A/N: Great Goddess, I hate computers! Not only did mine crash again, but it's so screwed up that I can't use it until I get the hard drive reformatted—which, of course, costs money, as I am computer illiterate and can't even install software myself. So, I had to write this and post it using my parent's computer. That being said, I am very sorry that this chapter is late, and now I'm behind. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Please forgive me.

Alright now, background info. In this chapter, the term Imbolc is used. As you have all read Tamora Pierce (this being Tamora Pierce fanfiction, after all), you have also heard the terms Midwinter, Midsummer, and Beltane. For those who know nothing about pagan holidays and sabbats, this is the background:

The Greater Sabbats, or Festival Days, are the original Pagan fire festivals. They are Samhain (October 31, the Celtic New Year and basis of All Hallow's or Halloween), Imbolc/Candlemas (February 2), Beltane/Beltaine (May 1), and Lughnasadh/ Lammas (August 1).

The Lesser Sabbats are the holidays based on the solar calendar, the equinoxes and solstices. They are Midwinter/Yule (circa December 21), Ostara/Spring Equinox (circa March 21), Midsummer (circa June 21), Mabon/Autumn Equinox (circa September 21).

Now that I've filled you heads with mostly useless info (unless you're Wiccan, and then you'd know it already), I apologize once more for being last and for the conspiracy of computer technology which made me post late, and let you get on with the chapter.

Disclaimer: You know what? Forget it. If you've gotten this far, you've read seven other disclaimers, and you know exactly hat I'm going to say. If somehow, the fact that I don't own these characters hasn't sunk in yet, I doubt you have the mental capacity to sue me anyway, so I won't bother—even thought this rant took just as long as writing a proper disclaimer would have. It's the principle of the thing, damn it!

(Okay, rant over now; go about your lives—no, wait, don't! read this first! I beg of you!)

Lingering Ghosts
Himura Seraphina

Chapter 8) Talk

Numair climbed the stairs towards the inn's bedchambers, frowning in a mix of thought and concern. Daine had gone up to her chamber with Lori Hyrdsman well over a candlemark ago, and he had been hard-pressed not to interrupt earlier. She had seemed to greet the woman happily, if with some confusion, but he had no idea if the woman had since upset Daine—after all, she was a reminder of Daine's last days in Snowsdale, and the death of her mother.

He tapped lightly on Daine's door, managing it in spite of the dragonet sleeping in a limp sprawl in his arms. When a muffled response came through the thick wood, he opened it, stepping confidently inside.

Daine sat back against the pillows of her bed, cross-legged, facing the woman who sat at the edge of the bed. Lori's face was a mix of confusion, amazement, disbelief, and astonishment. Her eyes were red, obviously from crying, and Daine's own eyes were suspiciously red-rimmed.

"Numair, you've perfect timing—Lori's just about to leave."

He gazed at his love carefully, searching for distress or pain, besides the evidence of tears, and found none—she was relaxed and confident. He blew out a quiet sigh of relief.

"It's very late—how will you get home, Mistress?" he asked, with a great more civility than he'd used in the common room.

She blinked at him in surprise. "Ah—I'm staying with m'sister, Master Salmalin—she's just had a babe, and I came to the village to help her on her feet." She glanced back at Daine with a stern glance. "'Tis likely the only reason I knew of Daine's coming here."

"I would have paid a visit," Daine defended herself. Under an even sterner look, she humphed. "Eventually."

"Great mother Goddess—is that—?" Lori stammered, gaze locked on the scaled form in his arms.

"Yes, that's Kit—she did manage to wear herself out, thank the Goddess. Numair, would you lay her down on the hamper?"

Numair deposited the dragonet in the heavy wicker basket that held Daine's clothes, feeling Lori's eyes on him as he did so. When he straightened, turning back to the bed, the older woman looked pointedly at him and stated, "I'd best go now, Daine."

He stood where he was when she didn't move, continuing to look at him, feeling a touch of amusement. Lori's brow drew into a frown before Daine let out a laugh.

