So many people had helped her!
They’d come when she Called, given her support when she needed it, even if they didn’t know her.
They were fighting a war against monsters and were finally coming to work together.
She stared at every Circlet who’d come to retrieve her from the Dark. A greater number than those who had Sent her, and of all ages, from a teenager who fiddled with his circlet as she nodded to him, to a woman who had to be as old as Bossgond but wore her white hair high and held her matronly body proudly.
She was blessed.
Then she swept her glance to Chalmon and Venetria. Venetria didn’t meet her gaze. Chalmon watched her from under hooded eyes.
Marian curled her lip. “You attached that—marble—to me and saw and heard everything before the master found it and destroyed it.” She lowered her voice. “But you don’t know what happened after that.” She gestured to Tuck. “Tuck can show others, the Marshalls, the good Circlets, what happened. I can tell them what happened.” She paused significantly. “I can tell them of what I know and my deductions from my experiences.”
Venetria bit her lip. Chalmon reddened. They hummed with suppressed desire to hear. Served them right—perfectly right—that she would tell the Marshalls and not them.
“I know something of the master and what he serves.” She waited a beat. “And the reason the Dark invades.”
Jaquar soaked in the solitary splendor of the baths beneath the Noble Apartments, a building across the courtyard from the Keep. No one joined him. He wasn’t sure whether or not the other Circlets considered him an outcast, but the Chevaliers and Marshalls viewed him with distaste.
Alexa and Bastien had whisked Marian off somewhere. Reflexively he mentally reached for her through their sex-and-affection bond. Nothing.
He groaned and rubbed his chest over his heart. It hurt, the cutting of the bond, the instinctive searching for her and finding nothing, the knowledge that he’d ravaged her emotionally and lost whatever affection and respect she’d had for him. The bond had been more than sex. How much more, he didn’t know, but dangerously close to love on his part, a more-than-sex-and-affection bond.
Marian had no affection for him now, and there sure wouldn’t be any sex with her in his future.
He wanted to close his eyes and let the bath water lap away his tension. But he dared not.
He’d tried sinking into himself, listening to the sound of the gently moving water and letting it soothe his mind as the hot water eased his body, but when he shut his eyes he saw Marian.
Marian dazed and terrified within a red cage of Power…Marian white and trembling, with a wide streak of newly silver hair at her left temple, clinging to Bastien, hiding her face from Jaquar…Marian too hurt to look at him directly…
None of those images were ones he wanted to see again, or remember.
He didn’t want to recall Bossgond’s flinty and accusing gaze, either. The older mage had not spoken, not looked at him except for one scorching stare that made Jaquar feel four years old with a mess in his pants.
Bossgond and the other Circlets had socialized briefly with the Marshalls, and accepted lodgings in the Keep. No doubt they were surveying the suite Jaquar himself had chosen that morning for a representative of the Tower to occupy.
Enough! Time to regroup and plan. He must offer Marian all his support, mend the rift with her. Then he would work with Bossgond and Bastien and the Marshalls to neutralize the nest. He was the best plane-walker.
Soft footsteps whispered over the stones. Jaquar sat up; the movement caused water to slosh up to his chin. Luthan Vauxveau disrobed and slid into the six-person tub with him.
“Salutations, Circlet Dumont,” Luthan said quietly.
“And to you, Chevalier Vauxveau,” Jaquar said.
Luthan slid down the bench so that his shoulders were underwater. He rested his head on the padded neck roll surrounding the tub and closed his eyes.
Jaquar was at a loss. He didn’t know Luthan well, and everyone else in the Castle was avoiding him—why wasn’t Luthan? Deciding he didn’t want to know, Jaquar settled back into the welcoming hot water. But a hum of tension lived in his muscles.
After a moment, Luthan said, “The next couple of days are going to be very important. I wanted you to know.”
As if the past few had been commonplace! Jaquar recalled that Luthan Vauxveau had a small gift of foresight. He was also the Representative of the Singer, the prophetic oracle of Lladrana. Which had brought him to Jaquar?
“You wanted me to know so I could do what?” asked Jaquar.
