A Play of Shadow (19 page)

And Jenn Nalynn.

T
HE ROAD INTO
Marrowdell was shaped by the river leaving the valley. It twisted past the waterfall in the valley’s narrow mouth and bent into the forest to keep secret the trout pool. Where the river calmed, between field and forest, the road too grew straight and level. Shortly before the river spread through reeds and passed the mill, the road passed through the gate into the village itself.

Tomorrow, near to supper, Jenn planned to be waiting on that gate. And the day after, if necessary, since they could be away longer. If she couldn’t sit still—or if the wind turned bitter, as was happening more and more of late—she might wander up to where a little path led to the trout pool, and wait there. Wouldn’t Bannan be pleased to see her where they’d first met?

Not, she told herself hastily, exactly where. Then, she’d been in the river, which she wouldn’t be now, with it nigh to freezing. Then, she’d been trying to save Wisp—who she’d wished into a man named Wyll and was about to be drowned—and if Bannan hadn’t arrived on his great horse, like a hero from a story?

Well, then, there wouldn’t be a now, would there, with Wisp again a dragon, herself a turn-born, and Bannan holding her heart. When it came to it, Jenn thought soberly, then had been a moment so fraught with chance and change, the wonder was it hadn’t slipped away, lost.

She put more effort into scrubbing. Weren’t thens and nows like the Northward Road itself? It had brought the exiles here from Avyo. There was no going back.

Not that any of them would. Marrowdell was home; now, to her joy, to Bannan Larmensu as well. There were things to be said and understood between them; serious as those were, they couldn’t diminish her happiness.

She wouldn’t let them.

Jenn wrung Zehr’s undershirt and put it in her basket, pushing steam-dampened hair from her forehead with the back of one hand. She’d insisted the Emms leave their laundry, having learned this summer the best way to wait was useful work, much to her aunt’s relief. By this time tomorrow, the house would be tidy, dishes done and food waiting, with a pie or two if Peggs had them to spare.

And she’d be at the gate, watching for everyone, of course, but surely she was allowed to be especially pleased to see one tall and handsome farmer.

Ancestors Particular and Prepared. What to wear?

Jenn frowned thoughtfully as she stirred the bubbling pot of laundry. She hadn’t cared before becoming adult and falling in love, except for shoes whenever Aunt Sybb would expect them and not to borrow Peggs’ last clean pair of simples unless it was a dire emergency because her sister would find out and demand them back at the least opportune moment.

These days, she made sure to have her own clean clothes, and to mend any holes promptly. If ribbons found their way into her hair, said hair more often brushed than before, well, no one commented. Except her father, who would smile.

Bannan, she’d noticed, also dressed with extra care when he came to visit, something considerably easier for him to do, having brought from Vorkoun such fine and modern fashions as leather pants and high boots.

As for his undergarments? Dimples appeared in her cheeks. Oh, she wasn’t about to share the clever details of those with Peggs.

What to wear to welcome Bannan home was, alas, up to the weather. Much colder, and she’d be such a round bundle of sensible wrappings, her love wouldn’t be able to tell her from Anten Ropp. Who was, truth be told, a bit round himself.

Jenn’s lips curved in a smile. Her truthseer would know her on sight. He always had. He always would.

If she wore a mask?

Her smile faded. Jenn moved the laundry pot to one side, putting the filled kettle in its place, and fished socks from the hot water. Bannan had seen the truth about Mistress Sand and the other tinkers long before she had. A mere mask couldn’t fool him.

What it could do was ease her travels through the Verge. Mistress Sand hadn’t promised. She’d been evasive—doubtful, in fact, her fellows would agree, being none too sure about Jenn wandering where she would—but had admitted there was a maskmaker among the terst who might be convinced.

If so, Wisp would be told and arrangements—whatever those might be—made.

Jenn took the final head-high basket of clothes into the front half of the house, pleased with her cleverness. Ropes crisscrossed the room, waiting and ready. There’d been plenty up in the loft and why go out in the cold, with this warm and empty space?

She hummed as she pinned, careful to put nothing where it could drip on the Emms’ bed, with its wolfskin cover. Any movable furniture she’d pushed to the walls. The heatstove glowed a cheery red, having been given a little extra charcoal; Jenn hung Zehr’s thick sweater above that.

Pinning the last of Loee’s tiny clothes, she turned to find herself trapped. Shirts and dresses draped their arms in her way, while linens made castle walls.

Jenn ducked under and slid between, making a game of it. The laundry won each time it smacked her bare skin and had an advantage, since she wore naught but a shift, her other clothes being among those trying to catch her.

Back and forth, she wove through the room, getting more and more damp. Once at the heatstove, she dropped cross-legged to the rug to dry off. “Loee would love this,” she assured the house toad. “What do you think?”

The house toad gave her a look that could only be described as disgusted, before hopping between dripping pants to the dry refuge of the kitchen.

Well, yes, it was messy, and she’d best mop a puddle or two—or three—but by morning, she thought with pride, all would be dry and ready. Practice with the iron would do her good, though she’d best start with her own things, in case of another accident.

That should keep her—

A burst of cold air. “Heart’s Blood!”

Zehr? They were home! Jenn jumped to her feet, immediately tangled in a pair of leggings and then a pillowcase, and wouldn’t it have to happen that an entire ropeful came down as she struggled?

She freed herself in time to pull the sweater from the stove before it was more than steaming—she hoped—then stood mute and guilty in the midst of what was not, in any way, a tidy homecoming.

