Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it belongs to Tamora Pierce

A/N: Yes, you all know who the son was.

Goldeneyedwildmage: Yes, Cearl. And thanks for the stuff on Jon. His is a complex character. But he was overdue for a little depth in my stories.

Bitterosemary: So you didn't see the twist coming, huh? I figured you might. Juggling for Sarra is a little Numair touch I couldn't resist.

Nativewildmage: This must be based on your favorite book then. You get the most badger in RotG

Purple Eyed Cat: I though for sure that someone would guess along the way. Now I feel crafty.

Hoshi-ko88: Unfortunately Daine won't know for quite some time. Numair will wait to give Weiryn the chance to tell her.

Sarramaks: It's giving Weiryn some depth too. He's a difficult character because time and death to him are nothing. But there's more to come.

Dill: Thank you so much. If I get published I will put something here and I will put a thank you in my book to for providing an outlet for me to hone my craft.

Chapter 9: The Whole Picture

Numair sat for a long time staring at nothing. The information he'd been given to process on this one day was really too much. He didn't kill Weiryn's son, but he would have if Onua hadn't. The scene played through his mind again. Cearl de Romondo, another black robe mage had entered their lives in December. He looked enough like Daine that the group had questioned the possibility that he might be her father. It never occurred to them that he might be her brother. But then, in human standards, the likelihood was slim. Cearl was at least 25 years older than Daine.

The likenesses ended with looks. Cearl was an evil man who had used magic to control Daine, Alanna and several others and make them do things they would never do. In the end, he and Numair had fought a mage's battle that nearly destroyed the world. Daine had used hyena form to take his hand off at the wrist and Onua had put a spear in his back. Then Numair had nearly killed himself trying to put right what Cearl had been willing to destroy.

Numair wondered if Sarra knew. Had she witnessed this fight? Did she know that Cearl's magic had nearly destroyed her daughter? Did she know that guilt had further consumed the girl and revisited her off and on?

And what exactly did Weiryn feel? If death was not as dire to him, did he blame Numair for trying to kill Cearl or for not succeeding? He felt so lost that he needed to see Daine. Her presence calmed him and her practicality balanced him. He rapped lightly on the door to her room, hoping to find her awake, but she didn't answer. He opened the door slowly and peeked inside. The bed was made and she was not present. She was awake.

Numair walked to the garden looking forward to seeing Daine up and around. Sarra was talking to someone that Numair couldn't see as she walked around the outside of the garden. Queenclaw was sitting in the middle of the table enjoying a bath and Broad Foot was finishing what looked to be a piece of apple.

Queenclaw looked up at him. "You just missed your girl. She went for a walk. And that is not the way to keep those thoughts hidden. Your emotions are in turmoil."

"Sorry, Queenclaw. I just learned something extremely disturbing," he answered. He sat down at the table and began to pet the cat goddess without being commanded.

Soon Sarra made her way back to the garden looking joyful. "A healthy girl," she said. Numair wasn't sure what she was talking about, but had too much in his head to process it anyway. Sarra studied Numair for a moment. "The badger has been giving you too much information."

Well that answers that question. "Sarra, how did you feel about what happened to us in December?"

She smiled. "I don't think anyone asked me that before, Master Salmalin."

"Numair," he reminded her.

"Alright, Numair," she smiled making her dimple deepen. "I thought you were fair impressive. I'm sorry Weiryn's son had to die. But we knew he was choosing the wrong path. Weiryn revealed himself to his son many years ago, but Cearl did not want anything to do with him. Still, Weiryn kept track of the boy. There's a hidden room in the house with a copy of every book Cearl studied. Weiryn wanted to know what magic Cearl might be absorbing after Mynos told him that Cearl could choose a path of destruction. I was not happy that he tried to use Daine to make that choice and you protected her as always."

Numair watched her intently for a moment. "Weiryn wanted to leave me to the Skinners."

He had not seen her forehead crease in this way before. "I know," she answered.

"For all that I have taken care of Daine, he would have left me to that and you would have bowed to that decision," he said cautiously. "Is that because of Cearl?"

She looked perplexed. "What you need to understand is that Weiryn knows you've been good to her and that you care for her deeply. If he thinks about it, he probably knows you love her."

"Gods do not like to be reminded of their shortcomings and a few of us have many," Queenclaw added.

"Not you, surely," he teased.

"Of course not me," the cat answered haughtily.

Sarra smiled. "Mas – Numair, you need to understand that he does not blame you for Cearl's death. It was right."

"Does he blame me for not killing him?" Numair asked pointedly.

"No, because you would have."

"Is he angry that I was apparently Cearl's motivation to hunt more power?" Numair was referring to something Cearl had told them regarding a contest when Numair and Cearl were at the Carthaki University together. Though Numair was much younger, he had bested Cearl in a blasting contest and Cearl had tried to beat him by altering his magic. It had caused a cave in that cost the lives of some spectators and nearly killed them all. Numair had saved the rest and nearly drained himself in the process.

