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Guardian of Honor
Robin D. Owens


With their magic boundaries falling and terrible monsters invading, the Marshalls of Lladrana must follow ancient tradition and summon a savior from the Exotique land… For Alexa Fitzwalter, the Marshall's call pulled the savvy lawyer into a realm where she barely understood the language, let alone the intricacies of politics and power. Armed only with her wits, a mystical companion and the help of the chevalier Bastien, Alexa must use her very human mind and skills to fight the encroaching evil–and resist manipulation by the Marshalls to force her to stay in Lladrana.Now torn between her affinity for this realm and Earth, will she return home if given the chance? Or dare she risk everything for a land not her own?









Praise for

ROBIN D. OWENS


“Owens takes…elements that made Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Darkover stories popular…

and turns out a romance that draws you in….”

—Locus magazine

“Owens has crafted a…successful science fantasy yarn with terrific world building.”

—Booklist on Heart Thief

“Readers of Owens’ earlier Celta titles, Heart Mate and Heart Thief, will enjoy revisiting this fantasy-like

world filled with paranormal talents.”

—Booklist on Heart Duel

“A new voice in romantic fantasy fiction has arrived and makes an outstanding debut. The alien world that talented newcomer Robin D. Owens has created is intricate, sensual and fascinating. I certainly would

welcome future trips to the Flair-driven planet of Celta.”

—Romantic Times




GUARDIAN OF HONOR

ROBIN D. OWENS








To Deidre, Diane and Mary-Theresa

For encouraging me to breathe life into old dreams

In Memoriam

Sonya Roberts




Acknowledgments:


The Usual Suspects: Kay Bergstrom (Cassie Miles),

Janet Lane, Sharon Mignerey (www.sharonmignerey.com),

Steven Moores, Judy Stringer, Anne Tupler,

Leslee Breene (www.lesleebreene.com),

Sue Hornick, Alice Kober, Teresa Luthye,

Peggy Waide (www.peggywaide.com), Giselle McKenzie.

My Webmistress: Lisa Craig (www.lisacraig.com)

Excerpts of all my work available at

www.robindowens.com or www.robinowens.com.










Contents


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27




1


Lladrana, early spring

When the Star Etalla glows bright and moves through the constellation Caen; when mists envelop the stone circle high atop Archer’s Mound; when the face of the Moon is hidden—then the walls between worlds are thin, and you may Summon saviors—or demons—from the Exotique Land. Send the Call. Choose well.

—Spring Prophecy

The rush of rain hit the stone pavement with hissing, tinny pings. Swordmarshall Thealia hurried through the Castle’s cloister walk, ignoring the silver fall outside the open, pointed arches. The incessant damp weather made her aging joints ache even under three layers of robes. She’d once loved to watch the rain. Once. Now she avoided looking at it, listening to it, and wished she could avoid smelling the miasma that rose from it.

She’d been called the tough realist, harping on the harsh facts of Lladrana’s desperate situation, demanding action—but she couldn’t face the rain anymore.

Dread gripped her. She’d just stopped at the map room. She knew it was obsessive, checking the status of the land every morning and evening, but she couldn’t help herself. She always hoped against hope that the tide of inhuman evil wasn’t creeping into her country. That morning especially she’d prayed something had changed, so the Marshalls wouldn’t have to risk the Summoning tonight.

A futile hope. She’d scanned the animated map of Lladrana, noting the breaks in the magical boundary set by her ancestors against the Dark. She’d counted each glowing white fence-pillar. Even as she had watched, two pillars had blackened and vanished. The loss was escalating and the new gap in the northern defenses stretched miles.

Fingers of the first taint of evil, the small nasty poisonous creatures signified by gray sludge, slogged to the border—and across. Stirrings of the more terrible horrors—slayers, renders, soul-suckers massed, ready to advance to the new breach. Chill fear had penetrated her bones.

Now with fumbling fingers Thealia drew the heavy key through the slits of her robes and stuck it into the iron keyhole of the thick wooden door made of grown tree trunks—sacred oaks ritually harvested in bygone times. The door opened smoothly, though she hadn’t said the spell or pushed her shoulder against it. The Knight Lord of the Marshalls must be inside. She wondered if he had brought his brother—his Shield—too.

Her lips thinned in irritation. She’d wanted a moment or two in the chamber to soak in the sense of serenity that lived nowhere else in Lladrana. He couldn’t appreciate the balm, even if he felt it.

Straightening her spine and shoulders, she set her steps carefully to glide with grace into the round stone Temple. The scent of rosemary and sage welcomed her.

Swordmarshall Reynardus paced the sanctuary, tall, broad-shouldered, the silver streak of hair at his right temple turned golden with age. Not even a small paunch softened the man. Lines bracketed his mouth. They had deepened over the past year as the Marshalls realized the ancient fence was failing and that they had no idea how to recharge the shielding posts, make new ones or lace the magical energy between them. Inhuman evil encroached upon Lladrana with sharp, monstrous teeth.

But didn’t evil always encroach? It was Thealia’s job to make sure the Marshalls guarded and defended Lladrana—even when the steps might be drastic and deadly to herself and others.

Reynardus frowned and stopped near the eastern point of the pentacle, his robe settled above the ankles of his metal boots.

“Tonight is the time.” His voice echoed through the stone room, sounding as sharp as his footsteps.

“All is ready.” Her gesture encompassed the freshly incised pentacle, the altar with the rainbow of glowing gemstone crystal chimes, the tools, the fruit and wine, the enormous silver gong. She hoped her quilted overdress concealed the shiver of apprehension that flowed along her spine like the touch of cold steel.

Reynardus scowled, thick black brows casting his dark eyes farther into shadow. “We will be using a great deal of energy for such a chancy enterprise, perhaps too much energy. Some of us may die.”

Thealia inclined her head and folded her hands at her waist. The peak of her coif made her nearly as tall as he, and she was more than equal in Power. She had the golden streaks of age and Power at both temples. “The Spring Song foretold that only a Summoning has acceptable odds of success in beating back the horrors and saving Lladrana. We must try despite personal danger,” she pointed out once again in their interminable discussion, wishing her more patient husband were here for this final preritual check of the spelldesign and equipment.

“I don’t like the idea of draining ourselves completely or setting our lives in the hands of a stranger,” Reynardus said.

Of course he didn’t. A Summoning would be conducted by all the Marshalls, and guided by her husband and herself—out of Reynardus’s control. The results too would be out of his control.

Reynardus tromped over to the white marble, blessing-carved fireplace that heated the room. He held his hands to the warmth and shot her a glance. “We are gifted with six opportunities to Summon Exotiques in the next two years. Why not wait?” he grumbled.

Thealia stiffened. Because they were desperate. Because it was their only hope. Because something needed to be done now! She’d argued so time and again. Thealia unclenched her teeth and managed a casual lift of her shoulders. “If you insist we wait, the rest of us will expect you to pay the price of such a gamble. We will want your Chevaliers dispersed to our lands to fight any slayers and renders that infiltrate our estates while we wait for your approval. Will you hazard your own domain until the next time for Summoning?”

He strode around the pentacle, his piercing gaze tracing the shining line of quicksilver. Clank. Clank. Clank. Clank.

No, he didn’t like anything out of his control. Or anyone. His treatment of his grown sons had demonstrated that to all of Lladrana. He’d tried to control them with money and with Power, to form their lives as he pleased—and had driven them both away.

He might not be able to bend the Summoned Exotique to his will either. Exotiques were notoriously strange and as unpredictable as they were powerful. Thealia cheered a little.

“We Summon an Exotique female, correct?” He rubbed his hands.

“So the Spring Song advised.” Thealia suppressed an urge to roll her eyes. He obviously thought women were more easily intimidated than men. She pursed her lips. He never should have married a spineless girl of the Chiladee family. Thealia had said so at the time. “Yes, a woman,” she said.

“Hrrumph. Hopefully someone who won’t want to return to their own world, like the last one did a century ago. Wasted effort.”

Thealia tapped her foot under her gown, counting beats until she could reply calmly. “Our chants and chimes and the gong will echo through her past to compel her. The pattern has been approved by we who rule, the Marshalls of the Castle.”

She paused for emphasis. “All the other communities in our society have agreed with this course—the Sorcerers and Sorceresses of the Tower, the City-and Townmasters, the Knights and Chevaliers of the Field, the Seamasters. Even the Cloister—the Friends of the Singer and the Song who guide us spiritually—advise this action.

“A fighting woman of the greatest magical power will answer our Call and be Summoned to Lladrana to take her place as a Marshall. She will stay and help us triumph against the Dark.”

“And not a female demon. There will be Testing?”

Thealia smiled coldly. “You made that a prerequisite of your cooperation, didn’t you?” And won that point. Her loss still stung. She would have much preferred to have communicated their needs and the rewards honestly to the Exotique. “Yes, Reynardus, she will be Tested thrice as soon as she appears. The pool is ready.” Thealia gestured to a large, square ritual bathing pool on the other side of the round chamber, beneath the lower points of the pentacle. “The next day she will undergo the Choosing ritual. Once she is Paired with a Lladranan by a blood-bond, we are sure she will stay.”

She watched as he spun on his heel and a spur scored the stone wall. He examined the chamber with one comprehensive glance. He’d seen and evaluated every detail of their preparations in that brief scan—part of his Power.

“Everything seems in order. I’ll take my place in the ritual tonight.” Without another word he exited the Temple.

She’d thought so all along, but she was glad to see him go.

The tinkling of time-chimes reminded her of the hour. She let her shoulders slump. The moment had come to prepare herself for the great ritual of Summoning, and the Testing afterward. She gazed wistfully at the blue velvet pads atop the low stone bench that half-circled the room, the pillows and rugs on the floor. She wanted to sit and close her eyes and steep her soul in the comforting, powerfully magical atmosphere. But the Marshalls would need every particle of that calm magic to Summon the one who would help them save Lladrana from the Dark.

Thealia closed, locked and bespelled the door behind her. She walked to a pointed arch of the cloister window that opened into the wet-slicked pavement and verdant grass courtyard, and forced herself to look at the pummeling rain.

As each drop clinked against the stone, a tiny scaled worm wriggled from it. Most of the worms sizzled to death in a puff of greasy stench when they reached lush grass. The few remaining burrowed into the earth, purpose and effect still unknown.

Thealia shuddered. She hated rain.

Colorado mountains, early spring

Alexa Fitzwalter slogged through the knee-deep snow, every step difficult. She’d thought she had survived the worst of her grief over the death of her best friend, a friend who was more like a sister, but here she was, doing something completely crazy. Following a dream, a song that compelled her to trek through the mountains at night. Dangerous and mad. She couldn’t explain her actions rationally, so it must be another aspect of mourning.

Yet she trudged on, knowing that although she couldn’t escape the hurt inside her, she could leave Denver and all her problems behind for the moment.

Such sad thoughts on such a cold, perfect night. The soft feathery snowflakes were as heartbreaking as the sharp, pristine air she drew into her lungs. A night that spoke of mystery and life and challenge, if you dared to take it, shape it, live it.

Just that easily the image of her friend Sophie was back in Alexa’s thoughts—Sophie who had been the sister and only family Alexa had ever had. Sophie laughing and dancing through the snow-crystal laden air, whisking sparkles of ice around her in a shimmering aura.

Sophie had been bold and vibrant; Alexa deep and brooding. But they’d both been risk-takers. Who else would be crazy enough to start up a law firm right out of school, trusting themselves and each other to make it work; knowing that they were both alone in the world with no family and no family money to cushion the start of a business? They had only themselves and their friendship to depend upon. But it had been enough.

Then Sophie died in a car accident.

Alexa’s face chilled as tears froze on her skin. No use wiping them away since others would follow.

She stopped and adjusted her fanny pack, panting through her mouth, sending puffs of white vapor into the air. The cold made the inside of her nose crackle. She squinted up the hill—no sign of a track, but she’d hiked this area often enough to know where she was going. Odd that she was drawn to this point, never a favorite.

It was just one more crazy thing, part and parcel of the dreams and the auditory hallucinations. Alexa had been hearing things that weren’t there, that no one else heard. Not instructions from God—she was no Joan of Arc—but a stream of rising and falling vocal music. Ripples of a chime that brought rainbow colors to her mind. And the gong. The gong haunted her.

It had sounded first, then the chime, then the chants. They had alternated and mixed. First the gong had been muffled as if echoing from a great distance. Then the sound had sharpened, become insistent, reverberating in her dreams until she woke. Awake, the memory of it would ring through her, shattering her thoughts all day.

Finally the sound in her mind had forced her into her car and led her here.

Obviously she wasn’t coping as well as she’d thought with Sophie’s death.

Sophie would have expected Alexa to handle the situation better, to be more flexible. Vital, ebullient Sophie would want her to live, not simply exist in a world temporarily bleak. She would expect Alexa to adapt again as she had so often when her life ruptured. Instead, Alexa followed a song.

The sky was so black as to be eternal, with sparks of light pinpointing lost dreams. The gauzy veil of the Milky Way draped across the bowl of night was so beautiful as to make her soul ache with longing—to be a star, to be the sky, to be a night goddess.

By the time Alexa reached the summit the snowflakes had stopped. Brilliant white peaks encircled her, as if all the starshine in the universe coated them. She lifted her gaze to the stars again and pinpricks of light dazzled her eyes through the tears.

When she blinked them away, she saw the silver net descending, coalescing into a solid silver arch before her. She couldn’t move a muscle. Her in-caught breath was so quick and big that she doubled over, coughing.

The gong sounded, the chimes tinkled a scale. The arch settled.

Her heart thudded fast and she heard her own gasps. She wanted to run, but before she could lift her feet, the beauty of the arch and the stream of music coming from it soothed the ragged edges of her mourning. The sheer relief at having her hurt gone made Alexa stay.

Reality or illusion? If she waited would it fade like all dreams?

Hunched, Alexa saw the shiver of rippling silver in the arch. Silver flowing like mercury, then parted to send a stream of voices lifted in music to her, along with a sparkling rainbow.

Now there were words, heard more in her head and her heart than with her ears, affecting her, feeling real, especially since the chants weren’t songs of exaltation but pleas. “Help us. Come to us. We need you here as no one there ever will.”

Alexa straightened and her throat tightened at the truth. No one needed her here.

The music enveloped, the gong enchanted, the words invited. She could only stand and stare, bemused. It went on and on until she couldn’t feel her feet, and her fingers hooked around the straps of her pack, numbed.

“Come to us.” Warmth and light and sound tugged at her.

She brushed a hand down the silver arch. It was warm to her touch. Planting a hand against it, she pushed. It was solid.

“Come to us.”

The delicate scent of spring blossoms and renewal drew her to the rainbow. Most appealing of all was the small bud of hope that unfurled within her, the hope that she could help. She could find a place of her own where she was valued, where she fit.

At her back was the cold, friendless night.

Alexa stepped through the arch. Rainbow crystals bathed her and sunk into her skin to shimmer like glitter all along her nerves. Her loose hat fell off. Her fine hair lifted straight out from her head. She’d look like a brown dandelion. She threw back her head and laughed at the joyful effervescence. Hope and excitement flowed through her. She flung out her arms and twirled into a dance.

The monster attacked.

Big, twice as big as she. Black hairy bristles all over its body. Long fangs. Claws sliced, shredding her down coat, releasing a flurry of feathers into whistling winds.

Fear jolted her. She screamed but heard no sound. A paw-hand sporting foot-long gleaming claws slashed at her head. She ducked, but its hair brushed her face raw.

Move! How? She had no weight.

She rammed her own arms up against the beast. They stung with shock, but the blow propelled her and the monster apart.

Another clawed swipe. Her pack loosened and vanished. Her gloves whipped off in the wind. Better her stuff than her.

Alexa saw an opening. Escape!

It was a bright hole with rainbow traces. Panting in terror, she kicked with all her might, connected with the monster, ducked, rolled, spun, struggled to the hole and plunged into it feet-first. The last thing she saw was a huge red mouth and teeth dripping yellow spit. She didn’t know if the beast growled in fury or tried to bite her head off. Or both.

The hole sucked her through.

And into a maelstrom of sound. A full orchestra rose in triumphant crescendo.

A flash swept across her vision—a pentacle? She landed hard in the center, on a pavement of multicolored stones. The groan rattling from her teeth echoed.

Solid. Real. The music faded to a background murmur.

She looked up. People in rich robes stared at her. She was among humans. She closed her eyes in gratitude.

When she opened them she was circled by swords.



“This is our savior? The one we risked our lives for? It’s puny. And ugly,” Reynardus said.

Thealia stared in shock at the small being in the pentagram’s center. It was partially feathered, something she’d never seen before. Never anticipated. A female avian.

