Fractures (Facets of Reality Book 2)

by Jeremy Bullard

  Sal does, Patrys sent defiantly.

  "The silk-hilted diamond mage with one gemstone eye? Just one more rule that he's an exception to."

  * * *

  Sal watched Retzu take off after Patrys. He didn't know how he felt about that.

  He trusted his sen'sia with his life, but he wasn't sure he could trust him with hers. Of course, that wasn't to say that he trusted Patrys with Retzu's life either. When she talked about her Absorbing du'Cyphem, it sounded an awful lot like she had become du'Cyphem. It was all that he could do not to freak out the way Retzu had, to say nothing of protecting her while he was freaking out. Even after everybody had calmed down and settled into defensive planning mode, Sal held onto Amethyst, with a spell ready to be cast on whoever needed it.

  He watched the two of them disappear into the night, the sapphire fleeing and the assassin in pursuit. No telling what Retzu had in mind and how Patrys would respond to it. Sal just shook his head and sighed.

  "They'll be fine," Marissa said, coming up behind him, speaking to his unspoken thoughts. She wrapped her arms around his neck and looked on over his shoulder.

  "How can you be sure?"

  "I can't, but there's nothing we can do about it. He's a grieving gold-hilted shol'tuk, and she's a sixteen year old girl with eighty years of bad guy in her head. If they decide to go at it, do you really want to be caught in the crossfire?"

  Sal looked sideways at her, and not just because she was standing at his back. "You're starting to sound way too much like me. I'm not sure I approve."

  The redhead laughed a silvery peal in response, and took him by the arm. "Come into town with me. There are some artisans I need to see. They have shops and inventories that could be useful when the Earthen Rank arrive."

  It was well into First Watch, approaching Second, but Sal didn't think that he'd be able to sleep anytime soon, so he allowed Marissa to lead him through the streets of Bastion.

  Most of the gem shops were closed when they arrived, and the proprietors in various stages of settling in for the night, but a gentle rap of Marissa's knuckles was all it took to see the doors opened and the couple welcomed in with open arms.

  Marissa approached each artisan differently, appealing to their individual talents and specialties. Some she spoke to about enchanting weapons and armor. With others, she discussed melee jewelry. With a select few, she relayed her findings on Amethyst -- specifically, Sal's unique twist on the null field and the possible applications. But to all of them, she revealed the relationships of the varied runesets, and appealed to them for any granite runes that she might not know about.

  As the night went on, Sal started to see Marissa in a completely different light. He'd always known her to be brilliant and compassionate, but for the first time, he saw the spark of leadership in her as one by one she rallied her peers into a research team, dedicated to unlocking and building a granite runeset -- not just for Sal's benefit, but for that of her guild. Far from the secretive, segregated way that other guilds and orders conducted themselves, these artisans all seemed eager to share what knowledge they had, in the hopes that they would all be the better for it. But as he listened, he realized it had very little to do with the Artisan's Guild as a whole -- it was all Marissa. It was nothing short of inspiring for him.

  The constabulary had just sounded Third Watch when Sal and Marissa left the last shop, the owner bidding the couple a good night as eagerly as she'd welcomed them in. As they entered the torch-lit street, they took each other's hand as if by habit, and Marissa turned to look at Sal. She smiled, first quizzically and then self-consciously. "What?"

  "You," Sal said. "You're amazing!"

  "I know that," she said with effected smugness.

  "No, I mean it. You have this way that..." He rowed helplessly with his free hand as he searched for the right words.

  How could he describe it to her? Heck, how could he explain it to himself? What was going on here?

  His first impulse was to tell her that he loved her, but the words seemed so... inadequate. Besides, "I love you" was nothing that he hadn't already told her, or she him. Whatever he was trying to say, he'd never struggled to express his feelings for her like he was struggling now.

  He looked away, as if his words were somehow hidden in the torch-lit street, waiting to be found. A chill wind blew through the sleeping city blocks, carrying with it the scent of late blooming flowers, not unlike the flowers he smelled the first time he'd laid eyes on her.

