Truth - Hidden Truth Part 12

The taste of failure was as dry and bitter as ash. Bailic's eyes were upon him as he trembled from frustration and helpless anger. His body demanded he rise up and fight, but the memory of pain and the promise of Bailic doing worse to Alissa kept him unmoving.

Appearing smug and content, Bailic watched him struggle with his emotions, clearly aware that Strell was just strong enough of will to keep from attacking him. The mad Keeper stepped close, and Strell's heart pounded as he kept himself from moving. "One last thing," Bailic whispered. "It's true I never break my word, but somehow I always get what I want." He leaned forward until he was a finger's width from Strell's ear. "Somehow ..." he breathed, and the rich scent of spice washed over Strell. Snickering, Bailic spun about and continued up the stairs, leaving only his last, condescending look to linger in Strell's memory, taunting and ridiculing him.

Standing alone in the moonlight, Strell took a quick, ragged breath and tried to gather his scattered soul. He could do nothing. Bailic would take everything from him, and he could do nothing to stop it. He knew he could make it to the coast, but Alissa wouldn't. He could leave to save his life, but he wouldn't abandon Alissa. Only now did he understand. He wouldn't risk his life for Alissa if his emotions stopped at simple affection. With an emotion that struck him deep, Strell admitted it was for love.

Chapter 14.

"Ouch," Alissa whispered as her needle slipped. She glanced at Strell kneeling beside the fire and stuck the side of her finger in her mouth. Trying to disguise that she had p.r.i.c.ked her finger again, shereached for the teapot on the hearth.

"You all right?" he asked, not looking up from the pot of glaze he was stirring.

"Um-hum," she murmured. Topping off her cup, she hid her embarra.s.sment by taking a quick sip.

They were spending their evening in the dining hall, and the small arc of firelight did little to illuminate the empty walls. Bailic's tray had been delivered, and as long as they were quiet, they would have the Hold to themselves for the rest of the night. A pile of green fabric lay on her lap- She was making Strell another s.h.i.+rt, as she had nearly two new outfits for herself in her room. Talon was in the kitchen watching for mice. Kestrels generally didn't hunt after dark, but no one had told Talon that.

Alissa leaned to set her cup down on the floor, wondering if her finger was going to stop bleeding anytime soon. Her gaze drifted past the darkness to the stark walls. The long tables made the room seem all the more barren. There were no rugs, no wall hangings, nothing. She hated the emptiness. Bailic had stripped this room along with most of the Hold. She thought he had left the curtains covering the expansive windows to block the morning sun rather than any desire to soften the walls. Wards kept out the wind and cold. When not covered, the windows showed a wonderful corner of the snowy garden.

"You know," she said, breaking their companionable silence. "This would be a nice room if we brought up a rug or two from the annexes. We could even bring up a couple of more comfortable chairs."

Frowning, Strell met her eyes. "Bailic wants the Hold empty. He likes it that way."

A smile crept over her as she imagined the dining hall as it could be. "A little table would be nice for setting the tea on," she said. "And a footrest."

"Not a good idea," he warned, continuing to stir the glaze.

Alissa examined her finger and resumed her st.i.tching. "Bailic doesn't come in here anymore. He only took everything out to try to find my book. He won't care."

Strell said nothing, but he shook his head and settled further on the backs of his heels.

Mildly peeved, Alissa decided she would bring up at least a chair from the annexes, even if she had to do it herself. Sitting on these monstrosities of hard wood was becoming painful. They were all straight-backed, with no cus.h.i.+on at all.

Strell exchanged his pot of glaze for another, mixing it gently to gauge the consistency as it thickened.

Alissa watched him with a faint sense of sorrow. Their nights had become decidedly quiet since Bailic removed half of Strell's finger. Strell had replaced his practice of music with the occasional retelling of a story or working on his paints and brushes. Once constant and exasperating, his jests were now few and far between. She would give anything to hear a bawdy tavern tune, sung with the sole purpose to embarra.s.s her.

