The Silver Pear (14 page)

M
irabelle came
awake slowly with the dawn, the chattering of birds lifting her out of deep sleep. She shifted, and realized she had somehow dug her fingers into the ground beside her bedroll in the night, deep enough to reach the second joint.

She pulled them out and cracked open her eyelids to look, and found her nails black with earth, her fingers stained with it.

She thought she saw a flash of green light, but when she blinked it was gone and she decided she must have imagined it.

She sat up carefully, expecting pain and stiffness after the way she’d been thrown about yesterday, but even her headache from where the forest bogey had hit her was gone, and when she lifted her clean hand up to her head to feel the bump, there was nothing there.

Soren lay fast asleep beside her, sprawled in the abandon of the very young or the exhausted.

She’d sensed him moving around a few times in the night, and guessed he’d kept watch for a long time, and kept the fire going.

She gazed him for long minutes, the way his dark brown hair lay across his forehead, the paleness of his skin that spoke of his weeks in Jasper’s dungeon, the massive, rangy build of him.

He had lifted her with one arm and climbed a ladder back into the imp’s kitchen, she remembered.

She didn’t know why she suddenly grew hot and flustered at the thought of it.

Her gaze dropped to his hands, calloused, broad. And she remembered how he’d held her on his lap, tucked her against his body. How he’d lain her on the bedroll and checked her carefully for injuries, given her water, and sat watch over her until she fell asleep.

Unable to sit still, her thoughts heating her cheeks, she turned away and forced herself to do something useful.

The fire had burned down since Soren had fallen asleep but the coals were still red hot, and Miri fed some branches onto them and got it going again.

She stood carefully and took up the pot, saw that Soren had retrieved the stick she’d been using as a staff and had set it beside her bed.

She stood over it, hesitant, not sure if she wanted to acknowledge it as her staff at all.

It seemed a little like conceding she would never have the silver pear again, but something, almost a compulsion, forced her to bend and pick it up.

As she walked to the stream they’d found yesterday, she realized the sense of menace from the day before was gone. The stream seemed nearer the camp, and the trees weren’t so close together and didn’t block the light as much.

Sunshine filtered in from the east and a gentle breeze of warm air blew over her, bringing the green scents of the forest.

She knelt down and washed her face, then tried to scrub the dirt from under her fingernails, still mystified as to why she’d dug her fingers so deeply in the soil. When she’d managed as well as she could without soap and warm water, she looked up to grab the pot, and found herself face to face with the imp.

She managed to cut off her scream before it was barely out of her mouth, and fell back on both hands, eyes wide.

“Just me,” it said.

Miri lowered herself to the floor and put a hand over her heart, left it there until it found its usual pace.

“Good morning.”

“Don’t like the big growly one.” It plucked at its ragged dress, and then looked at her sideways. “But growly one get rid of nasties.”

“Yes, we both owe him a debt.” She got her feet back under her and dipped the pot in the stream to fill it with water.

“You go soon?” It smiled so guilelessly, so hopefully, as it asked, she was momentarily speechless, then she choked back a laugh.

“Yes. Very soon.”

“Today?”

She nodded, and hefted the pot. The imp skipped beside her as she made her way to the camp, its dress fluttering around its sharp, spiky body.

From overhead she heard the almost mournful cry of a bird.

“Might want to leave that. Come back for it.” The imp nodded to the pot.

“Leave it?”

“That bird nasty.”

Miri frowned, and heard the bird cry again. Then what the imp said sunk in and she dropped the pot and ran.

She burst out from the trees, just in time to see a massive heron diving down at Soren, who was still sprawled across his bedroll.

Without thinking, she threw her staff so it flew end over end, windmilling toward the creature.

The bird must have seen the movement because it swerved, its wing catching Soren as it swooped in a tight turn out of the way and tumbled off its feet.

Soren jerked up, so alert she almost couldn’t believe he’d been fully asleep before.

He looked from the heron, scrabbling to its feet, to the staff, and then to her, and stood.

The bird hopped away from him, snapping its beak, then leaped into the air, beating its wings until it was above the trees.

He watched it, such enmity in the way he stood, she realized there was some history between them.

When it had disappeared completely from sight, he turned and started walking toward her.

The imp sidled out from behind her, and gave him a wide berth.

“If one thing in the camp is even out of place when I get back,” he said to it, pointing with a finger, “then I will burn your house down to the ground.”

It gasped, drew back as if mortally wounded, and then stomped away, muttering under its breath.

“You can thank it for warning me about killer herons about to attack you later,” she said to him, smiling. “A friend of yours?”

He stared at her. “I . . . it used to be an asrai . . .”

Miri frowned. “An asrai? A malevolent water sprite?”

