Children of the Blood (31 page)

For a moment his eyes clouded. He wanted to bind that thought, bind and erase it. The desire vanished as he again accepted its futility. His eyes remained dark as he responded.

“Sara, lady, please ask no more questions. In a week, if your memory has not returned, I will restore what I can of it. But now, now I want your untroubled company.”

She met his black eyes with the green of hers, seeing in the shadows there more than he would say. He was open now, vulnerable. Her anger vanished and she swallowed, wondering if her need to know could be stifled for that span of days. With a sigh, she wrapped her arm more firmly around his, her fingers lingering over the pale wool.

A smile curbed her sense of desperation—she had remembered this robe, and the making of it. In a seven-day it was possible that more would become clear.

“I’ll try.”

“Thank you, lady.” He kissed her forehead gently, and then they began to walk once more.

It appeared that they were wandering aimlessly, but that was not Stefanos’ way, and soon they emerged into a green clearing several feet away from the edge of a small lake. Here, too, the day danced on the water’s surface, winking and rippling as it moved. Sara did not give voice to her pleasure at the sight of it, but her smile was enough. The sun dimpled her mouth and brought the whiteness of her skin to light.

“I believe this to be a suitable location,” Stefanos said, nodding
to Darin. Darin replied by setting down his basket and removing a large blanket from it.

“May I help?” Sara asked.

Darin shook his head. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I am,” she said, grabbing one of the blanket’s comers. The cloth was heavy, soft wool, intended to keep the sting of dry grass from tender skin. At this time of year, with the grass new and young, that was not much of a concern.

“Lady Sara.” The lord’s voice drifted back as she and Darin spread the blanket out against the ground. “You make a most difficult patient.”

She laughed. “Doctors always do.”

Then she stopped, met the black of his eyes, and smiled more broadly. He nodded in silence.

“A doctor,” she whispered to Darin, her voice jumping almost as much as her fingers against the blanket.

 

The meal passed in almost companionable silence. Stefanos ate little. Darin ate more, but he was very self-conscious. The use of manners had been taught to him, but he’d never fully understood all of their nuances. Only Sara was completely relaxed, her fingers darting to various dishes and fruits. The basket was half-empty before she had eaten her fill.

“That,” she said, “was wonderful.” She reclined, tilting her face to catch the wide swathe of sunlight. “We should do this every day.”

“I imagine it would be more difficult in the winter.”

“Winter?” She laughed. “Winter’s a lifetime away! How can you think about storm and wind when it’s so warm and bright?”

She turned in time to catch an arched brow.

“I have told you before, Sara, that I think about many things.”

She sat up suddenly and reached out for him. “And now you are going to
stop
thinking for a minute and enjoy yourself!”

Darin watched with shock as he realized what Sara had started to do. She was tickling the lord. To little effect; the lord stiffened slightly, but looked down with a grimace, both surprised and amused.

“Darin!” Sara shouted, as the lord caught one of her hands. “Help me!”

Darin shifted uncertainly.

“Well don’t just sit there! Do you want to be in his morose company for the rest of the afternoon? Help me!”

“But—”

“Darin!”

The lord turned to face Darin. In a soft, even voice, he said, “Darin, the water’s edge is a mere four yards away. Before you listen to the lady’s plea, consider that fact carefully.”

Darin looked at Sara and his lord. He thought they had both gone insane. Lord Darclan was a Servant of the Dark Heart, Sara the last of the Line Elliath; they were in the middle of the Empire of Veriloth, with misery and death hedging them in. They were mad.

But he looked down at the unaccustomed finery of his clothing, then across at the rippling sheen of water. If they were mad, he knew the madness. He remembered it keenly.

“Darin,” Sara continued, her voice dropping, “he won’t be able to throw you in the lake if we work together.”

“Won’t I?” The lord’s arms closed round Sara as he lifted her, in one motion, from the ground. “Sara, all the love in the world would not stop me from meting out just punishment. I am a man of my word.”

She gave a little squeal as he began to walk toward the water.

“Darin!”She doubled her efforts to break free; her feet and hands rained soft blows about the lord’s torso.

Dazed, Darin stood and followed them to the lake’s edge. When he was five seasons, he might have done this. He might have walked, as the Servant did, to the edge of the water. Might have walked in, as the lord did, until that water lapped gently against the soles of his boots.

“The water here is quite interesting, Sara. I am standing on a small shelf. One step further, and we will both be wet.”

Sara stopped struggling and twined her arms around his neck.

“If I go in,” she said sweetly, “you come with me.”

Her arms tightened. “But if I go in, lady, I shall be concerned with swimming, and not so much with the thinking you disparage in so bold a fashion.”

Yes, Darin thought as he listened, they were both insane. Adults didn’t behave like this. He thought about it, trying to remember more clearly those who were newly adult. He grimaced suddenly.

Peggy and Robert had been like this before they were married. And after, if he thought about it. They always wanted to be alone, and they always behaved almost as if they were.

For a long while he watched them.

Then he closed his eyes and began to move forward. Remembering, still remembering.

