Arrow’s Flight (35 page)

“That’s odd.”

“That’s an understatement. He rattles on about nothing like a granny-gossip at a Fair, and it’s what he doesn’t write about that’s the most interesting. He dances verbally about doing his very best to avoid the subject of my internee. That’s not easy to do in a letter this size! He doesn’t mention you until the very end, and then only to say that he’s sent you some music that we all might like to try together some time. It’s as if he’s afraid to write your name for fear he’ll give something away.”

Talia swallowed a lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat.

“Here’s the music he sent,” she replied, handing him the packet.

“Bright Havens, this must have cost him a fortune!” Kris began sorting it into two piles, one for each of them—when something slipped out from amid the music manuscripts.

“Hm? What’s this?” He picked it up; it seemed to be a slim book bound in brown leather. He leafed through it.

“This—without any doubt—is intended for you,” he said soberly, handing it to her.

It was a book of ballads, among them, the long version of “Sun and Shadow.”

“How do you know he didn’t buy it for himself?” she asked doubtfully. “Or you?”

“Because I happen to know he has two copies of that same book, both bound in blue, which happens to be his favorite color. One he keeps at his room, the other travels with him. And he knows I have the book, I’m the one that showed it to him. No, it’s no accident that this was among the manuscripts—and it’s undoubtedly the reason why he sent them to you instead of me.”

“But—”

“Talia, I have to talk to you. Seriously.”

Gods—here it came.

“I—” he began, looking almost tortured. “Look, I like you a lot. I think you’re one of the sweetest ladies to wear Whites. And I probably should never have let you get involved with me.”

“What?” she said, unable for a moment to comprehend what he was trying to say.

“Dirk is worth twenty of me,” he continued doggedly, “and if you stop to think about it, you’ll realize I’m right about that. You’re seeing more in our relationship than exists—than can exist. I just can’t give you anything more than friendship, Talia. And I can’t let you ruin your life and Dirk’s by letting you go on thinking—”

“Wait just a damned minute here,” she interrupted him. “You think that I’m infatuated with you?”

He looked surprised by her reaction. “Of course,” he replied—in an insultingly matter-of-fact tone.

All the tension that had been building up inside her came to a head. She’d been putting up with his occasional air of superiority, the slight condescension he used whenever later evidence proved that some decision of his that she’d opposed turned out to be right. And there was an underlying resentment on her part at his unvoiced attitude that getting her Gift under control was now largely a matter of “will” and not the slow rebuilding of something that had been shattered past recognition.

It was that “of course” that had been the spark to set the pyre alight. She turned on him angrily, fists clenching unconsciously. “Of course? Just because every other female falls languishing at your feet? You think I’ve no mind of my own?”

“Well,” he replied, taken aback, and obviously intending to try to say something to placate her.

“You—you—” she was at a total loss for words. All this time, she’d been wasting, worrying about him, about hurting his feelings. And he had been blithely assuming that just because she’d been sleeping with him, she was obviously going to be fixated on him. Even now, he was still bewildered, perfect features blank with perfect astonishment.

She pulled back her right arm, and landed a perfect punch right on the end of that perfect chin.

Kris found himself staring up at her from the ground in front of the Station door, with a jaw that felt dislocated.

“You conceited peacock! Humor me, will you? At least—” she snarled “—you can’t accuse me of misusing my Gift this time!”

He lifted one hand and felt along his jawline, a little dazed. “No. That was a physical attack, all right . ..”

But by the time he answered, she had turned on her heel and stalked off toward the tiny lake, into the darkness. By the time he gathered his wits and came after her, there was no sign of her beyond a little pile of clothing next to the blankets they’d spread there earlier in the day.

Now he was beginning to become angry—after all, he hadn’t meant to insult her!—and a little worried, as well. He began stripping off his own clothing to go in after her. As he waded in through the shallows, he saw something moving across the lake, coming toward him. Before he had any idea of what she intended, she pulled both his legs out from beneath him and yanked him under the water. Coughing and spluttering, he broke the surface again to see her bobbing just out of reach.

She was laughing at him.

“Bitch!” he yelled, and dove furiously after her.

But when he reached the place where she had been, she was gone, and the surface of the pond was undisturbed. He peered around in the dim light, trying to locate her, when hands grasping his ankles gave him just enough warning to hold his breath this time. Once again he was pulled under, and once again she escaped without his laying a finger on her.

This time when he surfaced and gasped for air, he did not immediately set out after her. When he didn’t move, she called mockingly, “That’s not going to save you, you know,” and dove under, vanishing.

He waited for her to surface, ready to catch her before she’d fully located him. When she didn’t, he waited for currents that would tell him she was somewhere nearby, beneath the water.

Nothing happened, and he began to be a little concerned. She’d been under an awfully long time. He struck out for the spot where he’d last seen her.

He had no sooner begun to move when she erupted from the water immediately behind him. Hands on his shoulders drove him under. He kicked free and came thrashing back up,
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her a bare fingerlength out of reach.

“Infatuated fool, am I? Stupid, am I? Then why can’t you catch me?”

He kicked off after her, windmilling the surface energetically. She didn’t seem to be expending half the effort he was, yet she sped through the water with ease, remaining out of reach with a laziness that galled. From time to time she’d vanish altogether, and this was the signal that he’d better hold his breath, because shortly after her disappearance he would find himself pushed or pulled under the surface again.

And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t catch her even then.

Finally he took refuge in the shallows, and waited for her to follow. Now he was angry; humiliated, and angry, and ready to take her apart.