The chanting, gong and Summoning had gone well up to a point. Thealia had been sure they’d lured their Exotique fighter, caught her—the spirit and Power of her had sung through the connection. They’d lost her in the doorway, but only for a few seconds.

Looking at the entity, so different from the woman she’d anticipated, Thealia felt her blood drain from her face until her lips felt cold and stiff. There must be some way to save the situation.

Reynardus sneered down his nose at her. “This is the �fighting woman of the greatest magical Power’ you promised, Swordmarshall Thealia. Those were your words, were they not?”

If he said so, they were. His Power included a perfect memory.

He didn’t wait for an answer. “Just as I thought. Wasted effort. The Power we used to bring this thing here will keep us all drained for days. This is a disaster.” He dropped his sword and turned.

“Stop!” ordered the Medica. She was a healer, not a Marshall, but they listened. “You’ve already broken the link between us, but don’t break the circle. And do you, Knight Lord Swordmarshall Reynardus, think small is weak? What of this?” She opened her hand and blew away a protective sphere. The glowing starlike atomball floated free. She flicked it to Reynardus.

Reflexively his ivory baton appeared in his hand and tipped the ball away, sent it spinning across the circle.

Thealia’s wasn’t the only gasp. A loose atomball, and the whole circle of Marshalls depleted from the Summoning! She froze with horror as it sped to her husband, Partis. He didn’t have the Power to hold it even at full strength. His round face showed only minor strain as he caught the ball on the tip of his staff.

“I believe this is the first Test for the Exotique,” Partis said, “to measure her Power.” He tossed the ball directly to the small female rising to her feet.

Alexa wanted to believe she dreamed, but the physical sensations were all too real for her to ignore. She wondered—

Shit! The little star the strangers played keep-away with came straight at her! She ducked, held out her right hand, and the ball smacked into her palm with stinging force. It burned and sent rivulets of heat pouring through her veins, up her arm. And here she’d followed a song to help. Look where it got her. Somewhere else.

She gritted her teeth and bore the pain from the searing star.

Pretty nice tricks these people had. She had no intention of being “monkey in the middle”—and she knew by the tone of his words that the big guy with broad shoulders considered her something like a monkey. He swaggered with arrogance even standing still.

Holding the light made her dizzy, but when it finally cooled she loosened her fingers and dropped it. A golden walnut clattered to the floor and rolled away with a clatter.

The circle of people stared at her, some with their mouths open. She tried to suppress her shuddering, wishing it was from the lingering cold of the Colorado night, but she knew it was from adrenaline pumping through her. She fought to gather her wits, sure the fantastic events would continue to move at the speed of light—or magic. She must be ready and think on her feet, as she had so often done during her childhood in foster homes.

Alexa had concluded that they’d brought her here—the big silver gong shining within the circle was sufficient evidence of that. With the pentacle she was in, their circle, and another on the floor that they stood within, magic seemed to be the method they’d used.

Inhaling deeply, Alexa studied them. They were all taller than she. She lifted a shoulder. Nothing new. Everyone was taller than she.

They looked suntanned—a light golden brown—and all had black hair, though the tints and highlights weren’t the same, nor was the thickness. Even the man with the most lines on his face had a full head of hair. No male-pattern baldness here. In fact, they all had streaks in their hair—silver or gold, over their left or right temple, or both. That was the oddest thing about them and she sensed it was significant.

Every one of them emitted a low note, something that she seemed to hear with her mind, vibrating her eardrum from the inside. Together their notes wove into a strong melody. She shook her head, but the song remained, as did the background music.

They stared at her with dark eyes. They were almost Asian, but the structure of their features was subtly different—a very beautiful people.

Alexa gazed back at them, conscious as never before of her pale skin, light brown hair and green eyes. She shifted awkwardly—knowing one side of her face was red and raw made her feel even more scruffy.

The elegance of their velvet robes adorned with fancy gold or silver braidwork looked too impractical for any activity other than magic. Each wore heraldry embroidered above their hearts. Or on their left side, Alexa amended. She didn’t know where their hearts were. She recognized a coat of arms when she saw one, even if she didn’t know what it meant. She figured these beings must be of high status.

They seemed to be grouped in pairs, two wearing emerald green, two sapphire blue, and so on around the circle—usually a man-woman pairing.

Most held their swords pointed at her chest, as if she were a threat. The big man wearing rust red turned to the angular woman—Alexa had decided they were the most important two.

He made another snide comment. Probably about her.

She looked down at herself and winced. She appeared to be molting. One side of her coat spilled feathers, some more drifted across the rest of her clothing, and with every breath a few separated to float around her. Her long jacket was dead.

She shed her coat and dropped her fanny pack. A mutter ran around the circle. Alexa raised her eyebrows at the big guy who glared at her, staring at her right hand.

Alexa folded her coat. Feathers puffed out. She flexed her fingers. Her right hand was pinkened, but didn’t hurt as much as her face. Her down vest ripped when she moved. It, too, had tears. She realized the beast’s swipe with the tips of its claws had come close to killing her. More adrenaline kicked in. She’d been very, very lucky. Particularly since she sensed the monster had been waiting for her.

With unsteady hands Alexa took off her vest and laid it on her coat, then stood in sweater and jeans.

The people spoke amongst themselves. The small round man ran a stick along glowing gemstone crystals arranged in a rainbow—the chime—and the sound shivered through Alexa. She jerked, sensing she was trapped here.

A pattern of tinkling chimes followed, each one affecting Alexa. At one, her balance tipped and she strained to keep upright, another sent her heart pounding loud enough for her to hear its rush in her ears. On and on the glasses rang as if testing every one of her reflexes, plucking at her organs.

It ended just before Alexa fell to her knees. Her body was coated with a cold sweat. She gritted her teeth and stiffened her spine. Posturing and attitude was all she had, and everything that counted in this game of strategy, as in all power games. Whatever safety, status and position she had in this world—in this time?—depended on this first confrontation.

The circle opened and a woman a few inches taller than Alexa left it, crossing to the edge of the circular room, to the gray stone wall. The woman was dressed differently than the others. No chain mail gleamed beneath her robe. This lady wore no armor. She wore a robe of dark red, with a coat of arms over her left breast, but in the center of her chest was a big white cross. Not hard to deduce that she was a doctor.

Alexa was profoundly glad that the woman was moving away from her. She shook out her arms and legs, steadied her breathing. No one else in the circle moved. They all watched the doctor and Alexa. And waited.

The healer unfolded a fur on a wide padded stone bench near a fluted pillar and murmured something soft and lilting. She picked up a bundle and proceeded straight across the room. To an altar.

Alexa looked wildly around. Everyone had sharp weapons. A fist of dread squeezed her stomach. Surely they weren’t going to sacrifice a living thing. She couldn’t stand that. She’d have to stop it—somehow.

She hoped it wasn’t a dog. She would totally freak if it was a dog.

Breath strangled in her throat. What if they were going to sacrifice her?

The doctor stepped into the light cast by the chandeliers’ wheels and Alexa saw it was worse than a dog.

It was a baby.

Face impassive, eyes hooded, the healer showed the naked infant to Alexa. It was a little girl of about one year old. Short black-and-silver hair was ruffled into tufts. The little one grinned at Alexa.

She moved to block the way to the altar.

The doctor glided across the room in front of Alexa to a square of blue polished marble.

Alexa didn’t see the pool until the baby splashed into it.




2


Alexa had thought the dark pool was a slab of polished blue marble. Horror ripped through her as she ran to save the child.

There were six steps down. She slipped on the first and toppled into the pool, dog-paddling to keep her head up.

It wasn’t water, but thick, like syrup. The liquid sliced fire into a raw blister on her foot, burned the tender quick of a fingernail she’d broken that morning. The pain in the cuts was bad, but worse on her scraped face, and now she felt scratches on her torso from the beast. The fluid even affected her bruises. Every ache seemed to be an open wound eaten by acid. It crawled from the edge of a bruise to burn hotter as it reached the center of the hurt. Alexa’s breath came in anguished gasps. Her mind reeled.

She saw the little girl near the bottom of the far side of the pool. Alexa plunged into the liquid to reach the child, in too much pain to even prepare herself with a deep breath.

The fluid closed over her head. Tensing, she opened her eyes. And saw perfectly. She dove for the baby and grabbed her, pulled her from the pool. Staggered out.

A scream rose from her throat at the sight of the limp little body. She didn’t know what to do. She looked at the doctor. Though tears ran down the woman’s face, she stood with folded hands.

Alexa shifted from foot to foot in endless agony for a few seconds before wiping the baby’s eyes, then pushed her finger into the girl’s mouth, checking for obstructions, feeling if the child’s tongue blocked the air passage.

She turned the baby over, grabbed hard when the infant slipped. Alexa patted her back. Thumped a little harder. Nothing.

Alexa cradled the baby and whirled to the people who stood on the other side of the room. She thought she cried, What kind of fiends are you to do this! But what came from her mouth was, “Shit. SHIT!”

Her frantic gaze scanned the room. The hole to Colorado was gone, though that wouldn’t have done much good.

She didn’t know where the door to the room was, what was outside, or if there were other people. The baby’s only hope was those who’d already harmed her. So Alexa tried once more.

“Help!” she screamed. “Help her!”

A second later the doctor tore the child from her grasp. Alexa slipped and hit the floor hard. Again.

The healer pressed the infant to her breast and crooned a spell. Pulsing green light bathed them. An instant later the baby coughed, then screeched.

Alexa had never heard anything so sweet in her life, but she wondered what was going on. What were their intentions?

Growling drowned out the baby’s cries. A man with a raised knife flashing in the dim light hurled himself at Alexa. She cringed and rolled, muscles protesting in new agony. Mad fury slammed into her, from him, her attacker. Again she fought to get her breath. She rolled, couldn’t make it to her feet, was stranded on her back. He snarled, angling the knife.

His face twisted. In his eyes she saw revulsion, bone-deep hatred because she was different. Never to be trusted. Only to be slain.

She flung up her arms. Her soaked clothes constricted. Liquid trickled onto her skin and stung. The room spun, and a sea of emotions from everyone inundated her. Something in her mind broke free.

Her cry matched his. A weapon flew into her open hand. Unnecessary. With fear and panic, with her mind, she slammed her assailant across the room. She heard him hit the wall with a thud, then slither to the floor.

Oh God! Oh God, she’d hurt a man using her will alone!

She lurched to her knees, planted a foot, then another, and rocked to her feet. A couple of women moved to the still man, one wailing. Everyone else watched her.

Alexa bared her teeth at them. She’d never done such a thing in her life, but she now acted totally on instinct. This night was beyond belief. Beyond anything she’d ever imagined.

That she might have killed a man with the sheer force of her mind shattered the last rational belief she’d ever held. Nothing was the same. Nothing was right. Nothing was reasonable. Only primal intuition could save her.

She hefted the weight in her hand, considered what she held. It was a stick about two feet long and three inches thick, made of something like ivory and capped at each end with gold. One end was pointed, the other straight. Carved figures of knights fighting monsters covered the staff. It looked far too big to be a wand, but she’d bet anything that it was a magical tool. She slid it through her hands, enjoying the texture, though she sensed a nasty tingle of energy. Finding a button, she pressed it. A little brass hook with a blunt end popped from the side, as if it was there to hang the stick from a belt loop.

A shout attracted her attention. When she looked up, everyone was staring at her, as always.

Alexa raised the short staff.

The smallest man opened his mouth and began a chant. His melodious voice was the richest she’d ever heard, set in a soothing cadence. The others joined in, and though the music didn’t sound the same here in the round church of wherever, Alexa knew it was that which had drawn her to this dreadful place. She could almost see the small man’s voice as the stream of yellow in the rainbow that had compelled her into the arch. The big, mean guy’s voice was jerky with some emotion, and his intentions didn’t quite match the others, but Alexa felt he was the bright red, fluctuating band. The angular lady was indigo.

As he sang, the small man gestured, and the others slid their swords into sheaths. The leader’s staff burned with a yellow flame at the tip. He set it aside and it stood by itself.

Alexa blinked. She was too exhausted and wrung out to goggle. The indigo woman stepped forward, raising her hands to her shoulders, palms outward. Another gesture Alexa understood.

She turned her back on them to check on the baby. Instead of the doctor, a teenaged girl held the child. The girl watched Alexa with huge eyes.

The baby was bundled warmly in a thick fleece blanket. Alexa motioned to her. “Is she all right?”

The youngster seemed to understand what Alexa said. She nodded. Alexa wondered if that meant agreement.

She hooked the stick in a belt loop of her jeans and pointed from the baby to herself and held out her arms. “Give her to me.”

Wariness crept into the girl’s gaze.

“Give her to me!” Alexa demanded.

The girl’s glance slid from Alexa to the circle of people behind her. Whatever she saw reassured her. Carefully, she held out the baby.

Alexa cradled the child, pliant but live, in her arms. She flipped the corner of the blanket from the baby’s face. Sleepy brown eyes gazed up at her. A little smile emitted a bubble of drool. Alexa sighed. She put her finger to each small fist in turn and smiled back when the baby clasped it, then the tiny girl snuggled against her and shut her eyes.

“Marwey,” the teenager said.

Alexa looked up.

The girl pointed to herself. “Marwey.”

“Alexa,” Alexa said.

“Al-yek-ah,” Marwey pronounced.

Alexa shrugged.

Marwey pointed to the baby. “Nyja.” The girl gestured to the indigo lady, “Marshall Sabre Thealia.” Then Marwey indicated the big guy. “Dom Marshall Sabre Reynardus.” Finally, Marwey inclined her head to the short, round man. “Marshall Boucilier Partis.”

All right. Alexa deduced that Thealia and the short man, Partis—probably her husband—had one title and the big jerk had two. Figured.

The healer came up and held out her arms for the baby.

Alexa clutched her closer.

The doctor said something that sounded gentle.

Alexa patted the baby. “Is she going to be all right?” Alexa emphasized the rising inflection of a question and raised her eyebrows, hoping such signals would get her meaning across.

“Ayes.” The healer nodded vigorously, smiling.

Slowly Alexa handed the infant over.

The doctor unwrapped the baby and freed her arms and legs so Alexa could see them whole and moving. The baby girl’s face screwed up and she cried. The healer shushed her and turned.

“Wait!” Alexa said.

The healer looked over her shoulder.

Alexa pointed to the shadows where the man she’d sent flying had lain. “Is he going to be all right?” Her stomach clutched as she waited for an answer.

In broad pantomime the doctor lifted her shoulders high and dropped them, frowned. Then she bobbed her head at Alexa, said something to Marwey and took the baby away.

Alexa’s chest constricted. She’d considered the baby her only friend in this place. And how absurd was that?

Hard bootsteps striding in her direction made her pivot. Reynardus, scowling and muttering under his breath, marched to her. Again she felt fury—this man’s fury—batter at her. Alexa shuddered.

The little round man, Partis, hurried forward and stepped in front of her, forestalling Reynardus. Once again Partis held his staff with yellow fire flickering at the top. Facing the others, he said a few sentences.

Raising his voice, Reynardus argued. With a motion, wind whipped around him, the nobles’ robes flapped, Alexa’s clothes plastered cold and wet to her skin. To Alexa’s surprise, Partis stood his ground. Thealia came and stood next to him, raised her hand and stilled the air. Alexa’s vision sharpened—she saw the energy fields of the man and woman. His was yellow and hers as indigo as her stream in the rainbow. They flowed together as if becoming a single entity, and the whole aura pulsed stronger—and malachite green. Their Songs melded into a lovely pattern.

Finally, Reynardus stepped around the couple and flung out his hand in demand to Alexa. Alexa jutted a hip, put her hand on it, and raised her eyebrows. She’d dealt with plenty of arrogant attorneys. She smiled with all her teeth. She could be a predator too. The memory of the sound as the man she’d fought hit the wall tugged at her and nausea rose. She pushed it aside. Pushed all thought aside. She had to be strong, show no fear, if she was to win the respect she needed to be safe.

The big jerk, Reynardus, barked an order at her. Gestured.

Alexa didn’t get it. She widened her stance and set her hands on her hips, just noticing that her clothes had dried. She angled her chin up. God, she’d crash when the adrenaline stopped, but she was jazzed now. The ends of her hair lifted. Heat and energy throbbed along her skin, silky with power.

He growled, his eyes narrowed in frustration. With wide movements he tapped the empty sheath along his right side. He pointed to the stick she’d hooked to her jeans. He snapped his fingers, opened a broad, calloused palm.

Alexa smiled. “No!” She put her hand on the short staff under the pointed tip and angled it forward, curved her fingers around it.

She heard the grinding of his teeth as he repeated his actions.

“No!” she shouted. Grinned. “What part of �no’ don’t you understand?”

“Ttho!” Marwey said from a little beside and behind Alexa.

