Reap the Wind (46 page)

And then what I could see of the guard’s face changed, and crumpled, like maybe I’d done something to piss him off. Only how could you tell when all you could see was a couple inches of skin? But said skin was looking a little flushed suddenly, like I’d been staring too long, and maybe that was an insult in their culture, because what I could see of the face wasn’t looking happy.

And that was doubly true when I jumped to my feet and took a step backward, hands raised, trying to look as nonthreatening as possible.

Only maybe that didn’t mean the same thing in their culture, either, because he was looking seriously flushed now, something that didn’t change even when I took another step back. Like maybe I was showing weakness and
that
was pissing him off, only what were my options here? And he was making those sounds again, more like screeches, and they didn’t make sense, maybe because the translation spell was wearing off or maybe because he was cursing at me—who the hell knew?

I stumbled back and he started waving his arms, including the one with the spear in it, and then rushing at me, and I gave a cry and tried to retreat again, only this time, there was nothing under my foot but air.

I screamed and the guard screeched and he lunged and I started to fall and the canopy of trees swirled sickeningly above me—

And then stopped just as abruptly.

But not because he had caught me.

But because someone else had.

“Do you always get in this much trouble?” Pritkin asked from behind me.

I craned my neck around to see him standing on one of the little swinging platforms, holding a basket in one hand and me in the other.

“Mostly,” I breathed.

“You know, I’ve noticed that about you,” he told me.

And then he kissed me.

“Guard,” I gasped, jerking back.

“What?”

“There’s a guard!”

Pritkin looked confused. “Yes?”

He glanced over his shoulder, and then so did I. And the guard who had been about to kill me was suddenly looking like the third wheel at a junior high school dance: awkward and uncomfortable and slightly embarrassed. He had been examining the toe of his boot, but he glanced up when Pritkin said something in a language the spell didn’t know. But the guard must have, because he abruptly turned and booked it down the rope bridge at a sprint.

I looked at Pritkin in shock. “What did you
say
?”

“I relieved him. And I think he
was
relieved. Poor man; he was afraid you were about to put a hex on him!”

“I don’t do hexes.”

“Well, you did something,” Pritkin said. “That Svarestri warrior didn’t collapse from a heart attack.”

“Which one?” I asked miserably, and sat back down. And put my head in my hands, because I couldn’t avoid the elephant in the room forever, could I?

Not when I’d just trashed the hell out of the time line.

I sat there for a moment, listening to him spread out a picnic I no longer wanted, the sinking feeling in my stomach filling it instead of food. I’d been mad at Rosier just for bringing a gun along he knew we couldn’t use, and what had I done? I
knew
better. I knew that anything I did this far back might have disastrous consequences, that it could mess up time in a way I couldn’t fix, that I was supposed to be guarding the time line, not trashing it myself!

If I had trashed it.

But it sure as hell seemed like I had. We’d killed another fey—that much I was certain about. And maybe more than one, because despite their scary resiliency, that had been a damned long drop onto damned hard rocks, and sure, maybe I’d gotten lucky and maybe some of them had made it, but I couldn’t believe that all of them had.

I couldn’t believe
most
of them had.

So how did that not trash time? Did the fey time line not
count
? Were all of them slated for heart attacks in the next few days? What?

I didn’t know, because I hadn’t received any sort of warning like Rhea had said I would. I hadn’t gotten anything at all, despite being in my right mind this time and looking for it. And I still wasn’t.

My power hummed along, a warm background energy, dimmer than on earth, but as I’d just demonstrated, still here on some level. But maybe it wasn’t enough of a level? Maybe it couldn’t talk to me here? Or maybe I just didn’t know how to listen.

Yeah, I was kind of betting on that last one. Which meant who knew how much I’d just screwed up? And for one man.

Maybe this was why Pythias weren’t supposed to have . . . people, I thought miserably. Maybe that was why Agnes had lived in that sterile museum of an apartment, all alone. People interfered with things, complicated them, messed with your head.

Agnes would have let Pritkin die, if it came down to it. I had no doubt of that. She’d have done the right thing and stayed home and just accepted that this was how things were now.

And if it had been Jonas? a little voice asked. Or someone else she cared about? Would she have done the right thing then?

I thought about that picture, the one Rhea and I had found. They’d looked so happy. Just two middle-aged people at a beach, with sand on their skin and the start of a burn across their cheeks and greasy food in their stomachs that would probably give them indigestion the next day instead of the hangovers their younger selves might have had. But they wouldn’t care about that. Because they’d stolen a day from the job, and the responsibilities, and the never-ending in-box, and they’d lived a little.

