Echoes in the Dark (17 page)

“Ayes.”

Bells
chimed. Faucon said, “That’s the dinner signal, come along, Raine.” He turned
and went up the stairs. “You can spend the night. I think that Blossom has
already settled in my stable to have a good chat with my volarans.”

Raine
followed, her pulse beating hard. She’d wanted to grill someone on ships and
building. Some part of her had also wanted to get closer to Faucon, learn to
know him better, but that part was more like a sailor drawn to the siren’s
call.

She
was sure she was already in over her head.

F
aucon seated
Raine at the small table for two that his housekeeper had set up in the outside
dining nook on the main terrace of the castle. The surf at the bottom of the
cliff was a low, rumbling accompaniment to their dinner, a sound he hadn’t
known he’d missed until Raine had tilted her head to listen to it and sighed in
enjoyment.

He
was making more than one mistake, getting close to this woman. Of all the
Exotiques who had been Summoned to Lladrana, including his lost Elizabeth, she
stirred him the most. Her skin was pale and translucent, her hair a dark, rich
color of brown that proclaimed her no native Lladranan, though not quite as
startling as Marian’s red or Calli’s blond. Raine’s eyes were the green of the
deepest ocean.

And
she suited him better. Underneath all her outer defenses, he sensed she’d been
more tender than the others when she’d come, younger in spirit, not quite as
tough.

She’d
developed whatever toughness she had here on Lladrana. That angered and shamed
him. One of those who found Exotiques instinctively repulsive had abused her,
nearly killed her.

As
for him, he was, as always, instinctively attracted to her as an Exotique. But
he’d learned his lesson. For once in his life Faucon Creusse would not get what
he wanted—an Exotique for a wife—as he’d hoped for since the moment he’d met
Alexa. His reaction was only physical. He’d get over it. He wasn’t sniffing
around the other Exotiques now, was he?

Because
their Songs had changed when they’d pairbonded, their music didn’t seem as
potent and beautiful to him. Raine’s Song was delicious, the tastiest he’d
heard.

But
that was what he’d thought of Elizabeth and he’d been wrong about her loving
him enough to stay in Lladrana. Now he felt like an object of pity among the
Marshalls and the Chevaliers, noble Creusse who couldn’t convince his Exotique
to stay. He fought all the harder in every battle.

At
least Raine wasn’t aware of his physical reaction around her—dreeth leather
helped conceal that—and he kept his manner brusque. He’d changed into another
set of fighting leathers instead of trousers when he’d washed up.

He
caught a fragile expression on Raine’s face as she looked at the fine china and
the scented candles that his housekeeper had lit now that evening was deepening
into the blue-purple of night. No one had treated Raine to an elegant meal, had
they? He cursed inwardly for doing exactly as he’d done with Alexa and
Elizabeth—but no, his housekeeper had arranged this, and he wished she hadn’t.
Still, the softening of Raine’s face made him want to rub away that rough shell
Lladrana had layered on her and see the true pearl beneath, the woman she’d
been before.

The
serving maid set mixed greens before them with dressing and they ate in
silence. He was enjoying the moment too much, the gentle pulsing of her
fabulous Song, twining with the wonderful Songs of home. He treasured his home
now.

At
this point in the past he would have led the conversation to the fascinating
topic of life on Exotique Terre, but he didn’t want to know any more than he’d
learned and seen in his lover’s—Elizabeth’s—mind.

He
wasn’t going to court or care for this Exotique. More than any of them, she’d
seen the harsh side of Lladrana and would
not
stay. “So, you don’t come
from the same place the other Exotiques do?” he said and was appalled. He
stuffed a bite of crisp greens in his mouth before something else came from it
he didn’t want.

Raine
gave him a cautious look. Because he was being civil? Because he’d asked a
question he already knew the answer to? Faucon chewed longer than necessary.