Gallie came up beside her husband in the doorway to the kitchen, Loee in her arms. All three looked tired, cold, and shocked. “I’ll put on the kettle,” Jenn offered weakly. “Leave this to—”

Breezes flew and breezes chuckled, warm little breezes she knew, oh so well. Faster than an apology, the laundry was plucked from its pins, spun around and dried, then folded neatly, and pressed, on the bed. The furnishings she’d carelessly moved aside were nudged gently to their rightful places, with even the ropes and pegs whisked from sight.

As a finale, a little breeze tickled Loee’s hair and she giggled, reaching out with both hands. Gallie smiled and even Zehr chuckled.

Which was all wonderful and remarkably good timing on her dragon’s part, but timing was the question.

Uneasy, Jenn crossed her arms over her still-damp shift. “I didn’t expect you until tomorrow.”

Zehr looked as if he might explain, then sighed. “Care for them, Jenn, please. I must see to the horses.” He kissed Gallie on the cheek as he left, pulling up his hood before going out the door.

Gallie sagged with relief when Jenn took the baby. “Go and rest,” she urged. “I’ll take care of her.”

“Dear Heart.” About to protest, Gallie sighed. “Thank you.” She made her way to the table and sat, slowly removing her scarf and mitts.

First things, first. Jenn laid the baby in her crib, stripping off her winter wrappings. A change came next, then a newly washed and dry blanket. Before she was finished, Loee’s thumb had found its way into her mouth and her eyes drifted closed.

Grabbing a nightdress to pull over her shift, Jenn went to the kitchen. Without a word, she helped Gallie shed her heavy winter cloak, then put a blanket around the woman’s shoulders. Tea, strong and sweet came next. Gallie’s hands curled around the mug and she gave a grateful nod, too weary to take a drink.

What else would Peggs do?

Jenn pulled out the big frying pan and set it on the cookstove to heat. In went butter, then thick slices of potato and sausage. By the time the door opened again, letting in the cold and Zehr, she’d cut bread and cheese, and put plates on the table. He took the mug she passed him before bothering to lose his coat or boots, murmuring, “Ancestors Blessed.”

What had happened? Where was Bannan? Jenn swallowed her questions. “Come and eat,” she said, in her sister’s easy tone, the one that promised all would be well if everyone was well fed. After a day of winter travel, coming late like this?

It certainly wouldn’t hurt.

There wasn’t a bone in his body that wouldn’t ache tomorrow, after that ride, but Perrkin came first. They’d pushed the horses, as much as themselves, and not only to beat the dark. There’d been a chill to the wind chasing them along the road, sapping the strength of the healthy, let along the frail.

“Give the old boy a whiff of this.” Anten Ropp passed Bannan a bucket of steaming mash. Sure enough, though half asleep from the brushing and warmth of the barn, the gelding eagerly plunged his head into the offering. “The cows had their share.” The village cattle, used to Perrkin and the Uhthoffs’ riding horses as winter stablemates, hadn’t budged from their doze. Wainn’s old pony, however, had firm opinions about treats and who deserved them. He’d been appeased with his own portion.

Anten continued, “We’ll rub his legs and keep an eye on them all.” The dairy farmer’s “we” included Cheffy and Alyssa, already busy beneath the contented horse.

“I’m Beholden—”

“Ancestors Worn and Wearied, Bannan. You look worse than the beasts. Go.” More gently. “You’ve help, here. Take it, my friend. You’re home, now.”

Unable to argue, Bannan gave a grateful nod and left Perrkin to be properly spoiled. The horse’s tack he left in Alyssa’s capable hands, but he shouldered the saddlebags, heavy with his now-frivolous purchases.

Once outside the barn, he whistled.

Nothing. Where was the bloody beast?

They’d arrived after the turn and sunset, relying on Davi’s team at the last to find the road within the shadows under the old trees. When they’d come through the gate, the other horses had been too spent to do more than nicker in anticipation. For home it was. The village had appeared before them like a dream, welcoming lights in windows, fragrant smoke rising from chimneys.

Including the Emms’, where Jenn Nalynn would be helping Gallie and Zehr. Their early return might have taken the rest of the villagers by surprise, but they’d quickly come forth to welcome the travelers home.

He’d lost sight of Scourge on the Northward Road before the junction to Marrowdell, not that he’d seen much of him at all. He hadn’t worried. After all, a march like today’s would barely touch the reserves of the mighty beast.

Bannan whistled again. With a last longing look toward the Emms’ home, he turned and headed for the Treffs’. Scourge should have bolted for the Verge, but somehow, the truthseer couldn’t believe it.

Battle and Brawl had been taken to their well-deserved stabling; the still-loaded cart sat outside the house. His crate might as well wait there; he’d need the cart and team to get it home, but it wasn’t a good sign that the precious mail and what other goods had come from Endshere were being neglected.

Wainn was sitting on the porch step as Bannan approached, and stood in greeting. “You came back.” With undisguised relief.

“I did.” The truthseer resisted the urge to touch the moth’s writing on his neck. “How’s Frann?”

A hot, fetid breeze slipped across his cheek, forming words in his ear. “I should be with her. They have no right to deny me!”

Not in the Verge. Nor willing to show himself. Ancestors Blessed, at least the beast hadn’t tried to break into the house.

Yet.

“Frann is in bed,” Wainn replied calmly. So Scourge hadn’t shared his protest. “Cynd is heating a brick for her feet. Covie is brewing something that smells awful. Davi is pacing.”

Bannan glanced at the closed door. Curtains covered the windows. He couldn’t, now that he paid attention, hear a thing. “Lorra?”