When Alexa slid her gaze to Marwey, the girl continued. “No—ttho!” She smiled sweetly as if she too enjoyed thwarting Reynardus. “No—ttho!”

Alexa turned back to the big guy. “Ttho! What part of �ttho’ don’t you understand?”

Thealia bit off some words. Then she spouted what could only be instructions, gesturing. Alexa watched closely, but only understood that the lady wanted someone to go and get something.

A massive man, even bigger than Reynardus, clomped over. He scanned Alexa up and down. She returned his stare. He snorted, took some huge gloves—gauntlets?—from his belt, pulled them on and went in the same direction as the doctor. Squinting, Alexa finally saw the door in the shadows, huge and pointed.

After he left, the others talked among themselves. The words hummed in the room like the low-level buzz of bees on a summer afternoon.

Alexa unhooked the stick, pushed the hook into the short staff and took time to compose herself. Though the others watched her, no one was threatening. She loosened her muscles and kept upright. So many emotions and reactions to the night’s adventures tumbled through her that she kept a hard clamp on them and tried to use pure observation and reason. She glanced around the room while keeping an eye out for any more danger, holding the stick ready.

The chamber, round and very large, was made of white stone. All the furnishings appeared to be the very best any world could provide. Around half the room ran a built-in stone bench with padded seats, jewel-toned large pillows and rugs around its base. Colorful tapestries of pastoral scenes alternated with bright banners showing coats of arms. Windows were set high in the wall, about two stories up, and were as pointed as the door.

The altar was in the same quadrant as the pentacle and draped in maroon velvet, with a white lace over-panel. It held the bright rainbow of crystals—could they be huge precious stones?—the chime stick, two knives, a large smoking incense burner and two goblets, one of silver and one of gold.

Alexa was just wondering if she dared explore when the door creaked open and the huge man walked in. The scent of a damp, cold night wafted in with him, along with the hint of a smokey fire. The humid mixture of odors wasn’t one Alexa would smell in Colorado. Her emotions threatened to break through the barrier she had erected. She couldn’t let go! She couldn’t afford to be seen as weak or vulnerable. She bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

The massive guy stopped in front of Thealia. He held a rolled bundle—Alexa studied it and exhaled in relief—nothing living or newly dead was in it.

They talked a moment, then Thealia directed the others. They all formed a half-circle facing Alexa. Reynardus, still glowering, was the end of the half-moon to her left.

The huge man entered the half-circle and laid his bundle on the floor before Alexa. Just bending from the waist put him eye level with her. He stared at her as he unrolled the cloth. It clinked a little, made sounds of wood and metal and glass. The cloth was made of quilted felt, and she could see seams between pockets. The man flipped back the top flap.

Alexa reflexively retreated a step. The others murmured.

Before her were four rows of ten pockets. Most showed the top of a stick like the one she held. All looked old and valuable and powerful. Imbued with magic.

Thealia glided up, and the huge man took her former place in the half-circle. She gestured expansively to the sticks. “Batons,” she said. Or something close enough for Alexa to understand it. Batons. Were they the same as magic wands? What could they do? What did they signify? The healer hadn’t worn one. Nor did Marwey. But everyone else did.

“Deshouse,” Thealia said, making the same sweep with her hand. When Alexa didn’t move, the lady frowned. She walked down the long row and indicated each pocket with one toe of an elegant slipper, as if demonstrating the word choose.

Alexa got distracted by the slipper, peeking out and showing a narrow foot, then retreating under Thealia’s skirts. It was pointed and looked to have jewels set in a pattern like a flower—

“Alyeka, deshouse!”

Mind wandering. Not surprising after all she’d been through. Still, the evening of adventure and discovery wasn’t over. Alexa stiffened her spine and narrowed her eyes to see the batons better. She pressed her lips together as she concentrated, believing she could see faint outlines of energy. But how did she choose? By the attractiveness? The color and the jewels that appealed to her? By the “aura”? By smell? A couple of them were polished wood. Should she touch them?

No. Definitely not touch each one. Who knew what sort of electrical, magical, whatever, charge she might receive?

Still she felt as if she was coming to the end of her strength. If she needed to choose, she would. A smooth wand of dark green jade caught her eye. It looked slightly thinner than the others. Her fingers would close easier around it. The top was finished in tarnished bronze in the shape of flames, round at the bottom, pointed at the tips. Just below the metal was a small tube of a transparent material, glass or crystal, circling the jade. Now, that was interesting. What could the tube hold? Blood? She was definitely letting her imagination run away with her. There was another clear tube at the bottom of the staff.

Each time her tired eyes traveled up and down the myriad sticks, they lingered on the jade baton.

Alexa took a step forward and everyone hushed. She thought if she squatted she wouldn’t find the energy to stand again, so she bent forward to scrutinize the wand. She couldn’t see anything in the tube. She nibbled at her lip. When she looked up, she met the glare of Reynardus. Awkwardly she tossed him his baton.

He grunted as he caught it. Ran his hands up and down it as if checking for new nicks. Then he sniffed it and scowled at her. His eyes seemed to sink into the deep shadows of his sockets until they were lost except for a gleam of distaste.

Well, she probably had sweated on the thing. Or transferred some of the liquid from the pool to it. Still, sniffing seemed incredibly rude. She sent him a pointed glance and sniffed at him as if he were the inadequate one.

He muttered something under his breath.

“Sanctuaire!” reproved Thealia.

He shut his mouth, but Alexa thought he still cursed.

Minute trembling began in her calves and Alexa took the warning that she was at the end of her endurance. She slipped the jade wand from its pocket.

It blazed like a green candle, parts of it becoming translucent and beautiful.

The others sighed. She heard whispers of approval. Alexa blinked as she looked at the flame atop her new possession—her only possession besides her small fanny pack and clothes—Push that thought aside. The little sculpture glowed with copper and bronze flames, as if new. They seemed to flicker inside the metal too. Small white sparks flew from the tip of the longest flame.

Wow.

Seeing movement inside the upper tube, she brought it closer to examine. Mercury, also known as quicksilver. Mysterious and fascinating.

Thealia clapped her hands sharply. Alexa looked at her. She touched her chest with elegant fingers. “Marshall Sabre Thealia.” She repeated Marwey’s introductions. Thealia curved her hand over Partis’s shoulder. “Marshall Boucilier Partis.” Thealia inclined her head toward Reynardus. “Dom Marshall Sabre Reynardus.”

Thealia nodded and waved at Alexa. “Marshall Alyeka.”

Oh boy. Alexa hung on tighter to her stick—baton. She couldn’t assimilate much more.

Thealia launched into a little speech with lots of gestures. She indicated the circle of Marshalls, the pentacle, goblets and gong. She hummed a snatch of the music, pantomimed Alexa whooshing down onto the floor. Then she clasped her hands and bowed to Alexa.

“Marwey?” Thealia gestured to Marwey and mimed talking, then indicated her head, Marwey’s, and Alexa’s. Alexa didn’t like the idea forming in her mind.

The young girl, shorter and slighter than Alexa, slowly lifted thin arms. Marwey curled her palms around Thealia’s face. They seemed to commune. Marwey stepped back.

Sure enough, Thealia indicated Marwey should do the same with Alexa.

There was a long pause as Alexa considered. She studied the girl, who looked young and innocent and good. When Alexa half-shut her eyelids she could see a bright aqua aura around Marwey. For some reason it reassured her. Like evil would show big black smears? Maybe. Maybe. Her instincts seemed to be guiding her well enough tonight.

Alexa jerked a nod.

Marwey eyed Alexa’s baton.

Alexa sighed and dropped her hands to her sides.

Marwey came close enough that Alexa could smell her scent—girlish and floral, perhaps a prettily fragranced soap. Marwey put her warm hands against Alexa’s face and the image came of soap in the shape of a seashell and the color of moss.

Alexa flinched as butterfly wings brushed her mind. Marwey’s eyes grew big. She shuddered and jumped back.

She swayed and others crowded around her, leaving Alexa standing alone.

Marwey licked her lips. “Leyu exotique,” she said.

Alexa tried to translate. This time “exotique” sounded almost familiar. “Exotique.” French? French for “exotic”? A French-based language? She didn’t do well with languages. She was doomed.

The girl curtseyed to Alexa. “Bar,” she said clearly. “You…haff…passed…the bar.”

Bar? Alexa and Sophie had passed the Colorado bar a couple of months ago.

Marwey made a frustrated noise. “No. You…haff…crossed…le bar.”

That sounded even stranger, but again a little familiar. Alexa shook her head, hoping to straighten out her jumbled thoughts. Crossed—passed…

This had been a test? All this stuff—the monster, the star-ball, the baby, the killer with the knife…had been a test?

Fury built in her, radiating from her belly to the soles of her feet and the top of her head. Again her hair stood straight out from her scalp. She shifted from foot to foot. She’d never been so angry. The baton in her hand began to hum cheerfully. Tiny figures incised in the jade that she hadn’t noticed before glowed and almost moved. Looking at the staff meant she looked at her arm—and the golden aura streaked with red crackling from it.

Alexa angled the baton but didn’t point it. Slowly she turned and, step by step, she looked at each person in the half-circle before her.

Too much. It was too damn much. Alexa whirled to the top nobles—Reynardus with the ivory baton and Thealia.

“This was a test?” she bellowed. The tapestries on the walls shivered. Alexa grinned. She turned back to the pool and pointed her baton, wondering what would happen if she sent a bolt of energy to it. She couldn’t find the urge to care.

“Ttho!” Thealia jumped in front of Alexa. Locked gazes with her. “Ttho.”

Alexa’s nostrils flared.

Partis pulled Thealia aside and took her place. He was protecting his wife. He spoke to Alexa, his voice rising and falling in beautiful lilting notes. She ignored the words—as she thought he meant her to—and listened to the tone, the rhythms, the cadences. Warm yellow light pulsed from him.

The craziness of it all hit Alexa. She was a Marshall. But they all wore swords. And armor.

She wasn’t a savior.

Hell, they had wanted Joan of Arc.



“I think everyone except Partis and I should leave,” Thealia said.

Reynardus snorted and swept her a mocking bow. “As you will, Swordmarshall Thealia.”

Thealia lifted her chin a bit. “Our mission was a success. We now have a powerful new Marshall. With her aid, the plague of evil invading Lladrana will be stopped.”

“You think so?”

“You doubt the Spring Song?” His constant arguing wore on her nerves. She looked him straight in the eyes. “One of the requisites for a Marshall is appropriate visits to the Caves of Melody and a trance with the Singer and the Song. Reynardus, how long has it been since you have undertaken an individual Song Quest to tell of your path?” She knew, but wanted to hear him say it aloud.

A vein throbbed in his temple. “Are you challenging me for the leadership of the Marshalls?”

“I’m saying that I’ve received several Song Quests in the past decade, and most recently when the third fencepost vanished.”

She waited a beat. He didn’t speak. “When was the last time you consulted the Singer and the Song?” she repeated.

He paced with sharp-sounding steps to where his cloak lay. Whirling it around him, he replied. “I’ve been.”

“When you were first confirmed as a Marshall. Before you even knew whether you were a Sword or a Shield,” she pointed out. “Have you been other times?” she ended quietly. He had this coming, but it wasn’t an easy thing to do—to force a Marshall to carry out his duty by shaming him.

“I’ll go to the Singer and endure the Song Quest.” He forced the words through clenched teeth as he clasped the brooch at the throat of his cloak shut. “Tomorrow.” He stared at each one of the Marshalls, lip curling. “I trust you will temper our new little Exotique and make sure she is amenable and Paired by the time I return.” Reynardus spun on his heel, then swept to the threshold and out into the portico in a dramatic exit.

Thealia caught the slamming door with her power and let it gently swing shut.

She turned to face the Exotique—Alyeka, Thealia corrected herself—and found the young woman still shooting out angry energy. Thealia glanced at the huge crystal points at the end of each rafter. Thank the Song such energy could be stored and harvested later.

Partis looked at the girl with his usual compassion. “She’s not happy with us,” he murmured.

“Who would be, enduring such Tests?” Marwey spoke up—out of her place.

Thealia frowned at her and the teenager faded back from the Marshalls. Then Thealia scanned the rest of her companions.

“What went wrong with Defau? He wasn’t supposed to try to kill her. He was only to test her courage.”

“Why ask, when we all know?” Shieldmarshall Faith said, rubbing her hands up and down her arms as if she were cold and didn’t have the strength for a warming spell. Her skin showed an underlying pallor. “He hates Exotiques beyond reason. A flaw we didn’t know and he didn’t reveal. Perhaps he didn’t know himself.” Faith glanced at Alexa. “She is odder than I anticipated. Her coloring—the ebb and flow of her Power, the rhythm of it.” Faith shook her head. “I don’t know whether to be repulsed or fascinated.”

“Obviously Defau was repulsed,” Thealia said dryly.

Faith’s eyes clouded and she tilted her head as if straining to use her Power. “His lifepulse is thready. I doubt he will live.”

“We all knew there could be casualties among us,” Thealia said. She felt the weight of their gazes.

“And you sent Reynardus away,” Armsmaster Swordmarshall Mace said. His wife and Shield set her hand on his arm and squeezed. He shut his mouth.

Thealia passed a hand across her eyes, caught small beads of perspiration. “You only say what everyone thinks.” She looked at them all. “We can’t afford to have a negative influence in our Circle. We lost her for a moment. We could have lost her for good. Reynardus has challenged every step we took. I listened to the Spring Song and underwent a personal Song Quest.” She nodded to a couple of friends. “So did some others of us. Reynardus won’t listen to the Spring Song or believe our personal Song Quests.” She shrugged. “He’s always been a man who will only trust what he himself knows to be true—what he sees, or touches or perceives. Let him undergo trance with the Singer and hear his own Song. I only wish his results would be different and more hopeful than the rest of ours have been.” Others nodded.

“Marshall Alyeka is about to fall into the pool again,” Mace said. “Who knows what immersion in jerir twice in one night would do to her?”

Thealia hadn’t seen any movement in her peripheral vision, but when she faced the woman, Alexa was swaying.

Straightening her shoulders, Thealia said, “Let’s finish this business. Those who want to stay, can. Partis, call in all the unmated noblemen and women.”

Marwey tensed as Partis went to the gong and hit three notes around the rim.

“Marwey?”

The teenager pressed her lips together. “You’re including Chevalier Raston?”

Empathy for the girl’s attraction to the knight touched Thealia. “I must,” she said gently. “Alyeka must be able to choose from everyone eligible. Including Raston. Including you. The Song knows there isn’t a good choice of quality available bedmates, just those courtiers usually here at the Castle and the Chevaliers assigned to us.” She clicked her tongue. “I don’t think our widespread call for a mate for an Exotique was taken seriously.”

Marwey’s mouth set; she looked strained about the eyes.

“And,” Thealia said gently, “if Alyeka chooses a bedmate tonight she won’t have to go through the formal Choosing and Blood-Bond Pairing ritual tomorrow. You’ve been the closest to her of us all. Surely you’d like to spare her that wrenching experience.”

Marwey grimaced and dropped her gaze. “Yes.”

“You’ve been linked to her to experience her world and help us communicate. Do you think she will want you or Raston?”

The teenager narrowed her eyes, recollecting and exploring her brief bond with the Exotique. Marwey shivered again. A dimple peeped from her cheek. “She likes men only. And older ones than Raston.” Then Marwey sobered and glanced around the group of Marshalls. “Her world is completely different! They don’t even believe Power exists!” She blinked rapidly. “I can’t tolerate the glimpses of her world. I hope she can fit in here. ’Cause she can help us, a lot. She will make new fenceposts for us. I felt it.” She pressed both hands to her chest.

They looked skeptically at her. She drew herself up to her full height—almost as tall as the Exotique. “I have not come into my full range or aspects of my Power, but I know what I know,” she said with dignity, and walked to the bench beside the door and sat.

“Teenagers,” Mace sighed.

“They can be dramatic,” Faith agreed. “But Marwey is the only one who’s linked with our new Marshall, and the Exotique chose the Jade Baton of Honor.”

There was silence as they all thought of the ancient legends of blazing energy woven around the Jade Baton of Honor.

The gong sounded as the door opened and people trooped in.




3


Alexa jumped at the deep tone of the gong. She gathered her wits from the daze she’d fallen into.

More people. Now what? Was she going to have to weather more “tests”? Anger spurted through her and gave her energy enough to stand straight and glare at the newcomers. They brought a riff of music with them, individual notes, most of which weren’t interesting to Alexa. Weird.

At Thealia’s wave they stood in a line before Alexa.

Again they were all taller than she, a couple of the men far more than six feet tall. They were an attractive people.

