The Sand Prince (41 page)

"No, not really," he answered. "I think my people are set a little warmer than yours."

Then why bother with a fire at all?
she was about to snap. Then she realized
. For me
.

"Well, I’m tired of glowing rocks. I think I’ll show you how to make a fire. I don’t know how to cook rabbit
a la
rock." She picked up a handful of twigs. "Bring me a bunch of these, and then a bunch of bigger ones. Brown ones, not green. And some leaves. Try to get dry ones."

"How do you know how to do this? Isn’t it a farm thing? Or a servant thing?"

She looked at him curiously. "A servant thing? Making a fire? Did you get that idea from your book?" She supposed he had—the Duke always had a battalion of valets, chefs, butlers and maids, most nameless, lighting fires and gas lamps and cigars for him. "No, when we were children we would make a camp out on the back lawn. May and Rane, and even Scilla when she was old enough. Pol was already too much of a grownup and he was always off balancing the books or something. But the rest of us would be out there all night. We’d bring out food and hot drinks and pretend we were lost in the Great Old Forest. And we took turns and had contests to see who could build the best fire; we took great pride in them. Rane usually won, he had the best eye for balance back then. It was such fun! We called it Running Away from the Dem..." She turned pink and tossed her branch on the ground. "I can’t ever be kind to you, it seems."

"That game sounds nice," he said slowly. "Your family sounds nice."

"Well, what sort of things did you play, growing up?" she asked. "Do you have many brothers and sisters?"

"No," he answered.

"No, you don’t have a lot of siblings, or no, you didn’t play games like that?" It was like unknotting a necklace, with this one.

"No to both, actually. We are small and then we are expected to be what we are. Not so many games like that."

She chewed her fingernail for a moment and came to a decision. "I’m going to do something, and I don’t want you to get angry or upset. Just stand still."

As she approached him, she could see the effort it took for him not to draw back. She reached up and put her arms around his neck, and after a moment she felt the tension drain from his shoulders. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek against her smooth, cool hair. She heard him sigh softly as he leaned against her.

"Now," she said, stepping back, "let’s build a fire."

***

H
ours later, the moons were up, and—as Lelet had predicted—it had gotten quite cold. Her fire had come together nicely, even if the rabbit had been burned in places and almost raw in others. He was fascinated by her pack of matches, and remarked, "My whole life could have been different if I'd had these." But as usual he wouldn't explain what he meant.

She was making a mental checklist called Things They Don't Have On Eriis:

Matches

Rain/water

Music

HORSES

Humor

They ate the raw/burned rabbit with stolen bread and another pastry and called it "perfect, lovely, just fine." She figured that while she would have preferred their meal prepared braised with a nice mustard sauce, it was probably still a lot better than sand. She reached into the leather bag. "Look what else I got today," she said gleefully. She held out a pair of worn slippers. They were a faded blue and brown fabric, padded on top and looked only slightly too big. "They were on the porch. I
stole
them."

"Now you can run away," he observed.

She shrugged. "Maybe in the morning. Too cold for a proper escape right now. And look at this." She held out something lumpy and green. "While you were being invisible at the house, I got this off the tree."

"Too bad," he said. "You couldn't find any good ones?"

Her eyes narrowed and she tossed the ugly fruit back and forth between her hands. "Moth, what do you think this is?"

"It’s an apple," he answered, frowning uncertainly. "But it’s gone bad. It’s the wrong color and the wrong shape." She grinned and he shrugged. "Not an apple, then."

She held her hand out. "Try it."

"This isn't going to turn out to be another dog incident, is it?" he asked suspiciously.

She laughed and bit into the fruit herself. Then she held it out again. He took her by the wrist and took a bite of the fruit as she held it.

He looked up at her, astonished. "You have to tell me what this is." Without thinking, he took another bite, licking the juice off her fingers. Instantly he went scarlet and stammered, "Please forgive me, I don't know why I... That was... um, what is that?"

