Keepers of the Flame (44 page)

Then
he was gone and her heart thumped hard and she wondered what she had done by
being responsible.

N
ight had fallen
and Bri was twitchy. She and Elizabeth held hands and stood in the middle of a
candlelit pentagram. Despite that fact, everything seemed sharp and distinct,
the other Exotiques, their men, Sevair, Faucon, all surrounding her. Having
Sevair here added to her nerves. She yearned to see her parents, yet also
thought it was his steadiness that kept her calm. He was letting no hint of his
own emotions disrupt the circle. Bri met Elizabeth’s eyes.

Sevair
cares for you,
Elizabeth said.

And
Faucon cares for you. We’re going to leave some cracked hearts when we return
home.

Ayes,
Elizabeth said,
and Bri didn’t think her twin realized she’d spoken in Lladranan.

“Let
us begin,” Bossgond intoned.

Elizabeth
quivered like a too tautly strung door harp beside Bri. Probably she had a
better idea of what they’d face in the Dimensional Corridor.

Song
rose around them. Bri hadn’t listened to her music player for days, and that
odd thought had her nearly giggling. Elizabeth sent her an incredulous look.
The Song brought pale blue light that caged them, then the room faded away and
a shadowy door appeared in the tube of light. The door opened.

Before
she could say anything, they were shot into a…space. Bri had read of the awful
winds of the Dimensional Corridor, but she felt nothing. Elizabeth, holding so
tightly to her hand that Bri’s finger bones scraped together, pointed.

In
front of them lay their parents, twined around each other in bed, appearing
exhausted in the moonlight, sleeping. Tears sprang to Bri’s eyes. She couldn’t
bear to look at them.

Now!
screamed
Elizabeth into her mind.

Bri
scowled at her, then heard it. A sound like the ringing of their parents’
phone. Bossgond and Marian and Jaquar.

Daddy
, she whispered,
and felt a push, a pull and she was connected to deep, slow images of the
sleeping mind of her father.

More
ringing.

Answer
the phone, Daddy,
Bri prompted.

32

B
ri, baby, is
that you?
Even in sleep hope leapt in their father. He pulled Bri’s mother closer as if
wanting to share good news.

Yes,
Daddy, it’s me, Bri. Brigid idjit
. She’d
hated
that childhood
name. She remembered the carefully crafted script.
I’m so sorry we couldn’t
get through earlier. One of my friends who runs a refugee camp needed some immediate
help. Daddy, people are dying.
That wasn’t in the script, stupid!
I
convinced Elizabeth to come with me. She’s a wonder.

Bri?
he asked
groggily.

But
Bri turned to Elizabeth.

Hi,
Dad
,
Elizabeth said breezily.
Just wanted to let you know everything was ok. Bri
and I have been sick that we couldn’t reach you earlier. Communication with the
States isn’t easy.

Understatement.

Can
you put Mom on?

Bri
felt her mother’s thoughts stir.

Hi,
Mom
,
Elizabeth said.

My
Elizabethie!
Tears dribbled from under their mother’s eyelashes.

Elizabeth
gave a choked laugh.
Yes.

Their
mother sniffed.
Where are you?

Africa,
a refugee camp. We’ll be back soon. Only temporarily
. Elizabeth’s
mind-voice faltered, broke.
Just calling to say we’re all right.

Thank
God, thank God, my girls are safe.

Yes,
Elizabeth said.
Here’s Bri.

The
link with her mother was strong and sure now. God, how she loved her parents!
Hi,
Mom. We didn’t mean to worry you.

Bri,
you never do
.
A bit of a scold.

Elizabeth
and I are safe, we’ll be fine, back soon. I love you.

Then
Bri could feel, touch, hear everyone, Elizabeth, her Dad, her Mom. Their love
meshed them together.
I love you, Mom. I love you, Dad
. She was losing
it so she shut up, waited for the all important words.

We
love you,
their mother said.
I love you, Elizabeth. I love you, Bri. Be safe.

You,
too,
Elizabeth said.
I love you, Mom. I love you, Dad.

We
love you. I love you, Bri, I love you, Elizabeth
. Their father’s
tones were warm.

Sleep,
and remember,
Bri and Elizabeth said together, and that particular phrase was the spell’s
end, backed by all the Power of those in Lladrana.

Everything
went dark. Still. Then a tremendous boom rattled her bones and she and
Elizabeth were back in Bossgond’s tower, hugging each other and weeping.

T
hey’d spent the
night in Marian’s tower. Never in her wildest dreams had Bri ever thought that
she’d sleep in London’s Tower Bridge. But she wasn’t in London, was sure Tower
Bridge didn’t have a lovely teal-appointed guest suite, and with Sevair there,
she didn’t do much sleeping. She’d been an emotional mess and he’d carried her
all the way from Bossgond’s tower to Marian’s, passing the low buildings of the
Circlets’ school on the way. The sex, of course, had been magnificent. He’d
been urgent, he’d been tender, he’d been strong. And she’d responded to him,
let her passions reign, touched him and kissed him and caressed him until all
she heard was his moans and not any sounds of the corridor or Earth beyond.
Then they climbed to ecstasy and fell from the peak and shattered together.

When
Bri saw Elizabeth at breakfast at Bossgond’s she figured that Elizabeth and
Faucon had had as athletic a night as she. The other Exotiques all had a glow
to them and the men appeared supremely satisfied.

The
food was great, but didn’t hold Bossgond’s interest. They were eating in his
round tower room where the intricate brass telescope was and he fiddled with it
all during the time the others were eating.

“Ah!”
he finally said. “Your parents are awake and discussing your telephone call.”
He sent a wrinkle-faced smirk over a bony shoulder at them. “They wish they’d
asked for more details.”

