Queen of the Sylphs (4 page)

Eapha didn’t just need allies, either; her entire country was still reeling with shock. She needed advisers, the same as Solie had when she first became queen. Leon’s first task would be to find them.

It just couldn’t be him. Not this time. Such a position wouldn’t work without leaving Ril behind, and he couldn’t do that to his sylph or daughter. He would not leave the battler torn between two masters on different sides of the ocean or away from his queen. The adviser would have to be someone else, and it would have to be decided soon. Leon already had a few ideas, if he could be convincing enough. Those ideas would wait, though. For now he was just happy to be reunited with his daughter.

Ril looked over, and Leon nodded in response. Surprised about the new relationship or not, Leon had to admit it was good for his battler. Before, Ril had hidden most emotions from his master, but now he seemed to revel in sharing them. Leon felt his battler’s happiness. Almost he could be jealous of that, but Ril sent him a flicker of annoyance as he turned back to Lizzy and Leon had to hide a smile. The very fact that his battler projected his emotions to Leon at all meant he wanted him to feel them. Leon was just glad he didn’t project
everything.

Ril glanced toward him again with a start, then past him, his lip curling in a snarl. Lizzy gave him an elbow.

“Behave!” she snapped.

Surprised, Leon looked behind him. A few feet back, a young man had stopped at the top of the stairs that led to the upper deck. He glared at Ril angrily, even as his throat moved in convulsive fear. Ril stared back, and Leon felt the battler’s hatred.

“Easy, Ril,” he soothed, still looking at the boy. “Do you need something, Justin?”

Justin turned, though his eyes didn’t leave Ril. Leon could tell what he was feeling. Ril couldn’t project the emotions of others to him, but he didn’t need any such help. Justin was a very angry young man. He’d come with Leon and Ril when they’d gone to rescue Lizzy, intending to announce his love and take her to wife. Instead, he’d ended up captured and turned into a feeder, a human bound to Ril as his master, but with his tongue cut out so he couldn’t give any orders. Ril had fed from him, while Justin sat like an animal in a cage barely five feet across. He’d been rescued and his tongue regrown, but he hated Ril for what had been forced on them, as well as for Ril taking Lizzy.

Ril hated Justin in return. The boy now had the ability to give him orders he couldn’t disobey. The boy had been warned, though: he was never to give the battler any sort of command.

Leon walked forward. “What is it?” he asked, putting a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Lunch is ready,” Justin said. He dragged his eyes away from Ril. “I thought you and Lizzy would want to know.”

“Thank you.” Leon turned. “Lunch, Lizzy.”

“Great.” She came hurrying by, running down the steps and not once looking toward Justin. For all he’d come to Meridal to help rescue her, and suffered, she hadn’t forgiven him for abandoning her when she was first caught.

Ril followed a moment later. He did look at Justin, his smile smug, and Leon knew somehow that he’d let the boy feel his flash of victory. Leon swore, and the battler blinked, his smugness faltering before he continued on.

Leon turned back to Justin, not knowing what he could say that would make this better. He didn’t think there was anything. Justin was breathing hard, his face flushed and angry.

“I hate him,” the young man gasped. “I hate him. I hate him.”

“Let it go, Justin,” Leon urged. “Please. For your own sake. It’s not worth it.” He tightened his grip on the boy’s shoulder.

Justin turned and followed the other two. He had to work through this on his own, Leon knew. The best he could do was make sure Ril didn’t mock him anymore. If he had to, he’d order it. Justin deserved a little peace. He needed it, too. The boy had to figure out what he was going to do with the rest of his life.

Gabralina had come to Sylph Valley without ever hearing about it. Born far to the south in the humid kingdom of Yed, she didn’t mind the change. Even if this place was far to the colder north, she could be with her battler Wat here, and no one threw vegetables at her or called her whore and murderer. She wasn’t one. She really wasn’t.

They liked her in this town, and the people were kind. Gabralina had found work, too: helping the Widow Blackwell take care of the Valley orphans. Wat helped guard. She had been rescued in more than one way by Leon Petrule and Ril, not just from a trap for a battle sylph.

