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Quinn had never been so glad to see home. She’d left almost two nine-days ago, and had just endured seven of them dealing with Bryar’s depression and Kiril’s smart-aleck comments, all while sharing the responsibility for the power cell’s delivery to the Motherhouse.
Afternoon sun poured down on them, spring already hinting at summer. Sunlight filled the bowl of the valley and the kids must be on a holiday, based on the numbers of them swarming around. Quinn welcomed the warmth and resented it in equal measure, as it made her itch with the grime of travel.
They turned the corner onto the green. Arwen emerged from the Centra, heading their way. Quinn watched Bryar scan the chaotic scene, his bearing rigid, probably looking for Mari. Failing to spot her, he faced Arwen and snarled, “Not now.”
“Where is it?” Arwen cut to the essentials.
“In the pack. Once I unload my stuff, it’s all yours.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
“Send someone. I’m not your messenger boy.”
Arwen’s gaze sought Quinn’s. She nodded; Bryar’s mood was nothing new. He’d been silent or had spoken in curt sentences since the morning by the waterfall.
At the snap of Arwen’s fingers, one of the apprentices appeared. “Phron, accompany Bryar to his quarters. When he’s removed his belongings, bring his pack to me. No dallying, no side trips. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The boy couldn’t be more than thirteen, the youngest that kids were accepted at the Motherhouse, but Arwen already had him trained.
Bryar glowered at them both, then stomped off to the Bards’ lodge, Phron at his heels.
“I must hear about this,” Arwen murmured. “Do you want a break first?”
“A bath, some decent food, a nap?” Quinn suspected her chance of any of these was slim.
Dal had crossed the green in the direction of the Healers’ lodge. Kiril gave them a nod as he took off in the same direction, toward the guest lodge. “Getting a bit ripe there, Featherstone,” he said in passing. From somewhere he’d unearthed her seldom-used last name.
“You’re filthy,” she called to his back. “Go to the village. Get a shave.”
Kiril turned, walking backwards, and shot her a wicked grin. “Some women like a man with a beard,” he responded.
A couple of the older apprentices tittered. When she glared, they ran away, giggling. She felt heat on her face and hoped her skin was dark enough to hide it.
“Come with me,” Arwen commanded. “We’ll have food sent to my workroom.”
And so the heroes return, she thought grimly. No fanfare, no rest, not even a bath, and the cell entrusted to a child. Better, she supposed, than having them fawn over Bryar. He couldn’t have borne it.
At least she had a chance to update Arwen, in private.
But when she entered the workroom from the stone corridor, a younger woman sat off to the side, uncharacteristically still.
Tai.
Quinn swallowed her surprise. “You’ve surfaced.”
Tai shrugged. “It was time.”
“We could have used you here sooner.”
“I wasn’t around.”
So like Tai, always a law unto herself.
Quinn narrated the story as she understood it, pieced together from what Bryar or Kiril had let slip, from their arrival and Bryar’s meeting with Leo to the knife fight, which cost Bryar two fingers, and then their eventual escape from Borgonne. “So far he isn’t forthcoming. I’m not sure who killed Duncan, but my money’s on Bryar – although why Kiril would lie about it is beyond me.”
“Did you have any trouble with Kiril?” Arwen asked.
“No, surprisingly. Bryar had the cell, and no one contested that. Either he’s playing some deep game or he’s decided it isn’t worth it.”
“You don’t trust him,” Arwen said.
“Some things never change.” Quinn snorted, then offered Tai a half smile. “Here. Take this.” She rummaged in her pack and pulled out the flute.
Tai ran her hands over the diminutive instrument. “Why would he fight Dal about Healing, Quinn? Why is he inflicting this torture on himself?”
“I’ve been mulling that over.” Obsessing, more like. “If I had to guess, I’d say guilt. He believes he killed Duncan. Whatever the justification, that’s got to be tough to live with. When you add in losing his music, he’s taken one blow too many.”
“That’s nonsense. Bryar hasn’t lost his music. He’s just... sidestepped it for the moment. We’ll restore it.”
Quinn smiled at Tai’s confidence and started to respond, but broke off at a double knock at the door. Phron stepped in. “Here it is, ma’am.” Another knock sounded as he dropped the travel-grimed pack on the floor next to Arwen’s table, and a woman from the kitchens arrived with caff and an assortment of snacks. She and Phron left together, the woman squeezing the boy’s shoulder encouragingly. Even for an innocuous errand, being ordered to Arwen’s presence was certain to start butterflies fluttering in the stomach of the hardiest apprentice. Quinn grinned at the woman’s show of solidarity.
