Wolfsbane Winter (24 page)

Alana leaned forward, staring down at her. For a moment Deryn was certain they were about to kiss.
Not fair. I can’t run.
But did she want to? A little voice of panic screamed that she was about to get sucked in, over her head, that she would lose her way and there would be no getting back. The little voice did not stand a chance. Deryn wanted Alana. The rush of desire was so strong it made her toenails ache. Deryn reached up, to wrap her arms around Alana’s shoulder and draw her close.

The station door opened. “How’s our shit-hot Iron Wolf tracker doing, then? Do you want to—” Nevin’s voice cut off at sight of Alana. “Oh, I, er…didn’t know anyone else was here.” He smarmed back his thinning hair with both hands and then stood up straighter—at least his shoulders did. His stomach continued to sag groundward as before. “I’m Sergeant Nevin. It’s good of you to have called in on my subordinate.”

Alana stood. “I think I’ve seen you around.”

A leering smile plastered itself on Nevin’s face. “Well, if you’d like to see more of me, I could sort something out. Maybe I could do you some good.”

“That’s a kind offer, and there certainly seems to be plenty of you to see.”

Nevin clearly missed the sarcasm in Alana’s voice. Possibly he mistook the direction of her gaze and thought she was looking a few inches below his waist. “Yeah well, I tell you, I’ve got something pretty big and explosive in my pants.”

Alana turned back to Deryn. Judging by the wry tilt to her eyebrows, she was far more amused than anything else. “Why don’t you take tips in sweet-talking from your sergeant?” She bent down and planted a quick kiss on Deryn’s lips. “I’ll meet you in the square for the Night of the Lost.”

Deryn had been trying to think of a witty response, but at the kiss, all rational thought left her head. “Uh.”

Alana smiled and picked up her bag to leave. She stopped at the door. “And, Sergeant, regarding that big explosion in your pants, black cherry tea is very good for diarrhea.”

Deryn raised her hand to her mouth. Her lips were throbbing, her pulse was racing, and she was growing wet.
It was just a quick kiss, like she was my sister.
Yet still the reactions swept through her body.
This is stupid.

She was barely aware of the thump as Nevin tried to slam the door, or his muttering afterward. “Fucking Iron Wolves…anything with a pulse…lost sheep…too busy chasing tail…”

Deryn blocked him out. She had more important issues to deal with. What was happening to her, and did it matter? She was never going to let herself get seriously involved with anyone. She had sworn that on Shea’s grave. In the years since, there had been enough women. Was there anything so different about Alana?

She’s the one who can get you to talk. If you’re not careful she’ll get you to fall in love as well.

Deryn shook her head, bemused at herself. The idea was ridiculous. She did not fall in love. She was not the type. So what was there to worry about? An affair with Alana stood no chance of getting serious. It might last a while longer than normal—anything over two days would meet that criterion—but long-term was not an option. In spring, the work with the marshal’s men would finish and traders would be hiring Iron Wolves for the Misery Trail. Deryn would leave Neupor and never come back.

Why not have an affair with Alana? It would make the winter go quicker, and be much more fun than playing scissors, paper, rock with Ross. She might even be able to sleep in Alana’s cottage each night, away from Ross’s snores and Nevin’s farts.

Alana was an attractive woman who was very definitely flirting with her, even if she did alternate between that and playing hard to get.

Deryn smiled. The injured knee should be mostly recovered in time for the Night of the Lost. The festival would present the ideal opportunity to see if she could persuade Alana to play some different games.

From sunset to sunrise, in every town and village across Galvonia, bonfires would burn for the Night of the Lost. Even isolated homesteads and travelers camped beside the road would keep a lantern burning throughout the night. However, there was no general agreement as to whether the main purpose of the light was to keep malevolent ghosts away or to guide home the sprits of the beloved departed. Answers varied from region to region, and even from person to person within them.

Having never attended the Neupor celebration before, Alana was unsure which way the prevailing local view went. Tonight she would find out, although this was not the most important question on her mind. From the hillside above the village, she traced the column rising from the village square, following the trail of smoke to the point where it dispersed as a smudge on the pale blue sky. The festivities had started on cue. In the west, the last wisps of pink and orange hung over the mountains. The full orb of the moon was climbing.

From the amount of smoke, Alana tried to estimate the size of the bonfire, and from that extrapolate the number of people who might be there. She could not help laughing at herself when she realized what she was doing. The calculation was completely spurious. Easier to assume that everyone who lived in Neupor would be present, plus a fair proportion of those in easy walking distance. The gathering would be bigger than anything she had been exposed to since leaving Ellaye. Would she be able to cope? And what would be the consequences if she could not?

A renewed attack of doubts and fears beset her, and Alana toyed with the idea of giving up and returning to her cottage, but she wanted to see Deryn, and if she never put herself to the test, she would never know if her abilities were improving. She just had to be ready to make her excuses and slip away at the first sign that the strain of holding back the mental barrage was becoming too much for her.

The Night of the Lost marked the end of summer and the start of winter. For the nobles in Ellaye, the changing season meant little more than the move from summer residences by the ocean to the warmth of the desert springs, inland. According to rumor, Orrin had ideas for other purposes the festival might fulfill, as he sought to claim a divine ancestry for the king, but for now, the absurd display of ostentation in the king’s winter palace was merely the chance to show off a different set of clothes, in new surroundings.

For the peasants, the festival had a different significance. The harvest was over. Animals that would not be kept through the winter were slaughtered and their meat preserved. The Night of the Lost was about eating as much as you could, and not worrying whether food would be on the table in the months ahead. Bringing in the harvest had required working from dawn to dusk in the fields. Now it was over, the farm laborers had one night to do as they wished, with the hope of catching up on sleep the next day.

