Guardian of Honor Page 21

  In her rooms at night she studied the Lorebook of Fenceposts, read each word for hidden meaning. She looked at the pictures—excellent drawings of individual fenceposts. The battlefields were familiar—near the gray-green ocean, or with mountains towering in the background, dotted with trees, oak, brithenwood and pine.

  One morning during her second full week back, Alexa sat cross-legged on a thick pile of carpets in a small chamber with her magical professor, Madame Fourmi. Alexa was pretty sure she'd progressed from Magic 101 to Advanced Spelltuning. Of her various lessons, magic was her favorite, mostly because it was less "kill" oriented. Learning to ride a horse wasn't too bad either, except that it made her body hurt, and she'd much rather have a headache or energy drains from magic than an aching body.

  To add a surface familiarity, she'd made up names for the other classes—Learning to Be a Marshall (Shield Defense), Teamwork with Marshalls and Chevaliers (Level Two), and The Language of Lladrana. She still disliked the language lessons the most, though she was progressing satisfactorily, up to a C+.

  "Very well, Alyeka, breathe deeply and center yourself," Madame said now, giving her standard instructions.

  Alexa could take three breaths and fall into a light trance where logic didn't whisper that magic was crap and where she could access her magical energies. This was the best state in which to learn the skills she needed.

  She met Madame's eyes. "I'd like to ask a couple of questions and see if we can't solve a problem that's bothering me."

  Madame looked intrigued. Alexa had gone along with the syllabus until now.

  "Ayes?"

  "Is there a process where I could lock away some memories or emotions so they don't affect me?" She'd had some miserable nights dreaming of Bastien. He had revived her interest in sex all too well, but she sure didn't need to relive again and again the humiliation of their last scene. Not to mention the nightmares where she fought monsters and awoke in a cold sweat.

  "Are you speaking of fear? Being an intelligent woman, you must realize there are good reasons for fear."

  Yeah, it triggered adrenaline to prepare her body for combat, and she didn't like it, but she'd sure use it. She chose her words carefully.

  "I am most concerned with the rejection I feel when I meet certain Lladranans. Occasionally it is instant revulsion on their part. I can't change what they feel, but I can change my reaction. When this occurs it distracts me. If it happens on the battlefield it could be fatal." She'd thought up her logic beforehand.

  Madame pursed her lips, but there was a softening in her eyes. She'd have heard how a Marshall had attacked Alexa and been killed the first night she was on Lladrana.

  "Ayes, there is a way to do this—to separate the emotional content of memories, or use a keyword to set aside emotional reactions.

  "Good!" What was the use of magic if it couldn't enhance her life?

  Tapping a finger to her lips, Madame considered Alexa. "You know, there was once an Exotique who was Summoned who disliked looking alien so much that over the course of several years he was able to gradually change the color of his skin and his eyes. Even his bone structure. Would you want to do this?"

  "Ttho!" She wasn't any beauty, but was happy with her appearance, even her prematurely silver hair. She just got tired of the stares, hated the revulsion, and would gladly tuck Bastien's rejection into a lockbox deep inside and throw away the key.

  "Very good." Madame nodded approval.

  "Very good" had been her highest praise so far, though if she hadn't been a good teacher and Alexa hadn't respected her, Alexa would have asked for someone else. She didn't think they'd ever be friends, but they got along well enough. Alexa would have added her to her holiday card list with some of her other profs.

  With a tilt of her head, Madame said, "We might also consider a small spell rather like a 'glamour.' It would initially make you more 'likable' upon first impression, then gradually wear off as the individual came to know you."

  Madame rubbed her hands. "A challenge. I knew you would be a challenge, Alyeka." She smiled widely. "Of course, if a person took a dislike to you, it would not sway them." She slipped back into her standard serious mode. "As for those who...have an extreme reaction to you, we can prepare your response, and I will teach you how to separate your emotions from the memory. But I believe it would be wise for you to know of their repugnance and be on guard."

