Voice of the Gods

explain his initial hesitation.

She let the bedding fall. His eyes dropped to her breasts and the strained look in his eyes disappeared. “Of course, if I found someone willing to learn, I’m sure I could teach him some of what you showed me,” she said as she began to dress.

That brought a smile. Good.

She lost herself in memories as she dressed. How could a man come to be such a good lover? At times he had almost seemed to read her mind. He obviously understood women’s bodies. Better than the average Dreamweaver male, who needed to understand more than the average male because he must treat women’s illnesses. Maybe better than she did, which had been disconcerting.

Obviously he had known many women. There could be no other explanation. Who would have thought this reserved, quiet Dreamweaver had such a past?

She glanced at him. He was looking out the window again, his expression distant. Now he looked old and sad. Sometimes he looked a little lost, but that was understandable. He was far from home.

Had he ever explained why he was here? She couldn’t remember. There was definitely something mysterious about him. But to her, having spent all her life in this city, every foreigner seemed exciting and mysterious.

He is also strangely familiar. Like a friend I haven’t seen since I was a child. There’s something about him...

As she slipped her Dreamweaver vest on over her tunic, she looked at him again.

“Shall I come by tonight?”

He smiled. “Let’s wait and see how we feel tonight. You may prefer to catch up on sleep.”

“Unlikely.” Winking, she turned and walked to the door. When she looked back before closing the door, he was looking out of the window again, smiling faintly. A strange, secretive smile.

Humming as she made her way to her room, she passed Nirnel and Teiwen, a young Dreamweaver couple. Both looked at her crumpled clothes and she gave them a smug smile.

“So the new Dreamweaver finally gave in, did he?” Nirnel asked.

“That took longer than usual,” Teiwen said. “You’re losing your touch, Dardel.”

“You’re quite right,” she replied. “It did take longer than usual. He lasted all night, in fact.”

The pair rolled their eyes. Dardel continued on, chuckling to herself. Wilar was exactly what she had always imagined Mirar to have been like. Knowledgeable, powerfully Gifted (she knew Wilar was - she’d heard Tintel’s stories), not too young, not too old and a good lover. Everything that had attracted her to Dreamweavers in the first place.

Halfway to her room she slowed as a possibility suddenly occurred to her.

What if he is Mirar? The younger Dreamweavers have been saying Mirar might have come south. What if he had, and is here pretending to be a traveller?

The idea set her pulse racing. Even if it wasn’t true, what harm was there in indulging a little fantasy?

Formal dinners of the Voices had an undercurrent of tension that never eased, though their guest, the Sennonian ambassador and nephew of the Sennonian emperor, appeared not to have noticed. Reivan took another piece of crystallized spice root and chewed slowly, listening to the idle chatter. Genza was relating an amusing piece of town gossip, with occasional injections of dry humor from her Companion, Vilvan.

When the others laughed, Imenja only smiled. If the ambassador had noticed that she and Nekaun had not exchanged a word, he didn’t show it. Imenja did occasionally join in conversations, but Reivan knew her mistress was participating only enough to show she was listening. She was the image of a polite guest, when she ought to be behaving like a host. Or matriarch. Or at least like someone who had a say in matters.

Nekaun laughed at the conclusion of the story and Reivan felt a shiver run down her spine at the sound of his voice. She resolutely forced her mind from considering why. Taking her glass, she drained the last of her water.

It’s late, she thought. And it doesn’t look like we’ll be turning in soon. Sometimes these dinners feel like they’ll never end.

Abruptly, Nekaun stood. “It is late,” he said, “and our guest has travelled far. He must be tired, and I know we,” he looked at Imenja and then the other Voices, “have much to do tomorrow. Let us retire for the night.”

Is that relief on Imenja’s face? Reivan wondered. She moved her chair back and stood, then waited her turn to bid the ambassador good night. When the young man had left, Reivan followed Imenja out of the room.

“Is there anything you need from me tonight?” she asked.

Imenja looked at Reivan and smiled, and this time it was a warm, genuine smile.

“No. There’s one small matter I have to attend to, but I shouldn’t need you for that. Go to bed, Reivan. You look tired.”

Reivan made the sign of the star. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Reivan turned back and walked to her rooms. Warm nights had made her sleep restless. Though she was eager to get to bed, she doubted she would rest any easier tonight.

Her doubts proved well founded. As soon as she lay down on her bed she knew sleep wasn’t going to come soon or easily. Sighing, she let her mind run over the work of the day and list the tasks for tomorrow.

Then a voice called her name.

It was a male voice. A little louder than a whisper, and coming from the direction of the balcony. She knew at once who it was.

I should ignore it, she thought. If I do he’ll go away.

But she didn’t want him to go away. And besides, he was the First Voice. You didn’t ignore the leader of the Pentadrians and the gods’ highest servant.

Standing up, she moved to the balcony and looked down. A figure stood in the shadows, barely visible.

Nekaun.

“Good evening, Reivan.”

“First Voice.”

“There is no need for formality now.”

“Isn’t there?”

“No. There is nobody here but the two of us. I’d prefer for you to call me Nekaun in private. Will you, for me?”

“If you wish.”

“I do.”

“Then I will, Nekaun.”

He tilted his head to one side. “You are so beautiful, Reivan.”

Her heart did something she knew to be physically impossible. She found she had pressed a hand over it unconsciously.

“Do you find me attractive, Reivan?”

What a ridiculous question, she thought. Anyone that good- looking knows that everyone finds them attractive, whether they can read minds or not. And he can read minds.

So why did he want her to say it?

“Sometimes, from the right person, hearing them say such a thing is...” He sighed. “... more real. Somehow it means more.”

She felt her heart twist. “I do, Nekaun. I find you attractive. Too attractive.”

His eyebrows rose. “Why ‘too’?”

“It is... it is awkward. I am Imenja’s Companion.”

“So you are. That does not mean we cannot be... friends.”

“No. But it is still awkward.”

“Let it be. There is nothing wrong with us being together. As friends. Or even something more.”