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Willow had never participated in a Winter Solstice celebration like this year’s. Dressed in heavy red velvet, she had accompanied Gauvain to a gathering of what she now recognized as high society in Orlan. Rich food, candles, greenery, dancing... she doubted the people she met were truly attuned to the earth and its seasons, but the celebration had assuaged the hollow feeling she’d endured as the holiday approached and no seasonal decorations appeared in the tower.
She had even seen Gauvain smile. More than once.
If she had a complaint, it was that the velvet quickly became too warm. Sometimes she longed for the comfort of the linen and woolen tunics of her old life.
Her old life – did that mean she accepted this as her new life?
Gauvain had been absent since Solstice. She had no idea where he had gone. The meals she shared with Leo in the kitchen were just as succulent, less rich, and much more relaxing.
Natural light wouldn’t hurt, she grumbled to herself as she entered the formal dining room. There were no windows on the ground floor of the tower, although heavy curtains covered niches where windows should be. Gauvain created scenes in them when he entertained, as if his friends looked out on seascapes, or the hills, or whatever he chose. Willow’s attempt to create such a scene on a wall, depicting the view downslope to Hallan Hot Springs, met with limited success. It turned out more like a shadow.
This morning marked her first encounter with Gauvain since the party.
“I trust you enjoyed the celebration?” he asked as she seated herself for breakfast, his tone implying that any admission of pleasure would be dismissed as frivolous.
“Yes. To my surprise.”
“And you have used the time since then productively?”
“Once I recovered from the excesses of the party, yes.”
He gestured with the caff pot. She held her mug out for him to fill it.
“Tell me. A full recounting, if you please.”
“The clouds yesterday-”
“I thought those were yours,” he said impatiently. “Go on.”
“Small things, but practical. Boiling water for a tisane, triggering new growth on the plant in my room.”
Juggling light globes. But Gauvain didn’t need to know about such childish activities.
“Healing? Leo spoke to me of your treatment.”
On the day following Solstice, she had ventured into the market in search of particular herbs, and these she infused to make a salve to ameliorate Leo’s ongoing backaches. The joy of creating a medicine again, pouring Auric energy into it to heighten its powers, thrilled her beyond anything Gauvain taught her. She’d devoted most of that day to the elderly servant, assisting in the kitchen and chatting about revels long past.
Now she frowned at the underlying tone of disapproval in his voice. “He is my friend, and his back pains him.”
“A local healer provides him with herbs.”
“The local healer cannot bolster those herbs with Auric energy. You know that as well as I do.”
Gauvain apparently had no riposte. He made a grumbling sound in his throat and turned his attention to his breakfast. “I wish to explore an advanced working with you, which will be to your benefit,” he said without looking up from his egg. “We will discuss it after breakfast, in my study.”
“Very well.” Willow recognized an unexpected undercurrent of excitement as he spoke of this teaching. For herself, the oatmeal and caff before her provided quite enough pleasure. With the happiness of Solstice fading, tendrils of homesickness once again intruded on her consciousness. The gentle melancholy suited her today, grounding her in memories of home.
When she presented herself in Gauvain’s study later, she found him standing in front of his shelves, running a finger across the spines of the books there. She sensed his unease immediately – and that he tried to hide it as he turned to face her.
“Tell me about the new technique.”
“One that I personally use only rarely.” He swallowed. “Willow, would you like to be able to glimpse your Motherhouse? See what is happening there?”
Her eyes widened. “I’ve never been able to communicate across distances easily, much less do distant viewing.”
“I believe that with the right – ambience – you can do these things, if only for an instant. Your potential... this may further unlock it. Although I must inform you yet again, your stubborn unwillingness to divulge your true name inhibits your powers.”
That argument again. Her past was her own, and none of his business. “My name is Willow.”
“But was not always.”
She couldn’t deny it, so she deflected it. “About the technique...”
Gauvain cleared his throat and returned to fiddling with the books. His back to her, he said, “There is a time, between a man and a woman, when boundaries dissolve. With the proper preparation, greater magic than usual may be enacted. I believe you are ready for this step.”
Sex magic. The apprentices giggled about it. Borgonnian culture being considerably more prudish concerning such matters than in the Midland, she doubted any of them had experienced the joys of sex yet.
But...
“Are you suggesting that you and I...?”
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
She wished he would face her; his books could not possibly be that interesting. Especially when he had just proposed that he and she should...