He didn’t answer, just kept walking toward her. When he reached her, he grasped her arms above the elbows and walked her back into the forest, and by the time he had her deep in the green shadows, pressed up against a tree, she simply stared at him, bemused.

“You look . . .” He studied her hungrily, “you look beautiful.” He shook his head, annoyed with himself. “You always look beautiful, but yesterday you were hurt, and tired, and human. Today, you look . . . almost too beautiful to be real.”

She thought he’d intended to kiss her when he’d taken her here, was sure of it, but it seemed looking at her had changed his mind.

And she found she didn’t like that.

He let go of her arms, started stepping back, and so she lifted her own hands and caught his face between her palms.

She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “Thank you.”

He shuddered. “For what?”

“For rescuing me yesterday. For looking after me last night.” She liked the feel of his lips against hers so much, she did it again.

He went very still, and then suddenly he was leaning against her, trapping her between his body and the tree, and the kiss he gave her was no light touch of lips on lips. It involved teeth and tongue and hands that ran up her sides, cupped her breasts and held her head in place for the onslaught.

She loved it.

She felt as if she would melt into the tree itself with the heat and beauty of it, but he wrenched himself back, breathing hard, and she found she was panting as well.

She reached for him again and he caught her hands, brought them to his lips.

“That imp is lurking here somewhere, and who knows what else.” His voice was raw. “When we continue this, it will be in a bedroom with a lock on the door and a bed.”

She realized she’d stopped breathing at the image he’d invoked, and forced herself to take in air.

Her gaze was locked with his. “When will we have time for that?” She hadn’t meant to sound so sad.

He flinched, acknowledging the priorities. Ran frustrated hands through his hair. “Let’s get to Jerat and see.”

He turned away, and Miri wondered if he realized he’d spoken as if he were making a promise, rather than a compromise.

J
erat was only
three hours from the clearing where they’d spent the night.

Soren saw the smoke rising as they crested a rise, and started looking for the path that would take them east, out of the Great Forest.

Jerat was one of the few towns so close to the border, but even it put a little distance between itself and danger.

Therston Town was the only other exception, and it skirted the line even more finely than Jerat, with the Hidden Market right up against the Great Forest itself.

Mirabelle was in front of him, and he called her back when he spotted the fork in the path.

“Jerat,” he said, pointing down the narrow track.

They had kept away from each other since he’d kissed her earlier. As if even the smallest touch would be too much to bear.

She looked down at herself. “How usual is it for women to be dressed like this in Jerat?”

He didn’t need to look at her to answer. He’d spent all morning drinking in every detail of her. Her white shirt was loose, giving only a hint of the lithe body beneath it, but her trousers were tight around the hips and molded her backside perfectly.

Her jacket was rolled and tied under the small pouch she carried.

He tipped his head from side to side. “It’s a little unusual, but Jerat is full of woodsmen who work the trees. It won’t be unheard of to see a woman in men’s clothing.”

She nodded, used her staff to push aside the branch of a thick bush obstructing the way, and started forward.

He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.

She turned, and he was dumbstruck again, just as he’d been this morning.

She glowed. He didn’t understand what had happened between last night and now, but before, he’d been afraid he’d bruise her if he touched her. She’d been left fragile by what happened in Halakan and their encounter with the forest bogeys.

Since he’d woken with a jerk to find her protecting him from the asrai-turned-heron he and Kayla had met over a week ago, she radiated energy, her pale green eyes bright as she waited for him to speak.

This morning she’d been almost blinding, close to inhuman and untouchable. If she hadn’t reached for him, stopped him stepping back, he wouldn’t have put his hands on her. But now, while she still glowed, the effect was muted. Still not quite normal, but more believable, more easily explained away by good health and natural beauty.

He looked down at his hand resting on her shoulder, and let it slide up until he held the back of her neck. He wanted to delay the moment they stepped through into Jaret, where he would no longer have her to himself, might even have to part ways with her.

He should be thinking only of Rane. Only of getting back the golden apple. And while both those things rode him, prodding him on, she took up most of his focus. He felt something strange in her presence. It had taken him until this morning to realize it was contentment.

“I want . . .” He pulled her closer to him. “Give me a moment. Before . . .”

She lifted a hand, cupped his cheek. “Before we have to face the music again.”

He enfolded her, resting his cheek on the top of her head and breathing in the scent of her hair. They stood, all alone, enclosed in a green bower and at that moment, quite, quite free of everything but each other.

It shouldn’t feel so good, but not since his father’s death had he felt so at peace.

She turned her head and nuzzled his neck, her lips warming his skin and the nip of her teeth breaking something loose inside him.

He hauled her up, so her face was next to his, and kissed her like he had that morning.

