“This is my home, more than Merdale ever will be.” She gazed in rapture at the altar.
If she cared so much, why was she letting the tree die? Struggling to understand, he glanced around the sanctuary. “What is your favorite thing here?”
“The statue of Fermena has always had a special place in my heart.” She gestured at the carved relic above the primary altar. “It dates back seven generations. Aerynet itself has been in my family for nine, longer than Trimble has been a proper city.”
“It passes from mother to daughter?”
“With the Novenary’s blessing.” She waved around grandly, but with a rueful chuckle. “Someday my lucky daughter will inherit all this.”
He pushed his lips into a smile, suddenly struggling to breathe. He could imagine, with painful clarity, Em showing the temple to a bright-eyed little girl, and he wanted, more than wanted, burned with yearning to be there, holding her other hand.
You want to mate? Elkart sniffed at Em’s legs. She not in heat.
Quintin flushed at the images his waccat’s comments brought to mind. Making a family doesn’t work the same for humans. While I want more than sex, it is impossible.
He would love her to his dying breath, but even if she loved him back, he could never subject her daughter to the uncertainty of being denied the Novenary’s blessing.
He cleared his throat, banishing all thoughts of her future children. “Do you have many devotees?”
“Only two, Acolyte Lucy and Mystic Patricia.”
He frowned. Wasn’t Patricia ill? No matter how small, a temple needed more than a lone acolyte to tend it properly.
Footsteps pounded on the temple steps, sending vibrations through the wooden floor. A woman clutching a baby burst through the beaded curtain. A pair of children tumbled after her.
“You must help him!” The woman ran to Em and thrust the infant at her. “Please! He’s not breathing.”
The baby exhaled a raspy wheeze followed by a squeaking gasp.
“Come receive the blessings of the Goddess.” Em waved at the altar, before dashing away. “I’ll go get Acolyte Lucy. She can help.”
Frozen under the statue of Fermena, the woman rocked the hapless babe. Her sniffling children cowered against her legs. The babe’s labored breaths mingled with her fervent prayers.
Drawn by the pitiful sound, Quintin stepped closer. “I have a gift for air. Can I try to aid his breathing?”
“Oh, please, can you do something?” She shifted the babe away from her.
His thin wail of protest degenerated into a barking cough.
“Help me hold him.” Quintin cuddled the babe with his left arm while shaking off his sling. Ignoring the pull of his stitches, he rested his right hand on the infant’s back behind his lungs.
The mother stroked her son’s hair, soothing him as his coughs faded into wretched gasps.
Quintin exhaled completely to disperse his air shield. Using his gift, his will infused the ether twisting and swirling around them.
As the child gasped, the air moved toward him.
Quintin moved with it, easing life-giving air past pinched tubes and tightened passages down into the babe’s lungs.
When the boy exhaled, Quintin pushed the foul stale breath away, so his next breath was pure and sweet.
He gasped again, and again Quintin followed, drawing more air deep into his lungs.
In and out. Deep and pure. In and out.
Quintin soon lost himself in the rhythms of the child’s breath.
Chapter 27
Em sent Lucy to the main sanctuary, then hurried to the steamroom. The inner sanctuary focused the gifts of the Goddess and would help strengthen the babe’s weak air. She shed her clothes and scurried into the cramped room. She prayed to all the Goddesses and heated the stones as quickly as she could. She was pouring water over the stones to make steam when Lucy entered the room alone.
Em frowned at her. “Where’s the babe?”
“There’s a bit of trouble bringing him in here.” Lucy held a hand over the brazier to feel the heat. “I can tend this now if you can help the mother.”
Was the mother having trouble getting undressed? Her brow wrinkled in confusion, Em squeezed through the door to the antechamber.
The babe’s family filled the space. The mother stood with her arms around the older children, pulling them tight against her sides, while a man cradled the babe against his chest, their heads tucked together. A waccat squeezed between the man’s knees and the wall.
Em blinked, realizing the man was Quintin, not the child’s father. She inhaled sharply as she noticed something else. Those painful gasps had stopped. Quintin had somehow eased the little boy’s breathing.
“The Hand won’t give him up,” the mother said in a warbling voice. “The holy woman was able to push him here. He doesn’t seem to hear us. I don’t want to yank Joseph out of his arms, especially now he’s breathing so nice.”
“I see,” Em said, though she did not actually understand at all. Quintin must be using his air gift to help the boy breathe. Perhaps the task was so difficult he needed all his attention on it? When similar cases had come to the temple before, Lucy took them to the steamroom only to pray. As far as Em knew she did not directly influence their air.
Ben appeared in the doorway. Beckoning the other children, he held out a pair of macaw feathers.
Em smiled at him and then at the mother. “Ben has a gift for your children and would like to introduce them to his favorite bird. Then maybe they can meet Mystic Patricia while you take the babe into the steamroom.”
As the children disappeared, the mother began to disrobe.
Em touched his shoulder. “Quintin, it’s time to let go now.”
