Hello again. I know it's been absolutely ages, sorry! There was a small matter of a dissertation to write and a degree to finish, and then getting the analytical thinking out and the prose-writing back too slightly longer than I thought, as did hammering out the finer details of the remaining plot.
To all the readers and especially to the reviewers out there who are still reading this, I can't thank you enough. I know I've been really slow about updating, and it's been months since my last post with no explanation, but I hope you can forgive me that! To say the least, it's been a difficult few years, but with any luck, I'm back now. Trust me (and I know hundreds of authors say this and then don't, but I mean it!), I will finish this. It's consumed too much of me not to! I hope you'll enjoy this, and please, please review to let me know that you have. It really helps to know that someone out there is enjoying this – even if it has been months. And especially to those who reviewed my new one-shot Trick of the Light recently and went "Ooh, more Concealed!" and convinced me that I still had an audience out there! This chp is for you guys, and for Ian, as a slightly belated birthday present. (If you hadn't insisted on going for a Chinese, I might actually have got it out ON your birthday. Or not.)
Once again, I disclaim this. The characters within aren't mine, and neither is the setting. I take full credit (or blame) for the ridiculous, novel-length plot though!
Chapter 27 – The Appearance of Propriety
Daine was acutely aware that something very heavy was on her leg, and couldn't feel anything from mid-way down her thigh. She had been lying that way for some time, with the scent of medicinal herbs prickling her nostrils and feeling uncomfortably warm under the thick blankets that covered her, but she hadn't dared yet open her eyes to find out exactly where she was, and more importantly, what it was that lay so heavily on her leg. Somewhere nearby there was soft snoring that she recognised from far too long trapped in the same house with its cause.
That sound stirred something in her mind and made her blood fizzle warmly. She surely hadn't dreamed – she couldn't have, could she? He had kissed her – or she had kissed him, she couldn't remember which, but they had. They must've done. Even her most vivid imaginings weren't that detailed. Were they?
The room, other than Numair, was quiet and still, but beyond the door, voices murmured and bodies bustled; through the open window she could hear all kind of animal and many humans too. Wiggling the toes on her numb limb sent spasms shooting up her leg, making her jerk as she opened her eyes and hissed her pain.
"Daine?" Numair jolted upright; it had been the weight of his head on her leg. Without it, the pain worsened. "Are you all right? I'll get Baird –"
He was already on his feet and on his way to the door. "It's fine, Numair. Pins and needles."
"Oh." His voice was filled with sleep, his hair flattened and mussed, creases rumpling his clothes and face. "I'll get someone anyway."
She sighed. "You needn't."
"I'll feel better."
"I won't," she grumbled, flexing her cramping limb. "It's your fault anyway."
He grimaced, closing his eyes with tired confusion and scrubbing his face roughly. "They still need to check you over."
"By the looks of it, they still need to check you over."
Numair dropped back into his seat with a heavy sigh, apparently having given up. "Baird gave me a clean bill of health, you know."
"What about the bruises?"
The mage's cheek was variant shades of black and purple, with a yellow tinge around the edges; more bloomed above the collar of his shirt, some forming the disconcerting V of a dagger point. "I told him to leave them and save his Gift. Apparently they're dashing."
Daine frowned as something settled heavily in her stomach. "Who told you that?" Shaking her head to try and rid herself of the uncomfortable sensation, she winced. She fancied she could almost hear her head rattling.
He stood again immediately. "I'll get a healer."
"Would you just sit? Anyone would think you were desperate to get away from me! Stop fussing," she told him. "You'll make me dizzy with all your toing and froing." She hesitated, wondering how to broach the subject with him and not at all sure that she could. "Do you know, I had the strangest dream last night?"
Looking concerned, he shifted his chair closer to her. "What was that?"
"I –" she stopped, unsure of what to say, and instead, fixed her stare somewhere over his shoulder. She was so sure, but –
Two cool fingers slid under her chin and tilted it upwards so that she met his gaze. For a long moment, Numair seemed to be searching her eyes with his, before he nodded and released her. Her gaze dropped to her hands, wrung in the blankets.
He heaved a great, troubled sigh. "I had a strange dream as well, last night," he informed her, his voice grave. "We said that we'd have conversations where we told each other what we were thinking, and not have confusing discussions that one or other of us either doesn't understand or refuses to. No more veiled hints." His hand crept into her line of sight as memory flickered in her mind's eye, seemingly reaching for hers, before it fell to rest on the covers once more. "Even though it seems as if it was only a dream, I'd appreciate it if you could tell me what you are thinking right now, Daine, because I find myself suddenly at a loss."
