The Guild (29 page)

She turned to lean against the wall next to the mirror, folding her arms. “Gabria. And everyone who thinks like her. I went down for a cup of mulled cider earlier, and three of the people I passed gave me startled looks, two more wouldn’t meet my eyes, and all five of them practically scuttled away like your little paper bugs, there. I
don’t
like feeling like a . . . well, like I’m a stupid, arrogant Mekhanan priest.”

“Time and patience will hopefully bring them around. In the meantime, the other mages have been moved back into town, so that means my brother’s back in his own quarters,” Alonnen told her. He focused on the crystal tablet in his hands, repositioning his paper spies. “I know you’re supposed to be assigned a room . . . which you would have to share, since the inner circle is still pretty full . . . but you’re welcome to take his spot on my sitting room couch.”

She felt ambivalent over the offer. Gratitude for the fact he offered her a place in his sanctuary. Annoyance for the fact that place was on a
couch
of all things. Giving in to her sense of humor, Rexei quipped, “Oh, I see how it is. Even
you
are afraid to let me back into your bed, now that I’ve gone and summoned a Goddess.”

He grinned and slanted her a mock-chiding look in between positioning his paper spies. “If I truly felt that way, I’d have made you sleep on the couch last night at Big Momma’s. But, if you want . . . you
could
sleep in my bed. You’d have to share it with me, though. And I’ll give you fair warning, Rexei Longshanks. I find you very appealing. I might ask for a kiss at some point.”

Looking up from the task of guiding one of the folded-paper bugs across a set of steps, he tried to gauge how she felt about that.
From the blush on her cheeks and the shy way she bit her lower lip—darkness swept over the mirror, the image fuzzed, snapped, and shifted to another cockroach’s view. Blinking, he tapped through to the next viewpoint . . . and saw a small smear of color on the steps. Specifically, a bit of squished paper in the wake of a novice coming down off the tiers ringing the chamber.

“Dammit, I just lost another one!” he complained. A muffled noise made him glance sharply at his companion. Eyes bright, cheeks pink, and bottom lip bitten by her teeth, Rexei tried not to laugh out loud . . . but it was obvious she was laughing. Unable to help it, Alonnen grinned back at her. Only for a moment, though. Turning back to the mirror, he sighed and sent one of the other paper roaches scuttling forward to scoop its mangled, lifeless brethren off the steps. “Right . . . dispose of this one, stash the others in good viewing angles . . . then contact my fellow Guardians to let them know it looks like we have a little breathing room.”

“I’ll get back to my Charter-drafting,” Rexei agreed, her mirth subsiding. She raked a hand over her short, dark locks. “Part of me wishes I could still be a kid again, responsible only for myself and my own safety. But I’m an adult now, and that means being responsible, respectable, dependable . . .”

“Lots of words that end in ‘ibble,’ eh?” Alonnen asked, not without sympathy.

She nodded. Arms crossed on her chest, she stood there for a moment, feeling restless and unsure. An impulse crossed her mind, one that Rexei found herself blurting out, “I want a dress.”

Alonnen blinked but otherwise showed little surprise. He thought about it, then tipped his head. “That can be arranged. And it’s a good sign.”

“It is? Of what?” Rexei asked him, unsure what he meant by that.

He smiled. “That you’re feeling relaxed enough to
want
to wear a dress, rather than tromp around in trousers all the time. I’m glad
you feel you can trust me, and everyone else here.” He made a fluttering, shooing motion with his fingers. “Scuttling away notwithstanding.”

She blushed and ducked her head a little, but otherwise, she didn’t hide the shy smile that curved her lips. On impulse, he leaned in and kissed her cheek. Rexei raised her head a little, her eyes wide with wonder, not fear. Swaying close a second time, Alonnen kissed her on the lips. Soft and sweet, it felt just a little too brief and light for his tastes, but he pulled back anyway. Not far, just enough to break the kiss and look into her brown eyes, wondering how she would react.

Rexei wondered, too. This wasn’t a stage kiss for some play, and she wasn’t playing the part of a young man at the moment. Alonnen knew she was female, knew she was leery of . . . well, things completely unlike what he had just done, she realized.
He kissed me because he wants to kiss me. And he’s . . . he’s nice. A truly nice, good man.
Her gaze drifted down his long nose to his lips.
And I actually want
more
.