  "Yeah, shurr," Alexa replied, knowing her speech sounded slurred. Hearing and comprehending Lladranan was much better since sex with Bastien, but her speech still fluctuated.

  "Very well. We will start on a meditation exercise, then segue into the spelltune you wish to learn."

  A tune—that meant it would be of medium difficulty. Not a few notes of a simple spell, and not a long, laborious major Song.

  "Very well," Alexa echoed, and an hour later she could look back on that last scene with Bastien and feel nothing at all.

  Bastien lay in the hospital bed in the northernmost Chevalier Clinique of Lladrana. The building was a simple rectangle, the only floor a hospital ward with beds on each side of the wall and a tiny office in the back. The walls were a little too pink for his taste, so he usually looked at the white ceiling.

  He'd tried to put the country between him and the woman he'd made love with and who had mended his flaw. Looking back, sampling the Song between them, he knew she'd spoken the truth when she'd said she hadn't planned to seduce him. He also believed it hadn't been set up by the Marshalls. They'd have followed up by now. Sheer coincidence. Or his wild magic at work. But he'd felt trapped and wanted to run, so he had.

  He'd tested his Powers in battle, taking risks he shouldn't have, trying to learn his new limitations.

  Now he was in trouble. His brother had found him.

  He could tell Luthan was in a bad mood just by the quick ringing of his spurs on the stone floor. Bastien turned a groan into a sigh and refused to open his eyes, flinging an arm across his face in an effort to avoid his brother's gaze.

  He yelped at the pulling pain on his triceps.

  "I've heard you've been courting death. Are you crazy?" asked Luthan.

  "I'm a black-and-white," Bastien said.

  "You use that as an excuse. Just what are you doing? Are you trying to kill yourself? If so, I would like an updated copy of your will to file with the Chevalier Loremaster. You look worse than our father, and he has forty more years of fighting than you."

  Bastien would have sighed but knew his ribs couldn't take it. His brother was so stern and upright. The silence stretched, and though it was comfortable between them, the quiet was unusual. Carefully, Bastien removed his arm from his eyes.

  Luthan studied him with narrowed gaze. Then he smiled. "But you aren't a black-and-white anymore. The brilliance you were gifted with by being so shines true and strong, unimpeded by any block to your energy flow." He spotted a chair near the next bed, drew it over and sat. "This is very interesting."

  Luthan took on a patient stillness, trance-deep in his own Power, and closed his eyes.

  Bastien stared. It wasn't like Luthan to leave himself so vulnerable, even with Bastien and in a place guarded by Chevaliers and dogs.

  If Luthan was seeking his sight the matter of Bastien being cured was more important to others than just the two of them.

  Bastien shifted uncomfortably. He had known he'd changed, but hadn't wanted to acknowledge it. Most of all, he didn't want to admit that it was the woman who had changed him.

  But his mind worked faster, clearer than before. It scared him that he was no longer the man he'd been. He'd taken chances that should have killed him...but hadn't.

  His brother started to hum, slow and lilting, making the space between Bastien's shoulder blades tingle as if an arrow were pointed at his back. When Luthan used that Song it was bad news for Bastien.

  It was their Song, the Song of the sons of Reynardus Vauxveau, the Song they'd made between them and shared. When big brother Luthan hummed that son
g and used his Power he was always right. He always won the argument and Bastien lost.

  He wanted to pull the covers over his head. He had a bad feeling about this. He was sure Luthan would want him to do something he didn't want to do. Like see the woman again.

  As he'd flown away from the Exotique who'd sizzled his blood, melted his bones, and straightened out his energy flows, he'd assured himself he wasn't a coward, and knew he lied. It didn't matter that she was an Exotique, or that she was powerful. It mattered very much that she was a Marshall.

  He'd tried very hard not to think about how they'd come together, to forget the best sex of his life.

  Luthan's eyes opened and he grinned. "Will you look at that."

  Merde. Bastien could plainly see the sparkling magical line—shining white, coming from his balls and his heart and his head, merging and shooting out of sight. In the direction of the Castle. Luthan had shown him what he hadn't wanted to see.

