Fires of Aggar Read Free Page B

in reassurance, and the Amazon grinned. She gave Ril a fond rub down her furry backbone. “So our bondmate finally returns from her hunt. Think she’ll behave herself for a day or two?”
    Ril answered with a vague whine of doubt. With her head still in Gwyn’s lap, the sandwolf twisted, brows high, as she searched expectantly. Obligingly, Ty padded out of the darkness to join them. Her cold nose bumped lightly against Gwyn’s cheek and then Ril’s.
    “Good Eve to you too, Young Ruffian.” Gwyn grunted as the tardy sandwolf flopped to the ground and rolled her weight into her human. With a good-natured chuckle, Gwyn accepted her role in life as a backrest. She gave the great beast a pat on the stomach and a hearty hug. Ty grinned back over a furry shoulder at Gwyn; it was a toothy, comical grin at that upside-down angle. “I’m glad you ate well. I’m even happier to have you safely in camp. But what were you doing to poor Cinder?”
    Ty flipped to her belly and cheerfully refused to answer. Panting with feigned ignorance, she stared off into the dark.
    “Hm-hmm. Thought so.” Ril politely moved her nose as Gwyn resumed working on the small flute. The campfire crackled, and its noise blended easily with the stirring night sounds. A yellow cricket awoke somewhere and soon its chirping had roused the neighbors from their leafy beds. One of the mares shifted her weight, rustling the twigs and such underfoot. Ril moved closer to keep Gwyn’s leg warm as a wayward breeze tried to make the spring chill chillier.
    But Gwyn’s thoughts were on the note M’Sormee’s eitteh had delivered to the Gate House for her. Her mother had heard from the contacts at the Royal Court and their discreet inquiries had only confirmed Gwyn’s suspicions; neither the King nor the Crowned Rule, his daughter, had received any news of the unrest in Khirlan. They were not ignoring the Dracoon’s pleas for help, the Royal House was simply unaware of her needs which supported the unsettling probability that there was a traitor among the Dracoon’s own scribes. Either that or the Dracoon was downright paranoid, and Gwyn’s mother would have Seen something odd if such were the case. But as Gwyn thought back to that evening with M’Sormee, she remembered her mother’s trust in the Dracoon. No, Bryana had Seen no amarin of madness, only of desperation…
    The whitewashed walls of the garden were bathed in orange by the setting sun. The woman’s red hair was afire as well, though she was ignorant of its sheening colors. She’d bound it back in a thick braid to stay out of the way as she tended the rose bushes. Her hands were protected by thick gloves, but her movements were efficient and unhindered by either her gloves or her heavy apron. The emerald robes she wore beneath the gardening apron suggested that scrounging around on her knees in the mulch was not her usual pastime.
    Shadows began to lengthen. The globe lamps along the walls and paths gradually brightened, subtly fending off the twilight just as the climate control kept the icy ting of the new spring away. Heedless of time, the woman worked on until finally a shadow did intrude. A faint smile creased the corners of her blue eyes, although she never stopped in her task.
    “You’re working late, M’Sormee.”
    “I started late.” She finished to her satisfaction and looked up at the tall, strong figure of her birth daughter. As always Bryana thought how like her Beloved this daughter looked, and as always she felt pride stir for those two Amazons of her family. Like Jes, this daughter possessed the height and strength of their foremothers — like Jes, Gwyn tanned lightly from the sun. The only thing that bespoke of Bryana’s own blood was the hair, but even that had become uniquely Gwyn’s. A fairer red and finer than Bryana’s, it tended to unruliness if the curls worked free from the short braid. That disarray was again more reminiscent of Jes’ dark locks.
    That