A Turn of Light (89 page)

Bannan spread a blanket on the ground and helped her sit; he thought of her fine new dress and Jenn knew she should thank him.

But she couldn’t find words. Uncle Horst was gone. Her father, who couldn’t swat a fly and was never angry, had struck his truest friend, drawing blood.

Her mother—she’d said Beholdings over nothing, all her life. Her father had taken comfort, from nothing. Jenn thought she should be angry too, but she wasn’t. Uncle Horst was gone and there was a hole in her heart.

Bannan sat beside her, shadow against night, helping by his silent presence as Sand had helped by stopping what could have been a greater disaster.

Together, they sat and looked out over the dark river. Music had started again behind them, muted and quiet and without the deep thrum of Davi’s bass. No more dancing, not after that. Doubtless, some would be talking, trying to make sense of it. Those not working the fields tomorrow would start to tidy up, though the beer would likely flow a while longer, to soothe nerves.

She should go to her father, but she couldn’t. Not yet.

The slide of water through reeds was its own music; the darkness, comforting walls. In stories, Jenn thought numbly, it wouldn’t be proper of her to sit with Bannan, alone and apart, not when she was to marry someone else in three days. In stories, this would be romantic and fraught with—with whatever it could be.

Stars gazed down, cold and uncaring. Aunt Sybb, she knew, would understand and approve. They were all heartsick, tonight, and taking what refuge they could.

Pulling off her shoes, Jenn rested her chin on her knees and let tears flow down her cheeks. At least she needn’t fear her grief, not tonight; the turn-born would protect Marrowdell.

“Horst believed you’d hate him, once you knew the truth,” Bannan offered gently. “He couldn’t bear to stay and find out.”

“I don’t. How could I?” She hesitated, wiping her tears. In the dark, his face was indistinct, impossible to read. Was hers? “You do believe me.”

He understood what she meant. “They call it being a truthseer, but I hear a lie just as well. Not that I’d ever doubt you, Jenn Nalynn. Horst shouldn’t either. You or Radd.”

“Poppa just needs time,” she agreed, hoping she was right, then sighed. “Poor Riss.”

“‘Riss?’”

“She and Uncle—” Jenn blushed and was glad Bannan couldn’t see it. “They’ve been lovers for a long time. In secret.”

“Ah. That explains—” his turn to hesitate.

She wiped her face. “What?”

“He told me to forget honor and ask you to dance.”

Honor. Uncle Horst had thought of her, had thought of them, even as he prepared to leave his own love behind. “I’m glad you did,” Jenn replied in a small voice. “It’s hard to believe he’s gone. Marrowdell won’t be the same.” She shivered. Did she cause it, or was the night turning cool, as harvest nights were wont to do?

Without a word, Bannan shifted to shelter her bare back and shoulders against his warm chest, wrapping his arms around her like a blanket. It was the most unromantic of embraces and Jenn sank into it with a grateful sigh, laying her head on his shoulder.

Strange, how lying in Bannan’s arms made her feel better. Safe. She wasn’t safe at all. Hadn’t she almost died in her bedroom? As for better, having learned just today what she was and what it meant, it was hardly reasonable to feel any improvement in her lot whatsoever.

She just, most truly, did.

A squeal echoed along the valley and she felt Bannan’s chuckle. “Scourge’s having quite the night.” He sounded pleased. “I suppose if the herd’s late for the harvest, I’ll have to explain to the tinkers.”

“They know what you are,” she warned.

“And are taking the news well, all things considered.”

That was good news. Jenn let herself enjoy the rise and fall of his chest for a moment, then, though she was sure of the answer, asked quietly, “Do you know what they are?”

Bannan laid his cheek against her hair. She felt his nod.

“What—I am?” she went on, her voice barely a whisper. “Why there was a storm and then—then not? What I can do?”

Another nod.

Bannan held her, like this. As if nothing she was or could be frightened him.

As if he knew how afraid she was.

