by Renee Wildes
Trystan eased into her body, letting her set the pace. She rode him slowly, the hot friction an exquisite sensual torture that made them both gasp. Finora lost herself in the gradual buildup, not wanting it to end too quickly. Something told her everything would change between them when they walked out the bedroom door, and she wanted to hold onto this perfect moment forever. She stared into Trystan’s piercing blue eyes, which retained a hint of feral-green even when dark with passion.
But her body was too greedy, and she cursed her very nature even as she quickened her pace, straining with need. He reached between their joined bodies, found the small nub that focused all her need into one dazzling explosion of pleasure. Her nails tightened on his shoulders as she came around him in undulating waves. He silenced her cries with an open-mouthed kiss and stiffened as his body reached its own zenith.
Finora refocused slowly, on Trystan’s flushed too-beloved face. The melting softness that crept into her heart when she looked at him…Why was sex more than just the easing of a craving with him? It felt like an emotional joining, like family, like coming home.
Except his home was hundreds of miles away, in another land. She cursed her fickle heart. She knew what it was like to be trapped in a land and a family not her own. She would never do that to Trystan. Yet, as she found herself yearning to hold onto him for just one moment more, for the first time she felt an inkling of what it must have been like for Bran. Was that what it had been like, the desire to hold onto something precious forever, that had made him do what he had done? Not out of cruelty, but out of desperation to never lose what he had never had?
For years she’d thought of Bran with naught but contempt and an anger that bordered on rage. He’d stolen her soul. She was trapped, wounded and bleeding, forever—unless the Fates turned benevolent. Griogair had told her not to give up hope. But hope was crueler than concession. Yet now, for the first time, Finora felt…pity…for Bran.
How very odd.
***
Trystan watched the play of emotions cross her face. The teasing quip that popped into his mind died a silent death at her troubled look of…enlightenment. She was the most haunted, complex woman he had ever met. ’Twould take a lifetime to learn her moods.
He stopped himself right there. When had a night’s warmth and pleasure turned into a yearning for hearth and home? He’d told her true. He was a guardian, sworn to the duty of placing the needs of his people as a whole over his own. He was to bring dragons back to the mountains—or a tale of why he’d failed. He couldn’t stay here, and Finora could never leave. ’Twas impossible.
He’d promised no broken hearts when he left. He refused to lay his at her feet. She had enough to deal with.
A door opened and closed. A light knock sounded on Finora’s door. “Mama?” Braeca called. “Ioain’s had a bad dream. Can you come?”
Finora leapt off Trystan’s lap so fast she staggered, as if he’d been a fire and she’d been singed. “Coming, poppet.” Her gaze scanned the room, and she snatched a nightdress off the corner chair and threw it on—backward. She was out the door afore he could tell her. Trystan wrapped his plaid about his hips and followed.
Finora sat in the rocking chair, comforting a sobbing Ioain. “Ssh, little one,” she soothed. “It’s all right. ’Twas just a dream. We all have nightmares sometimes.”
Ioain shook his head. Terror poured off him in waves.
Niadh shot Trystan a look. “’Twas a sight-vision.”
Trystan knelt aside the chair, reached out to stroke the little boy’s rumpled curls. “Ioain, we’re here. Hold on to yer mama, now. Take a deep breath.”
Ioain made a shuddering attempt at obeying that gentle command. He turned to peek at Trystan with one eye. Finora glared at Trystan with a “What do you think you’re doing?” look.
Trystan forced himself to ignore her for now. Ioain needed to know he was safe, but Niadh’s tone suggested they might want to hear about what it was the little boy had seen. “Ioain, sometimes our dreams try to tell us something—like when your mama and Braeca dream storms, and then they can warn people there’s one coming. To keep people safe. Sometimes talking about it makes it less scary.”
Ioain looked dubious at that. But Braeca nodded. “It’s better to not keep secrets. It’s scarier when it’s only in you.”
Trystan lit every candle he could find. “There. It’s not dark anymore. Can you tell us what you saw?”