"It's alright, Lori," she chuckled, "you don't have to guard my honor, or my virtue."

"I don't care a pence for what the village folk say, Daine, you've got honor to spare—and you aren't to be blamed for anything your parents did."

"Thank you, Lori, but that wasn't what I meant. You don't have to chaperone me with Numair." Daine grinned, a little slyly at him, even as Lori blinked at her in confusion. "After all, why shut the barn door when the horse has already fled."

He sighed. She was definitely feeling herself. "Really, magelet, must you?"

"Daine?"

"Honor I might have, Lori, but I've a bit less virtue now—I gave a part of it to Numair."

"Daine," he stated dryly, refusing to be amused at her phrasing.

Lori stood up quickly and rounded on him so quickly he blinked in surprise. "For shame! Taking advantage of her like that! She's your student, and she's but a girl!"

"Lori!" Daine stood up, gripping her friend's arm firmly. While she was partly grateful for the defense—as she was grateful for the last candlemark of conversation, memories, and chatter—the one thing she could never bear was anyone casting aspirations on Numair's honor. "He didn't take advantage of me, and he's not really my teacher anymore—and I'm not a girl!"

Her tirade cut short, Lori looked at her, eyes demanding an explanation—she looked, at the moment, very much like a mother, one who was giving her offspring a reprieve to justify breaking a rule—but was fully prepared to cuff them at a moment's notice.

"I'm eighteen, Lori. The girls in Snowsdale my age are all married, some with babies of their own. And Numair would never take advantage of me."

"But—"

"We're betrothed—handfasted," Numair said quietly, coming to take her hand. Daine squeezed lightly, drawing on his unending support.

Lori blinked once, twice, and a third time as understanding filled her face. Daine drew the chain that never left her neck out from under her shirt, offering it to Lori.

There was the badgers claw, the heavy silver object that not only tied her the animal god and her parents, but had saved her life. A small charm hung behind it, the very recognizable glyph which was to prevent pregnancy. But it was the third object which drew Lori's eyes.

A ring, made of many interwoven bands, held together by nothing but each other, it was a puzzle ring—a token of love, symbolizing entwining hearts and lives, and a gift for a betrothal. This ring had a full sixteen bands, rather than the more common eight and, rather than being made out of carved wood, or of simple metals, was of silver and copper—silver for Numair, and copper for herself, the colors of their magics.

"Oh," she sighed, looking up into both their faces. "I'm fair sorry, Master Salmalin," she began.

"No need, Mistress, please—you were looking out for Daine, which I can apprieciate, as I've spent some amount of effort in the same direction."

Lori nodded, and met Daine's eyes. She could she the return of tears in her older friend's eyes, and reached out, tentatively, to hug her. The embrace was returned firmly, with all the strength Lori had developed in her years of raising children, tending a house, and helping on the farm. When she drew back, the tears were gone and, in their place, was a brisk, kind woman, who brimmed with practicality and sense, and was as steady as the earth—just as she had been during all the years of Daine's childhood.

"I'd best be off—Rona will fret herself ill, and she's enough to do with the babe already. I won't speak of anything," she vowed to Daine, "including you and Master Salmalin. Let the village think what they want. And you'd best do what I asked, or Rand will come in himself to take you."

"Lori invited me to the farm for dinner one night," Daine explained to Numair. "I'll try."

"Good—I know you've important work here, but I'm sure those friends will give you a few hours to yourself. Sarra must be fair proud of you," she added, "She always was, but now—well, you've done her proud, and your da as well. I'm off," she managed, her voice breaking slightly with more tears. "I'll be seeing you later. Fare you well, Master Numair." Before either of the lovers could respond, she had fled out the door.

Daine stared out the open door after Lori for several long moments until Numair used a touch of his Gift to nudge the door closed. He saw Daine blink, coming back to herself, as he sealed the door with his black-and-silver magic, locking out the world.

"Magelet?"

"Hmmm? Oh," she jumped, startled, and turned towards him. "Yes?"

