Jaquar stood a pace in front of her. “Can I see what you have?”
Marian blinked up at him. Tension was back in his superb frame, lining his face. “I—” It came out as a squeak lower than Tuck’s at his quietest. She tried harder. “I think this fell to the floor when you took the model off the shelf.” Relaxing every muscle of her hand, her fingers curled open to show the thread.
Jaquar’s mouth tightened. “The weapon-knot.”
“Weapon?” Marian asked faintly.
He nodded. “Interesting that you can handle it. I never could.”
“What kind of weapon?”
“I don’t know. We, the Circlets of the Tower, don’t know.”
“Please explain,” Marian asked.
Shrugging, Jaquar said, “As usual, after a successful Tower raising, I had an open house.” He grinned. “You get gifts. Entanra brought the model of the Singer’s Abbey, and I put it on the shelf. When I started cataloguing my gifts the next day, the knot was here. I didn’t know what it was, but I could feel the energy. My parents had spent the night, and Mother realized it was a weapon, but not what sort or how to use it. We sensed its danger. None of us touched it. I never did. Now, there it is, in your hand.” He nodded to the thread.
Marian opened her hand flat. She seemed to have mastered the latent energy of the thread. The drums were muffled. The dark-red strands of the floss gleamed wetly, like living arteries. If they’d pulsed, Marian would have dropped them and run screaming from the room. She tried for a casual tone.
“I suppose you untie the knots to loose the weapon.”
“Probably, but do you want to try it?”
“No!”
He laughed shortly. “Neither do I.”
“Should I put it back?”
Jaquar turned and strode back to the door. He opened it and started down the steps, his voice echoing hollowly back to her. “Do what you please. As I said, I never could handle it. Consider it yours.”
Her fingers closed back over the floss. Carefully, she returned it to the shelf.
Jaquar stood at the night-black windows of his Ritual room, the northeastern windows facing the Dark’s nest. Marian and the mousekin had retired and now was time for thought—which should have been full of regret, but wasn’t.
He’d done it. Despite his original plans, despite all that was wise, despite the vengeance that still raged inside him, he’d made a Song with the new Exotique.
In the weeks since he’d found the nest, with around-the-clock Scholars and Circlets watching it from other planes, they’d only discovered that the place wasn’t true north, but northeast. During that time, the Exotique had gone from Apprentice to Scholar with lightning speed. Then, just a few moments ago, she’d strolled to the weapon-knot and picked it up, as easily as if she plucked lint from her gown.
Obviously she was the one to send into the nest, to learn of the monsters and the master and the Dark. To harm it, perhaps destroy it.
A hive of activity seethed around the maw of the nest, as if it would disgorge new sangviles soon. Sangviles that had hideously destroyed his parents, killed exponentially, and threatened the Tower Community.
Yet he had formed a bond with her. Vengeance warred with desire. Not the desire of baseless lust, but of affection mixed with caring.
He’d liked holding her.
He couldn’t send her. Not without great preparation, spells of protection, knowledge. Jaquar knew her now—Marian. Not the Exotique, the tool for revenge, but Marian, the eager Scholar with shadows in her eyes from pain for her brother. The woman who had a ridiculous but powerful mousie as a companion.
He’d liked having her hands on him even more than he’d enjoyed holding her. The dance had been wonderful. Inside the moment, his despair had dropped from him until there was only the woman and the emotions she made him feel.
The emotions, the Song that had resonated between them. Affection, desire, even delight in the discovery of one who shared talents and thought processes.
He could not send her to her destruction.
His hands fisted and a great pressure built inside his chest—grief needing to break free. But he didn’t know how to release it. It filled him until he could hear it pounding in his ears, stinging his eyes, drying his throat.
Beating at the shields of his emotions.
Fumbling, he opened the latch of one of the floor-length windows, stepped out onto the roof of his study, raised his arms and called the wind.
