A/N: Replaced chapter for mild grammar issues.

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The Autumn Assignment

Chapter 11: Prove Me Wrong

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"Sweet Mithros, Daine, what have you been doing?"

The voice startled her out of her thoughts. She looked at her hands absently, wondering what had given her away. Russet stains covered her from head to toe. That was probably what it was, she thought wearily.

"Blood." She said dully. She could nearly hear Numair rolling his eyes, even though the brightness of the mage light blinded her after the darkness outside.

"Really? I didn't notice. It's not like you're covered in it from head to foot." He said sharply.

"It's not mine," She offered helpfully.

"Obviously, or you wouldn't be able to walk home." He said, and then sighed. "I'm sorry, I've been worried."

She blinked a few times, stripping off her archery gloves as her eyes adjusted. She'd expected more of a telling-off than this. The last time she'd gone alone into the forest he'd been furious. And that was before the friendly immortals disappeared. "You're not angry with me?"

"No. I knew you'd go into the forest eventually. It'd take more than Jon's word to make you believe it." Now her sight had cleared she could see the room properly. It had been transformed into an extension of the library; books and papers littered the floor and every available surface. Kitten raised her head sleepily from her napping spot in the corner of one room and chirped, then fell back asleep. Numair was sitting in the middle of the floor, surrounded by ink and paper and books. His eyes were shining with the zealous zeal of a true bookworm, and with open relief. Daine found herself smiling in spite of herself. Everything seemed so much less terrible now. She moved a pile of papers from a table onto the floor, hating herself for leaving marks on the white sheets. She put down the gloves and took of her over-tunic, glad to see she hadn't got blood on her shirt.

"Having fun?" She asked. He pulled a face for her benefit, and gestured to the stained bow she'd left by the door.

"We are going to talk about what you've been doing. You won't distract me so easily!" He said. "These are mostly dry old papers from Ozorne's over-eager mage slaves. They're full of long winded, boring explanations of how to create mage fire. Where one word would do, they use fifty."

"You must be having the time of your life!" She rejoined. He smiled and stacked two piles of papers together.

"It is rather fun, yes." He said.

"Well, carry on." She gestured outside of the room. "I'm going to the pump to wash off this stupid Spidren blood."

An eyebrow was raised dramatically. "Spidren?"

"There was only one. I'll tell you when I get back." She said. He was already reading over the papers again by the time she shut the door.



There were proper, heated wash rooms at the palace, but the thought of getting blood on their ornate tiles made Daine feel ill. She hadn't realised how completely covered in it she was. She guessed the Spidren was trying to prove a point, or something.

Don't be silly. She thought, You've got blood all over yourself because you didn't shoot an eight-foot monster in the head, like you're supposed to.

The pump was near the armoury, specially designed for soldiers to use if they were covered in mud. The massive pipe was suspended over a large trough, from which horses were expressedly forbidden to drink. The cold water cleared her mind and took away some of the weariness. She rinsed her hair until it ran clear, and scrubbed at the stains on her hands until her skin was red. Every drop of blood reminded her of what the immortal had told her. She wished suddenly, passionately, that for once she could just be left alone. She hated worrying about some power-crazed immortal's plan! And yet here she was again, fretting over one...stupid...word.

Numair had cleared away most of the papers into neat, if precarious, stacks by the time she got back. He had also managed to find a couple of apples from somewhere, and gave her one when she came in. She smiled her thanks, suddenly ravenous.

"I figured you must be hungry." He said.

Daine described what had happened in the forest between bites, including every trivial thing she could remember the Spidren saying. She finished with, "So, what do you think?"

"Well..." Numair tugged his nose as he thought, "I'd say... we can either assume that he was telling the truth, or that he was lying."

"I think he was telling the truth." Daine admitted, "It didn't seem like there was any point in him lying. He was dying anyway. And it would explain a lot of things."

"It raises more questions than it answers," Numair sighed. "For example, if this central barrier cannot be influenced by humans, then how can you possibly have an effect on it? This Spidren seemed very eager for you to die- perhaps he's calling your bluff? Lots of the banished immortals have a grudge against you- against both of us.

If you think you have to fight for the allied immortals, then you will. And then they'll have every opportunity they want to kill you. But if you don't fight then you're more likely to stay alive. He might have just been trying to goad you into fighting again."

"I don't know." She said dubiously, "If he'd have said that the central barrier was a matter of life and death, then I would believe that. But the way he was talking, it was only a matter of time whatever I chose to do."

"Then choose not to fight." He said quietly. Daine glanced at him, moving closer until she could wrap her arms around him.

"It's fair wondrous how protective you are of me," She said, kissing his cheek, "But you know that if my friends need help then I am going to help them."

"I know." He replied, drawing her into his lap. "But it's always worth a try."

