Fires of Aggar (38 page)

Then those trembling lips hinted at some approaching smile. Llinolae blinked, caught by disbelief. Gwyn’s amarin distilled into intent — into anticipation. Her approach enticingly slow, Gwyn leaned forward to create that kiss.

Llinolae gasped at the first light touch of their lips, and Gwyn paused, a whisper away from her mouth — neither withdrawing nor pressing, merely waiting. Until Llinolae chose too, pressing forward — melting in sigh and sweet, sweet desire against her beloved. And their warm press lingered, overwhelming in its simplicity…’til gradually each began to move. At first barely a brush of satin to satin, then deepening warmth — rippling fullness as their mouths learned of shape, of form, of subtle fitting to one another. Caress giving pause, a nibble discovering the curve and bow of an upper lip… yielding again to the flickering tongue’s touch at the delicate corner contour. Swift and sudden air swept in as both moved in single desire and tongue met tongue, tasting — drowning.

Alarm — disturbance rippled through the amarin. Llinolae’s brow furrowed, agony of sense torn in two moods — and her kiss grew more commanding. Her fingers slid into Gwyn’s hair… Gwyn’s flushed cheek in her palm as the Amazon matched need with more need.

But instinct for survival won, and quite helplessly, Llinolae found herself pulling back. Her ragged breath protested the parting. Her hand shook where it lay against Gwyn’s face, held tightly there with Gwyn’s own grasp now. And Gwyn watched her with rising concern as Llinolae tried to focus on that internal sense of urgency — of wrongness. She twisted her head away, concentrating — reaching down into herself and then down into the flowing lines of the Great Forest’s amarin. She blinked, then squeezed her eyes shut, straining beyond Gwyn’s distracting presence — and found it was the Forest’s sense of intrusion.

She snapped to alertness, half-spinning away from Gwyn. Then she looked east, down the creek bed towards the canyon’s open end.

“What is it?” Gwyn demanded, already reaching behind herself to make certain the sword and scabbard at her hip were free from entanglements.

“I… don’t quite know….”

“But there’s something,” Gwyn finished grimly.

Even the afternoon birds and prippers had become unusually quiet.

Then Gwyn noticed Ril’s absence as well. She frowned, searching her packbond for other clues. And suddenly she was laughing.

Llinolae spun back about in her seat, readily Seeing Gwyn’s relief yet she couldn’t grasp the understanding.

“Ty’s bringing Sparrow and Brit in along the creek. Ril’s gone out to meet them too!”

Llinolae felt that thin thread of empathy among Gwyn’s bondpack then. Undeniably, there was excitement and reassurance present. Still… that wasn’t all to be Seen. Quietly, she asserted, “There’s more. The forest says there’s more….”

Words, images, hovered on the edge of her consciousness. But the concepts refused to take coherent form.

“They drive a tinker-trade’s wagon,” Gwyn offered tentatively. “That novelty of color and noise — the dray horses alone could unnerve the forest’s creatures…?”

It was a legitimate possibility. Llinolae considered it seriously. Mutely, she stood, her eyes closing to focus inward and out.

“Or…” Gwyn warily amended, “their wagon’s attracted the Clan scouts?”

“No,” Llinolae muttered, barely hearing Gwyn’s voice — more sensing her questions through the fluid swirls of amarin about them. “No, the intrusion is theirs alone… your Sisters.”

The Amazon’s audible sigh of relief brought Llinolae back to Gwyn’s side with a rueful grin. “I should just trust your bondmates and not worry so much, hmm?”

A slightly embarrassed shrug allowed that Llinolae had quite succinctly summarized Gwyn’s general attitude.

“Then I think…,” Llinolae’s tone grew lower, “I shall….” She moved to face Gwyn more fully. The intensity of her sheer stillness sent Gwyn’s heart racing as the awareness of what had been interrupted resurfaced.

“Did you mind…?” Gwyn whispered, wanting so much to hear the words, although she did not in the least doubt the answer itself.

But Llinolae answered her first without the words. Her lips touching Gwyn’s again, gently pulling in a coaxing kiss… a kiss that wandered aside to the burnished brown blush and line of Gwyn’s cheek, then further on to warm Gwyn’s ear with her breath. A murmur, rich and vibrant, countered all fears with, “No, my Amazon, I don’t mind. How could I ever mind any touch you might give me…?”

Llinolae smiled with her then, and Gwyn drew a less than steady breath almost wishing her Sisters’ arrival was less imminent. Almost wishing it, but not quite.