A gale whirled around him, sucked him up inside it, and he was the strength and the power and the raging of it. The funnel spun him away, shrieking out his rage. Then air whipped his eyes and he laughed until tears ran down his face.
He rode the wind into a storm.
Another awakening in a new place….The next morning, Marian blinked sleep away, her eyes growing used to the gloom—and the silence. The undertone of the music of the island, of Jaquar’s Tower, of inanimate objects still pulsed, but there was no clatter of Tuck. Or of Bossgond.
Or Jaquar—though, as she thought of him she heard notes cascading from above like those from musical strings.
Sighing, she stretched under the quilt. There was a feel to the room as if the season was deep winter—the chamber was warm and dark and cozy, with threatening cold outside. It seemed to have missed rejuvenating spring. Frowning, she tested the whole Tower and found that the “winter” was Jaquar’s underlying grief and low-level depression, the “threat” was the sangvile.
She didn’t want to remember the image of the sangvile.
And the quiet was too much. So she hurried to the shower cabinet and bathed and dressed. Then she left her rooms for the corridor that bisected the floor, and went to the door to the staircase tower and up.
She learned something immediately. Jaquar’s Tower wasn’t nearly as soundproof as Bossgond’s.
“No! I won’t. That’s final.” His tone was sharp even through the door.
He’d said no to Bossgond. Was the old mage pressuring him again?
“I’ll see you this evening, and I’ll come alone.”
Marian hesitated. Should she strum the doorharp or leave?
“Marian, Marian,” squeaked Tuck. He scrabbled on the other side of the door, tiny paws showing under the crack.
“Scholar Marian awaits me. Until later,” Jaquar said tersely.
So Marian ran her thumbnail over the doorharp and smiled at the pleasing riff of notes. She wanted to do it again, and recalled how Alexa had enjoyed sounding Bossgond’s. Easily amused, we Earth women, she thought with a smile, then looked up as Jaquar opened the door.
He was scowling.
She curtsied. Tuck shot forward and patted her foot in greeting. She scooped him up and put him on her shoulder. “Good morning, Tuck.”
The hamster cuddled close to her neck, thrummed against her throat. With surprise, she realized a Song ran between her and her companion now. They’d both progressed in their own way to make one. And it resonated with memory-tones of Earth as well as new and exciting experiences in Lladrana.
Jaquar took a pace back and held the door wide. “Come in. I have reviewed your work in the planet spheres. They continue to progress extremely well. It is definitely time to start your practicum. We will work outside this morning.”
Marian raised her brows. “Good morning to you, too.” She entered the room.
Color deepened under the golden tone of his cheekbones. He inhaled deeply, closed the door quietly behind her. Then he inclined his torso in an elegant half bow that emphasized his body under the fine cream-colored linen shirt and brown suede trousers he wore. “Forgive me, I was concentrating on work.” He gestured her in. “Breakfast is in the hotbox.”
Something about him was different. She studied him closely from under her eyelashes. He was pale, lines of weariness slightly deeper at the corners of his eyes, but his muscles seemed…looser. He no longer hummed with stress. With exquisite care, she sought the tune echoing between them, an
alyzing it. The edge of his grief was gone, mellowed into resignation. Perhaps the feeling of melancholy would soon fade from his Tower, too. He wouldn’t thank her for commenting on either him or his Tower, though.
He led her to the chairs they’d sat in last night when she’d revived his terrariums. When she sat, he placed a lovely black lacquered tray over her knees. The dishes looked like fine china, but the coffee mug was sturdy. On her plate was an omelette—since two sorts of cheese oozed out the end and the top had a sprig of what looked like dill, she could only hope that the meal was more than fuel.
Cautiously she tried a bite, and moaned in pleasure at the delicious mixture of tastes.
That pulled him from his brooding and he actually smiled. “I’d heard that Bossgond’s meals weren’t too tasty.”
“Mmm,” Marian said. She didn’t want to criticize Bossgond, but couldn’t disagree. “I would have liked to interview the cook who arrived, though.”