"One day I'll agree with you, and you'll probably faint from the shock." She said absently. He laughed and kissed the top of her head.

"And then there's this other comment. The one about blood. How can blood possibly stop the barrier falling?"

"A spell?" She suggested. He shook his head impatiently.

"No, all the spells that require a particular person's blood are very dark, very dangerous magic. Summoning spells, controlling spells, that sort of thing." His eyes narrowed, "Even if I knew how to cast them, I would never use that sort of spell. If that's what the Spidren meant then he must be deliberately baiting you. Every kind of spell that needs your blood will hurt you in some way."

They were silent for a moment. Numair absentmindedly started winding a strand of her damp hair around his fingers. "Perhaps it's a metaphorical allusion."



Daine blinked up at him. "In Common, please?"

"Maybe it's an idea, like..." he waved his free hand expansively in the air, "The amount of blood you shed in the war. The number of immortals you kill. It would certainly create an 'inconvenience', as our friend so charmingly put it."

"Or the other way around," she retorted. "Which would explain why he looked so cussed happy about the idea."

"Perhaps." Numair looked like he was actually considering the idea for a moment. "I never thought I'd be listening to fortune-telling Spidren."

"Irritating, isn't it?" Daine muttered.

There was another gap in the conversation. Daine decided to fill it by untying the piece of string Numair had fastened his hair back with, and combed out the horsetail with her fingernails. "It's only fair," she said in response to his amused look, "You play with my hair, I get to play with yours.

"I'm drying your hair." He said, his tone aloof. Daine smiled mischievously.

"And I'm sure that's your only reason for my being here, master mage."

"Maybe not," he said softly.

Daine raised an eyebrow in a mocking copy of his expression. "Prove me wrong." She invited, moving her hand from his hair to stroke the back of his neck. He kissed her, softly at first, warmth and love that slowly turned to fire and passion. His own hands drifted from her hair, tracing the line of her spine gently, leaving a trail of heat behind them. Daine shivered deliciously and pulled away slightly.

"This isn't helping us solve this mystery." She whispered, trying to catch her breath. Numair kissed the nape of her neck, his eyes as full of mischief as her own had been.

"It's more fun." He said.

"Definitely," she replied, kissing the end of his nose lightly. "Your eyes go wonderfully dark when we have fun."

"Believe it or not, magelet, so do yours." He stroked her cheek tenderly. "Of course, that's another thing this could be."

"What?" She asked, completely lost for a moment. He shrugged slightly and smiled into her eyes.

"Your parents. Your family. Your bloodline, sweetling."

"But that's nothing to do with blood! That's just who I am!" She protested. He caught her hand in his own and held it up in front of her eyes.

"Look," He said. As she watched, his hand seemed to become oddly transparent- as did hers, where their hands were touching. Strands of dark glitter wove through his hands even as bronze fire danced around hers. "The gift runs through our blood, but you've seen the copper fire of the animals, the green of the forest- even those who don't have the gift have this. Everything we have, everything we are, is rooted in our blood. It's why blood is so powerful- and why it is so sacred. Our parents, and their parents, until the beginning of time, chose to share their bloodlines with people they loved." He kissed her again, fleetingly, "As I love you, magelet."

He watched the fire dancing through their veins for a moment. "But, throughout time, there are people who spoil bloodlines- people who do not respect who they are, and do not love their families, and gradually the bloodline becomes less pure and less sacred."

"It's beautiful," She breathed, captivated. Numair smiled again, intertwining his fingers with hers.

"It's so rewarding teaching you, you know." He became slightly serious again. "But, do you see what I'm theorising?"

She nodded her head slightly. "Impurities in the bloodline. My father wouldn't have any."



"Exactly!" He took his hand away, letting the gift in it fade while she continued to look at her hand. "I would guess that your bloodline is extremely pure. Any impurities would come from your mother's line."

For a moment a fleeting strand of silver fire sped along Daine's wrist, then the magic on her hand began to fade. "So, what does all that mean?" She asked.

"I don't know. It could fit in with any number of our theories. If your blood is used in a spell, the spell will be more potent. If it's to do with your fighting then the gods will be supportive of your side." He was quiet for a moment. "It also means that any children you have will carry the same purity. You can't spoil a divine bloodline."

Daine had to stop herself from squeaking at the word. "Children?"

He laughed- a reassuring deep rumble- and started playing with her hair again. "I'm just hypothesising, sweetling."

Her eyes narrowed. "If that long word means anything other than 'guessing', then you're in trouble." She said.

"It does," He said reassuringly, "Although I do like the idea of being in trouble. Maybe I should say it means 'predicting'."

"You're too honest, Numair." She said, mock-seriously. "Now I know it doesn't."

"It does!" he crossed his heart. "On my word as a mage!"

Daine smiled. "I'm going to have to prove you wrong, I'm afraid."

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