by Jean Johnson
* * *
Ten
Something woke her. It wasn't the cool air chilling her backside, nor the soft drone of not-quite snores from the man she had snuggled up against for warmth. Despite the deep darkness surrounding her, Solyn knew she was still in the greenvein cave with Kenyen; she could smell him, male and compelling, along with faint hints of the things they had done to drop them into such sated slumber. As she stared, propped up on one elbow, she realized he must have swapped bodies at some point, for he wore Traver's broader shoulders, rounder face, and wavy hair.
I... can see him? Blinking, she realized in the next moment the light was not only growing stronger, it was bobbing and swaying, brought in the form of a lantern. My ring must have moved! Whapping Kenyen, she hissed at him. "Wake up! Someone's coming!"
Disoriented from the sudden jolt back to awareness, Kenyen took a moment to realize where he was, what he had been doing here, and why he was in a shifted body. He had barely enough time to do a mental pat down, making sure his body was in the proper Corredai shape before the source of the light came into view.
It was an oil lamp, crafted in the same glass-chimneyed style as all the others, and it was being carried through the subtle curves of the shelf-lined tunnel by none other than Ysander Mil Ben, the local blacksmith. Solyn's father.
Solyn squeaked, also recognizing the bearer of the lamp. Mortified, she buried herself against Kenyen's side and tried to twitch a fold of the blanket over her exposed rump. Her father raised his arm at the noise, then widened his eyes in shock, recognizing them as well. Or rather, the condition they were in. "Solyn! Traver!"
There wasn't time or cloth to spare to cover his own pelvic exposure, and he didn't dare shift fur. Clearing his throat, Kenyen lifted a hand slightly in acknowledgment and tried his best to be polite, despite the circumstances. "Milord Ysander."
He received a paternal glare for his efforts. "So your little brother Tellik was right about this. You've been... been... waxing the cheese, my best hammers! If that's what you've been calling it, you'd better find another euphemism—and with my little girl!"
"Father!" It wasn't easy for her to snap the admonishment when she was doing her physical best to hide in the crack between the floor and Kenyen's side, but Solyn tried. "I'm a fully grown woman of twenty and two years. I can wax the cheese with whomever I like—and we haven't been, except for today. Tonight. Whenever it is."
"It's late evening, and your mother—and his kin—were worried when you didn't come back after the storm eased," Ysander growled. "I offered to come all the way down here, only to find you... naked!"
"Well, if you'll turn around, we'll get dressed," Solyn snapped back defensively, upset by the intrusion. "Our clothing was soaked by the storm just before we got here."
"Oh, I'm sure it was, and you just had to keep warm by huddling together while it dried," he muttered sarcastically. "I'm not stupid. I know what the two of you have been doing to keep warm."
Solyn blushed with mortification at the accusation, but before she could argue the point further, her father did turn his back on them, giving them a few moments of privacy. Scrambling to her feet, she snatched Traver's clothes off the shelves, tossing them at her shapeshifted lover, then grabbed her own. He struggled into the loose trousers favored by Corredai men, not bothering to don the undershorts first in his haste to get dressed. She did the same with her skirt.
The blacksmith, restless and impatient, glanced over at the low table containing the remnants of their meal. At some point in their twinings, the pair had eaten most of the pasties, all of the cheese, and shared water from the remaining, rinsed-out tea bowl, but it wasn't the relatively clean cup that Ysander focused on. It was the slightly larger bowl, with its wooden whisk and the half-empty vial of maschen powder, that caught his eye. Blatantly caught it, for he crossed to the table in two strides, snatched up the vial for a squint at the contents in the light of his lamp, and whirled to face the shapechanged young man.
"You—!" Ysander spluttered, face purpling. He thumped the lantern onto the table and snatched at Kenyen's ear, pinching it hard. "Taking tea with my daughter, without a priest present!"
"What?" Solyn, shrugging into her chamsa top, hastily pulled it over her breasts and whirled to face her father. "Father, no! It wasn't like that!"