She made a sound at the back of her throat of approval, and with shaking fingers, he went to work on the buttons of her shirt.

There was a whistling in his head, sharp and piercing, and it took him two buttons to realize the sound was coming from the path ahead; someone walking toward them, whistling a call. Like a signal.

He drew back sharply, and if he had magical power of his own, he didn’t know what he would have done to the hapless intruder.

He looked back at Mirabelle, at the flush on her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes, and then rested his forehead against hers as he did the buttons up again.

He should have known better, anyway. This was a public path, and what he wanted to do was going to take a long time.

And needed more comfortable and private surroundings.

He pulled her close one last time, letting his body feel hers, imprinting it on his brain.

“One day, soon,” he told her.

She sighed. “Promises, promises.”

Probably just as she intended, he was laughing when he stepped back on the path, hand out for her to take, as the traveler came around the bend.

He moved cautiously, as if uncertain, and whistled again, and Soren could hear an edge of desperation in it.

It was Sam.

He pulled up short at the sight of them, eyes wide.

And then he turned tail and ran.

S
he was still trembling
with desire.

Then the man came around the bend and stared at them in horror.

It took Miri a few moments to recognize him as Sam, the youngest prisoner in William’s cell and the one who had explained how they’d all gotten there to her.

He froze when he saw them, turned around and ran in the opposite direction.

Miri had let her staff slip from her fingers when Soren had kissed her, and it cost her precious seconds to grab it up.

By the time she had it—sky magic sizzling in the air above her—he was out of sight.

Soren gave chase and she had no choice but to follow. There was a log across the path, and when she leaped over it, she felt the tug of the Great Forest, holding her back for just a moment.

It was like a friend holding on that moment longer, reluctant to let go, rather than anything obsessive or malicious.

When she broke free and landed on the other side, she knew she’d crossed the border.

Something made her turn back, even while she ran, and blow a kiss over her shoulder, and she thought she felt a gentle touch of the breeze on her cheek as she did it.

Soren was gaining on Sam, pulling ahead of her, and when he looked back to check on her, he pulled up sharply and waited for her to join him.

“Why did you stop?” She saw he had shortened his steps so she could keep pace.

Sam was still visible up ahead, but the gap was widening all the time.

“Not leaving you alone in the forest again.”

“We aren’t in the Great Forest anymore. Didn’t you feel it when we crossed over?” She panted the words out, frustrated that she was so much slower.

Soren shook his head, but her words were enough for him to speed up after Sam.

She saw bright sunlight and burst from the trees. Jerat was up ahead, and the path cut across at an oblique angle and joined a short, winding dust road.

The town sat on a low hill, walled with the wood from the forests around it like the crown on a king’s head.

The houses within, visible through the wide open double gates, were all steep-pitched roofs and deep window boxes full of summer flowers.

She saw Sam dart through the gates and Soren reach them moments later, draw up sharply, and then stand, waiting for her to join him.

She tried to keep up her pace, but some sense of danger had her turning back to look.

A heron sat, ruffled and grumpy, at the top of one of the trees at the edge of the forest.

She stumbled to a stop, and saw Soren notice it, too, and start running back down to her.

She lifted her staff, and with an angry call, it heaved itself into the air and disappeared over the trees.

“What is it doing, do you think?” she asked him when he joined her.

He shook his head. “When I asked Kayla to turn it into a heron, I thought she would make it a real heron, but it must still be the asrai, in a heron’s body.”

“In which case, it doesn’t like you very much.”

He grinned down at her. “It didn’t like me much even before I got it changed into a heron, and all I did then was get a drink of water from a stream.”

Unable to do anything about the heron now, she turned back to Jerat. “Why did you let Sam go?”

“He disappeared. I didn’t want you to have to go into town alone.”

She frowned. “He was meeting someone in the woods. Whistling to let them know he was there.”

Soren nodded. “Definitely. Question is, who? He isn’t from here originally, he must have come with Garth and Jon. I saw they’d formed a friendship from their time together in William’s dungeon.”

“Maybe he was meeting Garth? He’s a woodsman, it makes sense Sam would be looking for him in the woods.”

Soren gave a slow nod. “But then, why did he run?”

Mirabelle was afraid of the answer, so she forced herself to say it anyway. “Because he has the silver pear, and seeing me, realizing I’ve come for it, he doesn’t want to give it back.”

Soren tipped her chin up with a finger. “If that’s the case, he’ll be very sorry.”

He looked like he had on the path earlier, like he could happily commit murder and sleep like a baby afterward.

It cheered her.

“Well, let’s go find the truth. Maybe he was just startled, and ran without thinking.”

“Maybe,” Soren murmured, but Mirabelle knew he didn’t think so.

To be honest, neither did she.