Queen Of The Sylphs Part 8

Five minutes later, Solie stared at the ceiling in her bedroom and frowned. That had been very . . . short. Heyou lay lower down on her, his ear pressed against her belly. It was strange.

"Heyou . . ." she began.

"Shh. I'm listening."

Solie lifted her head and looked down past her bare b.r.e.a.s.t.s at him. "To what?"

He blinked and winced. "Um, it's a surprise."

Solie stared. What possible surprise could involve her stomach and such a crazed libido? The possible answer came a few seconds later.

"HEYOU!"

Solie stood in her living room, her s.h.i.+rt pulled up to expose her stomach. She could barely breathe as Luck ran soft hands over her skin.

Despite their best efforts, Luck was the only healer sylph in the Valley, and she belonged to the most neurotic hypochondriac Solie had ever met. Zem fascinated Luck. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't put him right. Apparently, that was an attractive trait for a healer sylph's master and there was no doubt that Zem loved her desperately. In every way but the physical, Luck was his wife.

"Am I pregnant?"

Luck straightened. For whatever reason, she had the shape of a softened wax image of a woman. Her features were barely defined, and she glimmered translucently even out of the light. Her voice was clear as she answered her queen's question. "Yes."

"And the baby's healthy?"

"She is."

Solie's breath caught. Her eyes filled with tears. "She? She's a girl?" She turned and beamed at Heyou, who sat on the edge of the dresser against the wall. He returned her smile, and she felt a wave of happiness and love for him that made him croon. He didn't have the faintest notion of what he'd done; she had no doubt about that. He didn't exactly think long-term. But just the fact that he'd done it for her and that she'd have a baby of her own when she'd already given up all hope . . .

She ran forward to hug him, and he dropped to the floor just in time to catch her in his arms. He hugged her tightly as she pressed herself against him and sobbed, "I love you, thank you, I love you!"

She'd have to have a nursery built, knit some clothes. She'd need to send a message to her parents and aunt as well. None of them could read, but she'd have one of the drovers deliver a message as he went through. She hadn't seen them in years, and none of them had accepted her invitation to move here, but she received word and harvest presents from them each year. Maybe if he knew that she was going to be a mother, her father would forgive her for running off with a battle sylph.

She'd have to tell Leon and Galway about the baby, too, and make sure they could take on more of the workload as she got close to giving birth-and when the baby was born. Ril would be able to keep most people away; he'd only been on the job for a few days, and already the foreign amba.s.sadors were terrified-actually, she needed to speak to him about that . . . She'd talk to Rachel and Iyala as well; both of them had been mothers and could tell her most of what she'd need to know.

Behind her, Luck turned and half walked, half floated to the door, her feet hard to see beneath a sweeping floor-length dress that was actually part of the form she'd chosen. She found her master waiting nervously in the hall. His energy was skewed, warped and abnormal, and she reached out, putting a hand against his cheek and focusing. His energy smoothed out, the turmoil fading, but once she drew her hand back, it started to twist again. The experience was fascinating.

"That took longer than I thought," Zem whined. "What about me? Do you have enough left to heal me?"

"Always," she a.s.sured him.

Zem sighed, fidgeting as he ostensibly led the way back down into the underground complex. In actuality, he followed her. "I hope she thanked you. You don't have time to spend on just anyone. They don't appreciate us here. Not the way they should. I mean, you're unique. There are hardly any healers anywhere, so you should get paid lots for what you do." He frowned. "We should be rich."

Luck didn't say anything. Zem liked to rant and wail about his lot in life nearly as much as he liked to complain about his health. She couldn't fix that any more than she could his body. It fascinated her, though, and she partially followed but mostly led him toward home without saying anything in response. Zem didn't mind, just going on despite that. He was used to it. Only a few would listen to Zem's constant complaints, and of those, only one person actually agreed with them. Luck sensed her ahead, waiting with a constant, unwavering placidity that Luck couldn't affect any more than she could her own master's illness. She was waiting for them.

At Leon's request, the Racing Dawn, the air s.h.i.+p upon which he and the others had returned from Meridal, had postponed its departure. Its air sylph Ocean Breeze and her master Kadmiel were now waiting to see who they might be taking back to Meridal.

Devon rubbed his arms, standing by his luggage. The bags were filled with his clothes, and also with something more precious: a copy of the treaty Leon drafted before he left Meridal. He'd brought two back with Eapha's signature. One was returning with Solie's.

It'll be okay, Airi whispered, though Devon could feel her nervousness like his own. It was time to leave. A week's flight to Meridal and he'd start his new life. He took a deep breath. It wasn't a new life. It was just a year or so.

"You're not thinking of coming back, are you?"

