wasn't unheard of, even in a village as small as River's Bend. Companions were said not to care about rank, or about where people were born.
The people milling around the square froze at the sound of those bridle bells, at the sight of the graceful white creature, too perfect to be a horse, trailing silver and sky-blue trappings. The Companion had no rider, and everyone knew what that meant. She had come searching, maybe for one of them.
Lara fidgeted at Inya's side, and Inya squeezed the girl's hand. Mariel stood beside them, large-eyed and still. Lara was too young, but Mariel, just sliding into the awkward lankiness between childhood and adulthood, was not. Companions came for children Mariel's age all the time. Anyone who spent an evening listening to a tavern minstrel knew that.
The Companion tossed her head, mane falling down her back like soft winter snow, sapphire eyes scanning the crowd. Then she started forward, bells jingling, steps light and quick. Inya heard Mariel catch her breath. After all, she'd heard the minstrels, too.
But maybe, just this once, the stories would turn true. The Companion stepped toward them, until Inya saw her breath, frosty in the late autumn air. Another step, and she would be within reach. Another step—
A wet, silky muzzle nudged Inya's chest She looked down, startled. The Companion looked back at her, through eyes bright and very deep. Inya felt herself falling, drowning in that endless blue. At the bottom waited friendship, and welcoming, and a life without loneliness. The world tilted crazily around her, but for a long moment she didn't care.
The moment ended. Inya pulled herself away, flinging the Companion's reins to the ground. She hadn't even realized she was holding them. The ground steadied beneath her; the world came back into focus.
The Companion kept staring at her. Something brushed Inya's mind, soft as a feather. .
As a child, Inya had dreamed about hearing that voice. But that was a long time ago. She didn't have tune, now, for a child's adventures. She had a farm to keep up. She had grandchildren to raise. And someone had to look after the girls' father, too. The Companion had made a mistake. Inya couldn't run off, not now.
'Go away,' Inya whispered. She twisted a gray strand of hair between her fingers. 'I'm too old. You're too late. Go away.'
The Companion shook her head.
'Take one of the children. They're who you're looking for, not me.'
The Companion snorted, a surprisingly horselike sound. She knelt beside Inya, inviting her to mount.
'No!' Inya turned from the Companion's sapphire eyes. Her foot slipped on a loose stone, and pain shot through her knee, so sharp she caught her breath. She stood still for several minutes, waiting for the pain to fade.
Even if she could leave her home and her family, she couldn't follow the Companion. Who ever heard of a Herald with bad knees, with joints that ached whenever it rained?
She felt warm breath on her neck. The muscles down her back tensed. 'Go away. You've made a mistake.'
'I wish mistakes like that would happen to me.'
Inya turned to see Mariel standing beside her, the bag with their purchases swinging from one shoulder. The girl's face had a twisted, angry look.
Lara came up at Inya's other side, and Inya took her hand, too. People lingered in the square, staring. Inya ignored them. She started past the jumble of stalls and vendors, toward home.
Lara twisted around and looked over her shoulder. 'She's following us.' The girl giggled, as if the idea were terribly funny.
Mariel dropped Inya's hand, turning to look for herself. 'You have to stop,' she said. 'You can't just leave her there.' Mariel's voice was fierce. 'You can't.'
'It's not your place to tell me what I can or can't do,' Inya said sharply. 'Now come along.'
She kept walking. Mariel followed, but she wouldn't take Inya's hand again.
All the way home, Inya didn't turn around. Even though she heard the Companion's steps, light as snowfall, behind her.
By the time they got home, an icy rain was falling, turning the dirt road to mud. Inya shivered, dropping Lara's hand to pull her cloak close around her shoulders. Over the steady patter of the rain, Inya no longer heard the Companion's hoofs. Maybe she had finally gone away.
Lara started to run, and Inya, unable to keep up, let her. Mariel followed her sister, the two of them racing for the house.
Inya skirted the edge of the fields, where the girls' father was working. Jory nodded as she walked past. He was splattered with mud, brown curls plastered to his face. Beside him a dappled brown horse was hooked to the plow, deep in mud itself.
Beyond their land, through the trees, Inya saw the dark band of the river. Even from where she stood, she could tell the water was rising. Tongues of water lapped at the trees.
Inya kept walking, past a battered barn and on to the house. She started a fire in the kitchen hearth, and made the girls change into dry clothes.
Mariel avoided Inya's eyes. She wouldn't talk to her, and she ran back outside as soon as she'd changed, muttering something about helping her father. Inya sighed.
She started on dinner, Lara by her side, trying to help but mostly just getting flour in her face and short curls. The fire quickly took the chill from the room, and the smell of simmering soup made the cold outside feel even farther away. Inya kneaded the smooth, hard dough beneath her fingers, trying to forget the Companion's bottomless eyes, trying to forget the silky whisper in her head.
Jory and Mariel came in just after dark. They ate in silence. Jory wolfed down his food, face tired and tight. Mariel didn't eat at all, just stared at Inya with an unreadable expression. Outside, the wind picked up, whistling through the gaps around the door. One of the hinges was wearing loose. Inya needed to fix it before winter.
Jory looked up. 'I spoke to old Caron today.' Jory's tangled curls fell into his face. Lara looked a lot like him. Mariel was the one who looked like their mother— Inya's daughter. She couldn't believe Anara had been gone almost a year.
Inya fixed her gaze on Jory. 'What'd Caron say?'
'He offered me half again what he'd offered before—more than this farm's ever going to make on its own.' Jory buttered a thick slice of bread. 'I said I'd think about it.'
Inya stiffened. 'It's not your decision to make.' The farm had been in her family for generations, since before River's Bend was more than a few scattered houses, before the village even had a name.
'Well, maybe you should think about it, too,' Jory said.
They'd had this discussion before. Caron had first approached Jory nearly two years ago. The farm, once a candlemark's walk from the next nearest house, was now close to the village. The merchant wanted to build a tavern there, and maybe a couple of shops.
At first Jory had refused, just as Inya expected him to. Then Anara had died, giving birth to a child who died a few hours after her. After that, Jory took Caron more seriously. 'My heart isn't in this place anymore,' he'd told Inya once.
Jory's family had moved to River's Bend when he was a child. He didn't know what it was like to be in a place for hundreds of years, to stay with it through good times and bad.
'We could move up to Haven.' Jory had finished the bread and reached for the ale pitcher. 'With what Car-on's willing to pay, we could start all over again.'
'This is our home.'
'Anywhere can be home.' Jory's voice rose. 'Unless you're too foolish to let it be.'
'Jory.' Inya kept her own voice low. She wouldn't yell in front of the children. 'What would you do in the city? You're a farmer.'
'My grandfather worked leather. It's a trade I could learn, if I set my mind to it.'
