Immortal (22 page)

Madóran was kneeling on the floor in front of me, watching me with a tiny frown. I took a deep breath and swallowed.

“Thank you.”

He nodded once, then stood and went to speak to some of the others who were returning from outside. Caeran's kin shot disapproving glances toward me.

“I should go away,” I said, rubbing at my eyes. They were probably red.

Caeran's answer was to tighten his hold on me. I looked at him and his eyes caught me, mesmerizing me just as powerfully as the first time. Everything else slid away, insignificant, until someone came too near to be ignored.

It was Nathrin. He held out my keychain, and dropped it in my palm when I lifted my hand.

“Thank you,” I said, sniffing.

He actually smiled, then raised an eyebrow at Caeran before turning away. I tried for a joke.

“I sure know how to bring a stop to a party, huh?”

Caeran laid his cheek against mine. “It is not your fault, and it was hardly a party.”

“They disapprove of me,” I whispered.

“Ignore them.”

His lips brushed my hair with the words, sending a shiver through me that had nothing to do with cold or fear. It felt wonderful sitting with Caeran's arms around me, but I knew it couldn't last. Shouldn't last.

“I really ought to go wash my face,” I said, making a halfhearted attempt to pull away.

“You look fine.” Caeran smoothed my hair back.

“I'm a mess. It's sweet of you, but let's be real.”

I made a more determined move to stand up, and Caeran let me go. Then I made the mistake of looking back at him. His eyes were filled with worry and a hint of pain. That mustn't be the beginning of worse feelings—I couldn't let it.

I managed a feeble smile. “Thanks. I feel a lot better. Maybe I'll take a hot shower.”

Another of the ælven came in—the other woman, not Mirali. All the others stopped talking, and Madóran took a step toward her.

“Any sign?”

She shook her head. “They are still pursuing him.” She gave me a long, hard look, then moved to the other end of the room.

Great. Yep, it's all my fault.

I headed for the entryway, wanting to get out of there as fast as possible. Tried not to glance back at Caeran. Failed. Gave him a wave, then ducked out.

An ælven was standing by the front door, on guard, it looked like. He frowned at me, and I hustled across to the kitchen.

I'd forgotten most of their names. It didn't help that they all looked so alike.

In the kitchen I made myself drink a glass of water and eat a handful of nuts from a bowl on the counter. My stomach protested, but didn't rebel. I filled the glass again and took it with me to the inner
portal
.

The courtyard was steeped in shadow, almost dark. I felt oddly exposed, as if I'd lost my coat and was open to the cold night. The air in the enclosed
portal
was chilly, but it wasn't a coat that I was missing. It was Caeran.

Not wanting to think in that direction, I hurried to my room and pulled the door shut, dousing myself in darkness. I fumbled for a light switch. No luck. I groped my way to the bed and managed to turn on the bedside lamp without knocking it over.

Very carefully, I set my glass on the table, then sat on the bed and gave in to a fit of the shivers. My arms were still sore where the alben had grabbed me—I could feel the bruises developing. The hot shower was sounding better and better, but I didn't have any clean clothes to change into. My laundry was still sitting in the washer. I felt tears threatening, only because I was frustrated and overwhelmed.

Hoping that doing something would help me pull myself together, I went over to the fireplace. The ashes of last night's fire were cold, and there wasn't any way to empty them. The only tool was a fireplace poker. I used it to push most of the ash to the side, then stacked fresh wood against the back wall of the kiva in a half-tipi shape.

There was no kindling, no paper, no matches. How did Madóran build the fires—did he carry all that stuff with him from room to room?

Actually, he probably didn't have to build a lot of fires most of the time. Remembering that I was only one of many guests, I decided to do the best I could on my own.

I raided my spiral notebooks for paper and stuffed it underneath the firewood. A search of all the drawers in the room turned up no matches. Fighting tears of frustration and stress, I decided to wash my face and then go look for matches in the kitchen.

The
portal
was still dark. It had been lit the night before; there must be a switch or something somewhere—maybe by the door to the front room. I went that way to look and heard muffled voices from beyond the door. It sounded like they were arguing.

Not my problem. I was a temporary guest. I'd be leaving—soon, I hoped—and they wouldn't have to worry about me any more. And no, this was not my fault. I did not bring the alben down on these people. He would have found them without me.

I saw a pale rectangle on the wall by the door and put my hand on it. Not an ordinary light switch, just a plate, but when I touched it flames flickered to life in lanterns all along the ceiling of the
portal
. I caught my breath at the beauty of the light racing around the passages, then headed to the bathroom.

On a small shelf embedded in the wall I found a comb. I used it to tidy my hair, then scrubbed my face with hot water and Madóran's lavender soap, and combed my hair again.

My reflection looked a bit wild-eyed, but I felt a lot better. Next order of business: matches, and maybe a cup of tea.

I expected to find the kitchen unoccupied, but when I went in, Madóran was standing at the counter, chopping carrots. A large pot was burbling on the back burner, and the smell of cooking onions made my stomach rumble.

“Can I help?” I asked.

Madóran glanced up at me. “Do you like to cook?”

I shrugged. “I'm not a gourmet, but I can chop veggies.”

He offered me a knife, a cutting board, and a bowl of potatoes. It was strange standing next to him at the counter, doing something so mundane, but it was also comforting.