"I think," she said, after a long silence, "that perhaps it wasn't a dream after all."
"Quite."
She allowed a small smile to creep on to her face as she gave a mock sigh of regret. "That's a shame really, because it was a nice dream."
His hand slid back towards her, entwining his long fingers with hers. "And if it wasn't a dream, would it be – nice?"
Her head shot up to look at him. "I thought we weren't meant to be talking theoretically?"
Numair's smile was a mixture of irritation, disbelief and amusement. "Fine," he said eventually. "In a non-theoretical sense, how would that be?"
She grinned impishly, failing miserably in her attempt to look innocent. "I'm not sure I can remember."
"Is Numair having a glorious reunion with his books?"
Daine and Onua strolled down the hill from the Palace in the early evening, heading for Daine's new room in the Rider Barracks, a temporary building to serve the Riders over the duration of the war. Daine sent up another prayer that it would be short-lived; the building didn't look as if it could withstand one good Stormwing attack. Its new, unweathered wood stuck out like a sore thumb beside the seasoned barracks and stables of the King's Own.
Daine sniggered, tugging on her sling to adjust it. "Most probably. He'll have burrowed himself away in his study with his precious scrolls, more likely than not. We won't see him again for a week."
Truth be told, Daine had seen very little of her friend – her love? – since she had left the infirmary that lunchtime. Though she knew he really did have to rest, having spent all his time since arriving back at the Palace with her, and he was perfectly entitled to return to his rooms, she would have rathered he was with her, especially just now. Besides, knowing him, he would likely still have a fair few things he wanted to talk about – fret about – and if she was honest, she would have liked clarification on the matter herself. They had, despite their intentions, not done much actual talking. The day before had been altogether too much for Daine, and she must've fallen asleep again quite quickly, because she couldn't remember much beyond their kiss. That morning, they had only had a few moments before a healer had knocked on the door and insisted that not only must they both eat, but that they submit to proper examinations as well, and from then, they hadn't been left alone.
Attempting to clear her head, she shifted her gaze to the paddocks and the lines of ponies and horses that waited for her. Aware she was back in the Palace, they had been clamouring for her to visit them since she had woken that morning. Daine had been fairly desperate to greet them too, and now that she finally saw them she wasn't sure she could trust her voice.
"Excuse me," she managed to whisper. "I'll try not to be long."
"Take all the time you need," Onua called after her as she broke into a run. She clambered over the fence and disappeared from view behind a mob of heads and bodies. "And watch your arm! Baird only let you out when I promised nothing would happen to it!" A hand – Onua had the sneaking suspicion it was the very one that was meant to be in the sling – waved a dismissal at her. The horsemistress chuckled. "I'll be in the mess!"
At the back of the very large throng of ponies, some strangers and some old friends, was the one Daine wanted to see the most. "Cloud!" she cried when she finally reached her. Wrapping her arms around the pony's neck, the tears she had managed to hold off for the best part of two days finally came. She sobbed into Cloud's mane, silently relating her tale. And don't you say a word about Lachann, she added finally. He could've killed us, but Numair says he made sure that Matthias didn't hurt me. Suddenly she frowned, her surprise making her speak aloud. "You knew all along, didn't you?"
I did not, Cloud objected tartly. I said he smelled –
"– of hot and oily places," they finished together. "Like Carthak," Daine added. "Like Ozorne."
The pony gave a mental shrug. If that's what Carthak and this Ozorne smell like.
"They do," Daine assured her. Suddenly she kicked her foot in the mud, filled with frustration. "We could have found out months ago," she cried in despair.
That's why you should listen to me, Cloud told her sagely.
Daine glared at her pony. Not helping, she replied sternly. We could have been saved months of being stuck in there. We could have been helping all this time!
When Daine finally managed to separate herself from the ponies and find Onua, her shirt and hair covered in horse saliva, there were more old friends, this time of the human variety, to be greeted. Kuri Taylor hugged her warmly, Evin – only returned from the field that day himself – swept her off her feet and spun her round in delight. She finally escaped on the promise that she would be back for supper once she had unpacked and cleaned herself up. Onua led her out the mess and down the corridor. The smell of freshly cut wood was still strong, and Daine wrinkled her nose against it.
"You're in here," Onua gestured, holding the door open for Daine to enter. "We thought you'd prefer the ground floor again. There isn't an external door, but – we thought in the current circumstances that if there was only access to it from inside the barracks, then all the better."
