“I’ve been told that the…Song…and your Tower Community chose me in some way. That I heard the Summoning and answered it because I fit your requirements.”
“Also correct,” he said.
At that point, the teapot sailed between them. It went first to Jaquar. He held out his mug and the teapot tipped, pouring a golden-brown stream of liquid into his cup, stopping when it was about a quarter-inch from the top. Then the pot slowly turned, and, as if it were a heat-seeking missile, aimed for the cup Marian held.
Though her hand wanted to tremble, she forced it still while the tea decanted into her mug. “Wonderful.” She couldn’t help a sigh of pleasure.
Jaquar smiled. “I keep black tea for Alyeka. She has a weakness for it, and apparently it is not as easily available here in Lladrana as it is in your own land.”
“That’s kind of you.”
“Not really. I like her, and she is an excellent Marshall, which means that she can provide us with very interesting items such as dreeth acid sacs.”
Marian willed herself not to pale. She nodded.
“And it riles Bastien when a man pays attention to Alyeka. Before she tamed him, Bastien had a habit of irritating people. I am no exception.”
Marian wouldn’t have called either Alexa or Bastien tame. The teapot finished turning another circuit and settled itself on a small, solid wooden table in front of them. Since the top was heavily scarred as if the table had been used for many purposes, Marian didn’t move to protect the surface. Jaquar didn’t even seem to notice that the pot might have left another unsightly mark. Sorcerer or not, he was a real guy.
She had let new magic distract her long enough—as it had far too often lately—so she returned to her priority. “Do you know much about diseases or healing? I can tell you my brother’s symptoms.”
But he was shaking his head. “I am sorry. I have no skill in that area. I cannot help you.”
Marian nodded and sipped her tea. Disappointed again.
Jaquar finished his drink, picked up the teapot and crossed the room. She could hear him, but didn’t take her eyes off the view from the windows. Green land, a winding stream, the ocean beyond. A lovely view. And nothing like the Flatirons of Boulder or the mountains of Denver. Home.
An odd clatter caught her attention, and she turned her head to see Jaquar pushing a cart containing the spheres. “Why don’t they float like the teapot?” she asked.
“Because the teapot is imbued with generations of household magic and is used often. I fashioned these planet spheres a while back in my first year as a Circlet when I wanted to experiment with weather in a controlled environment. When I was done, I removed the energy from them to use elsewhere.” He wedged the cart into the space between her feet and the table, then waved a hand. It lowered to angle over her chair like an adjustable desk.
Marian chuckled. No, Lladrana wasn’t home, but it continued to be endlessly fascinating. She could make a home here—even raise a Tower—if she didn’t need to return to Andrew.
“Revive the spheres,” Jaquar said.
Though his tones were low and spoken like a request, Marian didn’t delude herself. The downtime they’d spent together was finished and he now watched her with the keen gaze of a judging prof.
It was easier than she had anticipated, and obviously far less difficult for her than Jaquar had expected. But the glass and the models—the land and cities and dried plant life—all resonated of Jaquar, and Marian found the patterns simple to work with, as if the man had familiar thought processes. In a few moments, all three terrariums were vivid with “life”—and weather. The smallest jar showed a pretty ocean lapping at newly plumped trees, opening and stretching under bright sunlight and a sky with a few clouds…that spelled Marian in English. It was a signature that she just couldn’t resist. The middle terrarium was dark with rain and storm. The largest planet sphere had new continents, oceans and trade winds.
Jaquar studied her work from under lowered brows. He lifted his head, shaking it. “Unbelievable.”
Marian smiled sweetly.
“We will definitely begin your practicum outside, tomorrow morning.”
Tuck waddled up, squeaking something that Marian couldn’t understand because his mouth was full and both of his cheek pouches were distended. He looked nearly two-thirds bigger than usual.
“By the Song!” Jaquar said. He squatted. “May I pick you up, Tuck?”
There was mumbled hamster agreement.