Tai stood, clutching the flute. “Mental-emotional Healing’s tougher than physical, but between Dal and me, he’ll get help. I’ll hang on to this awhile, until the time’s right.”
Quinn watched the younger woman cross to the door. She had long been unclear what was going on between Bryar and Tai, and concluded it was a close, if unexpected, friendship. She knew Bryar inside out, but Tai had always been a mystery, forming occasional alliances but seldom friendships. Her disappearance had hit Bryar hard, but the idea of either of them committing to another... well, none of her business.
“Tai?”
“Hmm?” Tai turned to Quinn, her eyebrows raised.
“Bryar’s vulnerable right now. Be kind.”
Tai’s pixie face twisted in a wry grin. “We come from different perspectives. For you, he’s still the kid you grew up with. Don’t worry.” She nodded to the older women and slipped out the door, closing it quietly.
A tiny smile danced around Arwen’s mouth. “If anyone can put that man together again, she can.”
“What did she mean?” Quinn was honestly bewildered. She harbored no illusions where Bryar was concerned.
Arwen’s voice was kind. “What she means is that to you, Bryar’s a friend. To Tai, he’s a mate.”
“They may be lovers, but-” The words sank into her like weights anchoring her to a shifting surface. “Mates?” she echoed.
“Exactly. I could throttle Tai for disappearing, although I understand why she did it. She’ll be the platform on which he reconstructs himself, and he won’t even know she did it. He needs her, Quinn, as difficult as that might be for you to accept.”
Mates. A fissure in their tight group. She made herself grin. “Do you suppose we’re finally growing up?”
Arwen laughed out loud, something that never happened. “If so, it’ll be interesting to see what form growth takes in you, my dear.”
The smile faded. “I just want to get further into the Aura. To learn the truth of our origins. You know that.”
“I know you believe what you say. Your friends had all they wanted, too, until... well. Time will reveal.”
“Don’t prognosticate.” The hint of a deeper bond than simple attraction between Willow and Joss didn’t sit well, either. Quinn poured caff and helped herself to a pastry – a seed pastry, reminding her again of Willow, off in Hallan. With Joss.
She suddenly felt very alone.
“Tell me your story,” Arwen said, settling behind her work table. “Then we dispose of that.”
Both women looked to Bryar’s pack, sitting slumped and innocuous on the floor.
~~
BRYAR WASTED NO TIME in his lodging. After cleaning out his pack and handing it over to the young apprentice, he hastily stowed his belongings, plucked a clean tunic from the wardrobe, and headed for the baths on the ground floor. No music came from the common room, and the upstairs suites were deserted. If all the Bards were off traveling, Arwen and the council must be confident the crisis was over. Life was returning to normal.
For most of them.
Residents of the local village handled many of the tasks necessary to run the Motherhouse, including laundry and housekeeping. They had been alerted; he found a tub of warm water waiting. Bryar kicked his dirty clothes into a pile and immersed himself, ignoring the soap for the moment, enjoying the lassitude that overcame his muscles now that he didn’t need to try anymore. He wished it were hot enough to scald away the last four nine-days. With the injured hand resting on the side of the tub, he leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the peace of his native element permeate his being.
Every one of Ezra’s predictions had played out. From shielding his Entrée, to the intensive physical training, to the cost. Innocently, he’d believed he’d already paid the price for this mission when Tai disappeared, but no. An ache, such as happened when he played the chitarre too long, shot from the nonexistent tip of his index finger up his arm. He clenched his teeth, not because it hurt but because he couldn’t massage it away.
He opened his eyes and studied the light bandages covering the remains of his fingers. Dal would remove the stitching soon, perhaps tonight. Then he faced a lifetime learning how to live without music. He pinched his eyes closed again, shutting out the new reality for a few precious minutes.
The door creaked.
“Occupied,” he called out. The Bards’ lodge held only two bathing rooms, so interruptions weren’t unusual.
The door latched closed with a gentle click.
“Washing when your fingers are still bandaged must be a challenge,” a soft voice said from beside the tub. “I’ll help.”
Bryar’s eyes flew open as he jerked upright, sending a wave of water onto the floor.
It couldn’t be.
It was.
Tai. For all the world as if she hadn’t vanished from his life on the bank of a river, leaving him to cope alone. She perched on the side of his tub and ran her finger along his hairline.
He almost believed she was real.
“Tai.” He heard the rasp in his voice. The word, which summed up so much, had barely passed his lips since he’d left Ezra’s; it was as if he spoke it for the first time.
“Bryar.” She said his name as a simple fact, as if the world was set to rights by its utterance, and took his wounded hand in her own. “Can you put it in water yet?” she asked.