Daine nodded silently, looking around her new room. Finally, she smiled. "Thanks, Onua. It's lovely."
She wasn't lying, either. It had two large shuttered windows that sunlight streamed through, and it was larger than her old room – purpose built, she supposed, for all that she wouldn't be in it very long. There was a desk, and what was more, a full bookcase. She went straight to it, pouring over the titles. "Where did all these come from?" she asked finally. "These are – Numair keeps telling me about some of these. Was it –"
"I think he had a word with Harailt of Aili to get some, yes, and Myles of Olau suggested some too. There's one or two that Carsal of Josu's Dirk – the head of the Royal Mews – recommended for you as well."
She ran her fingers along the spines of the books, unable to stop a wide smile from coming to her face. "They're wonderful," she told her friend over her shoulder. "I'll have to thank them all."
"Well, you'll be more than welcome in the mews if you get a spare moment," Onua professed. "With all the birds coming in and out, they need help checking them over before they send them out again." The K'mir paused, a wide, genuine smile coming to her face. "You have no idea how good it is to see you again, youngling."
Daine grinned. "I think I have a fair idea. You have no idea how good it is to be out again."
Onua crossed the room quickly and tightly embraced her. "I can't even think how you managed it," she told Daine softly. For a long moment the two friends stood together before the older woman patted her back and released her. Her eyes seemed a little over-bright, and her voice, when she spoke, was slightly thicker with concealed emotion. She shook her head, and held up the two packs that she had carried from the healers. "Where do you want these?"
Daine glanced around, and caught sight of a large chest in the corner of the room. "Just put them by there for now, thanks. I'll unpack them later. I need to get scrubbed up."
Onua smiled understandingly. "I'll see you in the mess for supper then." She hugged Daine once more and left.
Alone for the first time all day, Daine took the moment of quiet to absorb everything. Testing the mattress, she sat down on her new bed cross-legged, leaning back against the headboard and surveying her room. It wasn't quite right, she decided. Though she wasn't a great one for material possessions, the room lacked the little trinkets she had gathered over her few years in Tortall: some of Kitten's favourite stones and toys, the few ribbons and cosmetics that she actually owned, sketches she had done of some of her animal friends. It smelled strange too, though Daine knew it was only the combination of new wood and the lack of animal inhabitants. She sighed, feeling her whole body sink. It just didn't feel like home to her.
Daine was right in that Numair had long ago returned to his rooms in the teachers' wing of the Palace. She was incorrect, however, when she guessed at what he would be doing. Books were fairly low on Numair's list of priorities for once. Instead, he was feeling slightly overwhelmed at his sense of relief at – finally – being home.
His suite of rooms was, for the most part, clean. His small living room and his bedroom had clearly been recently dusted, and the sheets on his bed were fresh, on top of which someone had placed the packs he had lost track of since leaving Golden Wood. He supposed he still had belongings there that he needed to gather, but the thought of going back into that small house made the hair on the back of his neck rise. He knew it would have to be done, and soon, but he had only just escaped that place; if he could possibly prolong his return, even for a few days, he would. His washroom had also been recently attended to, fresh water placed in the ewer and the copper bath tub. The mage dipped a finger in and grimaced. Lukewarm.
Once he had placed a warming spell on the metal bath, he ventured to explore the rest of his rooms. As he had expected, neither his study nor his private workroom beyond had been touched. Stale air prickled his nostrils, overwhelming the comforting scent of aged paper and leather. Dust, thick and undisturbed, covered bookshelves, chairs, tables and notes. His desk, with the protective spell covering the work he had made before they had left on that disastrous journey to Carthak, was entirely untouched. He made a face: notes were strewn across the mahogany and leather surface, in no obvious order now, but one that would surely have made sense to him eight months ago. Most of this work he had either negated through the study he had carried out since then, or had been forgotten altogether. It would take some time to compile these notes with those that he had made since into some discernable order, and then there was the prospect of restarting those projects that their flight to Golden Wood had forced him to abandon. Numair couldn't decide whether he was anticipating this work eagerly or with dread, but he was certain of one thing: he was anxious to begin. His fingers itched at the very prospect. The mage sighed heavily: this was one more task that would have to wait till after the war before he could begin in earnest, and before that, more bodily needs had to be dealt with, beginning with the desire to scrub every possible reminder of the last few days from his body.