Devon jumped at the voice, and Airi shrieked silently in his mind. He spun and nearly ran when he saw it was Heyou standing only a few feet away, grinning. Every terror he had about battle sylphs rushed through him, and he had a panicked second to think that his heart might just stop, followed by another when he was afraid it would never stop. Heyou's grin widened.

"Devon!" From behind the battler Solie hurried forward, beaming. She put a hand on Heyou's arm, and the sylph stepped aside with a worried look. She didn't notice. Devon was her whole focus, her entire being aglow. He swallowed, a little bit afraid of what her battler might do to him.

"Ma'am," he managed.

"Oh, don't you ma'am me!" she cried, and she threw her arms around him, hugging him tight. Her soft b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressed against him, and Devon tried to feel nothing. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you so much. Heyou told me it was you."

Probably not willingly, Devon thought. If the battler had been given a choice, he never would have told anyone. Not how he'd made Solie pregnant. She would have insisted, though, and she seemed so happy.

Devon sighed and put his arms around her, careful to place his hands on her shoulders. "You're welcome," he told her honestly. He hadn't been given a choice in the matter, and having a child he couldn't ever acknowledge if he didn't want to become a pile of ash had never been in his plans. He wasn't really even sure he'd ever wanted a child. But seeing her happy made this meaningful, if not quite worth the terror.

"You're welcome," he told her again, patting her shoulder awkwardly.

Solie giggled and squeezed him for a long moment. Then she let go, stepping back to smile up at him. Tears sparkled in her eyes. "I'll never forget this," she said. "You've given me a gift I can't ever repay."

Devon managed to return her smile. "I'm just glad you're happy." And, he was. Solie was a kind woman, and she deserved every good thing. His smile widened. "I really am."

"Good," she said. She stroked his cheek, her eyes damp and s.h.i.+ny. "Be safe, Devon. Promise me that, will you?"

"I promise."

She looked over his shoulder. "And you, Airi. You be safe as well."

Oh yes, my queen. I will.

Solie smiled again at both of them. "I should let Leon talk to you. I think he has a few more instructions." She wiped her eyes. "Thank you both for everything!" Then she turned and ran away, going to Heyou and pressing her face against his chest. He took her greedily into his arms.

I don't understand why she's crying if she's so happy, Airi said.

"I think I do," Devon whispered. Turning, he found a somewhat bemused Leon.

Rachel stirred the soup in the big pot while Claw set the table behind her. He didn't eat food the way she did, but he sat with her for meals whenever his schedule allowed. For him, she'd discovered, her willing presence was the greatest indication she could give of her love. She enjoyed his company, so it was easy. And when they were alone, he wasn't nearly so nervous.

Carefully ladling soup for herself, she turned and carried it to the table. Claw held her chair out, and once she sat with the bowl, he helped push the chair in. Grabbing the big bread knife on the counter, he started to carve the loaf of bread that Sala brought earlier. It was still fresh enough that steam rose from its insides, and he spread b.u.t.ter on top just the way Rachel liked.

Happy. Claw felt happy. Rachel sensed his emotions refres.h.i.+ngly clearly, and he hummed under his breath a lullaby she had sometimes sung to him when he first came to her. That had been back in the days when he was too terrified to even come to her bed for fear she'd hurt him. She'd had troubles herself. Being able to share emotions with him had been hard, but no harder than she was sure it had been for him; and by forcing herself to project emotions that wouldn't make him cringe, she'd made it so that she started feeling those emotions for real. In healing Claw, Rachel found she conquered many of the demons arising from her husband's death and the betrayal of her children.

She smiled at him and accepted the bread he offered. "I gather you had a good day?"

He nodded and sank into a chair. He'd taken off his jacket when he came home, and his hair was shockingly blue against the white of his s.h.i.+rt. "Sala came to visit me."

Rachel beamed. "She told me. I was so pleased."

It was good to see Claw making a friend. The battle sylphs were closely knit, but Claw had few human connections. Those who could get past the fact that he was a battler were often frightened by the belief that he was crazy, and Claw's strong reactions to negative emotions didn't help. Sala had been able to see through that, and Rachel reached out to grasp her battler's hand.

"I'm so glad you have a friend," she said, picking up her spoon.

"Me, too," he admitted, ducking his head. "Do you mind at all?"

"Of course not." Rachel swept her wrinkled hand across the table to indicate the soup and bread and steaming tea. "She came by and brought all this food. Said she couldn't imagine leaving someone who reminds her so much of her own grandmother to cook for herself." Rachel laughed. "Silly girl. Her grandmother! Still, her heart's in the right place."