She tried not to think about the past now, or about the reasons why she’d been set to be killed, but she did think about her dearest friend back home, whom she still missed. Once, she’d hired a scribe to write to her, telling her of her new life and love, and sent it in the mail that was just starting to deliver to the Valley. Every day afterward she checked for a reply. To her disappointment, no answer came.

It was a long way to Yed, she had to remind herself, and her friend must have been in hiding after she left. The letter might never be read. It could also take months to get there.

Gabralina walked toward the Widow’s house along the sidewalk from her tiny underground apartment, her fingers twined together before her. She was a stunning woman, her hair long and shiny as polished gold, her face round and smooth, her eyes seductive.

Though she wore a simple brown dress, men stopped to stare. None of them approached her, though. She also wore a rawhide string around her neck, laced through a large stone ring. Like the battlers in their blue and gold uniforms, female battler masters wore necklaces to identify themselves. Gabralina was still taken aback by men not trying to get her attention, but she’d been told it had to be that way. Wat would be desperately jealous of any man who approached, and a jealous battler was a very dangerous creature. This necklace was to protect everyone else.

Gabralina wasn’t so sure. Wat was a sweet thing and wonderfully energetic in bed, but he wasn’t really smart enough to get jealous. He did love her, and Gabralina was blissfully happy to have him. She had been used to men always telling her what to do, not the reverse.

Ahead, the lane she’d been following turned through a gate toward a large stone house. It looked as though it had been there for centuries, but the surrounding trees were small and young. Gabralina walked up to the front door, already hearing the excited shouts from the children inside.

As she reached the doors, they were flung open and a trio of boys ran out, bolting past her and laughing as they headed around the side of the house. Gabralina spun to watch them, smiling and reaching up to brush her hair out of her face. They were all good boys, if rambunctious. Once, boys like that tried to get her behind the stable, and she’d often let them. Now she felt positively adult while watching them play.

She entered the house. To her left was a doorway into a wide chamber used as a playroom, the floor meticulously clean and the toys all in their boxes under the window. To the right was the Widow’s sitting room, where the children weren’t permitted to go unless they were very good. There was no one in either room, and so Gabralina continued down the hallway, following the sound of voices.

A huge kitchen took up most of the back of the house. There, a massive harvest table stretched for nearly twenty feet, children of all ages crowded on the benches to either side. In the cooking area of the chamber, older children helped the Widow prepare porridge in a great pot on the wood stove or cut bread and cheese. She directed them like a general, allowing laughter but keeping the chaos under control.

Mace stood nearby, presiding in his trousers and shirt, his coat nowhere to be seen. He held a baby in his arms and was patiently spooning mush into her mouth. She kicked her feet at him and spit onto his shirt. Mace merely raised an eyebrow. Cleaning off her chin, he offered her more. She smiled toothlessly.

The Widow Blackwell looked up. Gabralina didn’t know the woman’s first name; she was just the Widow Blackwell to the entire Valley, despite the fact that she was Mace’s master and they were clearly together. She still wore black, and Gabralina had to think that the color of mourning rather suited her. She couldn’t wear black herself; it made her look washed out.

“Did you see Moran, Gilter, and Pel?” the Widow asked.

Gabralina nodded and reached for one of the aprons hanging by the door. “Yes, ma’am. They passed me.”

The Widow frowned, making lines appear all over her face. “I warned them. They better not complain to me later if they miss breakfast!”

Gabralina just smiled and went to take the large wooden spoon from the oldest of the orphans. She edged past Mace, who eyed her impassively and moved back to give her room. She quickly started to spoon porridge into bowls, and the girls carried these to the younger children at the table. There was a lot of giggling and chattering, but under the Widow’s watchful eye everyone stayed in their seats and ate politely. At the last moment, Moran, Gilter, and Pel reappeared, grinning at the Widow, who immediately sent them out to wash their hands at the pump in the backyard.

Gabralina moved around, helping the children get more food and to use their napkins and utensils properly. She was a bit hungry herself, but she’d eat later, along with the Widow. The older woman circled the table as well, keeping everything under control.