Once he had washed, dried and dressed himself, feeling suddenly ridiculous in the ornate clothes and jewellery required by a life lived at court, he paused to glance around his room once more, and then grinned. Home. His bed looked so inviting, and for a moment, he allowed himself to stare longingly at it, before shaking his head, wet hair slapping him in sharp reminder. There was more pressing work to be done.
It was from the healers that Numair had first heard the gossip about the progress of the war; snippets here and there through closed doors or whilst they treated Daine and he feigned sleep to avoid their ministrations that convinced him that the more he could find out, and sooner, the better. He had pressed a few of them for more definite information, with varying amounts of success, and had since determined to begin to fill in the gaps of what he knew of the war.
The court they had returned to was far more subdued than the lively, buzzing one they had left; groups whispered in corners whilst pretending to listen to music or gamble, others huddled together warily as if they expected the Red Legion to march through the doors at that very moment. Many of the young men had gone: knights and those younger sons in the Own had long been deployed elsewhere. Those few that remained were tasked with defending Corus and many more were due to ride out in the coming days. Numair suspected – and hoped – strongly that he and Daine would be travelling with them. Others had left in order to arrange and command the defences of their own lands. He had given little thought to his own tower, but he was certain that only another mage of his rank could break the spells he had in place, and anyway, there was probably little he could now do if he was wrong.
Numair didn't know exactly what he had expected from his return to Court; he hadn't envisaged fluttering women as Daine had once assured him, but neither had he thought some of those groups would shrink from him. They believed the stories, he realised, they believed that the coming war was a result of his and Daine's behaviour in Carthak, he was sure of it. Then he heard the whispers.
"Crippled," came from one direction, he heard "maimed" from another. "Ruined." Aware of all the attention on him, and particularly his leg, his limp returned, worse than it had been for many weeks. The whispers and hushed speculation increased.
Dolt, came another voice, an internal one this time which had a ring of Daine about it. What are you doing? You haven't done that in months, why let them make you? There's nothing wrong with you!
And there wasn't. Why was he letting them worsen his insecurities? Hadn't he rid himself of those? Hadn't Daine convinced him that he was fine, had nothing to be ashamed of? Show them!
He shook himself mentally, forcing himself to stop the limp and walk normally, like he could and did. After all, if word got back to Jonathan or Thayet that he still limped, he might find his war duties curbed, and he had promised Daine that he wouldn't leave her alone to face this. Straightening, he began to walk purposefully once again, and when a group of old acquaintances on the other side of the room waved at him in welcome, Numair smiled and crossed to them. Time to go to work.
"We're going home," he had told her just before they left Golden Wood. And, true to his word, they had. The question that bothered him now though, was for how long? Over the past day or so, Numair had managed to glean as much information as he could from various people – courtiers, mages, stablehands, soldiers, and one particularly (though incomprehensibly) amused Spymaster – over the situation in Tortall, and what he had learned worried him deeply. Though he had known the king had kept much information from them, it appeared the reality was much worse than even he had expected.
He had already known of the fall of Legann, but hadn't quite been aware of how many had been lost with it; half of Second Company, two Rider groups and fifty infantry- and cavalrymen – one hundred and sixteen men and women in all, not to mention the Port's own defenders, and the lady of the keep herself, Marielle, with the entire city under Carthaki control. Lord Imrah was beside himself, and the king had deployed him in command on the eastern border, just far enough to stop any rash strikes, but near enough that he could be called upon easily when they attempted to break the siege. They had no idea whether those inside were alive or dead. Then there was the news from the east; it was said, though how true this information was, Numair didn't know, that the Red Legion was being held back, though barely, on the Tyran border, bogged down in the marshes and swamps of his birthplace. Further north, they had crossed the Drell in Tusaine. Tortall's old sparring partner, always eager to see the country suffering, had allowed them to pass through the country unhindered, and there were whispers that they had even offered military assistance, though thankfully Myles had quashed that rumour. The north of the country was harried by immortals, Scanran raiding parties and bandits alike, who had realised the area was rich, easy pickings whilst the army was distracted. The Tortallan coast suffered equally. Scanran boats, the Carthaki navy and pirates raided randomly, and Tortall's own navy was stretched thinly along her shores, focused around Port Legann in attempt to prevent Carthaki troop ships from landing in the harbour. In addition to all that, immortals allied with Ozorne struck indiscriminately throughout the country, with raiders following in their wake. Tortall was in poor shape.