Luthan didn’t open his eyes. “Be alert.”
When the silence became too heavy for Jaquar to endure, he left.
Marian choked down some herbal tea that was supposed to be calming, and managed to eat half of her small dinner in the Marshalls’ dining room. Tuck was sleeping in her breast pocket, limp with exhaustion.
She felt discombobulated—sometimes mind and body working together, sometimes distanced from her body, uninvolved with her emotions. Time moved in jerky increments. Slow moments of tolerating dinner conversation. Fast flashbacks to the Dark evil’s nest, when her mind worked to remember every tiny nuance of the experience, consider it, correlate it with every other small fact. She needed to be sure of her conclusions.
“Marian?” Alexa said.
Looking up at her concerned friend, Marian understood that Alexa had spoken her name more than once. “Do you want to bathe or go to bed?” Alexa asked.
A bubble of hysterical laughter caught in Marian’s throat. Use the elegant, colorful baths of the Keep where she and Jaquar had made love? Slip into the sheets of the same bed they’d slept in, then later torn up during sex?
She didn’t think so. “No. And I don’t want to sleep in that suite under yours, either.”
“I understand,” Alexa said. She looked to Bastien.
He smiled at Marian. “We’ve put you in the suite under Swordmarshall Thealia and her husband.”
“Oh. I’m sure that’s fine. It has a shower stall?”
“Yes,” said Alexa.
Bastien leaned forward, covered one of Marian’s hands with his. “So you’re buzzed on the battle aftermath, mind humming, muscles twitching, too restless to sleep—”
Marian’s eyes widened. “I didn’t go into battle.”
“You certainly did,” Alexa said. “Against the master, and won.”
Shaking her head, Marian said, “I didn’t win, either.”
“You’re alive and safe. He’s crippled and his plans are shot to hell. That means you won,” Bastien informed her cheerfully. “So what do you want to do to wind down? Walk to Castleton and back? It’s a nice night—um, early morning.”
A little shudder passed through Marian. She didn’t think she could face the expanse of dark sky, even sparkling with the stars of two sweeping galaxies. The panic that had coated her had been too black. “I want to visit the brithenwood garden.” She only knew that when she said the words.
“Sounds great.” Alexa smiled at her and stood.
Marian coughed at the pun. “The garden does have a great Song.”
“Fine with me,” Bastien said, rising.
“You’re going, too?” Marian got up from her chair.
He smiled genially, tucking her right hand in his left arm, angling his right elbow out for Alexa to take. “From now on, Circlet Marian, you will be escorted at all times. You are too valuable a gift to be unprotected.”
Marian didn’t know whether she liked the idea or not.
Alexa winked at her. “I’ve lined up Faucon Creusse to be your companion.”
Then Marian realized what Bastien had called her. She looked up at him as he led her from the Keep to outside the Castle and to the shortcut through the maze. “You know I’m a Circlet?”
Bastien shrugged. “The strength of your Power was evident as soon as you landed inside the pentagram. Fifth Degree Circlet.”
&
nbsp; Marian gasped.
Alexa hurried forward to open the garden door and went through. Marian and Bastien ducked under the lintel, then Bastien closed the door behind them.
The scent was marvelous, comprising of early summer flowers, the brithenwood tree itself, sweet grasses and the faint tang of the deep forest to the west. That reminded her of Jaquar’s scent. She automatically tested their bond. It was gone. She’d cut it deliberately. Marian swallowed.
Alexa was helping her to the seat around the tree. Then the small woman shifted from foot to foot before Marian.
Alexa cleared her throat. “Um, Marian. Uh, I don’t want this to be a shock to you like it was to me.” Alexa touched Marian’s hair.
Marian jolted. “I’ve gone white?” No! She was far too young.
“No,” Alexa said.
Marian relaxed.
“Not totally,” Alexa said. She took a wide lock of Marian’s hair at her right temple and tugged gently. “Just this much.”
“Feels big,” Marian muttered.
“It’s very attractive,” Alexa soothed.
Bastien kissed Marian’s fingertips. “Very attractive. The color of your hair is exquisite. The streak only emphasizes it.”