With a brief touch of reassurance, Llinolae’s fingertips brushed Gwyn’s cheek. “Whatever you give… whatever you want to give me, Gwyn’l… it will be enough.”

“In truth?” It hurt Gwyn, pierced her heart with the very thought, that her uncertainties could wound this woman all too easily. She had no wish to dance some flirting game; she cared too deeply for Llinolae to inadvertently taunt with false hopes, when what Gwyn understood of her own feelings was yet only confusion.

“I will make it enough, Gwyn. Please trust me. I am old enough to be responsible for myself.”

“I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t.”

“I know. You didn’t.”

A startled fowl somewhere sent out a shriek and flapped noisily off into the air. The rattle and clack of a tinker trade’s wagon rolled in on that echo. Both women looked at each other in resignation. The Sisters, it seemed, were arriving.

“Llinolae found some wild brushberries—”

“Bitter yet,” Brit gruffly cut Gwyn short. The box lid slammed down with a bounce that literally shook the caravan sideboards where it was attached; apparently all the flour and seasonings needed were already secured in the broad bowl beneath Brit’s arm. “Would think at least she’d know that… too early in the season…. You! You I’d expect that ignorance from, but it’s her own damn’d district. Not impressed, Niachero. Not impressed at all.”

Gwyn stood there a moment, hands on her hips, caught somewhere between perplexed surprise and outright disapproval. Head cocked sideways a little, she watched Brit’s stout figure retreat around the corner of the wagon towards the camp’s fire ring. Then her eyes narrowed dangerously. Mouth set in a grim line, Gwyn set out after the woman — enough was enough!

“Brit n’Minona! Stand your ground — now. ”

The elder Sister stopped in her tracks. Back stiffening she spun with rage, glaring. “Do not bark orders at me, girl! I’m no mother who owes you patience. I’m not here to nurse you through heartaches — nor to pick you up off your sore little rump ’cause you’ve gone bump!

“And I am certainly not here to dilly-dally around with your lovesick, nepotistic… Blind Fool Puppet of a Dracoon!!”

“Blind?” Gwyn rasped, voice low and harsh in a fury so tightly harnessed — copper eyes blazing embers against the burnt topaz of her skin. “Lovesick?! Goddess give us a mirror for your own soul, Soroe!”

“I’m not the one—”

“Yes! You are. As Daughter of Mothers, I swear… you are.”

Pain washed through Brit in a single, engulfing revelation. Stricken — trembling, held in fear and anger — her expression went blank. The gray of her eyes dulled. The tea-black of her skin lost its sheen.

“Yes,” Gwyn repeated more gently, but no less forcefully. “This comes from you, Soroe. Since you drove the drays in yesterday, you… you have found no kind word, given no chance of warm welcome… allowed no peace to settle within this camp.

“The Dracoon and I… yes, you see rightly that we do care for one another. Care deeply. But you have not spoken more than a dozen words to her — or to me! — which have been reasonable. You arrive, announce the Steward is the grand fault of the District, then balk at the simplest of explanations! Have you even noticed Llinolae is asking only of what and whereof you speak and is not denying any of your accusations? This so-called tyrannical Steward is her aunt, n’Minona! Yet she is choosing to accept our word and discard her family loyalty! Despite that, it hurts her, and you can see that it does hurt her! At some time or other she trusted her aunt, but do you recognize the heartache that might cause? No! Tell me — could you or I have done as well with any strangers’ accusations against our own kin — no matter how much evidence we had? No matter how much truth we knew they spoke. Wouldn’t I be screaming with protest inside if you proved Jes a traitor?

“Yet you don’t respect Llinolae’s efforts to deal with this chaos! You refuse to address any course of action other than a return to Khirla to confront Taysa — despite the immense stupidity of thinking a handful of Amazons and Rutkins’ City Guards could stand any kind of chance against the Steward’s fire weapons!”

“We destroyed those!” Brit roared. “Or have you forgotten already?”

“You destroyed the stuff in the armory of the Steward’s stables,” Gwyn corrected with fierce, clipped emphasis to each word. “And you know that place wasn’t housing all the fire weapons in Khirla. Any one or all of the Steward’s precious Swords would have a personal cache of the things tucked under a mattress or at the bottom of a chest.

“No, Brit. No,” Gwyn shook her head slowly, the temper easing from her finally. “The discord in this camp was brought in with you and Sparrowhawk. It must be resolved between you and her.