It was not all bad news though, thankfully; the Baron and Baroness of Mindelan had secured a peace treaty with the Yamani Isles that would be cemented in coming years with Prince Roald's marriage to a Yamani Princess, and more immediately, the sending of a fleet of ships to relieve the siege on Port Caynn. Once that was broken, they would move on to Port Legann, enabling the Tortallan navy to chase the raiders along their coast. Until the Carthakis could land supplies and soldiers in Legann, their defence of the fort was weak, and the Tortallan siege ensured nothing but food wagons were entering the city. Jonathan could not and would not starve his own citizens. What was more, the Tortallans had had months of warning to gather resources and train new recruits. They were not unprepared.
It had all left Numair much to contemplate, and sleep that night had been elusive. When it had finally come, he had tossed and turned with nightmares, images of Ozorne taunting him with Daine's lifeless body, or his old recurring dream of their escape from Carthak. After the fourth or fifth time that he had awoken, sweat-soaked and panting, he had given up and retreated to his living room, armed with a heavy book. Allowing himself a brief moment to lament the fact that now he was so far away from Daine – a fact which had never bothered him before – meant she would not have heard his night terrors and, in turn, he would no longer hear her padding down the stairs with the pretence of being unable to sleep or fetching a drink in order to check on him, he began determinedly to read. He conveniently forgot all those worries he had had about being caught with her in his rooms.
When he woke, it was shortly after dawn. Again, he missed the noises of the small house – Abigail preparing breakfast, the soldiers bickering and teasing, Daine and Kaddar's amiable chat, and the bustle of the street. He smiled wryly. Now there was an irony. He doubted that any of his companions would feel the same.
Early afternoon saw Numair stalking through the Royal Forest in search of one particular former housemate. He was deep into the forest, following a deer trail by mage-light when he found her.
"Oh, it's you."
Daine stepped out from behind a tree, her knife drawn and glinting in the pale glow of his magic, her cats' eyes shrinking and returning to their own, human form.
"There's no need to sound so thrilled," he told her wryly; she grinned in reply as she sheathed her knife.
"Where've you been? You can't have spent all that time with your books."
He made a face at her. "Well deduced. I've been making some enquiries around the Palace and fending off various queries after your health, though I will admit, I did spend some time in my study. Other than that I've been looking for you."
She smiled shyly, resuming her position prior to his arrival. Her legs crossed in a tailor's seat, she reclined against a tree trunk. "I'm not so hard to find, surely? You can't have been looking for me for a day and a night."
He ignored her last comment as he ended his light spell. "I tried your new room first, then the Rider mess, seeing as it's – it was, anyway – lunch time. Onua said you'd vanished during the morning, so I tried the paddocks, the stables – Rider, Own, Pages, Squires and Nobles – then the Mews."
"And then it occurred to you to ask Cloud."
"Something like that," he admitted, a faint tinge of embarrassment colouring his cheeks, just visible in the dim light of the forest.
"And what about that focus of yours?" she teased, waving a loose curl at him.
The man rubbed a wrist self-consciously. "It's – somewhere safe. As long as you're in the Palace, you can't be that far off. I have no real need of it then."
Obviously, if it's taken you all day to find me, she thought with some amusement. He sat down beside her, his shoulder grazing hers. For a long while they remained in companionable silence, though Daine was sure that some of it may have been because neither was quite sure what to say to the other – or, more accurately, where to begin.
In the end, it was her that broke the stillness. "What were you enquiring about round the Palace then?"
He smiled grimly. "The war." Sighing heavily, he shook his head before elaborating. "We may be in a worse position than you and I have been led to believe." Setting a quick eavesdropping spell around them, he proceeded to tell her his conclusions from his efforts. "It's worse than even I contemplated, and I know what Ozorne's capable of. Haven't I seen him conquering other lands before?"
She dug him sharply in the ribs with her elbow. "Don't say that."
"Why not? It's true. I did."
She shook her head. "I mean about conquering us. He's not going to get the chance." Trying to imagine what would be left at the end of it though was too grim to contemplate.
"Not if I have any say in the matter," Numair agreed darkly.
Daine might have been more bothered by his tone if she hadn't known that Ozorne fully deserved whatever Numair had in mind. Anyway, she had more pressing matters to confess. "Cloud was telling me all along. About Lachann, I mean."
Numair twisted to look at her. "What?"
"She kept telling me that he smelt funny, of heat and oils and…" she trailed off.
"Ozorne's scent?" he guessed.
"Carthak," she corrected. "But Ozorne too." She made a frustrated noise in her throat. "She'd been saying these things all along, and I kept dismissing them."