“Naturally,”
Jaquar said, putting jam on toast.

Bossgond
turned back to the telescope, grunted with surprise.

“What?”
asked Marian, Bri, and Elizabeth all together.

“They
are using that communication device to call someone,” Bossgond said.

Bri
shared a glance with Marian.

“Ca-see-dee,”
Bossgond reported.

Elizabeth’s
eyes widened. She almost dropped her fork.

After
a moment, Bossgond said, “A man who has also been worried about you. I do not
entirely understand the Eeng-lish. But there is a…project?”

“That
man has been trouble since we first met him,” Bri muttered. Elizabeth wasn’t
looking at Faucon. “As for projects, plenty of them. I should have signed up
for nursing school, but that probably didn’t ring any bells for him.
Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth
finished chewing her syrup-covered waffle and replied, “I’m sure there’s
paperwork I would have submitted for my position at Denver Major.” She put down
her silverware and rubbed her eyes, looked at Marian. “I’m supposed to take up
my first hospital job in under two weeks. This could ruin my career.”

The
air pulsed with emotions. Everyone in the room wanted to convince them to stay.
No one said anything. Bossgond had turned away from the telescope and studied
them, rocking on his heels.

Jaquar
coughed. “Luthan sent word that the Singer has revealed a new prophecy
regarding the Exotique Medicas.”

Bri
set down her orange juice so hard it slopped. Now everyone’s attention was
focused on Jaquar. Marian appeared serene. She already knew, probably as soon
as Jaquar, the bond between them was that intimate. Bri didn’t know whether to
envy or fear that sort of bond.

“Go
on,” Elizabeth said steadily.

“The
Chevalier sickness and whether the Exotique Medicas stay or go will be resolved
in two weeks.”

Before
Sevair placed his knife on the table, Bri saw his fingers tremble. It gave her
a pang.

“The
Singer has a good forecast rate?” Elizabeth asked, her voice a little high.

“Ninety-seven
percent,” Marian said.

“Then
it will be finished. Fine. Good.” Now Elizabeth sounded stilted.

“Any
more detail to that prediction?” Faucon asked casually. His fingers clenched
around his fork.

“Not
that Luthan said, and, I think, not that the Singer told him. Some friction
there. Luthan’s not a man to follow others blindly.”

Bastien
snorted in his ale, spoke for the first time. He’d been concentrating on his
food. “Not my brother.”

“All
over in two weeks,” Bri said, disliking that her voice rose. Facing
life-altering decisions and changes again so soon. Pushed around by fate. She
wasn’t ready. How could she prepare except by thinking about things she didn’t
want to?

“You
might consider the prediction that way.” Jaquar smiled charmingly.

“Or
you might think of it as a deadline,” Marian said.

T
hat afternoon,
after Elizabeth had left to catch up on Castleton’s healing, Faucon went down
the hall to Luthan’s door and strummed the harp.

“Come,”
said Luthan.

Faucon
wasn’t surprised to see Sevair. He nodded to the Citymaster. “I’d like to speak
with you, Luthan, about the Exotique Medicas’ safety in the upcoming battle.”

“We’ll
talk shortly about the battle,” Luthan said. “First, I understand that you made
a quick trip to your cousin’s. What did he say about the Seamasters?”

Faucon
hesitated.

Luthan
said, “I think the Citymaster should know. In fact, I believe it’s time we talk
to selected people.”

“The
Exotiques.”

“Ayes.”

Faucon
raised a hand. When he spoke his voice was rougher than he liked. “I also want
to know about any predictions regarding my lady.” He nodded to Sevair. “I’m
sure Sevair would appreciate some indication about the future of his lady,
too.”

Luthan
deliberately looked aside, toward the window and the sunless day beyond, not
catching either man’s gaze, though they both stared at him. “I would rather not
say anything,” he replied softly. “The future is still in flux.”

He
sent Faucon a glance, did the same with Sevair. “The Snap is a very strange
phenomenon. More often than not, an Exotique’s decision to stay or go happens
in that instant, not before.” He smile wryly. “Exotiques’ futures are
notoriously difficult to predict.” There was a short pause. “Sometimes I
experience glimpses of the future, years in advance. I knew there was a great
chance of my father falling in battle last year. I knew Thealia and Partis
would not live to see the final outcome of the fight with the Dark—and that
ultimate resolution is still very much unknown to me, too.” He shrugged. “But
when I try to look even a week into the future of
any
Exotique, nothing
happens. So, please, either of you, do not ask me again.”

“Agreed,”
Sevair gritted out.

Sighing,
Faucon said, “I won’t, upon my word of honor.”

“Let
events progress as they will.” Luthan spread his hands.

“About
the Seamasters,” Sevair pressed.

Faucon
shifted and the others knew he’d be giving important news. “The Seamasters have
not been forthcoming—”

“A
secretive lot,” Sevair said.

“—but
my cousin has been able to piece together a very interesting story.”

“Ayes?”
asked Luthan.

“It
seems that the Seamasters have listened to the tales of Summonings and
Exotiques with considering and discerning ears.” Faucon took a seat on a sofa.
It was too hard to be comfortable. “The Seamasters, being the thrifty souls
that they are, and suspicious of the Marshalls and their authority, decided to
try a Summoning of their own. Last winter solstice at their biannual gathering
at Seamasters’ Market.”

Both
Sevair and Luthan gazed at him with wide-eyed astonishment. Gratifying.

Faucon
coughed for emphasis. “Needless to say, they failed.”

Luthan
swore, low and long and Faucon stared at
him
. He’d never heard Luthan,
the perfect gentleman, curse.

“By
the sweet Song,” Sevair finally said.