“Ayes,
I come from the east coast of the continent.” A small, charming smile flashed
across her face. “The others’ home is landlocked, they know very little about
boats.” She speared a curl of onion and ate it. “I’ve never been to their area,
either. I don’t know much about mountains.” She stopped abruptly.

The
mountains of Lladrana were in the north, where the horrors invaded, sent by the
Dark. Hardly anyone lived there now. Since Faucon didn’t believe in ignoring a
topic once it was brought up, he said, “We won today, no casualties.” Another
sharp pang, he’d lost the man he’d considered his father a couple of months
before. His chest tightened. What would Broullard have said about this
situation? But he knew. Broullard would have told him to grab all the pleasure
life had to offer, even if it hurt later.

“We
are winning more often, replacing the old magical fence posts that fall.” He
hesitated. “Of course we must repel the invading horrors, but the main effort
of the Marshalls and the Chevaliers is on planning the invasion.”

Raine
put her fork down, a third of her greens remained. “When will they have trials
for the invasion force?”

“Soon.
Now that the last Exotique has come, everyone thinks the time of the Singer’s
prophecies has also arrived and this cycle has passed.” Determination
strengthened every muscle. “We must rid ourselves and our planet of the Dark or
watch Amee die.”

12

R
aine shivered,
but Faucon knew it wasn’t from cold. The summer evening was nice, the sea
breeze only freshening. He raised a hand and the maid came and took away the
plates, bustled back into the castle. She should have done that without his
request. Broullard would have been disappointed in her.

The
fading of the day was working on Faucon, bringing depression. He should have
stayed with his Chevalier team, gone carousing with them to a tavern, not come
to check on what this strange, lovely woman was doing at his castle when his
volaran had told him she was here. No one would treat her poorly, nor would any
be less than discreet about his affairs. He’d guessed she’d gone to examine his
yacht.

She
looked away and Faucon followed her gaze to see the incoming tide break whitely
against the rocks curving into the northern headland of his estate. She rubbed
her arms. Maybe she
was
cold. Faucon lifted a finger and a footman came.

“A
shawl for Raine,” he said.

Her
look was surprised and again he was irritated by the thought he’d been less
than courteous. He was walking too fine a tightrope—fighting his awareness and
attraction on one side, and on the other thinking of his grief at losing
Elizabeth, and trying to treat Raine as a gentleman and nobleman should. He was
juggling, too, wasn’t he? Like some damned player come to the fair—his business
affairs, his Chevalier teams, his sessions with the Marshalls and other
Exotiques. Plenty to juggle. He wanted to shove back his chair and pace.
Instead he smiled charmingly and Raine’s expression became even more wary.

The
footman came back with a shawl and handed it to Faucon, who stood and went to
Raine. He draped it over her shoulders without actually touching her. Since she
tensed, she must have noticed.

“About
ships…” she said as he took his seat again.

“Ayes?”

“How
are
they built here?” Her brows dipped. “Marian seems to think that my
ship will be built in a few days, maybe a week.” She shook her head. “Magic,
Power,” she muttered.

“Most
are built by hand, with Power imbued in them as they are constructed.”

The
serving maid was back with the fish entrée—lightly breaded and spiced, caught
that day. Faucon’s mouth watered before he cut into a flaky slice. On the side
were green beans and thin rounds of potatoes in an herbed cream sauce.

Raine’s
eyes widened. “I haven’t had creamed potatoes since…” Remembrance and hurt
flashed in her eyes and Faucon knew it was before she’d come to Lladrana.

“From
what I understand, all noble cooks are experimenting with this new vegetable,”
Faucon said easily, staring at the stuff on his plate. He hadn’t eaten anything
like it, either. Even with Power helping them grow, potatoes were rare.

But
Raine had dug in, savored a mouthful, closed her eyes. “Mmmmm. Could do with a
little pepper, though.”

