no further need of you.”
I waited only so long as it took him to fetch two bull-bred Changed to remove my tub, and then enough they’d have quit the corridor. I smoothed my damp hair and went out.
I paced the flags with a heart I thought must announce my approach with its hectic beat. I thanked the God I was not sure existed that the corridor remained empty. I halted, dry-mouthed, at Rwyan’s door. I raised a fisted hand, and hesitated.
What if she lay there with her
I drew a breath as if about to plunge into the depths of the Fend and struck the door.
Her voice came back, asking who it was. I said, “Daviot.”
And the door was hurled open and she stood before me, “looking” directly into my eyes with such an expression of pain and fear, I could only put my arms around her and hold her close.
Into her hair I said, “Rwyan. Rwyan, I love you.” Against my chest she said, “I love you, Daviot. I was afraid …”
She raised her face, and I saw she smiled and that her eyes held tears. I kissed her. I felt her lips respond, her arms tighten about me. All doubt vanished. I heeled the door closed.
When we drew a little way apart-not separate, not past the compass of our arms, but enough we might catch breath-I saw the room was empty. I said, “I feared …” just as she said, “I was afraid …”
We laughed and kissed again, and all the years between that moment and our parting were gone. I had my Rwyan back, and in that instant I decided I would not lose her again. Not duty nor all the width of Dharbek should be allowed to come between us. I’d not let my College or hers gainsay us. I’d quit my calling to have her, and deny Durbrecht, even Kherbryn itself, to keep her.
I said, “I love you, Rwyan. I’ve always loved you.”
She touched my face, her fingers gentle, exploring the contours of my cheeks, my jaw and mouth and forehead. It was as if, with touch, she would confirm what her occult vision told her: that I was here and real. She said, “I feared I’d forget you. I tried sometimes; but I could not. I dreamed of you. Oh, Daviot, to find you here and not come to you, to act as I did-that was so hard.”
I still did not understand, but that seemed now not to matter at all, only that I held her and she loved me. I said, “You took my heart; you own it still. I was afraid … when I saw you with …”
She said, “Tezdal,” and her lovely face grew troubled.
Through my joy I felt a brief pang of recent fear. I said, “Who is he? Why do you pretend you cannot see? You’ve no need of a guide. I thought, perhaps, he was”-the word sat bitter on my tongue; I forced it out-“your lover.”
“No.” She shook her head, that glorious hair brushing my cheek. I drank its scent. “He’s not my lover. But …”
The sentence tailed away, a shadow fallen on her face. I stroked her cheek, traced the outline of her lips. Beyond her, I could see the bed: immediate temptation. But in her voice I heard I knew not what: I bade my desire begone. It refused, but quieted enough I might hear her out.
She said, “Daviot, this is a tale for only your ears. I must have your promise.”
“You’ve my heart,” I said, “and all the promises I can give you.”
She smiled at that, but not without some measure of gravity, of discomfort. I felt again a stab of doubt; not that she loved me but that somehow this Tezdal-a strange name, surely-might come between us. I said, “Do you bid me silent, my lady, then my silence is yours. My word on it.”
She nodded and said, “There’s much to tell.”
Then, from the corridor outside came voices, the tread of passing feet. Rwyan said, “Oh, by the God, they go to the hall.”
I said, “Let them.”
She shook her head, frowning now. “We cannot, Daviot. I dare not … none must suspect …”
I said, “Rwyan, I’ll not let you go again.”
I bent my head to kiss her, but she set a hand against my lips. She was troubled and I hesitated. I held her still, and she me, and I sensed she was in no way eager to break that hold. I wondered why she frowned.
She said, “Daviot, do you trust me?”
I ducked my head in earnest confirmation.
“Then do you trust me a little longer. Only go to the hall; let no one see you leave this chamber. Act as before-as if we are now strangers-”
I interrupted her: “Rwyan, they say you sail tomorrow, and I’ll not lose you again.”
I saw pain on her face then. She said, “Only in the hall, my love. Be the Storyman there, and I some woman from your past, dismissed now.”
I said, “Never dismissed!”
Again she silenced me with a touch. “After, when the keep sleeps, come to me and I’ll explain.
Reluctantly, I nodded and said, “Do you so bid me. But shall you stay to hear me?”
She smiled then, and no sun ever shone brighter. She said, “I’ll stay. But impatiently; I pray they’ll not delay you there.”
It was all I could do not to kiss her, fold her in my arms, and carry her to the bed, but there was an urgency in her voice, a plea in her blind eyes: I quelled the impulse as the sounds outside grew louder. I said, “I fear my throat grows sore in this heat. I fear I’ll not be able to speak too long.”
She laughed then, softly, and raised her face to mine, brushing me with her lips. Then pushed me away, saying, “Good. Now go, I beg you.”
I loosed my hold on her. I stroked her cheek and turned to the door, listening. I heard voices receding and opened the door a crack. The footsteps faded, and I swung the portal wide. As I went out I said, “I’ll not lose you again, Rwyan.”
She nodded, but in her eyes I saw doubt. I ignored it: I had none any longer. I closed the door. The man- Tezdal, she had named him-stood watching me. Our eyes met, and he nodded, as if in greeting or approval, but neither of us spoke. I walked away.
That noonday meal had been hard, but this was worse. To have held my Rwyan again, to know again she loved me, and now to pretend … it was no easy task. I wondered if Varius or Robyrt saw it in my eyes, in the glances I could not help sending her way as we sat at table and conversed as civilized folk do: politely, formally, impersonally. And all the time agog for the evening to end, to go to her. If they did suspect, they said nothing, nor gave any hint. She was superb, playing the blind woman, cool in the presence of a forgotten lover.
I ate with better appetite and drank little, and when the tables were cleared, I rose at Pyrrin’s request to take a place at the hall’s center. I was pleased to see the aeldor’s Changed servitors were allowed to remain; better pleased that Rwyan did. I gave of my best that night, and if my earlier performance had been lackluster, I compensated for it now. I gave them Aerlyn’s Wedding and Daeran’s Revenge, then roughened my voice (which elicited a small, secret smile from Rwyan) as I commenced the tale of Marwenne’s Ride. When that was told, I downed a mug of ale, as if to soothe a speech-sored throat. There were shouts that I go on, but I pled my fear I should lose my voice altogether and so not be able to speak on the morrow. I was eloquent, and the hour grew late. Pyrrin accepted my excuse, announcing his own intention of finding his bed: the hall began to clear.
I watched Rwyan depart on Tezdal’s arm, consumed no longer with jealousy but with impatience now, and more than a little curiosity. As soon as seemed decent, I said my own goodnights and found my room.
Ryl had laid out my laundered clothes and lit the lantern. A jug of wine and a single glass stood on the table. I left them lie, easing my door a crack ajar. A few servants yet moved along the corridor, and I resisted the temptation to ignore them-Rwyan had entrusted me with secrecy, and I would not betray her. I crossed to the window, my fingers tapping an impatient tattoo on the sill. The night hung hot and heavy, and I thought the sky seemed not so dark as it should be, as if the Sky Lord’s magic held back the sun from its rightful setting. I wondered what secrets Rwyan would reveal; mostly I thought of lying with her again.
Then, driven by an impulse I did not stop to define, I folded my gear and filled my saddlebags, setting them with my staff. I knew not what the future held for me, only that I could not bear to let Rwyan go again. I returned