But what about the next day? What about when they went back to the job? Because they had.

What had happened then?

I didn’t know. But I knew what
hadn’t
happened. Agnes hadn’t trashed the hell out of the time line! Maybe she’d never been faced with the choice I had; maybe she would have failed it, too. I didn’t know that, either. I just knew one thing.

She’d expect me to fix it.

Somehow.

I felt a finger under my chin and looked up to see bright green eyes looking into mine. “Why the long face? We
won
.”

I laughed. It wasn’t a particularly nice one, but it was the best I could do under the circumstances. “We
survived
.”

“Against the Svarestri, that counts,” Pritkin told me seriously. And then he grinned, a bright, open expression that had my breath catching, because he never looked like that. “And that’s worth celebrating, isn’t it? We survived!” He yelled it, and half a dozen voices yelled it back, along with hoisting their mugs.

One of which was slapped in my hand the next second by a smiling, half-naked baby war-mage. “Time to enjoy life!”

“Enjoy.” I refrained from rolling my eyes—just.

“You sound like that’s a word you’re not familiar with.”

“I’m familiar with it. Just not on a first-name basis.”

He grinned again and shook his head. And went back to unpacking the basket while I investigated my mug. Beer. Strong. But not bad, and my empty stomach accepted it eagerly.

“What do you mean, you relieved him?” I asked after draining half of it.

“I mean, I told him to go get dinner. They’re roasting an ox in your honor and everyone’s very excited. They mostly live off fish now, since they were run off their lands, but nobody really likes it.”

There were a lot of things wrong with that sentence, but my stomach only focused on one. “That’s . . . ox?”

I peered into the basket, and just the smell made my mouth start to water again. And my stomach to grumble. Suddenly, it felt like I could eat a whole damned ox by myself.

“No, it’s not ready yet. But I thought you might be hungry, so I told them we’d take whatever they had.” He looked at me sternly. “If they bring an eye up later, eat it. It’s considered a delicacy, and you’ll offend them if you don’t.”

“And . . . and what’ll they do if I offend them?” I asked nervously.

“Probably pout. For
years
. No one has a memory like the fey.”

He pushed the furs closer to the tree so he wouldn’t get food on them, and finished laying out our feast. I watched him work for a moment, trying to shift gears. And to catch up, although nothing was making any damned sense. “In my honor?” I finally said.

“Mmhm.”

“But a little while ago they were throwing rocks at my head and trying to
stab
me. . . .”

“That was before.”

“Before what?”

“Before you helped saved the lives of two of their warriors. And before they knew about the blessing.” He paused, cutting the bread long enough to narrow green eyes at me. “You might have mentioned that.”

“Mentioned what?”

“You don’t know?”

“Know
what
?” I demanded, tired and anxious and hungry.

And then startled, when he suddenly shoved the knife at me, fast enough to make me gasp and flinch back. And then to flinch again as what sounded like a cascade of bells pealed in the air all around me. And before I’d recovered from
that
, a half-dozen spears appeared, as if by magic, all big, all shiny, all in the hands of a bunch of pissed-off-looking guards.

And all pointed at Pritkin’s throat.

For a moment, we just stayed there, the spears, the guards, and the two of us in the middle of the deadly circle, not even breathing. Anyway, I wasn’t. Pritkin looked cautious, but not nearly as alarmed as he should have been with a bunch of knife-edged blades centimeters from his jugular.

But he was very deliberate in his movements as he slowly set the bread knife down. “Just checking,” he told them as one of them quickly snatched the blade away. “But as long as you’re here, can we get more beer?”

The guards gave him the look that he deserved, gave me the once-over, and left just as quickly as they’d come. Nobody offered more beer. But I suddenly felt better anyway.

A lot better.

Not being on the menu can do that for a person.

“So . . . they’re not going to hurt us?” I asked, crawling on the edge of the platform to watch them swing back down again. And to watch counterloads swing back up and then around, because a single makeshift elevator seemed to serve a number of trees. One portly-looking female was giggling and laughing as she swung in a big arc, smacking oversized mugs into eager, reaching hands around the circle of trees, like some kind of manic beer fairy.

Damn, that looked like fun.

“Hurt us? You’re Fey Friend,” Pritkin said, his voice giving it capitals. “They’d . . . well, probably not die for you; it’s not their mark. But at some point, you did a great service to a member of one of the dark fey clans, and therefore can expect consideration from all of them.”