“Is the meeting over?” I asked.

“No, they are still discussing what to do. I had little to add, and thought I could be of more use preparing supper.”

A slight note of strain in his voice made me look at him. There was tension in his face. He knew the alben, I recalled.

“Have the ones who went after him … ?”

“No. They have not returned.”

“I hope they're all right.”

Madóran scooped a pile of sliced carrots into the soup pot, then began chopping roasted green chile. I blinked as the fumes stung my eyes. He must be teaching all Caeran's family how to eat spicy food.

Don't think about Caeran. Think about anything else.

“My laundry.” I put down the knife. “I forgot to run it.”

“I started it. You might check to see if it is done.”

Nodding, I headed for the laundry room and quickly shifted the small load to the dryer, putting it on gentle in case Madóran's caftan might shrink. Weird to think of Madóran using these modern machines, but I was sure glad he had them.

When I got back to the kitchen, the rest of my potatoes had vanished along with the chile. Madóran was leaning over the pot, stirring and frowning.

“What else can I do?” I asked.

“Fill the kettle.”

I did that, and set it on the front burner, then watched Madóran shake some herbs into the stew pot from various jars. He seemed satisfied at last, and beckoned me over to the table. He was looking at my arms, and I glanced down, wondering if I'd gotten soot on the sleeves.

“You are still feeling some pain.”

“Oh—that. Yeah, he grabbed me pretty hard.”

Madóran reached out and stroked my arms, brushing the soreness away. I repressed a shiver, still amazed by what he could do.

“Thank you. That's a lot better.”

He smiled slightly. “It is the least I can do after scolding you.”

“I deserved it. I can't believe I was so stupid.”

“A mistake any of us might have made.”

His gaze was gentle, even kindly. So different from the way the others looked at me. I was grateful, and surprised.

“I thought you disapproved of me.”

He glanced down. “I did, at first, but you have shown unexpected depths. Also, I can see that it is too late.”

I frowned, unsure what he meant. Was he talking about Caeran?

“It's not too late,” I said defensively.

Madóran raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps I was mistaken,” he said, and stood up.

The kettle had begun to sing its low, melodious note. It sounded mournful, or maybe that was just my mood. Madóran made tea, bringing the pot and two cups to the table along with a bowl of fruit that I was proud to be able to identify as figs. He pushed them toward me, and I picked one up.

“Don't tell me you grew these.”

“There is a fig tree in the plazuela.” He gestured toward the courtyard. “Did you not see it?”

“I wouldn't know a fig tree if it bit me.”

“It has no leaves at the moment.”

I tilted my head. “You must love this place.”

He paused, gazing at me. “I do. I have been here long enough to grow attached.”

Yeah, two or three centuries would do that, I guessed. I bit into my fig. It was soft and sweet, mild compared to the dried figs and cookie fillings I was used to.

“And I always intended to stay. I meant to love it, so that—”

He stopped abruptly, frowning. Lifted the lid of the teapot to see if the tea was strong enough. The fragrant steam rose between us, obscuring his face for a moment.

“This is ready.”

He poured for me, then for himself. I sipped and sighed, grateful for the warmth. The window was chilly, and I still felt a little fragile.

“You were trying to forget your former home?” I asked.

That was nosy of me. Maybe Madóran didn't want to talk about his past, least of all with a pesky mortal. I took another swallow of tea, trying to think of a different subject.

“Yes,” he said after a moment. His voice was filled with sadness. “There are many things I would like to forget. Those of course are the things I cannot help but remember.”

“Sorry.”

He shook his head, smiling slightly. “I lived in Italy, and before that in Greece. I have been a healer for many centuries. It has been my lifelong study.”

“Healing your own kind?”

“And humans. More and more, humans. Once you did not outnumber us so vastly, but we breed very rarely.”

I nodded. Caeran had said that.

“How many of you are there?”

“Fewer than a thousand.”

I was shocked. “In the whole world?”

He nodded. “I cannot be certain of the number. When I came here, I severed all contact with the others. I intended to remain apart from them.”

Why? I hastily took another fig, trying to shift my thoughts.

“Because of Gehmanin,” Madóran said.

“I didn't mean—”

“I know, but let me say this to you. It is not safe for me to discuss it with the others.” He gazed at me, blue eyes sharp and earnest. “Will you accept my confidence?”

I swallowed. It was the least I could do.

“Sure.”

Madóran stared at the teacup between his hands. “Gehmanin was my lover, long ago.”

I must have gasped, because he glanced up, smiling wryly. “
Long
ago. We have both had other loves since.”

Whoa. I took another swallow of tea, trying to grasp what I was hearing. Gehmanin, who was now an alben, had once been … and that meant …

“He would have returned to me had I asked it. He wanted me to ask it, but I never would.”

Unable to think of a single thing to say, I just listened.

“We first met on Samos. He was a favored member of Polycrates's court. Well, we both were, but he far more than I. He let himself be idolized; he basked in it. I considered his behavior too public, too involved with mortals for safety. We argued, and I came to see that we would never reconcile that difference. So I … left.”

His voice rang with heartache. Even now, centuries later, he regretted this loss. How could these people endure such pain?

“I traveled to Rome, and threw myself into study. Watched the empire thrive, and then begin to decay. I could see its end approaching, so I moved again, this time to Egypt, there to pursue my learning in a different context.”