Niadh laid his head in Ioain’s lap, and the boy reached out with one chubby wee hand to rub the black Were’s velvet wolf ears. The tears sliding down from glittering brown eyes broke Trystan’s heart. He simply waited, letting Finora and Niadh work their magic. Eventually, Ioain took a deep shuddering breath and nodded.
“Fire,” he stated. “Flames ev’wywhere. Gold eyes staring at me. An’ a mean man laughing at…at someone scweaming.” He stared at Trystan, and burst into fresh tears. “It…it was you! You were scweaming.”
Chapter Seven
Poor lad. ’Twould be enough to make a man grown lose sleep, let alone a wee one. Trystan caught Finora’s gaze over the top of Ioain’s head. A muscle ticked in her jaw. Any tighter, her teeth might crack. “What d’ye ken?” he asked Niadh.
“I ken there’s an unhappy dragon in yer future.” Niadh’s voice was grim. “Take it as a warnin’ t’ watch yer back.”
A rogue guardian? Trystan’s hackles rose at the very thought as he stirred the sleepy fire in the hearth back to life. “Always.”
“Well, I say some nice hot cider and something to eat as the sun comes up will make everything brighter,” Finora stated with forced cheer. “Got those cranberry scones to finish off, remember? Thought we’d go down to The Mermaid tonight for Bowen’s chowder.”
Ioain sniffled, but looked up with a hopeful expression. “Weally?”
Finora nodded. “Best in town.” She rose and poured a jug of cider into a pot to set over the rekindled fire. They ate, watching the sky lighten from grey to pink-and-gold to a clear brilliant blue.
Trystan stepped outside with Niadh whilst Finora helped Braeca prepare for school. “We should go down t’ The Mermaid an’ begin talkin’ t’ people. Find out more o’ this so-called wizard an’ his daughter.”
“Cap’n Reed dinna seem t’ place much into it. He might be a good one t’ ask for fact, no’ rumor,” Niadh agreed.
Finora led the children out, Storm in her wake. “There’s a library off the main room in the meeting house. I’d start there.”
Trystan shook his head. “I’ll begin in The Mermaid. Talkin’ t’ folk.”
Ealga dropped onto his shoulder. They strode down to the village. Trystan noticed the boats out in the harbor. “Fishing?”
Finora shielded her eyes against the sun’s glare on the water. “Lobster, mostly. Fishing vessels go beyond the breakwater.”
Mari monitored her customary stand. “They’re going to see what can be salvaged from the Sunrisen.”
“Mari, can you meet me in the library after classes?” Finora asked. “I need your help with some historical records.”
“Sure. Looking for anything specific?”
“I’m tryin’ t’ track down an ancestor o’ mine,” Trystan lied. “I can read th’ ones in common, but Finora thought ye might be able t’ pull old Rhattany records.”
“And Theressan,” Finora added.
“How far back?”
Finora looked to Trystan. “Last century?”
He nodded. “For starters. Any mention o’ any comin’ from the mountains north o’ Arcadia, south o’ Shamar. Coulda be called the Breakback, or Dragon’s Back, Mountains.”
“Sure,” Mari stated. “I can for certain read the Rhattany ones. Might consider consulting one of the Theressan rowers, though. My Theressan’s pretty basic.”
“Let’s see what the Rhattan ones turn up first,” Trystan decided.
Mari nodded. “All right.”
Finora left Braeca at the school, then turned to Tr
ystan. “I’ve got a passel of washing to do. We’ll catch up to you at the Mermaid for supper.”
“See ye then.” He watched her walk back toward the Light, admiring the way her skirts swayed in the sun, then continued on to the Mermaid. He reached for the door, and froze as a twinge of wrongness, of secret, zapped his fingers. An odd jangle against his nerves.
Niadh nudged Trystan’s hand with his cold nose. “Feel that?”
Trystan closed his eyes and his ears and reached out to sense what Niadh had caught. “What’s that all about? Where’s it coming from?” Unlike his mentor, he couldn’t yet pinpoint the source of a warning.
“Scan as ye go in,” Niadh instructed. “See if ye can tell me.”
They found Captain Reed with Doc, Mick, Giles and Jan, poring over charts held down by tankards of ale.
“’Tis a risk,” Mick was saying. “A whole fleet of merchant ships?”