Being kissed by him felt natural and right, not staged or forced. She wanted to ask—no, she
acted
, closing the gap between them without a word. Not just pressing her lips to his, but her chest to his, her arms around his shoulders, her fingers touching the soft ginger curls of his hair. She felt him inhale deeply, and felt the shift of his hands as they cupped her arms. Not to reject, but to accept her kiss, for those hands slipped down to her waist and around the small of her back, holding her closer.

Warm, hungry, satisfying, the kiss deepened and lengthened until somehow her hands wound up on his ribs underneath his sweater while his landed on her rump, both kneading every bit of flesh they could reach. One particular squeeze on his part lifted her up onto her toes and rubbed her groin up against his. For a moment, she shied from the hardness her body found, then Rexei relaxed into it, accepting his interest in her.

The chiming of his newest mirror dragged Alonnen back to his senses. It was not easy, not when his attraction to the woman in his arms was surprisingly strong. Until now, Alonnen had considered her appealing, but more for her inner qualities, her intelligence, her strength of mind, her manifested belief in a better way of life than everything they had known. Now, though, he knew the way she felt against him, the way she tasted in each kiss. The soft sounds she had made—curious, hungry, and interested in more—left him aching and heady, as if she were some undiscovered wine.

A wise mage avoided any excess of wine. A wise Guild Master attended to his duties, such as the mirror which chimed again, trying to get his attention. A wise man did not let his passions rule his life when there was still work to be done.

Alonnen kissed her again. Not for long, but enough to let both of them know just how much he wanted to continue. Lifting a finger, he touched the corner of her mouth and smiled softly.

“This is a bookmark,” he told her. “If you want me to continue . . . kiss me here.” He tapped the same corner of his own mouth—and got a peck of a kiss from her. Caught off-guard, he laughed, then hugged her. “Kiss me there
later
, love,” he mock chided. The mirror chimed, and he sighed ruefully. “Unfortunately, duty calls.”

Stepping away, he moved to grab the green pair from among his collection of viewing lenses and a scarf to wrap around his hair and chin, while Rexei moved back to her temporary desk. Once he was ready, he opened the connection. It was Tipa’thia; despite her rich, natural tan, her age-seamed face still looked a bit pale and puffy from her heart troubles. Her brown eyes were still sharp though, and her voice smooth as it came through the mirror, translated by whatever magic Guardian Kerric had wrought in the mirrors he had passed to everyone.

“Good evening, Guardian Alonnen,” she told him.

“And a good morning to you, Guardian Tipa’thia. I’m surprised to see you tonight. I thought your apprentice, Pelai, said you were still too ill to participate.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I am not doing well, but I have to do
something
to get the Hierarchy off my back regarding the Convocation fiasco. They know better than to castigate me, but they also will not be allowed to abuse my best Disciplinarian.”

“Fiasco?” he asked, curious. “Disciplinarian?”

“Temple business. Suffice to say, with the Puhon brothers out of immediate reach, the Hierarchy is frothing at the mouth for
someone
to blame. It is an odd day when discussing demons is an adequate distraction. So. How are those paper spies doing, young man?” she asked him.

“They’re doing fine for the most part, and thank you for sending them. Unfortunately, I lost two on the way in,” he confessed, “but the rest are tucked into good scrying angles.”

“Two? How?” the Mendhite Guardian asked.

“The door closed a bit fast on the last one scuttling into the building, and an unexpected shoe squashed the other a short while later,” he told her. “I didn’t move it fast enough across a set of steps.”

“I sent you ten. Eight should still be more than enough . . . though I suppose it is too soon to have any word on what they are doing,” the elderly mage muttered.

“Actually, I’ve already heard some relatively encouraging news. The downside is that it’s Torven Shel Von who’s guiding the ex-Mekhanan priests in their demon-summoning quest. That’s the fellow Guardian Kerric originally kicked out of the Tower for trying to steal its Fountain,” he added in an aside. “The one connected to Kerric’s forescrying mirror and its demon sightings.”

“So what is he doing, that this Torven fellow keeps stirring up intermittent Netherhell invasions?” Tipa’thia asked, frowning softly.

