"So long as I'm not in the way."
"You can stay if you clean up dinner," Talia teased. "We'll cook for you, but you'd better do your share of the work."
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"Anything is better than having to eat my own cooking!" Skiff replied with a hearty sigh. "When I was interning, Dirk absolutely refused to let me cook anything after the first two meals I ruined. I don't blame him. I'm the only person I know that can boil an egg for an hour, and have it turn out half scorched and half raw."
"Then you'll get your demonstration after dinner."
* * *
When they had finished their evening meal, Talia called the chirras up from the lake to the Waystation and gave the demonstration Skif had demanded. As the first notes rose from the packbeasts' long throats, Skif's eyes widened in disbelief. A quick look around, however, soon proved to him that there was no trickery involved. After the first two songs he relaxed and admitted that he found the wierd harmonics quite pleasant, if at first startling. When they tired of singing, they began trading road-tales. Skif had by far the largest stock of funny stories, since his assignment as courier put him in contact with a wide variety of situations (in one case, he'd had to rescue his contactee at the meeting point from an amorous and overly enthusiastic cow). But in the midst of what Skiff had thought was one of his more amusing anecdotes, Talia suddenly excused herself and walked out into the night with some haste.
"Did I say something wrong?" Skif said, bewildered, since she had been giving every evidence of enjoying the story until then. "What's the matter with her?"
"I have no more idea than you—" Kris started to say. Then he thought of something.
"Just wait a moment." He closed his eyes and Mindcalled to Tantris. The answer he got made him half-smile, although he spared a flash of pity for Talia.
"She'll be back in a little while," he told the puzzled Skif. "When she's less— shall we say— uncomfortable."
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Skif was annoyed. "Just what is that supposed to mean?"
"Skif, your Cymry's a mare."
"That was fairly obvious."
"Rolan's a stallion, a stallion that hasn't been near a Companion mare for several months. Talia's Gift, in case you've forgotten, is Empathy; and unlike most of us, she tells me that Rolan is always with her—'in the back of her head,' she calls it."
"What?" Skif was bewildered; then realization dawned. "Oh-ho. I forgot a little experiment we did. You can't shield out your Companion with a bond that tight, can you?"
"That's it— not on that level, you can't. And with her Gift thrown in, it's even more... overpowering. As I recall, you can barely Mindspeak, right?
So you're protected from Cymry's sporting. Needless to say, the same is not true for Talia."
Skif's chuckle was just a touch heartless. "Too bad your Tantris isn't a mare."
"I've had that thought a time or two myself," Kris admitted, joining the chuckle.
Skif sobered abruptly. "Look— Kris, I know it's none of my business, but are you and Talia— you know— ?"
"Damned right it's none of your business," Kris said calmly. He'd been expecting the question, assuming that Skif was only waiting to get him alone. "So why are you asking?"
"Kris, it's part of my job to notice things. And I've noticed that while you aren't cuddled up like courting doves, you're both a lot easier with each other than I've ever seen either of you around anyone else." Skif paused, then remained silent.
"You were obviously planning on saying more; go on."
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"I owe Dirk. I owe him my life; by all rights he should have left us when Cymry and I fell into that ravine while I was interning. He had no way of knowing we were still alive, and the trail was washing out under him with every second he stayed. But he didn't leave; he searched all through that downpour until he found us, and if he hadn't, we wouldn't be here now.
He's been acting damned peculiar whenever anybody mentions Talia. He was starting to act that way when you two left, and it's gotten worse since then. Dear old 'I'm-indifferent-to-women' Dirk came close to tearing my heart out and feeding it to me when I couldn't give him any more information about you two than rumor— and I would bet my hope of the Havens that it wasn't over your welfare. So if you two are more than friends, I want to know. Maybe I can break it to him gently."
"Oh, Gods," Kris said weakly. "Oh Gods. I don't know, Skif— I mean, I know how I feel, which is that I'm quite fond of her, and that's all; but I don't know how she feels. I'm afraid to find out."
"I have the suspicion that there's a lot more going on here than you've told me," Skif replied. "You want to make a full confession?"
"Gods— I'd better go back a few years— look, the reason Dirk pretends to be indifferent to women is because he was so badly hurt by one that he came within a hair of killing himself. It was that bitch, Lady Naril; it was when we were first assigned to Court. She wanted me, I wasn't having any. So she used Dirk to get at me."
"Don't tell me— she played the sweet innocent on him. She tried working that one on me, but I'd had warning."
"I wish Dirk had. By the time I knew what was happening, it was too late.
He was flopping like a stranded fish. She used him to set up a meeting between us; and at that point she handed me an ultimatum; either I became her lap-dog, or she would make Dirk's life hell for him. Unfortunately she hadn't counted on the fact that Dirk was jealous as well as devoted. He'd stayed within earshot, and he heard the whole thing."
"Good Gods!" Skif couldn't manage more than that.
