Keepers of the Flame (59 page)

Another
comment that hit him on the raw. He sent Bri a long, cool look. “I told you she
couldn’t be moved from the seashore.”

“I
didn’t think you meant it literally.”

“I
did. She’s at the boathouse.” He resumed his rapid pace.

They
walked down the stone path from his castle to the dock and the small one-story
cottage set at a right angle to the dock. Carpenters were already replacing the
door as guards stood by.

“What
happened here?” Bri asked.

“One
of those who have a repulsion has been stalking her. He found her here.”

“You—”

He
raised a palm to cut her off. “I didn’t know. I only found her last night. She
hasn’t been forthcoming with me. Can we save this conversation until later? The
lady needs your care.” With a gesture more brisk than elegant, he waved her
into the cottage before him.

Raine
was still barricaded behind the table in the kitchen, staring at them with big
eyes and a large knife in her hand.

“OhmyGod.”
Bri said, in English. Faucon hated that he still had the dregs of that language
inside him from the lovemaking with Elizabeth.

The
knife lowered.

“Full
light,” Bri said.

Raine
blinked as the crystals in the beams brightened. She looked terrible. Very
thin, visible bruises all over her face and arms, torn clothing. Bri stared at
her, then glanced at him.

Another
short bow. “I’ll leave you alone.” He was glad to do that. He hesitated, then sent
mentally,
I hear that we still have this link between us
. The mental
Song that connected the Exotiques and their men. Another hurt.
I have guards
in place. Come back up to the Castle when you are done.

I’m
sorry. I miss her, too
, Bri said.

He
turned on his heel and left.

Bri
had treated abuse victims and refugees before. She walked over to a table in
the sitting-dining room and put her bag down on it, pulled up a chair and sat.
In English, she said, “I’m Bri Drystan, late of Denver, came here a few weeks
ago. I’m a medica, a healer.”

“You’re
one of
them.
One of the
others.”

“Yes.
They call us Exotiques.”

The
knife clattered to the floor. The woman began rocking herself, weeping.

Bri
approached slowly, but Raine didn’t look at her, not even when Bri climbed over
the table, righted it and slid the knife into a block. She sat down, then put
her arms around the previously unknown Exotique, who clung to her and sobbed.

There
was a brief knock on the outer door jamb and Bri looked up to see a large woman
wearing a tool belt watching with interest and sympathy. She ducked her head.
“Just wanted to let you ladies know that the door is back on. Solid. Hauteur
Cruess has left guards.”

“Merci,”
Bri said.

With
another nod, the carpenter closed the door, tested it, and left.

Bri
found herself stroking thick, damaged dark brown hair. “That’s right,” she
said. “Let it all out. I can’t imagine how rough it’s been for you.”

The
woman pulled back, grabbed a rag and blew her nose, stood, and moved near the
door. “No, you can’t.” Bitterness laced her tones. Bri listened to her Song.
More than her hair was damaged. But Bri had dealt with disadvantaged people
hating those better off before, too. She rose.

“Please
don’t dislike me because I’ve had it easier. There are only five of us here,
and we need to stick together.”

“Then
why didn’t you come for me
before
?” Anguish now.

Bri
raised both her hands. “We didn’t know you were here.” She took in a breath,
blew it out. “We were all Summoned in a big ritual ceremony by the Marshalls.
They planned for us to come. Prepared for us for a month. I don’t—we don’t, the
Marshalls don’t—know how you came here.”

“To
Lladrana,” the woman said flatly.

“Ayes,
Lladrana.”

Raine
jerked her chin in the direction of the Castle. “He knows.”

“He?”

“The
slick guy, Faucon.” She said his name as if it were a swear word.

“He
has an idea he’s checking out.” Bri considered the description, of all she knew
of the man. “Slick” was a good word for him, but so was “honest.” She shook her
head. “He didn’t know you were here.”