Once again Jaquar scrutinized the hamster nose-to-tail, paying particular attention to his cheeks. “What a remarkable animal.”
Tuck smirked.
Jaquar looked to Marian, and for the first time she thought she saw him without any mask. His eyes held a dark shadow, his faint smile had no practiced charm, his whole body exuded interest and attraction.
“A remarkable companion to a remarkable woman.”
Warmth bloomed in Marian, both simple and complex. She felt pleasure at the sincere compliment, and a low ache at the magnetism humming between them, all too tempting to act upon.
Tuck wriggled in Jaquar’s grasp. “Bed!”
It was too close to Marian’s drifting thoughts. She straightened. “Yes, what of the sleeping arrangements? I had my own apartment in Bossgond’s Tower.”
“My Tower is just as well equipped as Bossgond’s,” he said. He gestured upward. “As you know, my ritual room is the top of the Tower, as is customary. This room is my study.” He waved a hand. “It has many windows and great light. I prefer dimness in my personal rooms, so the lower three levels have only a few square windows.” He hesitated. “I was quite young when I raised my Tower and gave little thought to having an Apprentice. I have never taken one. But there’s a suite of rooms—half the bottom floor—that should serve.”
He held Tuck up to gaze into the hamster’s eyes. “Do you want to stay with Marian, me, or have a little house here, Tuck?”
“A house!” Tuck squeaked.
Jaquar strode over to a shelf that held an elaborate model about four feet square. The top was a church and attached buildings that looked like a monastery or nunnery. But it was what was below the building that fascinated—a series of tunnels and “underground” chambers. Some were stone vaults and paved, others rough caverns. Marian glanced down to the brass plate at the bottom of the model. It read “Portions of the Singer’s Abbey.”
“Portions?” she asked.
He grimaced. “The Friends of the Singers are the most secretive people in Lladrana. Much to the Tower Community’s dismay, we don’t have accurate maps or models of the Singer’s Abbey. This construct is the best we have.”
His gaze met hers and they shook their heads in unison. No knowledge should be hidden. It wasn’t right. She smiled, then his lips curved, too.
Tuck squeaked and wiggled. “My house!”
“I think he likes it,” Jaquar said. “One moment, Tuck, and I’ll take it off the shelf. The model has its own stand that rises from the floor.” Jaquar handed Tuck to Marian. The hamster quivered with excitement. Jaquar ran his hand down the carved front support of the bookcase, found a sculpted cloud and turned it. There was a soft whirr and a pedestal rose from the floor and sat in one of the octagonal corners of the room.
“That location matches the geographical placement of the Singer’s Abbey in relation to the sun,” Jaquar said.
Tuck clapped his paws in delight, causing notes like glass windchimes to tremble through the room.
Marian chuckled and walked over to the heavily carved stand that consisted of a bottom, four pillared legs and an open top with inset grooves for the model.
Jaquar overtook them and carefully placed the dollhouse on the stand, then stooped, reached up and hooked his fingers into the bottom of the construct. With a pull, a small ramp descended to the floor. He grunted, then looked askance at Tuck.
“When old Sorceress Entanra gave this to me, neither of us knew why she’d included the staircase.” He st
ood and dusted his hands off. “There are several Lladranan noble families that have a touch of foresight, and she came from one of them.”
“Put me down, down, down!” Tuck demanded. He obviously yearned to try the staircase made just for him. Marian set him on the floor. He ran to the little wooden ramp and climbed it until he disappeared into the model.
“Entanra was of the Chiladees—Bastien’s mother’s family,” Jaquar said.
Marian shot him a startled glance. “Bastien has the gift of foresight?”
Jaquar grunted as he tested the fit of the model in the stand. It was solid. “No, but his brother Luthan Vauxveau does. You might remember that if you happen to meet him.” Jaquar tapped a finger on the chapel. “He’s a noble Chevalier with land and volarans of his own, but he’s also the representative of the Singer to the Marshalls’ Council. The Marshalls usually lead Lladrana—they are the ones who like to do that sort of thing.”
