Arrow’s Flight (21 page)

The sobs were fading. “N-n-no.”

“He’s helped you, hasn’t he? He’s kept your damned secret. He thinks you’re still a Herald. So act like one, dammit! Stop emoting and start thinking. You’re in a mess; now how can we get you out of it?”

She looked up at him for the first time, eyes swollen and red. “We?”

“We,” he repeated. “I’m as much to blame for this as you are. I should never have told you those damned stories—should have believed you when you told me they weren’t true. I’d be willing to bet it was my doubt that made all this worse. Hmm?”

She shook her head, then hid her face against his chest. He pulled her closer, and began stroking her hair and rocking her a little. “Poor baby—” he murmured, “—poor scared, lonely baby—here—try this.” He reached out and seized a small leather bottle from the top of his pile of belongings beside them, and passed it to her. “One of the standard cures for sensitivity is wine. This ought to blunt your edges good!”

Talia accepted the bottle, took a gulp and almost choked. The stuff was like drinking sweet, liquid fire!

“What—is—that?” she asked when she’d stopped gasping for breath.

“Something the Healers make—spirits of wine, they call it. They make it by freezing the wine they make from honey, and throwing away the ice; that’s what’s left. The one that looks like a bear gave it to me before we left.”

Talia took another drink, just a sip this time, and with more caution. It didn’t burn the way the first mouthful had, and left behind a very pleasant sensation in her mouth and stomach. And it certainly did blunt the edges of both her sensitivity and her raw nerves. That was the best thing that had happened to her all day, so she took a third swallow.

“Easy there, little one,” Kris laughed, sounding relieved. “That stuffs potent!”

“I can tell,” she said, feeling a bit giddy. “But I feel a lot better. Not so raw.”

“That was what I hoped,” he replied, appropriating the bottle and drinking from it himself. “I suppose we shouldn’t be drinking it on an empty stomach, but I figure you need it. Hell, after what I’ve been through, so do I!” She had drunk enough that she was just aware of Kris’ mental presence; his proximity was no longer painful. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She lay quietly in the circle of his arms, feeling utterly drained, as they continued to share sips of the bottle. The fire popped and crackled, with little bits of blue and green flame among the red and orange. She was finally beginning to feel warm all the way through—something she hadn’t thought likely out there in the snow—and relaxed—something she hadn’t thought likely ever again. The fire smelled of evergreens, like forest-green incense. The chirras and Companions shifted a little from time to time, rustling the straw Kris had laid down for them. Gods—what she’d almost done to them! She touched with Rolan just long enough to assure herself that he was all right. ...

His forgiveness and love was so total that tears came to her eyes again.

“Hey,” Kris said gently “I thought we’d agreed there’d be no more of that.”

When she didn’t reply, he put one hand under her chin, tilted it up, and kissed her. It was intended to be a brotherly kiss. It didn’t stay brotherly for more than an instant. “Bright Havens!” he breathed in surprise when they finally moved apart.

Talia leaned back into his shoulder; her desire had surprised her as much as it had him, although she knew that was a common enough reaction after great stress. She wasn’t aware of him as her counselor or even as a Herald at this moment—only as a friend and an emotional shelter—and knew with certainty that he was as aware of her need as she was of his own. This time she reached for him.

As their mouths met and opened, he gently slipped the shift down past her waist. She shivered in delight as his mouth brushed the back of her neck, the line of her shoulders, as he kissed away her tears; he sighed as she nibbled his earlobe timidly. With her shields gone, they seemed to be feeling every tiny nuance of each other’s reactions. As she traced the line of his spine with a feather-like touch, she felt it as much as he—when she tensed and gasped as he found an unexpectedly responsive spot, he tensed in sympathy as well.

Finally their mutual desires grew too impatient to be put off any longer; he slowly let her down on the blankets beside him, sank into her embrace, and entered her.

He was totally unprepared for the stab of pain that was shared as the pleasure had been. He would have withdrawn from her at once, but she clung to him with fierceness and would not let him go.

She’d expected pain, and endured it. What she had not expected was that he would curb his own desire, to bring her past the pain, and finally to patiently wait on her pleasure before taking his own. She shifted over as he collapsed, then nestled into the curve of his arm again. They curled together in their warm nest, spent and replete, and feeling no urgent need to do anything other than savor the experience they’d shared. For long moments there was no sound at all but the sounds of the fire, and the tiny stirrings of the four at the other end of the station.

He turned his head to look into her dark eyes, wide and drowsy with content. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?” he asked softly.

“You didn’t ask,” she said sleepily. “Why? Is it that important?”

“I don’t think I’d have loved you if I’d known.”

“All the more reason not to tell you,” she pointed out logically. She nestled closer to him, her head on his chest, pulling blankets over both of them. “But I’m glad it was you.”

“Why?”

“Among other things, my gossiping Heraldic sisters were right. It was ... a lot nicer than I’d been led to believe first times usually are.”

“A compliment?” he asked, amused.

“A compliment.”

A thought occurred to him. “Wait a minute. I thought you and Skif ...”

She smiled, the first real smile he’d gotten out of her in weeks. “That’s what you were supposed to think. It was awful—we both had horrid schedules, and we were so exhausted that we kept falling asleep before we could get anywhere.”

She told him the comic-frustrating tale of their abortive romance, and how it had finally culminated in their swearing blood-brotherhood, rather than bed.

“Poor Skif! And poor Talia,” he chuckled. “You knew he’d be teased half to death if that tale got out, didn’t you? So you let everyone think otherwise.”

“Mrn-hmm. Poor Skif .. .” she yawned, “victim of unrequited lust.” She was falling asleep in his arms, and as much as he hated to disturb her, he knew that he’d better.