“I have no idea. Actually, it looks like he’s trying to
prevent
a Netherhell invasion. He’s being very insistent on methodical training, discipline, and perfecting every safety precaution available.” Alonnen folded his arms, then quickly readjusted the scarf as it threatened to slip and expose his jawline. He shrugged as he did so. “On the one hand, that should buy us a lot more time than I’d feared we would have before any summonings begin in earnest. On the other hand, that means when they do begin, it’ll be hard to counter, since there’ll be fewer errors being made.”

“True. Well. Having extra time while they practice their precautions is still good news. If you will tell everyone west of you—to the Guardians of Fortuna, Natallia, and so forth, I will pass along the news to the east myself, to Althinac, Senod-Gra, and beyond. Guardians Callaia, Koro, Kelezam, and Ilaiea can wait until morning comes to their portion of the world,” Tipa’thia added. “It is not an emergency, so there is no need to awaken them.”

“Good news can wait, but bad news cannot, eh?” Alonnen quipped. He glanced briefly to the side, to where Rexei had reseated herself, her cheek on one fist, the other holding a graphite stick, back to marking down more Charter ideas for her incipient Holy Guild. Dragging his mind back to the problem at hand, he asked, “Do you have any spare recording crystals? What I have for the scrying paper bugs will last a couple days, but from the sounds of it, we may be monitoring their activities for at least a couple of weeks.”

The elderly woman lifted her brows. “You do not have enough? What about just making your own?”

“We’re on a tight budget here, and saving the world is expensive,” he retorted lightly. The last thing he wanted to get into was an admission that he didn’t know
how
to make the necessary crystals and probably did not have any of the right materials on hand. “Do you have any to spare or not?”

“You should contact Guardian Kerric. He has pledged the resources of the Tower to this cause, and I am certain they have many to spare.”

Not caring much for her dismissive tone, Alonnen narrowed his eyes. “And what does Mendhi’s Guardian pledge?”

“We
were
going to pledge the resources of the Convocation. But as that power has been wrenched from our control, then I suppose we will simply offer what we always have. Knowledge.” Her smug look was spoiled by the sound of a voice somewhere on her side of the mirror connection, some sort of reminder. Guardian Tipa’thia lifted her chin. “I am needed elsewhere. Good evening to you, Guardian Alonnen.”

“And good morning to you, Guardian Tipa’thia,” Alonnen muttered. He reached up to tap the mirror into quiescence and blew out the breath he had been holding. “Annoying, smug, arrogant . . . I’ll not ask
you
for any of the help we need,” he added to his own reflection, though his thoughts were on the Mendhite Guardian. “I’d rather ask that apprentice of yours . . .”

“Muttering at an unconnected mirror isn’t going to get you what you want,” Rexei told him. She hadn’t quite heard his words, but she understood his tone. “Either speak up or say nothing.”

“Pelai seems like a
reasonable
sort, rather than superior-than-you,” he clarified, unwinding the soft black scarf from his head and shoulders. Removing the green-tinted glasses as well, he rubbed briefly at his eyes and the bridge of his nose. “Call it my own pride acting up, because while I
know
we don’t know nearly enough about magic here in ex-Mekhana, I’m not about to allow anyone with that much pride learn just how little we know. There are times when she seems approachable, even amiable, and times when she seems like a vulture waiting for its prey to stagger. I do know that she’s trustworthy as a Guardian, but I don’t know if she’s trustworthy as a confidante.”

An amused thought crossed Rexei’s mind. “Do you trust her as far as you can throw her?”

“She does look skinny enough for me to throw . . . but I’m told Mendhites are taller than most people, so I’m not quite sure how far I could actually throw her,” he allowed, scratching at his chin. “The height’ll add more weight, plus the awkwardness of the length . . . and all that kicking and screaming, of course.”

Rexei snorted with laughter. She clapped her hand over her nose and mouth, but it was too late; Alonnen heard it and grinned back at her.

• • •

A
dozen nights of sleeping on the Guild Master’s couch. That was her lot in life of late. No one wanted to share a room with a God summoner, though most of those living in the inner Vortex were polite to her. Nor were there any empty rooms to spare; a number of the freed mages had proven too scared of being recaptured and re-abused to be housed anywhere else, plus ones were coming in from far-flung regions which were now being torn apart by civil war. Heias Precinct was one of the few peaceful regions around, and the dam was its safest zone for mages needing to recover from the trauma of their capture. So Rexei camped each night on Alonnen’s couch. At least it was broad and comfortable, with enough bedding to keep her feeling warm.