“Ah.”
“Chevaliers of the Field are our main fighting force—knights who ride horses or fly volarans.”
At that point, Tuck popped out of one of the holes in the cavern bottom and wound his way up to a large chamber, sniffing madly all the way and making his usual comments to himself. “This is dusty, no good. Smells like incense here, not nice for food. Where to store the food?” He stopped and turned to them, clasping his paws.
“Thank you, Jaquar. Thank you, Marian. This is a wonderful house!” Then he hopped into a tunnel that vanished into the depths of the model.
Marian frowned. “Is there somewhere we could see the whole thing if we wanted?” A twinge of abandonment rushed through her.
Jaquar shrugged. “Each side provides a different angle, of course, and if absolutely necessary, the model is constructed in different, interlocking-spell layers and could be disassembled, but I would prefer not to do that. Does having Tuck up here in my study instead of your rooms bother you?”
Marian shifted. “A little.” Jaquar’s eyes had deepened into sapphire. “I lost him during the Summoning. He was trapped in his ball—his vehicle—and the wind took him away.” She choked. “I thought he was dead.”
“How did you find him?”
“The feycoocu told me where to look. He was on Bossgond’s island.”
Eyes widening, Jaquar said, “How did he get there?”
“I don’t know.” She shivered. “I don’t know,” she repeated in a whisper. She glanced at the new hamster house. “I asked Tuck, but he only vaguely recalls when he was just an animal.”
“Hmm,” Jaquar said. “He should be safe enough in the model, and in this Tower. Outdoors is another matter.”
Marian fisted her hands. “I don’t know if I could lose him now. He’s a real companion.” She couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to leave him here on Amee when she went back. More and more she feared that Tuck wouldn’t want to return to Earth.
“Sleep!” came Tuck’s high voice, and as Marian turned to look at the model of Singer’s Abbey, the light in it dimmed. That gave her a jolt, too. Hamsters were nocturnal, but since he’d awakened after feasting on the atomball, Tuck had become more diurnal. And he had enough Power to dim the light in his own house.
“You worry too much,” Jaquar said. He reached out and took her closed fingers in his large, elegantly long-fingered hands, lifting one of her hands, then another to his lips.
With the brush of his mouth on her fingers, an intricate Song bloomed between them, full-bodied, with a long melodic line.
Marian shivered. Her hands opened and her fingers twined with his. As they joined palm to palm, a current of music twisted between them.
The intensity of feeling, and the orchestral music, built until her every nerve ending shivered.
“Dance with me,” he said, voice low.
That was the last thing she’d expected.
Slowly, slowly, he raised her left hand to the top of his shoulder. His smile was edged with challenge and irony—and she sensed he dared both himself and her.
Jaquar’s smile looked more ironic than amused. Then he stared down at her. “You’re surprised. Odd.”
“I’m not used to…to melodies between people.”
“But your people cherish music. I know this is so, because I know Alyeka.”
“Our…Power…doesn’t manifest itself in music.” It was all Marian could say. She didn’t really know how strong or how pervasive true magic was on Earth. Surely it was secret knowledge, practiced by only a very few.
“Do you dance?” he asked.
With the words came a rush of kindness, interest, attraction from him. She grew light-headed.
“Yes,” she said.
He set his left hand on her waist, in waltz formation. Did they waltz here? Did Lladranans bring the waltz to Earth or vice versa? Or did an Exotique learn it and take it home during a Snap?
The music between them surged, developed undertones, harmonies. Jaquar swept her into a waltz, and the only music they heard was that which they made between themselves.
He was graceful, supple, his steps wooing. More than the turns made her dizzy. She’d never felt so womanly, so pretty. Nothing in his gaze, his touch, his aura made her feel too tall, or too plump.
Along with that came another realization—no one on Lladrana had looked at her with critical eyes. Bossgond had studied her work and snorted at her early efforts, but he’d never examined her person with a judgmental gaze.
