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Authors: Winterborn
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wasn't something they talked about.
Funny, that the bracelet could invoke that, here.
She pulled her hand away from her wrist.
"Wise," Avandar said softly. His first word that evening. Well, no, realistically it was his tenth.
"Why?"
"Because you've done willingly what no man would have done when the Winter Queen was free to wander these lands as she pleased."
"Oh?"
"You've marked yourself," he said softly, and when she did not immediately acknowledge his words, stared pointedly at her wrist. The Queen's hair caught light as if it were platinum in fact, and not just poetic fancy.
Jewel frowned. "And you've marked me. Am I to suppose that what I willingly wear is more dangerous than what I didn't ask for?"
He fell silent again, and Jewel was almost instantly sorry; he was never a particularly talkative man—unless she'd done something "wrong"—but she could count on one hand—on half a hand—the number of words he'd spoken in the last day and a half.
"Avandar—"
"As you say."
He retreated.
She pulled the blankets more tightly across her shoulders, and the stag's flank rippled at her back as he curled his neck around until his face was almost touching her shoulder.
"You have a friend, I think, Jewel of Terafin."
The most famous bard that Senniel College had ever produced walked into the clearing as if it were a tavern. A
crowded
tavern.
"Are they almost finished?" Jewel said.
"I don't know."
"You don't?"
"I cannot hear what they say. The fire that they have spent so much time and effort building protects their words from any listeners."
"Avandar?"
"If I could breach the barrier of Voyani heartfire, do you think I would be foolish enough to mention that ability within their encampment?"
She couldn't keep the smile off her face.
"I've amused you."
"Twenty-four," she said, the smile broadening.
His eyes narrowed, and then his brows rose dismissively. "Twenty-four?" For a moment, he was genuinely confused, and that made her smile wider.
"I believe, Avandar," Kallandras said with mock gravity, "that your lord is referring to the number of words she has heard you speak today. You've been remarkably… taciturn, even for you."
"You will never be a leader, ATerafin, if you persist in these trivial games."
"Thirty-nine." She laughed because she saw the frown deepening as he turned away. "Of course, most of them were critical, so I suppose I should be grateful that you've been quiet."
"I cannot recall, in my long service," and the word long was stretched in a way that implied centuries, not years, "any display of gratitude on your part."
"Which probably says more about your service than it does about—"
The comfortable warmth at her back was gone. The stag leaped up, over her, hooves tearing dirt as he reared. Tines cut air; she could have sworn, although she wouldn't have bet something as substantial as, say, money or life, that she saw the air move, like whirlpools, around them as he tossed his head wildly.
"What is it?" she shouted, as both Avandar and Lord Celleriant threw themselves out of the stag's way.
The exiled lord of the Arianni looked up at the stag that had been the Winter Queen's mount. "Apparently," the tone of his voice made the evening air seem warm, "the heartfire, as Viandaran called it, is not proof against the Queen's stag."
She turned to the stag. "What?" she asked softly. "What is it?"
We go to the Cities of Man.
"The Cities of—"
"
ATerafin
, be silent ."
The words froze in mid-syllable; she choked on them, as if they were physical objects. It was a shock; her neck snapped round as she turned, wide-eyed, to Kallandras of Senniel. Her lips formed the word "why?"—but even that one couldn't follow the ones he'd stopped.
Instead, in the clearing that they had chosen to occupy, she heard something worse: the sound of metal against metal. The drawing of blade.
Lord Celleriant.
Before his sword had been raised—and he did raise it— Kallandras of Senniel College had
Funny, that the bracelet could invoke that, here.
She pulled her hand away from her wrist.
"Wise," Avandar said softly. His first word that evening. Well, no, realistically it was his tenth.
"Why?"
"Because you've done willingly what no man would have done when the Winter Queen was free to wander these lands as she pleased."
"Oh?"
"You've marked yourself," he said softly, and when she did not immediately acknowledge his words, stared pointedly at her wrist. The Queen's hair caught light as if it were platinum in fact, and not just poetic fancy.
Jewel frowned. "And you've marked me. Am I to suppose that what I willingly wear is more dangerous than what I didn't ask for?"
He fell silent again, and Jewel was almost instantly sorry; he was never a particularly talkative man—unless she'd done something "wrong"—but she could count on one hand—on half a hand—the number of words he'd spoken in the last day and a half.
"Avandar—"
"As you say."
He retreated.
She pulled the blankets more tightly across her shoulders, and the stag's flank rippled at her back as he curled his neck around until his face was almost touching her shoulder.
"You have a friend, I think, Jewel of Terafin."
The most famous bard that Senniel College had ever produced walked into the clearing as if it were a tavern. A
crowded
tavern.
"Are they almost finished?" Jewel said.
"I don't know."
"You don't?"
"I cannot hear what they say. The fire that they have spent so much time and effort building protects their words from any listeners."
"Avandar?"
"If I could breach the barrier of Voyani heartfire, do you think I would be foolish enough to mention that ability within their encampment?"
She couldn't keep the smile off her face.
"I've amused you."
"Twenty-four," she said, the smile broadening.
His eyes narrowed, and then his brows rose dismissively. "Twenty-four?" For a moment, he was genuinely confused, and that made her smile wider.
"I believe, Avandar," Kallandras said with mock gravity, "that your lord is referring to the number of words she has heard you speak today. You've been remarkably… taciturn, even for you."
"You will never be a leader, ATerafin, if you persist in these trivial games."
"Thirty-nine." She laughed because she saw the frown deepening as he turned away. "Of course, most of them were critical, so I suppose I should be grateful that you've been quiet."
"I cannot recall, in my long service," and the word long was stretched in a way that implied centuries, not years, "any display of gratitude on your part."
"Which probably says more about your service than it does about—"
The comfortable warmth at her back was gone. The stag leaped up, over her, hooves tearing dirt as he reared. Tines cut air; she could have sworn, although she wouldn't have bet something as substantial as, say, money or life, that she saw the air move, like whirlpools, around them as he tossed his head wildly.
"What is it?" she shouted, as both Avandar and Lord Celleriant threw themselves out of the stag's way.
The exiled lord of the Arianni looked up at the stag that had been the Winter Queen's mount. "Apparently," the tone of his voice made the evening air seem warm, "the heartfire, as Viandaran called it, is not proof against the Queen's stag."
She turned to the stag. "What?" she asked softly. "What is it?"
We go to the Cities of Man.
"The Cities of—"
"
ATerafin
, be silent ."
The words froze in mid-syllable; she choked on them, as if they were physical objects. It was a shock; her neck snapped round as she turned, wide-eyed, to Kallandras of Senniel. Her lips formed the word "why?"—but even that one couldn't follow the ones he'd stopped.
Instead, in the clearing that they had chosen to occupy, she heard something worse: the sound of metal against metal. The drawing of blade.
Lord Celleriant.
Before his sword had been raised—and he did raise it— Kallandras of Senniel College had
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