Lark and Wren

Something had happened to her grief while she slept. It was still with her, but no longer so sharp.

Maddie picked up the kettle and poured a mug of something, bringing it over to the couch. Rune managed to free an arm from her wrappings to take it. Her hand shook, and the mug felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds, but she managed to drink the contents without spilling much.

It was some kind of herb tea, heavily dosed with honey, and it eased the soreness in her throat wonderfully.

'What happened?' she said, grateful beyond words to hear her voice come out as a whispered version of her own, and not a fever-scorched croak.

'Well,' Maddie said, sitting herself down in the chair again. 'You made a very dramatic entrance, that's for certain. Nighthawk said that she thinks you got pneumonia-Nighthawk's the Gypsy-witch Amber knows that treats us all for things the Guild Herb-women can't. Anyway, Nighthawk says you got pneumonia, but that your voice is going to be all right, so don't worry. It's just that you're going to be all winter recovering, so don't think you can go jumping out of bed to sing.'

'Oh,' Rune said vaguely. 'What-what am I doing here?' She gestured at Amber's neat little parlor, in which she was the only discordant note.

'Amber says you're staying here where we can all keep an eye on you until you stop having fevers,' Maddie said fiercely-and something in her voice told Rune that her recovery hadn't been nearly as matter-of-fact as Maddie made it out to be. 'Then you can go back to your room, but you're going to stay in bed most of the time until spring. That's orders from Amber.'

'But-' Rune began.

'That's orders from Amber,' Maddie repeated. And the tone of her voice said that it was no use protesting or arguing. 'And she says you're not to worry about what all this is costing. Or about the fact that you're not playing in the common room for your keep. You've been part of Amber's for more than a year, and Amber takes care of her people.'

Rune nodded, meekly, but when Maddie finally left, she lay back among her pillows and tried to figure out exactly why Amber was doing all this for her. It wasn't as if this was the same set of circumstances as when she'd nursed Tonno-

-or was it?

She fell asleep trying to puzzle it all out, without much success.

She dreamed of Jib; dreamed of the Hungry Bear. Like her, he was two years older-but unlike her, he was still doing exactly the same things as he'd been two years ago. Still playing stable-hand and general dogsbody. His life hadn't altered in the slightest from when she'd left, and she was struck with the gloomy certainty that it never would, unless fate took an unexpected hand.

She woke again to near-darkness; the only light was from the banked fire. There was another full mug on a little table beside her, this time with doctored apple cider in it. She sipped it and stared into the coals for a long time, wondering how much of her dream was reality and how much was her fever-dreams.

What was going to happen to Jib? He'd been her friend, her only friend, and she'd run off without even a good-bye. She hadn't ever worried about what was going to happen to him with her gone. Was he all right? Had the bullies found something better to do, or were they still making his life a torment?

Was he satisfied? How could he be? How could anyone be satisfied in the position he held? It was all right for a boy, but no job for a man. But unless something changed for him, that was what he'd be all his life. Someone's flunky.

Now she remembered what he'd wanted to do, back in the long-ago days when they'd traded dreams. He'd wanted to be a horse-trader; a modest enough ambition, and one he could probably do well at if he stuck to the kind of horses he had experience with. Farm-stock, donkeys, rough cobs-sturdy beasts, not highly bred, but what farmers and simple traders needed. Jib knew beasts like that; could tell a good one from a bad one, a bargain from a doctored beast that was about to break down.

She tried to tell herself that what happened to him wasn't her responsibility, but if that was true, then it was also true that what happened to her was not Amber's responsibility. Yet Amber was caring for her.

Jib was old enough to take care of himself.

Well, that was true-but Jib had no way to get himself out of the rut he was in. He had no talent at all, except that of working well with animals. If he went somewhere else, he'd only be doing the same work in a different place. Would that be better or not? And would he even think of doing so? She knew from her own experience how hard it was to break ties and go, when things where you were at the moment were only uncomfortable, not unbearable. It was easy to tell yourself that they'd get better, eventually.

She fell asleep again, feeling vaguely bothered by yet more guilt. If only there was something she could have done to help him. . . .

Weak, early-spring sunshine reflected off the wall of the House across from her window, and she had the window open a crack just for the sake of the fresh air. She'd been allowed out of bed, finally, two weeks ago; she still spent a lot of time in her room, reading. Even a simple trip down to the common room tended to make her legs wobbly. But she persisted; whether she was ready or not, she would have to make Midsummer Faire this year, and the trials. For her own sake, and for the sake of Tonno's memory.

If only she didn't owe Amber so much. . . . Her indebtedness troubled her, as it did not seem to trouble Amber. But at the least, before she left, Rune had determined to walk the length and breadth of Nolton, listening to buskers and talking to them, to find Amber a replacement musician for the common room. That wouldn't cancel the debt, but it would ease it, a little.

'Rune?' Maddie tapped on the half-open door to her room; Rune looked up from the book she was reading. It was one of Tonno's, but she'd never seen fit to inform the Church that she had it, and no one had ever come asking after it. She had a number of books here that had been Tonno's, and she wasn't going to give them back until someone came for them. She reasoned that she could always use her illness as an excuse to cover why she had never done so.

She smiled at Maddie, who returned it a little nervously. 'There's a visitor below,' she said, and the tone of her voice made Rune sit up a little straighter. 'It's a Priest. He wants to see you. He was with Amber for a while