“Turn around.” Lady yo'Lanna gripped her arm.
“I cannot,” she whispered.
“You will,” the older woman said, her voice conveying absolute conviction.
Daav—Delm Guayar was speaking to him. She saw the longing in his face; felt the effort it cost him, to stand in one place, trembling, as she was trembling, soul on fire and heart a-stutter . . .
She closed her eyes. The pain did not abate. I will not lose, she thought. I will not forfeit my life.
Shaking, she turned away.
* * *
Shaking, he put himself into the alcove's farthest corner, closed his eyes, and concentrated on being very still. Now that it was aroused, the compulsion did not fade as he had hoped it might. He knew where she was; blindfolded, he could walk to her side, through walls, if he must . . .
“Here is tea,” Guayar said.
He opened his eyes, and received the glass with both hands. The liquid sloshed and rippled unnervingly.
Apparently, Guayar thought so, too, for he sent a sharp look into Daav's face.
“Attend me, please,” he said, as if he were speaking to a child yet in nursery. “You are to remain precisely there; you will not endanger your clan or your lady or yourself by word, action or deed while I am away. Do you swear it?”
Daav took a hard breath. “How long will you be gone?”
Guayar awarded him another sharp look.
“I am going to fetch your brother.”
Daav inclined his head. “On my honor, I will wait here until my brother comes.”
“Excellent.”
Alone, Daav closed his eyes, and felt for the steps that would bring him to that place of quiet peace. He could not concentrate; the imperative to go to her shattered his thought, flooding him with agony.
Biting his lip, he reached for the Rainbow, but the colors slid away from his thought, leaving him bereft and ill.
A light step alerted him. He opened his eyes.
Er Thom was in sapphire and ivory. He stood in the entry to the alcove, the golden light from the main room limning his slim figure, throwing his face into shadow.
“Kareen will be angry if you break that glass,” he commented. “It's part of a set.”
“I'll buy her a new set,” Daav answered, horrified to hear how his voice quavered.
“Best not to call attention,” his brother said, and came forward, walking easy and soft. “Brother, what pains you?”
Daav took a breath, keeping his eyes on Er Thom's.
“I am compelled,” he said.
“Ah.” His brother inclined his head. “I understand.”
Of all the beings alive, Daav thought, his brother would understand. More the pity, that Er Thom's brother had not understood when a similar compulsion had been visited upon him.
“Brother, I owe you a profound apology.”
“Nonsense,” Er Thom said briskly. He slipped the glass from Daav's hand. “Let me fetch you something more fitting to drink.”
“Not wine!” he said sharply.
“Of course not. Come out of the corner, Daav, do.”
Come out of the corner, he thought, blinking back tears; as if it were simple.
. . . and yet, it was Er Thom who asked it; Er Thom, who knew precisely what it would cost.
Daav straightened his shoulders and stepped away from the wall. His knees trembled, but he could stand. His hands were cold, and his lungs ached as if he had been running at the top of his speed for far too long.
“Here you are,” Er Thom said, stepping to his side and handing him a wineglass filled with pale yellow liquid.
Daav shook his head. “No wine,” he repeated. “Brother—”
“Taste it,” Er Thom commanded.
Goaded, he assayed a sip—a small sip—and sputtered a laugh.
“Lemonade?”
“It is perfectly adequate lemonade,” Er Thom said, sipping from his own glass. He wrinkled his nose slightly. “Who could have supposed that Kareen would have it too sweet?”
Daav snorted, then sobered.