“Oh,” Marian said hollowly. She was torn between wanting a mirror immediately, and hiding forever from the fact that she wore a silver Lladranan Power streak.
Alexa plopped down beside Marian. The Swordmarshall fluffed her hair. “The question is, will my silver stuff grow golden with age? That’s what happens here—the older the mages get, the more golden it becomes.”
Marian chuckled. “You aren’t a native. I don’t think so.”
“I don’t, either.” Alexa sighed.
The short exchange had lightened Marian’s mood.
There was a rustle in the branches above her. She looked up and saw a blue squirrel. She blinked, but it remained blue.
The Song chose wisely when it Summoned you, Circlet Marian, Sinafin said. You are close to fulfilling your specific task.
“Not yet,” Marian said quietly. “Not until I tell everyone tomorrow at the Marshalls’ Council Meeting my deductions.” She frowned, fretting. “And there’s one bit I don’t quite remember….”
Alexa hugged her. “You will.”
Bastien smiled with wicked charm. “You’re an Exotique Circlet—nothing will escape you.”
Sinafin dropped a brithenwood branchlet in Marian’s lap.
29
Tuck woke Marian up by tugging at her hair. “Pretty, pretty,” he said. “Now you look like a Circlet.”
Marian grunted and rolled over, feeling as stiff and sore as if she’d been beaten. Groaning, she stretched cautiously, inch by inch. The bruises from when she’d pinballed through the caverns painted her skin in blues and purples. Ick.
But she could feel her muscles, and that was way over on the plus side.
She hadn’t had any nightmares. That was good, too. She buried her head in the pillow, wanting more sleep.
Tuck nattered on. “We are going to report to the Marshalls. I will use my amazing abilities and astound them all.”
Marian cracked an eye open, saw the suite that had been furnished for a teenage girl. Full of ruffles. It really didn’t matter. The shower had hot water and the bed was soft.
“I am going to be a star,” Tuck said.
“Is that so?”
“But to be at my best, I need food.” He smiled, showing his little teeth.
She subsided back into the pillow. “Ask Jaquar—” Just that easily, she reached for their bond, and all the hurt of a love-affair gone bad crashed over her. She put her hands over her heart to keep it from cracking with the grief.
Their bond was no more. She’d cut it in anger and fear and the horror of betrayal. Nothing had changed that. She should want a connection with him again.
Jaquar had said he hadn’t betrayed her, had tried to save her, then given her the weapon-knot. Her eyes went to where it rested on the bedside table.
She noticed tear tracks on the pillow, and her chin wobbled. She’d cried in her sleep for him.
But her judgment for men had been wrong again. She’d trusted a man who could send a person to a hideous death. The original plan had been his. He’d put the idea of sending her off into the maw of the Dark into Chalmon’s and Venetria’s heads.
Tuck said, “Yes, Jaquar would feed me well, but I don’t know where he is. He must be in the Castle, but his heart does not beat in the Keep. I need food now. Much food. Excellent quality food. Now!”
Marian was distracted by Tuck’s observation, and it was so much easier to consider an intellectual problem than to wrestle with the emotions ripping her apart. At this moment thinking was good, feeling just plain hurt. Switch to reasoning mode.
“You can tell who is in the building by their heartbeats? You can recognize that?”
Tuck pulled her hair.
“Ouch!”
He grinned at the two strands he held in his paws. “You must listen to me, and get me food.”
They weren’t in Jaquar’s or Bossgond’s Towers, where Tuck had stashes. Marian certainly was his caretaker again, and she didn’t want him running around the big Keep by himself. “All right, all right.” As she sat up, another groan tore from her. Despite the couple of weeks she’d spent here, being physically active, yesterday had tested her body to its limits.
Grumbling, she moved to the wardrobe. It held two gowns. One she’d worn for the past two days. She checked it, but there was no sign of the tear she’d seen in the Dark’s cavern. It looked and smelled fresh, but she didn’t know if she could wear it again. Too many memories—donning it in the morning after great sex with Jaquar…No. She should not think about that.