Strell was being foolish, she thought. There was no real reason he couldn't play something. He could s.h.i.+ft the music up the scale and work around that note completely. It had been almost two weeks. He was being a stubborn plainsman, thinking the lack of a segment of finger made him less. He hadn't even let her see his finger, except the one time with the clay. She lowered her head and smiled privately. While teaching her, he had set his pride aside.

She laced another st.i.tch and paused. Perhaps all he needed was a push? Setting her st.i.tching down, she rose and started for the kitchen. Her pipe was in the pantry where she had left it after her and Strell's dinner out in the firepit last fall. She never played it anymore. Next to Strell, she sounded pathetic.

Strell looked up as she reached the black archway. "Where are you going?"

"I'll be right back," she said mysteriously.Talon blinked at her in what looked like annoyance as she entered the dark kitchen in a scuff of shoes. There was a skitter of noise as the mouse Talon had been watching for scurried into hiding. "The mice will be back soon," she promised, finding her pipe right where she had left it, tucked behind the apples with her staff. Not sure what his reaction would be, she half hid the pipe with her body as she returned to the fire.

Strell glanced up as she settled herself back in her chair. She knew he had seen it as his jaw clenched and his brow furrowed. A splash of glaze slopped over the edge of the small pot as he stirred it too hard.

"I'll get that," Alissa offered, s.n.a.t.c.hing up the rag she used to protect her hands from the hot teapot and kneeling beside him. "Hold this for me," she said, extending her pipe to Strell.

He froze, and she looked up from the flagstones. "Take it," she insisted, and he lurched to a stand, the pot of glaze clutched in his hand like an excuse.

"No."

The harsh denial surprised her, and she felt a touch of anger. "You're being silly," she said. "Not every song uses that note."

Strell's face went hard. "You have no call to say anything about this," he said, his voice so cold, she was afraid she had gone too far.

"But your finger almost reaches," she pleaded from the flagstones.

"Almost isn't close enough."

"Look." Alissa wiped up the glaze before it could stain and got to her feet. "Just hold it for a moment.

Show me how close it comes."

His jaw gritted as she stood before him, but he didn't back away.

"Burn you to ash, Strell," she cried, frustrated. "Your finger is half gone. Hiding it or ignoring it isn't going to make it come back! I just want to help. It's my fault Bailic did that to you."

She caught her breath and turned away. "It's my fault, and you won't even let me look at it. You won't let me try to help," she whispered, realizing why she was so adamant he play again. It was because of her that he lost his music. She would get it back for him.

Strell s.h.i.+fted his balance. "It's not your fault I can't play," he said stiffly. "I'm not a piper anymore.

There's no reason for you to look at it. It healed fine."

A flash of misplaced anger went through her. She spun back and grabbed his hand. "You're acting like a child," she accused. "Let me look at it." Strell pulled his hand away, making her more upset. "Let me see!" she shouted, taking his arm and pinning it between her arm and her body.

Strell started to pull away, and she gripped his arm all the tighter. She gave him a severe look over her shoulder before turning her attention to his hand. It was as strong as she remembered, brown from the sun with knuckles thicker than hers. His fingernails were cut close and had a rim of clay under them.

His skin was warm, rough with calluses. It reminded her of her papa's hand.

Her anger slowed as she leaned to inspect his smallest finger. Only the first joint had been removed. It wasn't much, but it was enough. It had healed well and clean. Strell could have done worse, she thought, loosening her grip as he pulled gently away.

She put the pipe in his hand with a firm determination. "Show me where your finger hits the pipe," she demanded.

Strell dropped his head, the pipe in his left hand. "Alissa," he said softly. "Let the wind take it and go.

I've tried to play. I can't."

"I know. I heard. It wasn't that bad."The look he gave her was almost frightened. "You heard?"

She nodded. "Show me."

His head shook and he backed up a step. "I'm not going to play."

"I'm not asking you to," she said, feeling her pulse race. She would hear him play, even if it took until sunup.

Strell glanced down at the pipe and licked his lips.

"Show me how short that finger is," she said.

He frowned, his brow creasing in a defiant pull. Immediately she softened. "Do this once for me," she said, "and I'll say nothing more about it, even if the Navigator brings his Hounds to earth."