"It's unfortunate," the mage conceded.
"Is that all you have to say?" she demanded. "We could have been out months ago, Numair. We could have avoided everything, we could have been helping! Who knows what it would be like now if we had?"
"Who knows indeed? Daine, your argument is entirely counterfactual." At her glare, he elaborated. "It's all well and good saying that if Cloud's comments had been interpreted in such a manner as to convince you that your friend was a traitor, we would have been in a different situation, but we have no way of knowing if that would have been the case in reality. Besides, if we had known of Lachann's being an informer, the likelihood is that Jonathan would either have kept us there to draw Ozorne's other agents out, or we would simply have been moved elsewhere. It doesn't mean that we would have been free. Hindsight is a wonderful and dreadful thing, Daine. Don't torment yourself so," he advised, then paused. "Would you have wanted everything different?" His tone was conversational, but his eyes were assessing. She had the feeling they were no longer talking about Cloud's forewarnings.
Daine scowled. "No."
"Well then." He turned back around, a small smile lingering on his lips.
"We might've –"
"We may well have, but equally, we might not have. Neither of us knows what the outcome would have been in a different situation, and as such it is pointless for us to speculate, meaning, therefore, that counterfactual arguments are worth very little when all is said and done."
She sighed pointedly, and caught sight of a smile twisting his mouth. "Don't," she said warningly. The mage's shoulders began to shake. "Oh, wheesht!" she said in annoyance, which only served to make Numair's smile increase. She elbowed him playfully, and then, after a moment's thought, allowed herself to rest her head on his shoulder.
He stilled. A piece of grass he had been playing with quivered in his hands for a moment, before Numair dropped the blade and rubbed his hands on his trousers. He was nervous, she realised. That put her on her guard and she straightened once more.
"Would you answer me a question, Daine?"
She glanced at him. His face was inscrutable as he gazed out into the forest. "What?" she asked, slightly tense. She was half terrified that he would change his mind, or find some way to dismiss everything as not quite what it seemed, a mistake, or misguided moment of tiredness and relief.
"When we said we'd tell each other what we were thinking, for once, were you in earnest?"
How could she answer that? Of course she was, but if she replied in the affirmative only to discover that he wasn't, she'd feel a fool, he'd feel guilty, and neither of them would go near each other. "Were you?" she said finally.
"That's not an answer."
"Neither's that," she countered. She looked down at her hands, clasped together tightly in her lap. "I was," she said quietly.
There was a sigh from beside her, and for a moment she feared the worst, before a long arm slipped around her. "Good." Numair pulled her in close to his body; she leant her head on his chest. His heart pounded wildly in her ear. "I was too." His hand gripped her waist tightly and as she shuffled even closer he pressed a kiss to her hair. Daine lifted her head to meet his gaze. Something in his eyes made the breath in her lungs dissipate as her stomach tightened with anticipation. Her gasp was smothered by his lips as they eased gently over hers. Heat raced through her body, making her heart pound and roar in her ears, taking away her awareness of everything but him and where they touched. After a long while, they broke apart, breathless and trembling. Panting, she grinned. There was the fire other women talked about.
"What?" he asked, smiling.
She curled into him, resting her head on his chest as his arm tightened around her, one of her hands entwined in his shirt. "Never you mind."
Silence resumed once more, though Daine was convinced that this time, it was definitely of the contented variety. Eventually, Numair brushed a stray curl away from her face with a large finger, tucking it behind her ear. "How does it feel to be home then, magelet?"
"It's fine."
Numair raised an eyebrow, tracing his fingers lightly over her features. "And how is it really?"
"It has everything I could need," she told him honestly. "A bed, a desk, a wardrobe, a bookcase. I like the books," she confessed. "Thank you for them. Well," she amended, "for the ones you asked for."
"Are there more?" he asked, sitting up in interest.
Daine giggled and poked him in the stomach. "Who ever said you were only interested in academia?"
He scowled at her, but only for a second before his face broke into a smile. "Have I ever denied it? Besides," he added, leaning back, "I think you'd worry about me if I wasn't." When she laughed outright, he smiled. "Now," he pressed, "how is it really?"
It was her turn to scowl. "You haven't seen it yet," she reminded him. "It doesn't feel like home. But then, that's gone and there's no point moping about it when there's no getting it back."
"Ever practical," he remarked, although his blithe comment did not mask the concern in his voice. "You've only spent one night there though. I'm sure that soon enough it will feel as if you've always been there."