“Corsairs’ll never attack a fleet,” Doc said. “Safety in numbers.”
“Hard t’ keep a fleet together, ’specially in bad weather,” Jan commented. “If we get separated, we’ll need t’ know where t’ meet up. Ye’ll need cap’ns ye can trust.”
The shadow blanketed that table. But from which mon? Why couldna he tell? Trystan wanted to growl in frustration. Of what use was a warning if he couldna isolate it? He couldna watch all of them.
“Reed. Where once he was so open, now he’s closed.” Niadh voiced caution betwixt the lines.
Reed? To outward appearances, Reed seemed the same big bluff seaman planning the next voyage—a profitable one, to hear tell. But when Trystan sent out a guardian’s spirit-touch, he saw the shadow within Reed. His soul was no longer his own. What had happened? And when?
“Someone else leads this discussion,” Niadh commented. “Pay attention.”
Something about that shadow tugged at the edges of Trystan’s mind. It had an almost familiar feel to it. A lure. A craving. Pure sex. Where had he felt that touch afore?
“Ships an’ crew are on their way. We just have to wait for them to get into port,” Reed stated.
Where he led, the crew would follow. But whom, or what, did Reed follow? Trystan strode up to the table with Niadh in his wake, keeping his senses open. He’d never traveled so far from home, so why he’d feel a familiar enemy here nagged at him. A blonde serving wench came to ask if he needed anything, and over Giles’ snicker he ordered an ale. He shook his head at his friend.
“Mick, you’re ready for your own command,” Reed stated. “I’ll put you and Jan on one of the other ships. Giles, you’re now my first.”
Mick straightened. Jan and Giles cheered. Doc just beamed and nodded his head.
“One o’ the Theressans mentioned Cap’n Kale’s Divinia be one o’ the ships coming t’ pick them up,” Mick commented. “He’d be a good one t’ have in the fleet. He’s got three ships aside that one, all sound an’ seaworthy, an’ his own doc asides.”
Reed looked thoughtful. He glanced up and caught Trystan’s eye. “We’ve got Rhattans an’ Theressans aplenty, but none from Arcadia save ye. I know ye’re no sailor, lad, but what can ye tell us o’ trade with yer folk?”
Something within urged caution. Westmarche and Riverhead still recovered from Jalad, and the rievers were a constant nuisance as well. Shamar was the great unknown, its borders long closed. “Land’s End is a decent port,” he began. “Trade with Arcadia should be encouraged. We’ve got metalworkers, raw wool an’ hides, good woolen cloth, drenieval whiskey, dyes an’ a lot o’ medicinal plants grown nowhere else.”
“Metalwork?” Reed’s eyes narrowed. “As in weapons?”
“Careful,” Niadh cautioned.
“Kings Sezeny an’ Hengist have standing armies,” Trystan replied. “Let them mull on that for a bit.” Hopefully news of the Jalad-Hengist conflict had not yet reached these shores. “Acourse there’d be weaponsmiths, as weel as farriers, decorative metalwork an’ jewelry. We have wood an’ leather aplenty, so saddlemakers and harnessmakers, also soap an’ candlemaking. Dried meats.”
“Good timber, too,” Jan added.
“We could use a guide.” Reed watched Trystan with more than his own eyes. “Someone familiar with the area, who could introduce us t’ the right contacts.”
“Oh, sure, because I love pukin’ me guts out for days on end,” Trystan retorted. “I think I’ll pass on the chance t’ sail about.”
Giles grinned. “There is that one small fact, Cap’n.”
The serving wench brought Trystan his ale with an interested smile. He took the cup but shook his head. She shrugged and wandered off to the next table.
Jan noticed the byplay. “Not on the market anymore?”
“There’s public knowledge, an’ then there’s private,” Trystan replied. “Best t’ keep the two separate.”
***
Finora hummed as she scrubbed one of Ioain’s shirts in the tub with lye soap and a stiff brush. ’Twas warm enough to do the washing outside. Two of Braeca’s skirts already hung on the line. Storm kept an eye on the boy as he found twigs “fo’ the fire”. Ealga soared overhead. Warm sun, slight breeze, buds making a serious attempt at becoming leaves.