"Are you alright, sweet?"

She smiled at him, and the tight knot of anxiety that had tangled in his stomach all evening eased slightly. "I'm fair wonderful, Numair. I'd forgotten, you see."

"Forgotten?" He noticed that she had slipped into a deeper Gallan accent, the one she had used six years ago, and which occasionally reappeared when she became lost in the past.

"Lori—what she was like. I didn't see her often, only once a month about during summer, and usually only at Midwinter during the snows. She was always—practical," she decided, eyes focused inwards. "She felt sorry for how the village acted to me, but knew there was nothing to be done for it, so she always said that I shouldn't feel sorry for myself; that I had Ma, Granda, and her and Rand, and my knack with animals and the bow, and that was more'n most folk had. I couldn't always talk to Ma—not because she wouldn't understand," she rushed to add, gazing earnestly at him, "but because, well, it seemed wrong to talk about the way folk acted to me when she was treated the same—worse, even, as I'm just a bastard, and she's the one who bore one. But Lori—she didn't pity, just told me to buck up."

"A wise woman," he murmured, taking her hand and rubbing her fingers, urging her on and comforting at the same time.

"She knew about Da. Oh, not specifically," Daine added at his surprised expression. "She told me, just now, that she knew Ma, knew her sense of honor. Not honor as others, like Rikar and the villagers see it, but her personal sense of it; and that Ma wouldn't have ended carrying a babe unless she loved the da. Lori figured that since Ma didn't marry, my da was a visiting noble, or a traveler—my coloring made it logically, since I don't look like any of the folk from around here, not even Ma."

Numair smiled, reaching out with his free hand to twist a chestnut curl around his finger. "I've always preferred brunettes."

She scowled at him. "Liar—blondes have always been your taste—tall, buxom ones, at that."

He shrugged, knowing that, while it was true, she was teasing and no longer insecure about his past interests. "I've become more discerning in my old age."

Daine snorted. "No, just mad."

He smiled again, and stroked the curl he held. "How did Lori conclude your father was a god?"

"Ma let slip that she saw him occasionally, and Lori thought that meant Da was either a noble or a noble's man who stayed at Boarder's Peak Keep, maybe even one who was already married, and that was why they didn't wed. But on my third birthday, Ma said how it was too bad I was born a day early—if I'd been born on Imbolc, Da might've come to my birth and naming. Lori's not educated, but she's clever, and she's a mind like a trap—nothing gets out. She remembered that lesser gods, unless it's to do specifically with whatever they rule over, can't travel freely in the human realms except on the festival days."

"And she never spoke of it the Sarra? Never tried to find out for certain?"

Daine shook her head. "Lori's a code of honor, as well, and it includes not prying. If Ma had told her of it, that would've been fine, but she'd never ask."

"Did you tell her about Weiryn?"

"And Ma—I didn't say she's the Green Lady, just that she lives in the Divine Realms with Da instead of the Black God's realm." Daine looked up at him with a playful grin. "I told her about all I've been up to since leaving—she didn't know whether to be proud, horrified, or swear I was lying."

"She went with proud, I see."

The grin faded and Daine nodded, a dazed—and slightly awed—look in her eye. "She was."

Numair smiled gently. "You can't be that surprised, magelet."

Daine shifted restlessly, forcing him to release her so she could pace the narrow room. Five steps from the door to the window, five steps back; she covered them over and over. "I—everything got lost in Ma's death—sometimes, it seemed like that was really all that had happened in my life before Tortall. The memories I actually held on to were either of her—which I tried to block out, since they circled back to her dying—or of dealing with the People. I didn't even really remember what the village folk were like, just generally how they thought of me. Lori—I s'ppose she got lost, too, since most of my memories of her are linked to Ma, and I didn't dwell on those." Finally, she paused, some of her anxious tension fading. "It's good to remember. There were good times, ones without Ma and Cloud. Lori had another babe, you know," she added quietly. "Three years ago. Her name is Sarra Randsri."