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"Verily." Kris closed his eyes, trying to shut out the memory of how Dirk had looked when he confronted them. It had been ghastly. Even his eyes had been dead. But what had followed had been worse. Kris had made a hasty exit, and when he'd gone, Naril had taken Dirk to pieces. If only he'd known, he'd never have left them alone—
"But—"
"He was shattered; absolutely shattered. I think it was only Ahrodie that kept him from throwing himself in the river that night. Now you tell me he's acting like—"
"Like a man with a lifebond, if you want to know the truth. He's close to being obsessed."
"Talia was showing signs of the same thing, but now— I just don't know, Skif. We— started sleeping together during that blizzard. There were a lot of other complications that I can't go into, and now I don't know how she feels. But I'm mortally afraid she's gotten fixated on me."
And he was Dirk's best friend. Gods, Gods, it was happening all over again—
"Well, what are you going to do about it?" Skif asked.
"I'm going to break it off, that's what, before it gets too serious to be broken off. If it is a lifebond, once the infatuation is nipped in the bud, she'll swing back to Dirk like a compass needle. But for Lord's sake, don't let Dirk know about any of this." Kris rubbed his forehead, feeling almost sick with remorse.
"No fear of that—" Skif broke off what he was saying to nod significantly in the direction of the door behind Kris.
Talia entered and resumed her abandoned seat, looking much cooler and more composed.
"Better?" Kris asked in a sympathetic undertone.
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"Much," she sighed, then faced Skif. "As for you, you troublemaker, I hope you're prepared to cosset a pregnant Companion in another couple of months!"
"Now Talia," he chortled heartlessly, "Cymry's been at her games with every stallion I've rendezvoused with, and nothing like that has happened yet."
"Every other stallion wasn't Rolan," she said with a wry twist to her lips.
"Serves you right, too, for not warning me, you smug sadist. Or don't you remember your history, and the extraordinary fertility of Grove stallions—
particularly the Companion of the Queen's Own?"
"Kernos' Spear! I never on
ce thought of that!"
Both Kris and Talia laughed at the expression on Skif's face.
"I'd be willing to bet a full wineskin that Cymry didn't think of that either,"
Kris added.
"You just won," Skif said, reaching behind him into his pile of belongings, and throwing a leather bottle at the other Herald. "Oh, well— no harm without a trace of good. This will keep me off the road, but it will also keep me from having to do my own cooking. I'd better start thinking of ways to make myself useful around the Court and Collegium. Hope Teren likes being courier— he's the only one free at the moment, now that the new babies are done with Orientation."
He settled into his bedroll with a much bemused expression.
* * *
The next day was involved in memorizing all Skif had to impart to them. When both of them were letter-perfect, in the early afternoon, Skif packed up the few bits he had of his own personal gear and supplies, and headed back the way he'd come.
"How much did you tell him?" Talia asked, watching him depart.
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"Only that we've had some complications I can't go into; I had to tell him, he noticed you weren't looking too well. That's all." He gave her yet another of those odd, sidelong glances.
"Lord— poor Elspeth, facing those damned rumormongers all by herself!
Gods— I need to be there— and I can't be there—"
"That's right. You can't. Going back now won't do you any good, and might do her harm."
"I know, but it doesn't stop me from wanting to—"
"Look at it this way— with all the rumors that are bound to start about me and you, maybe they'll forget about the others."
"Oh, Gods—" she blushed, "— have I no privacy?"
"Not as a Herald, you don't."
They walked back to the Station; Kris was brooding about something, Talia could see it in the closed expression he wore, and sense it in the unhappy unease that lurked below the surface of his thoughts.
It was an unease she shared. She couldn't tell exactly what was bothering him— except that it had to do with her and with Dirk. She wondered if this was a sign that her worst fear was true, that he had become far more involved with her than he'd intended.
She didn't want to hurt his feelings— but damn it all, it wasn't him she wanted! If only he'd talk to her...
* * *
They read their letter-packets in silence; Talia's was mostly brief notes, and not very many of them. But the last letter had Talia very puzzled; it was enormous, from the thickness of the packet, and yet she couldn't recognize the handwriting on the outside. She frowned at it, recalling for a moment the evil days when virulent and anonymous letters were a daily occurrence. Then she steeled herself and broke open the seal, telling herself that there was no reason why she shouldn't pitch it into the fire if it turned out to be of that ilk.
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To her shock and delight, it was from Dirk.
The actual letter was not very long, and the phrasing was stilted and formal, yet just to know that he'd written it gave her a delightfully shivery feeling. The content was simple enough; he hoped that her close association with his partner would lead to a closer friendship among the three of them, since they all shared the common interest of music. It was in light of this common interest that he had (he said) made bold to write her. He had been assigned to the Sector that contained most of the Kingdom's papermills and printing houses and was the headquarters of the Printer's and Engraver's Guild. This meant that music and books that were difficult to obtain elsewhere were relatively common there. He had bought himself a great deal of new music, and had thought that Talia and Kris should have copies also.