“I’ve something to tell you,” Jenn said huskily. If she didn’t, if she vanished tomorrow . . . “In case—if anything happens—if I’m—I’m not here anymore. I want you to know why. To explain—to my family. To Wyll. Would you do that, for me?”

He went rigid, his arms strong around her, but his voice was reassuringly calm. “I promise.”

“You’ve seen Mistress Sand and the others. Seen how they are, inside? What they are?”

“I have. It’s remarkable.”

That was one word for it.

Stone, not flesh. For an instant the enormity of it overwhelmed her. She’d live, if she could. But what was she to become? How would she feel? What would there be to love? To exist, without love . . .

Jenn gathered her courage. Don’t squander the Ancestors’ gift, Aunt Sybb had said. Live each moment. Yes, she’d meant not to daydream when one could be productively employed, but the words . . . fit. She was herself, tonight.

Not something to waste.

“I’m like them,” Jenn began, carefully. “I mean—I—I will be. I need white pebbles. I found one on the Spine, that day. I didn’t know it was magic and from the Verge. I didn’t know it would matter if I touched it, but now I have and it’s—I have to have it, Bannan. I’m empty and unless Mistress Sand finds my pebble, unless they can bring me more—what I need to be filled—filled like them—before the Great Turn, I’ll have to go up the Spine, I’ll have to cross into the Verge to find it, even though she says I can’t—that I’d die—” words began to pour out but she couldn’t stop, “—but I must, the voice told me, I must help myself. If I don’t get the pebble, I won’t—I’ll be gone.” She twisted to see his face. “It’s happening already, during the turn. Every day. Today, the sun set and I lost—I lost—my legs and feet and my hands and my wrists and—” She choked back a sob.

“Dearest Heart. Hush.” Stroking her hair, Bannan drew her into his lap, cradled like a child. “We’ll find it. I swear it with my life’s blood. I—” Before he said another word, Jenn kissed him.

It was a desperate, teary, stolen kiss and shouldn’t have been romantic at all. But when she pulled away to see what he thought of it, Bannan Larmensu slipped both hands into her hair and brought her mouth back to his with an urgency that made her heart pound.

For a dizzy time, nothing mattered and she most heartily approved when his hands strayed over the shoulders bared by her daring dress and didn’t he gasp wonderfully when her hands strayed too and found leather?

~ Elder sister? ~

She was not going to listen to a toad, not when—Ancestors Blessed and Blissful, now his hand found her breast and oh why hadn’t anyone told her how delirious it would make her feel and whatever he was doing, he mustn’t stop—

“Heart’s Blood!”

Not only did he stop, but Bannan heaved violently onto his side, in so doing sending the house toad tumbling from his back to plop like cold soggy pudding on her breasts.

Pudding with little sharp claws.

Jenn shoved it off indignantly and sat up, fumbling her bodice together though both toad and man had most certainly seen what there was to see.

~ Elder sister, someone’s coming. ~

It could be Wen and Wainn, who, come to think of it, probably relied on the toads for such warning. Or one of the men looking for a discreet shrub. Or—it didn’t matter who. “Someone’s coming,” she warned.

Instead of helping her to her feet, the dress being awkward, Bannan leaned in to kiss her once more, so thoroughly Jenn might have forgotten the toad and whomever approached entirely except that the truthseer ended the kiss, put another, tender one on the tip of her nose, then stood, offering his hand.

All of which left her quite breathless and grateful it was dark.

Ancestors Hot and Bothered, it took all Bannan had to help Jenn to her feet and release her hand, instead of flinging them both down on that wonderful blanket under the blissful stars and—

And what? he scolded himself, fighting the rush of desire as he watched her slender silhouette tidy ribbons and hair. A hasty toss, when she was heartsick and needing comfort? She deserved far better. Was that a tear in her beautiful dress? Bumbling oaf. He’d acted like she was his first. Though, in his defense, her passion had matched his and—he collected the blanket, grateful for the dark.

Ancestors Witness, he could do better. Hearts of our Ancestors—as he folded the blanket and tucked it under an arm—I’ll be Beholden the rest of my life for the chance to do better with this woman as often as possible, for as long as we live.

