Keepers of the Flame (58 page)

Raine
sauntered into the living room, checked out the drafting table, noted that the
stand was made of wood, not metal, and played with it until she had it raised
and angled just right. A cabinet had been added, which contained feather pens,
ink, straightedges, protractors and other tools. Sheets of paper and parchment
lay atop the cabinet. Her rescuer had an agenda.

Hell,
from what she’d understood about the previous Summonings, the whole damn
planet, literally, had an agenda. Nibbling her lower lip, a habit that probably
made her look stupid and hadn’t helped her in the past, she went back into the
bedroom and looked at the books.

They
weren’t in English and she didn’t know how to read Lladranan. A flush heated
her neck. How could she have learned how to read! But she opened one at random,
saw the picture of a blue-eyed blonde and her breath came a little quick. No
way could this woman be from Lladrana. She flipped through the volume, studying
the pictures of a Castle and volarans. As she riffled the pages, more pictures
flashed before her, and when a 3-D image of a fire-breathing monster popped out
at her she dropped the book and let it stay on the floor.

She
was breathing fast again, eyed the other books with extreme caution. Yes,
they
wanted something from her, and she got the idea that designing and building a
ship was the least of it. As far as she was concerned, she’d already paid her
dues.

Don’t
think of that, or the past. Go open the door and stand in the sunlight, feel
its warmth, loiter for a few minutes. Precious little free time in the past six
months.

She
strode to the door, realizing that her posture had improved. She no longer
walked as if ready for a blow.

Then
she flung open the door and let the midmorning sunlight in, stepped out onto
the landing that led to the dock.

Travys
attacked her.

He
grabbed her in a bear hug from the side. She sank low, flung herself with his
momentum, and they both crashed to the ground. She kicked and pounded and freed
herself and jumped up and hobbled fast with a hurt body to the door.

He
was faster than she recalled—she didn’t get the door closed. She retreated and
looked for a weapon.

The
man would kill her.

But
not if she took care of him first.

44

F
aucon woke and
his standard morning rush of sorrow mingled with irritation at the thought of
the new Exotique. Progress. He showered, ate the breakfast set on the warming
mat in his sitting room, then reluctantly decided he could avoid his duty no
longer. He walked down to his den.

He didn’t
want to call Alexa, or Marian. Really didn’t want to call Bri. That notion was
like a splinter in his heart. But she was the best medica in Lladrana and he
had a sick Exotique woman. He tapped a beat on his crystal ball.

Bri’s
face filled the small one she held at eye level. “Faucon?” She sounded
startled. For the first time he noticed that she didn’t seem so cheerful
either. Shadows were under and in her eyes. She’d lost a sister, her whole
family. But he didn’t want to be reasonable.

Bracing,
he said, “I have some news. Sit down.”

Her
eyes widened. She nodded. “You aren’t sick, are you?”

“No.”
He rubbed his jaw. He was not handling this smoothly. Perhaps he should have
taken time to gather his thoughts. He didn’t know why he felt the pressure of
time, but he did.

“I’m
ready,” Bri said.

“I’ve
got a very sick woman here,” he said baldly. “Another Exotique, Summoned months
ago, I think by the Seamasters. They said they’d tried a Summoning and failed.
Apparently not. To give them credit, I don’t think they knew they succeeded.”

Her
mouth opened, closed, opened. Emotions too fast to read, too Exotique, flashed
across her face. “Does she have the frink disease?” she asked in a focused,
clipped tone that reminded him too much of her sister. He wished Bri still had
purple streaks in her hair, that it was shorter.

“No.
She is malnourished, has been ill-treated.” He was equally abrupt. “She can’t
be moved far from the seashore without experiencing great pain.”

“I’ll
contact the Castle medicas immediately for information, also Alexa and Marian.
We’ll be there in an hour.”

That
was pressing Distance Magic hard, but he nodded. She was already moving,
calling for Sevair and the roc and volarans.

He
said, “I will speak with Alexa and Marian.”

“No
need, I’ve sent them word telepathically.”

“Fine,”
he said between gritted teeth. “But—” Screaming hit his mind.
Raine!
Already he knew the tone of her. She was fighting for her life. He knew it,
cursed, sped down to the boathouse. He’d been no better than the Seamasters,
had left her unprotected. He prayed he wouldn’t be too late.

Her
keening went on and on in his head, above the thundering of his heart, the
heaving of his lungs. Power, fear, pushed him along until his feet barely
touched the ground. He
felt
the smash of a fist against her face, tasted
blood that washed into her mouth, yelled himself.

The
door to the boathouse was splintered, half off its hinges. Now he heard half
sobs, half cries, animalistic sounds of a fight, roars of a wounded man.

Then
the male voice stopped.

He
shot into the room to see Raine pounding a table leg onto the limp man’s head,
brutal features showing deep runnels from raking fingernails. She saw Faucon,
launched herself at him, a wild thing pushed too far.

He
caught her, grabbed her hands, brought her close. She struggled and they fell
on the man. Faucon rolled, wincing as broken china and glass cut his back
through his shirt.

“It’s
all right. All right!”

“Let
me go!”

“Don’t
hit me and I will.”

A
trace of reason appeared in her eyes. She made a strangled noise, went limp. He
rose and she crawled away from the man, fast, to a corner of the room.

It
hurt Faucon to see that.

Then
she huddled and watched him from wide eyes the color of the deep ocean—dark
green and fascinating.

He
threw off the thought, stood himself, and looked down at the man. He seemed to
have two head wounds.

“Is
he alive?” Raine’s voice was thin. “What will you do to me if he dies?”