She took a sip of the soup. It had a bitterness that she didn't quite like, but she wasn't one to turn down a free meal. She'd just have to find out what particular spice that was and ask Sala to use a little bit less.

"Are you all right?" Claw asked, sensing her dismay.

"Of course, love. Be a dear and pour me some tea."

He did so, and Rachel finished her soup. She started on the tea next, which had the same odd taste, but a dollop of fresh honey took care of the bitterness and she settled back in her seat with a contented sigh. "Yes, her heart's in the right place, even if her cooking isn't."

Though he still couldn't voice it, a flicker of Claw's need came to her. She extended an arm. "Come here."

He immediately shuffled his chair closer. Leaning forward, he laid his head against her breast. She wrapped her arms around him and closed her eyes, listening to his breathing change to long, deep inhalations and exhalations. There was hardly ever a pause.

He was feeding; she knew that. She couldn't feel him draw off her excess energy, but they had formalized the process and she was always aware when he did. Most of the other battlers preferred to go to their masters for energy several times a day, but Claw came to her only once, drawing everything he would need. It generally left her sleepy, which was convenient given her chronic insomnia.

Claw finished and s.h.i.+fted his arms around her, slipping out of his chair and lifting Rachel in his arms. Knowing her usual reaction, she'd put on her nightdress, and he carried her into the bedroom now and settled her on the bed.

"Sweet boy," she murmured, reaching up to cup his cheek. Then she pulled him down for the last of their nightly traditions.

"I love you, Claw," she murmured a while later, worn out but sated. She dozed off in his naked arms, nestled in the warmth of the many blankets.

Feeling that she was asleep, Claw kissed Rachel's forehead and settled down beside her. She hadn't heard his answering words of adoration. Though he didn't need sleep, he had no intention of being anywhere else for the night. He didn't have to leave until the next morning.

There came a distant crash and far-off screams of pain. Stiffening, Claw felt both the terror and pain of others. Roars followed, battlers being summoned, and he felt them moving, their rage was.h.i.+ng over everything.

Claw glanced down at Rachel. She was still asleep, her wrinkled hand lax on the pillow beside her equally wrinkled face. He swallowed. He had to go; the hive was in danger.

Gently he leaned down and kissed his master, feeling so much love that he didn't want to leave. But the others needed him. That was absolute. The hive needed him.

He kissed Rachel one more time and slid out of bed. Scooping up his clothes, he flashed into the shape of a lightning-streaked cloud, his uniform inside his mantle, and flew out of the cottage toward the threat.

Chapter Nine.

The largest warehouse in the Valley was one of the crowning glories of the town. It rose four stories into the air, the roof made of translucent colored gla.s.s that let in suns.h.i.+ne and reduced by far the number of lamps or fire sylphs that were needed. Heavy metal shelving was stacked in dozens of rows, all packed with goods either brought to the Valley or meant to be exported.

With the majority of townspeople still rising at dawn and going to bed with the sun, most of the work here was done during daylight hours. Sylphs were active at night, of course, but they were mostly left to their own devices. This sometimes resulted in people waking up to find that groups of sylphs had become inventive during the night and created something. Occasionally, it was something huge. The warehouse was just such an event. So were enough stables to house a thousand horses, and one building with a pointed roof that reached nearly a hundred feet in the air. No one had figured out what to use it for yet.

When a caravan arrived, though, no one went home early. Well after dusk the warehouse was still full of people and sylphs working to unload, unpack, set up. Dozens of locals labored to move goods from the wagons and pa.s.s them to air sylphs who carried them up for storage on the higher shelves. While this happened, the wagon masters argued with the warehouse mistress.

Today they'd been in disagreement over where the wagon drivers were going to sleep and who was supposed to pay for their rooms. It was at the peak of this fight that one of the huge shelves lurched forward. It shuddered at first, no one even noticing, but then slowly tilted and began to tumble down, the beams screaming as they twisted and tore, showering bystanders with lumber, wool, metal, and more. All came cras.h.i.+ng down, for the first shelf slammed into others, creating a cascade of destruction like collapsing dominoes.

It lasted only seconds. For a moment there was nothing but the sound of debris rolling across the uneven floor, as well as the wails of injured men and frightened animals. Then a roaring started, distant but growing louder.

Before the survivors could even fully grasp what had happened, battle sylphs were there, thunderous and raging around the warehouse as thick, flickering clouds. They didn't use hate auras, but their presence caused some to flee in fear. Others tried desperately to dig free those trapped beneath debris.

Frantic, the woman who ran the warehouse and the caravan master struggled to move a huge pile of sawn lumber from a man whose outstretched hand was all they could see. It clutched the floor by their feet. Moments later, Mace pushed both mortals aside and grabbed the edge of a log. Hauling it up, he tossed the entire piece to Heyou, who caught and threw it to Dillon, who carried it away.

