Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you recognise from the Tamora Pierce books.
A/N: Thank for all the encouraging reviews, and to everyone who's reading this. And if you have criticisms, don't worry, I won't name evil characters after you in Chapter 10! Sorry for the delay in updating. I'm on holiday, but we're updating our computer to Jetstream, and I've had trouble getting on the internet. Plus I'm feeling lazy. :)
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"Are you even listening to me?"
Daine started guiltily as the deep tones resonated in her ear. Glancing up at Jardan rather sheepishly, she shrugged in apology. The other mage shook his head in mild exasperation.
It was five days since the Tortallians had arrived in the Sailan Isles, and Daine and Jardan had spent the last two in close conference while he attempted to teach her the art of 'Blazewing noise control', as he'd so succinctly put it. It was irritating for her, to say the least, to find herself under the thumb of a new teacher – especially when the teacher in question was not much older than she, and possessed of similar powers. It also didn't help that he had a tendency to either forget or ignore those facts, and behave in a smug way that made her want to create a little noise of her own. Or jam a quill into his eye, whichever proved more satisfying. However, there was no way that Daine was going to find herself floundering and useless in the next battle. That there would be another battle, she no longer doubted. Even before Badger's ominous warning, she'd had a strange, tense feeling in the pit of her stomach. If she'd learned one lesson since her first encounter with the people of Tortall, it was to always trust her instincts. And her instincts were shrieking that there was something brewing - and that she probably wasn't going to like it.
"Sorry," she muttered, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. She squinted at the impatient man pacing before her, and leaned forward from her perch on a hollowed log. As both of them felt more comfortable outdoors, where they could easily hear the many voices of the People, Daine had been meeting Jardan in a secluded area of the palace gardens each day after breakfast. Their first 'lesson' in a deserted forest clearing had felt a little too much like a clandestine meeting between lovers, so she'd quickly expressed an interest in seeing Azassandra's flowers. The fact that she'd referred to the exotic blooms as "leaves and things", combined with her self-conscious blush, hadn't exactly hidden her awkwardness. To his credit, Jardan, although not attempting to hide his derisive eye-roll, had silently concurred with her wishes.
Why she felt strange being alone with him, Daine had no idea, but she wasn't planning to bring the topic into conversation anytime soon. And she certainly wasn't going to mention it to Numair. Things were shaky enough between them as it was. Despite his ready supply of smiles and kisses for her, Daine could sense Numair's unhappiness, and had a horrible feeling they were heading for an argument. They hadn't openly discussed her growing friendship with the handsome wild mage, but Numair was barely civil to the other man, who in turn seemed to regard him with amused tolerance. And growing friendship it was. Although his arrogance and blunt opinions could make Daine's teeth grit and fists clench, she respected Jardan. Liking him didn't come as easily – he was one of the most shuttered and reserved people she'd ever met – but she couldn't deny the befuddling connection between them.
He wasn't all that bad.
"You know, Daine, I'd really rather not have to coddle you during another attack, so if you could stop daydreaming about the Storkman for thirty minutes..."
On second thoughts...
"Where did you hear that name?" Daine asked crossly, getting to her feet and idly brushing dirt from her breeches. One custom of the Isles that she fully appreciated was the lack of skirts. Azassandra had been surprised when Daine had reluctantly asked if she should wear a gown to dinner, and had explained that it was very rare for women to wear them at all. Breeches were considered immeasurably more practical and Daine whole-heartedly agreed.
"Your marmoset has a taste for gossip," Jardan drawled, laughter richly lacing his voice.
Daine groaned inwardly. If Jardan called Numair that in his hearing, it would simply add fuel to his dislike.
"Apparently he's not the only one," she returned pointedly, reaching for her bow and quiver.
Jardan raised an eyebrow. "Going somewhere?" he asked laconically.
"I'm meeting Numair for luncheon," she said, narrowing her eyes and daring him to comment.
Apparently he didn't find her intimidating. "How nice," he said, with mock whimsy, "A romantic picnic is it?"
"No," Daine replied flatly. It was easy to recognise when Jardan's mood began to turn difficult. "Probably bread and fish, and keeping company with the royal family and half of the court. We don't have 'romantic picnics'. And even if we did, t'would hardly be any of your business."
"Oh, it wouldn't," Jardan agreed readily, "But I find being nosy is worth watching your cheeks turn that interesting shade of red."
Daine fought the urge to raise her hands to her face, which probably was flushed with irritation.
"So," he continued, eyeing her with such innocence that she was immediately suspicious. "No romantic picnics, hmm? How disappointing for you. "Bread and fish" accompanied by a hundred pairs of watching eyes is hardly the fodder of passion. Where are the moonlight trysts and sunshine frolics of true love?"
