Protector of the Flight (52 page)

“The
volarans didn’t abandon the Castle like they did before she came.”

“Yet.”
She shot a glance at Marian. “I can feel the wrongness of her not being here in
my bones. Can’t you?”

“It’s
as if a major theme is missing from the melody.”

“Got
that right,” Alexa said. “I can’t settle.” A brief grin flashed. “Bastien has
liked that—for now, more active sex. But I want Calli back.” She looked up at
Marian, eyes shadowed. “I don’t think we can win this war without her. This
could be the work of her enemy. Or the Dark. Or both. Tell me we can get her
back.”

Pain
swirled through Marian. She felt it all, Calli’s children’s anguish, the
volarans’ shock and distress, the Chevaliers’ wariness, the Tower Community’s
deep unease. She promised something she didn’t know she could deliver. “We’ll
get her back.”

M
arrec had
learned early in life that it was near-fatal to show fear, so he kept his
locked down around the men and the older woman. And with Calli, too, since he
didn’t want her to know how extremely disturbed he was.

He
was being very, very careful, like the first weeks on the noble’s estate after he’d
been orphaned. For the first time in his life he’d realized the three great
streams of luck he’d had. When he’d claimed the trained volaran on the
battlefield, which led to being taken with the winged steed to the estate, when
Calli had claimed him, and now, surviving once more in a place completely alien
to him—with Calli as his guide.

Seeing,
feeling
her home, was illuminating. The land rejoiced that she’d
returned, Sang of her—as did the house and the barn and the stables. As her
father did not. The man was a dry stick, whatever emotion he had focused on his
new wife. A woman that was a small flickering candle flame to Calli’s
incandescent star.

What
was the most incredible thing was that Calli needed him. Here at her home as
much as, or more than, in Lladrana. The man and woman stared at his different
skin and hair and features, and he finally recognized the small hum of wariness
that had been in Calli’s Song from the moment they’d met. She was not Lladranan
and every person there—except Alexa and Marian—had stared at her. No wonder she
strove to please. No wonder she cherished the other two Exotiques.

After
breakfast, they went back up to her room and she headed straight to a low
wooden cabinet and opened it, pulling out a small brown tooled-leather bag. She
flipped through it, face pale. Then she just shook her head and met Marrec’s
eyes. She lifted the bag. “This is a purse. It’s a standard joke of our culture
that no woman leaves her home without her purse.” Her smile trembled on her
lips. “But here it is. And though I think Dora went through it and took my
money, everything else is still here.” She shook her head. “My father…” She
lapsed into silence, but Marrec knew her thought. Her father had not cared
enough about her disappearance to wonder about the bag.

She
opened a panel in the back of the cabinet door and took out a white paper
envelope, looked at a stack of green pieces of paper. Dividing it in half, she
gave him some and told him it was zhiv and explained the denominations. Then
she studied him, hard, before asking again in simple English whether he wanted
to ride to town.

He
had agreed, but thought she meant they’d ride horses. Instead, it was in a
wheeled metal vehicle that sent any Song he could hear of nature or even
between himself and his mate into random notes. With white knuckles and
stiffened body he suffered through the minutes until they arrived. He was out
of the “car” in an instant. Mastering the door handle had been easy.

There
weren’t a lot of people on the white walks near the buildings or in the
streets.

“It’s
still early yet, but the mercantile will be open,” Calli said, then repeated
the phrase in English.

Yet
everyone in town stared—at his clothes, at his face. Calli had told him that
this was a small town but the center of local government, “county seat.” It was
as large as Castleton, but appeared much, much stranger. The first thing they
did was go into a shop and buy clothes for him. That morning Calli dressed in
some of her old clothes. He changed behind a curtain and Calli bundled his
dreeth leathers into a bag of thin, slick, noisy composition.

The
only thing he liked was the hat and boots. He’d admired Roy’s and Will’s hats
and boots and was glad to get his own. The hat was gray and sturdy, the boots
black with intricate white stitching.

They
walked down the street. But Calli stopped at a huge glass shop window. “This is
new.”

Inside
showed a multitude of colorful items, all glittery and colorful except for a
thin, white scarflike wrap with gleaming silver beads and silky fringe at the
ends of the sleeves and the hem.

Calli
sighed, shook her head. “Who would put a world import shop in Bellem?”

Her
gaze once again shifted to the scarf-robe, pristine amongst the bold reds,
blues and gold.

Marrec
gestured at the door. “In.”

“No.”
She met his gaze steadily. “We don’t know what the future will bring. We may
need all our assets.”

His
jaw clenched. Just as in Lladranan, here the assets were Calli’s assets. That
fact had gnawed at him, even though she’d let him handle the zhiv.

But
she read him like no one else, and stepped closer to him. “Marrec, I’m so glad
you’re with me. I’m so glad you’ve always been with me. I couldn’t have—You
have helped me so much and continue to do so.” She brushed his cheek with a
kiss. They stood there for a while, and people walked around them, giving them
curious glances.

The
moment crystallized for him, the look of her and everything else in this
strange world, the smells, the way the breeze slid against him, the underlying
Song. He knew that somehow if he was trapped on this place forever, he could
survive.

Then
they went to an imposing building where Calli wanted to check on the ownership
of the ranch.

Marrec
decided to wait in the corridor. The more he heard the language, and from a
variety of throats, the more he understood it. Many concepts might be lacking,
but if the people were talking about something simple, “kids,” “lunch,”
“horses,” Marrec could winkle out the meaning.

A
young couple came in holding hands. The man wore strange black-and-white garb,
the woman a long white dress. Smiles greeted and followed the couple as they
walked along the hall. Marrec frowned. An image tickled his memory and he
patiently tracked it down to something he’d seen in Calli’s mind during the
first few minutes of the heady rush of the bloodbond. It wasn’t a real
recollection of hers, but a dream, a visualization. Of herself wearing such a
gown. The image had had a lot of yearning associated with it. She’d wanted it
badly.