Faucon
brushed off his dreeth leather pants, flexed his back and felt pain and the
stickiness of blood and wished he’d worn his dreeth leather tunic. He stared
down at the man and let the curses come. “He’s alive and a freak. A man who is
instinctively repulsed by Exotiques. There are some people like that, about one
in fifty.” He could
feel
the brush of her Power, how it slipped along
his skin, the spellbinding but broken notes of her Song. He met her eyes.
“There are some like me who are instinctively attracted to Exotiques.” He
snorted. “I’m getting over that.”

She
shrank into her corner, but said, “Yeah, right, I could see the attraction.”

He
hunched an irritable shoulder. “I’m getting over that.” Then he toed the body
of the rough fisherman. “As for this one, he tried to kill you, a valuable
Exotique, which our country, our very planet, needs. He’ll get what he
deserves.”

“Yeah,
right,” she said again, mouth turning down.

But
he caught her glance, willed her to believe him. “I’ll make sure of it, I
promise you.” Then he smiled thinly. “If the other Exotiques get their hands on
him, his life won’t be worth living. Better that he hopes the Seamasters judge
him.”

“He
works for them,” she said. “Travys. He’s the caretaker of the fairgrounds,
Seamasters’ Market.”

“Ah.”
With that information more clicked into place.

“You
know something.”

He
gave her a charming, superficial smile. “I know many things. And we will talk.”
He prodded the man again, but he didn’t stir. “After I have this piece of scum
removed.”

Faucon
went to the door where his housekeeper hovered, along with several of his home
Chevaliers. “Get the mistress carpenter and bring her here to fix the door.” He
stepped aside for three of his men to take the piece of
merde
to a
locked basement room under the far tower of his Castle. He ordered three
others—females—to stay and guard.

When
he turned back to the woman, she’d barricaded herself in the kitchen, with the
upended table across the door. She stood holding a long, sharp kitchen knife.
He sighed. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Doesn’t
look as if you are going to help me, either.”

His
face stiffened; he could feel his expression chill. He inclined his torso in a
straight, formal bow. “I did not protect you as I should have. You have my
regrets and my apologies.” He gestured to the door. “Many of my best Chevaliers
are female. Do you want a guard with you here in the cottage?”

She
considered him. “Ttho.”

“Very
well. I have spoken with Bri, the Exotique Medica, at Castleton and she has
alerted the other Exotiques, their men, and probably all the important
personages of the Castle, as to your existence. They will be here shortly. Do
you wish me to wait with you until they come?”

“Ttho.”

“Do
you have any more questions?”

“Ttho.”

Frowning,
he studied her, but he couldn’t read her. Was she as tough as she seemed? She
didn’t appear as if she was going into shock, but…He shook his head. She didn’t
want him here and he didn’t want to stay. Duty had been fulfilled, though
recompense for her injury remained outstanding.

Another
bow in her direction. “I will go and wait for the Exotiques, and work to
resolve the matter of how you were Summoned and no one knew.”

“Just
line up your thoughts,” she said. “You know.”

He’d
guessed, but wanted to confirm the details. With a last look in her direction
that he hoped didn’t show his distaste, he left.

R
aine’s knees
gave way and she sat down hard on the floor. She didn’t feel it. Adrenaline was
still racing through her body. But now the man was gone she began to shake. She
should move, but she simply couldn’t gather the wits and energy to do so. Awful
to know that she’d come to the end of her strength, while she was in the power
of this nobleman. He could hurt her so much more than Travys, if he cared.

She
sniffed. That song and dance about being attracted to her. Was that a pitiful
lie or what? She put her head on her knees and tried to pretend she wasn’t
trapped.

B
ri arrived no
more than fifteen minutes later. The first Faucon knew of her presence was when
she rapped briefly on his study door and walked in. He dropped his pen. “How
did you get here so soon?”

“I
rode the roc. She has better Distance Magic than the volarans.”

“Ah,
of course.”

She
lifted a bag made from the dreeth she’d helped kill. A twinge of pain went
through him. Elizabeth had designed that bag, said it was traditional medica
equipment on Exotique Terre. She’d never used hers, which he’d given her. She
hadn’t taken it home. So she probably had nothing to remember him by. Just as
well since she was with another man. The taste of bitter ashes coated his
mouth. “I’ll take you to the new one.” He was up and around the desk and
striding away, Power pushing his steps. “The sooner you treat her and arrange
for her to go to the Castle, the sooner you all will be gone.”

“Gee,
Faucon, thanks for the lovely welcome.”

Heat
rose to the back of his neck. He hadn’t ever been so rude in his own home in
all of his life. “Excuse me,” he said stiffly. “Come this way, please.” He
headed through the Castle.

Bri
caught up with him. “I’m sorry. I know that you still hurt. So do I.” Her tone
was short.

“Exotiques
have been more pain than pleasure for me, that’s certain,” he said. “I would
appreciate it greatly if you took her back to the Castle as soon as possible.”

“Who’s
her
? What’s her name? You did—” Bri stopped abruptly. She was more than
a little irritable, too. Two people mourning or something more? Not his
concern.

He
didn’t
want
it to be his concern, didn’t want to remember that he cared
for Elizabeth’s twin and had thought of her as the sibling he’d never had.
Once. He mastered his unaccustomed temper and tried a smile. Was fairly sure it
didn’t look sincere. “Her name is Raine Lindley.”

Raine
Lindley.
The new Exotique’s name echoed. Then he understood Bri had sent it to the other
Exotiques.

“Everyone’s
following. We’ll have a council here, then take her to the Castle.”

He
stopped to give her a brief, insincere bow. “
Merci
.”

As
they walked outside, she made a surprised noise and said, “You aren’t housing
her in your home?”