"Wasn't like that?" he demanded, shaking the ear, and thus the head, caught in his callused grip. "One whisking bowl, one drinking bowl?"
Kenyen bit back a yelp at the painful tugging. He'd been in too many battles not to realize this was Solyn's fight to win. He did fumble the ties of his pants together. He could toughen the cartilage of his ear and shift away some of the nerve endings, but he couldn't do anything to escape the enraged blacksmith's grip. Not without harming, startling, or making the older man suspicious about his true identity. In fact, the only thing that has gone right in this mess was my paranoid fear that someone from Family Mongrel might stumble across us. At least Ysander didn't catch his daughter sleeping in what would seem to be the arms of a complete stranger.
"There were two bowls, but I broke one!" Fumbling one of the buttons through its hole, she hurried over to the table, skirting past Kenyen. Once on the other side of the low furnishing, she stooped and twitched back the fold of linen, revealing the mound of broken shards. "See? After that happened, we only drank water, Father. Now, let go of him!"
Ysander shook him by the ear again, evoking a muffled grunt. "Oh, no. No, I'm not letting him—or you—go that easily! This farce has gone on long enough. The two of you have known each other for years. You've finally settled down and agreed to wed... and now you think you can twine without the sacrament of marriage? No one gets more than the smallest sampling of tea for free in my family. You, young man, are going to buy the whole bush!"
He pushed the younger man away with that statement, thankfully releasing rather than ripping off the flesh caught in his grip. Kenyen recovered his footing, resisting the urge to rub at his smarting ear. Everything was going wrong—everything had gone wrong, from the moment he had stumbled across the real Traver Ys Ten. Somewhere up in the Heavens, Father Sky and Mother Earth were surely sharing both tea and laughter with Cora of the Mountains over this very moment. Possibly with the distant Threefold God of Fate for company.
It did not, however, change the fact that he, Kenyen Sin Siin, was not the man Solyn's father assumed him to be. "I will not have her forced into marrying me. It is her decision as to when and where we shall wed, not yours!"
"Oh, you will w—"
"—Father, enough!" Solyn snapped, cutting him off. Her sharp, mature tone was one she had never used on him before, and her father blinked from it. "He's right," she stated bluntly. "I am the only one who can make that choice. Not you."
"I will not have you disgrace our holding by dishonoring the sanctity of marriage!" her father shot back. "Either the two of you wed now—tomorrow," he corrected himself impatiently, "—or the two of you part ways and never twine again!"
For a moment, they were at an impasse. Solyn knew well that part of Kenyen's reluctance stemmed only partly from his cultural background. That it was not only about how the maiden was the one who was supposed to hold out her hand to the male in such matters, but that the situation they were embroiled in—with Traver's life and identity at stake—would complicate things beyond measure if the two of them did go through with this. Nor could she discuss the matter in advance, not with her father being as stubborn and unbudging as one of his own anvils.
It was his insistence that she be the one to choose that made up her mind. Meeting Kenyen's shapeshifted gaze, she held out her hand to him. Over the lamp her father had dropped on the table.
Kenyen frowned slightly at her, not quite grasping her silent invitation. Only when she glanced down, giving the oil lamp and its burning flame a pointed look, did his eyes widen in comprehension. She was offering her hand to him in the Shifterai fashion, over a burning flame. Deliberately inviting him to marry h
er as himself, under the customs of his own people, not just as the face-shifted Traver her father assumed him to be.
She wanted him in her life, despite the tangles of their present straits. And he... he wanted her in his life. As she was here in the valley, as she could be in some mage school, and as he hoped she would someday be, as the hearth keeper of his home and his life. As his wife in truth, however difficult it would be to get from here to there.
He couldn't leap over the table and its lamp. Not without inviting far too much confusion and curiosity in the blacksmith. But he did stretch his arm over the column of heat rising from the glass chimney and took her offered hand. "Then we will be wed."
"We will be," Solyn agreed, smiling at him. "By my choice."
"Good," her father grunted. "Now, finish getting dressed and gather up your things. You'll have no more chance to twine until you're both properly wed."