Only a few had streaks in their hair, silver or gold. Several—men and women—were dressed in soldiers’ uniforms, some with heraldry on their chests. The women wore long gowns of cotton or linen with wool surcoats in layered, bright colors that wouldn’t have been matched together back home. None of the newcomers dressed like the Marshalls.

Definitely a class system here. Alexa wondered where an orphan who grew up in foster homes like herself would fit in. Lowest of the low, no doubt. A serving woman.

Ha! She’d climbed from poor beginnings in her own world, she could do it here too. After a little rest. God, she was tired! It was all she could do to keep her chin up. A warmth pulsed in her hand and she looked down to see her baton. Right, she thought fuzzily. She was already a Marshall, whatever that was.

A woman in the line squeaked as the jade staff glowed, then crumpled to the floor. Someone else snorted.

“Deshouse, Alyeka,” Thealia said.

Alexa stared blankly at her.

Thealia tapped her foot and her eyebrows drew together as if she was figuring out how to communicate.

“Alyeka,” said Marwey.

Alexa turned her head to the girl. Marwey ran to one of the young soldiers and threw herself into his arms. He flushed and stiffened until she pulled his head down and whispered into his ear. After a second, he kissed her with enthusiasm.

“Deshouse, Alyeka,” Thealia repeated.

Alexa got the idea. They wanted her to choose a lover. So, they’d “tested” her to check if she would let a baby drown. Was this another test, to see if she’d have sex with someone she just met? Or was it more complex than that? Would her choice of lover reflect on her?

She didn’t know what it meant that she had chosen the jade wand. Who had it belonged to, what traditions or history might it have?

What would it mean if she chose a person? Surely they didn’t expect her to have sex tonight! She didn’t even know if she could put one foot in front of the other to walk to the wall and collapse on a padded bench and sleep.

“Alyeka!” Thealia was stern.

After licking her lips and clearing her throat, Alexa called. “Marwey.”

The girl said something to her boyfriend and patted his cheek, then ran over to Alexa, who could only admire her energy.

“Marwey,” Alexa croaked. “Bar? Test?”

Marwey’s brow furrowed, then her face cleared. “Ttho, Alyeka. Ttho bar.”

“Huh,” Alexa said.

Both Thealia and Marwey said it together now. “Deshouse.”

With great precision, Alexa turned her back on the line of people. More than one sigh of relief came from behind her. She faced Thealia, met the gaze of every other Marshall. “Ttho. No.” She felt like a two-year-old who only knew one word—no. Not exactly true—she knew baton and Marwey and Thealia and Reynardus…. Her mind numbed into a daze of weariness again. She wondered if she dared sleep. Maybe when she awoke she’d be in her apartment and this would all be a vivid dream.

The jade in her fingers hummed and drew a faint chime from the jewel-toned rainbow crystals.

While Alexa’s mind floated, Thealia dismissed the others and only the Marshalls and Marwey were left to stare at her. Then Thealia was holding a purple cloak. It looked brand new. Embroidered on the left side was an impossible-looking fuchsia flower. Alexa touched a finger to the silken threads and stroked it, letting the texture of something beautiful soak into her—easing the rough edges of the night.

“Exotique,” Marwey said.

Alexa understood. The flower was exotique. She was called “exotique.” She didn’t have enough energy to shrug.

The huge man appeared before Alexa’s narrow range of vision. He held a belt with a tube-sheath that was green with silver traced around in an intricate, leafy pattern.

He bobbed his head, and with extremely deliberate motions, set the belt around Alexa’s waist, buckled it, then faded back beyond Alexa’s sight.

Thealia settled the cape on Alexa’s shoulders and fastened the clasp. The cloak dragged on the ground. Sighing, Alexa tucked the baton in its sheath and gathered the excess material in her hands.

Marwey put the strap of Alexa’s fanny pack over her arm, then grasped Alexa’s elbow. “Ven, Alyeka.” Marwey tugged.

They went slowly from the room. Someone opened the door and the chill of a humid night hit Alexa. Mist curled over her skin and brought with it an unpleasant odor of sulphur.

The walk seemed endless, up a curving ramp or two, down long corridors, then finally Alexa found herself dragging up an interminable set of narrow, twisting stairs.

She paid no attention to the rooms or furnishings around her, except to get the impression of great age and great wealth. At the top of the stairs was a half-circle room with a door straight ahead that had a little table next to it, and a door to the right. Evidently they were in a large tower.

The anteroom was done in purple. A thick rug of deep plum welcomed her feet. The pointed wooden door gleamed with a maroon-purple grain. On the purple-tiled tabletop was a purple fur muff to match her cloak. Alexa thought that purple would soon be her least favorite color.

Marwey urged her to the door. A golden plaque caught Alexa’s attention enough for her to stare and blink. Diamond shaped, it had an inlay of purple enamel, then an exquisite representation of her jade baton—down to a tiny tube holding mercury at the top and bottom of the staff. Magic could certainly work beautiful—and quick—wonders.

There was also a set of wires on the door, looking like half an egg slicer. Alexa tilted her head, but the fog of exhaustion in her brain didn’t let her even begin to figure this one out. Marwey ran a thumbnail over the strings, producing a melodious run of notes. She waited a bit, then opened the latch. Ah, a doorbell—door-sounder—doorstrings—Alexa gave up.

She took the muff and they went through the door and faced another curving wall. This room was a narrow hall, rounding to the right and left out of sight. Marwey tugged Alexa left and through another door to the bedroom. The chamber was large and wedge-shaped, with a curving outer wall. Alexa calculated that it was slightly more than the left half of the remaining tower. Long, dark windows in the round wall reflected an elegant, richly provisioned room. All Alexa cared about was that it held a nice, big bed. Marwey helped her off with her clothes and into the bed. As she sank against soft pillows Alexa watched the girl play with the zipper of her little fanny pack a few times, then the teenager whistled away the light. The door closed softly behind her.

Alexa shivered as cold sheets and a fluffy mattress embraced her—nothing like her own warm waterbed. “Warm,” she muttered. Since she was alone, she allowed herself to whimper. “Warm.” To her surprise a cocoon of luscious heat enveloped her. The orchestral music that played in the background of her mind surged and whirled her into darkness.



As soon as the new Exotique was taken up to her bed and the Marshalls were alone in the Temple, they relaxed…to an extent. The Summoning had been more surprising than any had expected.

Thealia ran her gaze over the rest of the Marshalls. They’d all seen each other bloody, covered in dirt, guts and inhuman matter, and other disgusting substances. Only the most innately elegant or the most prideful sat with spine straight.

She relaxed enough to lean against the tapestry-covered wall and let out a soft sigh. Partis sat beside her and took her hand, playing with her fingers. “It’s been a very long night. It went well,” Thealia said. The room amplified her words so all could hear.

“Very well. All things considering,” Partis said.

Everyone murmured agreement.

“I believe the Song was right,” Faith, the Loremarshall, said. “The Exotique will discover the key to raising new fenceposts to protect our land.”

Faith was the most prescient of them all. They stared at her, and the mood lifted.

Thealia said, “I will remind you that it isn’t often we can afford a pool of protection. The fight will start in earnest soon. I urge all of you to make use of it.” Her gaze was drawn to the dark pool reflecting slices of light from the crystals embedded in the rafters and the wheel chandeliers.

It was mesmerizing.

Some grimaced. Mace rose. “My Shield and I will consider it.” He led his lady from the room. Others stood and slowly gathered their belongings. It had been a long night of great effort, and though they’d succeeded in their task, it was evident to all that a new and strange era had begun.

Thealia started to rise too, but Partis pressed his hand to her knee and she subsided. “We will stay and take the plunge,” he said.

The others nodded to Thealia and her Shield as they filed out.

Thealia eyed the pool. She didn’t want to feel every hurt burned away, though her body would become stronger and more protected where her aches had been. But it was the right thing to do.

Partis was already out of his surcoat and chain mail before she unbuttoned her own robe at the shoulders.

“I wonder if the babe will heal now,” Partis murmured in his musical voice, helping her discard her armor.

“We’ll find out as she grows. All we knew was that she wasn’t quite right in the head—nor were her Power paths clear and functional.”

Partis touched the gold streaks in Thealia’s hair. “Our granddaughter is a black-and-white, either graced with great wild Power or fragmented beyond repair. Still, it wasn’t pleasant seeing the Medica drop her in the pool.”

“The babe was the best candidate for the Test.”

“It was very clever of you to find a Test of the Exotique’s compassion that might also heal our granddaughter.” He rubbed her shoulders, and Thealia let out a whimper of pleasure.

“If baby Nyja—If the Exotique hadn’t saved her, her fate would have been better than living a life with flawed brain and Power,” she said.

“Yes, dear. You don’t have to convince me. It will be interesting to see the results.”

They were naked now and standing at the pool. Partis eyed it with distaste, thinking about the pain to come. Thealia scrutinized her husband for bruises and scratches. He did the same to her. Neither of them wanted the other to bear the imminent agony.

“This isn’t going to be easy,” he said.

“No.”

His lips curved into the charming smile that had won her heart so many years ago. He linked his fingers with hers. “So we do it together.”



The minute Alexa woke the next morning, music filled her head. This time it was quiet, susurrant, again like a movie score, barely noticed.

So she knew she wasn’t in Colorado. Probably not even on Earth. More than the resurgence of mind-music, the basic scents were different. Even the atmosphere, the energy that pulsed around her, wasn’t the same as that of her old home. It was as if this world possessed both magic and a different soul.

She stretched luxuriously. The sheets caressed her body in a soft silkiness she’d never experienced from cloth. The bed cradled her in a pool of comfort.

The coverlet tickled her nose and she inhaled deeply. Some sharp yet soothing herbal fragrance flowed into her lungs. She opened one eye, then the other. The room’s walls showed the rosy reflection of dawn. It was light enough to discern a bright purple canopy with fuchsia flowers above her. She narrowed her eyes. This didn’t look new, like her cloak. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that they’d had people like her—from Earth—here before. The whole setup indicated that.

Before she could face the situation, she had to find a bathroom. Alexa pushed the covers aside and dangled her legs from the bed. She scowled. It was too high. She slid to the floor. Her toes curled in the long plush loops of the purple rug. Alexa grabbed the top of her long underwear and put it on. The shirt came to her knees, which was decent enough.

She peeked under the bed skirt into shadows. No chamber pot. Perhaps a good omen. Spying a door in the left wall, she went and opened it. Clothes. A closet.

The far circular wall of the room comprised long-paned windows arcing out, brightening more each moment with the rising sun. She wondered if it was east, but didn’t feel courageous enough to step to the windows and look out onto a strange landscape.

The right wall held another little door. She hurried and opened it. A triangular room held a toilet with the tank above it and a hand-pull to the left. A tiny basin hung on the wall and a shower stall was to the right. Another open door showed a large sitting room.

Alexa frowned—no bathtub. But people from Earth had definitely been here before—and had had some influence. Unless it had been the other way around—people from here had been to Earth. In any case, these folks had indoor plumbing. A very big plus.

Soon her relief that she was simply and gloriously alive would fade and the reality would crash upon her. She sensed it coming like a huge tidal wave—one the cobalt color of that dreadful pool.

It was only when she was back in bed, three pillows of the four propped behind her so she could think, that she recalled the pink fairy.



The Marshalls sat in their Council Chamber in the morning. Bright sunlight danced through the narrow windows, lighting dust motes until they glowed golden, bringing out the streaks of burnished oak in the table—and illuminating its scars.

Thealia could tell which of the Marshalls had availed themselves of the pool. The strain of the Summoning was there in them all, but those who’d used the pool of protection had an extra glow to their skin, a hint that their energy would return redoubled. It made her blink in surprise. Could the jerir in the pool be that powerful? Perhaps.

Bathing in jerir wasn’t common, so she hadn’t realized the effects were obvious. She noted everyone studying one another and saw a dawning awareness on the faces of those who hadn’t taken the plunge.

Clearing her throat, she said, “The Marshalls’ meeting is now in session.” She inclined her head to Faith to make sure the Lorebook recorded the meeting. “Mistress Loremarshall, can you tell us how long the jerir is effective?”

Faith jerked in surprise. Stacked in front of her were three large tomes, all covered in the metallic hide of lizworm, one with an illustrated page of the jade baton. She frowned. “One moment.” With a whoosh, a new book she’d summoned arrived on the table near her. She set her hand on it and lilted a spelltune. The book opened and Faith bent her head over it. “The amount of jerir in the Temple’s sacred basin should last through an entire moonspan and a half.”

“Ah,” Thealia said. “In that case we will not drain the basin today as previously arranged. I propose that we let word spread that any who wish to use the pool may present themselves at the gates properly prepared. They will be escorted to the Temple and watched while they immerse themselves. Discussion?”

“Thealia, is this wise? Anyone?” asked Faith.

“We are at the prelude of a new age. Enough of us have heard the Song to know that the struggle before us will be long and hard. We will need all our resources.”

Mace’s—the Armsmaster’s—grin was ironic. “Anyone who’s bold enough to come to the Castle and request the use of the pool, and courageous enough to dunk himself, will be someone I can respect—and train, if needs be.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Any more discussion?”

No one answered.

“Then we are agreed?”

“Agreed,” everyone responded.

Thealia smiled in satisfaction. Meetings went so much more smoothly when their leader, Lord Knight Swordmarshall Reynardus, didn’t attend.

“Let’s talk about our new Marshall, Alyeka,” Thealia said.

“She can’t be allowed to keep that absurd name,” someone grumbled.

“Oh, who’s going to tell her that?” Faith smiled.

“Swordmarshall Johnsa, an image if you please,” Thealia requested.

With the care and competence that she brought to all her duties, Johnsa built a foot-high, three-dimensional model of their new Exotique, startling in its likeness.

Thealia caught her breath. She’d forgotten how odd Alexa looked. Or perhaps it was that sunlight accentuated her pale coloring, light hair and green eyes so much more than the shadowy Temple.

Partis grasped her hand under the table and squeezed.

The harp on the door strummed.

“Enter,” Thealia called. Of the Marshalls, only Reynardus’s place was empty. She hadn’t anticipated that he’d make the meeting, and he wouldn’t courteously use the doorharp either.

The door opened and Luthan, one of Reynardus’s sons—one of Thealia’s dear godsons—entered.

Concern fluttered in the pit of Thealia’s stomach. That he was here meant he didn’t agree with the Marshalls on some point. “Do you come as the Representative of the Chevaliers?” Thealia asked. It was his right, but she didn’t want an altercation with a man she respected, or a breach between the Marshalls of the Castle and Chevaliers of the Field. But she wouldn’t let him turn her from the path she knew was right. “I trust you are not the only Chevalier who arrived for �The Pairing.’ I’d like to give our new Marshall a good choice.”

His glance swept the table. He froze when he noted the model of Alexa. His expression of revulsion was brief but obvious.

Thealia’s chest tightened. A pity he could not like her. They both could do so much worse. Maybe in time…

Luthan smiled, showing teeth. “No, I don’t represent the Chevaliers to the Castle. I am here as the Representative of the Cloister of the Singer.”

“The Cloister!” They hadn’t sent a delegate to the Castle for as long as anyone could remember.

He slid into the proper seat, the one carved with a full moon sending rays down to a woman who Sang. “That’s right. The Cloister wanted a Representative at the Castle if the Summoning was a success. They approached me as a man of good moral fiber and one with experience of the Marshalls.”

No one could ever deny that. He’d battled his father all his life.

“The Cloister requested I turn over my representation of the Chevaliers to another whom I trusted, and attend for them.”

This complete change shook Thealia. “Who did you choose to replace you for the Chevaliers?”

He hesitated. “The post is open for the moment.”

Mace snorted. “The Chevaliers didn’t believe we’d succeed in the Summoning. Caught them and you unprepared. Not a good thing for knights.”

A flush crept to Luthan’s cheekbones. He sat straight. “There is dissension amongst the Chevaliers as to the arrogance and the secrecy of you Marshalls. Further, some of us Chevaliers consulted the Song a week ago. It foretold only a sixty-percent chance of success.”

Thealia flinched. “The last time the Marshalls consulted the Song, it was an eighty-percent chance of achievement.”

Luthan lifted a shoulder. “Circumstances change.”

“We were luckier than we thought,” Faith said, smoothing the page of one of her books.

This change, and the new information, disturbed Thealia. But she couldn’t afford to let it show. “And your replacement?”

“I thought to offer it to my brother.”

“Bastien?” Mace laughed so hard he nearly fell off his chair.

“That rogue…in a responsible position? Impossible,” Thealia said.

“What’s impossible is the thought of the three of them—Reynardus, Luthan and Bastien—here on the Council.” Johnsa shaded her eyes as if trying to banish the vision. “We’d never get anything done.”