Without toads, he added, glaring at the creature in question.

“Did you say something?” Jenn whispered.

“No.” Heart’s Blood, had he prayed aloud? A crash and muffled oath from the shadows saved him. “Someone’s coming.”

“This way.” She collected her skirt and shoes in one hand, offering him the other.

Holding hands, stifling giggles, because, despite everything, suddenly it was fun to dash in the dark like naughty children, they ran between garden rows and around privies and behind the Emms’ barn. There, Jenn pinned him against the log wall for a long and distracting kiss, before pulling him after her again.

He could, Bannan decided cheerfully, do this all night.

They wound up at the Nalynns’ back door. A lamp shone on the front porch, but not here. Jenn stepped on the shadowy step and turned. “Bannan.”

A fleeting chill to the air. Their evening was done. To show he understood, and, in honesty, to remind himself, Bannan put his palms against the log that ran atop the doorframe. “My thanks for the dance,” he said lightly. Then, not lightly at all, “I won’t let you vanish, Dearest Heart, I swear by every Ancestor I can claim. You’ll have what you need, though we leave this world to find it.”

“My mother died after crossing, Bannan.” Despair thickened her voice. “Mistress Sand forbids it. She said people don’t belong there. I don’t—I don’t even know how.”

“Our dragon worries too. But we’re not any people, are we? You’ve their power; I’ve my own.” As he tried to see Jenn’s face, the rich scent of roses filled the air and a moth landed near his fingers, tugging free its parchment. Marrowdell paid attention, he thought with a burst of joy. “If we must, we’ll find our way without Sand’s help. You’ve done the impossible once,” he reminded her gently. “You wished a dragon into a man.” The thought of Wyll brought a twinge of conscience.

“I did,” she sighed. “But a wishing to move between worlds? Even if we found the words in Kydd’s books, even if what he believes is true and I—I’m able to make them work, what if we need tokens too? Marrowdell isn’t Vorkoun.”

No, Bannan realized with a start. It held a caravan fresh from Ansnor. What might the dema have brought besides a telescope? A possibility not to share until he was sure; he wouldn’t build false hope. “We’ve time, Dearest Heart,” he said instead. “You aren’t alone in this.” The night was full of roses and magic. His heart sang with hope of his own. “In anything.” He sank to one knee, one hand outstretched, the other circled over his heart. “Hearts of our Ancestors, all that I am, is yours. I love you, Jenn Nalynn. Will you—”

Her finger covered his lips. “Don’t say it,” she pleaded, her voice unsteady. “Whatever’s to come, all that I am is yours, Bannan Larmensu. I do love you. I have,” she said simply, “since we first met.”

The truth and wondrous. He kissed her fingers and caught her hand. Rising, he pressed it over his heart, covered with his own. “Then I’ve no shame. Marry me, Dearest Heart, and not Wyll.”

“There’ll be no wedding.” She pulled her hand from his and stepped out of reach.

Something was wrong, when nothing should be.

Bannan carefully lightened his tone. “A kiss, then. Before we part for the night.” He opened his arms.

To his dismay, Jenn retreated another step. “It would only make things worse.”

“How so?” he asked softly. “I know the truth, Jenn Nalynn. You love me as I love you. How could a kiss be wrong?”

“Because of what’s to come,” she said with quiet resolve. “I’m to be stone, Bannan. To give up my flesh and become a—a thing of magic. Right now, this moment, I love you. I love Wyll. My family. Will I then?”

“Jenn—” Faced with such courage, what could he say but the truth? “I don’t know.”

“Nor I,” so gently, his heart hurt. “That’s why I won’t kiss you again. Right now, this moment . . . I’d believe it our last.” Another step back and away. “Leave me with hope.”

Then Jenn Nalynn was gone, leaving him in the kitchen doorway, too stunned to move.

Trust her, Horst had said, and been right.

Save her, Bannan told himself. That, above all.

He roused to turn and look over the river, past field and forest, raising his gaze to the bleak mounds of the Spine.

And knew what he had to do.