"Could we at least have a few moments alone, first?" Solyn asked tartly. When her father opened his mouth to argue, she glared and pointed up the tunnel.
Giving them both a narrow-eyed look, part suspicion, part warning, he grunted, "Fine. A few moments. Don't waste them on twining."
Grabbing one of the lanterns from its spike in the wall, he moved to light it, only to discover the oil well was empty. While the two young lovers hurried to finish dressing, he impatiently refilled it from a small flask he dug from the pouch slung on his belt, then took the refreshed, relit lamp up the corridor. Solyn quickly crossed to Kenyen's side, touching his wrist.
"I really am doing this of my own free will," she whispered, choosing her words carefully in case her father was straining to listen. "Besides, this way we'll have reason to be alone together, even after it stops raining. No one is going to expect a newlywed couple to have their minds solely on the upcoming grain harvest."
The Gods take away with one hand, and give with the other, Kenyen thought, still feeling as if the deities of both their kingdoms were having a good laugh at their expense. He nodded. "That's a reasonable expectation—you do realize we only have three choices of residence?"
"Three?" she asked, confused.
He gave her a lopsided smile. "Three. In your parents' home, under the same roof as your understandably upset father. In my home, in the attic I share with my little brother," he added, knowing she knew he meant Traver's little brother. Then looked at the tunnel surrounding them. "Or down here, among the cheeses."
The absurdity of the suggestion made her snicker. "We are not moving down here, K... Traver—and to be honest, I'm getting tired of this cave. Don't worry; it'll be fine. Father will calm down once we are properly wed. Besides, you're supposed to move in with me, remember?"
The reminder of their situation didn't have to be any more pointed than that. Nodding, Kenyen crouched to start packing up the shards of pottery and crumbs from their earlier meal. She crouched as well, to pack up the two remaining tea bowls. The teapot would stay here where it belonged, along with the blanket in case they or someone else needed it again.
The feel of the bowls, the meaning in them, made her look up at him. Barely breathing, she asked, "Do you know if T... if you had a tea bowl picked out for the wedding ceremony?"
He blinked for a moment, thrown by the question. The subject had never come up. Shaking his head, he said out loud, "You go on ahead with your father. Go back home. I'll clean up down here, then make my way back up the hill. I will see you tomorrow... at, what, noon?"
"Noon," she agreed aloud.
Under his breath, he added, "In case I didn't have a decent bowl picked out, where would I find one?"
"Uhh... down-valley, go left—sorry, right at the fork in the river, and take the left branch of the road which goes up over the hill," she told him equally quietly. "It leads straight to the town of Kallak, which has a good deposit of fine clay and a small holding of artisan potters. If you rode, or even just walked, you could get there in a few hours at most, and be back by noon. But as for the money to buy a tea bowl..."
"I have some coins on me, don't worry," Kenyen reassured her. He still had his money pouch, hidden carefully in the eaves of Traver's family home, though his favorite riding horse was long gone, stolen by the Mongrels whose face-shifting tricks had entangled him in this mess.
"Your few moments are almost up!" Ysander called out in stern warning.
Solyn rolled her eyes at that. Leaning over the lamp still between them, Kenyen kissed her, making her blush. Lifting his chin, he ordered her silently to move along. She paused long enough for a quick return kiss, then tucked the tea bowls into her satchel, slipped into her sandals, and hurried to catch up with her father.
"I'm coming, hold your hammers! Traver will tidy up and blow out the lamps behind us, so you can just..." she added, her voice fading as she headed for the exit.
Left alone in the tunnel, Kenyen stayed on his knees and rubbed at his face. Yes, the Gods are laughing at us. I'm quite sure of it.
It didn't take long to tidy the messes they had made, mostly because they had tidied up as they had gone along. Nor did it take long to strip back off the clothes he had donned and tuck them into the depths of the cave. The pottery shards, he took outside and buried in the wet soil off to one side. Once that was taken care of and his fingers were rinsed clean, he launched into the air in owl form, eyes wide with the right kind of vision to fly through the night.