Sarra watched him for a moment. "It is hard for a man to admit that his son was no good from the beginning. But that can hardly be blamed on you."

"Then what is this animosity he has toward me?"

"It is what any father feels when he realizes that he cannot be a hero to his daughter because she already has another. And, if he admits it to himself, it is a little jealousy because you are what he wanted Cearl to be, though your own father never appreciated it."

It was true, but it hurt. "I don't like to think about my father," Numair said softly. His father had been a textile master in a long line of them. Numair (who was born Arram Draper) did not have the magic that his father and grandfather did. They made tapestries and fabrics that were perfect, imbued lightly with a magic so close to wild magic that it had driven Numair to study the subject even though his teachers insisted it didn't exist. Young Arram's first attempt at weaving a tapestry had resulted in a pile of singed silk and wool, fit for nothing. Constant fires had convinced Salam Draper to send his son to the university when he was ten years old. Despite Arram's attempts to please his father, he had never succeeded. Ultimately his father died thinking his son a traitor to Carthak and therefore to Tyra. He was ashamed and told Numair's mother as much as he lay dying. And though Numair rarely let his thoughts stray to his family, he admitted to himself now that his father had influenced him greatly. It was in his love of fine clothing and his use of language and it was part of his reluctance to admit his feelings to Daine.

Numair turned back to Sarra and asked, "If Daine reciprocated – I mean someday – would you …"

"I approve of you," Sarra answered. "You are strange, but you are good and you love her like she's all the good things of the world. I cannot help but like you, knowing you see her that way."

"And the age difference?"

She just laughed in response. Queenclaw stretched and sauntered to Numair, pressing her pink nose against his cheek. "Have you ever considered how much age difference there is between Sarra and Weiryn?"

Numair laughed. "I haven't the slightest idea."

"I think you're all silly anyway. We cats don't keep one tom around longer than necessary. Life should be enjoyed."

He grinned at the cat. "I spent a little of my life behaving like a tom-cat. But to two-leggers, it's more desirable to have something permanent."

Sarra laughed and Queenclaw switched her tail. Broad Foot had remained silent the whole time and only now made a snorting sound.

"If you keep scratching that beard, you're going to have one bald spot," Sarra pointed out eying him.

"I'd like to get rid of it entirely. Is there some place I can bathe? And is there a razor I can use?"

She smiled at him and motioned for him to follow. She took him to another door that seemed to appear out of nothing. Inside was a bathtub. Sarra looked at him a moment and then tugged at the air, near the end of it, stretching the tub to be the longest one he'd ever seen. It filled itself with steamy water and Sarra pulled a towel from a non-existent cupboard and draped it on the side of the tub. "I'll put a mirror, soap and a razor in your room," she said, and turned and left him alone. As he undressed and then lowered himself into the water, he thought, I wish I could do that.

Numair soaked in the tub far too long. He kept mulling over everything he had learned in the past twenty four hours. By the time he emerged from the tub, his fingers and toes were very wrinkled and the water was barely warm. The towel was yet another luxury. It looked normally sized from its draped position on the edge of the tub, but when he shook it out, it was big enough to wrap around him twice and when tucked to cover him at the waist, it stretched down to his knees. He picked up his clothes and looked again at the tub wondering how to drain it. He decided he'd best ask Sarra and opened the door. A "whooshing" sound filled the air and when he looked back the tub was empty and dry. He walked back to his room in complete awe.

He put on a pair of breeches and picked up the razor, soap, mirror and a cup of water. Now he wished he could tug at the wall and make a shelf appear, but he'd have to make do. He set the mirror on the window sill and flung the towel over one shoulder. Then he dipped the soap in the water, rubbing it in his hands until he had a thick enough lather to work with. He began to try to remove his beard. The razor was very sharp, which helped a lot. But he was trying to be clean about the process, which made it difficult.

As he shaved he started to think again about everything. It's important that we get back, he thought, remembering the dream of Jon. I wish I could tell him somehow that we're alive. It would help reduce his guilt a little. But then he realized something. He was contemplating taking Weiryn's daughter from him. What if she wants to stay? She could. She'd be safer. He sighed heavily. It would hurt to lose her, but not as much as if she were killed.

The whole reality of his situation seemed to settle on him at once. He'd been part of destroying Weiryn's son, and Weiryn, whether he wanted to or not, had ultimately saved his life. The Skinners would have killed him – them. The reality of this realm was unbelievable. Sarra can reshape her home. I would love to do that. She can hear thoughts too, but must allow for free will, just like The Goddess. They can only visit on great holidays but somehow they appear to their subjects and sometimes give gifts. Weiryn has every book his son studied. Are they real books or do they just appear to be real? What is real? Was that bath real? Am I real? He wasn't sure when he started mumbling the thoughts instead of just thinking them, but that was what he was doing when a soft voice asked, "Need help."