Earth and sky.
Cilaniestra felt distant indeed on days such as this.
Finora wrung out the shirt, dunked it in the rinsing water, wrung it out again, and hung it on the line. What a great nuisance clothing was—collecting dirt and odors, always having to be washed. She watched Ioain gathering grass stains and dirt along with the wood, studied her reddening hands and sighed. There were advantages to going without. Well, she amended, not on really cold days, but otherwise…
“Mama?” Ioain came over to her as she started on a pair of his breeches.
“Hmm?”
“Bwaeca says you haf bad dweams, too.”
She looked up. “I do. Everyone does.”
He shook his head. “Huh-uh. Not wike ours. She says we’re special.”
Finora sighed, and dropped the breeches to haul him close, wet hands and all. “We are,” she admitted. “Some special people have dreams that mean things to others. They’re like messages that come to us in our sleep.”
“Why?”
“Why when we sleep?” she tried.
He nodded.
“Because we’re so busy when we’re awake we don’t pay attention,” she said.
“Why us?” Ioain bit his lip.
I wish I knew. “Because we’re good messengers.”
His eyes shimmered. “But why are they so scawy?”
Finora’s heart ached. He never should have to bear such a burden. The gods should have waited, but Braeca had the same trouble. “Whenever you have a bad dream, come and tell me, all right?”
He nodded again. “I wike Twystan. Can he stay wif us?”
Finora remembered Niadh and Trystan comforting Ioain. “He’s a nice visitor, isn’t he? But he’s just visiting, and soon he’ll have to go home. His family misses him.”
“But I don’t want him to weave!” Ioain cried. “I wanna keep him fowever.”
Now why did that sound familiar? Finora sighed, crushing the echo in her own heart. Never ever ever would she do as Bran had. “You’ll meet a lot of interesting people in your life,” she told him. “Some stay and some go, but you’ll always remember them.”
“I don’t ’member Da.”
She wished she could say the same. “He died afore you were born.”
“Can’t we get ’nother one?”
Oh, stars, where had that thought had its birth? “You don’t just pick up a da in the market,” Finora told him.
“Bwaeca said Mawissa lost her da, an’ her ma got ’em ’nother one,” Ioain insisted. “Twystan’d make a good da.”
Aye, he would. “Trystan’s a soldier who has to take care of his people,” she told him. “Maybe someday he will have a family.”
“But I want us to be his famiwy!”
“Oh, Ioain,” she sighed. So much fo
r no broken hearts when Trystan left. “He lives far away, and we live here. Let’s just have fun whilst he’s here and remember him when he goes.” She stood. “Come help me get the sheets off the beds.”
Ioain’s tears dried under the effort of tugging sheets off the mattresses.
“What a good helper you are.” Finora hung the quilts out to air whilst she went back to scrubbing clothes and sheets. Soon enough she was done, the line full of wet clean clothes drying in the sun and breeze. She dragged the tub to the edge of the cliff.
A sudden sense of eyes on her, a feeling of being watched, made her freeze. Trying not to draw Ioain’s attention, she straightened and turned in a slow circle. She didn’t see anything, but the sense of being watched made her skin crawl. Eyes. Eyes in the deep. She looked out over the water, at the boats in the harbor, at the men on the breakwater. Deeper. Not on the water. In it.
“Bree, this isn’t very funny,” she sent.
A moment of silence greeted that. “What are you talking about?” Bree’s familiar, whimsical “voice” replied.
Finora’s skin prickled. What was going on? “Where are you?”
“Playing tag with the girls. Why?”
Bree’s call was distant. She played far offshore. Whoever watched her was much closer. Within the breakwater. “No reason,” Finora replied. She dumped the water over the side of the cliff and lugged the tub back into the cottage. Best to keep the children away from the shore line today.
Soon enough it was time to head down to the village to retrieve Braeca from school. She clasped Ioain’s hand as she led him down the path. She still felt that malevolent watching like a cold wind blowing on the back of her neck from within the breakwater. Goosebumps rose on her skin.
Ioain shivered and moved closer.
“Can you feel that?” she asked him, surprised.
