The Time Weaver

She'd shrugged it on. The sleeves reached past her fingertips and the hem down past her thighs. Only she hadn't tied it, merely held the panels closed with one fist, wrinkling the ruffles. Her hair stirred in long, spiraling locks down her breasts to her waist. Her legs were long and muscled, just exactly as they'd felt.

'I apologize.' His voice sounded so calm; another strange miracle.

'For what?'

He couldn't help the mirthless laugh. 'Are you jesting?'

'No.'

She appeared genuinely puzzled, small and female with her hair blowing about and her lips pursed, as if she hadn't nearly ended up in pieces not ten minutes back.

'I dropped you,' he said carefully. 'You fell. You might have died.'

The purse of her lips became a blinding smile. 'No, but you caught me again.'

'Honor—'

'And you didn't truly drop me, you know. It was my fault. I had my arms out, to better feel the wind.'

He felt that snapping in his spine ratchet higher. 'You did what?'

'Had my arms out. Like this.' She lifted them straight from her sides, her fingers brushing one of the limestone columns of the tower, and his shirt rippled apart like some gentle, tormenting dream. 'It was the nearest I'll ever get to flight. I wanted it to be real. I wanted to hold the wind.'

'The wind,' he repeated, feeling dazed.

'Yes.' Her smile widened as her hair danced around them, coppery-pink strands to blend with the sky. She pushed them back from her cheeks with both hands. 'Oh, Sandu. It was utterly smashing.'

He looked away. He decided to lean against his own pillar, his bare back to the stone, and let the steady, peaceful music of the limestone sink into him as he examined the sunrise.

All the sunrises of his life, all the same, with rich colors and a slow staining of the heavens, against mountains or plains or against the buildings of man, clouded or clear, winter or summer, every one of them he'd spent alone or with the others of his kind on some official business or another. Every one of them.

Except this one. Except with her.

'You weren't afraid?' he asked, low.

'No.'

He felt himself shake his head. 'You should have been.'

Her answer came serene. 'I knew you would catch me.'

Sandu shoved off the pillar. 'That's just damned stupid. I might not have. Easily! Do you have any idea how hard it is to fly like that? To sustain that sort of control?'

'No,' she said.

He brought a hand up to cover his eyes. A distant part of him was aware that it was trembling. 'Hard,'he said.

A donkey pulling a cart below them let out a snuffle. Its plodding steps reverberated sharp up the vertical walls.

Honor moved to stand before him. She didn't try to touch him; he felt the ends of his shirt brushing his stomach.

'I think you're right,' she said. 'I think I should have been afraid. I'm not sure why I wasn't. Why I'm not now. It's something to do with you, I imagine. Something about you. I don't know.' She gave a hushed laugh. 'I've been afraid my whole life. Just not with you.'

'Stupid,' he sneered again.

'Perhaps.'

He wished she'd move back. If he dropped his hand and opened his eyes she'd be right there, more perfect than the sunrise, and he would have to manage that. He'd have to have the will not to kiss her, not to shove the shirt back over her shoulders and let it slither down her arms to the floor.

'It's unbearable, isn't it?' she asked after a moment in a different tone, very cool.

Sandu spoke through his teeth. 'Yes.'

'It doesn't have to be.'

He opened his eyes and looked at her, her fresh and dewy beauty. He thought of war, of dragons that were living blades in flight, of the vulnerabilities of the hamlets, the crops that would scorch, the children who would perish. He thought of the castle he'd sunk his heart into, the years of struggle and defiance, of proving to himself and everyone else that he was more than just a farm boy chosen by his royal sister to rule. That he was worthy to command his species, their history, and the gemstones that hummed and preened at his touch.

He thought of the hot spurt of liquid that had covered his face when he'd torn out the throat of the first Zaharen drakon to challenge him. How it had tasted in his mouth like rust and lush, demented victory.

How, in that red and dangerous aftermath, all he'd wanted was more .

'I have an idea,' Honor said, her eyes shadowed and endless. 'I've been saving the Weaves, saving my Gift, so to speak. I can't Weave to any unique time and location more than once, and I can't go there at all if I'm already there—if the future or past me is physically anywhere nearby. But I've been thinking. I'm going to Weave ahead, just a few years. I've tried it before, but I wasn't skilled enough to pinpoint the time. I believe I can do it now. And since I'm planning it now, to go there then, I'll be able to do it, d'you see?'

'What?' he managed again.

'I'm going ahead, Sandu. I'm going to slip into our future for a moment, just to see. I've been waiting and waiting. If I'm not there with you—if it's not meant to be—I'll come back and tell you. Then we'll know.'

He felt a surge of alarm. 'Honor, I don't think—'

She stepped back at last, haloed in magenta and russet and flaming blue, unsmiling. 'Wait for me. I'll see you soon.'

Then she was gone, and he was left to squint at the first dart of sun stabbing under the clouds.

Chapter Twelve

I was in a forest. It was a summer forest, by the feel of it. Ferns and wildflowers whispered in blankets around the shaggy trunks. The dirt I stood upon was soft, coffee-black, and when I rocked back on my heels to look upward it sank with me, loamy.

Conifers reached high above, perfuming the air; when a delicate breeze swept through they didn't even shiver, although the tiny vermilion and orange wildflowers nodded all around.

I heard crickets far off, and even farther the strumming of a guitar, the player picking through the notes with relaxed fluidity.

It felt like twilight, although it was difficult to truly tell. The trees were so thick and tall they blocked most of the sky. The air was faintly green and pleasantly dim, and from deep beneath the soles of my feet rose the treble lilt of silver, still trapped in veins inside the rocky deep earth.

Was this Darkfrith? Had I Woven to the wrong place? It was familiar, no doubt, but were the pines this massive back in England? I wasn't certain. Perhaps it was a part of the woods I'd not been to before. The shire had forbidden areas, places even I had not ventured to. Was I in one of those?

The breeze returned, laden with resin, and when it died I heard something new: a tinkle of crystal, like chimes. Lots of it.

I walked toward that sound.

There was no path but it was easy to pick my way through the undergrowth. I tried to make as little noise as possible but there was no disguising the scent of the flowers I couldn't help but crush. The truth was, this place didn't feel like Darkfrith or the land around Zaharen Yce. It felt olden, darkly ancient. I sensed no animals nearby but there was life everywhere, like the trees themselves were breathing, watching me.

The crystal-chime sound began to ebb. I paused, glancing around me, my fingers tying closed Sandu's shirt,