“You can trust Alyeka,” Jaquar said.
Marian smiled. “Yes.” In fact, Alexa was the only one Marian trusted.
Meanwhile, she enjoyed the meal he placed before her and darted looks around his den as he sat staring into his coffee.
Tuck had already eaten and was exploring Jaquar’s study. From the hamster’s comments, she understood that he found it a wonderfully fragrant and interesting place. She wanted to investigate, too, but from Jaquar’s closed expression, figured that he’d hustle her out of his space and on to the less intimate environs of the island as soon as she took her last sip of the excellent coffee.
She’d already noticed that his octagonal room captured more sunlight than Bossgond’s round Tower.
He had more bell jars than Bossgond—for experimenting with weather? And a lot of what most Earth people would call magical tools—staffs of different woods and metals, wands, ceremonial knives with no edge and wickedly sharp daggers. There was also a collection of small boxes, as varied as the staffs, and Marian longed to open them all and see what treasures they held.
The chamber had an underlying elegance that was so much a part of Jaquar. She took her gaze from the sweeping shelves of tidy books to the man as he lounged, and a stray thought came that he’d be devastating in a tuxedo. Not that she’d ever see him in one.
He wasn’t what she’d expected. Of course she’d only met him briefly, but she’d sensed he was trying to sweep her away with his charm. Since they’d met again, he hadn’t acted deliberately charming at all, and she liked that.
In fact, she liked him, and the Song that twined between them. They had much in common—love and concern for their family, a passion for study, and weather Power. Absently, she drained her cup and set it on the tray.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
He whistled a note and the dishes disappeared. Marian grinned. For all the times she’d seen the spell, it was still one of her favorites. She’d learned the task her second evening with Bossgond.
Jaquar tilted his head, his gaze fixed on Tuck, who was sniffing the lowest shelf of boxes. “Tuck, Marian and I will be spending the morning outside. Will you be fine here?”
“Yes.” Tuck didn’t even look in their direction.
“Can you please stay in this room?”
Tuck hesitated, raised his head and looked at them. He bobbed. “Yes.”
“Thank you,” Jaquar said, still polite.
His manner toward Tuck warmed Marian. That was another thing she and Jaquar had in common—they liked and respected Tuck. Marian had always sensed that Bossgond wanted to dissect Tuck, searching to see if the atomball he ate was still lodged somewhere inside.
Still courteous, Jaquar led the way to the narrow curving stairs and started down them. Marian carefully shut the door behind her, testing it to make sure it was shut, then followed Jaquar.
He strode from the bottom of the stairway turret through the hallway on the bottom floor of his Tower and threw open the heavy front door. Bright sunshine painted the hallway floor yellow. Interesting that both Bossgond and Jaquar had main entrances that faced east—was that a male thing, an innate preference to look toward Lladrana and not out to the sea, or did all main doors face east?
He went out and stopped at the edge of a golden line—his protective spell, no doubt—and carved a door in it with his telescoping wand that currently was the size of Alexa’s baton.
Marian stood at the threshold and inhaled the scent of Mue Island—it was as different from Alf as Jaquar was from Bossgond. There was more of the mainland scent, since the island was closer to Lladrana; there was also more ocean because the island was smaller. The fragrances of the island soil and flowers and trees varied subtly, and were more pleasing to her than the astringent air around Bossgond’s tower. The atmosphere burgeoned with early summer.
Her spirits lifted and she caught herself humming counterpoint to the tune of the island, a tune that was one chord of the melody comprising Jaquar’s personal Song. Then Marian sighed. Would she be here on Amee long enough to fully develop her own Song?
The wish to stay condensed into a hard kernel of yearning within her—something she couldn’t fulfill if she wanted to be near Andrew.
Jaquar motioned for her to join him. When she did, he hesitated a moment, then took her hand, closing his fingers over hers. Warmth, and simple pleasure at the easy link flowed through Marian and she smiled up at him.