Where the festival had gotten linked to the spirits of the dead, was anyone’s guess. The association held for both nobles and commoners. Allegedly, it went back to the Ancients, before the Age of Chaos. Whatever the reason, the festival was an occasion for ghost stories. For nobles, troupes of professional actors and musicians would perform spine-chilling plays, with a little bit of magic to add effect. For peasants the stories would be recounted around the bonfires, by anyone who was sober enough to remember how they went.

Daylight was fading fast when Alana reached the edge of the village. The flickering of the bonfire shone through the gaps between buildings. Sparks drifted up above the rooftops, joining the bright specks of stars high overhead. The rumble of voices was swelling, blossoming into the night, and with it came excitement, expectation, and an overriding sense of fun. The emotions ran as thick as treacle. Alana had the sense of wading into them, and feeling them flow around and coat her. Unpleasant was not the word for it, yet it was unsettling. She was losing herself, but there were worse states to get lost in.

Alana rounded the corner of the marshal’s station and stood at the edge of the square. Warm red light washed over the ring of faces. Thirty or so people were gathered and others were still arriving. As she watched, a family of four took their place at the bonfire to a greeting of cheers and laughter. Alana hugged the shadow. She wanted to acclimatize herself to the environment before attempting to interact with anyone, although there was little likelihood the preparation would have achieved much, even without interruption.

“You made it.”

“Ah…er…” The sudden rush of excitement threatened to topple Alana, but at least she was sure that it originated within herself.

Deryn was standing in the station doorway. She moved forward, smiling. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that. I was stating the obvious. I’m spending too much time with Ross.”

“Pardon?”

“Have you met Ross?”

“I think so. He’s one of your colleagues, isn’t he? I treated him for a cough last winter. But how does he fit in?”

“He doesn’t. That’s the point.”

“He…?”

Alana stopped and tried to assemble her thoughts. Was the conversation skipping steps, or was she succumbing to the intoxicating atmosphere in the village square? Whatever the case, she needed to keep her head clear and move to a subject that she did understand.

“How’s your knee?”

“A lot better, thanks to you.” Deryn’s smile broadened. “But I don’t think the music’s going to work with my dance plans. From what I’ve heard, it won’t amount to more than the blacksmith singing some bawdy drinking songs.”

“The blacksmith?”

“Have you heard him sing?”

“Is he any good?”

“Unfortunately, no. But he’s the loudest, and he seems to know more words than anyone else. A few join in with the chorus, but they aren’t enough to drown him out.”

Alana smiled and rested her shoulders against the wall behind her. She tried to relax, but it was not easy with Deryn standing so close. A scant inch separated them, and then the back of Deryn’s hand brushed against hers. The effect of the touch shimmied up Alana’s arm in a wave of goose bumps. She was so very aware of Deryn’s eyes fixed on her. A ripple of panic swirled in her mind, telling her that she should make her excuses and go, but she calmed it, and then very carefully returned the pressure against Deryn’s hand.

“The prospects for dancing don’t look so good, then?”

“We’ll have to think of something else.” Deryn slid her fingers around Alana’s. “I’m pleased you’re here.”

A rush of sexual desire sliced through the torrent of other emotions, and for a moment, everything dissolved into chaos. Alana gasped and closed her eyes, fighting to keep a grip on her own mind. The pathetic barriers holding the world out threatened to dissolve, but by an effort of will, she forced herself to focus on the single thread of experience that was bound within the confines of her own body.

“Are you all right?” Deryn had seen her reaction.

“I’m sorry. I’m a bit overwhelmed.”

“By what?”

Alana tightened the grip of her fingers and Deryn laughed, clearly taking it as an answer. “Okay.”

Deryn’s hand felt firm and warm. The skin was hardened by exercise, but the texture was smooth rather than rough. Deryn ran her thumb over Alana’s knuckles and gave a gentle squeeze. The gesture was both a question and a promise, eliciting an undeniable response. Alana felt her nipples harden. Maybe she should make her excuses and leave after all, but drag Deryn away with her.

“Why have you avoided the festival before?” Deryn asked, before Alana could act on the impulse.

“I fear I’ve become a bit of a recluse. Maybe it’s an overreaction to escaping the crowds in Ellaye.”

“Did you go to the festivals when you lived there?”

“I had to.”

“Why?”

“My mother insisted the whole family turned up to make a good showing for the k—”

In trying to juggle too much at once, she had slipped up. Alana stopped herself just in time but the realization left her off-balance, and her concentration wavered. In that instant, the whole village flooded into her head, an avalanche of excitement. Alana struggled to pull herself together enough to make some saving remark, but the more she scrambled for a way out, the weaker became her ability to ignore the emotional maelstrom around her. She grabbed the talisman at her throat, snatching at it as a lifeline. The onslaught softened, but not enough to allow much in the way of rational thought.

A high voice broke in. “What did the demon look like?”

Alana opened her eyes. They were surrounded by a gaggle of small children, the oldest no more than eight.

“What?” Deryn asked. She was clearly the focus of interest.

“The demon you fought on Voodoo Mountain. The one that knocked you out, what did it look like?”

The other children joined in, excitedly. “Did it have hornth?” a small boy lisped.

“Did it walk like this?” A girl hunched her shoulders and stomped along, elbows and knees bowed out to the side. “Hurr. Hurr. Hurr.” She added growled sound effects for greater impact.

Alana felt a succession of quick responses flip through Deryn, ending in amusement.

“Oh, much worse than that.”

The children all failed to pick up on Deryn’s mock-serious tone. Their eyes opened wide. “How?”