Robin Owens - Guardian of Honor

His face twisted. In his eyes she saw revulsion, bone-deep hatred because she was different. Never to be trusted. Only to be slain.

She flung up her arms. Her soaked clothes constricted. Liquid trickled onto her skin and stung. The room spun, and a sea of emotions from everyone inundated her. Something in her mind broke free.

Her cry matched his. A weapon flew into her open hand. Unnecessary. With fear and panic, with her mind, she slammed her assailant across the room. She heard him hit the wall with a thud, then slither to the floor.

Oh God! Oh God, she’d hurt a man using her will alone!

She lurched to her knees, planted a foot, then another, and rocked to her feet. A couple of women moved to the still man, one wailing. Everyone else watched her.

Alexa bared her teeth at them. She’d never done such a thing in her life, but she now acted totally on instinct. This night was beyond belief. Beyond anything she’d ever imagined.

That she might have killed a man with the sheer force of her mind shattered the last rational belief she’d ever held. Nothing was the same. Nothing was right. Nothing was reasonable. Only primal intuition could save her.

She hefted the weight in her hand, considered what she held. It was a stick about two feet long and three inches thick, made of something like ivory and capped at each end with gold. One end was pointed, the other straight. Carved figures of knights fighting monsters covered the staff. It looked far too big to be a wand, but she’d bet anything that it was a magical tool. She slid it through her hands, enjoying the texture, though she sensed a nasty tingle of energy. Finding a button, she pressed it. A little brass hook with a blunt end popped from the side, as if it was there to hang the stick from a belt loop.

A shout attracted her attention. When she looked up, everyone was staring at her, as always.

Alexa raised the short staff.

The smallest man opened his mouth and began a chant. His melodious voice was the richest she’d ever heard, set in a soothing cadence. The others joined in, and though the music didn’t sound the same here in the round church of wherever, Alexa knew it was that which had drawn her to this dreadful place. She could almost see the small man’s voice as the stream of yellow in the rainbow that had compelled her into the arch. The big, mean guy’s voice was jerky with some emotion, and his intentions didn’t quite match the others, but Alexa felt he was the bright red, fluctuating band. The angular lady was indigo.

As he sang, the small man gestured, and the others slid their swords into sheaths. The leader’s staff burned with a yellow flame at the tip. He set it aside and it stood by itself.

Alexa blinked. She was too exhausted and wrung out to goggle. The indigo woman stepped forward, raising her hands to her shoulders, palms outward. Another gesture Alexa understood.

She turned her back on them to check on the baby. Instead of the doctor, a teenaged girl held the child. The girl watched Alexa with huge eyes.

The baby was bundled warmly in a thick fleece blanket. Alexa motioned to her. “Is she all right?”

The youngster seemed to understand what Alexa said. She nodded. Alexa wondered if that meant agreement.

She hooked the stick in a belt loop of her jeans and pointed from the baby to herself and held out her arms. “Give her to me.”

Wariness crept into the girl’s gaze.

“Give her to me!” Alexa demanded.

The girl’s glance slid from Alexa to the circle of people behind her. Whatever she saw reassured her. Carefully, she held out the baby.

Alexa cradled the child, pliant but live, in her arms. She flipped the corner of the blanket from the baby’s face. Sleepy brown eyes gazed up at her. A little smile emitted a bubble of drool. Alexa sighed. She put her finger to each small fist in turn and smiled back when the baby clasped it, then the tiny girl snuggled against her and shut her eyes.

“Marwey,” the teenager said.

Alexa looked up.

The girl pointed to herself. “Marwey.”

“Alexa,” Alexa said.

“Al-yek-ah,” Marwey pronounced.

Alexa shrugged.

Marwey pointed to the baby. “Nyja.” The girl gestured to the indigo lady, “Marshall Sabre Thealia.” Then Marwey indicated the big guy. “Dom Marshall Sabre Reynardus.” Finally, Marwey inclined her head to the short, round man. “Marshall Boucilier Partis.”

All right. Alexa deduced that Thealia and the short man, Partis—probably her husband—had one title and the big jerk had two. Figured.

The healer came up and held out her arms for the baby.

Alexa clutched her closer.

The doctor said something that sounded gentle.

Alexa patted the baby. “Is she going to be all right?” Alexa emphasized the rising inflection of a question and raised her eyebrows, hoping such signals would get her meaning across.

“Ayes.” The healer nodded vigorously, smiling.

Slowly Alexa handed the infant over.

The doctor unwrapped the baby and freed her arms and legs so Alexa could see them whole and moving. The baby girl’s face screwed up and she cried. The healer shushed her and turned.

“Wait!” Alexa said.

The healer looked over her shoulder.

Alexa pointed to the shadows where the man she’d sent flying had lain. “Is he going to be all right?” Her stomach clutched as she waited for an answer.

In broad pantomime the doctor lifted her shoulders high and dropped them, frowned. Then she bobbed her head at Alexa, said something to Marwey and took the baby away.

Alexa’s chest constricted. She’d considered the baby her only friend in this place. And how absurd was that?

Hard bootsteps striding in her direction made her pivot. Reynardus, scowling and muttering under his breath, marched to her. Again she felt fury—this man’s fury—batter at her. Alexa shuddered.

The little round man, Partis, hurried forward and stepped in front of her, forestalling Reynardus. Once again Partis held his staff with yellow fire flickering at the top. Facing the others, he said a few sentences.

Raising his voice, Reynardus argued. With a motion, wind whipped around him, the nobles’ robes flapped, Alexa’s clothes plastered cold and wet to her skin. To Alexa’s surprise, Partis stood his ground. Thealia came and stood next to him, raised her hand and stilled the air. Alexa’s vision sharpened—she saw the energy fields of the man and woman. His was yellow and hers as indigo as her stream in the rainbow. They flowed together as if becoming a single entity, and the whole aura pulsed stronger—and malachite green. Their Songs melded into a lovely pattern.

Finally, Reynardus stepped around the couple and flung out his hand in demand to Alexa. Alexa jutted a hip, put her hand on it, and raised her eyebrows. She’d dealt with plenty of arrogant attorneys. She smiled with all her teeth. She could be a predator too. The memory of the sound as the man she’d fought hit the wall tugged at her and nausea rose. She pushed it aside. Pushed all thought aside. She had to be strong, show no fear, if she was to win the respect she needed to be safe.

The big jerk, Reynardus, barked an order at her. Gestured.

Alexa didn’t get it. She widened her stance and set her hands on her hips, just noticing that her clothes had dried. She angled her chin up. God, she’d crash when the adrenaline stopped, but she was jazzed now. The ends of her hair lifted. Heat and energy throbbed along her skin, silky with power.

He growled, his eyes narrowed in frustration. With wide movements he tapped the empty sheath along his right side. He pointed to the stick she’d hooked to her jeans. He snapped his fingers, opened a broad, calloused palm.

Alexa smiled. “No!” She put her hand on the short staff under the pointed tip and angled it forward, curved her fingers around it.