The biting cynicism could hardly have been more obvious if he'd taken it and smacked her over the head.
Without thinking, Daine retorted hot-temperedly: "Just because you've never been in love doesn't..."
She broke off sharply, and stared at him in genuine contrition, mentally kicking herself.
"Jardan. I'm sorry, I forgot..."
If his involuntary flinch at her words had been discomfiting, the stoniness that now settled on his face urged her to take a couple of steps back.
"I see that Zek and I aren't the only gossipmongers around here," he said icily, his green eyes so cold it hurt her to look into them. "The rumor mill has been busily churning, then?"
"No one was gossiping," Daine denied warily. "It was just mentioned in passing..."
"What was mentioned in passing, exactly?"
The words were dangerous, and she hadn't been this uncertain of her territory since her journey to the Dragonlands.
"Nothing really...just that you...you lost someone...special in a Blazewing attack," she said awkwardly, fighting the urge to take bird form and take flight.
At this rate, she'd probably end up plucked and stewed on his dinner plate anyway.
"Look," she forced herself to continue at his prolonged silence. "No one was talking about you behind your back. If anyone mentions you at all, it's to sing your praises, and Kyria really seems to be a forbidden..."
"Daine," he interrupted quietly. "Do me one favour."
It wasn't a request. However, one look at Jardan's thunderous expression and she was about ready to agree to any of his commands, if only to relieve the awful tension.
"What?"
"Don't ever mention that name in front of me again."
It was the flatly unemotional way he spoke the words that tore at Daine. She understood the level of pain that hid behind that kind of reserve; it had been her coping mechanism after her Ma's death, after she'd done things that she wasn't proud of now...
Unable to hold back, she reached out to him instinctively.
"Jardan," she said impulsively, aware she was probably about to get blasted, but not really caring, "I'm sorry you lost someone you loved, and that you got hurt, but you..."
He jerked away before she could touch him.
"Look," he bit out, "I've heard it all before, alright? The sympathy, the pity, the wisdom from other people happily wallowing in lust. Believe me, there's nothing new you could possibly add."
Pain and scorn were etched into every angle of his face.
Daine fought for words, but had no idea what to say, how to fix the moment. She'd been wondering what it would take to break through Jardan's impassive walls, but now that she had, she desperately wished she'd never opened her mouth.
"You have no idea," he continued harshly, "How much well-meaning drivel I've had to endure. Every blind fool who thinks they're safely in love has advice to dish out. 'So terrible what happened to her, but you must move on.' 'You have to find love again. It's not healthy to be so bitter.' Everyone thinks their own lives are perfect, and that mine needs fixing."
"But...but you could find love again," Daine said disjointedly, mesmerized by the agony in his voice and barely aware of what words were leaving her mouth. "I don't know what you've been through, but it could happen."
"Love," Jardan said contemptuously.
"Is a wondrous thing," Daine insisted, and believed it. Gods only knew, her life had strengthened for knowing and loving Numair. "D'you not believe that? You've known it."
He stared at her silently for a moment, his face once again blank and eyes unreadable.
Daine met his gaze, the air thick with tension, their harsh breathing the only sound. Even the People seemed to be waiting for his next words with bated breath.
"You know," he said finally, too indifferently to fool her, "If you go walking in any village of the Isles, you'll find a bard singing myths to the children. Spewing happy, fuzzy lies about everlasting bliss and the saving grace of true love. When I was younger, I thought it was nonsense. I didn't believe that any such emotion existed. I thought that people would only ever look out for themselves, and that nobody had the capacity to care wholly unselfishly about another."
Every syllable was cutting and ruthless, the sentences coming in an abrupt cadence. Daine remained frozen, her eyes fixed on his face.
"Ironic, isn't it, that you're supposed to gain wisdom with age. Seems that I knew more at five than I did at fifteen. You're right, I have known love. I scorned the idea my entire life, and ended up tripping over my beliefs and falling right at her feet. Suddenly, my life was completely different. I was happy, for awhile. I was in love and I was normal." His mocking smile was completely without humour. "Falling in love was the biggest mistake of my life. Allowing that love to blind me to the truth, well, that followed close behind."