  "You have a connection. I can guess to whom."

  Bastien kept his face stony.

  Luthan leaned forward. "I know, Bastien."

  It was a losing battle, but he fought anyway. "You can't know."

  “I saw.”

  One of Luthan's visions. Worse and worse. Bastien said, "I don't want to hear about that."

  "You don't want anything. Especially nothing that's good for you. So you try to forget in battle. That won't work, brother."

  Luthan had tried the same thing after he'd left their father's house. That time, Bastien had deliberately gotten into enough trouble to need Luthan's rescue. After that, Luthan had accepted his responsibilities and turned into the most honorable Chevalier.

  "It's odd that our father hasn't noticed the connection, but he hasn't been looking for it." Luthan studied the thread. "It's very thin, but strong. Must have been at least two meetings and an exchange of blood or other bodily fluids."

  Though Bastien hadn't admitted it to Alexa, he vaguely remembered that she had rescued him from the jerir. He wondered if he'd bled on her somehow, or if the jerir connected them somehow too. As for the other time—His cock twitched just thinking about it, which was why he tried to forget.

  "I wonder when that happened and how." Luthan tilted his head. "No one knows. You were always a wonder, Bastien."

  Quiet for ten heartbeats.

  Luthan stood up, pulled his riding gloves from his belt and drew them on. "Go to the Castle and formally Pair with her. Make that connection stronger."

  "There is no connection."

  With one whistling note Luthan plucked at a cord deep within his body and had Bastien arching out of bed. "You can't deny that. Not to me. Not to yourself. Not anymore. I won't let you."

  Bastien had been afraid of that.

  Luthan got in his face. "We need Marshall Alyeka Paired sexually and with a fighter. Go to the Castle, accept your destiny. You will be an excellent Swordmarshall." He straightened.

  Bastien could feel the look of stubbornness mold his features, his bottom lip stick out. Childish, but satisfying. What was it about relatives that always brought out the child?

  "The North needs good fighters, needs me."

  "I will not allow you to continue to try to throw your life away," Luthan said.

  "Oh?"

  "If you leave this place for anywhere except your own estate or the Castle, I will have the Singer's Chevaliers hunt you down and take you to her for a forced Song Quest."

  "You can't do that."

  "Yes, I can." Luthan's smile was smug. "I have the trust of the Singer. By the way, she is interested in you, as is a certain feycoocu. If I were you I would not irritate either one of them."

  "A feycoocu? Marshall Alexa's feycoocu?" He hadn't seen her in the stable, had a wavery memory of a blue light near the jerir pool, of eyes looking down from the rafters of the Assayer's Office.

  "And shapeshifters are as unpredictable as Exotiques and black-and-whites." Luthan flicked his fingers in goodbye and exited on a laugh.

  Bastien fell back against a hard pillow. Luthan was obviously enjoying the hell out of this. Merde.

  16

  "Today we will study the movement of air," Madame Fourmi said as Alexa entered the chamber where she took her magic lessons.

  The air in the room was stuffy and held a heaviness that oppressed. The air outside had been spring fresh with a light breeze carrying the scent of newly turned soil and blossoms.

  Everything in Alexa rebelled. "I don't think so," she said, then smiled widely. "Not today. I think I'll explore the Castle instead."

  Madame raised little pointed eyebrows. "That is perhaps not wise. You need to learn all you can as quickly as possible."

  "A person can't be wise all the time," Alexa replied. She took a stride back into the hall and ran lightly along the passageway and down some stairs, and rocketed out of the building into the Temple Ward.

  She had no doubt that someone would keep a mental eye on her—maybe Madame, maybe Thealia—but Alexa didn't thinkthey'd interfere. She'd always been a perfect little student. They'd cut her some slack.

  It was a great day to ditch class. She abandoned the cloister walk. She hadn't explored the Castle yet, and wanted to know her surroundings. She'd think of it as a walk around campus. She chuckled and lifted her face to the sun, closing her eyes.