“What?” he blurted, jerked back to reality. “No, I mean yes, but I don’t-”
“I know about the fingers,” she said, silencing him. “No secrets, ever again.” She shoved up the sleeves of her tunic and fished a sponge from the water. Claiming the bar of soap, she pushed on the top of his head, dunking him, then massaged lather into his hair. After another dunk to rinse, she ran the sponge along his body, his arms and legs, down his torso...
Sweet Sustainer.
He was helpless under her hands. He’d be happy to stay that way into eternity.
Except –
“By all the blessings in the world,” she said, “but you are a beautiful man.”
She ignored his manhood and washed his right hand, kissing each fingertip. She turned to his left hand.
“Don’t.” He jerked free and plunged his hand underwater. It was an illogical, stupid move. As soon as she bore witness to his maimed fingers...
“Bryar, it’s me.” Tai lifted his hand, removed the sodden bandages, and gently worked the soap into his skin. When she finished rinsing, she repeated the ritual, kissing the tip of each finger.
He watched, torn between horrified and... and what? He, the master of words, had no way to describe the emotions her actions spawned.
“The water’s almost cold. Let’s go.” Tai planted herself at the end of the tub and held out her hands. He took them and allowed her to pull him to his feet. As he clambered out of the water, she claimed a towel from the stack. “Let me do this for you.”
Tai started with his hair and neck, rubbing with the cloth, kissing where she had dried. She worked her way down his back, over his buttocks... drying, kissing. His muscles clenched as he fought for control. Up his left arm to his chest...
Unable to bear it another instant, as she must be fully aware, he snatched the cloth from her, tossed it aside, and pulled her to him. The bliss he’d thought was gone forever swamped his nerve endings as Tai molded herself against him, her mouth responsive under his, her hands on his back, working lower.
Bryar broke away, gasping. Nothing emerged when he tried to speak but, reading his message, she crossed the two paces to the door and peeked out. “All clear.” She grabbed a second towel from the shelf, tossed it to him, and bolted from the room. Modesty wasn’t a big feature of life in the Bards’ lodge, but he managed to tie the cloth around his waist before rushing up the stairs after her.
Tai stood on the far side of his bed.
“There’s so much you need to know,” he said, pleased that his voice sounded remarkably calm, given the way his body hovered on the verge of exploding.
“Later. If you’re sure.” She wasn’t as contained as she pretended; her hands trembled. But she circled the bed and yanked the cloth from his waist. With a fluid movement, she pulled her tunic over her head and let it drop to the floor.
Her skin was molten silk. His missing fingers forgotten, he drowned in the sensory exultation that was Tai.
~~
QUINN CAUGHT UP WITH Dal that evening as he crossed the green from the Healers’ lodge, heading for a gathering of older apprentices around a fire pit out behind the Centra.
“How’s Bryar?” she asked.
“I’m guessing, good, but I haven’t seen him. How are you, Quinn? You looked a little the worse for wear this morning.”
“Fine.” She dismissed Dal’s comment with a hand gesture. “What do you mean, you haven’t seen him? You were going to do a Healing-”
“Tomorrow will be time enough. Probably better, in fact.”
She didn’t give up the point. “But you were in a hurry to return to Stanstead.”
Dal stopped at the corner of the guest lodge, watching the kids around the fire. These apprentices were older, soon to graduate to their journey year with their whole lives ahead of them. Had she ever been so carefree?
“I do want to get back,” Dal said. “Charlotte’s waiting for me, and by now they’ll have selected a village healer. My work is there, training the new healer and Missy.”
“Then why haven’t you worked with Bryar? You could be on your way tomorrow.”
“Do you really think Arwen would sanction my leaving? The cell’s in our possession. The sooner it’s sealed and rendered harmless, the better.”
“And you’d be a part of it again?” To her own ears, she sounded more bitchy than curious.
“Most of us would, with stronger safeguards. Bryar’s an inspiration.”
“But I don’t understand...”
Shut up, Quinn. Keep your problems to yourself.
She was standing on the edge of the green with her back to the fire pit. A figure appeared out of the dusk, walking toward the dining hall from the vicinity of the Bards’ lodge.
“There he is. I need to-”
Dal gripped her shoulder, stopping her. “Look more closely.”
Not Bryar alone. A pixie of a woman clung to him, tucked against his side.
“Oh.”
Dal turned her to the fire and took her hands. “Trust me on this – Bryar’s got better medicine than anything in my repertoire. And you know it. He neither needs nor wants you right now.”
Quinn squeezed his hand before turning toward the Scribes’ lodge, swamped by the feeling of being old, useless, and alone.