Anne Bishop - The Pillars of the World

He wolfed down half the bowl of stew, most of the cheese, and a couple slices of buttered bread before she took her first spoonful of stew.

She bit into a piece of potato, then sucked in little puffs of air to cool off the hot center of it. She thought she was being fairly quiet about it, but he lifted his head instantly to observe her. When she managed to swallow, she said, “How did you eat that without burning yourself?”

“I like fire,” he said.

Grabbing her glass, she took a large swallow of wine, then looked at the glass to make sure she hadn’t mistakenly grabbed the glass of water. “I like fire, too, but I’m not fond of burning my tongue.”

“But that is the nature of fire. It burns.”

“It warms,” she replied sharply. She hadn’t intended to sound challenging, but something about the way he’d said “it burns” chilled her.

“You don’t think fire can destroy?” he asked softly.

She could tell by the way his fingers curled around his wineglass that he wasn’t used to being contradicted and certainly didn’t like it. Still, she took her time answering. Fire was a branch of the Mother that was a part of her. She knew its nature, its dark side and its light. But how to explain to a stranger something she’d never needed to put into words before?

“Yes, fire can destroy,” she said carefully, “but it’s also the heat that bakes the bread, the comfort that warms a cold winter’s night, the light that guides you home in the dark.” She fiddled with her spoon. “That must sound very simple to you.”

“It sounds . . . gentler,” Lucian replied, looking away. “And far more thoughtful than my own remark.” Sipping the wine, he frowned. “My apologies, mistress. The wine doesn’t do justice to the meal.”

“It has a delicate flavor,” Ari said. In truth, despite the deep-red color of the wine, it was almost tasteless, as if it contained nothing more than a memory of flavor. Spreading a bit of creamed cheese on a biscuit, she took a bite and tried not to sigh. The cheese and biscuits weren’t any better than the wine. She hadn’t known gentry preferred food that tasted so . . . pale.

They finished the meal in a silence thickened by tension.

Ari looked at her half-full bowl of stew and gave up. Her appetite had fled, her stomach too full of the growing conviction that her guest was waiting for something.

“What was your destination, Lord?” she asked, hoping it was a sufficient distance so that he would want to retire soon in order to get an early start in the morning.

“Nowhere in particular,” he replied evasively, his eyes fixed on the wineglass his fingers restlessly turned.

Ari stared at him. If he wasn’t going somewhere, what had he been doing out on a night like this?

“Did you enjoy your ride on the beach last night?” he asked abruptly, still not looking at her.

Ari’s body went hot and cold at the same time, making her feel sick . . . and furious. “If that’s what you came for, my Lord, you’re too late. The Summer Moon was last night.”

“I know,” he said quietly, his gray eyes pinning her to her chair. “You didn’t answer the question.”

“Nor will I,” Ari snapped. “It’s none of your business.” She was so vexed she looked around for something to throw, but she couldn’t afford to waste food or crockery. “I thought I had seen someone watching from the cliff.”

“Was there?” The sharpness in his voice made her look at him.

“Yes. You . How else could you know?”

Lucian’s voice softened. “I was on the beach.”

Ari shook her head. “There was no one on the beach except the—”

“You gave me apples and some kind of cake—and a fancy.”

Ari kept shaking her head.

“You kissed me, and made a promise.”

“I didn’t,” she whispered. As she stared at him, his face changed abruptly, taking on a feral quality, and his ears grew slightly pointed.

Fae.

She leaped away from the table, knocking over her chair. He just sat there, watching her with that blend of wariness and hunger in his gray eyes.

“Y-you’re Fae.” Her voice shook.

He inclined his head slightly.

“But . . . you said you were a horse. I asked you, and you said you were a horse.”

A hint of amusement joined the wariness and hunger in his eyes. “When you asked me, I was a horse.”

Ari closed her eyes. Mother’s mercy. She’d given the fancy to a Fae Lord in his other form. Well, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. After all, she had avoided any of the men from Ridgeley. And maybe he was a minor lord, like the Lord of Poultry or something. Was there a Lord of Poultry? If that was the case, shouldn’t his other form be a cock? A rooster, Ari amended quickly as an image of a penis with legs running around the barnyard popped into her head. She clamped one hand over her mouth to keep from giggling, certain that if she started she would end up in hysterics.

She took a couple of deep breaths to steady herself, laced her fingers tightly together, then opened her eyes. “Which one are you?”

He studied her for a long moment. “The Lightbringer.”

She fled into the kitchen. Leaning over the sink, she felt grateful she hadn’t eaten much since there would be less to clean up if she got sick.

Fire burns.

Oh, that one would certainly know about fire. Yes, he would.

The Lord of the Sun. The Lord of Fire.

Mother of us all, please help me.

She heard wine being poured into a glass, then the soft scrape of a chair being pushed back. She tensed, waiting for him to come into the kitchen and make his demands. Instead, she heard the rhythmic creak of her grandmother’s rocking chair.

Gathering her courage, Ari crept out of the kitchen. The table had to be cleared and the remaining food properly stored. Besides, those chores were safe and familiar. She glanced in his direction, but he was staring at the fire in the hearth and didn’t seem to notice that she was in the room. Collecting as much as she could, she carried dishes back into the kitchen. On her second trip, he said softly, “I didn’t come here to harm you.”

She looked at him, puzzled by the strain in his voice. Not trusting her own voice, she just nodded and returned to the kitchen. Setting the dishes on the work-table near the sink, she clasped her shaking hands together.

Whatever you do comes back to you . . .

Be careful what you wish for . . .

As I will it. . .

Could she, in part, be responsible for this? She hadn’t wanted to give herself to a man from Ridgeley, especially Royce. She hadn’t cast a spell to avoid that, but her thoughts and feelings had been focused on avoiding it. Could that have been enough to have drawn him to the beach last night? Having magic himself, he would be more sensitive to its call, wouldn’t he? Besides, she had made a solemn promise, and, because of who he was, when she had sworn by the Lord of the Sun and the Lady of the Moon to honor that promise, that vow had even more weight than it might have.

And he seemed so . . . alone.

That thought startled her enough to make her take care of the mundane chores around the kitchen. As she cleaned up and put the food away, she felt steadier and able to think more clearly.

He could have changed form after she gave him the fancy and demanded satisfaction last night. But he didn’t. He could have told her who he was and why he had come as soon as he crossed the threshold. But he didn’t. He had given her a name that wouldn’t frighten her, and he had given her time to talk with him and get used to his presence before he’d mentioned the beach and the fancy.