“Bastien is a good man,” said his brother. “Undervalued and underestimated. Further, as delegates, we would follow the instructions of our patrons.”

That started Mace laughing again. “As if Bastien ever followed any instructions, ever!” he said between snorts. “I thank you for the laugh, my friend. But we should proceed with business.”

Thealia scrutinized Luthan. What were his instructions? He’d just made her job harder. She sought to keep him off balance. “Does your father know you’re the new Cloister Representative and that you’re here?”

His jaw tensed.

So. His father didn’t know. Not surprising since the last she’d heard, the whole family had fragmented, Reynardus’s sons moving to their own holdings or camping in the field with the Chevaliers.

She didn’t press the issue. Luthan would inherit from Reynardus one day, and there was that wide streak of silver at his left temple as well as a few strands at his right. His personal Power was strong, and he might become a Marshall in the future.

“Why are you here?” Thealia asked.

Luthan’s gaze went to the image of Alexa. “The Chevaliers heard the Summoning was a success. This changes the whole battle plan.”

“As we told you it would,” Thealia said dryly. “Though you doubted us. Do you stay to be part of the Choosing and Pairing?”

His eyes widened in horror. His cheeks reddened a bit. “Ah, no. I didn’t come for The Choosing and Pairing. Nor has any other Chevalier.”

Thealia just raised her eyebrows and stared at him. He shifted in his seat.

She continued. “That is the next step, you know. To Pair our Exotique—Alyeka—with a person of Lladrana so she will stay. The Chevaliers should be here.”

Luthan frowned and leaned forward. “Let’s call your �Choosing’ exactly what it is. It’s a forced, involuntary life and blood-bond—a bossechain. Her Choosing will not be a ritual to find and love a mate. Her bond will not be a coeurdechain.” His smooth and quiet tones had disappeared and his voice took on a harshness that echoed his father’s.

“Semantics,” she said, but her lips tightened. She met his eyes. “It isn’t quite ethical, but over the centuries we’ve found it necessary and effective.”

He sat up straight. “It is wrong.”

She raised her eyebrows again. “We gave our new Marshall a choice of bedmates last night, in the hopes we could avoid the formal ritual. She retired alone.

“The rest of us are agreed. Do you choose to challenge us, Chevalier Luthan, with combat? Or call a vote of all the Castle, Tower, Chevaliers, Cloister and Towns?”

Luthan shoved his chair back and stepped away from the Council table, distancing himself from the decision. He leaned back against the stone wall, ignoring the chill that would bite even past the argenthide of his riding clothes, and folded his arms.

“I choose to personally disagree for the Lorebook.”

Thealia sighed. “Always so contrary. Of two options you always choose a third.”

A touch of a smile graced his lips. He glanced at the little model of Alexa and a hint of pity passed over his face. “And this Choosing will take place this afternoon.”

“So, you did read the Castle information board?” Thealia stared coolly down her nose. “The funds and lands that come with Alyeka as her dowry could greatly benefit you.”

“Not at that cost. I won’t be offering a token for the Choosing Table.” He headed for the door.

“Luthan, before you go, cleanse yourself as if for a great ritual and use the protection pool,” Thealia called.

He paused. His brows lowered as he studied the Marshalls. “It really does make a difference?”

“Now, and probably in the future,” Thealia agreed.

“Is it true that it’s painful?”

“Agony,” Partis said cheerfully. “But you’re a tough, young knight, you’ll handle it.”

Luthan grimaced, outlined the badge on his tunic in an absent gesture. He glanced at Thealia. “Is it a suggestion, or an order?”

Thealia felt her face soften, wondered if it was evident to the others. She had such a love and delight in Reynardus’s sons, this one in particular. “Only a strong suggestion.”

Luthan ran a hand through his hair. “I can be cleansed, in and out of the pool before the Choosing. I’ll inform Bastien of this conversation this evening. I’m sure he will take advantage of the pool also—if for no other reason than his pride.”

Mace cleared his throat and Luthan turned to him. “Yes?”

“If you flew in on a feisty volaran stallion, after the pool you might want to leave on a gentle mare.”

Nodding shortly, Luthan bowed to them and turned.

“Luthan,” Thealia said.

He looked over his shoulder.

“I don’t believe your father thought of using the pool. You might remind him.”

Luthan’s gray eyes clouded, chilled. He inclined his head. “My squire will send him a note,” he said stiffly, then left.

“The boy had a point about the Choosing and Pairing,” said the oldest Marshall, Albertus.

“Do we have to discuss this again?” Thealia asked.

There was silence around the table. Several Marshalls wouldn’t meet her eyes. She didn’t like a forced blood-bond any more than the rest.

It could be chancy: if the drug mixture or amount wasn’t right, or if the drugs affected the Exotique’s judgment so she made a bad choice. To be tied her entire life, mind, body and heart to the wrong man—Thealia cut off her thoughts. She couldn’t afford them. There were many others who had and would sacrifice themselves for Lladrana—Alexa was just one more cost.

It was unfortunate that she would be forced, but how they needed her Power! The Spring Song had prophesied that the Exotique was the solution to their failing boundaries—the melody rippling out in a hopeful trill.

Thealia hardened her heart and her expression. When she met each of the Marshall’s eyes again, she infused them with her own determination. This had to be done.




4


“Call me Sinafin,” the fairy had said in Alexa’s dream, twirling and tinkling like wind chimes. The little being was no more than three inches high and completely pink—lacy wings, pointed ears, hair, tiny gown—everything.

Sinafin had stared at Alexa as much as Alexa had stared at her, and for as long.

“I must be dreaming,” Alexa had said.

Sinafin had perched on the headboard and swung her feet. “You are. I’m not really a fairy. I just took this image from your mind.” She shrugged and considered her wings. “It’s not a bad form, but I don’t think I’ll wear it outside of your dreams.”

“Then what are you?”

“That doesn’t matter,” Sinafin had replied with music in her voice. “What does matter is that you understand what is happening.”

“What?”

Sinafin had sighed, studied her toes and flexed her feet. “You have been Summoned to Lladrana.”

Alexa’s heart had thumped. She’d licked her lips. “Heavy mojo. Chimes. Rainbows. Chant. Gong. Large silver pentacle. It doesn’t look like I can get home easily.” She didn’t even want to think about disappearing holes and big hairy monsters. With fangs.

The fairy avoided Alexa’s eyes.

She sat up straight. “What aren’t you telling me about getting back?”

“It would be a massive undertaking for a Ritual to return you to the Exotique Land.”

“But?” Alexa had spotted a hesitation in the little woman’s words.

A minute pink tongue dampened pink lips. “There’s a moment, a Snap, when your Land calls to you.” She took off from the headboard and zoomed a circuit around the underside of the canopy. “Like when sometimes before you fall asleep, your body jerks.”

This time Sinafin perched on Alexa’s upraised knee. The serious look on the little pointed face didn’t suit Sinafin. “You have a moment to go or stay. Wish to go, and you’re gone. Hang on to something here, and you stay.”

“When does this happen?”

Sinafin shrugged. “Who knows? Days. Months. Years. Different times for different people. Sometimes the Snap is easy, sometimes hard. Different for different people.” She frowned. “Or maybe sometimes it’s easier for people to stay or go.”

“Duh,” Alexa said, throat tight.

“But we really need you here.”

“Joan of Arc,” Alexa croaked.

Sinafin’s entire being flashed humor. “Yes. But you can do it. You are stronger than you think. Stronger than they think. They cannot coerce you in any way—remember that.”

“You’re not one of them?”

She gave a tiny fairy snort. “Do I look like one of them? No. I sensed you were here and came. I am here for you.” She launched herself into the air, dipping and whirling, wind chimes rippling with her movements. Alexa got the idea she was too impatient to sit still. Sinafin hovered before Alexa’s nose, just far enough away that Alexa didn’t have to look at her cross-eyed.

“Deep in your heart you need Lladrana. It can be a home for you. You can find your place here.”

“Argh,” was all that came out of Alexa’s mouth.

A teeny fairy finger wagged at her. “So don’t get scared, or depressed. Take it as a challenge.”

“That’s what they always call awful problems nowadays, �challenges,’” Alexa muttered.

The fairy beamed. “I’m here to help you.”

Alexa wasn’t sure how a little pink fairy in her dreams could be of use.

Sinafin flittered around the bed, grabbed the fringe on the hangings and swung from it. “Don’t think of going back. Accept your fate here and you’ll live a long life of great fulfillment.”

“You sound like a fortune cookie.”

A laugh rippled from Sinafin. “I am good fortune. Now, I know you aren’t good with languages. So listen!” A delicate wand with a star on top appeared in her hand. She waved it, and the whole evening rolled like a movie before Alexa’s eyes. Only this time, she could understand what the people were saying. At least the words, but some of the meanings and concepts were beyond her. When it ended, she had a million questions. She opened her mouth to ask Sinafin, but with fairy capriciousness, the little magical woman had disappeared. A feeling of dark destiny crept over Alexa.

Now she shivered from toes to head as she remembered the dream and the night before. She clutched a pillow almost as big as her. Her arms sank into it and she knew it was made of the finest down. Everything around her was the finest.

“Hard to go back,” she muttered to herself, and knew that there wasn’t much of a life to go back to. She’d have to start all over on Earth as well as here in…Lladrana? “Find my place here.” Tears welled in her eyes and she was helpless to stop them. All she’d ever wanted was to fit in, be normal, know she was the same as everyone else who had a family and friends and a good home.

In Sophie she’d found a good friend, as close as a sister. Sophie had been outgoing and charming, had expanded Alexa’s circle of friends. She and Sophie had graduated law school, passed the bar, and started their own firm specializing in domestic law. They’d had three clients.

Then Sophie died and the plans were shot to hell. Before Alexa had had time to regain her balance, she’d heard chimes and music and had gone through the silver arch to Lladrana.

She had chosen to go through the gate of her own free will. She knew that. But she sure hadn’t known the consequences. Alexa was certain that in Colorado “ensorcellment” wasn’t a valid defense for stupid decisions. What about here in Lladrana?

She uncurled from a fetal position and looked around her. Everything in the room—her own room—was of the highest quality. She had passed “tests” and been granted the status of Marshall. Alexa shuddered at the thought of the tests. She’d thought a month of studying for the Colorado bar had been bad!

That was then. This was now. And now was an entirely different world.

Tests. She’d focus on that. The little star-ball—atomball—had been a test. Partis had said so before he sent it to her. Many had been surprised she could handle it. The test was a measure of what they called “Power.”

The next test was obvious. Did she have the compassion to save the baby? Then, she’d asked for help in keeping the baby alive. Had that been a test too? Alexa thought so. She wasn’t too proud to ask for help. She could work with others to achieve a goal. She made a disgusted noise. Oh, their tests had been clever, all right.

The memory of how she’d flung her assailant against a wall with her sheer will burned in her heart. She couldn’t sit in bed and face that fact so got up to pace the room. What could she have done differently? She wasn’t trained in martial arts. She hadn’t hurt him on purpose, had only defended herself. Self-defense was acceptable in Colorado and apparently in Lladrana too, since she hadn’t been punished. But that she’d hurt, maybe killed, shook her to the core.

A sour taste coated her tongue, so she went to the bathroom and rinsed out her mouth. On the way back, she stopped at the windows and finally looked out. She was about five stories up!

Glancing down, she saw her Tower was built on the edge of a cliff. She flinched back, then looked out onto an expansive landscape. Before her were fields showing a fuzz of spring green, then wooded, rising hills.

She followed the window to the far left curve—in the distance was a large, tidy walled town. She looked down and saw a hedge maze just within the castle walls, and just beyond it a small garden centered around a tall, lovely white-barked tree. A sweet murmuring, almost beneath her hearing, beckoned to her. She pressed close to the window. The low music must come from the growing things, maybe even the land. Rocks? Who knew?

From what she’d already experienced, anything was possible.

She frowned, trying to separate the attractive lilt from other notes, and finally figured out that it came from the tree. She smiled. The tree had caught her eye, so it was logical that she’d hear its tune more clearly.

Alexa moved to the center of the window to once again study the vista of multihued greens. Her heartbeat picked up. This is home, a bone-deep feeling whispered. This is what you’ve been searching for all your life.

She shook her head and backed away, bumped into a piece of furniture she hadn’t noticed before—a mirror on a stand. At her reflection her mouth dropped open and she stared. Her hair had turned silver in the night. Her eyes appeared very green—as deep and green as her jade baton.

Alexa ran to the bed, leaped on it and burrowed into the covers. She’d decided. She wasn’t getting out of the bed, or out of this room. She’d wait for the Snap.



Alexa slept most of the morning, until the strings attached to her door rippled and Marwey called out. Alexa buried her head in the pillows and ignored her. After a while the girl went away.

Alexa dozed again until Thealia came and made demanding noises. The woman was impatient, not even denting Alexa’s willpower to hold out before stalking off—Alexa could feel her irritated energy and hear hard footsteps.

Just as Alexa was beginning to relax, Partis chanted at her door, comforting, soothing. Lulling, Alexa thought with a snort. She wasn’t moving.

Partis sang for about half an hour, then left.

The doorharp sounded again and Marwey spoke. She knocked. Alexa heard noises out in the hallway and wondered if they’d starve her out. Then the baby cried just beyond the door.

It went on and on. Alexa couldn’t bear it. She got up and stood by the door, calling softly to the child, murmuring endearments. That only worked once.

She opened the door and scooped up the baby, who broke into a smile. Alexa smiled back, and a couple of women nabbed her.

Marwey, eyes wide, advanced and touched the ends of Alexa’s shoulder-length hair. “Argent,” she whispered in awe.

Alexa grimaced. She’d forgotten the color had changed from brown to silver.

“Alyeka, Alyeka, Alyeka.” The women called her name. With a swirl of jewel-toned robes, Marwey and Thealia and the rest, laughing and coaxing—and cuddling the baby—took Alexa down long, curving stairs.

It wasn’t a dungeon, but a big bathing room tiled in white and turquoise with slim graceful pillars. There were three pools of light blue, and lush greenery. The whole room was like something out of a harem. To one side hung a rich robe of dull gold. It looked Alexa’s size.

She allowed herself to be led to a pool. Narrowing her eyes she examined the liquid. It appeared to be water. Thinking it would be easier to test the stuff than to try to ask what it was, she bent down and cupped some in her hands. It felt like water. No stinging. Alexa let it trickle through her fingers.

Lifting her hands to her nose she inhaled the scent the liquid had left. Herbs. Nice and somehow sweet, not astringent. As she scooped up the “water” again and lowered her mouth to taste, she watched the others. They looked amused but didn’t protest or stop her. She darted the tip of her tongue out to lap at the water—again, it tasted of herbs.

Alexa stood and straightened her shoulders. She gestured for others to bathe before her. Thealia lifted her eyebrows, but moving a little jerkily, she disrobed and sank into a steaming pool. She leaned her head back on what appeared to be a padded cushion that rimmed the pool, shut her eyes and hummed. Alexa eyed the older Marshall and decided to follow her example.

Walking to the hot pool, Alexa summoned the courage to drop her bathrobe, and, ignoring embarrassment, trod the shallow steps into the pool. The hot water caressed her arches and Alexa knew why Thealia had moaned. It felt so good! The water lapped silkily at her as she submerged; the heat banished the aches and stings the liquid the night before had burned. Thealia sat on a ledge at the deep end of the pool. Alexa judged that if she joined the woman the water would rise to Alexa’s mouth. She found a spot and a ledge where it reached her shoulders—ignoring the twittering of the other women, probably about her height—and flopped her head back on the pad. Oh yeah! The only thing better would be jets.

“Alyeka,” Marwey said.

Alexa opened one eye. The teen offered a tray of soaps. One was green and Alexa had seen it in Marwey’s mind the night before, one was oatmeal colored and textured, one peach. Alexa sniffed them all and took the green one that reminded her of the ocean. A pang went through her. Oceans. She wondered if she’d ever see one again.

“Shh,” Marwey said, joining her in the bath and patting her shoulder.

Battling the ache of tears, Alexa looked at the girl. Marwey stared into her eyes and frowned. Then, slowly, an image took shape in Alexa’s mind—a rocky coast with a gray-green ocean frothing spume. She closed her eyes and turned her head away.

Alexa drifted and listened to the cadences of the voices around her. Just from pitch she seemed able to differentiate the classes. Thealia’s and Marwey’s tones were lower, more decisive than those of some of the other women, whom Alexa had pegged as servants.

She wasn’t sure what she thought of servants, or dealing with them. She and Sophie hadn’t even had a secretary to call their own, let alone a receptionist or legal assistant. Tears stuck in her throat again at the memory of her good friend. Or maybe it was just all the changes she’d been through in a few hours—less than a day. God! Self-pity and sentiment were overwhelming her and she wanted to bawl her eyes out. Here in the pool would be fine if she were alone. She sniffled.