Understanding her, Numair took the one step that brought him to her, wrapping her tightly in his arms. Her own came around his waist, her hands clutching at his shirt. "I'm sure your mother knows—she is a goddess, after all."

Her cheek slid against his chest as she nodded, but remained silent.

"Snowsdale might have tried to outcast her, sweet, but in doing so they've burned her into their memories. Rikar will never forget the woman who saw through his preaching to his want of power. Hakkon will never forget the woman who refused him, or Nonia the woman whose place she assumed and tries to live up to. No one here will forget her—and Lori assured that she'll live on, even if she wasn't already an immortal goddess."

He felt her pause, think, before she sighed. "I know she's well, and that I get to see her—this just brought back how it felt to lose her. Thank you." She pressed her nose into his shirt, inhaling once, before looking up at him. "Why do you always know the right thing to say?"

Numair assumed a haughty, superior expression, earning a giggle. "Years of deep and careful thought and study, in-depth knowledge of human nature, and a glib and silver tongue."

She laughed harder, reaching up to draw his face down as she rose to her toes. The kiss was playful on the surface, but faded into a sweet exploration.

Eventually he drew back, breathing a little faster. "Daine?"

She grinned at him. "I don't know about you, love, but I've had a long day—I think it's time to turn in, don't you?"

His sweeping her into his arms and, from there, to the bed, was answer enough.

Daine curled up at Numair's side, her head in the hollow of his shoulders, his arm wrapped firmly around her, fingers tangled in the ends of her hair. The scent of his skin, and of their lovemaking, surrounded her as much as his warmth did, and she nearly purred with repletion and contentment.

"Daine?"

"Hmmm?"

"How did it go today?"

He knew he far too well; had seen that her thoughts had been spinning when she'd returned.

"It went well."

"What did?"

She smoothed her fingertips over his chest as she thought, trying to put her realization into words. "I—I realized Snowsdale—that Galla—isn't home." He stirred in question and she rushed on. "I know Tortall is my home now, but that's in my head—some part of my still believed this was home. But now—I was never welcome here, in the village; Snowsdale was never home. My place was in Ma's house, and in the woods and hills. Today, well the house is gone completely, and all the places I used to wander aren't really familiar any more. I recognize landmarks, but it doesn't feel like my home territory anymore, not the way the barracks, the Royal Forest, Pirate's Swoop and the tower feel. Even the People here aren't the same ones I knew, now that the pack is gone. It feels—like a place I've traveled through, or visited. Recognizable, not familiar."

There was—peace—in that, she realized; that those last emotional ties had faded in the face of reality. She no longer saw things here through the memories of a child, but through the eyes of a woman, much as she had come to see Rikar that morning. Quietly, she told Numair so, and felt him smile.

"You're glad we came, then?"

"Yes. I can move on now."

"When we get back to Corus, Jon promised us some time off, during the Riders' summer training ."

She looked up at him. "Really?"

"Three weeks, at the very least. Would you like to go somewhere?"

"The tower," she replied without hesitation. "I just want to be with you, without interruptions."

He shifted abruptly, so they lay on their sides, facing each other, his arm still wrapped around her waist, and kissed her softly. When he drew back, he grinned. "Except for the whales, of course."

"And dolphins—whales and dolphins aren't interruptions, Numair. Besides, you like them too."

"I like that speaking with them makes you happy."

Daine smiled, sliding a hand into his dark locks, tangled and loose now. "You make me happy."

"Are you scouting in the morning?"

Startled by the abrupt change in subject, she furrowed her brow. "Ah—no, I'm helping Buri with the town perimeter. Why?"

"Because if you don't have to scout, sweet," he said with a slow, teasing smile—accompanied by not-so-slow, teasing hands—"then we can sleep in a bit in the morning. And that means," he shifted again, placing her under him, surrounded by his warm strength, "that we can stay up late."

Daine's eyes closed as he set about demonstrating his intentions, with which she was perfectly happy to comply.

This time, she did purr.