  What a vision she was then -- enticing curves filling a vibrant green dress, afternoon sun setting her red hair ablaze, outshined only by the brilliance of her smile. It could bring light to the darkest corners of his heart. Even more so, when coupled with that smokey look her eyes took on when they were both thinking the same improper things. He'd only known her for a few months, with a huge break right in the middle, so all together they'd been "declared" for about two or three weeks total. Two weeks of dating -- without any real "dates" to speak of -- but that hardly seemed to matter.

  He was still struggling with his words when two young lovers burst into the street, kissing each other desperately, and so wrapped up in each others arms that they almost bumped into Sal and Marissa on their way to whatever rendezvous they had planned.

  "Excuse m---" Sal started, but his tongue tripped up when the "young" couple parted to reveal Eshira on one side of that kiss... and Menkal on the other!

  "Sal!" the elderly-seeming sapphire gasped, eyes wide and boyishly self-conscious. Sal had seen that look once before, back when Coach Grayson caught their star quarterback in the locker room with the captain of the cheerleading squad. "It's not what it looks like, my boy---"

  "It's exactly what it looks like," Eshira countered, her draconian eyes almost feral as she pushed Menkal away from their obviously unwelcome company. "And they're going to see a lot more of it if you don't start moving."

  Sal and Marissa exchanged stunned looks as the lovers resumed their rabid attentions, retreating to the shadows with all haste.

  "What was that?" Marissa breathed.

  "House of the Way," Sal said dumbly, indicating the building the pair just stumbled out of. "Low Deacon Silif's parish. He's supposed to be hosting a Shepherd Vericot this week. Did they...?"

  "Just get married? I think so," she finished for him, chuckling.

  Sal turned to look at her. There was something about her laugh. It sounded almost... envious? Even now, she looked down the street that Eshira and Menkal had disappeared into, and there was a certain longing evident on her face.

  That's when it occurred to him what he'd been struggling with.

  "So," he started off casually. "Your world and my world being different, and our customs being different and all... 'declaring one's intentions'... that's declaring intentions to be married, right?"

  Marissa shot him a sharp look and let go of his hand. She crossed her arms before her and schooled her face, effecting a look of indifference that was anything but. "Not funny, James Salvatori."

  Uh oh.

  He swallowed hard. He'd been aiming for playful, and he overshot it entirely.

  Declaring intentions was this world's version of being engaged. It made sense, given this world's sense of propriety regarding even what he'd consider old fashioned courtship. Declaring intentions was not something you did lightly, and certainly not until you were ready for more than a kiss and a snuggle.

  Of course, Sal didn't realize all this until a few weeks ago, well after he had declared his intentions to Marissa, and they had been separated by the Earthen Rank. One of Sal's Unmarked had declared his intentions to a fisherman's daughter from Vulture Point, a girl he had grown up with. A few days later, they were married. Sal had known guys in the Navy that had whirlwind relationships -- meet a girl in a bar in Vegas or Reno or wherever and get married the next day -- but this seemed different. Nobody in Sal's squadron acted as if this were unusual. They barely acknowledged the mage's marriage beyond a congratulatory ta
nkard.

  Sal thought about this a lot in the days leading up to Harvest, and found himself still looking forward to seeing Marissa again. When the battle on the plains was over, and he was reunited with her, he realized just how right his declaration had been.

  Hey, he was Navy. He could do whirlwind.

  But for all that he was comfortable with the idea of marrying Marissa, he had no clue how to actually come out and ask her, so he went for playful. She should've expected that! She knew him, and hey, he knew her too. That was their default setting. But at the moment, she was anything but playful. Her face was a stew of emotions -- confusion, anger, hurt -- and he had not a clue why.

  "You see the world differently, Sal," Marissa said, looking at her feet as she kicked a cobble. She was silent for a long time. When she looked up, her features were filled with pain, held tightly to keep it from getting away from her. And she was losing. "In many ways, you're naive, and really that's part of your charm. So I naturally assumed that you didn't know what it meant to declare intentions. But the childish part of me didn't care. I loved you, and I wanted to live the fantasy that you represented. I hoped that one day, you'd realize... but you knew. You've known all along what declaring your intentions means in this world, so you've known what it means to me... and you still let me wait for you, like a fool."