She cleared her throat and said, "This is called a pear. Please, take the rest of it." She carefully set it in front of him.

He forced himself to finish it slowly. "Rain," he said. "Music—harps?" She nodded. "Pears. I like it here."

He's making his own list. I wonder if he knows about chocolate
, she thought.
He'll never leave.

***

H
e watched her trying to get comfortable in her oversized blanket. Finally he said, "I’m going to do something and I don’t want you to get angry."

She laughed. "I promise I will not get angry." He carried his own blanket to her side and stretched himself out a decent foot or so away from her. Her eyes widened. "Did you just do that? Make it warmer?" He nodded. "Thank you." She reached out and pulled on his shoulder until he was facing her. "You know, I’ll probably feel differently tomorrow, but right now? I’m not sorry."

"What could you possibly have to be sorry for?" he wondered.

"I’m not sorry that I’m here. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before." She leaned on her elbow and nodded. "Magic. Stealing. Going invisible. It’s all very exciting."

The smile fled his eyes. "I am an adventure to you."

"Oh no! No, this—" she indicated the fire, the horse and the cart, the moons, "this is an adventure. You? You are... I’m not sure what you are. Maybe I’ll find out tomorrow." She leaned forward and kissed him lightly. "Good night." Then she turned back to the fire and pulled the blanket up so only a few pale curls were showing.

––––––––

The Duke stood on the cliffs as the sea below him boomed and called. The huge dark bulk of Gardenhour rose at his back, at once a blessing of family and security, and a prison and curse of loneliness and lies. Somewhere in the great manor the girl lay sleeping. "Another beating heart," the Duke pondered. "Think on that." He turned away from the sea. A single candle burned in an upper window.

-The Claiming of the Duke, pg 168

Malloy Dos Capeheart, Little Gorda Press (out of print)

––––––––

M
istra

100 years after the War of the Door, Mistran calendar

20 years later, Eriisai calendar

Road through the Great Forest

Licking her fingers? Have you gone simple in your wits
? Moth tried to tear his eyes from the silhouette of Lelet as she relaxed into sleep.
She should have slapped you, or gotten up and left.
But she didn’t do those things. She didn’t even seem upset.

As he did every evening, he performed what he thought of as his exercise in futility. He tried to say ‘sister’ or ‘Scilla’ or ‘Guardhouse’ or ‘it’s all the fault of your sister Scilla at the Guardhouse’. But even when he could convince his jaw to move, nothing came out of his mouth, not even a whisper.

She wanted to know about his family. The horrible child has asked him as well. There wasn’t any reason not to tell Lelet, at least, about his life on Eriis, other than that he didn’t want to. How could he explain the Court, the play-yard—his Mother, by Light and Wind? What would she think of him then? Not even a proper demon, and never anything but a target.

He leaned back and watched the moons and the stars wheel through the trees and thought about the taste of pear on his lips.

Moth slept, and as he so often did he visited his nursery crèche in his dreams. He felt the same old mixture of humiliation and anger with a deep desire to protect the small demon he'd once been. The dream took him to his clan cousin's daily games, where every day was the same. In his dreams, he never got any older, never learned about reaching up, never grabbed a wing. Sometimes he was banished to the Crosswinds. Sometimes he was caught in a firewhirl.

Now his mother was leaning down and saying, "You're special. You're different. You'll see. It's like a game." He enthusiastically told her circle of friends at Court that he was "different, special" until she slapped him and told him to never say anything like that ever again. He waited for his magic to manifest. It never did. He waited to grow his wings, so he could fly away. That never happened either. And then he found out about his blood—he was different and special after all. But it was the worst game ever.

He woke with a start, not knowing where he was, and threw up a hand to keep the fireball out of his face. When he understood that it had been a dream he shook his head and laid back down. The fire was almost out and Lelet was curled into a shivery ball under her smelly blanket.

I should tell her everything. When exactly is a good time to tell someone you've spied on them? Stolen from them? Lied to them?