He returned her smile, and it reached his eyes, banishing the dark shadows of grief.
“As I said last night, we’ll start with wind and clouds. The best place for that is on the western coast of the island where the wind blows in from the ocean.” He shrugged. “There are only a couple of tiny islands that no one of the Tower Community has claimed between Mue and the Brisay Sea.”
Excitement bubbled through her. She would have rubbed her hands, but wanted to keep her fingers in his. “Great!”
He chuckled. “I don’t anticipate that you will have any problems with the clouds—that’s Second Degree Scholar work and you are at the upper edge of Third Degree.”
Her step hesitated.
“What?” he asked.
“Third Degree means something entirely different—a negative connotation in my own language.”
Interest sharpened his gaze. “What?”
Oh boy. How to define the phrase? “It is a very harsh interrogation by the authorities.” And then “the authorities” needed explaining.
They had walked across a meadow of tall grass to a grove of evergreen trees, and Marian looked back to see the Tower in its entirety.
As she’d suspected, the lower two floors were of greater diameter and the reddish stone looked small, more like cobblestones or bricks. The other three stories were definitely octagonal, with large pairs of pointed windows, airy and graceful from the outside as well as the inside.
She frowned. Every few feet around the lower two stories were jagged dark marks, like soot or gunpowder. She stopped and stared. “What happened?”
Jaquar tensed beside her, then replied neutrally. “Even as a Circlet, fire isn’t my strong suit. As I raised the Tower and called Lightning, it came—and singed the stone, and pointed directly to my keystone. I couldn’t clean it, so the only option was to call it down several times to keep the stone’s location secret.”
“There must be twenty marks around the base of your Tower.”
Jaquar dropped her hand, turned and strode away. “I called a lightning storm. That was the result. I was still quite young at the time.”
It was obviously a sore point, so she abandoned the subject and hurried to catch up with him. “Is the meadow close?” She hadn’t walked so much since her trip to Paris as she had the past two and a half weeks.
“Close enough. Your practice with clouds—” he glanced up as if confirming there were plenty to work with “—should only take a quarter-hour. Then you can progress to other ‘air’ lessons such as Calling the Wind. The meadow is flat and also a perfect spot t
o practice Wind Dancing.”
Calling the Wind. Wind Dancing. Anticipation zipped through her. “How lovely,” she said, and swung into step with him.
He looked down at her and chuckled. “You’re a Sorceress through and through.”
“A scholar,” she said, nodding. “I always have been.” Wistfully, she thought back to her apartment, her old studies. They’d been ongoing, but not nearly as enticing as learning magic—Power.
The moment they reached the meadow, he put her to work. They lay side by side on the sunny grass and looked up at the clouds. After all the time she’d spent with the terrariums, it was easy for her to send her mind and will and Power into the sky to shape the clouds and move them around. She was concentrating so on proving her worth that the awareness of his big body beside hers, nearly touching, almost didn’t register. Almost.
She couldn’t afford the distraction of thinking about the strong aura of him, the well-formed muscles, the thickness and sheen of his hair….
It had definitely been too damn long since she’d had sex. And the moment that idea crossed her mind, the cloud she’d been herding disintegrated into a dozen little ones. Luckily, Jaquar had just said, “Done.” Her timing had been perfect.
Still, she didn’t roll over to look at him, but scrambled to her feet, took a handkerchief from her gown pocket and wiped her forehead. Then she grinned at him, pretending the heat in her had been generated by her Power instead of thoughts of rolling around with him. “What’s next?” she asked.
His eyes narrowed, then took on a twinkle. The little Song between them spiked in intensity and beat, but he replied with a smile, “Now you Call the Wind.”
16
Marian clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling with excitement. Her first real use of Weather Magic came now!
Again Jaquar’s instructions were succinct and the Songspell easy to learn. The whistling words and rushing rhythm made innate sense to Marian, as if she’d always known this Song. She only needed to discover it within herself.
Sorceress of Faith Page 17