“Maybe.
Maybe not. But he’s got the right idea.” The other put a hand between breasts.
“I feel it here.”

Bri
let her lips curve slightly, in sympathy at having to rely on feelings instead
of facts. She tapped her right ear with two fingers. “Don’t you mean that you
hear
it?”

Raine’s
face crumpled. She stumbled to the chair Bri had vacated and sat, rocking a
little again. Bri walked up to her, stood close, within the personal space of
an American woman—though she didn’t think the other one came from Colorado. Her
accent spoke of east coast. “Let me help.” She opened her bag, saw the other
eyeing her warily, drew out a stack of handkerchiefs. “They don’t have
tissues.”

Raine
took one of the fine linen cloths and pressed it between her hands, as if
savoring the texture. Then she mopped her eyes and blew her nose. “Just as
well,” she said thickly. “Don’t need any more trees cut down.”

“I
agree.” Bri studied the woman. “Now let’s see about those bruises. What hurts the
most?”

Raine
lifted her tunic and chemise and Bri sucked in her breath as she saw the dark
purple-black over the ribs. She’d been lucky they hadn’t broken but surely one
or more must be cracked. She looked up to meet the other’s eyes. “You must have
a high pain threshold.”

“I’ve
developed one.”

Bri
noticed the tension in her own shoulders, relaxed. Okay, take a step back in
this little dance. “I’m Bri Drystan from Denver, Colorado,” she said again and
offered her hand.

“Raine
Lindley of Best Haven, Connecticut.” She stared at Bri, but Bri kept her gaze
steady, sympathetic, her hand out. Raine slipped chapped fingers into Bri’s and
a bright and whirling rainbow enveloped her. A long, lovely, mournful melody,
speaking of wind and water and the sparkle of the sun on ocean waves spun
between them. Bri let go. “You’re water.”

“What?”

Bri
smiled. “The Power we have resonates with one element more than others. You’re
water.”

Blinking,
Raine said, “I guess. I build ships.”

“I’m
water, too. I heal people.” Stepping forward, she slid her hands under Raine’s
blouse, found the tender ribs, called the healingstream, a little push of
lovely Power.

Raine
gasped.

“Better?”
Bri asked.

But
Raine had lifted her top, and stared at her ribs. “It’s gone.”

“I
heal people,” Bri repeated, thought of Raine’s words. “You build ships. Of
course that’s why you’re here.”

Rain
sniffed. “You just figuring that out? Slick knows that, too.”

Bri
smiled. “I’m from Colorado. All the rest of us are.” She touched Raine’s cheek,
sent healing to it, watched green flames dance as Raine’s bruise faded. “Most
women from Colorado don’t think about building boats.”

“Family
tradition,” Raine said. She ran her fingers through her hair, smiled
humorlessly. “I didn’t want to stick with the old plans. I wanted new, to build
different hulls, use metallic alloys. I wanted twenty-first-century cutting
edge.” She looked around her. “Guess not.”

45

A
couple of hours
later, Raine sat in a cushioned deck chair with the rest of the Exotiques
clustered around her. The chairs were set in a circle on a grassy terrace
overlooking a cliff that plunged to the ocean. Faucon’s dock was on a tiny
crescent of beach between the cliff to the north and a lower, rocky shore to
the south. The path to his Castle rose steeply.

Four
men also stood or lounged or sat nearby. She’d been briefly introduced to them,
but didn’t recall their names.

She
wasn’t comfortable. She wouldn’t be able to fight all these people and run
away. She suspected if she escaped, they’d come hunting for her.

The
women hadn’t gushed, but they seemed to think she’d accept them immediately and
be friends. Ha.

Raine
didn’t like the bitter resentment she held toward them and their easier lives,
but couldn’t seem to shake it off.

Calli,
the blond horsewoman—Volaran Exotique—met Raine’s stare. “We didn’t have it
that
easy,” she said. “All of us faced death in fulfilling our task on Lladrana.”