He turned, smiling at Daine. She was dressed in a red dress and she looked a little tired and pale. "It's good to see you on your feet."

"It's good to be on them," she said. She picked the mirror up from the windowsill. "Have you talked to Da or Ma about sending us home?"

He gave her a sarcastic smile as he wet his razor. "Let us say rather that I have attempted to do so. They are amazingly elusive on the subject. The best I've gotten so far is that we may discuss it once you have recovered."

"I've recovered," she said almost stubbornly. By the tone he guessed she wasn't completely recovered.

He looked at her pale skin and thought again about the skinners and taking her from the family she had missed so. "Daine," he began. It was hard. He didn't want to go without her. He wasn't sure how he'd last without her. But it was the right thing to do. He could take care of Kit and she could be safe and maybe happy. The thoughts made him ache. Still, she waited for him to finish what he'd started, so he knew he must. "Perhaps – perhaps you should stay here while I return. This is your home. You'd be safe here." He'd said it, although he hated the thought that she might agree.

She put down the mirror, clearly upset. "How can you say that? Tortall is my home!"

Part of him wanted to celebrate, but the rest of him knew he must press on. "You'd be with Sarra – I know you've missed her. You'd get to know your father." He put the mirror back on the sill and began to scrape the remaining bristles from his chin, trying to sort out the reasons why he must say this because the part of him that wanted her to disagree was starting to win. But then he thought of the Skinners. "Look at it from my perspective," he couldn't look at her now or he might stop and he'd promised himself he would always do what was best for her. "I was powerless against the Skinners. There are so many foes in this war, and too many are strange. I would like to know that you, at least, had a chance to survive." With the words out finally, he knew he'd done the right thing, but it hurt so much.

She glared at him. "I'll make my own chances, if you please." She stuck out her stubborn chin the way she always did when her mind was set. She leveled her gaze on him and sat on his bed. He turned back to his shaving so she wouldn't see the war going on inside of him. He rinsed his face and dried it with the towel.

He draped the towel over the window ledge to dry. "Will you at least consider it?" he asked, knowing the answer.

"No," she said firmly.

He tried not to smile and decided it was better to not look at her. He picked up the mirror again to make sure he hadn't missed anything. "Daine…" Suddenly instead of his reflection in the mirror, he saw flying monkeys. They were attacking a group of riders and the own that included Raoul of Goldenlake and Buri Tourakem of the Queen's riders. Carthaki warriors moved into the frame, also fighting the Tortallans. He pushed the mirror at Daine and asked, "What do you see?"

She stared for a moment. No doubt she was taking in all that he had just seen. He thought again about the image of Jon that he had dreamed. He had known it was true, somehow. His hands were shaking as he took the mirror away.

"I went for a walk earlier and saw the most beautiful birds – giant. The skink said they were sunbirds. When they face the sun, bright, colorful light spills from their feathers. It's like watching a rainbow take flight. But then there was a picture in the lights. I could see Thayet and Onua, back to back on a wall in front of the palace at Corus. They were trying to fight so many stormwings, Numair. You said it yourself. They need every fighter – every mage."

"In the Divine Realms, we observe mortal affairs," said a voice. It was Broad Foot. He was waddling into the room. "Liquid is the most reliable, but flame and mirrors work. Mortals who visit tell us that in their sleeping, just before they wake, they hear what is said as well."

"Is it possible to observe specific people and events?" Numair asked.

"Yes. It is how Sarra could observe you, Daine. With practice, you could master it in a week or so, and hear as well as see what goes on in the mortal realms."

Numair picked up the mirror and sat on the bed.

"We'll finish our chat later," Daine told him as she stood. "I'm not done with you!" He didn't look up at her. He was smiling in gratitude but didn't want her to see. She had said "I'm not done with you" because she meant she intended to continue the argument, but to him it meant a whole other thing – he would not be forced to live without her. He knew it was selfish to be happy about this, but he was.

He stared into the mirror, thinking of Alanna, the king's champion and one of his closest friends. It took a long time, but ultimately she appeared, doing exactly what he hoped she'd be doing. She was scrying for him and Daine. He did a spell on the mirror to open it for communication. It was a simple spell and one of the first ones students learned when they went to a university. He didn't know if it would work across realms. But he hoped that Alanna would see him if not hear him and understand.

He watched the frustration on her face as she obviously cursed and focused harder. Her short red hair looked rough, like she had been tugging on it. She had been at this awhile. Then he saw her violet eyes change. He looked at her anxiously and she smiled. "We're trapped in the Divine Realms," he spoke at the mirror, hoping she'd hear. "We will find a way home soon." He waited. She seemed to be trying to understand. He carried the mirror just under his nose while he hunted for a quill, ink and parchment. In the meantime he saw Alanna trying to speak to him. By not watching his feet, he nearly tripped and found he had lost the image.

He would have to ask one of the gods if there was a better way to send a message. But for now, at least, Alanna had seen him. She would not know where he was, but she would know he was alive and she would tell Jon.

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