Priestess of the White

Jayim paused, then returned to the alarmed Dreamweaver’s mind. Through her eyes they saw a figure walking out of the darkness. A priestess. A high priestess. As the woman drew closer, the Dreamweaver recognized her and felt a wary relief. It’s the friendly one. Auraya.

:Auraya. Leiard felt a thrill of both pleasure and fear rush through his body. She has come looking for me.

:Looks like my lessons will have to end early tonight, Jayim said smugly.

:We’ll make up for lost time tomorrow, Leiard replied.

:Then I expect you to make sure my sacrifice is worth it.

Leiard sighed. The boy was as bad as Mirar.

:Enough, Jayim. Assert your identity.

As Jayim followed the ritual, Leiard concentrated on his sense of self. I am Leiard, Dreamwe—

And a fool, a voice in his mind interrupted. You knew she would join the army, yet you still tagged along with your fellow Dreamweavers when you should have run in the other direction.

Mirar. Leiard sighed. When am I going to be rid of you?

When you regain your senses. It’s not your identity you’re having problems with, it’s your loins.

I am not here to see Auraya, Leiard thought firmly. I am a Dreamweaver. I have a duty to treat the victims of this war.

Liar. You have a duty to protect your people, Mirar retorted. If these Circlians whom you feel a duty to treat discover you seduced their high priestess, they’ll pick up their swords and slaughter every Dreamweaver they can find. It’ll be a nice little warm-up to the battle with the Pentadrians.

I can’t just disappear, Leiard protested. I have to explain to her why I must leave.

She already knows why you must leave.

But I have to talk to—

And say what? That you know of a nice little remote spot, perfect for those times she fancies a bit of rough and bumpy? You can tell her that in a dream, just as you can explain why you can’t—

“Leiard?”

It was Jayim. Leiard opened his eyes. The boy was staring at him.

“It hasn’t got any better, has it?”

Leiard rose. “I have not lost control to him in weeks. That is an improvement. I expect it will take time.”

“If there’s—”

“Hello? Leiard?”

The voice sent a shiver down Leiard’s spine. Auraya’s voice. He had not heard it in months. It brought memories of dreams they’d shared, echoes of that first night together. His heart began to race.

All he need do was invite her in. He drew breath to speak and paused, waiting for Mirar to protest, but the other presence remained silent. Perhaps out of caution. If Mirar spoke, Auraya would hear him and...

“Leiard?”

“I am here. Come in, Auraya.”

The flap opened and she stepped inside. He felt his chest slowly tighten, realized he was holding his breath, and exhaled slowly. Her hair was pulled back into a plait, but wisps of it had blown free in the wind - or more likely in flight - and hung about her face. She was even more beautiful like this, he decided. Tousled, like after that night of...

“Greetings, Auraya of the White,” Jayim said.

She looked at the boy and smiled.

“Greetings, Jayim Baker. How is your training progressing?”

“Well,” the boy replied.

Her smile was warm, but it faded a little when she turned to regard Leiard.

“I heard you had resigned.”

Leiard nodded.

“It was nice to meet you again, Auraya,” Jayim inserted. “I’d best be going.”

She watched as he hurried from the tent, then turned back to Leiard.

“He knows.”

“Yes. A weakness of our mind-link teaching methods. I trust him.”

She shrugged. “Then so do I.” She took a step toward him. “I understand why you resigned. I think I do, anyway. You had to in case we were found out and my people reacted badly.”

“I did not resign only to protect Dreamweavers,” he told her, surprising himself with the force of his words. “I also did it so that we might... we might continue to meet.”

Her eyes widened, then she smiled and her face flushed. “I have to admit, I was a little worried. The dream links stopped and it’s taken me two nights to find you.”

He walked to her, then took her hands. Her skin was so soft. She looked up at him, and her lips curled into a small, sensual smile. The scent of her was teasingly faint, making him want to breathe in deeply.

What was I going to say? He blinked and thought back. Ah, yes.

“I had to make some decisions,” he told her. “Decisions best made alone.” He could feel the tension within her through her hands.

“And what did you decide?”

“I decided...” He paused. Until this moment he hadn’t realized how close he had been to giving in to Mirar. Life would be easier if he simply ran away. Now that he was with Auraya again - seeing her, touching her - he knew he couldn’t run from her. She would haunt him day and night.

“I decided that what mattered was that we be who we are,” he told her. “You are one of the White. I am a Dreamweaver. We are lovers. To be otherwise would be denying who we are. To allow others to be harmed because of our love would be wrong. We both know that. So...”

“So?”

“We can only meet in secret.”

“Where?”

“Far from Jarime. I have a place in mind. I will send you the location in a dream.”

The corner of her lips twitched. “Just the location? Nothing else?”

He chuckled. “You were getting a little too fond of those dreams, Auraya. I was afraid you would put me aside for them.”

Her fingers tightened around his. “No, I still prefer the real thing. Or... at least I think I do.” She looked over his shoulder, in the direction of the bed. “Maybe I had better make sure.”

He glanced toward the tent flap. Jayim had closed it well, he noted. No gaps.

“Don’t worry,” Auraya murmured. “Nobody will hear a sound. I’ve already made sure of it.”

As she drew him toward the bed, Leiard could not help wondering at the irony. What did the gods think of one of their most favored priestesses using her Gifts to hide her secret affair with a Dreamweaver?

He sobered. There was little chance they didn’t already know. If they’d disapproved, they would have done something about it long ago.

Then Auraya kissed him and all thought of the gods fled his mind.

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