Quatrain (36 page)

I stayed at Cressida’s house for the next three days. It was very pleasant, though I missed my moss-covered bed and she was astir much earlier in the mornings than I was used to. She was something of an herbalist, it turned out, so we spent the days looking over her stores of dried plants and grazing through the forest to find fresh ones. In the evenings, she taught me recipes for cooking with dayig and other wild fruits. The spices were so rich they colored my vision; even my dreams were more vivid during the nights I slept at Cressida’s house.

The fourth morning I was there, Royven arrived with my saddlebag over his shoulder. “If you’re going to be living here from now on, perhaps you want the rest of your things,” he said.

It was like opening a box of unexpected presents; I had forgotten what treasures lay inside. “Look at this pretty dress,” I said, pulling out a simple blue gown. “Oh! And a hairbrush!
That’s
something I’ve needed for days.”

Small items were clinking together in the bottom of the bag, so I pulled out a padded pouch and looked inside. “I forgot about these,” I said, extracting one of the small vials filled with honey-colored liquid.

Royven held out his hand and I passed it over. “What is it?” he asked.

“One of the potions my mother gave me. To remind me of home.”

Royven unstoppered the bottle and sniffed at the contents. “It smells delicious.”

“Go ahead and drink it. I don’t think she’d mind.”

He emptied the contents in two swallows. “It tastes like something you’d blend into a cake recipe,” he said.

I giggled. “Maybe we should give them to Cressida next time she’s cooking.”

“Are you going to have one?” he asked.

“Maybe tonight,” I said. “I think I’m supposed to drink them at bedtime.”

But that night I was so tired that I fell asleep without swallowing a potion. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time I had actually thought to do so.

Royven was fascinated by the tiny bottles, though, and they were the first things he inquired about the next morning when he arrived. “Could I have another one?” he asked. “Do they all taste the same?”

“I think some are different,” I said, sorting through the bottles to search for gradations of color and density. “Here—this one. It’s got a lighter flavor.”

Royven uncorked it and swallowed, his face showing as much concentration as a connoisseur trying a new vintage. “I don’t like it as well,” he said.

“Then have one of the others,” I offered.

He laughed. “Maybe tomorrow. I’ll drink them one at a time so I can savor them.”

I titled my head to one side, watching him. “I think they’re supposed to have some kind of effect,” I said. “At least on humans. Has the potion done anything to you this morning? Made your vision dim or your memories sharp?”

“No—but
you
look different,” he said, surveying me critically.

“In what way? I don’t look uglier, I hope.”

“No, but I’m not sure I can describe it.” He held out his forearm to lay alongside mine, as if testing to see who had acquired the deeper tan. As always, his flesh held a faint phosphorescence. Against it, mine looked plain and a little dingy. “You look as if you’re made of a different material. As if your bones and your blood are visible through your skin. Look at that—I can
see
your pulse. It’s such a different rhythm from my own.”

I frowned and put my hands behind my back. “That sounds gruesome,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to see anybody’s bloody, icky insides.”

He lifted his hand to touch my face. “It’s not gruesome; it’s marvelous,” he said, a note of amazement in his voice. “Look at the color of your cheek! An aliora’s skin is so pale, as if moonlight runs in her veins. But your skin is so rich and beautiful—there is so much life going on beneath your surface—I want some of it for my own—”

And he leaned forward and kissed me.

I swirled into heat and sensation; elation hammered at my heart. Forget breathing or thinking or even existing. This was death by rapture. I crowded closer, hungry for another kiss, desperate to feel his arms tighten around me, meld our two bodies into one—

He swore and released me so quickly that I nearly tumbled headfirst into the dirt. “Zara!” he exclaimed and caught me before I fell. I was dizzy and stupid and confused.

“What—why did you—”

“Your necklace—I’m sorry—when I hugged you, it seared my skin.”

I made an infuriated noise deep in my throat and tugged futilely at the loop of gold soldered around my throat. “I can’t take it off,” I said. “We’ll just have to be careful when you’re kissing me.”

“You make me forget how to be careful,” he said, exhaling on a laugh. “Is there nothing you can do? Can it be broken?”

The idea had never occurred to me. “I suppose—but it’s awfully thick. I don’t think I can yank it hard enough to break it.”

“Maybe if you twisted it around a stick—”

In this open household, he didn’t have to hunt far to find a short, straight branch. “Try this,” he said. “But first—place some padding against your throat so you don’t hurt yourself. Now wrap the necklace around the stick—and twist it—and twist it again—”

I registered the satisfying
snap
against my fingers the same instant I felt the necklace slacken against the back of my neck. Giggling, I tossed away the stick and lifted one dangling edge of the severed chain and slowly pulled it free. I held it up between us like a tiny glittering snake that had been summarily beheaded before it could do any damage in the garden.

“And now I suppose you can kiss me as long as you want,” I whispered.

Cressida’s sharp voice made both of us spin around like guilty schoolchildren. I was so unnerved I dropped the necklace onto the grassy floor.

“Royven, back away. Zara, pick that up,” Cressida ordered, her voice so stern that neither of us thought to disobey. I coiled the chain in my hand and watched her nervously.

“Refasten the necklace about your throat,” she directed.

“I can’t. It’s broken.”

“Then put on your bracelets and earrings and every other scrap of metal you own.”

“They’re—they’re somewhere in Rowena’s house,” I said. “Royven didn’t bring them when he brought everything else.”

“I couldn’t pick them up,” he defended himself.

Cressida gave me a long, measuring stare. I could not tell if she was angry or sad, but she was certainly disappointed. “Then we will go together to Rowena’s house, and you will resume your protections,” she said. “And then you and I will walk through the boundaries of Alora and await the arrival of your young man.”

