hair, then peeled off his shirt.
'The Lady Talieth,' said Ulaan, her voice still fragile, 'she said that your… order? Is order the right word?'
'Right word for what?' Lewan threw his sodden shirt next to the door. He looked to the girl to make sure she was keeping her word. She crouched in front of the fire, her back to him as she fed wood onto the flames. Standing between him and the light of the fire, Lewan noticed that her dress was very sheer, and the light shone right through it, outlining her every curve. His breath caught in his throat, and he quickly turned his back to her. He kicked off the slippers he'd been wearing and began working at the drawstring of his trousers.
'For your faith,' she said. 'You and your teacher. Lady Talieth said that tonight was a very special night for you, and that you were saddened by not being able to celebrate it with others of your… order?'
'Tonight is the Jalesh Rudra, 'said Lewan. He'd finally managed to loosen the knot, and he pushed his trousers and smallclothes off at the same time. Only then, as he stood naked and shivering, did he realize that he had no dry clothes.
'What is this Jalesh Rudra?' Ulaan pronounced it very carefully.
Lewan looked around. The damp towel was small. It wouldn't even serve as a proper loincloth. With nothing to put on, he crawled into his bed, under the silk sheets and thick fur coverlet. He leaned against the wooden headboard and pulled one of the large pillows over his bare torso. The two trees at the foot of his bed stood between him and the fire, so Ulaan was no more than a bit of shadow and light beyond.
'A sacred celebration,' said Lewan. He added, in a quieter voice, 'Especially for me.'
The room brightened. Lewan heard the fire roaring to life as the flames caught the wood.
'May I turn around now?' said Ulaan. 'Uh, yes,' said Lewan. 'Sorry.'
She stood and turned, but with the fire behind her, Lewan could see no more than the dark profile of her head and shoulders between the branches of the oak.
'Why especially for you?' she asked.
'What?'
'You said this… Jalesh Rudra was a sacred celebration. 'Especially for me,' you said.'
Lewan hadn't realized she'd heard him. He hadn't meant for her to. 'It's… a sort of coming of age ceremony.'
'Coming of age?'
Lewan blushed and looked away. 'Tonight was the night my master was to perform sacred rites in my honor. If my god found me worthy, tonight I was to become a man. To enter into full communion with the god.'
'Rites?' said Ulaan. 'What kind of rites? What must you do to become a man?'
Even though he could see no more than her upper profile, he saw that she was trembling.
'Are you still frightened, Ulaan?'
'I am better now, Master,' she said. 'Thank you.'
'Please stop that.'
'Stop what, Master?' Her voice seemed frightened again.
'Stop calling me 'master.' I am not your master.'
She was silent a moment, then said, 'What shall I call you?'
'Lewan,' he said. 'My name is Lewan. I have-uh, had a master. But I am no one's master.'
'Very well… Lewan.' Though he could not see her face, he thought the sound of her voice held the warmth of a smile. A pleased smile. She gave him an odd shrug, but then he realized it was neither a shrug nor meant for him. She was undressing.
Lewan closed his eyes, but he could hear the sound of her silk dress peeling off her bare skin. His heartbeat and breath came faster.
'What are you doing? ' he said.
'I am wearing a soaked dress in a room of stone,' said Ulaan. 'I'm cold. I will dry better without the wet fabric.'
Lewan thought the room seemed a bit too warm, stone or no stone.
He gathered the fur coverlet into a bundle and tossed it over the holly bush at her. 'Here. Wrap yourself in this.' 'But Lewan, what will you-?'
'I'm not cold,' said Lewan. It was true. Lewan had spent countless hundreds of nights sleeping under the stars with no more than a tent or just his cloak and a blanket between him and the elements. This room, with its huge hearth and warm air flowing in through the walls, felt hot to him. Too close. Had Ulaan not been so frightened and so desperate to close off the balcony, he would have kept the doors open for the fresh air, wind and wet be damned.
He heard her wet dress hit the wall near where he had tossed his own clothes, then listened as her bare feet approached. His heart beat so hard he could feel the blood pounding in his ears.
'Do you mind if I sit while we talk?' Her voice came from the stool beside his bedside table.
He opened his eyes the smallest slit and saw that she was sitting there, wrapped from shoulders to toes in the fur coverlet. Her hair was still sodden, but she had pulled it back over her shoulders. Her forehead and cheeks still held a moist sheen from the rain. He closed his eyes again and laid his head back against the headboard.
'Tell me more of your rites,' she said. 'What happens in this Jalesh Rudra? Sauk, too, serves the god of the wild. During his holy rites, he goes onto the steppe to hunt. I have heard that he kills his prey and drinks their blood under the full moon-and his prey are not always animals. Your god… does he do these things?'
'No!' said Lewan, his face twisting in disgust. He opened his eyes and looked at her. 'Nothing like that.'
'I didn't think so,' said Ulaan, and for the first time that night he saw her smile. His breath quickened again, and the blood pounding in his ears began pounding in other places. 'What, then? Tell me, Lewan.'
Lewan swallowed and took a deep breath, praying that his voice would not shake. 'My master and I seek out one of the sacred groves. We paint each other in symbols sacred to the Oak Father and make an offering of the leaves of Oak, Ash, and Thorn. Over running water, if it can be found. Then, when the Moonmaiden is at her height, the master of the ceremony plays the sacred pipes. If the Oak Father finds favor with the offering, he sends his messengers. They dance for us, and if I am found worthy, one of the messengers and I will, uh… c-commune.'
'Commune?' asked Ulaan, her brow creasing in confusion.
Lewan looked away and hoped that in the warm light of the fire and candles, Ulaan could not see his blush. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
'Lewan?'
'Yes?'
'These messengers from your god? They wouldn't happen to be women, would they?'
Lewan's heart skipped a beat and he said in a hoarse voice, 'Uh, spirits. Tree spirits. Or water spirits, maybe.'
'You mean dryads?' said Ulaan.
Thunder rumbled in the sky outside, but the beating of Lewan's pulse almost drowned out the sound. 'Uh, y- yes.'
'Dryads take the form of women, don't they, Lewan?' Ulaan's voice seemed lower now. Husky and barely above a whisper. 'Young women. Young, beautiful women. How do you commune with them?'
'Uh, I…' He couldn't bring himself to say it. Didn't know how to say it without sounding like a damned fool.
'Lewan?' Ulaan's voice sounded closer. Lewan opened his eyes. She was standing beside his bed, but the coverlet lay in a pile on the floor.
'Ulaan… I-'
'Lewan, do you think I am beautiful?'
She crawled into bed beside him, and he answered her.
Chapter Twenty
20 Tarsakh, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR) Sentinelspire
