different from before.”
“Is that good?”
“You startled me.” Jana patted her own hair. “You look…fierce. And, and serene. How I picture The All.” Her eyes darted away. “I should not have said—”
“It’s okay. I’ve met The All. She is fierce and serene…and so much more.”
Lauren pushed the door open, and stopped.
Leinos had his back to the door. His bare back. A scar traced his ribs on the left side, a straight, dark welt. And a red mark, fresh, on the other. Someone had gotten past his reflexes. It would be a nasty bruise in a few hours. He splashed water on his face and shoulders from a basin on the dresser, turned when he heard her sharp intake of breath, and froze, staring.
All Lauren could think was beautiful, he’s so beautiful. She’d spent nearly every moment of the past few days with him, slept next to him every night, yet felt she was seeing him for the first time. By the look on his face, he felt as st
unned as she.
“Is ought amiss, my lady?” Jana murmured from the hallway.
“Yes. No.” She didn’t glance at Jana but whispered, “I think I’m having a hot flash.”
Jana pulled the door softly closed.
Lauren’s hand had gone to her chest. Beneath it, she felt the accelerated beat of her heart, and prickly heat rising to the surface. She couldn’t take her eyes from the man before her.
Strong muscles tapered from neck to shoulder to corded arms and across the flat planes of his chest to a six-pack that would have been the envy of most twenty-year-olds. Not an ounce of give to him. The thick ridges dipped into the low-slung waistband of his leather pants. Her fingers twitched to glide over every bulge and explore every valley. But it was the way he looked at her that made her chest explode like fireworks sending hot sparks of desire arcing along her skin.
His gaze brushed her from head to foot and back and searched her eyes as if for answers to questions he didn’t even know he had. He, too, seemed to see something different, something new. Every part of her came to attention. His eyes darkened.
Before she could regain her senses, she crossed the small space separating them. He could have been a statue. Only his eyes moved, watching. She stood on her toes and kissed him on the mouth.
For a moment, he didn’t react. Then, his hands came up and his fingers curled into her shoulders and moved her away, just enough to study her face again. Too many different emotions flicked across his features for her to know what he felt.
He plowed one hand into her hair, tilted her head back, and kissed her. Hard. His other hand hunted her back until he found the edge of her shirt and slipped beneath to scorch her skin, to pull her tight against him.
He might have dropped a match in a hay loft. She swayed beneath the onslaught, beneath the weight of instant, precipitous want, threw her arms around his neck for support. His heart pounded hers, his shallow, quick breaths matched hers. He moved them against the wall—not rough, not gentle—and dived deeper, tongue exploring the inside of her mouth.