“Wake up, sleepy. If you don’t want to greet the dawn with a headache, you’d better have some food in you, and something to drink besides that devil’s brew. The last thing you need is a hangover in the morning, and as potent as that stuff is, you’re likely to wish you had died if you let it give you one. And we may be warm now, but we’re going to wake up cold and stiff in the middle of the night if we don’t make up a better bed. After all we’ve weathered, I’d hate to see you cramped in knots for want of a litde sense.”

She yawned hugely but didn’t protest. They both rummaged out clean bedclothes and pulled them on. While he ladled stew out of the pot over the fire, she remade their “nest” with everything she could find to use as a blanket. He made hot tea, and they drank it with their meal.

They bedded down in each other’s arms after he’d banked the fire, seeing no reason now to return to their practice of separate beds.

“I’m awfully glad this happened now,” she said before he drifted off to sleep.

“Why’s that, little bird?”

‘Two sleep warmer together than two alone . .. and it’s getting a lot colder.”

Kris was pleased to discover that (unlike some lovers he’d had) Talia was a quiet sleeper; not at all restless, and not inclined to steal the blankets (which was, in his opinion, the quickest way to ruin an otherwise satisfactory relationship). He found her presence oddly comforting, and an especially good antidote to the howl of the wind outside.

He woke once when Tantris tickled his mind into wakefulness; he and Rolan wanted out. He was very grateful for the tiny entranceway this Station possessed; it wasn’t part of the usual design, but with crowding he could fit one Companion and one chirra inside and still close the door to the interior before opening the outer door. If the exterior door had opened directly into the station as was usually the case, every time he had to let them out he’d be letting most of the heat they’d built up out with them.

The wind hadn’t slackened in the least, and the snow was still coming down as thickly as before. It was definitely daylight, but he couldn’t even tell where the sun was, much less see how high it was. It took all his strength to keep the door from being blown out of his hands; he realized then that this was why they’d awakened him and not Talia. He’d left halters and lead-reins on the chirras, which the Companions used to lead them outside.

One more advantage of chirras, he reflected wryly. You can’t housebreak mules.

The scrape of a hoof on the door signaled their

return. He managed to hold to the door and slammed it behind them, but in spite of the buffering of the entranceway, their exit and re-entrance had stolen a noticeable amount of the heat from the room. He built the Fire back up after filling the biggest pot they had with clean snow, then carefully groomed all four of ice and snow. He made sure they were comfortable, and noticed with a smile that all four of them lay in a close-packed group, with chirras on the outside and Companions in the middle.

“You’re too clever by half,” he told Tantris, and smiled at the Companion’s amusement-laden reply.

.-Given the choice, would you take the outside? They’ve got the coats for this, brother-in-soul—we haven’t.:

He was grateful for Tantris’ nonchalance; both the Companions seemed to be taking the events of the previous night as simply one more obstacle to be met and dealt with, rather than an insurmountable disaster. That heartened him, for he expected to need their help.

He hung the pot full of half-melted snow over the fire, then banked it again before returning to the bed that was looking better by the moment.

When he slipped in beside Talia he got another delightful surprise. Instead of pulling away, Talia actually hugged his chilled body to her warm one until he was no longer shivering, despite being three-quarters asleep herself. There never, he reflected as he drifted back to dreams, was a truer test of friendship!

When he finally woke of his own accord, he judged that several hours had passed; it was probably late morning or early afternoon. There didn’t seem to be any real reason to get up; the winds still howled with the same ferocity outside.

“I wish these Stations had a window,” he said drowsily, “It’s impossible to tell if it’s still snowing or not.”

“No, it isn’t,” Talia murmured sleepily in his ear.

He hadn’t realized she was awake. “No, it isn’t, what?”

“It’s not impossible to tell if snow’s still coming down. Listen, and you can hear it on the roof and windward walls. It has a different sound than wind alone. It kind of hisses.”

Kris listened; she was right. There was a hissing undertone to the storm outside. “How did you know about that?” he asked, more than a little surprised.

“Comes of sleeping in the attic. There’re no windows in the attic of a Hold house, and that’s where all the littles sleep. If you wanted to know what kind of weather to dress for, you learned to recognize all the sounds that weather makes. Where are you going?”

“Now that we’re awake, I’m going to get the fire built back up.”

He got an armload of wood from the stack he’d brought inside earlier, exposed the banked coals, and soon had it blazing again. In spite of the heat given off by the banked coals, the room was icy; the chimney was cleverly baffled, but the wind was still succeeding in stealing some of their heat. He was quite chilled by the time he was satisfied with the state of the fire. When he slid back in beside her, Talia again snuggled up to warm him.

“That’s definitely above and beyond the call of duty,” he said, when he’d stopped shivering, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Consider it payback for last night.”

He deliberately misunderstood. “Bright Havens, little bird, you keep surprising me! I hadn’t the least notion there was such a sensualist under that serene exterior.”

She played along. “Why shouldn’t there have been?”

“You surely didn’t show any sign of it. And you certainly haven’t been ... practicing, shall we say?”

“I hadn’t found anyone I was enough at ease with before this except Skif, and that liaison seemed to have a curse on it!” There was rueful laughter in her voice. “But it wasn’t that I lacked interest; I never told you about Rolan.”

“What’s Rolan got to do with this?”

“Remember I told you that he’s always in the back of my mind? That I always know what he’s doing, and I can’t shield him out at all?” Her expression was a little shadowed as she realized she couldn’t shield anyone out at the moment.

“So?” he prompted, “Why would you want to?”

“Nighttime in Companion’s Field gets very interesting . .. and Companion mares share another characteristic with humans besides the gestation period.” When he looked blank, she sighed. “They’re always ‘in season,’ oh, wise counselor.”