"And what is the truth?" Daine asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
His eyes were sharp green flints as he looked at her. "You think that your love for him is something special and unique, something above the dirty grit of reality. You think that he loves you and that he couldn't hurt you, and if you ever do discover the truth, it'll be too late. Often it's easier to hate than it is to love, but once you do love, it becomes this irrevocable, redeeming emotion. And the truth? The truth is that love is a poison, a curse. It's about giving someone complete power over you, and being fool enough to believe they won't misuse it. It's corruptible and it's fickle and it's damaging. So yes, I have known love – and I've looked upon its true face, stripped bare of romantic sentiment and naïve wishes. And I would rather battle the Three Sorrows alone, armed only with a stick, than ever experience that torment again. No doubt I would fare better."
He subsided into silence, retreating back behind his self-imposed barriers. Seconds slipped into minutes as the two stood motionless.
Finally, Jardan moved jerkily away, picking up his sword and re-tying it to his waist in a quick, efficient action.
"Enjoy your luncheon," he said, with rigid politeness and without looking at her. "I'll...see you later."
Before Daine could formulate a reply or even blink in acknowledgement, he was gone, striding along the path back to the palace.
When he had disappeared from sight, she let out a long, heavy breath. Realizing that her fists, and most of her muscles, were clenched and rigid with tension, she tried to relax. Her brain felt as thick and sluggish as the oat pudding Numair had made last summer, when he'd been experimenting with cooking.
How long she would have stood in that dumb, immobile state, she couldn't have said, but a new voice shocked her into motion.
"Mistress Sarrasri?"
Her head snapped to the right, in the direction of the gently questioning tones. Sir Tremain stood there, watching her with concern.
"Daine? Are you alright?"
She nodded slowly. "Yes, I'm...yes. I'm fine."
She smiled at him, but it felt shaky and probably didn't come across in the least reassuring.
"Are you sure? Is there anything I can do to help?" he pressed, deep brown eyes searching her face. Their first day in the Sailan Isles, she'd guessed that he was a kindly man, and her every encounter with him in the last few days had only reinforced that notion. The King's Champion was widely respected and, it seemed, universally liked.
"No," she said firmly, "Thank you, no. I'm really alright. Just a little...tired," she lied.
He didn't look convinced, but politely changed the subject. "Yes, you've had a busy few days. I understand that you're fitting in extraordinarily well here, however. Everywhere I go, it seems, I'm hearing about this paragon of beauty and charm who's so enslaved our wild mage," he teased lightly.
"Hardly," Daine muttered, almost laughing at the irony.
Sir Tremain sobered a little, comprehension crossing his face. "Is Jardan giving you a tough time?"
"Not really," she said, frowning. "It's just...he's so..."
The knight nodded. "I know he's not an easy person to get along with. He's had an immense amount of suffering in his life, and he's very angry. But he is a good man, Daine. Don't give up on him."
"He doesn't make it easy to like him," she murmured.
"No, I know he doesn't. But he needs friends more than anyone realizes...himself included. I know he's difficult. He's cynical as all get out, and in more pain than any being should ever have to face. But he is a good man," Sir Tremain repeated, meeting her gaze.
"I know," she said, meaning it. Jardan might be moody and conflicted, and extremely trying, but she believed the other man's words.
The Champion smiled at her. "I think you'll be good for him," he said thoughtfully.
Before Daine could question that assertion, he offered her his arm. "May I escort you to the banquet room?" he asked gallantly, eyes twinkling, "I believe that there is a certain mage there very anxious to see you."
Daine, trying to push back her feelings of unease, slipped her arm through his and forced a smile to her face. Even the thought of seeing Numair again – even a few hours apart from him could feel an age – couldn't retrieve any tentative sense of well-being. Jardan's words, and the depth of feeling behind them, had thrown her, and she knew she wouldn't forget this morning.
They headed down the same path Jardan had taken a few minutes before, Sir Tremain slowing his steps to match Daine's shorter stride. She breathed in the warm fresh air, and tried to let the tranquility of the morning sooth her. A pair of love birds trilled a greeting to her as they soared overhead, and she returned it with forced enthusiasm, choosing not to view them as symbolic in any way.
They were a hundred yards or so from the palace when they heard the sharp cry. She checked in her steps as her eyes searched for its source. Her companion tensed beside her when Jardan dashed through an ivy arch. Seeing them, he stopped and jerked his head sharply back the way he'd come.
"Come on!" he shouted, "We have a few uninvited guests."
Sir Tremain cursed violently under his breath, and surged forward. Daine ran after him, her stomach dropping. She reached Jardan's side and grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at her.
"Not..." She couldn't even finish.
"Blazewings," he confirmed briefly, heavily.
Dread clawing at her throat, Daine sprinted toward the palace, automatically pulling her bow from her shoulder and reaching for an arrow.
She couldn't miss Jardan's ominous words as he followed her up a flight of mossy stone steps.
"Here we go again."