I had to think a moment. “Orlain? He’s coming here?”

“You told me he would visit you every tenth day, and tomorrow is the twentieth day you have been with us. If he can be depended upon, he will arrive tomorrow.”

“I’ll come with you,” Royven said. “I know exactly where they’re supposed to meet.”

“You,” she said, “will wait here and do your best to stay out of trouble.”

It was as if Orlain had already arrived—to see me at my worst. Naturally I burst into tears.

Cressida and I made a cold camp beside the cairn on the Alora side of the Faelyn River. As soon as we had crossed the magical boundary, I had been weighed down with a black depression. My limbs were leaden; my head was so heavy that it kept tilting forward, almost toppling me to the ground. Cressida, who until now had been the most considerate companion, did not bother to slow down to accommodate my misery; she did not take my hand to offer comfort or reassurance. I stumbled after her, too breathless to complain, too weary to weep. And when we arrived at our destination, I made no effort to help her fetch water or otherwise set up camp. I just sat in a heap on a folded blanket and gave in to my suffering.

Cressida did not bother trying to convince me I would feel better in the morning, but she flavored my evening meal with one of my mother’s potions. My spirits did rise after I’d swallowed the cinnamon-and-orange-scented concoction, but I wasn’t actually happy. Who could be happy once outside the borders of Alora?

We slept side by side on the ground, the wild music of the Faelyn River providing a tumultuous counterpoint to our dreams. When I woke, the sun had cheered the whole landscape, Cressida had made breakfast—and Orlain had crossed the river to join us.

I scrambled to my feet, suddenly very conscious of my tousled hair, my crumpled clothing, and my missing necklace. “Orlain,” I said breathlessly. “What’s the news?”

“Tense,” he said. He was frowning as he looked me over, and I was sure he didn’t miss a detail of my disorderly state. “Goff of Chillain arrived four days ago and engaged in a skirmish with some of the castle forces. Losses were minimal, but tempers have frayed in the heat. Now the king’s allies want to storm the rebel troops in a strong reprisal, although your father is still hoping for peaceful resolution. Young Brandon is still riding up and down at the head of Dirkson’s army, hoping to lure deserters to his cause. At any day, the situation could deteriorate into all-out war. Why are you out here, sleeping by the river?”

I had been so intent on visualizing his description of the hostilities that I almost missed the swift change in subject. “It—I wasn’t sure when you would arrive and I didn’t want to miss you.”

“You wouldn’t have missed me,” he said. “I wouldn’t have left until I’d seen you.”

Cressida spoke up bluntly. “She is falling under the spell of Alora,” she said. “It is not safe for her to stay any longer. You must take her back with you.”

“Cressida!” I exclaimed, outraged. This was the first time she’d mentioned such a plan to me.

Now Orlain gave her the same thorough inspection he had turned on me. He seemed to find
her
looks more prepossessing, though, because his face softened and he held out his hand. “I’m Orlain,” he said. “A captain in the royal guard.”

Cressida smiled and shook her head. “You’d better not allow me to touch you,” she said. “You, too, could be bewitched by our magic.”

He let his hand fall and a smile came to his own face. “I doubt it.”

“Then I am the one who does not want to take chances,” she said. “Take her home, or risk losing her forever.”

“I’m not ready to leave yet!”

“I cannot take her,” Orlain said quietly. “On my way here, I passed three sets of Tregonian troops, riding out to join Dirkson. If Zara were to be recognized—”

“Then return here with an escort at your back, and do not delay another ten days,” Cressida said.

“If the troops engage in true battle, there is no safety for her at Castle Auburn, either,” he replied. “I would rather she was alive and lost to us than—” He did not complete the sentence.

“I would not be
lost
,” I said with exaggerated enunciation. It was very annoying to have people talk about me as if I were not present. “I would be in Alora and doing quite well! Anyone could come see me there.”

Cressida turned on me suddenly. “Who would come visit you?” she said.

I was at a loss. “Well—anyone who wanted to.”

“List them.”

I gestured. “Orlain, of course.”

“Who else?”

“My parents. My brother.”

“What’s your brother’s name?”

I stared at her blankly.

“What does he look like?” she said.

“He’s—he’s—well, he’s shorter than I am, of course, and he—” It was a struggle to call up his features, but they slowly came into focus as I concentrated. “His eyes are dark. His eyelashes are longer than mine, which is so unfair. He has a scar across his left eyebrow from where he hit himself with a wooden sword. And he—Keesen,” I said abruptly. “That’s his name.”

Cressida glanced at Orlain. “You see?”

Orlain’s expression was closed, impossible to read. “She’s strong-willed,” he said. “I have faith that she will not succumb.”

“Give her a reason to remember her human life.”

He gestured behind him, toward the leaping blue waters of the Faelyn River. “Everything she loves is at Castle Auburn. I don’t believe she will truly let those memories cloud over and evaporate.”

“She needs a stronger reason than that,” Cressida said.

I was remembering the last conversation I’d had with Orlain, right at the enchanted border. I was remembering that he had almost confessed he loved me. “Orlain,” I said shyly, putting my hand on his arm. “Come back with us to Alora. I know you are worried about my safety. Come with us and watch out for me there.”

He glanced down at my hand and then slowly lifted his eyes to mine. His flesh had turned to iron under my touch. “My responsibilities take me back,” he said flatly.

“Then return to me as soon as you can,” I suggested. “We could live there together. There are no social classes in Alora—no distinctions. Everyone is the equal of everyone else.”