“Pepper?”
Their meal was interrupted by the chef herself. She bowed to Faucon but didn’t
leave. Her hands clenched in her apron. “On behalf of the noble households I am
asking the Lady Seamistress Exotique if we could have recipes other than twin
fries and Mickey potatoes that the Exotiques might remember. No one has been forthcoming.
Concentrating on other things than food, they say.” She gestured to the plates.
“This is my own concoction.”

Raine
licked her lips and desire stirred in Faucon. Raine said, “Have you tried them
baked and loaded?”

“Baked?”

“Um…wash,
bake in a hot oven for about an hour, incredible,” Raine said. “Good with just
butter, but some people can make a meal with them by adding bacon bits, sliced
peppers, cheese, sour cream—” Raine waved “—other stuff. Very good.”

“Hot
oven, bacon bits, butter.” The chef nodded.

“Also
cheddar potatoes, sort of like these,” Raine said.

“Cheddar?”

“Potatoes
in a cheese sauce,” Raine said, taking another bite, eating with more gusto
than she had her greens. All the Exotiques loved potatoes, enough to have the
twins bring some from the Exotique land three months before.

“Cheese
sauce!” The cook turned.

“And
mashed and whipped,” Raine said.

The
chef whirled back.

“Mashed
potatoes and gravy. You peel them, boil them, mash them when they’re warm
to…uh…different consistencies, maybe add a little milk if you want them fine,
then make gravy from meat drippings and thickened with flour and more milk and
put it to the side.” She frowned as if searching her memory. “I come from a
house with men so I didn’t make them with my mom, she died when I was little,
or with my grandmothers—”

But
the cook was already racing back into the castle, on a mission to pummel
potatoes, Faucon didn’t doubt. He found himself again smiling genuinely. Just
being with Raine lightened his spirits. He should shut that door hard, but
couldn’t, heard Broullard admonishing him to choose joy.

He
watched as Raine ate with fierce delicacy, the worry about whether she’d have a
next meal was ingrained in her now, and he suppressed a sigh. “Have you been
assured of your future?”

She
glanced up, the frown between her brows again, a line that didn’t belong there.
“I’ll be building the ship. I’m hoping that’s my task and the Snap will come
after that.” Her gaze slid away from his, she put her silverware down. “I’m not
a fighter, I don’t want to go to the Dark’s Nest and Sing that Song Marian’s
crafting to destroy it.” She pulled the shawl more tightly around her. Then she
lifted her chin defiantly as if in expectation of his condemnation.

“I
think you
are
an excellent fighter when you must be,” Faucon said
quietly. “You survived what many would not.”

She
sniffed, still didn’t meet his eyes. “All of the other Exotiques would have
survived, too.”

“Probably…”
He kept his voice matter-of-fact. “Those who are Summoned are always
exceptional.”

With
a flicker in her eyes, she said, “Even those Summoned in a half-assed way?”

“Especially
those,” he said.

The
moment spun between them, a gentle moment, his absolute belief in her and her
acceptance of that. He continued eating and she picked up her cutlery again and
ate, slower this time, savoring every bite.

When
his maid came to clear, he said, “Thank you. Since the meal was light, we’ll
have dessert.”

“Crème
brûlée, Hauteur, your favorite.”

Raine
made a little noise, her hands crushing a thick linen napkin. “Crème brûlée?”
she asked in a sexy, breathless voice with a tiny whimper of anticipation that
stirred his body. She looked at him, licked her lips and his blood heated so he
could barely hear the last of her words. “My favorite, too.”

Finger
bowls had been placed with soapy water on the table and she used hers. “Thank
you.
Merci.
” She shut her eyes and her whole body seemed to go lax.
“I’ll have my crème brûlée for breakfast, please,” she mumbled and fell asleep.

Faucon
shook his head. She was doing too much, had no one noticed that? She felt too
good in his arms when he carried her to a guest room.

Singer’s Abbey

J
ikata had dozed
the rest of the day and through the night, starting awake from nightmares of
the leech or disturbing dreams of the crying woman, lifting a sword that was
too heavy.