"I'm sure I will," Daine acceded. Somewhere above, there was a splash as a large drop of rainwater broke on leaves. "It'll just take some getting used to. It's certainly wonderful being able to have animals in at night again. Maybe what it needs is Kitten to come in and claw-mark the place, and then it'll be better."
He laughed out loud, reclining against the tree. "I'm sure the Palace joiners would be absolutely delighted if you shared that sentiment with them."
She made a face at him, and rested her head on his chest once more. "And for you?" There were more splashes above, though water didn't seem to penetrate below the canopy of the forest.
"It's good. A relief. And, moreover, it's clean."
"I don't think I'll believe it until I see it," she declared, grimacing as a large drop of water landed on her knee. She rubbed at it with her thumb. "Anyway, you don't expect me to believe that they touched your study or your workroom, do you?"
"I do not, no. And yes, they are a mess. Dusty, anyway. I wish someone had thought to put dustsheets over the furniture."
She grinned. "Just imagine, Numair. You're going to have to let a servant in to clean up now."
Overhead, the rain was evidently becoming torrential, the start of a summer storm. More and more water slid through the forest roof, drumming a tattoo on the leaves above. Numair simply pulled Daine in tighter, wrapping his arms around her, his chin resting on her head, until, unannounced, thunder pealed overhead. "Come on," the mage murmured, "we'd best get inside."
"Even you can't withstand Mithros' wrath," she joked as they got to their feet.
"Nor am I inclined to try." Taking her hand in one of his, he lit their path with magic streaming from the other. It didn't take long for them to reach the edge of the Royal Forest at a jog, but the downpour was so heavy, they could barely see the Rider barracks across the paddock through the white sheet of rain.
When they burst into the building, breathless with laughter and dripping water everywhere, they were soaked through and shivering. Daine's cold fingers fumbled with her key, but finally she got the door open. Once inside, she sought towels for them both as Numair headed straight for the bookcase, running his fingers along the spines of the books before selecting one and pulling it out, ignoring the fact that his shirt stuck to his skin and his hair was sprinkling water everywhere. She tossed a cloth at him. "Dry yourself off first, mage. And try not to drip too much on them."
The look he shot at her was incredulous; as if he would ever dream of such a thing. She laughed as she disappeared beneath her own towel, scrubbing her hair dry. "Mithros, Mynoss and Shakith. Who gave you this?" She heard the bed creak as he apparently sat down. "This was outdated before I was born."
"You, as old as the hills." She began to search through a large chest, which had been stocked with sheets. Tugging out a blanket, she slung it at him.
He ignored her comment as peeled his shirt off and shrugged into the blanket, assessing the title page of the book as he wrung out the garment. "Thanks. Tranald the Northerner was almost certainly of unsound mind when he wrote this. Some of his works shortly after this are incomprehensible, and in some cases, lethal."
"Not that I'd be able to cast any spells," she interrupted.
He dismissed this fact with a wave of his hand. "Irrelevant. The theory is the important part. You work with and against mages. You need to know. If Harailt gave you this, believe me, I'll have a few words to say to him. I could name a dozen or more people who have discredited his theories."
"Please don't." She had slipped behind her changing screen, and was busy pulling on dry, warm clothes.
"How will you ever argue against it if you cannot name one or more detractors?" he demanded. He had been harping on about this a lot recently, though Daine wasn't entirely sure why. "Just remember that amongst them is your humble teacher. Not to mention Lindhall."
"Of course. I will read it with great scepticism, and remember you've rubbished it. Will that do?"
There was no answer. She pulled her tunic over her head and stepped out from the cover of the screen. Having replaced his shirt, the mage had reclined on her bed, and was staring into the distance, still rubbing the leather cover of the volume thoughtfully. Mercifully, his muddy boots were hanging off the end.
"Are you all right?" There was no indication he had even heard her. "Numair?" She crossed to him and gently pulled the book from his hands. "It's nonsense."
He looked up at her, his expression confused. After a moment, his gaze settled on the disputed text and he nodded. "Quite right."
She scrutinized him closely, and recognised the desolate look in his eyes as one she had seen far too often in the past months. "You still miss him, don't you?" She sat on the bed next to him, forcing him to shuffle up to accommodate her.
His head tilted to one side, his mouth tightly pressed shut as he worked to control himself. After a long moment, his voice rough, he nodded. "I do." He shook his head, his eyes closed. "It's not been so long since – you know how close we were, and I was so looking forward to –" He pressed a hand to his eyes, fingers on temples, almost entirely obscuring his features from her. "I hadn't ever considered…" Numair trailed off.