Sex with Gauvain?
Willow sat, her voluminous skirts – green the shade of new grass this morning – tucked around her. She studied his black hair, neatly confined in a tail by a black binding ribbon, and thought, or attempted to. He had always been compelling, drawing her to him in ways she didn’t fully understand and didn’t completely trust. But...
There was a physical allure. No point denying it. Willow tucked her hands into her skirt to hide their shaking. His suggestion left her stunned and scrambling for words.
But...
But the chance to catch a glimpse of Mari, maybe Bryar or Quinn, if they were resident at the Motherhouse?
And Joss. Where would Joss be now?
Gauvain offered her a transaction, not a seduction. Thinking practically, to give in to the release of sex, the slackening of the low-grade tension that haunted her days and especially her nights...
“There is an expression,” she said. “It regards dangling a carrot.”
He finally turned. “I have no need to bribe you into my bed.” His voice was haughty; she had insulted him. “This suggestion is for your benefit, not mine.”
That restored her to level ground. “You make it less alluring by the moment.”
“Listen, foolish woman.” Gauvain’s temper, as usual, was held in check by a thread. He leaned on the desk, glowering at her. “I am trying to further your education in the magical uses of the Aura. Considerable effort went into assuring that the method will produce the desired results. I am prepared to teach this to you. And you raise this ridiculous resistance-”
She stood, hands on her hips. “And you choose to treat me like an object. No woman wishes to be viewed in the same way a man views his shaving razor, or his favorite pair of walking boots, whatever the reason. Are you so divorced from-” Her voice hitched; to her amazement and annoyance, she found herself hovering on the edge of tears.
Gauvain sat and gestured that she should do the same. “I apologize,” he said stiffly. “I failed to take into consideration your sentimental nature. Which, I might add, also inhibits you as you progress in Auric workings.”
“I am not convinced of the benefit of further training. My Healing abilities have been restored.”
“And stronger than before, for which you may thank me. But you have much to learn still.”
“Not much that I need to learn, however.”
“You made a commitment. Two seasons as apprentice.”
And one completed. Bleak winter stretched ahead before spring would bring freedom...
“Do you wish this?” she asked.
Gauvain customarily kept his eyes shielded; when they locked on hers across his elaborate desk, their black depths came as a jolt. His expression was unreadable. Silence surrounded them.
“Yes,” he said. “I wish it.”
“Then I will consider it.” Willow rose as steadily as she could, given that her legs felt like custard, and walked with her head held high out his door.
~~
WILLOW WAITED FOUR days before she spoke to Gauvain about his proposal. Too much was unclear. His motives, for instance. Did he desire her, or was this simply another experiment? The enticement of a glimpse of life at the Motherhouse drew her like one of those magnetic rocks that attach to knives or needles. But did she want to combine this vision with a physical experience that ought to be all-consuming?
And Gauvain. Willow admitted the allure, at least to herself. But did she trust him enough to share herself with him? He’d been true to his promises, yet a part of her resisted.
Magic. She’d heard some of the common workings referred to as magic, but had never related to the Aura that way. For her, templates promoted Healing, allowed her to do her work. For Gauvain, was sex anything more than another esoteric practice?
And that circled her right back to the beginning, and the certainty that the unspoken tension between them needed resolution.
Over breakfast she said, without preamble, “How does this work? The image of the Motherhouse – how long will it last? How much control will I have? Can I see what I choose, or only what you, or the Aura, show me?”
He had looked up from his eggs and ham when she began her questions. He sat unmoving, his eyes fixed on her, until she stopped.
“Appreciate, please, that I cannot guarantee the content of the vision, only that it will occur. From my experiments, I can say that the Motherhouse is blanketed in snow, the children shriek altogether too much, and Arwen appears tense. That giant of a man is there, too.”
“How long?” she demanded.
“Ten seconds at the most.”
She eyed him. “If your experiments allowed you to see my home, you could teach me to attain the vision on my own, without requiring your participation.”
At her veiled mention of solitary sexual practices, color tinged his face. He returned his gaze to his plate and waited a moment before he spoke. “Certainly not. You are not strong enough. You could never perform this working unassisted.”
“Oh.”
“The idea is... unpalatable to you?”
“No. But-”
“For the love of-” He cut off the curse and rose. “Do you expect a courtship full of pretty words and out-of-season flowers? I thought you had more sense.”