“We’ve
been in mortal peril,” said Marian, the voluptuous redheaded scholar, nearly at
the same time. She sat next to Raine—ostensibly to answer any questions—and
nudged the stack of three books with her foot toward Raine. They were the same
bindings as the books she’d been given in the morning, but these were in
English. The top one read, “The Lorebook of Calli Torcher, Chevalier and
Volaran Exotique.”

“We’ll
help however we can,” Calli said.

“What
you went through sucks.” Alexa’s eyes were hard. She fingered her baton. “I had
to fight and kill a guy like that once. As soon as I got here, actually.”

Raine
just stared at her, decided that she was telling the truth, but wasn’t sure
what to say.

“We
haven’t been stalked or attacked since then,” Marian said. “Those with the
revulsion reflex usually stay out of our way.”

Faucon
walked into view, accompanied by a man in white Chevalier leathers and a couple
of other men with a roll to their walks that Raine understood to be wealthy
Seamasters. Alexa, the little one with white hair, came over and stood beside
Raine, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“In
fact,” Alexa said, “Luthan—the man in white and the representative of the
Singer and my brother-in-law—has the repulsion thing and it distresses him.”
Alexa squeezed Raine’s tense shoulder. “Watch how a real man deals with it.”

Raine
sat straight, stared at the tall man in white. He nodded to her politely, but
when he was a few yards from her, he stopped, and a shudder passed through his
body. Then he continued on and was formally introduced. He took Raine’s hand
and bowed over it, didn’t drop it with haste, then moved a couple of steps away.

“That’s
it?” Raine muttered from a corner of her mouth.

Another
squeeze from Alexa. “That’s it. That’s all he ever shows. And in a couple of
months he will know you well and the instinctive-revulsion-thing will wear
off.”

Scrutinizing
Luthan’s handsome face with the silver mark of Power at his temples, Raine
noted his impassive expression, his cool gaze. She
sensed
his emotional
withdrawal. More, she heard the ramping up of his heartbeat and strident notes
in his Song. But he showed no outward indications that her presence affected
him. He met her eyes, his own polite.

“An
honorable man is a treasure,” she said.

He
blinked. His lips curved slightly. “Thank you.” He was sincere. Raine was
hearing
Songs much clearer than she had before. Probably because these people were
Powerful. She’d heard how magic touched people at the left or right temples and
made streaks of silver—gold for the old. But this was the first time she’d seen
it.

The
delegation from the Seamasters had greeted the Exotiques’ men first, with
sideways glances at the women. It was easy for Raine to know they worked on the
water by the look in their eyes and the way they carried themselves. There was
a short thin man and a big burly one, both honed tough by their life.

Marian
stood, and everyone else followed. Even though none of them were actually
touching, Bri could feel the energy and emotion cycling through them, uniting
them. Alexa’s fury was driving the link.

Interesting,
not like other men in different walks of life
, Marian sent.
Don’t
antagonize them,
she cautioned Alexa.

But
Alexa had withdrawn her baton from her sheath and the end flared with flames.

Too
late
,
Calli said.

Raine
felt a little more secure that the people around her would take her part.

“Let’s
sit,” Faucon said smoothly and Alexa reluctantly went back to her chair,
scowling at the Seamasters. “Refreshments will be here shortly. I know all your
tastes except Raine’s. What will you have, lady?” His smile was quick and
superficial. “Tea, mead, ale, whiskey, brandy?”

The
memory of the alcohol stench permeating the Opened Mouth Fish tavern and many
of its patrons tickled her nose, though that place sure hadn’t had good whiskey
or brandy. Raine didn’t know if she could choke down alcohol.

“Orange
juice for Raine,” Bri said.

“Done,”
Faucon said. He took a tiny horn-shaped thing from his belt and spoke into it.
Raine recalled a couple more of the horns in the cottage. So that’s what they
were for.