She should focus on Tuck and her presentation—report, debriefing?—with the Marshalls and Circlets. Probably some high-ranking Chevaliers and other community representatives to the Castle. There’d be a full house. It would be as bad as her doctorate oral exams.
Somehow it didn’t scare her. She wondered if that was just the nonchalance that came after a truly terrifying, life-threatening-and-worse experience, or if she’d grown beyond her compulsion to be perfect. She hoped she’d grown.
“Come on!” Tuck hopped up and down on her bare foot, his claws scratching.
Marian took the other dress out. It was purple.
Still, she put it on and scooped up Tuck. He’d like the elegant Marshalls’ dining room. She wondered what the reaction would be to a hamster sitting on a linen tablecloth, eating fruits and nuts from a bowl. The thought amused her.
When she opened the door of the suite, a rangy man in well-worn Chevalier flying leathers pushed away from the wall of the entryway.
His bow to her was minimal and had little grace. “Marrec Guardpont. Chevalier attached to Lady Hallard’s household. She’s—”
“The Representative of the Chevaliers to the Marshalls. I take it you are my escort?”
“That’s right.”
She studied him. Tall and strong like most Chevaliers. He looked tough, with lines beside his steady brown eyes. He had small streaks of silver at each temple, denoting modest Power. Marrec radiated solid responsibility.
“I saw you in the Nom de Nom a couple of nights ago, and you were with Lady Hallard last night when everyone Summoned me from the Dark’s nest.”
“I added my bit,” he said, then gestured for her to go before him down the stairs.
He was a man of few words, but the knife on his right thigh and the sword on his left made her think he was most definitely a man of action.
Running bootfalls of more than one person sounded. Marrec slipped in front of Marian, drew his sword, tensed.
Surely there wasn’t any threat in the Castle? In the very Keep?
“Let’s be cautious,” Marrec said, and Marian stiffened. Was he telepathic? Empathic?
At the next crossing corridor, guards ran past. They didn’t even look at Marian and Marrec. The res
t of the walk to the dining room was without incident.
Bossgond found them as Marian was finishing the last bite of the croissant that came with her eggs Benedict. Tuck was still munching. Marian had had to remind him time and again that a hamster with cheek pouches stuffed to twice his size was not elegant or star material.
As soon as Marrec saw Bossgond, he pushed his chair back, stood, bowed to her and inclined his head to the older mage, then left the dining room.
“The Marshalls and other Circlets await,” Bossgond said as he stopped by their table. He eyed Tuck. “The hamster will show us what occurred during your tribulation in the Dark’s nest?”
Tuck withdrew his nose from his bowl and sat up straight, paws curled inward. “Yes,” he said, then opened and curved his mouth roundly in the way Marian knew meant he was about to broadcast.
She picked him up and stroked him, head to tail. He wiggled in pleasure. “Not yet, Tuck. Let’s save it for the Marshalls.” She set him on her shoulder and he began grooming, paying particular attention to his whiskers.
“I’m ready,” she said, but now her stomach jittered.
Bossgond took her elbow. “Jaquar will be present, and afterwards…”
Marian frowned down at him. “Yes?”
Sighing, Bossgond led her from the room and down the wide corridor. Finally, as they made the last turn, he said, “Jaquar and I collaborated on a Ritual to Send you back to Exotique Terre and return you—and perhaps your brother—from there. The timing is difficult, but we think it might be done within a week.”
At that moment, Luthan Vauxveau, Bastien’s brother, opened a door, saw them and gestured them to him. On the door was a fancy harp. Underneath was written in elegant gold lettering “Marshalls’ Council Chamber.”
The Marshalls and Bossgond’s Circlets sat in a long rectangular room with a scarred and dented wooden table and elaborately carved chairs.
Alexa took a chair with a stack of pillows atop it. The chair back showed a sword. Bastien sat to her left, in a chair carved with a shield. Other Marshalls followed, in color-coded pairs, sitting in appropriately carved chairs.
Luthan Vauxveau took the chair that showed a woman lifting her arms, head thrown back to the stars, her mouth open. He was the Representative of the Singer, the Lladranan oracle, Marian remembered.
Sorceress of Faith Page 33