The least he could do was keep her from freezing. Moving carefully so not to wake her, he rearranged himself close at her side. Eventually he slept and this time it was the other dream, the good one about water. In his dream he reached out and let it run through his hands.

***

H
ours later, Lelet woke in the dark. She was deliciously warm. The distance between them had closed, he was lying right behind her with an arm thrown over her, both of their faces towards what remained of the fire. His hand gently cupped her breast. She was about to carefully move it away when he sighed, shifted, and pulled her closer.

She watched the fading embers and listened to him breathing and wondered how it was possible to feel so safe in such strange company.

––––––––

"Don't you see?" asked Gwenyth, pressing the glittering rope back into Sir Edward's hand, "I'd rather wash his pots than wear your jewels. Because that is what love is." She laughed, although she felt nothing but fear. "Why, you mean no more to me than... this windowsill!"

-The Claiming of the Duke, pg 150

Malloy Dos Capeheart, Little Gorda Press (out of print)

––––––––

M
istra

100 years after the War of the Door, Mistran calendar

20 years later, Eriisai calendar

Road through the Great Forest

The next day turned fine, with a blue sky and warm sun, and Lelet found her disposition much improved. She knew plenty of things about herself—she could be a horror without a proper meal or a decent night's sleep—but there were things that she didn't know. Stealing had been so much fun it made her a little worried. And how she'd essentially run off with this strange man—because if she was being honest, she knew she could have taken the horse and left a dozen times over. Why hadn't she? He'd get in trouble with her brother, but what was that to her? There was a time not long ago when that would have been all the reason she needed, the idea of ruining one of Rane's little games. She wondered again what her brother was up to. Unless something vile was planned for the end of this trip it didn't feel like he was taking revenge for being sent away. And she didn't think Moth would allow anything to happen to her, anyway.
What are you playing at, Rane? Did you think I'd magically fall in love with someone utterly unsuitable? Is that your idea of revenge? That's a long game, even for you.

It was an interesting idea, though.

To her own surprise, she was even getting used to sleeping outside. She was, however, not surprised at how much she wanted Moth's arms around her when she woke up, and how disappointed she'd been to open her eyes and see him bothering the horse. It was funny, really, they hadn't seen anything other than birds, and she knew the woods were full of deer from listening to tales of Billah's frequent hunting excursions (his stories usually involved a lot of beer and someone falling out of a tree).

She wondered if all animals didn't like Moth. It was too bad, he was absolutely determined to make friends with the horse, who even now was slowly backing away from him. Maybe he was coming on too strong?

"They have feelings, you know, they can tell things." She stood between the demon and the horse, whispering to it and rubbing its ears until it calmed down.

"Such as?" He looked offended, but was trying to hide it. When the horse made any move, from flicking its tail to shaking its head, he jumped, at the same time trying not to jump.

"He knows you're afraid of him, and I think he knows you're not a regular person. Oh, don't look like that, plenty of people don't get along with horses. And he's right, you aren't regular. Give me your hand."

"No. He'll bite it off." She took his hand and together they stroked the animal's nose. Then she moved to its side and they ran their hands, fingers entwined, along its long neck. As long as she was between them, the animal relaxed. Eventually, so did Moth.

She felt a sudden warmth, as if they'd been plunged into high summer. For a moment she wondered if she had come down with a fever, then she realized Moth was simply radiating heat, much as he had done last night. She looked up at him, wondering if she should be concerned, but he looked fine—in fact, better than fine. He looked happy.

"You see?" she said to both of them. "You just have to trust that everything is fine, and nothing is going to hurt you."

He folded his hand around hers. "Thank you," he said.

***

S
he leaned against his shoulder and dozed on and off. He stole a glance at her, face tipped up to catch the warm sunlight. She caught him looking.

"You look different," she told him. And he did—he'd found a piece of string and tied back his long hair, and that plus the scant beard which caught the light and gave his fine features a slightly rougher appearance. He grabbed at the end of the tail which hung just past his shoulder.