Eyes closed, he did not so much as twitch at the sound of his name.
She bit her lip, hesitant to shake him for fear of jostling the babe.
“Maybe he can carry Joseph into the steamroom as he is,” the mother suggested.
Em bit her lip. “I don’t think this state is good for him. It must be depleting his air, and his water was severely taxed yesterday. Such imbalance isn’t healthy.”
Elkart whined and nudged her hip. She got the distinct impression the waccat was asking for help.
Out of her depth, but determined to try something, she motioned the mother closer. “Come support the babe, in case I startle him.”
The woman stepped over and took hold of her son.
Em took a deep breath and then exhaled fully, scattering her mental protections as she did so. She placed her hand against the side of Quintin’s face, hoping skin to skin contact would be enough to get her thoughts to him. You’ve done well, Quintin. Now let the babe go to his mother.
Em? How did you . . . What is happening?
You helped the babe. He’s breathing well. His mother wants to take him to the steamroom. She stroked a thumb over his cheekbone, her heart aching. Open your eyes now, Quintin. Let the boy breathe on his own.
His lids rose, though it took a moment for his eyes to focus. He lifted his head away from the babe.
Em let her hand fall to her side.
The mother pressed her palms together and bowed deeply. “My sincere thanks to you, most kind and generous Hand.”
Joseph shifted and sighed, no longer struggling for air.
“It is my pleasure to serve,” Quintin said quietly. With gentle care, he handed the babe to his mother.
A hard lump formed in Em’s chest. She could not imagine Lord Evan showing such tenderness to his own child, let alone a stranger’s.
The mother removed her son’s nappy with a practiced motion and carried him into the steamroom.
Once they were alone, Quintin’s heated gaze roved over Em’s body
. A kaleidoscope of images invaded her mind, ending with a vision of her draped on a bed with her hair spread across the pillow. By Fermena’s breath, you are glorious.
Her body warmed with equal parts embarrassment and desire. Regretting the lack of privacy in the temple, she snatched her kaftan off the floor. Now is not the time.
I’m well aware of that. He turned his attention to easing his injured arm back into its sling. The tantalizing images faded as his focus shifted.
No matter how inappropriate the urge, she longed to kiss him. Instead Em yanked on her clothes. “Let’s get you a hookah or a bit of curassow meat to restore your air.”
He rubbed his forehead as he followed her out of the antechamber. Did you send your thoughts to me?
Tried to. I’m glad it worked.
How did you? You don’t have an air gift, do you?
No, but your mind was gone, lost in air. She held aside the curtain to Lucy’s cell. I couldn’t think how else to reach you.
It is passing strange you were able to. He gingerly sat at the low table.
I remembered what you said about only detecting loud and clear thoughts. She rubbed her temples. A headache throbbed behind her eyes.
“We should speak aloud and save our air.”
She laughed. “I don’t have any air. I’m a balanced and ordinary woman.”
“Being balanced doesn’t mean having no air. You have the proper amount, while I have too much.”
“I’ll wager that mother doesn’t think you have too much,” she said, opening an icebox set against the wall.
He grunted. “Put the meat away. I’m not eating your curassow.”
“You are a talented guest who exhausted your air aiding a parishioner. We should be able to help you recover.”
“You should,” he agreed. “I know better.”
Her face burned with shame and the sinking feeling she was doing it all wrong when it came to her temple. Em did not remember her mother struggling so, but perhaps her mother’s ease had been an illusion. She fought the urge to protest and hide Aerynet’s poverty. Pretending was pointless. He knew the truth, and the truth wasn’t pretty.
She closed the icebox. “At least let me warm a hookah for you.”
“Very well. Thank you.” He leaned back against his waccat with a weary sigh. There were purple smudges under his eyes and lines of pain on his face.
Em bit her lip, wishing she could do more for him. She cupped her hands around the base of a hookah and warmed the infused water within.
Beads clattered as Ben entered the room. He pointed at the icebox and tapped his lips with his fingers.
“Are the children hungry?” Em asked.
He nodded and touched his head in his gesture for Mystic Patricia.
“Lucy should be available to cook Patricia a proper meal soon. For now, take some dates and nuts to share with her and the children.”
Silently he filled a bowl. Then he bobbed a bow to both Em and Quintin and disappeared back through the curtain.
Aromatic steam began to waft out of the hookah. Em offered it to Quintin.
He accepted with a tired smile. “Is the mute boy a temple novice?”
“Not yet, though Lucy plans to train him when he’s old enough. He was working on a trading ship and had a horrible accident. Nearly drowned. His shipmates brought him here to have his air restored.” She sat down across from Quintin, filled with mingled frustration and affection as she often found herself when she thought of Ben’s history. “They paid us generously for his care, or so we thought until they never returned.”
“Isn’t an abandoned child the province of Marana? It’s clear Aerynet can’t afford another mouth to feed.”
“Ben does his part to earn his keep. He’s positively gifted with birds.” She fiddled with the hem of her kaftan. “Besides, I shudder to think what would happen to him at Rivara once he came of age.”
