Mickle’s kitchen was a friendly place of well-worn comfort. In the oldest of Human traditions, it was a separate room of the house, closed off from the bedlam that currently raged through the rest of it. Vandien sat in a darkened corner of it and tried to shut his mind off.
He could hear Jace and Chess down in the cellar as they dragged about beds and chests to make room for Jace to sleep. Rebeke had banished them there, insisting that Mickle kindle enough lights in the rest of the house for her to work by, and commandeering his bed for Hollyika. Hollyika and Mickle were currently engaged in a shouting match over whether she would drink the milk and eat the nourishing stew he had brought her, or whether she really would get up out of the bed and break his neck first. Vandien was betting on Mickle at this point. The old man’s determined nagging brought a tiny smile to his face, but it died there.
Ki sat at the table, staring down at her hands. Vandien looked at her, and then away. Mickle had insisted that they all must eat, in his dismay and delight at a houseful of folk coming in at dawn, and had so laden the table that there was scarce room to sit at it. In all the bustle and shouting, Vandien alone had marked how Ki had drifted from room to room in the house, now looking at Hollyika as Rebeke worked over her, now wandering through the kitchen and out into the courtyard, to stand staring at the dawn breaking over the city. Long had she stared up at the streaking colors of the sky, until Mickle had found her and, taking her arms, brought her in and put her at the table. Then she had eaten, fruits and bread in tiny bites, as if she had forgotten how to eat. She ignored the slice of meat he forked onto her plate, disdaining even that part of the bread that had soaked up its juices. But wine she had taken, one glass, and then a second, and again, until Mickle wisely and silently left the bottle at her elbow.
Vandien too had eaten, but in quantity more than pleasure. He felt the weight of the food in his stomach. Like a sated wolf, his body now bade him curl up and digest. Sleep beckoned seductively as a time free of thinking. He watched Ki pour another glass of wine, her eyes following the last red drops into her glass. Not by word nor touch nor flicker of eye did she acknowledge him. He sought out the dawn in the courtyard.
A high wall surrounded it, and the grey of early day filled it. A great oven, monument to Mickle’s days as a baker, squatted in a corner of the manicured garden. A few cherished fruit trees were already drooping in the early heat. Full sun this day would be scorching.
Vandien sat down beside the door and leaned back against the wall of the house. He tipped his head back so full light fell on his face, shining dimly through his closed eyelids. It was warm on his face, and he willed his mind to blank sleep.
A voice jarred him from it. Rebeke was speaking inside the kitchen. ‘I’d take it as a favor if you went far from this place, and spent the rest of your life being inconspicuous.’
‘I don’t know that I owe you any favors.’ Ki’s voice was slow, not drunk but softened. ‘I recall that you said it was not goodwill toward me that got you involved.’
‘No. It wasn’t. But it was definitely the ill will of others toward you that started the whole chain of events, so perhaps you owe me for stopping them.’
‘Perhaps I owe the Windsingers a lot, favors not among them. Do you know what I am?’
‘Do you?’ Power lashed through Rebeke’s voice. Ki was silent. ‘Far away and inconspicuous. And no children, Ki, by anyone.’
Ki made a wordless sound of contempt and fury. Another sound followed, like a thud against wood. Rebeke’s voice was calm when she spoke. ‘That’s coin, to settle for the wagon, and for Vandien’s horse. You’ve no excuse not to move on. And there’s something else in there as well. I got it back for you, after Chess told Mickle about it.’ Her voice suddenly changed, and it was woman speaking to woman that Vandien heard. ‘I’m giving it back to you. If you’ve an ounce of sense in that thick Romni skull, you’ll give it away again.’ Vandien heard her steps cross the kitchen to the other door. It was a Windsinger that warned, ‘I’ve come to power now. Wherever you go, my eyes will see you. Don’t give me a reason to look for you.’
The silence in the kitchen congealed. A muscle spasmed in Vandien’s back. He would sleep, and then he would go on, away from Jojorum. He wondered for a moment what had happened to his horse, but let the thought go. The fruit trees came to his mind, and the promised heat of the day. Beneath them there would be enough shade to save his skin from burning, and enough heat and light to keep dreams of the Limbreths from his mind. He rose with a creak of joints.
‘Where are you going?’ Ki spoke softly, but Vandien started at her voice. She stood framed in the doorway beside him.
‘To sleep.’ He gestured vaguely at the trees.
She sighed. ‘I’m not tired. Not sleeping tired.’ She looked at him, but he could not read the look, and after a moment she went on. ‘I’m tired in muscle, and too tired to eat more than a bite at a time, but I feel as if I could do anything except sleep. I’ve had enough sleep to take me to the end of summer.’ She walked back to the table and sat down again. She kicked out a chair for him, and her glance flicked up to his and away. He padded softly into the kitchen, looked at the chair, then sat down feeling numb. He reached for the wine bottle, but found it empty. Gravely she offered him her glass, but caught it back from him before he could drain it.
‘There’s a lot of explaining I have to do.’ She stopped his voice by putting the glass back to his lips. He took it from her, looking at her over its rim.
‘A deal,’ she proposed gravely. ‘You don’t ask me about things I said to you; I won’t ask you where the hell my wagon is.’
He nearly smiled. ‘But it’s not that simple, Ki. I need to know, in Human folly Hollyika tells me, what you feel, now, and what you felt. I have to ask.’
‘All right, then.’ Ki’s eyes challenged him. ‘But I’ll start first. What the hell happened to my wagon?’
Silence fell. Ki’s face was grim. Vandien shifted uncomfortably. ‘I lost it,’ he muttered, going red-faced.
‘And now about my feelings. I lost them.’ Ki picked up a peach from the table and bit into it.
‘And now,’ he pressed.
‘And now I have regrets. Not only for things I said to you, but for all the things I have never said to you. But also for what I found over there in myself, the potential that will never be more than that. I could wish I had never known.’
‘You’ve changed.’
‘I won’t be eating meat anymore, if that’s what you mean. I’ve come to feel my kinship with all moving living things. And I won’t be taking my time for granted anymore. I won’t ignore the fact that the span of my days is short.’
He could not smile at her. The relationship so carefully built seemed crumbled; he dared no longer trust the weight of his heart to it. ‘It’s more than that,’ he said heavily. ‘It’s not going to be the same between us.’
Ki looked deep into his eyes, troubled by what she saw there. ‘The same as what? When was it ever the same between us, from day to day? When did we ever want it to be?’ She paused. She smiled at him, hopefully, and her face looked less thin. ‘You know, of course, that I could have jumped from Sigurd’s back in the confusion. I didn’t have to come back through the Gate.’
He swallowed, and suddenly sighed out the tension, and did not hear Ki’s answering sigh. He was eased, and incredibly sleepy. She reached to touch his face, then got a good grip on the nape of his neck. Bending his head toward her, she warned him gruffly. ‘Next time don’t be so damned careless with the things I give you.’ The chain went cold around his neck and the hawk thudded lightly against his chest. A look of wonder came over his face, and he reached to touch it with one finger. Rising, he pulled her up and against him. ‘I’m going out under the trees to sleep,’ he told her. ‘Right now, I crave light and heat against my skin.’
Ki stretched within the circle of his arms, and spoke with her face in the hollow of his shoulder. ‘I’ll come out under the trees with you,’ she offered. ‘But not for the light and heat. And not to sleep.’