“The brushberries are not too tart, this time of summer. The traitors in Khirla’s Court are not of sole importance in this struggle between Clan and District. And Llinolae’s caution — as well as my own! — against jumping at any sort of plan to unseat her aunt just yet is not due to infatuated foolishness.

“The confusions — the ill-tempers, Soroe! — they’re between you and Sparrow.” Gwyn gave a short sigh, compassion and concern furrowing her brow as she examined her friend. She hesitated, waiting, but Brit made no move even to meet her gaze. In the end, the utter shocked stillness of her Sister urged her forward a step. And she reached a hand for Brit urging softly, “Tell me, please… nothing can be so bad that silence betters….”

“I have to see to this bread baking,” Brit announced abruptly and turned, shunning all touch or care offered.

Sadly, Gwyn let her go; her Sister’s voice had seemed so very hollow. Perhaps she could sit with Ty later this evening… of the three packmates, the younger sandwolf had been closest to Brit in the season they’d all worked amongst the Changlings Wars. Perhaps her packmate would understand something more of this?

Gwyn smiled without much humor then, suddenly — ironically — realizing how alike Ty and Brit were. Both were so prone to those rash bursts of temper and suspicious judgments. Aye, too many judgments, too much silence.

Mae n’Pour — just too much hurt.

“So you come to See me now, because the news these two Sisters bring from Khirla confirms even more of your suspicions regarding your Aunt Taysa. But you must remember, Daughter,” the Mistress n’Shea noted quietly, “this Brit and her Sparrow entered your city with fresh eyes. They were not there for all the times your aunt lent you her help. You’ve seen her genuine outrage — heard how vehemently she pleads. The Sisters haven’t spent nearly all of their lives beside Taysa, listening and being coached to rely on her insights.”

“In that respect — yes! The advantage was theirs!” Llinolae hissed. She wheeled about vehemently, loosening a fiery dust from her harmon’s heel, and continued to pace. “And yes! They know Ramains’ Law and the People’s Book well, so naturally they’d notice any discrepancy between Churv and Khirlan’s barter codes.

“None of that excuses me! I may not be able to read the accursed books, but I know Churv’s law inside out! I should have taken the time to learn Taysa’s too. No! I should have made the time to learn the rhetoric in that Steward’s Book! I’d had suspicions and yet I didn’t—”

“Which is my point… you were already suspicious.” The Blue Sight of the Mistress imbued those softly spoken words with a daunting power that gave Llinolae pause to heed. “Despite a lifetime of being told by courtiers and tradition to trust Taysa, you’d begun to suspect your aunt’s motives. Even if these Sisters hadn’t told you of the abused tariffs and altered reports, you would have soon discovered her treachery for yourself.”

The quiet reasoning of her Mistress curbed Llinolae’s ire. About them, the garden’s twilight began to warm as the globes along the adobe walls lit up. The smell of blooming roses mingled with the sun-baked scent of a lazy prairie breeze, and somewhere not too far off a bird cried. The faint edges of Llinolae’s harmon shimmered a translucent blue as the wind fluttered through her figure, inviting peace.

With a long sigh, Llinolae accepted the invitation and let all the self-pitying recriminations slip away.

The Mistress n’Shea smiled gently, her Sight reaching out now with encouraging reassurance.

“The truth can be difficult to accept,” the young woman breathed, aching and melancholy.

“It is always painful to See a traitor among trusted kin.”

“But that’s the trouble. I can’t See her! I can’t…!” Llinolae broke off in frustration. Her fist grasped at air as intangibly as her comprehension grasped at reason. “I can’t See why she does this!”

The older woman gave Llinolae’s impatience no mind. Glancing about for the hemp rope to anchor herself a bit, she sank down onto the long bench of the garden swing. The length of her salt’n’pepper braid swung easily over a shoulder, and she settled comfortably — patting the seat beside her for Llinolae.

The young woman joined her, once again sighing in an attempt to rein in her emotions. She knew the glint and spark along the edges of her harmon reflected her passions too easily, too often. But then her Mistress had learned long ago that even the most vibrant, emotional displays seldom hindered Llinolae’s control of the Sight.

“I know you well enough, Daughter.” The Mistress n’Shea smiled, and Llinolae felt less alone, despite Taysa’s betrayal. “You didn’t come here simply to rave about your delusions of incompetence.”

That brought a slow smile to Llinolae’s face and her mentor laughed softly. Their blue gazes met then, and all the gentleness and confidence of their long association warmed their Sights’ touch.