She folded her hands in her lap. “I’m a woman, Gauvain.”
“I am teaching you to think like a Mage.”
“And succeeding. But I practice within my own body and using my own capabilities.”
“Very well.” He strode around the table, seized her elbow, and raised her to her feet. Willow sensed anger or frustration or ... passion? As for herself, the single bite of porridge lay uneasily in her stomach as he pulled her close.
“I will tell you this, although I fail to understand the necessity. You are a very attractive woman, and I find myself drawn to you, even anticipating a liaison. I believe you feel the same, however you cloak your reactions in sentiment.”
He drew her closer still, and then his mouth was on hers, gently but with command.
Without further debate, she gave in to him as he explored her with his lips and, gradually, his hands. Pressed against him, even through the luxurious skirts of her morning outfit, she was aware of his desire.
After a dizzying time, he stepped back. “Do you continue to doubt me?”
Not exactly the romantic words she might have enjoyed, but typical of Gauvain. “No, I don’t doubt.”
“Excellent. It seems the Motherhouse is on some sort of holiday for the Solstice. Your chances of seeing those you care about will be heightened. Now, I wish to finish my breakfast, and I suggest you do the same.”
Willow sat, wondering what had just happened.
~~
AROUND MID-AFTERNOON, Leo tapped on her door. “The Master wishes to see you in the workroom.”
“Thank you.”
“Miss...”
“Is something wrong, Leo?”
The elderly servant hesitated, fingering the fabric of his black coat, a frown adding to his wrinkles. “Be careful, Miss. The Master... I’m not sure what he’s planning. He means you no harm, I’m sure of that, but his ways aren’t yours.”
She took his hand and squeezed. “I know. It’s part of my training. Please don’t worry.”
Leo left, the frown still creasing his face.
The workroom? Hardly conducive to a romantic interlude. But she supposed he had his reasons. She abandoned any notion of seduction and changed into the white robe she’d worn for her evening treatments, then descended the stairs.
Gauvain stood in the center of the room. Willow caught a fleeting whiff of an unfamiliar incense as she closed the door. He came forward and raised her hand to his lips, for all the world like a courtier in one of Bryar’s tales. He led her formally to another door, which she had always assumed was a closet. Instead it opened onto a small room holding a thick pallet on a frame, covered with a plump duvet. The room was undecorated, the duvet the basic beige of undyed linen. “I occasionally wish to rest,” he explained. “This is convenient. Why did you change?”
“An experiment, yes? This is what I wear when you use me for your experiments.”
He released her hand. “Your treatments are at an end.”
“This is a new phase of experimentation, then.”
“You insult me.”
“That was not my intention.”
“Very well. An experiment. If that is what you wish.” He reached out and touched her.
She had believed Gauvain to be almost entirely air clan, but now she learned a new aspect to him. Fire. She responded viscerally to the passion weaving through the room. He moved slowly, building the desire between them.
His body, naked in the light of the Aura globes, was a thing of beauty, dark and sinewy, desiring her... She allowed him to lead, passion spiraling toward its peak.
Until...
Abruptly, a deep voice imposed itself on her mind. A strong, pale body. A man afraid of what they created together, but willing to learn. Quietly there when she needed him.
She jerked away, freeing herself from Gauvain’s clasp.
“Did I hurt you?”
“That’s not it.”
He stiffened. “Tell me. Surely your Midland conscience isn’t interfering with our pleasure.”
Disdain filled his voice, but that didn’t surprise her. Breaking off a liaison at this juncture was insulting. She knew it, and couldn’t help it. She picked up her robe and donned it under his disapproving eyes.
“I just... can’t. I’m so sorry.”
“Leave me,” he commanded. “This instant.”
“Let me explain-”
“I do not want your explanations, pitiful as I’m sure they are. Go.”
~~
LATER, OVER SUPPER, she addressed his unresponsive face. “Sex is magical, yes, but there is more. This afternoon another man intruded into my thoughts. His presence in my mind curtailed my response to you. I love him, Gauvain. I only realized this when...” She waved her hand a little desperately to indicate their aborted liaison.
“Naturally, I am delighted to assist you in understanding yourself,” he said. Then he began eating his dinner and didn’t speak again, not even to offer to fill her wine goblet.
Willow ate a few bites and left the table. She would beg a sandwich from Leo later. But she couldn’t stay in Gauvain’s presence any longer.