A Turn of Light (105 page)

“Wen?” Lorra may have missed the hand holding, Jenn thought with a mild wince, but she hadn’t missed that. Wen’s mother approached like an oncoming storm, hat aimed skyward, hands clenched in her skirt to lift it from her rapidly moving feet. “Wen Treff!”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Jenn said hastily, moving out of the way. “I’m looking for my aunt.”

“‘Keep Us Close.’”

Heartfelt, those words. Bannan murmured them with the rest, faintly amazed he’d known these people so short a time. He’d miss the indomitable Lady Mahavar more than a little. Marrowdell wouldn’t be the same without her.

“Yon’s a special lady,” Tir said solemnly. He’d circled his heart with one hand, balancing an overloaded plate in the other, and now reached for the tankard he’d put aside for the Beholding. “Those Avyo clodheads best not give her any grief.” This last a dark mutter into his beer.

Music started up, light and lively, turning sobered faces glad again. “Worry about it later,” Bannan advised distractedly as Jenn Nalynn’s searching gaze found him across the circle. He bowed an invitation and she smiled and came.

As she crossed what was now the dance hall, dancers moved together behind her, arms outstretched, laughing. He let his eyes feast as she neared, seeing her do the same. The green-striped dress was a far cry from the antique gown, though delightfully snug under her breasts, but whatever she wore, she’d be glorious. There was a glow to her golden hair from more than lamplight, a vibrancy to her skin that owed its source deep within. If he dared look deeper—but he wouldn’t.

Not tonight.

“Fair evening, Bannan Larmensu,” Jenn said with a saucy curtsy. Her eyes were aglow too, full of life and, yes, that was mischief, he was sure of it.

“And to you,” with a full bow. Her feet, he noticed, were charmingly bare. “May I have this dance?” as he rose.

Her hand slipped into his. “If you can keep up, good sir.”

From then on, time was measured in laughter and the trill of pipes. At one point, Uncle Davi scattered the dancers, carrying both niece and nephew on his broad shoulders, everyone clapping as the children giggled; at another, Radd and his sister took the floor alone for a lovely waltz that brought tears to no few eyes. Later, the grooms, wedding bands around their waists, were urged into the center to show off their dancing prowess. Bannan wasn’t surprised when the elated beekeeper leapt higher and longer than either of the younger men.

Every so often and not often enough, the pipes would slow and someone sing. Jenn would drift into his arms and lay her hands on his shoulders; his hands would find her warm waist and their eyes would meet. They may have moved to the music or stood like statues; he neither knew nor cared. More than once, not often enough, his head would lower or she’d rise on her toes and their lips meet in a sweet, stolen kiss.

But the night wasn’t endless. A bell rang, right when he least wanted an interruption, and the music stopped. “Midnight supper,” Jenn told him, taking his hand to pull him to the tables.

Which wasn’t, Bannan thought, what he hungered for. He pulled her into the nearest welcoming shadow and planted a far more satisfactory kiss on those warm and willing lips. Then another. And another. And suddenly, somehow, the ground wasn’t moving under his feet as ground should, but sliding away and taking them with it.

Leading to a breathless state of things involving a sturdy tree trunk or was it a bench? There were uncooperative laces that gave just before being broken, followed by the disappearance of his shirt and a feverishly tender mutual exploration and . . .

Heart’s Blood, what fiend invented such undergarments?!

Laughing, Jenn Nalynn pulled him to the soft grass to show him the trick of it.

And some time after that, the air filled with the scent of roses as Bannan Larmensu discovered what it meant to give everything of himself in love . . .

To someone who joyously did the same.

Jenn woke and smiled. Whatever the day and fate brought, last night had been everything she could have asked. And more. She turned her head to see Bannan lying beside her. He hadn’t commented on the blankets or pillows until they’d been well used indeed.

Her smile deepened. Peggs had told her of this private spot, hidden by the mill and hedges; as Aunt Sybb always said, it was best to be prepared. She lifted her arm, shedding rose petals. Those had been a gift.

She looked up to check the sky. Overnight, the old trees had leaned close to roof their little bower. Seeing her attention, the branches spread apart.

The stars were dim. Almost dawn. Her long-awaited birthday.

And time.

It was a wish she’d made before and often. A simple thing. To slip away unnoticed while her father and her sister and her aunt slept, so she could run to Night’s Edge and Wisp before anyone insisted on breakfast or chores. Sometimes it had worked. Sometimes, she hadn’t made it through the kitchen door.

That was before she was magic.

Now Jenn Nalynn made the same wish, without doubt or hesitation.

After such a perfect night, you deserve to rest.

Don’t notice me.

She could feel her magic flooding Marrowdell with peace, pouring through windows and doors, finding its way into tents and wagons. Bannan sighed contentedly and rolled over, his arm leaving her stomach.

Jenn rose, shedding more petals, and pulled out the clothing she’d brought stuffed in a pillow. Her plainest shirtwaist, her too-short skirt. Her hair she braided with flying fingers, but as she tied the laces on her shirt, her fingers lingered on well-loved skin and she smiled to herself, then at Bannan.