Stefanos saw the widening of Sara’s eyes as she suddenly threw her arms out. His head came around in time to see a small burst of motion heading toward them.

Darin’s smile was one his year-mates would have recognized—and run from. His hands hit their target with the full force of his weight. The lord let out a wordless exclamation and stumbled forward.

“Look out!” Sara wrapped her arms around his head. It was the last sound that either of them made before they hit the water. Sara choked between little gasps of laughter; the water was not deep enough to cover her completely. She wiped her eyes to clear them, and shoved her hair back. Dark, damp curls clung to her face and neck.

Stefanos was not nearly so inarticulate. He was on his knees almost before the water touched him. The damp robe he wore wrapped itself inconveniently around his body, slowing him.

“You dare?”

Darin stood on the grass, doubled over with laughter.

Stefanos rose and began to walk toward him. He heard the giggle and splash at his back as Sara caught his ankle and gave it a sweeping tug. There was another splash, another laugh, and another splutter as Stefanos resurfaced, rivulets of water running down his face and body.

“Sara,” he said through gritted teeth as she drifted away, “I am not, in general, a man who plays games.”

“Pity,” she replied, as an arching spray leaped toward him.

“I guess that means this won’t bother you.”

“And when I do,” he said, advancing a few steps as the water ran down his face, “I do not lose.”

She darted away as his hands closed on a current.

“Hey!”

They both turned to look at Darin, although they kept an eye on each other.

“If you two are just going to play in the lake, I’m going back to the castle to do
serious
work.”

The lord looked at Sara and Darin. Both faces wore similar expressions—playful, slightly malicious grins devoid of the fear or hatred that he found in all others. He could almost feel an answering laughter strain to leave his lips; he hovered on the brink of it, awash in a peculiar warmth. The laugh would not come, but he stood there, savoring its nearness.

Sara toppled him over.

He lunged for her, but the water slowed him again; it was an unfamiliar medium for him. She glided away easily, her smile a reflection that the water wiped clean.

On the shore, Darin watched them and sighed wistfully. They were mad, yes, and he wanted to stay awhile and share that madness. But he remembered Peggy and Robert. He packed up the basket, but left the blanket lying on the grass. If they didn’t get out of the water sometime soon, they’d need it.

Although he walked alone to the castle, he felt the warmth of their company as it lingered with him. And as he walked, other memories returned to him, and he let them come for the first time in years. At his side, he could hear the remarkably agile step of the Grandmother; in the distance, the sound of his year-mates’ heated discussions. Just ahead, the hall of Culverne loomed high, imposed upon the turrets and towers of the castle.

Yes, Grandmother.

Yes. Yes, Grandmother.

He sighed.

She disappeared, and he walked on alone, remembering who he had been, who he was, and who he hoped, someday, to be.

 

Sara swept her hair back and wrung it dry for the fourth time. A few drops fell from the ends and onto the stone floor of the main hall. On impulse, Stefanos bent over and brushed his lips against her forehead. She leaned into them, her smile soft and hidden.

Two slaves, on their way to the dining hall, stopped for a moment. Sara looked up, met the eyes of the older man, and blushed. The lord looked up, and they suddenly found their legs. He was almost sorry for their fear, then; he did not mind if the world shared his sight of Sara, or his love of her.

“Do you know something?” Sara said.

He smiled.

“These halls are so dim. And gray. They’re gray and colorless.” She wandered away from him, trailing her hand against the smooth stone. “There were tapestries where we stayed before, weren’t there?”

He nodded.

She sighed. “And slaves.”

He nodded again, watching her face. Her lips were turned down in a thoughtful frown. “They’re afraid of us, aren’t they?” She reached out to touch the emblem on his chest.

“Not ‛us,’ lady,” he answered gently, knowing it hurt her, this fear—hurt her, as it warmed him. She relaxed, and then frowned again.

“Maybe it’s because you always play ‘lord of the manor’ with them, all grim and forbidding.”

“I
am
lord of the manor.” He smiled, because he knew well why he was feared, and knew that somewhere, in his keeping, she remembered as well. But not here. Not now.

The frown grew, and she looked up hesitantly. “But maybe you could help them to stop being afraid.”

“Sara . . .”

“If you stopped hiding in your study the way you always do, they’d see more of you, you’d see more of them, and maybe you’d understand each other better.”

He touched her cheek gently, and smiled. It kept the pain at bay.
Sara, Sarillom.
Leaning down, he kissed her forehead again.
I would be more for you, if I could. But that is not my nature. Would that you knew what you asked.

She trembled.

“Lady,” he said softly, “I think it best that you change for dinner. I shall do the same, if you will excuse me for a few moments.”

She nodded, turned, and then turned again.

“Stefan,” she said, her voice very quiet, “is their fear important to you?”

“It is—my custom, Sara.” He waited a moment. “I am sorry.”

She smiled. It surprised him, for it was very gentle. “Fear isn’t the best way.”

He knew what she would say, knew it so well he was surprised at how deeply it could still cut.

“Love is.”