“Alyeka.” Thealia sounded soothing too, and near.

Alexa sighed and opened her eyelids. She was pretty sure the Lladranans would never get her name right.

Swordmarshall Thealia held two goblets in her hands. They looked like gold. Alexa bit her lip. Thealia smiled and sipped from one, then held the other out to Alexa. She took it and tried a tiny taste. Not too bad—very thick and heavy with spices.

Thealia ostentatiously held up her glass, and Alexa got the idea she wanted to toast something. What? Anything the Swordmarshall thought was great, like Alexa’s advent here, wasn’t necessarily fabulous to her. She shrugged and little wavelets spread from her bare shoulders.

The Swordmarshall scanned the room, and Alexa followed her gaze. Everyone held goblets, though only hers and Thealia’s were gold. A movement came from the dimness under a fancy, colorfully tiled cabinet. Alexa narrowed her eyes.

“Viva Alyeka!” Thealia exclaimed. Her voice boomed off the tiles.

Alexa jolted and turned to the woman.

“Viva Alyeka!” the other women returned enthusiastically, and her name hit her ears several different ways.

Alexa slipped. Thealia steadied her with one hand and clinked her goblet against Alexa’s with the other. Gazing at her over the edge, Thealia gulped down her drink.

Alexa did the same. The brew slid across her tongue and down her throat, coating them like honey.

Everyone else drank too. Thealia smiled benignly at Alexa, took her goblet and handed both to a nearby woman. Then she gripped Alexa firmly by the elbow, pulling her through the water to the steps.

Bathtime’s over. Too bad. Alexa blinked and blinked again, a haze gathering over her eyes. Her mind dulled.

Alexa!

Alexa stopped at the top of the pool and peered around the room as she was patted dry with huge fluffy towels.

It’s Sinafin, Alexa!

Sinafin, the little fairy. Alexa’s lips curved in a goofy grin. She looked harder for the tiny pink being, swayed, and was held upright by several sets of hands.

Alexa, think!

Think? It was hard to think. How could she think with the gold-colored robe dropped over her head? She couldn’t see, could hardly breathe.

Her head popped through the neckline and she craned to find the fairy.

I’m not a fairy now, only in your dreams.

Did that make any sense? No. Nothing in the past twenty-four hours made any sense. Alexa frowned, started forward and stumbled. What a klutz! She hadn’t been this clumsy in years. A thought nibbled at the darkening cotton of her mind. Can’t think. Clumsy. Odd stuff. The drink! She’d been drugged!

She gasped, but couldn’t stop her feet from shuffling along as the women walked on each side of her, holding her arms. Thealia swept ahead of them with decisive steps. Alexa wished she could dredge up fury, but sharp emotions were just as hard to find as clear thoughts. She took one last glance back at the cabinet. Something that looked like a foot-long dust bunny stared at her. Maybe it was a dandelion. With eyes…She grunted as she stubbed her toes on the first of a long set of winding stairs.

Time and mind fogged. When the mist parted, Alexa stood in an elaborate rectangular room. The bright colors and sunbeams made her blink. People packed the room. Lots of soldiers in different uniforms, mostly men. She saw Marwey linking arms with her guy.

Click. Click. Click. Alexa followed the sound to Thealia’s forefinger tapping on the table in front of both of them. A large variety of odd objects lay on the table. They zoomed in and out of focus. A smooth stone. A spur? A cap. A tin cup.

That made her think of the goblet she’d drunk from, obviously doctored. Her mouth was dry and tasted like mud. Her stomach quivered. Bile rose up her throat. Through willpower she forced it back. Swallowed.

The table was covered in silver-shot blue damask; the things on it looked well-used and common, like they didn’t belong. Many brilliant lines wiggled from them. Alexa tried to step back, but was held in place by a couple of people. Her vision had narrowed, so she couldn’t see them.

The lines seemed to writhe like a mass of worms. They all led from the objects to…men. She traced a bright yellow thread from the cap to a man leaning against the wall. She thought she could smell him from here. She gagged. Forced herself to stand up straight and take a deep breath. Maybe it would keep the dizziness and nausea at bay.

“Deshouse, Alyeka,” Thealia said.

Alexa scowled. Didn’t the woman know any other word? Choose, choose, choose…first a baton, then a lover. Alexa’s stomach rolled at the recollection of the night before.

A lime-green line slithered to a guy in the corner. Alexa glanced at him and he grinned, showing broken, stained teeth.

Ick. Every strand from the objects looked neon-nasty, and when she squinted to see the men they led to, her stomach roiled. How many were there? Twenty? Thirty? None of them appeared to be anyone she’d care to meet, but she had the vague idea that this was like last night—the Marshalls wanted her to choose a man.

Time stretched. She heard murmuring and turned her head. The flash of silver caught her attention. A small side table contained long thin knives that looked extremely sharp, and several lengths of colorful silk that looked like ties. She couldn’t force her gaze away from the ominous, gleaming knives.

Someone brayed a laugh. The lime-green guy. Too much. Her stomach revolted. She vomited on the table and sank into welcome darkness.

Very good, Alexa, Sinafin said, fluttering gauzy wings.



Bastien leaned back in the corner booth of the Nom de Nom Tavern and casually flicked his new hat with the broad brim onto the table. From the corner of his eyes he watched for the reactions of the other Chevaliers to his hat, and suppressed a smug smile.

Unlike most of the Chevaliers in the Nom de Nom, he was not a Lord’s or Lady’s Knight, but an independent. And the hat proved just how successful he was. Stretching out his legs, he admired it again. The hat was of his own design, with a great rim around it—wide enough to keep the frinks that fell with the rain off a man’s face or from slipping down his collar—if you had tough enough material. Soul-sucker hide did just fine.

It had been his first soul-sucker kill, and the bounty had been prime. He grinned as he recalled the scene at the Marshall’s Castle where he’d dumped the remains late in the afternoon. Oh, it was great claiming the prize from those tight-assed Marshalls who thought they were the best at fighting and believed they knew everything.

The assayer who’d counted out Bastien’s gold had covered his initial revolted horror at the soul-sucker’s body by donning a self-important air and informing Bastien that the Summoning had been a success—Lladrana now had a new Exotique who would save them all. Trust the Marshalls to dig up and follow all the old traditions instead of trying something new to defeat the invading horrors.

That had dimmed Bastien’s pleasure for a moment—or until he had requested the assayer provide him with the soul-sucker’s skin in an hour for his hat. It was Bastien’s right to have the hide, and the clerk’s appalled expression had revived Bastien’s spirits.

Now that he recalled the scene, he frowned. There had been something else—something that had made the hair on the back of his neck rise—the silver hair that denoted Power, not the black locks. Had he seen a pair of glinting eyes in the rafters of the storeroom? He shrugged it off and gestured for some ale.

After he’d gotten the skin he’d spent some Power fashioning the hat he’d designed on the long volaran flight from the North.

Unobtrusively he shifted in his seat. That last fight the day before had been rough. A slayer, a render and a soul-sucker. They’d been gleeful at their supposed ambush of a single prey—a volaran-mounted Chevalier. He moved his shoulders to avoid a throbbing bruise.

He’d rarely been in worse shape. Bloody tracks from the render’s claws covered his torso; a puncture from the slayer bore through his left thigh, far too close to his balls to think of the wound without a shudder. Bruises covered his body. Even the soul-sucker had marked him. Round, raised bumps from its suckers dotted Bastien’s right shoulder and scalp—thankfully hidden by his clothes and his black-and-silver hair.

The conversation rose as his new hat was noticed and became an object for discussion. Only Marrec, who swore loyalty to Lady Hallard, actually had the guts to turn from the bar to stare at the hat.

When the serving woman Dodu brought his ale, she gave him a long, slow look from under her eyelashes. “I can cancel my plans for tonight, Bastien,” she whispered.

More than Bastien’s aches throbbed at her invitation. He looked at her plump hips and sighed. For the first time in his life he was in no shape for bedsport. He had the feeling that if he took her up on her offer his reputation as a great lover would shatter.

“Ah, Dodu, my lovely, I only wish I could cancel my own, but for once I must place duty before pleasure.” He pasted a yearning expression on his face.

She narrowed her eyes.

Bastien lifted her fingertips and kissed them.

Dodu sighed and withdrew her hand. “Some other time, then.”

He grinned. “Definitely.”

With a swish of the ass she knew he admired, she served another table. Bastien shifted, trying to find a less painful position.

The door opened, letting in gray twilight and the stench of frink-filled rain. Bastien’s smile faded. His brother Luthan scanned the room, spotted Bastien and strode to him.

Bastien’s brows knit. Luthan didn’t move with his usual fluidity, and pallor showed under the golden tone of his skin. He looked as if he’d been through an ordeal—more than just confronting the Marshalls in their Council, which Bastien had heard Luthan was going to do—as the new Representative of the Cloister. His acceptance of the position had spurred a lot of talk, since it now left the Chevaliers without a spokesperson to the Marshalls.

Was Luthan’s streak of silver over his right temple wider? Bastien scowled. They were very different in personality, but close nonetheless.

Luthan stopped and looked down at the lounging Bastien, dressed in render-hide. Luthan himself had a pure white surcoat over his flying leathers, decorated with the coat of arms of their mother’s family—the estate Luthan claimed for himself. When Luthan’s eyes fixed on Bastien’s hands scored by the tentacles of the soul-sucker, Bastien sat up straight. Then Luthan’s gaze lingered on the new hat.

“That is the ugliest hat I’ve ever seen.”

“You wound me to the core!” Bastien placed fingers over his heart.

Luthan scowled. “Looks to me like your last fight did that.”

Bastien cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. “And you look like merde too.” He swept his hat to a corner of the table. “Sit. I know Council meetings are bad, but it shouldn’t make you look like a herd of volarans ran over you.”

Grunting, Luthan gingerly settled his long length on the opposite bench of the booth, angling his body so he could keep an eye on the room as well as his brother, an automatic strategy for a trained fighter. Bastien, of course, had taken the last booth with the wall at his back. Standing at the bar gave Chevaliers more freedom, but Bastien hadn’t been sure he could stay upright for long. Eyeing his brother, Bastien didn’t think Luthan could handle the usual jostling at a crowded bar either.

“You look like merde,” Bastien repeated.

Luthan stared at him, and his gray eyes seemed to have become darker. Bastien frowned, but when that pulled at the wounds in his scalp, he stopped and suppressed a wince.

“Jerir,” Luthan said, as if that explained everything. He caught Dodu’s attention and lifted a hand for ale.

“Jerir,” Bastien echoed, mind racing. He was supposed to be the quickest of wits of his family, and Luthan usually made him use every one of them. “An Exotique and jerir. Knowing the old tales, I’d say the Marshalls must have used it as a test.”

When the ale was set in front of him, Luthan stared down at the liquid. Then he looked up with gleaming eyes and a slight curve of the lips, lifted the mug in a half salute to Bastien, and drank. He set the glass down, pulled a pristine handkerchief from an inside pocket and dabbed his lips. “Right you are. There were several tests, but I don’t know the details. I do know that they—” he jerked his head toward the Castle “—have a whole pool of the stuff.”

Bastien choked, swallowed, breathed through a couple of gasps. “A pool?” He shook his head. “Can’t be. Jerir is scarce and valuable.”

“A pool. The ritual bathing pool in the Temple, to be exact.” He closed his eyes and a shudder rippled his long frame.

Bastien leaned forward and pressed his fingers on his brother’s fisted hand. “What is it? How can I help?”

“Take the job as Chevalier Representative to the Marshalls’ Council.”




5


“Become the Chevalier’s Representative?” That jolted a laugh from Bastien and he leaned back against the padded wall—just the contraction of his chest hurt, by the Song. “Very funny.”

Luthan didn’t open his eyes. “I’m not joking. Listen to your last words. You want to help, to matter, to make things better.”

Letting his eyelids lower, Bastien fingered the edge of his hat. “I think you take life too seriously and want me to, also. I’m willing to help my brother.”

“And Lladrana?”

“The Marshalls believe they are Lladrana.”

Luthan opened his eyes. “They are doing the best they can.”

Bastien snorted and lifted his mug to drink again, let the smooth buttery taste of goldenale slip down his gullet. He licked his lips. “The Marshalls follow old ways. What’s worse—they keep those old ways and old spells from the rest of us, so we don’t know what they are doing, why, or what to expect. Most damning of all, they hid the knowledge that our boundaries were failing from us until we were invaded by the greater horrors.”

“Perhaps they thought they could find a remedy without involving us.”

“That’s your supposition. Meanwhile Chevalier lives were lost,” Bastien said. Including his childhood friend….

“They say the Exotique will solve the puzzle of restoring the fenceposts and boundaries. As in olden days, they Summoned one, and Tested her.”

“Did you actually see her?” Bastien lifted a brow.

“I saw a forming of her.”

His brother’s voice held an odd note. Ever fascinated with something new, Bastien scooted a little closer. “You did? Where? And what did she look like?”

“During the Marshalls’ Council this morning. She looks—odd. Exotique.”

“Hmm.” Bastien eyed his brother. “What of you? There’s something different about you. You didn’t Pair with her, did you?”

This time Luthan choked. “Merde, no!” His mouth twisted. “Mind you, I was invited. The Marshalls were displeased that no Chevaliers showed up.” His eyebrow mimicked Bastien’s.

They grinned at each other.

“It’s the jerir. I took a plunge.”

Bastien’s mug halted midair. “All of you?”

“And not just a quick dip. You know the size of the Temple pool—a nice dive and glide across to the other side to stagger out.” He shuddered again.

Drinking deeply, Bastien finished his ale. He’d never seen his brother so twitchy, not Luthan the Calm. “Better you than me.”

“No, better both of us.” Luthan’s fingers curled around Bastien’s wrist. “Bastien, the stories are true. The jerir makes a difference in a person, an obvious difference. I could tell at a glance those who’d bathed and those who hadn’t. Everyone can see the change, and I’d wager every Marshall in the Castle will be in that pool before long. It’s an advantage they can’t pass up, and neither can you.”

“Ha, as if they’d let my little toe into a sacred jerir protection pool.” Bastien withdrew his arm from Luthan’s grip. An odd vibrancy to Luthan’s fingers had set every silver hair on his nape rising. He waved to order two more ales.

Luthan’s eyes blazed. “That’s just it, Bastien. Word’s gone out.” His teeth gleamed in a grin that seemed to mock. “They’re breaking tradition. Anyone who wishes to can immerse themselves in the pool for the next month.”

“Must be desperate.” With a smile, Bastien handed a couple of pegtees to Dodu to pay for the drinks.

Shoving his empty glass aside, Luthan took a swig from the new one. “It’s a grand gesture, and a smart one. They’ll find out who’s the toughest, they’ll get better Chevaliers and soldiers from this move, and they’ll challenge the Chevaliers—the dissenters who don’t think much of them, like you—to match them.”

The ale turned sour in Bastien’s mouth. A feeling deep in his gut told him he’d be swimming in jerir. Rot.

Luthan tapped an elegant forefinger on the wooden table. “Not only the Chevaliers. I’d bet there will be some guild-folk who’ll have to bathe or swallow their pride.” He spread his hands. “We all win.”

“Huh.” Bastien took a rag from his breeches pocket and wiped his mouth. “Huh,” he said again, not at his most brilliant. He examined his brother again. “You don’t look like the stuff has helped you.”

“Not yet. I had some bruises from sword practice yesterday.” He sucked in a breath and shook his head. “Rough.”

“Everybody knows the attributes of jerir. It cleanses wounds and sets them to healing clean and fast. Wherever you were hurt becomes stronger, more protected from injury.” Bastien culled from memory.

“Everybody’s heard,” corrected Luthan. “You don’t know until you take that dive. I thought it was eating my body at those sores.” His eyes narrowed, softened. “Give yourself a week or two to heal before you bathe. I wouldn’t want to go into that pool with a real wound, and you look like you have one or two.”

More like five or six. Bastien curved his mouth in a jaunty smile.

Luthan leaned forward again. “But spread the word. Anyone who wants can go to the Castle Temple and ask to swim in the jerir for the next month. They must bathe before using it, and will get a free meal, after. A Marshall or Castle Chevalier will be on hand to verify the submersion.” He wiped his mouth with his handkerchief again and looked at the clock. “I have a courtesy meeting with the city guild Representatives to tell them of my new position. I’ll also report on the Summoning and the Marshalls’ Council. I’ll tell them of this offer.” Again his even, white teeth flashed. “That will stir them up. You spread the word to this lot.” He touched Bastien’s hand. “Think about the job of Chevalier Representative. It would be good for the Chevaliers and for you.”