It took me a minute. It took several, actually, while I stared at occasional sparks from below, a few of which were starting to fly up into the air as far as the edge of our platform. And then I remembered.

“Radella.”

“What?” He looked up from slopping something into a bowl.

“A fey. A pixie. I gave her . . . a rune. . . .” Pritkin looked puzzled. “A thing to help with fertility.”

“Ah. No wonder you were named Friend. I’m surprised they didn’t adopt you!”

“I don’t think I’d have fit in the house.”

He laughed, and as usual, it made me jump. “No, I suppose not.”

I crawled back over and picked up my beer. “What does ‘consideration’ mean?” I asked, after draining the rest of it.

“I wouldn’t push it too far,” he warned, handing me the bowl. “And only with the dark fey. The light won’t honor their marks, and in fact may make things worse for you if they find one. And any dark clans who are on the outs with the one who marked you . . . well, they probably wouldn’t hurt you, but they might try to ransom you back.”

Yeah, that would go well, considering Radella might not even have been born yet.

“But, on the other hand, it does give you free passage through the dark fey lands,” Pritkin added. “You have a right to be here. You’re known to be friendly. And you have protectors. It is not a small gift.”

Thank you, Radella, I thought fervently.

“Then why did I have a guard?” I asked.

“He was an honor guard, the brother of one of the trolls you helped. And a guide, in case you wanted to go anywhere.”

“Go? Then we can
leave
?”

Pritkin cocked an eyebrow. “Tomorrow.”

“What’s wrong with tonight?”

“The fact that it is night?” he said, filling his own bowl. “Travel along the dark fey border is not easy even in the day, when you can see what is about to eat you. And I, for one, am tired. Aren’t you?”

Hell yes, I was, but I had a job to do, and it wasn’t getting done sitting here. But it also wasn’t getting done without Pritkin, and he didn’t look interested in budging. And I kind of doubted my ability to carry him.

“Besides, you’d miss the celebration,” he added.

“What celebration? What are they doing?” I asked, craning my neck to look over the edge of the platform.

“What’s happening?” Pritkin asked, because he was too far back to see for himself.

“A bunch of old guys—old trolls—with white beards. They’re gathering near the ox. They’ve got two guards with them. I think they’re the ones that were on the boat with us.”

Pritkin grinned. “Sounds like the entertainment’s about to begin.”

“What entertainment?”

“You’ll see. Come eat.”

I crawled over with every intention of getting some answers to the questions crowding my brain. But the food looked enticing, and Pritkin wasn’t listening to me anyway. A band had struck up in a not-too-distant tree, and he was tapping his fingers and nodding his head and scarfing bread and beer and some weird roasted meat stuff that . . . that, well, that smelled really good, actually.

I stuck my nose in my own bowl.
Really
good. I started looking around for a spoon.

And ended up polishing off most of the not-small-sized bowl before I realized it. And damn, it
was
good, some kind of venison-y stew-y something with roasted veggies and a thick brown gravy. I licked the spoon.

And looked up to find Pritkin watching me, looking amused, I didn’t know why. Maybe because I was eating like Scarlett O’Hara at the barbecue instead of like a proper, dainty little woman. Fiddle dee dee, I thought, and ripped off another hunk of bread.

“I can go get more,” he told me, openly laughing now.

“You stay put!” I pointed the bread at him. “I have some questions.”

“Such as?”

“Such as what would you have done if I hadn’t been there?”

“There?”

“At the mill. What would you have done if you hadn’t . . . seen me?”

He thought about it for a moment. “Had a bath?”

“I’m serious!”

“So am I.” He picked up a bowl of little smoked fish and offered it to me, but I shook my head. I have a problem eating anything that is able to watch me do it. Pritkin apparently didn’t have that issue, crunching bones and all with apparent relish.

“Those damned fey ran me across half a mountain range!” he told me in between bites. “And used me for target practice besides. I finally lost them and made my way to the nearest source of water. It’s my element, and boosts spell casting. I had every intention of blending in and hiding out until I was sure they’d left. Sorry if that disappoints you,” he added, “but I had no intention of fighting them.”

“Hiding out is good,” I told him fervently.

He nodded. “Just my luck they were coming the same way.”

“Didn’t you expect them to be? There can’t be that many portals to faerie scattered around. If they were trying to get back—”

“They weren’t.”

“How do you know that?”

“When I met them, they were headed toward the city, not coming away from it.”

“The city? You mean . . . they were going to court?”

“Possibly.”

“
Arthur’s
court?”

Pritkin looked confused for a minute, and then he grinned. “Oh, Arth Aur.”