Keepers of the Flame (55 page)

Faucon
had moved his quarters to a suite in Horseshoe Hall, and remained mostly in
Lower Ward, or in the stables. Being around the volarans helped.

Seeing
Bri at the Nom de Nom had been the last straw, Faucon decided as he and his
volaran set down in the Landing Field. He’d grab a few things, then go home.
Let his cousins wrestle with him, the women pamper him, work with the tough
Seamasters on their problems.

I
am sad, too.
Starflower said, trotting up. It was the first time he’d ever heard Equine
clearly and Faucon wished he had not. His emotions nearly overwhelmed him. He
thought only the clenching of his jaw kept him in control. So that was how one
spoke with volarans, with emotions. He slid off his mount and leaned against
him. Then Faucon looked at Elizabeth’s volaran, blinking slowly, keeping his
eyes to the slight breeze so they would stay dry.

Sad,
Starflower had said. His heart was
broken.
Damned if he’d ever trust it
to another Exotique. When three had rejected him, he should have known that the
Song did not have such a lady for him.

Now
he hurt worse than he ever remembered. Starflower’s head drooped. He took one
step, two. Flung his arm around her neck and buried his head against her. The
wind hadn’t done its job.

“You
should take her with you,” Bastien said quietly. “She’ll pine with us, even
Calli, but you comfort her.”

Faucon
didn’t ask how Bastien knew of his decision, didn’t want to think about that.
Starflower’s emotions washed over him, blended with his. Knowing he was not
alone with this pain helped. A stupid idea to him, but true all the same.

“I
see that you’ve finally allowed your mind’s pathways to open and can now learn
volaran,” Bastien continued.

Faucon
didn’t care, didn’t reply.

“Partner
with Blossom-Greeting-The-First-Warm-Spring-Wind. You can learn together what a
real flier-volaran relationship is like. Your war volaran will thank her.”

He
felt Bastien move, heard the man croon to Star—Blossom? Windblossom?—and the
high notes of the volaran’s mental sobbing eased. As she relaxed under
Bastien’s touch, her calming emotions let Faucon settle. Sharing the worst of
her sorrow alleviated his own.

R
aine stared down
at Travys, bleeding from his head, curled on the ground near the pilings of the
pier.

Her
breath came in pants. Her fingers trembled so that the rock fell from her hand.

Blood
thundered in her ears. Doubling over, she braced her arms on her thighs, took
longer breaths, tried to think. He’d lust for revenge.

She
had to leave, now!

No
one would protect her. He had status and money.

She
was nobody. No one would care if she died. He could kill her and lie about it.
Or he’d just make her disappear. She was only a pot-girl after all, and one who
spoke Lladranan with an accent and looked odd. A half-breed half-wit.

No
one would believe her if she’d said she was an Exotique. Everyone knew the
Marshalls Summoned
them
in The Castle.

She’d
be beaten. Would be beaten anyway for hurting Travys. Or worse. She blinked
slowly, studying him. He’d fallen into the deep shadows beneath the pier.
Lucky. His chest went in and out.

She
had to leave, and now, before the man came to. No reason to return to the
tavern. She had nothing there—not even the tattered blanket was hers. Her Earth
clothes had long since disintegrated.

Late
afternoon, evening coming. Get a move on! So she turned and let the northward
pull she’d felt lately lead her.

No
one knew her mind or character, either. They wouldn’t be able to think like her
and follow her, if they bothered.

With
one last glance at Travys, she began her journey. He’d follow her. She was an
obsession of his, God help her. She didn’t know why. But he’d be finished
playing with her. Now he’d kill her.

She’d
prepared the only way she could, traded sex with the local cobbler for good
shoes.

She
walked and she walked, on the coast as long as possible, and fell into a stupor
where she dreamt of ships. Ever since she’d landed on this world, ship designs
had haunted her, even more than when she’d been part of the family
yacht-building business. She tripped over a rock in the beach and snorted.