Strell rubbed a hand across his head. He glanced at her suspiciously, moving to sit upon the flagstones. Swallowing hard, he grasped the pipe properly, holding it so it was clear he wouldn't play it.

Alissa sank down beside him. He started to pull the pipe away, and she grasped his arm, s.h.i.+fting until she was so close her leg touched his. "Hold still," she said, leaning over his hands. Her gaze intent, she examined his comfortable grip on the pipe. His fingers curved naturally, leaving a definite gap between his smallest finger and the last hole. The smell of desert was on him even though it was midwinter. Her shoulders eased in the reminder of the summer's warmth. "It's not that much too short," she said softly.

Immediately Strell pulled from her loose grip. "It's enough." He extended the pipe, and when she ignored it, he set it between them.

"Your finger would reach if the hole was on the side instead of the top," she insisted.

"But it isn't, is it," he said bitterly, taking up the fire irons and jabbing at the fire.

A wave of heat billowed out. "So make a new pipe," Alissa said, tired of his sulky mood.

Strell put the irons back with more force than necessary. "Do you know how long that would take?"

"Do you have anything better to do?" she shot back.

Strell frowned, clearly taken aback. "I don't have the proper tools."

"They're in the annexes. I saw them."

"I don't have the right wood."

"Annexes," she said again.

Strell shook his head, a wisp of a smile pulling the farthest corners of his mouth. "You have this all figured out, don't you."

She grinned, but it faded quickly. "I can't let Bailic do this to you," she said. "I can't let him take away your music, your livelihood. Please," she said, taking the pipe and pressing it into his hands. "I want to hear you play. I know you will be good again. It will only take time to figure out the new fingering or make a new pipe so you don't have to."

A wash of relief went through her as she saw his grip tighten on the pipe. "What if it doesn't work?"

he asked, sounding afraid.

"Then you haven't lost anything but the time spent."

"But what if it does work?" he said, almost whispering. "What if I can play? I will have given Bailic a way to control me again. I can't let him do that. He might do worse."

Alissa dropped her eyes. "Don't let Bailic take away what you love because of fear. Your finger means nothing. Its loss is a false weakness that only you can make true."He was silent, his eyes on the instrument. His eyes closed in a long blink, and his fingers, where they rested upon the wood, trembled. "All right," he said, his eyes opening. "I'll try."

Relief so strong it made tears threaten her vision swept her. She smiled up at him. "Play me something?" she said, and he nodded, not meeting her eyes.

He settled himself cross-legged before the hearth as she had seen him hundreds of times before. Not wanting to leave the warm circle of light for the hard chair, Alissa remained where she was, sitting quietly beside him with her hands in her lap. Strell flicked a sideways glance at her and focused upon the pipe in his hands. There was a moment of thought, then he played three notes. Hesitating, he started over, playing them higher. Alissa smiled as she recognized the tune. It was the lullaby they had shared on their way to the Hold, the one she taught him even before they met, camped on opposite sides of a small valley. She had played it to ease her pain of leaving home, and Strell had heard, scaring her when he mimicked it back.

The last of her worry loosened as his first hesitant, unsure notes eased into a smoother pace. Her shoulders slumped, and she closed her eyes before they could fill. He was going to be all right. Strell was going to be all right. Bailic hadn't broken his will.

Slowly the tune became stronger with emotion, the way he used to play for her. His awkward indecisions eased, and the flow became certain. Alissa smiled, curling her legs up under her to be more comfortable. She leaned forward to rearrange the fire, and when she leaned back, she found Strell had s.h.i.+fted to offer her the front of his shoulder to lean up against.

Shyly, hesitantly, she accepted his support, leaning into him as he played, not knowing how much weight he could hold without becoming unbalanced. She dropped her head to rest against him, smiling as he bobbled the melody from surprise. The scent of desert filled her senses again, and she breathed deeply, her eyes closing as she imagined that the warmth of the fire was that of the sun, and she was far from the Hold and the snow and the cold, back in the fields where she had played as a child. Safe.

His music lured her into a deep state of ease as it often did. Slumped against him, she drowsed to the sound of Strell's heartbeat and his music, gentle and slow, never realizing when the music stopped, not caring that it had, and that Strell's arms were now around her. "Alissa," he said, and she felt his breath s.h.i.+ft the top of her hair.