Bastien forced out the question he’d wanted to ask. “Did our esteemed father bathe in the jerir?” Not that he needed the answer. Reynardus would always have to prove himself tougher, stronger, better than any other man.

“No.” Luthan’s eyes met Bastien’s own and reflected the same emotion. They would never receive the approval of their father, and they would always strive for it, consciously or not. Then Luthan’s expression lightened. “Thealia prodded him into a Song Quest and he left before dawn. He should be back soon.” Luthan unfolded himself from behind the table gingerly. “Good journeys, brother.”

“Good journeys,” Bastien said.

Luthan stared at Bastien’s hat. “You know a dip in jerir might improve it. Couldn’t hurt it any.” With an absent wave of the hand, he left the inn.

A smile on his face, Bastien considered his brother and the Marshalls’ challenge while making damp intersecting circles on the table with the bottom of his mug. Finally he gulped the last of the brew. Luthan hadn’t looked good, true, but the dive through the jerir might not be as bad as he said. Luthan tended to be conservative—one of the reasons Bastien was sure the Cloister had requested Luthan act for them. Conservative and of strong moral fibre. Hell, strong emotional and physical fibre too.

Bastien didn’t look as tough as his brother, and considered himself a flexible and genial man, but if this jerir Test must be done—and damn if he’d let his father and brother top him in this endeavor—it best be done quickly. Tonight. Just stepping up to stand on the bench hurt, but he managed. With luck, he’d have a few good souls like Marrec to watch his ass if he’d miscalculated. He scanned the room until several faces turned to him.

“Attencion!”



Though about thirty patrons of the Nom de Nom started up the winding road to the Marshalls’ Castle, there were only two by the time they reached the drawbridge gate—Bastien and a reedy teenaged stableboy named Urvey.

Bastien glanced at the slight youth from the corner of his eye. “You don’t have to do this, Urvey,” he said gently. “No one will think less of you.”

The boy’s jaws set. “No one will think more of me either.” He met Bastien’s gaze. “This is my chance. If I do this, I can rise in the world, be more than a stable hand. I could even maybe be a squire.” His eyes sharpened. “Do you have a squire, Lord Bastien?”

“I’m a very minor lord, Urvey, with one small parcel of land.” He shrugged.

Urvey pulled hard on the gate chain. A gong sounded behind the first curtain wall. “But you have three volarans. You could Test to be a Marshall, couldn’t you?”

Bastien’s lips twisted. “The last thing I want to be is a hidebound, tight-assed, nose-in-the-air Marshall.”

“Huh. Well, you have the chance. I don’t.” He straightened his shoulders. “Not ’til now. If I became a squire, maybe in a few years I could even get a horse, maybe a volaran, then become a Chevalier. You really do need a squire, Lord Bastien. I saw how hard it was for you to groom your volaran. If you had a squire and were in a fight, he would groom your volaran for you. Please, Lord Bastien?”

Bastien had no intention of becoming responsible for another person.

The peephole darkened, then the gate opened. The Castle guards scrutinized Bastien and Urvey and then waved them into the lower bailey.

Without further conversation, they crossed the lowest courtyard to the second gate to Temple Ward. When they reached the door, Urvey used the iron ring to alert the Marshall guards that they wanted entrance.

Holding a lantern, Swordmarshall Mace ushered them through the thick gateway. “Welcome, Bastien. Thought I’d see you tonight.”

“Good eventide, Mace.” The man had been one of Bastien’s instructors in years past. Squinting in the darkness, Bastien noted Mace had more vigor than the last time Bastien had seen him. If Bastien used his Power and tranced in, he could pinpoint the differences. “You’ve dunked in the jerir pool of protection.” He made it a statement.

Mace nodded. “Right you are. It’s evident, isn’t it. That will help our cause by bringing others to dip in the jerir. My wife Shieldmarshall and I took the plunge together last night.”

“Ah, the time difference. Luthan didn’t look as well as you.”

After locking the door behind Bastien and Urvey, Mace turned to them and smiled. “Still a bit white around the mouth, was he? He dunked late this morning.” Mace frowned. “Didn’t stay for the Exotique’s Choosing and Pairing.”

Bastien laughed. “Who’d want to be bound for life with a woman you just laid eyes on? None of the Chevaliers I know are that stupid.”

Mace’s gaze fired. “The Choosing is an ancient tradition. And it works. The ritual will match a man and woman who can love and bond forever.”

Unobtrusively Bastien shifted from foot to foot. Sitting at the Nom de Nom with all his injuries had been rough, but the two-mile walk up to the Castle had caused sweat to sting in his wounds. Just being upright was a strain. “If you say the Choosing magic works, I won’t deny you,” he placated.

“I don’t think you ever knew that my lady and I found each other through a Choosing,” Mace said quietly.

That surprised Bastien. “No, I didn’t.” He would have liked to have swept Mace a bow in apology, but only half inclined his torso.

“It was a long time ago.” He sent Bastien a pointed look. “But my love for my Shield grows every day. You Chevaliers should have attended the Choosing.”

Bastien lifted and dropped his good shoulder. “For myself, I was traveling here by volaran at the time. So who did the Exotique pick?” He sidestepped a pace or two to the gateway’s thick door wall and leaned against it insouciantly, exhaling in relief as the old stones supported him.

“No one.” Mace’s face grimmed. “No one. There wasn’t a good choice for the new Marshall of the Jade Baton. Now we have a �situation’ on our hands. Who knows if she will go or stay? And we need her, by the Song!”

Bastien almost slid down the wall. “The Jade Baton of Honor? She wields the Jade Baton?” The stuff of legends. He’d never even seen the stick.

“She was Tested. There are more Choosing ceremonies than the one for a mate. I myself laid all the batons before her and she Chose the Jade Baton. She carries it well. It flames in her hands.”

“Urgh” was all Bastien managed to say.

Urvey gulped too, opened and shut his mouth, then squeaked. “Lladrana really has a new Marshall? An Exotique? Not just rumor?”

Mace jerked a nod. “That’s right. You might want to stay, Bastien, and Test for Marshall after you dip.”

A half smile formed on Bastien’s lips, he swooped his hand. “A dive and glide is what Luthan said.”

Mace gave a crack of laughter. “Yes. It’s all very well for you unmated athletic Chevaliers. My lady and I just dunked together.” His brows lowered. “You could test for Marshall tomorrow.”

“No. I thought the full complement of Marshalls was filled.”

Mace grunted. “We will be expanding the ranks of Marshalls to defend Lladrana.” Brows still drawn, he glanced at the hulk of the towered Keep.

“We already have one Marshall Pair vacancy—we wish to prevent another.”

This startled Bastien. “Who died? And how? I thought you were all here in the Castle, none of you on the Field.”

Mace grunted. “The Summoning wasn’t easy. Who knew how many of us would die in the attempt?”

Urvey’s eyes rounded. He gulped.

“Someone died during the Summoning?” Bastien blinked.

“Not exactly.” Mace stared at Bastien. “Defau Disparu let his passions get the best of him while he was in a fight.”

Bastien knew the sentence was directed as a reminder to him.

“Disparu attacked the Exotique.”

Urvey gasped. “Attacked our savior!”

Mace ran an eye up and down the boy. “That’s right. He died. She has much Power, that one.”

An atonal chant drifted from a low Tower window. Mace shifted his feet, looked up. “Swordmarshall Albertus and his wife and Shield used the jerir. She was weak to begin with, but she insisted on accompanying her Sword. She barely lives. If she can survive the shock of the next few hours, her health will be much improved. She’s a wily Shield, we’d hate to lose her.”

“Two Pair,” Bastien murmured. From only six Marshall Pairs, it was a cause for concern—for them. “You wouldn’t be at such a pass if you’d opened your ranks much earlier, as the Chevaliers advised. Too many of you wanted to keep your status and Power to a small group.” Bastien jutted his chin.

Mace eyed him, but said nothing in defense. He shrugged. “That’s past. No reason to ask why you are here. It’s my watch to verify any who wish to use the pool of protection. Not that anyone has taken us up on our offer.”

“I’m here!” Urvey said.

“So you are, boy. You want to dunk?”

“Yes, My Lord Marshall.”

“Luthan’s meeting with town guild members tonight. Tomorrow you should have some Chevaliers and townies,” Bastien said.

“Good,” Mace said. He cast a glance at Bastien then one at the window streaming yellow light where the chant was coming from. “You vouch for this lad, Bastien?”

“I’m his squire!” Urvey announced.

Bastien grimaced but didn’t deny it.

“Huh,” Mace said. “It’s about time you showed a little ambition and responsibility, Bastien.” He nodded shortly. “Good thing you took on a squire. Looks like he’ll need some training—that will be good for the both of you. Staunch lad, to brave the jerir.”

Urvey’s thin chest expanded with the compliment. Bastien knew there’d be no dissuading him from the pool now.

Lifting a lantern, Mace scrutinized Bastien. “Stupid-looking hat.”

“Soul-sucker hide.” Bastien tilted his head so Mace could get a better look.

Mace grunted. “Seems like the soul-sucker laid a couple of tentacles on you, too.” He gazed at Bastien’s scratched hands. “Huh,” he said again, still studying Bastien. “You appear a bit peaked—might want to delay your dipping in the jerir.”

Angling his chin, Bastien said, “No.” He grinned. “A dive and glide, said Luthan.”

“That boy always understates the matter. It’s a hell of a lot more. It’s bad, especially if you have any aches or pains, any wounds or injuries. What’s with you, boy?” Mace narrowed his eyes at Urvey. “You fit?”

“I have a coupla scratches. A flea bite or two. Maybe a bruise from a horse that butted me day before last.”

“You’ll do,” Mace said. He stared at Bastien. “If you have any injuries that aren’t showing, you better not try the pool of protection. Wait a day or two. I’d hate to haul you up to that sickroom too.” He waved to the Tower window.

Bastien winced inwardly, thinking of the puncture, the rips, the sucker rounds…Ignoring the pain, he shrugged and grinned, tilted his hat to an even more rakish angle. “I can do it.”

“You always had more mettle than sense. Your squire will watch out for you. Boy!” Mace called Urvey’s wandering attention back to them. “You got any questions?”

Urvey gulped. His eyes gleamed. “I heard we get a meal—a feast afterward.”

“That’s right.”

The chant faltered. Mace frowned, then nodded in the direction of the Temple. “I trust you, Bastien. Go take your swim and watch the boy. I need to get back to the healing.”

“Fine,” Bastien said.

With one last nod, Mace hurried up the right path to the Tower. Urvey started after him, until Bastien halted him with a tug on his sleeve.

“To the left for the shortest route to the Temple.”

Urvey grinned but it looked more like the rictus of fear and anticipation than cheer. “A coupla Marshalls were down at the Nom de Nom for a short noonday meal and I saw them. They looked wrung. Musta taken the dip, I guess.”

“Probably.” Bastien recalled the pallor under Luthan’s skin. He set his shoulders. It couldn’t be that bad, could it? A whisper of the healing chant touched the nape of his neck and slithered down his spine like fear. He was pretty battered, but he was in fine health, strong, and had more stamina than was apparent. And he was a black-and-white; he had wild magic too. Usually under control.

Their boot-steps echoed hollowly before and behind them as they strode along the cobblestone path close to the buildings, passing the nobles lodgings and walking around the bulge of the Temple.

Urvey shivered. “I’ve never been up here in Temple Ward.”

Bastien grunted.

The boy craned his neck, trying to see everything. “It’s wonderful.”

“It’s a Castle bailey,” Bastien said, but the large, round Temple, white stone instead of gray, loomed before them. He looked at it with new eyes—the building did seem to pulse with magic.

Finally they reached the great, pointed oaken door and Bastien swung it open. “After you,” he said.

In an alcove separated from the main Temple by a carved wooden screen, Bastien and Urvey bathed. The usual cleansing pool was the one now filled with jerir.

Urvey wrapped a towel around boney hips as Bastien donned a robe. He’d convinced Urvey to dip first. Bastien wanted to have all his current strength to pull the youth from the pool, if necessary.

Without his baggy garments, the teen was even skinnier. Bastien surveyed him, noting a few minor scratches and the bruise the boy had spoken of. Urvey flushed a little.

“Just seeing how badly you might be hurt,” Bastien said.

A quick grin flashed from the boy. He straightened. “I’m well enough.”

“Looks like you could use the feast they promised us, though,” Bastien said.

Urvey’s grin widened. “I can always eat.”

Bastien believed that.

They walked from the seat-ledge that held their clothes, to the pool. Bastien kept to deep shadows so Urvey couldn’t see the extent of his wounds.

The jerir looked thick and dark blue, nearly filling the pool three man-lengths long and one wide. Bastien’s stomach tightened at the sight of the still, viscous liquid and the thought of the pain that would come.

“Looks nasty.” Urvey’s voice sounded high.

“No, it looks beautiful.” Bastien’s voice was a lower rasp than usual. He didn’t clear his throat. “A very beautiful blue. As blue as a fine sapphire. It’s only the thought of the pain it can cause that makes you think it’s nasty.”

Urvey shot him a nervous glance. His black brows shot upward. “But where you hurt, it starts to heal faster, and better than before. You’re stronger than before, right?” He gazed down at both knees, which were shadowed with bruises Bastien hadn’t noticed.

“That’s what they say. I don’t trust some of the old legends like the Marshalls do—”

“But they Summoned an Exotique!” Urvey said with awe.

Bastien had to nod. “They did. And I’ve never known Swordmarshall Mace to lie.”

“Why should he? He’s so big he can say whatever he likes.”

Chuckling, Bastien said, “Very true. Do you swim, boy?”

Urvey looked horrified. “Swim? No.”

Bastien led the youth to a corner. “There are steps into the pool here.”

“Oh. I thought I’d just, um, jump in and pop out. I can do that in the water hole at the edge of town.”

“Fine.” Bastien surveyed the pool and walked to the middle of one long edge. “If I recall right, this should be about your height. Make sure you go all the way under.”

Urvey gulped, sucked in a big breath. Then he glanced at Bastien, and down at the pool. Urvey’s muscles tensed. He jumped.

His cut-off scream bounced off the circular stone walls and echoed. He popped up, screaming again.

Bastien reached into the jerir pool and helped Urvey out. Just the immersion of his forearm in the liquid made him bite the inside of his cheek with pain. How was he going to manage this?

But he had to. His pride was on the line. Every Chevalier at the Nom de Nom knew he’d intended to immerse himself in the jerir. Urvey looked up at him with pained and admiring eyes as Bastien helped him dry off and dress.

Not to mention that if Luthan could do it, Bastien could, and would, do it too. His mouth thinned. There was a different aura about those who had bathed in the jerir than about those who hadn’t. Even now Urvey was showing the underlying glow of the experience. There was no way Bastien could simply lie.

He eyed the pool. It was going to be bad. Worse perhaps than even his last fight. Only fancy footwork and fast reflexes had saved him. And he didn’t have his volaran to help him this time. He’d have to trust his wild magic.

“Shall I stay?” asked Urvey, looking longingly at the door, probably thinking of the good meal they’d been promised. Trust a growing boy to think of his stomach, even after such an ordeal!

Bastien said, “No, of course not. Go get some food and drink for us.” He waved a hand at the door.

Urvey’s brows came down. “Are you sure?” He opened his mouth as if to offer help, then shut it. They both knew about manly pride.

“I’m sure.” Bastien grinned. Nothing to do now but to laugh at the situation he’d gotten himself into. “Go. Get some meat and mead. Take your time—” Bastien winked “—I may want to soak a little.”

That reassured the boy. He laughed. “Fine. I’ll get us a lot of good food and mead.” He rubbed his stomach. He looked around and dropped his voice. “Can we eat in here?”

“Of course.” Bastien made a wide gesture with his arm. “This is the Temple. A Temple is for all the rituals of people. Including breaking bread.” He winked again. “Including sex.”

Urvey flushed, dropped his eyes. “I’m a womanlover.”

Bastien clapped a hand on Urvey’s shoulder. “I am, too. We can eat here—there’s a dining table over there.” He waved to a darkened quadrant. “And you recall that behind the fancy screen is another bathing pool and a toilet. The pool with jerir is usually filled with water to bathe in, you know.”

Urvey just stared. “No, I don’t, Lord. You know. I can only guess.”

“And learn,” Bastien said gently. “You can learn.”

Urvey brightened. “I can do that. And I know how to assemble a feast for us!”

He took off for the door while Bastien stared at the pool near his blistered feet.

Urvey hesitated by the door. “You are sure—”

“Go!” He didn’t want the boy to hear him scream.