She’d
been so dissatisfied with her father and brothers and their insistence on
tradition and wooden vessels! How she’d wanted to push the boundaries—make twin
hulls, using the newest metal alloys.

A
few days here and those dreams had shattered like spume on rocks. Now dreams
came of building a massive ship, the like no fisherman or Seamaster of this
world had ever seen.

The
narrow strip of sand disappeared and the coast became rocky. Raine walked in
the sea, feet numbed, until she realized the tide was coming in. She struggled
up to solid ground.

The
smell of baking bread lured her. Even though she had no zhiv to buy any. Could
she possibly find the baker, just hold out her hand? Look pitiful? That last
sure wouldn’t be hard to do. These people were mostly like everyone else,
surely someone would have a charitable bent.

With
a last breath of salty air, she turned to a rough path toward the town. It took
her only a half hour to reach the square, and she found the streets fairly
deserted as people ate dinner. The people she met glanced at her, then away.
Her mouth twisted at that. How often had she done the same thing when she saw
homeless beggars on Earth?

Her
strength failed, as it always did, when she was forced inland, away from the
sea. Wobbling on shaky legs, she headed for the town square, surrounded by
buildings. She’d learned from experience it would be warmer there. The square
was usually cobbled and had a fountain or pump in the middle. Proximity to
water helped her land-sickness.

As
she prowled the square she realized that it had been market day. On the
cobblestones she found a couple of moldy vegetables, a stalk of turning
broccoli, and the heel of a burnt loaf of bread. She washed what she could in
the fountain.

Gauging
the sun and direction, she found the best corner of the buildings on the square
for sleeping. She drew into it, ate fast and greedily. She’d stay just for a
little while.

She
was dozing when the volaran found her.

One
minute she was asleep, the next a soft whuffle came and sweet breath, and a
scent she’d smelled before but couldn’t put a name to.

A
bright image of a five-petaled white flower in a spring sky flashed before her
mental eye.

I
am Blossom-Greeting-The-First-Warm-Spring-Wind
, said a quiet
voice. A mental voice.

Raine
blinked grit from her eyes, stared at the horsey face. Touched its soft nose. A
tongue came out and licked her palm. That would have been disgusting half a
year ago, but ranked far down on the repulse-o-meter now. In fact, it was
comforting.

She’d
heard of the winged horses. Most people spoke of them reverantly. But she
didn’t really believe this vision. “Who?” she croaked with both voice and mind.
Her mind voice was definitely clearer.

Blossom-Greeting-The-First-Warm-Spring-Wind.
YOUR volaran, Exotique of the Sea.

She’d
been called an Exotique! This being knew what she was. Her heart started beating
fast and hard. Her mouth was drier than ever.

She
could see in Blossom’s eyes that the flying horse knew of the
others
.

Finally,
finally, this was the beginning of the end of her ordeal. Hope flooded her. She
couldn’t breathe. Her shoulders were shaking too much. She was crying! Crying
hard and holding herself.

A
man’s bootheels snapped on the town square’s cobblestones. He saw Blossom and
shouted at them. Something about the guy roused all Raine’s instincts for evil.
He was another one like Travys. Someone who’d enjoy tormenting her, killing
her. Might like to do the same with a stray volaran.

Mount!
demanded
Blossom with a mental image of Raine leaping gracefully onto the winged horse’s
back.

Raine
had never been on a horse in her life. She grabbed the mane, scrambled with her
feet. Heard the volaran grunt. She was still half-on half-off when the flying
steed rose into the sky. Her scream of terror was muffled by solid
horse—volaran—flesh.

Go!
Raine cried
mentally.
Fly!
She didn’t have the nerve to sit up, settled herself
along the wide back, hands hurting from a tight grip on the silky mane. The
volaran flew low, legs tucked up as they glided over the houses.

North,
Raine said when
her fear subsided enough to squeeze a thought in.

North
is good. To Faucon
,
Blossom said.