No one seemed to think she was overweight and out of shape. Her body didn’t seem to matter.
She felt beautiful.
And the man dancing with her was achingly alluring.
Her focus changed from herself to them, as a unit. The dance.
Their steps matched. His body angled toward her, tempting, his eyelids were heavy over gleaming eyes, his mouth relaxed to show the natural softness of his lips…
With another turn, the scent of him, something male that spoke of storms and windswept cliffs, flowed through her senses. The Song between them mesmerized, was a primal mystery meant to be explored.
Without thought, her body became supple, pressed against his. Her blood heated until she felt flushed, ready, open.
The Song could go on forever and she’d enjoy every moment.
Rhythm and tempo changed, the music became slower, languorous. He led and she followed, her senses filled with the pulse of desire between them, soft air caressing her, embracing her as she danced with him.
Daylight faded from the windows, let in whispering dark, and still they danced, caught in the moment, never tiring, building a strong connection between them.
It seemed like a dream.
Dream.
The word dropped coldly into her consciousness, opened her memory. She’d had many lately. Dreams of the Songs and Summoning, of Power, of doom and death. She stiffened, and with her thoughts, the music spiked harshly.
The expectation in his eyes changed from misty to wary. He slowed, brought them to a stop after a quick whirl, then bowed before her, keeping his gaze on her face. “A lovely dance indeed.”
Though his voice was still quiet, Marian could almost hear his defensive shields snapping up.
They stepped apart.
Marian cleared her throat. “It’s a very strong Song between us. Stronger than the one I have with Bossgond, even, and we’re blood-bonded. No doubt because you’re my teacher and I’ve advanced to Scholar?”
He smiled, and it was empty. “No doubt.”
Irritation washed through Marian. He was keeping things from her. She wondered if the same thing had happened to Alexa, and would have bet her doctorate that it had. She’d have liked to ask Alexa, though. Marian had discovered her telepathy didn’t reach the Castle from the islands. Where was a good telecommunications system when you wanted it?
But Jaquar had masked his expression and moved to the doorway to the circular stairs. “I think we should survey the small suite at the bottom of the Tower. I haven’t been there recently an
d don’t know how comfortable the rooms are.”
“Of course.” Marian smiled politely. She wanted to talk to Alexa. Yearned for a telephone, or the crystal ball they used here. Marian wondered who was the Circlet specializing in communications and what they’d charge for making a link with Alexa.
She was walking briskly when she saw something on the floor near the shelf where the model of the Singer’s Abbey had been. She didn’t know why it snagged her attention, or how she saw it so well, except that it, too, had a Song, and the minute she focused on it, the dark tune came clearly in her mind. As she grew closer she saw an intricately knotted length of six-stranded embroidery floss in ox-blood red. She certainly would have missed noticing it except for the low and slow drumbeats emanating from it.
As she picked it up, her fingers closed convulsively over the floss and drumming poured through her, drowning all her other senses.
Danger!
15
Only the thread in her hand had substance, and the drumming of it eradicated all sight, sound, and even the pressure of the air on her body, the floor under her feet. She hoped she was standing.
She wanted to scream but didn’t even know if her mouth opened. A symphony of drums would drown her out.
Don’t panic. Panic could only make her situation worse.
Focus!
Feel!
And she did. She felt the tide of her own body moving in counterpoint to the drums.
More!
She felt her Power. Pulling it, gathering the magic, started a warmth in her feet that rose through her, accumulating speed and heat. Her skin felt hot, tight, flushed with the magic she contained. It spread up her neck, finally reached her face and head.
Her ears popped and for a moment she was dizzy enough to think the top of her skull was exploding with heat and light. The drums subsided into a thrumming whisper just above the threshold of her hearing.
Then she heard Jaquar’s voice.
“What do you have there?” he asked sharply.
Light painted the insides of her eyelids red and she realized she’d closed her eyes. She opened them and shook her head.
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