"Hum..." she said sleepily, not knowing if she said it aloud.

"Are you awake?"

"No," she murmured, uncaring if she was. There was the sound of dry coals sliding and a brief flush of heat.

"Thank you," he whispered, his words accompanied by the lightest touch and breath on her forehead.

Chapter 15.

Alissa searched the rafters as she put the tea leaves in the teapot. She hadn't seen Talon since Strell delivered Bailic's noon tray. It was unlike the small bird to accompany Strell when he took Bailic his meals, and even more unusual for Talon to stay with him afterward. But Strell was ready to fire his pottery and had probably gone directly to his potter's stead from the tower. If he had the fire going, her bird would undoubtedly be with him, basking in the warmth.Which was exactly where she wanted to be, she thought as she took the copper teapot in one hand and two cups in the other. She could do with a good soak in some warm air. The window wards were wonderful at keeping the Hold from getting cold, but she hadn't been warm, truly warm, in ages.

Her smile deepened as she pa.s.sed through the dining hall. It was barren no longer. Though Strell had dragged his feet and given her warning glances from under lowered brows, he had helped bring up two lovely chairs from storage. There was a small table between them, and a rug to keep her feet from the cold floor. She was longing to do more but prudently paced herself. Should she push Strell too fast he might not help her, or even worse, Bailic might notice.

The scuff of her shoes seemed loud as she entered the great hall and hesitated, frowning at a small object on the otherwise pristine floor. Curious, she went to investigate. "A nut?" she whispered. She s.h.i.+fted the two cups to her hand with the teapot and bent to pick it up. Seeing another a few steps away, she slipped the first into her pocket and picked that one up, too. A third rested against the tunnel leading to the abandoned stables. There was a fourth lying just beyond where the shadow of the tunnel took over the light. Her eyebrows rose as she spotted yet another farther down the tunnel.

A wisp of a smile quirked the corners of her mouth. What was Strell up to? She let the rest of the nuts lay and followed the trail. It became darker as the tunnel opened up into the long-abandoned stables.

Wood replaced the stone underfoot, and the smell of straw long gone bad mixed with the scent of leather soaked in horse sweat. She didn't like horses. And though there hadn't been a horse down here in what looked like decades, she could almost hear the frightened blowing and angry stomping of hooves in her imagination.

Just as she had decided to go back for a candle, her dark-adjusted eyes made out a faint light. She went ahead on tiptoe, curious to see what Strell had lured her down here for. Her slight tension eased as she heard the chitter of her bird and the sharp crack of a nut being broken. The glow of light became obvious as she turned a corner and entered a row of box stalls. From within one came a steady, white light, reflecting off the dark wood of the ceiling and surrounding walls. A faint resonance had set her tracings to s.h.i.+mmer faintly, telling her it was a ward of some kind. It looked horribly complicated.

Useless? she wondered. The scent of apples and pine eased into her awareness. She reached the stall and halted in surprise as she looked inside. "Lodesh?"

The Warden glanced up so quickly, he nearly fell off the bale of straw he was reclining on. "Alissa!"

He jumped to his feet and brushed the sh.e.l.ls from him. His green eyes were wide, and he looked charmingly surprised. The brilliant light came from a fist-sized globe hanging in midair. Useless had never told her that was possible!

Before she could comment, the light vanished. She gasped and froze, but then with a familiar tweak on her tracings, a small flame flickered. Lodesh's face was abruptly illuminated by candlelight. Silently he lit several more until the large box stall was warm with a yellow glow. "I, uh, wasn't expecting to see you," he said. "Here. Let me take that."

He reached for the heavy teapot and cups, setting them on a slatted box covered by a fine cloth.

Eyebrows raised, she dropped the nuts she had collected into the half-empty bowl beside the plate of candles.

"I wasn't expecting you so soon," he amended, not a trace of guilt showing. "It's good to see you again," he said as he took her hand and drew her forward into the light. Immediately her bravado vanished in a flush of self-consciousness and she put a hand to her neckline. She wasn't used to being treated with this much grace.