intently.
He smiled and she saw even, white teeth, then he took his daughter. “Yes, medica, she is good. A good girl, good daughter. We would have been sad without her.” His commonplace words were backed by Song, and Bri first heard the tones of a loving family: father, mother, two sons, two daughters. All experiencing euphoria at the saving of Ella. All sending Bri their utmost gratitude.
Too much to handle seriously. She cleared her throat, “Tell me, sir, do you raise vegetables?”
His brows winged up at being called sir, then he smiled again, his chest puffed out. “The best chouys in Lladranan.”
“Chouys, huh?” Bri caught Sevair’s eye. “We will keep him in mind, right?”
“As you wish, Exotique.” Sevair did the torso incline.
“My thanks and my woman’s thanks,” the farmer said formally to Bri, then to the guildspeople.
The farm woman came over to Bri, studied her. “Merci.” Reached out her hand. Bri took it and their fingers locked. “Merci.” The woman squeezed her hand, let go and followed her husband to the door, she drew herself up and said, “It is good that you Summoned an Exotique Medica for us all.” They left.
While Bri was still contemplating these words, Sevair scooped her from the chair.
“I can walk!”
“Can you?’
“Yes.”
He set her on her feet, but kept an arm loosely around her waist, steadying her. Her legs were a little wobbly, but the feel of the stone under her feet seemed to help. She straightened, took a step, paused, took another step. Everyone watched her. The women smiled. The old man scowled. “If this is the Power cost of Healing one child, we have big problems.”
“Yes,” Sevair said briefly.
“They healed sixteen last night,” someone said.
“We were together,” Bri said. “My twin sister and I. And we were in the Castle with a lot of Power.”
“And with the Marshalls, who themselves are greatly Powerful,” Sevair said.
“This room is good,” Bri said.
The woman nodded. “We will scout out other places of Power that will be good for healing if an epidemic comes.”
“When the epidemic comes,” Sevair said.
Bri shuffled faster and made it to the door before the argument truly began. She stepped away from Sevair’s arm, tilted and had to brace a hand against the wall.
Sevair finished snicking the lock to the door behind them, and held out his arm with old-time courtesy. Bri took it, managed a weak smile, and they walked very slowly down the corridor. Every other man she knew would have been impatient with her, would have picked her up and carried her to wherever they were going, not simply walked step-by-step in silence. Sevair Masif was a real stand-up guy.
When they reached the door, he held it open to show a carriage pulled by a team of horses just beyond the pillared portico. “The Citymasters’ equipage to take you to your new home,” he said.
Before they even crossed the threshold, there was the sound of hoofbeats, rustling and a protesting neigh from Mud. Me! It was loud, demanding, and inescapable.
11
The volaran pranced.
“It’s only a few blocks to her new home,” Sevair said.
Mud rolled big eyes at him.
Sevair sighed. “Very well. The tailor will be coming shortly and we are, as usual, running late.” He lifted Bri and mounted behind her. Sevair projected a pretty square full of mature trees and flower beds, surrounded by three-story town houses set closely together. He indicated one with pillars in the front and a long back garden.
Mud lifted off, as light as a feather caught by a spring breeze. She soared over the square and people cheered again, sent blessings Bri could actually feel along with a rise of Song. Fabulous.
She leaned against Sevair, solid behind her, and observed as they skimmed over roofs.
The square with the house wasn’t more than two streets over, and the neighborhood was smaller than she realized, cozier. A lot of people seemed to be in the park, “casually” watching. No doubt everyone knew she’d be living here.
It was finally sinking in that she was a celebrity. How very odd. She’d been in places where her skin or face weren’t the same as most of the local population, and she’d earned respect from people, but nothing like this.
Mud landed softly in the beautifully landscaped backyard. Sevair lifted her down. This was her new home? Her nerves jangled. She’d never even thought of buying a house, let alone something as—substantial—as this one. It was a full three stories and of creamy-colored worked stone, like the limestone she’d seen in the English Cotswolds. Looking down the block, she saw a variety of styles, all melding into a harmonious whole. No doubt all belonging to upstanding and sober citizens.
She was in over her head. The soles of her feet prickled. “It’s…it’s lovely,” she forced out.
Sevair’s expression lightened. “All of the artisans of Castleton worked to provide the best for you.”
Uh-oh. Major expectations. She wet her lips. “Great.”
“I’ll show you the inside in a moment. Now, Mud…” Speaking slowly, with gestures and clear mind images, Sevair told Mud she could return to the Castle, or be stabled with other volarans in a different part of town.
Bri stroked Mud. “Thank you. I’m honored you’ll stay in town.” As soon as she patted the flying horse’s neck and stepped away, Mud took off. Bri watched the volaran, heart squeezing. Not a sight that she’d ever see on Earth.
Sevair cleared his throat. When she turned to him, he offered his arm. Bri hesitated, but curled her hand in the crook of his elbow. His muscle was like the stone he worked. He led her along meandering stepping stones to a back door that was fancy enough to be on the front of any house. Placing his hand on the knob, he hummed a few chords, and made Bri repeat them to unlock and lock the door.
They stepped into an impressive kitchen of pristine white tile, but he moved her through it quickly, hardly giving her time to look around. “We’ve arranged for all your meals to be delivered. You need only list what you want daily.”
“Um, merci.” Guess she wasn’t expected to learn magical cooking.
“We wish you to concentrate on your medica gifts.”
She’d always done that, but to hear it as a duty was a little off-putting.
The hallway was papered in pale lavender, with a faint pattern of darker-colored leaves and flower sprigs. His gaze lingered on the purple streaks in her hair that she’d begun to regret. “Purple is the traditional color for Exotiques.”
“Oh.”
