long into the sun. For seconds, minutes, she couldn’t even see anything, and then when the swirling white light cleared from her vision, she wished it was gone again.
Taya.
Quinn was on his knees, small nonsensical sounds that were nearly whimpers coming from his throat. With a grip so tight it threatened to break her small fingers, he held the hands of a woman. . what was left of a woman.
Taya. . childhood rival. . girlhood nemesis. Taya the good.
Quinn leaned even closer, wrapping his long arms around the woman’s shoulders.
Taya, who had supposedly taken Quinn’s heart into the grave. Taya the blessed. Light to Demial’s dark.
Even now, she was stealing the light, stealing what was Demial’s. As if to confirm what her mind was repeating, to make her believe it, the woman standing on Demial’s right murmured the name.
“Taya.”
The one small murmur was like the rocks caving in on the mine. Words rumbled, spilling and roiling around Demial, drowning out whatever Quinn was saying to the woman as he held her.
“It’s Taya.”
“Where’s she been all this time?”
“She left during the war, to serve with the forces of Kalaman.”
“What’s happened to her?”
“Look at her hair.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
Demial had been straining to hear what Quinn was saying. Only now did she look, really look at the figure he was holding. She could see only a portion of the woman’s too pale face, one thin shoulder, and one emaciated arm.
Taya was sitting, barely supporting herself. She was speaking in a voice that creaked like an old wagon wheel, but the words didn’t make any sense. They were words like “mountains,”
“battle,”
“river.”
“Number,” maybe. The words did not flow together into any semblance of meaning.
Quinn rose, and Demial gasped. As carefully schooled as she was in never showing her true feelings, she couldn’t hide her horror. Quinn’s expression was dull, shocked, the expression of a man who had just awakened to a nightmare.
There was not even a hint of the strong, blonde beauty Taya had been. It was as if someone had starved her, beaten her, broken her bones, allowed her to heal not quite right, then started over again. Her body was shrunken and trembling. Her hair was ragged, dull as straw.
Quinn helped her to her feet, grasping her arms and pulling her up gently.
Taya managed to stand but only with Quinn’s support. She turned her head. Her quirky, not quite focused gaze landed on Demial, and Demial realized there was something of the old Taya still there-her eyes. Her bright, bluer-than-the-sky eyes. She looked at Demial, gaze sharpening. Taya stared right at her, and the mumbling stopped.
Demial took a step back and felt her heel come down on someone’s foot. Did Taya recognize her? If she did, she gave no indication. The young woman leaned against Quinn’s broad chest and allowed herself to be lifted up. She looked like a child in Quinn’s arms, a limp, lifeless child.
“Put her in my hut,” said one of the young men, pointing. The building he indicated was small but frequently used for the sick or injured due to its proximity to the well and because it had a real bed instead of a mattress on the floor.
As Quinn turned toward the hut, the villagers started to close Demial off, trailing after him, and she pushed forward again to walk at his side. She had never thought to see Taya again. She had never thought to see another woman in Quinn’s arms again. Seeing her now, seeing him with Taya, made Demial sick to her stomach, but she had to stay close.
It was no different than when she was child. She’d hated them together then, and yet she’d been part of the circle, the bad girl everyone tolerated because Quinn and Taya tolerated her. Yet Taya was always ready to tease, to torment, when Quinn wasn’t looking, always smiling sweetly when he was.
Quinn twisted awkwardly to get his small bundle through the door and laid her gently on the narrow bed.
Demial’s stomach lurched violently when he stroked Taya’s hair back from her face.
Lyrae appeared at her side, pitcher of water in one hand and a stack of cloths in the other.
Demial gaped at her, Quinn forgotten. It was the first time she’d seen Lyrae without her baby nearby. Demial’s first response was to grin with delight. Rory would be happy. All it had taken to separate her from the child had been Taya.
A frown erased the joy. Quinn was reaching for the water and towels in Lyrae’s hands, refusing to relinquish his place beside Taya.
Lyrae said, “You have to let us take care of her.”
He tried again to take the towels.
“Quinn!” Lyrae said sharply. “Move away.” Much more gently, she nudged Quinn with her knee. “Go on. Outside. You can come back in when we’re finished.”
Touching Taya once more as if to assure himself she was there, Quinn rose.
Demial went with him quickly, before she could be drafted into helping. The thought of touching that soiled, skeletal body was more than she could bear. But. . Taya had looked at her as if she knew her. What if she started to talk?
Demial glanced back, hesitating. Maybe she should stay, make sure Taya didn’t say anything. . Lyrae had pulled away a layer of dirt-encrusted cloth and was peeling back another. The bare flesh beneath was a mass of scars, swirls of raised, puckered welts that left the skin between unblemished. Bums: the kind that could only be left by magic.
Demial shuddered and turned away, closing the door behind her.
Outside, most of the villagers had drifted away. Those few who remained shuffled away, moving on to start their day, as Demial closed the door.
Quinn was sitting on the ground, his back against the wall of the hut. He braced his arms on his knees, hands dangling limply between.
Demial eased down beside him, shifting carefully to sit on a patch of grass.
Quinn drew a ragged breath and said, “Gods, Dem, what could have happened to her?” His voice was so broken, so. . lost.
She bit her lip against the urge to leap up and run away or to screech at him. No one called her that. No one! With a force of will, she remained where she was. She put on her best comforting face.
“Where’s she been all this time? What-?” His voice finally cracked. He hung his head, unable to go on.
Demial was saved from having to answer by the opening of the door. Lyrae came out into the yard. She was carrying the bowl. It was filled with soiled towels now. “She’s asleep,” she said, mainly to Quinn. When he said nothing, she said, “Are you going to sit with her now?”
“No!” Demial quickly leaped into the breach. “I will. Quinn can go on to the mine.”
“No.” His voice was flat, final. “I will. You go on to the mine.” When Demial tried to protest, he took a deep breath and let it out. His voice softened, and his fingers twitched. “You can. . you can sit with her tonight.”
Demial nodded and walked away quickly before she said something, did something, to show how little she cared for the idea of Quinn being alone with Taya-and how little she herself cared for the idea of sitting with her.
Her thoughts were occupied as she walked the path up the mountainside. She really didn’t want to be in the room with Taya, but. . wouldn’t it be the best thing to do? Wouldn’t Quinn appreciate her just that much more?
At the mine, work was already proceeding as usual. It was a little slower, maybe, as everyone paused here and there to speculate about the reappearance of Taya. Everyone stopped to hear more about Taya from Demial. They sighed when she could only tell them, that the woman was sleeping, then went back to work.