  For a moment she relaxed, breathing deeply, letting her senses rest, though she felt magic—Power, they called it—all around her. When she opened her eyelids she noted the gazes of the soldiers and Chevaliers. She didn't care. Being an Exotique had some privileges and one was acting as strange as she wanted to. She'd lost a lot of her self-consciousness. Maybe because she'd begun to fit in. There were no Marshalls around.

  She sauntered to the north end of Temple Ward. By now she knew the Castle was made up of three courtyards—wards. There were also a couple of cul-de-sacs, like Horseshoe Close in Lower Ward where the Chevaliers stayed.

  Temple Ward was the middle courtyard, and the places she usually went were in the yard—the Marshalls' living space, including her tower, the eating hall, the kitchen and the Council Room. The magical map room Thealia haunted was across the ward from the Keep. Of course there was the Temple itself, huge and round and dominating everything else. There was also the Assayer's Office, which she avoided.

  She'd been in the Lower Ward several times, mostly passing through, and had seen Horseshoe Close and Hall, gone out to the Chevaliers training ground and the Landing Field.

  But she didn't recall ever being in Upper Ward, so it drew her feet today. She passed the curve of the Temple and approached a gatehouse between two small towers. Smiling at the soldiers on duty, she greeted them and passed through the small building, then stopped to survey the courtyard.

  It was a skewed rectangular shape, with the left set of buildings against the wall that probably defined the edge of the hill on which the Castle was built. She thought most of the servants lived here.

  The right wall bulged with the huge curve of the back of the Temple. Little storage areas seemed to crowd in the straight sides of the available space.

  She walked until she reached the very end of the ward and found a wall with a wooden door bound with iron. With a tug and an application of magic, the door opened outward. She peeked through to see a charming tangle of vines showing large buds of green draping courtyard walls that angled to a point.

  When she sniffed, the scent of spring wafted to her. Smiling, she entered the garden. She was halfway across it before she realized it wasn't empty.

  On a stone bench a man slumped against the wall, staring at her with a serious, lonely gaze. A Marshall—Shieldmarshall Ivrog Vauxveau, brother to Reynardus and uncle to Bastien and Luthan. This was the man who kept Reynardus from death, who defended him on the battlefield.

  "I didn't mean to intrude," she said, pronouncing her words carefully. "Should I go?"

  With a graceful gesture, Shieldmarshall Ivrog invited her to sit beside him on the bench in the garden. Fee
ling a little uncomfortable, but curious, Alexa did. For a while they sat in silence.

  Since she'd joined the Marshalls, she'd come to value all of them except Reynardus, and since this man was bonded to Reynardus, she'd never learned to know him.

  He gave her a slow, sweet smile that amazed her. Rumor painted him as an angry, bitter drunk. Unobtrusively she sniffed for the smell of liquor.

  Not unobtrusively enough. He laughed, then sank back againstthe sun-warmed wall again and closed his eyes. "I'm not drunk and won't be in the future. You've changed my life, Lady." He found her hand and held it.

  A huge orchestral melody swamped Alexa. She'd never mentally "heard" anything like it. Even when the Marshalls wove a Song between them, deep and rich, it was never more than six "instruments," one for each Pair. She swallowed, but the music was so fascinating that she didn't pull away.

  She could almost, almost grasp the Song of the Vauxveau family—that's what the melody had to be, the whole, rich tunes of each family member that this man knew and carried. She sensed he was tied to them all at this very moment—a live performance. Reynardus, of course, was the strongest, a trumpet, but she was surprised to understand that neither Luthan nor Bastien were overwhelmed by Reynardus in any way. The smallest, threadiest noise was that of Reynardus's wife, a whining, plaintive note.

  For a moment she just listened, and as she relaxed and let the music take her, she closed her eyes and could actually "see" it. It appeared like a living tapestry, woven of individual threads.

  Reynardus was the rusty fox red of his tunic, the color of the Vauxveaus for ages.

  Luthan was a deeper red, more like a maroon. He was the heir. Would his vibration turn red when he ascended?

  Bastien was midnight blue approaching black, with glints of silver as his complex Song twisted and turned.