Mace joined them at the table, still feeding the baby. There were twenty children in the Widow’s house, all between the ages of seven months and seventeen years. Gabralina had tremendous respect for the woman, and she loved that she could help out. She’d always adored children, but she couldn’t have any of her own now; not with Wat. Still, helping with these was enough, and she was still smiling when the children finished eating and were sent off for their lessons. Everyone in the Valley was supposed to learn to read and write as well as to do math, but that was the job of someone else, and Gabralina went to clean the kitchen.

She proceeded upstairs to tidy the great long rooms the children slept in; the Widow’s room in the attic she left alone. She was on her knees scouring the floor when a great black cloud drifted through the window, sparked with sparse, slow lightning. Gabralina looked up and smiled.

Her battler re-formed himself into human shape and flopped down on one of the beds, twisting around to leer at her. “Hi,” he said, rolling over the sheets she’d just straightened, apparently not caring how much he wrinkled his uniform. “Are you done yet?”

Gabralina giggled, happy to see him even if she knew his being there would get in the way of her work. Wat almost always showed up at some point during the day. She straightened and tossed her brush back into her bucket. “Aren’t you supposed to be guarding the market this morning?”

“Maybe. I forget.” Wat crawled off the bed and toward her. He really was beautiful, and it made her breath catch in her throat. Battle sylphs could look like anything they wanted, and he was everything she’d ever found attractive in a man all at once.

When Wat crawled into her arms, she forgot what she’d been supposed to be doing as well.

“He’s back, isn’t he?” The Widow Lily Blackwell looked up at the ceiling as a faint giggle sounded, and then at her battler.

Mace was looking at the ceiling as well, a stern line between his brows. He growled, and the baby he was diapering whimpered. Immediately, he returned his attention to the infant and cooed. Little Gila giggled and tried to put her foot in her mouth.

It was a rhetorical question. Wat was incapable of leaving his master alone for even half a day. Granted, all battlers were like that, but Mace’s needs certainly didn’t get in the way of work. Not for either of them. Responsibilities always had to come first, and Mace’s strong recognition of that was one of the things Lily was fondest about. He was a good man, and theirs a good match. It was just too bad Gabralina didn’t have the same work ethic. She was a sweet girl, but she was flighty, and her battler was next to useless.

The Widow helped Mace finish pinning the diaper around Gila and pulled a pink shirt on over the child’s head. They were in the playroom, the other toddlers who were too young to go to school playing around them. “Try not to break anything,” she said as she picked up the baby and rocked her.

“Yes, Lily,” Mace promised, and leaned in to kiss her.

She let him. He was a very good kisser, and she sighed against his mouth before lifting a hand to his cheek. It was smooth. Mace would never think to appear before her unshaven.

“Dinner is an hour before dusk. We’re almost out of potatoes.”

“I’ll bring you some,” he said, and he reached into her apron, taking out a few coins for the purchase. Transferring them to his pocket, he kissed her again.

The Widow, who’d been called that for so long that only Mace knew her by her first name, let herself feel the deep, powerful, and extremely private love she had for him. Her partner relaxed into it, taking it into his being. Battle sylphs craved love; they even deserted their own world to find it. Silly young girls like Gabralina and her Wat upstairs thought the only way to show that was physical. Lily was hardly celibate, but moments like this were so much purer.

“Lily,” Mace whispered, his lips brushing hers. Another giggle sounded from upstairs, and the big battler sighed. “Anything else?”

“A good-sized goose if you can find one. I’d like to cube it for stew with the potatoes.” She stepped back and cuddled Gila. “Only if it’s fresh, mind you.”

“Of course.”

The battler shimmered and became smoke and lightning, flickering out of the playroom and down to the stairs in a corner of the kitchen. Seconds later, Lily heard him roar. A girl screamed, followed by a frightened, inhuman wail. Turning to the window, the Widow watched a black cloud shoot over the front yard and away, pursued by a much larger one. Lily humphed and turned back toward the kitchen.

“Gabralina!” she called as she entered and herded several children before her. “Come on down, dear. It’s time to make bread.”

Gabralina hurried down the lane, shivering, her heart still pounding from the fright Mace had given her. She’d been in a very compromising position when he burst in, and Wat almost dropped her on the floor before he fled out the window. She was just glad the Widow hadn’t said anything. She liked the work and needed it. The Widow fed her, but Gabralina also liked to buy clothes and other nice things.