  Sal pulled up short. "Made you wait? What are you talking about? It's only been a couple weeks!"

  "I know!" she shouted, her eyes blazing in accusation.

  Suddenly, it clicked. He knew why she was upset. Or he thought he knew. He didn't want to assume anything at this point. "How long does it usually take to go from declaration to marriage?" he asked carefully.

  "Three days," she spat. "A week for a political marriage."

  "Three days? And that's normal?"

  She nodded curtly. "You don't declare your intentions for someone -- or accept those intentions -- until you've already settled your feelings and made your decision. The three days gives you time to talk yourself out of it."

  Sal went numb. Talk about whirlwind! He thought that he was rushing into things with Marissa, when it turned out that he was overdue! His tongue went sticky as the moisture left his mouth and ran to his eyes. "I didn't know. I mean, not about the three days. This whole time... you thought I was toying with you?" he asked softly.

  Marissa's fierce expression broke, the fire in her eyes quenching. "The thought had crossed my mind," she admitted sullenly.

  Sal took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She took her hands -- cold, clammy, perfect -- in his, and looked over his shoulder at the House of the Way. "Care to see if the Low Deacon is still taking visitors?"

  Chapter 22

  Marissa murmured low against Sal's chest. He couldn't quite make out what she said -- something like "tomatoes and puppies", but he couldn't be sure. He just chuckled and stroked her shoulder a few times. She stirred slightly, then fell back silent.

  She did it all night long, this talking in her sleep. He hadn't noticed it before, sleeping on the far side of the tent like he had on those occasions when he'd stayed the night. Strange, too, considering how light a sleeper as he was. But now, with her so close... It didn't take long before they'd developed a pattern. He'd drift off, lose a few minutes here and there, she'd start talking, and BAM! There he was, wide awake again.

  And it was eerily regular, too. He bet he could've set his watch by it. If this world had watches, that is. He'd just passed forty eight hours without any decent rest, and he was working on seventy two. He was thoroughly exhausted.

  But he wouldn't have changed a thing.

  That first morning, Marissa set the pace for how things would go. Sal rolled out of bed at Watchbreak, just before sun up -- no big deal, since neither of them had slept yet. He figured that the quicker he started his day, the quicker he'd be done and back in Marissa's arms. Her first official act as wife of the Prism? Rolling out of bed in front of him, squaring her shoulders back, looking Sal in the eye and telling him that under no circumstances was he to leave their tent that day. For anything. Period.

  She was very convincing.

  He eagerly dove back into bed, but before rejoining him, Marissa crossed over to her footlocker. She rummaged around for a moment, glancing over her shoulder occasionally to see if Sal was still admiring what he saw. He was. She took her time about it, much to Sal's appreciation.

  "Ahh," she said finally, drawing out a smallish wicker wreath. She crossed to the tent flaps and pulled them close, covering herself with them as she reached out into the morning, hanging the wreath on a hook sewn onto the tent wall.

  It piqued Sal's curiosity. Was it kinda like hanging a sock on the door? This world's version of a Do Not Disturb sign? Marissa didn't give him long to consider the possibilities, though. As she crossed back toward the bed -- oh so slowly -- and slipped under the covers next to him, it occurred to him that he couldn't care less what the wreath meant, as long as nobody bothered them.

  Yeah. Sure. Like that was gonna happen. What? With Sal's friends? Not a snowball's chance.

  Nobody ever came directly into Marissa's tent, but they didn't have to. Every so often throughout the day, some new distraction would intrude upon their marital bliss. The tent flap would rustle, and a tray of food would be pushed through. Or a bottle of wine. Or some other gift or service. He could easily have written it off as this world's equivalent of a wedding reception, if not for the indelicate cat calls and incessant cheering.

