Arrow’s Flight (36 page)

“Well I think I’ve caught up for the next hundred years or so.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about—you and me—before,” he said, as the bottle came and went.

“I wish you had. You’ve been leaving me in knots because
I
was afraid I’d manipulated you into being fixated on me. I couldn’t imagine why you’d be making love to me unless it was because my Gift had warped you. I’m not exactly the gods’ gift to men. And I’ve been mostly a problem to you on this trip.”

“Oh, Gods—” He was at a complete loss for words for a long time. Finally he handed her the bottle, and caught her hand when she moved to take it. “Talia, you are a completely lovable and lovely person; I care for you because you deserve it, not because your Gift manipulated me. Dirk may well be lifebonded to you—and if that’s true, I couldn’t be happier. It would satisfy one of my dearest wishes, that both of you should find partners who deserve you. And if those partners should be each other— that would make me one of the happiest people in this Kingdom.”

“I—” she said hesitantly, “I don’t know quite what to say.”

“Just don’t hit me again. That’s one response to being at a loss for words I’d rather you didn’t repeat. Now, what else is bothering you?”

“I’m tired. I’m tired of having to struggle for what seems to come easily to everyone else. I’m tired of having responsibility for the whole damned Kingdom on my back. I’m tired of being alone, and fighting my battles alone.”

“Well—”

“Look, I know it has to be this way, but I don’t have to smile and pretend I like it! And last of all, I’m feeling rotten because nobody has ever given me a Midsummer garland or a Birthing-Day present.”

“Makes sense.”

The bottle was more than half empty; they’d shared it equally, and Kris was beginning to see things through a very delightful haze.

“How does it make sense?” she demanded irritably.

“Because if you could have what you wanted, you wouldn’t be upset, but you can’t so you are.” It seemed like a brilliant deduction to Kris, and he examined the statement with delight.

Talia shook her head as she tried to reason it out. “That just doesn’t come out right, somehow,” she complained.

“It will after another drink.” He passed her the bottle.

When the last drop of liquor was gone, so was her ill temper.

“I—am fairy—very—glad that we’ve got something to shleep— sleep on right here,” Kris said carefully, “Ish—it’s much nicer, you can see the stars, and I can’t walk anymore anyway.”

“Stars are nice,” she agreed. “Not moving’s nicer.”

“See the Wain?”

“Who?”

“The Wain—those stars jusht over the big pine there. Five for the bed ln the axle, two for th’ wheels, three for th’ tongue.”

“Wait a minute,” she peered at the stars, trying to get them to form up properly, and was delighted when she finally did. “What’s the rest of ‘em?”

“Right next t’ the Wain’s the Hunter. There’s the two little stars for his belt, two more for ‘s shoulders, four for’s legs—” He realized by her steady breathing that she had fallen asleep.

He reached over for the second blanket and covered them both with it, without disturbing his floating head much. He lay back, intending to think a little—but a little thinking was all he managed, since he, too, was soon drowsing.

The next morning he woke before she did, and remembered the conversation of the night before. He moved very carefully, hoping that he wouldn’t wake her, and on being successful moved off into the woods on a private search.

Talia woke to an incredibly subtle perfume wreathing around her. She opened sleep-blurred eyes to see where it was coming from, to discover that someone had placed a bouquet by her head.

“What?” she said sleepily, trying to think why there should be flowers beside her. “Who?”

“A joyous Midsummer to you, Herald Talia, and a wonderful Birthing-Day as well,” Kris said cheerfully from a point behind her. “It’s a pity that more of your friends couldn’t deliver trifles, but you’ll have to admit that we are a bit far from most of them. I trust you’ll accept this one as a token of my profound apology for insulting you last night. I didn’t intend to.”

“Kris!” she exclaimed, as she sat up and took up the flowers, breathing the exquisite fragrance with hedonistic delight. “You didn’t need to do this—”

“Ah, but I did. It wouldn’t be Midsummer unless I gathered at least one bouquet. Besides, that scent you’re enjoying is supposed to be a sovereign remedy for hangover.”

“Is it?” she laughed.

“I have no idea,” he admitted. “Part of my hangover always includes a stopped-up nose. Look at the stems, why don’t you?”

Holding the bouquet together was a silver ring, of a design of two hands clasped together. It was the token a Herald only gave to the friends he loved best.

“Kris—I don’t know what to say—”

“Then say ‘Thank you, Kris, and I accept your apology.’ “

“Thank you, love, and I do accept your apology—if you’ll accept mine.”

“I would be only too pleased to,” he said, giving her a cheerful grin. “Dear heart, I’d intended to give you that at Midwinter, but since you said you’d never had a Birthing-Day gift, the opportunity was too good to pass by. And it had damn well better fit— you wouldn’t believe how hard it is to get someone’s ring size without them knowing! It goes on the right hand, little bird; the left is reserved for another purpose.”

Talia slipped it on, vowing to discover when Kris’ Birthing-Day was so as to return the gesture with interest. “It’s perfect,” she said as he sat down next to her with a very pleased expression.

She threw her arms around him, completely happy for the first time in months, and opened a tiny channel of rapport deliberately so that he could know what she couldn’t say in words.

“Hoo—that’s as intoxicating as what we were drinking last night, little bird!”

She took the hint and closed the channel down again, but she could tell that he had enjoyed the brief thrill.

“What are these flowers? I’ve never smelled anything so wonderful in my life! I think I could live on the scent alone.”

“A little deep-woods northern flower that only blooms at this time of year. It’s called ‘Maiden’s Hope.’ I thought you might like it.”

“I love it.” She continued to breathe in the scent of the flowers with her eyes half-shut. Kris thought with amusement that she looked rather like a young cat in her first encounter with catmint, and told her so.