It was what he hadn't said that both excited and worried Talia. The letter was so bland that it could have reflected either polite indifference to her, or been an attempt to conceal the same sort of obsession that she was feeling.
Still, it was definitely odd for him to have sent the music manuscripts to Talia instead of to Kris.
Kris coughed uneasily, and she looked up to meet his eyes.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"Dirk's letter," he replied, "I'm usually lucky to get a page, maybe two—but this approaches perilously the size of an epic!"
"That's odd."
"That's an understatement. He rattles on about nothing like a granny-gossip at a Fair, and it's what he doesn't write about that's the most interesting. He dances verbally about doing his very best to avoid the subject of my internee. That's not easy to do in a letter this size! He doesn't mention you until the very end, and then only to say that he's sent you some music that we all might like to try together some time. It's as if he's afraid to write your name for fear he'll give something away."
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Talia swallowed a lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat.
"Here's the music he sent," she replied, handing him the packet.
"Bright Havens, this must have cost him a fortune!" Kris began sorting it into two piles, one for each of them— when something slipped out from amid the music manuscripts.
"Hm? What's this?" He picked it up; it seemed to be a slim book bound in brown leather. He leafed through it.
"This— without any doubt— is intended for you," he said soberly, handing it to her.
It was a book of ballads, among them, the long version of "Sun and Shadow."
"How do you know he didn't buy it for himself?" she asked doubtfully.
"Or you?"
"Because I happen to know he has two copies of that same book, both bound in blue, which happens to be his favorite color. One he keeps at his room, the other travels with him. And he knows I have the book, I'm the one that showed it to him. No, it's no accident that this was among the manuscripts— and it's undoubtedly the reason why he sent them to you instead of me."
"But—"
"Talia, I have to talk to you. Seriously."
Gods— here it came.
"I—" he began, looking almost tortured. "Look, I like you a lot. I think you're one of the sweetest ladies to wear Whites. And I probably should never have let you get involved with me."
"What?" she said, unable for a moment to comprehend what he was trying to say.
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"Dirk is worth twenty of me," he continued doggedly, "and if you stop to think about it, you'll realize I'm right about that. You're seeing more in our relationship than exists— than can exist. I just can't give you anything more than friendship, Talia. And I can't let you ruin your life and Dirk's by letting you go on thinking—"
"Wait just a damned minute here," she interrupted him. "You think that I'm infatuated with you? "
He looked surprised by her reaction. "Of course," he replied— in an insultingly matter-of-fact tone.
All the tension that had been building up inside her came to a head. She'd been putting up with his occasional air of superiority, the slight condescension he used whenever later evidence proved that some decision of his that she'd opposed turned out to be right. And there was an underlying resentment on her part at his unvoiced attitude that getting her Gift under control was now largely a matter of "will" and not the slow rebuilding of something that had been shattered past recognition.
It was that "of course" that had been the spark to set the pyre alight. She turned on him angrily, fists clenching unconsciously. "Of course? Just because every other female falls languishing at your feet? You think I've no mind of my own?"
"Well," he replied, taken aback, and obviously intending to try to say something to placate her.
"You— you—" she was at a total loss for words. All this time, she'd been wasting, worrying about him, about hurting his feelings. And he had been blithely assuming that just because she'd been sleeping with him, she was obviously going to be fixated on him. Even now, he was still bewildered, perfect features blank wit
h perfect astonishment.
She pulled back her right arm, and landed a perfect punch right on the end of that perfect chin.
* * *
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Kris found himself staring up at her from the ground in front of the Station door, with a jaw that felt dislocated.
"You conceited peacock! Humor me, will you? At least—" she snarled "—you can't accuse me of misusing my Gift this time!"
He lifted one hand and felt along his jawline, a little dazed. "No. That was a physical attack, all right..."
But by the time he answered, she had turned on her heel and stalked off toward the tiny lake, into the darkness. By the time he gathered his wits and came after her, there was no sign of her beyond a little pile of clothing next to the blankets they'd spread there earlier in the day.
Now he was beginning to become angry— after all, he hadn't meant to insult her!— and a little worried, as well. He began stripping off his own clothing to go in after her. As he waded in through the shallows, he saw something moving across the lake, coming toward him. Before he had any idea of what she intended, she pulled both his legs out from beneath him and yanked him under the water. Coughing and spluttering, he broke the surface again to see her bobbing just out of reach.
She was laughing at him.
"Bitch!" he yelled, and dove furiously after her. But when he reached the place where she had been, she was gone, and the surface of the pond was undisturbed. He peered around in the dim light, trying to locate her, when hands grasping his ankles gave him just enough warning to hold his breath this time. Once again he was pulled under, and once again she escaped without his laying a finger on her.
This time when he surfaced and gasped for air, he did not immediately set out after her. When he didn't move, she called mockingly, "That's not going to save you, you know," and dove under, vanishing.
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