Songs of the Earth (38 page)

What he should do was walk away – make his excuses and decline each time she called to him outside his scheduled tutorials. She was on the Council of Masters, he was a student, and Chapterhouse had rules. There was nothing he could do to change that; he should just accept it. But Holy Mother forgive him, he could not bring himself to say no to her. So he stayed and tried to pretend that nothing had changed, but since that kiss had brought everything so sharply into focus, nothing between them could ever be the same again.

‘Damn it, I’ll have no nails left,’ Aysha muttered. She folded her arms across her chest and shoved her hands into her armpits to keep them away from her teeth.

The movement pulled her shirt tight across her breasts,
emphasising the curves, and Gair had to drag his eyes down before she noticed his stare, then had to haul them further down past her snug moleskin breeches to the rug. That was the only safe place to let his eyes rest.

Remember she’s your teacher!
he told himself firmly. That was all very well, but she hadn’t acted very much like his teacher when she’d kissed him, had she? Without thinking, he took a deep gulp of tea and nearly choked, it was so bitter.
It was only once, and it was over a week ago
. Not that you’re counting the days or anything.
It was nothing
. So much nothing that you can’t stop thinking about it, eh?

No good came of arguing with himself about it. No matter how many times he tried, there was never anything new to hear. Aysha was under his skin as firmly as a spinewort barb, and just like the thorn, the only thing to do with that was endure the itch until it grew itself out. He renewed this resolve daily, but every time she fixed him with those stormy eyes he felt it crumble like a sand-castle undercut by the tide.

‘You should go,’ she said at last.

‘If that’s what you want.’

She looked away. ‘I’m not fit company for civilised folk, Leahn. Stay here and I’m liable to take it out on you instead of the china.’

‘I could use the shield-weaving practice. I’ve missed at least three tutorials now.’

Blue eyes flashed and for a second he thought he’d said the wrong thing. Then her lips curled up at the corners just the barest fraction and she shook her head at herself. She pressed her fists to her head and growled in frustration. ‘Gah, how do you put up with me like this? I feel ready to climb out of my own skin.’ Tipping her head back, she rubbed her hands over her face and sighed. ‘Go on, go. I’ll be all right if I can just get some sleep. A hot bath should help, and if it doesn’t I’ve got a bottle of brandy.’

‘Are you sure?’ He set down his cup on the hearth and stood up.
Outside the wind shrieked past the windows and the draught stirred the curtains.

Aysha shifted restlessly on the couch.

‘There’s nothing I can do?’

‘I’d ask you to wash my back, but there’s an evens chance that I’ll try to drown you in the tub instead. I’m sure you can find something more interesting to do than keep company a crabbed old witch like me.’ She flicked a look towards the door. ‘Go on. I’ll be fine.’

Out in the corridor, with the door safely closed behind him, he had to lean against the wall and close his eyes.
Aysha in her bath
. Had she been serious? Mother have mercy, he thought she had. Images unfolded in his mind, and he was powerless to stop them. Candlelight. Water pearling on her tawny skin. Saints, a foamy sponge in his hand as he soaped her back in slow circles. He let his head fall backwards onto the stone. And all he had to do was go back into her apartment and say he’d take his chances with the drowning. Dear Goddess. She was his
teacher
.

If he’d thought he would have been granted absolution, he would have gone straight to the confessional and surrendered his impure thoughts to the impartial ear of the lector, taken his penance and been happy to do so. Yet he knew that it wouldn’t stop them. In his heart, in the depths of the night, he didn’t want to stop them, though they made his blood pound in his veins. So why didn’t he go back? Why was he pushing himself away from the wall and heading for the stairs, trying to convince himself that it was the right thing to do?

He was halfway down the third flight of stairs and no closer to an answer when a familiar voice called his name. Turning round, he saw Alderan stepping out into the corridor, closing his study door behind him.

‘I was wondering where you were,’ the old man said. ‘I don’t see you around the place much these days. Are you well?’

‘I am, thank you. You?’

The wind flung rain at the windows opposite, rattling on the glass like gravel.

‘Oh, tolerable,’ Alderan said. ‘I’d be better if it wasn’t so wretchedly damp. It plays hob with my knees.’ He gestured at the corridor ahead that led out of the Masters’ wing and, folding his hands behind him, said, ‘Walk with me a while. It’s been a long time since we talked. Have you had your supper yet?’

Gair fell in beside him, wondering where the conversation was heading. He had a feeling that he knew, and against all rationality it raised his hackles.

‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t hungry.’

You are, just not for food
, his conscience reminded him with a guilty pang.

Alderan’s brow furrowed in concern. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked. ‘You look like you’ve got colic.’

Was it so obvious?
‘I’m fine.’

‘Have a glass of warm milk and honey to settle your stomach.’

They turned right onto the main corridor, then left towards the refectory. Knots of students passed them, and the occasional Master. Alderan acknowledged them all with a nod or a word, then asked pleasantly, ‘Lessons with Aysha going well, I take it?’

‘There’s a lot to learn.’

‘Enough to explain why you’ve been missing tutorials with the rest of the faculty?’ Alderan pushed open the refectory door and stopped on the threshold. His expression was grave, gaze steady. ‘I’m afraid I expected rather better of you than that, Gair. I thought you would be a much more … disciplined student.’

‘We cover a lot of ground. Sometimes the time gets away from us.’