Daine took his free hand, clutching it tightly. A weak smile flitted across his face. Finally he uncovered his face and patted her hands. "I'll be fine. Don't look at me so sceptically, Daine. I will." His eyes drifted over her, and the mage smiled, truly this time. "Your hair looks rather interesting."
She scowled at him. Taking a seat at her desk, she found a brush and began to tug it through her hair. Numair returned to the book, skimming through it and snorting in derision every so often.
"Gods-blasted things!" she yelped, yanking the comb through a particularly stubborn tangle. "I've a good mind just to shear them right off!"
"Let me," he said softly as he got to his feet. Putting the book aside, he took the brush from her hands and disentangled it gently from its knot. His long fingers worked through her hair, easily untangling and smoothing out her curls. Occasionally they brushed her neck and shoulders, forcing her to suppress tremors of excitement. Before, the contact wouldn't have meant a thing – before, she would've welcomed it, even. It was not as though she didn't want it, but somehow it felt different. This just seemed more – intimate.
Perhaps Numair sensed it as well, or perhaps he had just felt her reaction, as he too stiffened, his fingers stilled. He ran the brush through her hair once more, and then leaned over, placing it on her desk. Clearing his throat, he straightened behind her, not quite meeting her eye in the small mirror that hung on the wall. "It's strange for me too," he murmured, his voice low and hesitant. "I don't know what you find… acceptable, or what you think goes too far. For that matter, I don't yet know what I find acceptable. I've spent so long trying to stop myself –" He broke off, contemplating. "I don't want you to feel like I'm forcing you into anything you're not willing to do, nor is it my intention…" his voice trailed away again. His hand smoothed her hair once more; Daine felt her muscles grow taut even as she shivered. "Too new for either of us. As I see it, magelet, neither one of us is sure what we may, in this new situation," he gestured with his hands expressively, "do. Until we are, then perhaps…" he moved suddenly, opening her door a few inches.
"Appearance of propriety," he explained, sitting on the bed once more.
"Do you think so about everything?" she demanded, turning to face him.
He offered her a brief, crooked smile. "You know well that I do." He indicated the door. "Is that better?"
"Yes, but –"
His face grew solemn and uncertain again. "But we can't just deal with this by opening a door. We need to work out why it is that we're so nervous of this."
"I'd've thought that was obvious," she told him. "Neither of us wants to – to ruin what we already have."
"Quite." He took her hands in his, resting them on her knees, his thumbs smoothing the skin on the back of her hands repeatedly. "It seems that we still need to have that conversation we've been planning to."
"Do we need to do it with half the Riders staring in then?"
As if to prove her point, Onua chose that moment to stick her head round the door. "Daine, when you have a minute – Numair. I didn't realise you were here." The horsemistress looked momentarily taken aback as her eyes flicked between their two red faces and their interlocked hands. She grinned. "I hope I'm not interrupting?"
Standing abruptly, he shrugged off the blanket from around his shoulders. "Not at all. In fact, I was just –" Dropping Daine's hands, he headed for the door.
Onua stood back to let him pass. "Supper's not long," she reminded him. "Won't you join us?"
"Things to do," he said vaguely. "Must get some dry clothes on. I'll eh, I'll see you both tomorrow."
"I've hardly seen you!" Onua protested as he left.
"Coward," Daine muttered after his back.
Onua's eyes were still following the retreating mage as he left the barracks. "Did I say something?"
"No. It's the fear that I would." Daine murmured darkly. Onua snorted. She, at least, knew he wouldn't do anything she didn't want. He was far too honourable for that, and anyway, it wasn't as if she didn't know when to say no either. She picked up the brush again and began to sweep her hair away from her face, pinning it back as she went. "You wanted me?"
"Not for much, really. Just to run a hand over the new arrivals and see what you thought once the rain's off. Bazhir bred, finicky little things, should be perfect for the new trainees. Not much good as replacements though – Evin thought to take one out earlier, he's already been dumped on his rear end. We'll need to train them up with new recruits." A wicked glint appeared in the horsemistress' eye. "So, is there something I should know?"
I have to admit, personally this feels a little awkward to me, but as I said, trying to get out of the analytical thinking and back into the fiction, and anyway, after proof-reading this (and I'm not exaggerating. Much.) about 100 times, I have no idea what else to do with it. What do you think?
Misty