“I can’t explain it—it smells like sunrise, like a perfect spring day, like the heart’s desire—”

“How about like breakfast?” he replied comically.

“Breakfast? Oh well, if that’s your heart’s desire—” She laughed at him and rose smoothly to her feet. “It is my turn, so I guess I’d better reward you for being so outrageously nice to me after I tried to murder you last night.”

“And since you seem so enamored of those flowers, I’ll see that you have some in your wedding garland if I have to nurture them in a hothouse myself.”

“I thought you had a black thumb.” She removed one of the creamy white blossoms and tucked it behind one ear.

“For you, little bird, my thumb will turn green. I never break my promises if I can help it, and this is one I definitely intend to keep.”

“Then I’d better keep my promise of breakfast. Where will I get my flowers if I let you wither away of starvation?”

They gathered their scattered belongings and returned arm-in-arm to the Waystation.

Geese honked overhead, heading south. It had been one of those rare, glorious golden autumn days—far too lovely a day to spend indoors, so Talia and Kris had been hearing petitions stationed behind a wooden trestle table set out in front of the inn door. Their last petitioner had been a small boy leading a very large plowhorse, and he had given them a message.

Talia scanned the letter, and handed it without comment to Kris. He read it in silence, while the scruffy child who had brought it scuffed his feet uneasily through the pile of golden leaves at his feet.

Kris returned the message to her, as she braced her arm on the rough wood of the trestle table and leaned her chin on one hand. “How long ago did all this happen?” she asked the boy.

“ ‘Bout two days,” he said, combing dark hair out of his eyes with his fingers. “Feud, though, tha’s been on years. Wouldn’t be s’bad this time ‘cept fer th’ poisoned well. Tha’s why granther sent me. Reckons in settlin’ now, ‘for somebody gets killed.”

Talia looked up at the position of the sun, and added figures in her head. “I’m for riding out now,” she said, finally. “Advice?”

Kris brushed more leaves off the table, and glanced back over his shoulder at the inn behind them. “We don’t have any more petitions to be heard, but riding out to a place that isolated is going to take the rest of the afternoon. We’ll have to ride half the night to make up the time, and we won’t have the chance to reprovision until we get to Knowles Crossing.”

Talia’s shields chose that moment to go down; she felt the boy’s anxiety with enough force to make her nauseous while she fought them back into place. She couldn’t manage more than half strength; could still feel the child fretting after they were up. “I take it that means you think we should reprovision now, and wait until tomorrow morning.”

“More or less.”

“Well, I don’t agree; let’s wrap things up here and move out.”

She could feel his disapproval as they followed behind the child, perched like a toy on the back of an enormous, thick-legged horse that was more used to pulling a plow than being ridden.

“You let the boy manipulate you,” he said, finally, as their mounts and chirras kicked up swirls of leaves.

“I didn’t. A poisoned well is a serious business out here. It indicates a situation gone out of control. Are you willing to have deaths on your conscience because we dallied a day, buying supplies?” She whispered, but her tone was angry.

He shrugged. “My opinion doesn’t matter. You are the one giving the orders.”

She seethed. They argued frequently these days— now and again it was something a bit more violent than an argument. Kris often seemed to take a stand opposing hers just for sheer obstinacy.

“You bastard,” she said as the reason occurred to her. The boy looked back at her, startled. She lowered her voice. “You are just opposing me to see if I can be manipulated, aren’t you?”

He grinned, ruefully. “Sorry, love. It was part of my orders. Including manufacturing emotions, since you can sense them. Face it, if anybody is going to be able to warp your decisions, it would be your counselor. But now that you know—”

“You can stop giving me headaches,” she replied tartly. “Now, let’s get down to business.”

“You could have used your Gift back there,” he said, as they settled at last into their bed. It had taken a long, hard ride through the moonless, frosty night to reach their Station once the feud had been settled. And it had taken a lot of negotiating to get it settled.

“I—I still haven’t figured out the ethics of it,” she answered slowly. “Having it, and having people’s emotional states shoved in my face is bad enough. I still don’t really know when it’s right to use it.”

“Damn. What if it had been the only way to take care of the problem? Then what would you have done?” Kris was worried about this; he was afraid that if an emergency arose and the only way to deal with it was by exercising that Gift, she might well freeze. And if it came to using it offensively, the likelihood of her freezing was all the greater.

“I don’t know.” A long pause, as she settled her head on his shoulder. “The only other people I know of with Empathy are Healers—and they are never going to come into contact with the situations
I
have to deal with. Where are the boundaries?”

He sighed, and held her; that being the only comfort he could offer her. “I don’t know either, little bird. I just don’t know.”

Kris leaned his aching head against the cold stone mantelpiece of the Station fireplace. This had not been a good day. By now the rumors about her had spread everywhere they went. Although this was not their first visit to Langenfield, the villagers met Talia with unease and a little fear—and often wearing evil-eye talismans; they were obviously uncomfortable with her judgment and her abilities.

Talia had given no impression of anything but confidence, intelligence, and rock-steady trustworthiness, despite the fact that Kris knew that she had been trembling inside from the moment she passed the village gates.

This situation had been one she’d had to face over and over again, every time they entered a new town.

He felt Talia’s hand touch his shoulder. “I’m the one that should have the headache,” she said softly, “not you.”

“Dammit, I wish you’d let me do something about this—”

“What? What can you do? Give them a lecture? I have to win their trust, and win it so firmly that all their mistrust starts to look foolish in their own eyes.”

“I could make it seem like I’m the one taking the lead.”

“Oh, that’s a great idea. Then all they’ll do is wonder if I’m manipulating you like a puppet,” she retorted bitingly.