Some of the color had returned to Quintin’s cheeks as he blew out a stream of vapor. “Wouldn’t the matrons find a place for him?”
“Maybe. If he’s lucky.” Lucy had been one of the lucky ones, sent to Aerynet as a novice at the first sign of her air gift, though her training with Patricia had been sadly cut short. Lucy’s balanced brother had fared much worse, let loose on the streets to fend for himself. Simon turned to thievery to survive, a risky and lawless life, one he was fortunate to finally escape.
Em would protect Ben from a similar fate if she could. She sighed. “While grounds-keepers and temples alike will pay fresh cacao for the chance to hire gifted temple orphans, I don’t think a mute would be much in demand.”
He gaped at her. “How do you know about this?”
Her forehead crinkled at his reaction. “Any landowner knows a temple raised orphan will show uncommon loyalty if you treat them right. They’re knowledgeable, too, and trained in their gifts as soon as they emerge.”
Quintin’s mouth tightened like he tasted something sour. “Does your father engage in this practice?”
“Occasionally.” She shrugged. “I’ve been blessed a time or two myself to overhear a landowner or patron’s wishes for new talent. Lucy remains friendly with the matron at Rivara and arranges to take in the appropriate novice long enough for us to introduce them to their new employer.”
“You!” He gasped, his face pained. “You sell children, too?”
“Nobody is treating people like chattel to be bartered and sold,” Em snapped. He made it sound so awful. Those youths could do much worse than the steady employment of a position on an estate. She knew what it was like to be deemed adult enough to fend for herself while woefully unprepared for the responsibilities. “The Goddess of Mercy’s duty to unwanted children ends far too soon. We give those youths a chance at a good life where they will be valued and appreciated. If my father’s friends are grateful for our assistance and express their gratitude in beans, well, those donations mean a great deal to Aerynet, too.”
An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Quintin stared at the hookah as if the simple device confounded him.
Had she said too much? He acted like he understood the extent of her financial worries. Maybe he hadn’t realized exactly how bad it was.
He raised his gaze to hers, his dark eyes troubled. “Will you trust me?”
“I do trust you,” she said immediately. It was true, she trusted him more than anyone else in her life. She knotted her fingers together and hid them in her skirts. What would she do when she no longer had an excuse to see him?
He cleared his throat. “Where is all the cacao going? Are you being blackmailed?”
“What? No.” Em twisted her mother’s ring. “All my money goes to Aerynet.”
“Then why is it in such poor shape? Why are you hunting for temple offerings? Why is your tree dying?”
She turned the ring back and forth. “I’m doing all I can,” she whispered, shame and guilt closing her throat. “Saving up enough for an earthworker is impossible.”
“Do you need to petition the Novenary for a larger portion?”
She frowned. “The Novenary doesn’t give me an allowance.”
She had been presented to the Novenary as a child though she had not spoken two words to the formidable woman, nor seen her since. The Novenary had sent a messenger after her mother’s death, confirming Em was a Lady of the Realm, and nothing more.
“I meant, she should be notified if your lands are inadequate.”
“Unfortunately, my temple is too small to have any lands.”
His brow puckered with a puzzled frown. “All temples have lands, Em.”
“My father always says my temple is too small for a parcel.”
“It doesn’t matter what size it is. They all have lands.”
Her
heart stuttered. Could it be true? Surely she would know.
“A little temple like this might be attached to a quarter parcel. Maybe a half, given its age,” Quintin said. “You should have enough for a garden to feed a few acolytes and room for some cacao plants, maybe a beehive. Ordinarily, you’d have to manage it very wisely to pay for new repairs. With your extra income an earthworker should be well within your means.”
She gazed at the wall, almost able to picture it. It sounded as lovely as a dream. “I don’t have anything like that.”
“You must.” He bit his lip. “Perhaps your father managed it for your mother, and kept doing so after she died?”
“He pays me an allowance.” Her skull felt tight, like her head was too small to contain this new information. “I thought it was from the goodness of his heart. Maybe it comes from temple lands.”
Quintin tapped a finger against the base of the water pipe. “I hate to say it, but he might be robbing you. The allowance he gives you can’t be enough for Aerynet, or you wouldn’t have turned to sneak work. And other things.”
A pensive look on his face, he took a long drag from the hookah.
She had to talk to her father. Confront him with this new information. Her stomach churned at the thought, though there was also a lightness in her chest. Maybe she could safely put her sneak work behind her. Maybe she wouldn’t need an unpalatable marriage to save her temple.
For the first time since her mother died, Em felt hope.
Quintin blew a cloud of aromatic steam across the table. “When was the last time?”
Em blinked at the change in subject. “What?”
“How recently have you matched up a talented orphan with a grateful landowner?”
She frowned. “Less than a month ago I found a home for a water gifted girl called Nadine. Why?”
Taxing Courtship (The Hands of Destin Book 1) Page 21