As
soon as she cleared the town, the volaran headed northeast. Raine’s vision
dimmed. Her limbs trembled. “No!” she shouted, but it was too late. Darkness
fell. Hard.

She
awoke with sand in her mouth and spit it out, found herself on a beach. There
was no volaran in sight, and no town.

Hope
and despair, a vicious circle. She wiped her face on her arm. She knew she’d
dreamt the whole episode.

42

B
ri dreamt of a
woman. She was scared, hurt, running. It reminded her of the night she’d left
the rock star. She woke with a shudder and let her heart slow. Sevair lay
beside her, breathing evenly, radiating heat. It wasn’t late, but they’d had a
full day, and she’d begun to adjust to Sevair’s schedule of up at dawn. And
they’d jumped each other as soon as he’d come home and actually ended up in
bed.

She
set a hand on his back and felt more connected. Their Songs
were
merging.

She
hadn’t had an anxiety attack for two days, but she’d been pretending that she
was just on the other side of the globe from home, not cut off completely. She
thought her inner child was buying it so far. Maybe.

Sevair
rolled to her, reached for her, drew her into strong arms. He was aroused,
ready, and that sexy song and the scent of him had her own arousal speeding
through her. She didn’t want to think anymore. Didn’t want to feel stupid,
childish panic.

Her
hands touched, stroked. He groaned and that pleased her. Equal. They’d be
equal. He, Lladrana, were not assimilating her, they were allowing her to go
the way she’d always wanted.

He
thrust into her and thought vanished in her body’s needs. “Bond with me,” he
murmured in a dark, sensual voice as his hands slid under her bottom, raised
her up.

She
let passion take her, let her Song spiral high and join with his, and hoped the
panic wouldn’t return.

F
aucon, brooding
that night on the top of his Castle, heard a volaran’s mental call. He’d begun
to communicate better with his mounts in the past couple of days. Calli would
be proud of him. Calli…his mouth turned down. Another Exotique who was not
meant for him.

He
hadn’t realized he could experience so much pain and still live.

Faucon,
come. You MUST come, now!
It was Starflower, Elizabeth’s volaran. No.
Elizabeth hadn’t stayed, so the volaran was partnered with no one.

Faucon,
help!
The volaran shouted, forming easy Equine.

The
sigh was more groan than a exhalation of breath. His very bones ached as if the
malaise of his heart affected his whole body. But he was Hauteur Faucon
Creusse, nobleman, master of several estates. Responsible for many people and
volarans. He could not ignore a call for help.

He
pushed away from the battlement. Night had fallen and he couldn’t see anything
except the white line of seafoam breaking against rocks in the distance.

Hurrying
through his home, he noted that his people still watched him with concern.
Impatiently, he wished they’d just let him be. At the door, his new valet held
out a short, light flying cape. Never breaking stride, Faucon took it from his
hand and whirled it on as the footmen swung open the door. Broullard wouldn’t
have allowed him to sulk so long, or kept quiet about Faucon’s moods, but
Broullard was gone. Another grief.

Starflower
circled the courtyard, showing nerves and impatience. Probably wasn’t wise for
them both to be in such an irritable mood while they flew, but Faucon had no
inclination to soothe her fidgets. He doubted his own distress would fade soon.

At
the side of the stone steps, she stopped in front of him.
Come, now!
So
he leapt on her and she angled upward. Grief was replaced by sheer terror as
his hands scrabbled for reins, a hackamore,
something
. No tack. He
entwined his fingers in her soft mane and held on tight and prayed. He hadn’t
flown with a volaran bareback since—never.

They
didn’t fly high, nor did she request help with Distance Magic, so they weren’t
flying far. They kept to the coastline that changed from the small smooth
beaches between rocky coves to long beaches and dunes as they flew south. They
were almost at the point where they’d be over open sea. He didn’t want to do
that with no tack. He leaned close to her neck. He wouldn’t let her lose him.