There was no time to waste. She intended to be on the Spine before anyone woke. The baby would probably rouse first, though like everyone else, tiny Loee had stayed up for the dancing and late supper.

The turn-born? Marrowdell was hers. Catching them asleep might not be fair, but she’d not have them interfere.

As plans went, she’d hopefully thought of everything, but as Jenn started to leave, she discovered she hadn’t. The house toad, clearly not the least asleep, took another waddling step forward, then stopped. It blinked and yawned to show its sharp teeth, then settled on its belly. ~ What’s needful, elder sister? ~

Jenn put her finger to her lips, then pointed to Bannan, hoping it understood. She dug her hands into her skirt pockets, hoping to find . . . yes. She put the pebble, ordinary but white, near the toad.

It turned to watch her leave with a soulful expression, but didn’t argue.

Don’t notice me.

Jenn made her way through the village. The mill was dark, as was Old Jupp’s place. Her father was in his hammock, snoring gently. Roses turned with a rustle and slip of leaves as Jenn hurried past, but made no other comment. The toad and roses might be awake, but the horses stabled at the Emms’ weren’t.

Don’t notice me.

Jenn dipped her finger in the fountain, then paused to wash her face in its cool clear water, drying her hands on her skirt. Candles guttered in their bowls, the odd lamp glowed faintly, and their light helped her avoid the occasional tankard and overturned plate. The chairs were still out, though empty, the festivities clearly having continued long enough for those usually obsessed with tidiness to leave it all for morning.

Don’t notice me.

All quiet at the Uhthoffs, but she started when Devins’ whistling snore echoed through the door of his house. The Ropps and Treffs slept as soundly as the rest and Jenn climbed the gate to the commons, holding her wish firmly in mind, daring to think of nothing else.

She passed the caravan. Passed the sows, asleep with their heads on their boar. She didn’t so much as glance at the tinkers’ tents, instead looking where she had to go.

Which was just as well, because otherwise she’d have tripped over Tir Half-face.

He lay on his sleeping roll, axes clasped in his hands, in front of the gate to the ford. Bannan’s precaution, Jenn decided as she stepped around him. Hers, she thought, was simpler.

Don’t notice me.

Over the gate and down the slope. The great oak shivered as she passed, but not enough to rouse Wainn and Wen, asleep in its branches. They’d waited for her and she loved them for that.

And wanted them safe.

Jenn stepped into the river. With the milling done and the gate closed, the water was its normal placid self; the work of an instant to wade to the other side. Once across, she paused to look back.

Everyone she loved was there, asleep and safe. Dawn was a promise beyond the crags, its first glimmer like the lifting of a curtain. She nodded, took a deep breath, and turned to face the Spine.

The road was a pale sliver quickly lost in darkness, but Jenn didn’t hesitate. Her feet knew it, though laden wagons had crunched its stones and changed its ruts. This was her road and with each step she went faster or the road shortened, for before she’d taken three deep breaths she was there.

At the path to the Spine.

Like something wicked leaving on a light to tempt a weary and not very cautious traveler, that being a story Jenn would have preferred not to remember at this moment, needles of early sunlight stabbed through the dense undergrowth, illuminating the way.

That was to the good, she told herself. It was a rutted, twisty, and sometimes untrustworthy path. Light could only help her climb faster.

She took a step, then another, feeling that she didn’t so much enter the Wound as leave Marrowdell behind.

Well, if this was to work, Jenn thought determinedly, that’s what she must do.

She held up one hand as she walked, in case of webs, but there were none.

Just rustling.

Not like the roses but nasty and furtive, more and more from either side and she remembered the red-eyed squirrels in the trees that hadn’t quite seemed right. She put all her will into her wish.

Don’t notice me.

But they did.

~ Elder brother! Elder brother! ~

Wyll snarled. He’d finally found a position that hurt less than the others and this was his reward? He refused to open his eyes. ~ Leave me be. ~

Blissful silence. Then a toad landed in the middle of his sore ribs. ~ WAKE! ~

His hand aimed for its throat, but the little cousin, being wise or more alert, leapt away. Something began to stir in the dragon’s oddly dulled mind. ~ What’s happening . . . ~

~ She went alone! She’s in the Wound! ~

Fully awake, Wyll struggled to his feet. The turn-born lay in their beds, unconscious or asleep, though light came through the windows of the tent. He thrust himself through the door flap to find Tir lying on the ground by the gate and no one in sight.

When he thought of Jenn Nalynn, of that warm and special feeling that told him where she was and how, his head turned to face the Spine. She was there, and afraid.

The little cousin squatted nearby, understandably pale.

~ How long? ~

~ I came as quickly as I could, elder brother. I tried to wake the truthseer, but couldn’t. ~

She’d put them all to sleep. All! Except . . . ~ Why was I affected and not you? ~ Wyll demanded, offended.