  Incessant. That means all day long. Without ceasing. It was all the happy couple could do to stop laughing long enough to... share their joy in other ways. As day gave way to evening, the intrusive well-wishers grew fewer and their visits further between until, once more, it was just Marissa and Sal.

  Not that Marissa had any intention of letting Sal enjoy that peace. Not hardly. There were other things to enjoy, Sal thought with a smile, cradling the sleeping Marissa and remembering the hours leading to that moment. Tired as he was, Sal had been only too happy to oblige. He'd sleep when he was dead.

  Marissa whistled softly as she breathed out, and Sal felt more than heard her snoring resume. If he planned to make a break for it, it'd have to be now.

  He stretched -- gently, of course, barely more than a few inches in any direction -- and slipped out of bed. The candle by their bed had long since gone out, but he could still make out his clothes, laid haphazardly on the ground, bespeaking the haphazard way he'd shed them two days ago.

  He was halfway through pulling up his breeches when the guard called Watchbreak. Son of a---

  "James Edward Salvatori..."

  Sal winced. Uh oh.

  "Where do you think you're going?"

  "I gotta get back to work," he said with a shrug, exaggerated for her benefit. She didn't see as well in the dark as he did. He just chalked it up to one of her many lovable quirks. "I do have a rebellion to help run, ya know."

  "I know. But..." She eased back her covers, revealing bare curves that even the twilit tent couldn't hide. "Wouldn't you rather sleep in? Just one more day?"

  Sal felt his lips spreading into a dopey grin -- his new default setting around her -- but he squashed the impulse viciously. "You know I would," he affirmed, looking away. "But the Earthen Rank are coming, and they don't give a rip that I'm a newlywed."

  Marissa threw herself back onto their pallet in an exaggerated huff. "Fine," she sighed. "I suppose I can share you with the rest of the world. Temporarily."

  "Temporarily," Sal agreed, doing his best to offer her a smile that was a little less dopey.

  A nearly impossible task, that.

  * * *

  Menkal stretched, and his old bones creaked and popped as they settled into place.

  "Singing me a song, are ya?" Eshira rumbled, her eyes still closed against the dawning day.

  "You're the one that wanted to marry an old man," he reminded her. He stretched again, splaying his legs across the only grassy spot on the summit of Mount Ysr
e, and snuggled back into the soft, warm scales of her underbelly.

  "As long as you give me an egg before you die, it'll be worth it."

  Menkal snickered at the reminder of his own demise, coming so much sooner than that of his wife. It had taken a while for him to get used to Eshira's coarse and sometimes dark sense of humor, but once he had, he gained a true appreciation for how playful the serpentess was.

  The plain of Ysre rolled out before him to the west, its vastness appearing small from so high up. Bastion still slept in darkness, though Endwatch had likely come and gone. The mountain cast a massive shadow across its island, and the city was buried deep in the heart of it.

  Menkal followed the road north from the city walls with his eyes, eventually coming to a rough square of broken and crumbling rock -- the fortress that Keth had built. It lay directly down the mountainside from Menkal, new spires slowly rising from the rubble of the old as the dragonriders of the Cause and their mounts worked to establish their outpost. Far to the west and circling north, just below the horizon, lay the sea shore, deep blue with the occasional twinkle of gold as the waves caught an errant beam of sunlight. The plains north of the fortress were empty, save for the fishing villages that dotted the shoreline.

  On the northern slopes of the mountain, just over Eshira's snout, Menkal spied the dragon aerie, newly built and still rising. The eastern face of the tower stood in stark contrast to the rest, brilliant and white in the first hints of dawn breaking over the horizon, at odds with the shadow blanketing the granite blocks behind it -- a bluish shadow, though, not black, as the sunlight hitting the eastern face bounced onto the ground, which in turn reflected onto the back side of the tower. It was an effect that Menkal found most intriguing. The sun had a way of painting the most uncommon portraits.

  As he marveled, a random glint of gold caught his eye, in the skies just north of the aerie. He scanned for a moment, hoping to catch it again...