Flying through the steady rain that pattered down from overhead wasn't his idea of fun, but at least that rain was no longer pounding down with lightning and ice pellets for accompaniment. As it was, he kept having to land every so often to shed the rain and reshape his feathers as dry as he could manage.
With every wing flap, Kenyen practiced in his mind what he would do, what he would say. It helped to clear his mind and steady his nerves. By the time he landed on the trampled dirt and grass in front of the cottage, he was almost ready. All he required was a shapeshift and a quick mental reassurance. I can do this. I can do this. I am Catson, mean son of a cur, Banished from the Plains for the dual sins of attacking women and eating people... and enjoying it. Ugh. No—I am a mean cur. I can do this...
Lifting his fist to the panel, he pounded on it, loud and forceful. There was no need to fear anyone else overhearing. He knew Cullerog had no nearby neighbors to be awoken by the noisy banging, and thumped hard again. Before he could hit the wood a third time, the panel swung open. A faint glimmer from the dying fire on the hearth barely lit the interior, but neither man needed it. Whether Cullerog used the eyes of a cat or the eyes of an owl to see his visitor, it didn't matter. He scowled in instant recognition.
"You're risking my wrath with this visit, boy! What do you want?"
"Why, to interrogate the prisoner, of course." Pushing past the older man, Kenyen headed for the sheepskin laid over the trapdoor. "And I'll risk anything I want. I'm here on your business, after all."
"Just because you're working for us—"
"—Two words, old man," Kenyen countered brashly, swaggering a little bit as he reached the sheepskin. Kicking it aside, he swung to face the shepherd and grinned. "I'm in."
"You're what?" Cullerog grunted, frowning in confusion.
Stooping, he grabbed the ring and hauled up on the trapdoor. "I'm in. As in, I'm in the family. Or I will be as of midday tomorrow, when I will be officially wed to the lovely Solyn Ys Rei, daughter of the Healer and her blacksmith mate."
"That was fast," Cullerog observed.
"Knowing the blacksmith's protective reputation, I arranged to have him catch the two of us twining," Kenyen half-lied. "The girl is enthusiastic for me, so obviously I'm doing something right. Now that I am 'in'... I'll need to know what to look for. However, I still have to navigate the marriage ceremony, and I have no Gods-be-damned clue what the blacksmith meant by a suitable tea bowl. Thus, I am here to interrogate my alternate face. I'm sure you won't object to that, will you?"
Not waiting for an answer, he jumped into the hole, landing with a
thud that caused the real Traver to jerk, rattling his chains. Whether or not the Corredai male had been awakened by his pounding and his prattle didn't matter. Kenyen wasn't here to reassure the other young man; he was here to play out the role of a face-stealing, information-needing cur. So, though it was too dark to see much of Traver, he started by crouching and shaking the younger man's calf.
"Tell me about this tea bowl thing!" he snapped, making Traver jump. "What does a bowl of tea have to do with your Corredai marriage ceremonies, and what sort of bowl are you supposed to bring?" Hating himself, hating their situation, Kenyen listened as the sleepy-sounding Traver stammered out a reply.
Surreptitiously, under the cover of the deep darkness of the root cellar, he sketched the Aian words for She is safe, Escape soon, Magic, and Fly on Traver's leg. He didn't know if it worked, if Traver got the message—it wasn't as if Traver could do or say anything to acknowledge it—but the Corredai man did twitch his legs a few times under his touch. If the weather really was going to clear up soon, the Mongrels might hold another one of their bonfire meetings, and at that meeting, Kenyen knew he had better be prepared to "help" them find the greensteel they sought. That meant he had to be prepared to rescue Traver, and that meant preparing the youth.
I will get you free, he swore silently, though out loud, he berated the captive Traver for the stammering slowness of his answers. I will get you free and take down our mutual enemies. And... apologize for stealing away part of your life... though I'm reluctant to give up Solyn.
He didn't dwell too long or too hard on why he didn't want to give her up. His feelings could wait for a later examination. Faking this ugly compliance with Mongrel interests had to take precedence for now.
