Maggie Furey - Aurian

“What is this?” Aurian interrupted.

Forral sighed. “The Archmage has offered me the post of Commander of the Garrison,” he said.

“That means you’ll be staying in Nexis!” Aurian could hardly contain her delight. “Oh Forral, that’s wonderful! I’ve missed you so much!”

Forral looked at her helplessly, and shook his head. “All right, Miathan, I give in. I accept. But it’ll be on my terms. And before I start, I’m taking Aurian out of here for a holiday —a long holiday—at your expense.”

Aurian and Forral left the Academy shortly thereafter unaware that they were being watched from a window high in the Mages’ Tower. “Curse her!” Bragar snarled. “Why could the arrogant bitch not have died? Why did Miathan bring that wretched swordsman here? The fewer pieces there are in this game, the better, especially where Aurian is concerned.”

Eliseth laughed, a soft, smug, silvery laugh. “I wouldn’t be too concerned, Bragar.” She laid a cool hand on his arm. “I have a feeling that before too long, Miathan’s little pet will remove herself from the game.”

“What do you mean?” Bragar was frowning.

Eliseth laughed again. “You men! So obtuse! Did you not notice the way she was looking at that oaf of a Mortal?”

“What?”

“Spare me the indignation, Bragar! You’ve had Mortals many a time, and so have I. But we had the sense to get rid of— the evidence.” Eliseth purred. “Aurian won’t, I’ll wager. And our dear Archmage will never brook a rival. He has designs upon her himself!” She shrugged. “All we need do is wait. Eventually the pieces will fall—right into our hands. And speaking of pieces, I think we ought to recruit a pawn of our own.”

“A pawn? What do you mean? What are you plotting now, Eliseth? Meiriel and Finbarr would never—”

“Not them, moron!” Eliseth’s voice dripped scorn. “I was talking about Davorshan.”

Bragar burst out laughing. “My dear Eliseth, how do you propose to get him away from that twin of his? And even if you did, what earthly use would he be? Those two haven’t the power between them to light a candle!”

“Between them, no. But if there were only one? I believe that’s the problem, Bragar. They have sufficient power for one Mage, but their minds are so closely linked that neither can use it. I want that power to come to us, and Davorshan is the likeliest candidate of the two. As for parting him from D’arvan . . .” A smug little smile tugged at the corners of Eliseth’s mouth. “I believe he has reached the stage where . . . certain inducements might work.”

Bragar reached out to embrace her. “By the Gods, but you’re devious!” he said approvingly.

“True.” Deftly, Eliseth avoided his grasp. You fool, she thought scornfully. Little do you know just how devious I can be!

Forral took Aurian to stay at the Fleet Deer, one of the finest inns in Nexis. From the start, the swordsman forbade her to use the slightest hint of magic—not even to light a candle— but now that she was reunited with her beloved Forral, Aurian never missed it. On the first night, over the best supper the inn could provide, she and Forral brought themselves up to the present, and the swordsman spoke of his reluctance to accept the Garrison post.

“It’s a tremendous honor,” he said, “but I don’t fancy it much. I accepted because I couldn’t turn down the chance for us to be together again. Oh Gods, lass, but I’ve missed you!”

Aurian reached across the table and took his hand. “And I missed you,” she said softly. “If you only knew the tears I’ve shed . . .” Her eyes flashed angrily. “How could you just go away like that?”

Forral looked abashed. “I’m sorry, love, truly I am. I honestly thought it was the best thing. I felt so bad about what happened, I just couldn’t think straight. Then the Healer and your mother said—”

“Mother? I might have guessed!” Aurian got hold of her anger with an effort. “I’m sorry. I won’t spoil tonight. The main thing is that you’re back. But why don’t you want to take command of the Garrison?”

Forral smiled. “How you’ve grown up! All these years I’ve thought of you as a child, and now I find a woman. It’ll take some getting used to.”

The look he gave her was lingering, and Aurian found herself blushing as the intimacy of his gaze kindled a new and disturbing warmth within her. “The Garrison?” she prompted, to cover her sudden, unaccountable shyness. To her relief Forral shook himself, as though waking from a dream, and took up her cue.

“It’s not the responsibility that worries me.” He grimaced. “It’s the bloody paperwork! I hate administration!”

Aurian laughed. “Is that all? Then don’t do it!”

“Aurian, I don’t think you realize—”

“Of course I do. But as Garrison Commander, you’ll have so much influence! Hire someone else to do the paperwork, then you’ll have more time to do what you want—and to spend with me!”

Forral’s face was a study in amazement and relief. “Aurian, you’re a genius!”

They talked all night, reveling in each other’s company, and for the first time in her life, Aurian got truly drunk. Forral introduced her to peach brandy, and she took to it all too well. The way she felt next morning came as a shock. She awoke with a churning stomach and pounding head, and a quick, wincing glance between the curtains showed that the sun had already reached the zenith.

When Aurian came down to the private dining room reserved for guests at the inn, she discovered that Forral had beaten her downstairs—but only just. One look at his pale face and bleary eyes showed that at least they were suffering together. At the sight of him, Aurian found herself hesitating. She’d had such dreams last night! Dreams where Forral had kissed her, held her . . . You fool, she told herself firmly. Why, he practically brought you up! It must have been the wine . . . But he looked up and smiled, and she found that she was shaking as she sat down. It was the wine, she repeated determinedly. Only the wine . . .

“Great Chathak, love, you’re white as a sheet!” Forral sounded concerned. “Poor lass—it’s the first time you’ve drunk too much, isn’t it? And it’s my fault . . .”

As he took her hand, a jolt of tingling fire sped through Aurian’s body. Gods, she thought, what’s happening to me? Forral pushed a steaming cup toward her, and she buried her face in it, to hide her confusion. It was tailin, a tea made from the leaves of a bush that grew in the southeast and was the staple stimulant of the city dwellers. Aurian took a sip, grimacing at the acid taste. How she missed her mother’s teas, made from a variety of berries, flowers, or herbs, each with a specific benefit to confer. Nonetheless, as a poor riser, Aurian was grateful for tailin.

Just then one of the inn’s serving men approached, all apologetic deference. They had already discovered Forral’s identity, and as for having a Mage as a guest . . .

“I’m sorry, Sir and Lady,” he said. “This is the best we could do for breakfast, it being so late. Times are so bad.” He plunked down two plates of what Aurian could only describe as curdled eggs, and beat a hasty retreat. She stared in disbelief at the slimy yellow spoonful on her plate, swallowing the bile that rose in her throat. Times being so bad? What did he mean? Surely things weren’t that bad in the city, despite the drought! She’d never had this problem at the Academy, and supper last night had been all right. Although, srie acknowledged wryly, she’d been so immersed in Forral that she wouldn’t have noticed if—

“Sir! Commander Forral!” It was the landlord of the inn, and by the look of him, the man was in a rare panic! Aurian blinked in surprise at his red-faced, disheveled appearance. Could this be the same urbane, self-possessed man who had welcomed them last night? He tugged at Forral’s arm, completely abandoning the servile courtesy with which the Fleet Deer treated its guests. “Sir, come quick!” he panted. “There’s a riot in the market!”