The door closed and Bastien rubbed his face. “Great, just great. What did you get me into this time, brother?” He swore under his breath. “What did my own stupidity and pride get me into? I damn well should wait.” He should. But it was quiet and soothing here in the Temple. Surely he could manage a quick dunk—a hop in and dive through and hop out. That should be sufficient. But by the Song, he didn’t want to dip in the jerir! He actually dreaded the idea.

Nothing for it. He’d manage. He’d been in worse spots.




6


Come, Alexa! Sinafin cried. She jumped up and down on Alexa, waking her.

Alexa cracked open an eye to see a blue squirrel, then shut it again. “No.” She snuggled deeper into the soft mattress. As soon as she’d escaped the clutches of the Marshalls, she’d showered and hopped into bed, though the sun still shone.

After her humiliating sickness, they’d whipped up another potion that settled her stomach and fed her. Then Alexa had been stuck in a room and measured and given “little” clothes by giggling women. Following that, she’d been shown into a map room to watch some oddity on an animated landscape. Finally, she’d been plunked down and taught some Lladranan by a person who tried to keep a straight face at her pronunciation. Alexa began to wonder if the days here were the same length as on Earth.

Alexa, Alexa, you must come. Sinafin scrabbled at the covers that Alexa pulled over her head.

“No, I’m tired. I’ve had a very full day and I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying in bed, and if I’m lucky, the Snap will come and take me away.”

Blue squirrel paws pushed the covers away, and Alexa found herself looking into bright black eyes. Sinafin clasped her paws together. PLEASE, Alexa.

“Your colors are off. There aren’t any blue squirrels.” Alexa rolled over.

She thought she dozed.

The baby cried. She shoved away fluffy comforters and half slid, half fell to the floor. Her bare feet missed the rug and jarred against cold stone. She swore.

Come, come, come! Sinafin, a golden ball, dipped and swooped, then vanished through the closed door.

Hopping from foot to foot, Alexa dragged on knit slippers that were warm and cushioned her feet from the stone floor. She muttered curses. In English. She hadn’t learned enough Lladranan to know any good local swears.

What was it now? A person couldn’t even barricade herself into her room for a little shut-eye.

NOW, Alexa! Sinafin—a neon purple bat—screeched in her ear and zoomed through the door again. Over her nightgown, Alexa whipped on a quilted robe that trailed on the ground, and rushed across the threshold—

And was jerked short when her robe stuck in the door. No infant was near. She heard a wail—would they leave the baby on one of the narrow landings? Surely not.

Follow me! cried Sinafin.

Gritting her teeth and taking precious time to open the door and grab the robe, Alexa knew she really needed those swearwords. She ran through the Tower room, down and down and down endless stairs following a flashing neon purple bat into the Cloisters. It was dark and raining again. Not twenty-four hours after her arrival in Lladrana and she was charging to the rescue again. Didn’t a savior ever get a little downtime?

Apparently not. Sinafin led her to the huge oak door of the circular Temple. Were they trying to teach the baby to swim again the hard way? Alexa hated being manipulated by the Marshalls. But was this their work? The door opened easily under her hand and she rushed into the dim room.

Sure enough, Sinafin hovered by the end of that nasty pool as a large golden glow, flickering and fluttering wildly, as if trying to keep something out of the liquid.

Alexa’s heart pounded and she peeled off her robe. Sucking in a big breath and whimpering inwardly, she dove into the pool.

Pain dimmed her mind like a lowering curtain. She fought against it, gritting her teeth to keep from opening her mouth in a scream and swallowing the stuff. The liquid slid against her, like it was measuring every inch of her before seeking each tiny wound to torture—She came up against someone hard.

It wasn’t a baby this time. It was a big guy. Well, normal for them, but big to her. Apparently he’d made it into the pool, but not out of it. Alexa could understand that; the liquid gnawed at her bruises and sent biting pain along scratches. She vowed to never, ever pick at her cuticles again.

Thrusting her head above the liquid she gasped and thrashed to hold the limp, heavy limbs of the man. She sensed Sinafin trying to help, taking part of the man’s weight.

Her nightgown tangled her legs, she floundered, slipped and sank, found her feet and tried again. Grunting and swearing she managed to roll the man out of the pool, but sank again before crawling out.

He lives! Sinafin caroled in relief.

Just as Alexa surfaced and opened her mouth to ask something instead of heaving a breath, Sinafin turned into a purple bat with golden wings and streaked from the chamber—through a closed glass window this time. As she did so she made the sound of a wailing baby.

Alexa allowed herself to collapse on the floor. She’d been had! By her own…what? Mentor? Sidekick? Friend?

After a few minutes the marble floor, though warm, felt really hard. Alexa rocked to her hands and knees, then stood and wobbled. Until she saw him. Then she was struck still and dumb with pure admiration.

Wow! Only the dim crystals in the rafters and the glowing gemstone crystals in a rainbow on the altar lit the room, but it was enough. He lay on his back, the outline of his muscles flickering wet and golden-hued. Alexa swallowed hard.

She took a step forward. Broad shoulders tapered to narrow hips, muscular thighs—she bet he had a killer butt—nice calves, long elegant feet. Oh yeah.

Naturally she looked at his sex. She was a red-blooded American woman, wasn’t she? And she had to make sure that the people of Lladrana were like people at home. She peered a little closer and gulped. Yes, his parts were like those of the men at home. No, it didn’t look like he was hurt there at all—but otherwise…

Just seeing the scars on him appalled her—new red welts, some slices that looked like they had come from the same sort of monster who’d attacked her. His body was a map of colorful bruises, scratches and circular raised bumps that made her think of leeches. She shuddered. He had a big, nasty puncture close to his, um, jewels that made her wince and shift from foot to foot.

She was warm and safe here, as was he, but how was she going to get help?

She eyed the gong and bit her lip. It was near the altar with those jewel-crystals and other magical stuff. She really didn’t want to touch it.

“Sinafin?” she whispered.

No answer.

Alexa studied the studly guy again, this time making it to his face. She frowned. He looked a little like someone she’d seen before, but she couldn’t place the resemblance. Nice jaw, good straight nose. Eyes heavy-lidded and tilted up at the corners. Soft, mobile lips.

Soft, mobile lips? She was losing it. Time to get her act together and see if she could help the man, but at least his wide, lightly haired chest rose and fell steadily.

Then she noticed something else. Unlike every other adult in Lladrana, he didn’t have black hair or black hair with silver or gold streaks at one or both temples. No, the flickering light gleamed on his striped black-and-white hair. She stared. The baby had black-and-white hair like that too. Did they ritually drown those? She knew in her bones it must mean something.

His lids opened and she stared into deep brown eyes that slowly focused. He opened his mouth and started coughing. He stirred, moaned, then subsided again into unconsciousness. But his breath turned steady and deep.

The door pushed open and cold air swept around her, plastering her nightgown to her body. She whirled. A skinny teenager holding a tray and a pitcher stared openmouthed at her. She narrowed her eyes. He had that electric-blue outline that several of the Marshalls had had that morning. She glanced back at the man lying by the pool—yes, there was a slight electric-blue tint coating him.

She looked at her own hands. They radiated blue. Then she saw her own body, fully revealed by the thin, wet nightgown. She looked very white. She made a sound like “Eek”—a girly sound, she thought in disgust—hurried and snatched her robe.

“Voulvous? Vu?” The boy’s voice rose in a question.

Alexa forced her lips into a grin, flopped a hand in what she’d intended to be a wave, and wobbled past the boy to the door. She’d done what Sinafin had wanted. Alexa didn’t plan to hang around for questions she couldn’t answer.

The man groaned behind her. She quickened her pace. The teenager frowned, then set the tray down and ran to the man.

Alexa slipped out the door and into the cloister walk. Silver rain fell tinkling around her, then sputtered into droplets and subsided into a soft patter.

Once back in her room, after showering—another pain, since some of the jerir penetrated her scratches instead of sliding from her body—Alexa was restless. She went to the windows to look out, and saw blackness over the fields. Her tower was one of the four large round Towers of the Castle Keep, but no one lived there except herself.

She dressed in leggings, a shirt and a long tunic, then she paced.

Though the weather had cleared and brilliant stars shone in the night sky, there was only the faintest luminescence where she knew the Town should be. No use going to the Town, since she wasn’t even familiar with the Castle. The thought of walking alone down the hill to the Town daunted her. She shivered as the memory of the night hike she’d taken in Colorado flickered in her mind’s eye. She’d been crazy, spellbound, grief-stricken—maybe all three.

She noticed the swaying white branches of the beautiful large tree in the garden below. Concentrating hard, she heard the soft murmuring of the tree’s Song, which spoke of contentment and spring and growing and destiny. The strains came too quietly to grasp and the melody was such that she wanted to listen to the whole of it. Or maybe she just had cabin fever and wanted out. She drew her heavy, warm purple cloak around her, then slipped from her room and down the stairs.

Everything was quiet.

Hesitating, she cocked her head to get the tree’s direction. With slow steps she followed the tune and found herself before a small door that would let her out of the Keep and near the garden. She opened it, and air laden with humidity and the rich secrets of night-growing plants wafted to her. As she inhaled, more notes joined the rich orchestral symphony. She exited, and a few strides later faced the tall hedge maze. Perfectly groomed, it stood a good fifteen feet high, dense and dark and green-black.

Still the tree Sang, and it Sang to her. She could almost hear it Sing her name. She pulled her cloak close and the cowl low and threaded her way through the maze by sound instead of sight. Low bird chirps accompanied the soft tread of her own footsteps.

A few minutes later she exited the maze at a right angle from where she had entered. There was a small lawn, then an old, low wall of stone with a little door that looked to be just her size. She smiled and walked to it, put her hand on the cold handle, pressed the latch and pulled, expecting an awful creak. The door swung silently and easily open.

The moon had risen while she’d been in the maze and now painted the garden in silver light. A profusion of bushes with stark branches of various shades of gray and black were all tangled together as though the garden wasn’t well tended. Most of the Lladranans would have to stoop through the door.

But the white tree lifting graceful branches into the sky was the only life taller than the wall.

A bench circled the tree, and she picked her way through dead leaves along an overgrown path toward it. For a moment she hesitated, then slid her hands up and down the trunk, feeling the bark, smooth in some spots, rough in others. Tree-song enveloped her and she sat on the bench, leaning against the trunk.

She didn’t know how long she rested there, her busy mind quiet, experiencing the tree’s melody, imbued with serenity. It lilted of sap rising through it slowly, slowly, of the anticipation of each bud pushing through bark and unfurling tiny leaves, of the reaching of its branches and how it danced with the wind and the sky and the Song.

There you are! Sinafin said, the hint of a scold in her voice.

She was still the purple bat. In the recesses of her mind, Alexa knew she should be upset with the shape-changer, and there were questions she wanted answers to, but being in the tree’s presence had made all her questions seem less urgent, as if she were measuring time more slowly now. So she just stared at the purple bat and admired its wings.

Sinafin hung upside down from a near branch and gazed at Alexa. Even this wasn’t too disconcerting. She was operating on tree-time, with tree-serenity-philosophy still pulsing around her.

The shapeshifter whiffled, eyes bright. You like the brithenwood tree, very good.

Why? Another question that should be more important than it seemed. Only one concern rose to her mind.

“I’m here to make new fenceposts to defend Lladrana?” She’d culled that from Sinafin’s mind-movie of the night before and the talk amongst the Marshalls in the Temple after she’d been taken to bed like a kid. But within the peace of the garden the spark of irritation failed to flame.

Yes.

“Tell me of the fenceposts.”

They are the primary defense of Lladrana, made by Guardian Marshalls during the last true invasion of horrors, about eight hundred years ago. Before my time. Since then we’ve had only little groups sneaking over. And the frinks. They are new in the past two years.

“I’m supposed to discover how the fenceposts are made and remake them?” Alexa wanted to be clear on this point.

The bat stretched its wings, so transparent that some stars shone through the tissue-skin. Yes.

“How?”

The Song will guide you.

Alexa hadn’t heard voices yet. “How?”

Sinafin was silent, her sprightly tune having faded. The background music hardly murmured. The tree was silent. Nothing answered Alexa.



The next morning the Marshalls had no sooner taken their seats around the Council table than the door flew open with a jar of harpstrings and Reynardus, Lord Knight of the Marshalls, strode in.

They all stood, Thealia slightly slower than the others. Though Reynardus marched to his chair at the head of the table and took it with a haughty look, pallor showed under his skin. He’d dipped in the jerir. Had probably swum back and forth the length of the pool, Thealia thought sourly. She narrowed her eyes. His expression hinted at controlled emotion.

“Events have not progressed well in the hours I have been gone. Hopefully now that I am back and can direct them, they will proceed better. I want to know what has occurred. I see we are all here except the dead Defau and Albertus’s ailing wife,” he said, still standing, knowing they all must sit after he did.

Thealia inclined her head. “I am sure you have been updated on all events.”

“We lost Defau and nearly lost Veya. The Choosing Ceremony failed. If we spend hours on training the Exotique, give her jewels and land as is required, she might still disappear like this—” he snapped gloved fingers, but the sound was still loud.

Thealia’s temper simmered.

Reynardus continued. “Furthermore, I hear you opened the jerir pool not only to the Marshalls and select landowners and Chevaliers, but to all Chevaliers—no, let me amend—” He peeled the gloves from his hands and flung them on the table. “You invited anyone to immerse themselves in our precious jerir. The jerir that cost us great effort to move from a natural pool to the Temple pool. With the right care it could have been saved and used for a year—”

“I thought we had agreed to drain the jerir,” Thealia said. “But you were the one in charge of that. Did you have plans that the rest of us didn’t know of?”

A touch of red lined his cheekbones. “That is moot now. I cannot believe you will let any scum off the city street use the jerir. I heard a stable boy dipped last night, a stable boy!”

Thealia looked at Mace.

His face hardened. “Your son’s new squire,” he said.

Reynardus’s brows rose. “Luthan has a new squire?”

“Bastien,” said Mace.

Someone turned a laugh into a cough.

Reynardus’s nostrils flared. “I should have known he’d have such poor judgment as to take a nobody stable boy for a squire, but for the rest of you to issue a proclamation to all the Towns for use of our jerir—”

“We are the guardians of the land,” Thealia said. “Lladrana needs all the staunch men and women available to fight the evil confronting us. One of the ways to recruit the people we need is to offer them use of the jerir.”

“As I said yesterday, I will be honored to train anyone who dips in the jerir,” Mace said. “Both your sons availed themselves of the jerir, as did some of the most important guild-people of the Town. Every hour more Chevaliers arrive to take advantage of our offer. We are building an army.”

“An army of shopkeepers!” Reynardus sneered.

Protests ran the length of the table.

“With our magical boundary fields failing, more land than ever is being invaded by the greater monsters. And even the Townspeople are affected by the frinks falling in the rain, burrowing into the soil and turning the weak-brained into inhuman mockers,” Thealia said, pursuing the point when the others didn’t. “We need strong defenders. Lord Knight Swordmarshall Reynardus, do you have any report of your Song Quest you wish recorded in the Marshalls’ Lorebook of Song Quests?”

Reynardus paled. He sat abruptly. “No.” The moments it took for everyone to sit were enough for him to regain composure. He swept a piercing gaze around the table and verbally attacked. “I want a moment-by-moment recitation of what happened here at the Castle in my absence. I want a list of the names and ranks of those who have bathed in the jerir. I want an update on our borders. Most of all, I want to know what you have done to train our new Exotique �savior’ to control her Powers and to fight.”

At that moment the doorharp sounded.

Reynardus scowled. Everyone looked at the door. Rapping came.

Thealia glanced at Reynardus. “It must be important.”

He shrugged. “Come,” he called.

The door opened only enough to let a Castle serving woman, Umilla, slide in. She was a bowed, thin woman dressed in bright green that emphasized her drab coloring. Her hair was streaked white and black—a sign of the greatest of Power or the most fragmented.

Several Marshalls gasped at her presumption.

Umilla twisted her hands in the dress that hung from her frame. When she spoke her voice was dry and whispery. “There’s a feycoocu in the Castle,” she said.

Everyone stared at her. When the silence stretched, she turned and shuffled away.

“Stop, girl,” Reynardus shouted. “Say that again, and speak up. I didn’t hear you.”

Umilla only turned her head. “There’s a feycoocu in the Castle.” Her words were only a little louder, but the spells in the Chamber amplified them and repeated them: There’s a feycoocu in the castle. There’s a feycoocu in the castle.

Reynard stood. He leaned forward, both hands on the table, his Power focused on Umilla. “A magical shapeshifter? Are you sure, girl?”

“Blessings. It’s been more than a century since we’ve been so graced. A good sign that our Summoning was right. A feycoocu can only help our cause,” Partis said.

Snorting, Reynardus said, “You always take the optimistic road, Partis.” He turned back to Umilla. “Serving girl, come here.”




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