crisp morning, Bannan would surely walk to the village for a hot cuppa and a loaf of fresh bread. If they happened to meet, which of course they would, nothing would be more natural than for her to walk him home, for wasn’t her meadow beside his farm?
And Wisp, Jenn thought happily. Her first, best friend, who always knew where she was and how, would be waiting.
Let the rest leave for Endshere. The Ancestors would watch over them and see them home again, while she enjoyed the company of those who stayed.
Nose and toes atingle from the frost, her heart brimming with warmth, Jenn Nalynn hurried indoors.
He was leaving.
Not for good or for long nor, for that matter, of his own volition, but Bannan Larmensu, once of Vorkoun and now of Marrowdell, greatly feared a certain lady wouldn’t care about the details, only the fact. And what perturbed that lady?
He eyed the frost on his windowpanes, well aware Jenn Nalynn could have put it there.
Not willingly. She was as brave and good as she was powerful, and did her utmost to keep her magic under control. Magic.
Turn-born.
A person, he reminded himself, the same as any. Bannan swung his feet to the floor, pulling the quilt around his shoulders. A woman grown, full of possibilities and dreams he’d very much like to share. Along with a bed that’d be far warmer this winter with her in it; distracting thought. Bannan shook his head. He didn’t doubt her love or his own. He couldn’t doubt her good heart or intentions.
Jenn Nalynn was the one who needed to be sure. Ancestors Witness, wasn’t her struggle to understand and accept herself the same one he’d fought, when he’d first learned he wasn’t like other children? When he’d first looked into another’s face and seen a lie? When he’d known he’d forever be different?
Truthseer.
Oh, how he’d hated that name, that gift, and the duty it had brought him, to be an interrogator for a heedless prince, to see nothing but darkness. It was only here, in Marrowdell, that he’d come to cherish his deeper sight. For here . . .
Getting up, Bannan tossed aside the quilt and dressed quickly. Here, he thought happily, were marvels, the greatest of all being Jenn Nalynn.
Surely she’d realize that for herself and soon. He glanced wistfully out the window toward the village. “I’d be Beholden if I didn’t have to wait too long,” he told his Ancestors, hopefully listening.
Not that he’d wait idle. There was work to do, he thought with still urgent joy. Work in his own home, by his own hands. The truthseer slid down the ladder to his kitchen, landing with a thump that stirred a grumpy blink from his house toad, warming itself by the stove.
“Fair morning,” he greeted. The worthy creature understood most, if not all, of what it heard and deserved courtesy. Explaining that to Lila, Bannan chuckled to himself, would be an interesting conversation indeed. He stirred the coals before lighting a lantern. “Any sign of our dragon?”
While the toad couldn’t speak so he could hear, it gave a huge and toothy yawn to reveal an eloquently empty mouth, then deliberately shifted closer to the warm metal.
The dragon, usually underfoot at mealtimes, had been scarce since the cooler weather. Were dragons like bears, to sleep the winter? The question, however intriguing, was unlikely to be answered before he had to leave.
Bannan opened the back door and leaned out, looking for his other frequent visitor. That he didn’t see Scourge meant nothing. The old kruar, who looked enough like an ugly horse to pass for one, could hide his vast bulk behind a twig if he chose. And often did, ambush being a game he relished a little too much for a certain man’s comfort.
To save time, and his toes, the truthseer stayed in the doorway and whispered, “Bacon. Baconbaconbacon.” Should bring the idiot beast at a gallop.
Nothing. Good. The kruar and dragon must be hunting, or whatever they did together. An improbable truce
And Wisp, Jenn thought happily. Her first, best friend, who always knew where she was and how, would be waiting.
Let the rest leave for Endshere. The Ancestors would watch over them and see them home again, while she enjoyed the company of those who stayed.
Nose and toes atingle from the frost, her heart brimming with warmth, Jenn Nalynn hurried indoors.
He was leaving.
Not for good or for long nor, for that matter, of his own volition, but Bannan Larmensu, once of Vorkoun and now of Marrowdell, greatly feared a certain lady wouldn’t care about the details, only the fact. And what perturbed that lady?
He eyed the frost on his windowpanes, well aware Jenn Nalynn could have put it there.
Not willingly. She was as brave and good as she was powerful, and did her utmost to keep her magic under control. Magic.
Turn-born.
A person, he reminded himself, the same as any. Bannan swung his feet to the floor, pulling the quilt around his shoulders. A woman grown, full of possibilities and dreams he’d very much like to share. Along with a bed that’d be far warmer this winter with her in it; distracting thought. Bannan shook his head. He didn’t doubt her love or his own. He couldn’t doubt her good heart or intentions.
Jenn Nalynn was the one who needed to be sure. Ancestors Witness, wasn’t her struggle to understand and accept herself the same one he’d fought, when he’d first learned he wasn’t like other children? When he’d first looked into another’s face and seen a lie? When he’d known he’d forever be different?
Truthseer.
Oh, how he’d hated that name, that gift, and the duty it had brought him, to be an interrogator for a heedless prince, to see nothing but darkness. It was only here, in Marrowdell, that he’d come to cherish his deeper sight. For here . . .
Getting up, Bannan tossed aside the quilt and dressed quickly. Here, he thought happily, were marvels, the greatest of all being Jenn Nalynn.
Surely she’d realize that for herself and soon. He glanced wistfully out the window toward the village. “I’d be Beholden if I didn’t have to wait too long,” he told his Ancestors, hopefully listening.
Not that he’d wait idle. There was work to do, he thought with still urgent joy. Work in his own home, by his own hands. The truthseer slid down the ladder to his kitchen, landing with a thump that stirred a grumpy blink from his house toad, warming itself by the stove.
“Fair morning,” he greeted. The worthy creature understood most, if not all, of what it heard and deserved courtesy. Explaining that to Lila, Bannan chuckled to himself, would be an interesting conversation indeed. He stirred the coals before lighting a lantern. “Any sign of our dragon?”
While the toad couldn’t speak so he could hear, it gave a huge and toothy yawn to reveal an eloquently empty mouth, then deliberately shifted closer to the warm metal.
The dragon, usually underfoot at mealtimes, had been scarce since the cooler weather. Were dragons like bears, to sleep the winter? The question, however intriguing, was unlikely to be answered before he had to leave.
Bannan opened the back door and leaned out, looking for his other frequent visitor. That he didn’t see Scourge meant nothing. The old kruar, who looked enough like an ugly horse to pass for one, could hide his vast bulk behind a twig if he chose. And often did, ambush being a game he relished a little too much for a certain man’s comfort.
To save time, and his toes, the truthseer stayed in the doorway and whispered, “Bacon. Baconbaconbacon.” Should bring the idiot beast at a gallop.
Nothing. Good. The kruar and dragon must be hunting, or whatever they did together. An improbable truce
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