More battlers crowded around, some acting as guards, others helping remove rubble. Other sylphs joined in, hundreds of them, many hysterical about their now-trapped masters.

Panting through gritted teeth, Leon sprinted down the street toward the accident. He had his pants and s.h.i.+rt on, but his jacket was at home and his suspenders flopped around his waist as he tried to get them back over his shoulders while he ran. He'd been getting undressed for bed when he'd heard the crash, and he'd barely got out of his room in time to see Ril shoot down the stairs. The battler was well ahead of him now, still in human shape but immensely faster.

All around him, Leon saw people standing on their porches, staring in fear and confusion toward the black dust rising in the distance but doing nothing. He even saw Wat flicker past in the wrong direction, his lightning sparkling more slowly than usual.

Footsteps sounded behind him, and Lizzy pulled abreast. Her face was red, for she ran nearly flat out, her skirts raised in both hands. She looked like she was floating in the layer of froth around her knees. Her hair was down and streamed behind her like silk.

"What are you doing?" he panted, hating how he sounded. He was in better shape than this.

"Helping," she grunted, and she put on speed, leaving her father behind as she raced after Ril.

Leon swore under his breath, but he also grinned, and chasing his daughter became a race between them to the accident site.

Mace directed the sylphs silently and the humans aloud, bellowing orders to get debris moved and the wounded found-and to watch that ceiling. He wasn't so sure it wouldn't come down as well. Stria, one of the earth sylphs who'd erected the building, stood beside him, wringing her hands and moaning.

The big battler wasn't sorry to see Leon arrive a minute or so after Ril, who was put to work moving rubble; he didn't much care to be in charge of humans. Most were men, and he didn't have any interest in those. Women he wouldn't send anywhere there was danger. Mace nodded to the chancellor and leaped into the air, s.h.i.+fting to cloud form and rising up to the gla.s.s ceiling. Fire sylphs floated there, giving illumination to those below.

Keep that light up, Mace told one as he heard Leon start barking different orders below. Get close enough so they can see but be careful not to set anything on fire. He didn't know for sure what was stored in this place, and he berated himself for his lack of knowledge.

Yes, Mace. The fire sylph shot downward, moving closer to some of the human and sylph rescuers. The sylphs were doing most of the heavy lifting, but humans did their own part, mainly moving the dead and wounded.

Below, Leon found Ril. He grabbed the battler's shoulder. "Has Luck been called?" he asked, already coughing from the dust that had been kicked up.

The battler peered over his shoulder at his master, then pushed him out of the dust cloud. Glancing up and contacting Mace provided a quick if silent answer. "Yes," he relayed. "She's on the way."

"Good." Leon sighed, staring at the carnage. There was no telling yet how many wounded or dead were in the wreckage, and without Luck most of them wouldn't have a chance.

Even with her, it looked like it was going to be a long night.

It was. Solie arrived soon after Leon, and she labored all night long with the others, setting up rubble removal stations and places for the injured to be brought. Galway directed the latter area, along with his wife Iyala and older children. Lizzy, too; and while her father might have preferred to spare her the sight of injured and dying people, he never refused her the right to make up her own mind.

At the Widow Blackwell's suggestion, Gabralina spent the night scurrying through the chaos carrying a bucket of water and a dipper to the workers. The men and women were thirsty from their efforts, and they thanked her for the relief she brought. She smiled but kept moving, feeling scared and restless at the same time.

Wat. He was confused. That was hardly unusual for him, but the battler felt off-kilter where he resonated in the back of her mind, and she'd started to worry that he had been hurt somehow in this accident. She didn't see him anywhere, and she'd know if he was in pain-wouldn't she? Leon said he knew whenever Ril was hurt.

She eyed the bearded man, who was busy directing the last of the wounded out of the warehouse. She wished she had his confidence. She knew she'd been a trial for him when he and his battler brought her and Wat to the Valley, but she hadn't meant to be. She hadn't even thanked him for saving her. She should have, certainly. She'd been in a terrible situation when he came, and if he hadn't come to her rescue, she'd have been killed and her poor defenseless Wat someone's slave. She knew that, and yet she still hadn't thanked him. She hadn't even told him she was in love with him a little.

She just didn't ever want to think about her past. One moment she'd been the somewhat bored and periodically beaten mistress of Yed's head magistrate, the next he was dead and despite all her protests she was being charged with murder. She'd been so terribly alone.

Gabralina swallowed and walked over to him, filling her dipper with water and holding it up. "Thirsty?" she asked.