She rose, dripping, out of the water just out of reach. He glared at her—

And suddenly realized he’d put himself in a worse position than before. He was stark naked—he could probably pound her into the ground like a tent peg if he could get his hands on her—but if she could get even the tiniest amount of leverage to get a knee in—

Oh, she could hurt him.

Anger, frustration, and acute embarrassment chased each other around inside of him until he was nearly vibrating with conflicting impulses—while she glared back, just as angry as he was. Until something of his inner confusion communicated itself to her—and she collapsed to her knees, laughing helplessly.

His anger ran away like water.

He was completely exhausted; when anger stopped giving him an energy boost, he felt it. He turned his back on her, climbed out of the water, and dragged himself onto the waiting blanket without bothering to reach for a towel or his clothing.

As he lay face down, panting, he heard footsteps behind him.

“No more—please!” he groaned. “You’ve won; I’ve lost. I’m an idiot. And a boor. Truce!”

“You give up too easily.” Talia laughed deep in her throat, like a cat purring, “And you deserved what you got. Keren’s right; every so often you start to think you can have everything your own way, and you ought to have a lesson.”

She sat down beside him, and he moved his head enough to see that she’d donned her short undershift and was toweling her hair vigorously.

“Where did you ever learn to swim like that?”

“Sherrill,” she replied. “Oh, I’ve been able to swim since I was very little, but my efforts were a lot like yours; loads of thrashing to little purpose. After the time I was dumped in the river, Alberich detailed Sherrill to teach me the efficient way to swim, and how to keep from drowning under most conditions. Next winter she gave me a ‘final exam’ by pushing me off the bridge fully clothed. Obviously, I passed— though a pair of my boots is still probably residing at the bottom of the river. Good thing I’d almost outgrown them.”

“Remind me never to anger either of you while swimming.”

“Count Keren in on that, too. She’s just as good. Poor, abused Kris.” He could almost see her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Are you half-drowned?”

“Three-quarters. And completely worn out.”

“Forgive me, but I doubt that.” She ran a delicate finger along his spine.

He gritted his teeth and remained unmoving, trying his best to ignore the shivery-pleasant sensations she was causing. When he didn’t respond, except for goose bumps, she simply laughed again, and began stroking him delicately from neck to knees.

He was determined not to yield, and held himself as quiet as possible.

“Stubborn, hmm?” she chuckled.

Before he had any notion of what she intended, she began fondling him in such a way that his original intentions went flying off in every direction.

“Witch!” he said fiercely, and flipped over so quickly that he managed to get her pinned beneath him.

“I thought you were supposed to be worn out.”

“I’ll show you how worn out I am,” he muttered, and began tormenting her in return, playing teas-ingly with every part of her that he could reach. She simply chuckled throatily and returned kind for kind. He held out as long as he physically could—but the conclusion was foregone. It left them both dripping with sweat, and drained as well as sated.

“Lord of Lights,” he said when he was able to speak. “If that’s an example of what Rolan does to you, I’m glad Tantris isn’t a mare! By the time we finished this circuit, I’d be worn to a shadow.”

Instead of replying, she sighed, rose, and took the few steps to the water’s edge, plunging gracefully back into the pond.

When she returned, clean and dripping, she seemed to have regained a more tranquil mood. Kris took a brief dip himself, and by the time he got back she was dry again, wearing her sleeveless tunic against the cooling breeze. He dried himself off and handed her the bottle Skif had left with them. She took a long pull at it and gave it back.

“So it’s Midsummer’s Eve, hmm? We never celebrated Midsummer on the Holdings,” she said, “And I was always at the Collegium during holidays after I was Chosen.”

“Not celebrate Midsummer? Why not?” he asked in surprise.

“Because, according to the Elders, it has no religious significance and is only a frivolous and lewd excuse for licentiousness. That’s a quote, by the way. What do people usually do, Midsummer’s Eve?”

“Your Elders have a little right on their side.” He couldn’t help smiling. “On Midsummer’s Eve at sunset, there are picnics in the woods. People always begin in large groups, but by this time of night they’ve usually paired off. The excuse to sleep out tonight is that you need to sleep in the forest in order to find the freshest flowers in the morning. Believe it or not, when morning arrives, people do manage to pick flowers.”

She took a long pull on the bottle. “For their lady-loves?” She probably hadn’t meant it to sound cynical, but it did.

Kris was too tired to take offense. “No, for every female, no matter who. There’s no female of any age that lacks a garland or bouquet; those that have no relatives get them from anyone that can claim the remotest acquaintance with them. No one is left out, old or young. Women who have been or are about to be mothers get baskets of fruit as well. That day there are more picnics in the woods—family picnics, this time, with a bit more decorum—and music and tales in the evening. Bards love it; they’re sure to leave with their pockets full of coin, their hair full of flowers, and a young lady or gentleman on each arm. It’s rather like a Birthing-Day celebration, but on a bigger scale.”

“Holderfolk don’t celebrate Birthing-Days either— except to deliver a lecture on responsibility,” she said tonelessly.

“When is your Birthing-Day?” he asked curiously.

“Midsummer’s Eve. Tonight. Which is no doubt why I’m such a demon-child, having had the bad taste to be born on such a licentious night.”

“So that’s why you’ve been so off-color!” Kris snatched at the excuse to turn her mood around. “You should have told me!”

“I’m being more than a bit of a bitch, aren’t I? Fm sorry. First I get mad and knock you down, then I make a fool out of you, knowing damn well that I could probably swim rings around you, then I half-drown you, and I conclude by doing my best to ruin the rest of the evening by being sour. I’m being rotten, and I apologize.”

“You’ve put up with my moods often enough. You’re entitled to have off times yourself.”