He
rose and sauntered after the couple. They turned into a doorway, and he heard
the young man’s excited voice. “We have an appointment with the Honorable Judge
James.” The woman giggled nervously and said, “He’s going to marry us!”

Marrec
walked closer, until he could see into the doorway. A gray-haired woman stood
behind a desk, smiling. “I can see that,” she said and looked down at a book
with very white pages, little lines and handwriting. “You’re his second couple
today. John Anderson and Rebecca Schmitt, right?”

“Yes.”

“Did
you bring anyone else?”

“Witnesses?
Uh, no!” the man said. He shared an anxious glance with the woman, who clutched
the little bunch of flowers so tightly that Marrec saw a drop of green juice
hit the floor.

“You
aren’t required witnesses for the marriage,” the woman soothed. “But it’s nice
to share the occasion, and we have a lovely marriage certificate as a memento
in that case. No charge.” The young man swallowed and sent glances all around,
then caught sight of Marrec.

“Uh,
sir, could you…uh, we’d ’preciate you joining us to witness the marriage, I
mean, see us married.”

The
repeated word of “marriage” made the definition finally sound in his mind.
Bonding. Pairbonding. The man was wearing two sets of long sleeves, so Marrec
didn’t think that it would be a bloodbond. This might be interesting. He used
one of the few words he knew. “Yes.”

The
door to another chamber opened and they went in. A man Marrec’s age glanced at
the couple, and stared a few seconds at him as the older woman closed the door
behind them. Then the man inclined his head. Marrec already knew people of
authority didn’t have streaks in their hair to show it here, but he sensed the
man’s status all the same.

The
ceremony was interesting. And short. It only took a few minutes and Marrec
listened hard to the vows, trying to set every word in his memory. This is what
he and Calli would have done if they’d both been of this world.

Marrec
didn’t know how to sign his name in English. Something he’d have to ask Calli.
So he took the writing instrument awkwardly in his hand and signed in
Lladranan. The young man shook the judge’s hand, then held his out to Marrec.
Marrec did the same. The young woman threw her arms around him and stood on
tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Thank you. Thank you!”

He
said what the others had. “You’re very welcome.”

“This
doesn’t look like Japanese or Chinese or Korean,” the older woman said,
studying the official parchment.

“No,”
said the judge. “More like Arabic, but not that, either.”

The
bride shifted. “Can we have it now?”

“Of
course.” The judge handed her the paper. She grabbed her
husband’s
hand
and they hurried out.

The
older man studied Marrec. Uneasiness pricked his nerves and he said what Calli
had told him. “I’m with Calli Torcher.”

“The
Rocking Bar T? I hadn’t heard she was back,” said the woman.

“Yes,”
Marrec said.

The
man considered him another moment, offered his hand. “Good job.”

Marrec
shook his hand and said, “Thank you,” then bowed and left.

Calli
was waiting for him outside the room she’d gone in. When she saw him, her
expression eased. “There you are. Is everything okay?”

Since
he’d heard the latter English sentence even on Lladrana, Marrec said, “Yes.”

She
linked arms with him, as if to make sure he wouldn’t stray. “Good.”

“Yes.”

Her
manner was restrained. He sensed she didn’t have nearly as nice a time as he’d
had. Must have been the distressing news she’d anticipated. But they didn’t go
back to the ranch. Instead, they sat on a bench in a well-groomed green area
that looked like the squares townsfolk made in Castleton.

“Dora
moved in fast. From what I heard from Roy, she’d only been in town a couple of
weeks before she met Dad. They were married—and she was named co-owner of the
ranch—after another two weeks.” Calli made a disgusted noise, then blinked
hard. “I never would have thought he’d fall for a gold digger.”

“Gold
digger?”

“A
greedy woman only out for what she can get.”

Marrec
put his arm around Calli, scooted her close. “There seems to be affection
between them. I don’t think she will run out on him.” He’d heard violent
whispers between Calli’s father and his new wife—all about how Calli’s mother
had left and then how Calli had “run out.”

“No.
Her life isn’t too hard. Beautiful land. Adoring husband. Future for her son.
After
I get out of the way.”

Marrec
stroked her hair, her lovely, lovely hair, more common here than in Lladrana
but still unexpected to him. He touched her face, turned it so he could see her
eyes. Damp blue eyes. “You have an adoring man.”

Her
chin wobbled. Her eyes closed, then opened, and tears trailed down her cheeks.
“Thank you. Thank you for being here with me. It would have been so hard on my
own.” She brushed his lips with hers. “Thank you for being you.”

He
frowned.

She
smiled. “Thank you for being the kind of man you are. Strong. Supportive.”

“Adoring.”

Again
she closed her eyes, shook her head, then settled into the curve of his arm.
They sat together, thigh by thigh, and Marrec made no suggestion to leave this
place. Instead, he closed his eyes, too, and listened. He heard the babble of
English, footsteps slow and brisk, but beyond that, he could hear the Song of
this world. So rich. So vibrant. So strong. Unlike Amee’s.

He
was glad Calli hadn’t said they’d had the same simple life that Dora had found.
That they would have it again—somewhere, somehow. They’d fight and fight again
to return to Lladrana, but what happened when years passed? Would they adopt
more children, different children? A shaft of pain so deep lanced him at the
whisper of the thought that he cast it aside. Calli wrapped her arm around his
waist.

They
sat for a while, until the peace of the land infused them and their own human
problems diminished. Calli sniffed and disentangled herself from him.

He
asked what he’d wanted to know all morning. “Calli, am I your husband?”