‘I’m sure it does.’

‘What was it you wanted to talk about, Alderan?’

‘You, in a nutshell.’

Gair blinked. This wasn’t what he had been expecting at all.

‘You have a prodigious talent, you know. One of the best I’ve
ever seen. If you choose not to develop it, well, that’s your right and your decision, but if you’ll forgive me I think it would be a terrible waste.’

‘And you think I’m wasting it learning more about my shape-shifting.’

‘I’m worried that you might be focusing your energies too keenly on one aspect of your gift to the detriment of the rest of it. And I don’t want you to lose yourself.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Aysha warned you, I assume? About going too deeply into the shape-shift, staying too long? She told me about it once, not long after she arrived here. Fair made my blood run cold, thinking about becoming too much the animal whose shape you are borrowing and losing the way back. You can still hear the Song, you just don’t have the capability to make use of it. That would frighten me, were I you.’

‘She made the risks clear to me,’ Gair said carefully.

In fact Aysha had been quite dismissive of them, maintaining that it was necessary to throw oneself fully into the shape in order to truly comprehend and
be
the animal. Gair had always been more cautious; he’d never let the urge to hunt overwhelm him.

Alderan pursed his lips. ‘It would be a great shame if we were to lose you, Gair. You could be a tremendous asset to the Order, you know. Godril thinks very highly of you, and he’s notoriously hard to impress.’

Gair faced him, hands on his belt. ‘What exactly are you trying to say here, Alderan? If you think I’m spending too much time with Aysha, then please just say so. I’m not a child; you don’t have to tiptoe round the subject in case it scares me.’

A small smile creased the old man’s beard. ‘That wasn’t at all what I meant, lad,’ he said kindly, and squeezed Gair’s shoulder, letting go with a pat. ‘Just have a care for your timekeeping, that’s all. We still have some things to show you which might be useful to you one day. Good night.’

With that, the old man ambled off into the refectory. Gair watched him go, feeling as if he’d been having an argument all by himself. Maybe the north wind was getting to him as well.

The wind had been against the
Morning Star
for most of the journey. She had spent a week fighting a gale that veered from westerly to nor’easterly, tacking some eight hundred miles for a total advance of not much more than a hundred. Every furlong had been fought out against opposing seas, and the sea-elf ship had paid a heavy price for it. Her sleek shoulders were pared of paint down to the wood, and one of her sails had already burst from throat to foot.

The Shipmaster rested his hands on the hilts of his belt knives and bared his teeth at Masen. ‘Lucky for you we were already bound this way, Gatekeeper,’ he called, ‘or I’d never forgive you!’

Masen spread his hands in apology, then swore and had to lunge for the railing as the next pitch of the bows almost knocked him from his feet.

The sea-elf rode the roll of the deck with the poise of a dancer, his long legs flexing to absorb the motion.

‘I’m grateful to you, K’shaa, more than I can ever say.’

‘It may take more than your gratitude to appease the lady, however.’ K’shaa gestured towards the stern where the Shipsinger stood, her hands braced on the tiller and her long hair flying around her face. ‘I fear she has not yet forgiven me for overruling her decision not to take you aboard.’

‘I understand. How is she faring?’ Masen asked.

‘She is tired. Though she does not admit it to me, I can hear it in her voice.’

Masen could hear nothing but the moan of the wind and the crash of waves into the bows, but he could feel a tug at the Song from a powerful weaving. He wiped spray from his face.

‘I could help her,’ he said. ‘I cannot sing the ship the way she does, but I could share the burden of working the Song.’

K’shaa shook his head, pale braids swinging. ‘It is her task, Gatekeeper. She will not surrender it, certainly not to you.’

‘I only want to help. It is the least I can do to pay for my passage.’

‘Then I wish you luck persuading her so. She is a proud one, my sister.’ Then he smiled, slanted eyes sparking. ‘But you may ask her, with my blessing!’

Hand over hand along the railing, Masen made his way aft, careful to keep out of the way of the other sea-elves as they moved about their tasks. Once he gained the edge of the stern-deck, he reached for the Shipsinger’s colours.

Her Song tingled along his nerves.

My lady!

She frowned but did not answer. Her sea-green robe flapped in the wind.

Lady, I can be of assistance
.

Mouth clamped in a tight line, she shook her hair out of her face. Clenched teeth and narrowed eyes gave her marble-pale face a feline cast. Still she said nothing.

You have not slept in two nights, lady. Let me help you, and together we can speed the
Star
on her way
.

The Shipsinger fixed her eyes on the grey-green ocean ahead. The stiffness of her spine showed no sign of bending. Well, luck favoured the bold.

Masen hung onto the railing until he got a feel for how the ship rode the waves as it breasted each swell and dipped into the following trough. Then he leapt across the sloping deck and clamped his hands onto the tiller either side of the Shipsinger’s, her slender body inside the circle of his arms.

Cat-green eyes fixed him over her shoulder.
You presume too much, Masen of the white city!

Then let me answer for my presumption with the sweat of my back, for I would gladly sweat for one as lovely as you
.

Delicate brows shot up. So the lady was not immune to flattery when reason failed.

The temptation to kiss her perfect mouth was almost enough to overcome his fear of the knives on her brother’s belt. Instead he inclined his head courteously. ‘At your service, my lady,’ he said and let the Song flood into him.