jumped back.
She swayed and others crowded around her, leaving Alexa standing alone.
Marwey licked her lips. “Leyu exotique,” she said.
Alexa tried to translate. This time “exotique” sounded almost familiar. “Exotique.” French? French for “exotic”? A French-based language? She didn’t do well with languages. She was doomed.
The girl curtseyed to Alexa. “Bar,” she said clearly. “You…haff…passed…the bar.”
Bar? Alexa and Sophie had passed the Colorado bar a couple of months ago.
Marwey made a frustrated noise. “No. You…haff…crossed…le bar.”
That sounded even stranger, but again a little familiar. Alexa shook her head, hoping to straighten out her jumbled thoughts. Crossed—passed…
This had been a test? All this stuff—the monster, the star-ball, the baby, the killer with the knife…had been a test?
Fury built in her, radiating from her belly to the soles of her feet and the top of her head. Again her hair stood straight out from her scalp. She shifted from foot to foot. She’d never been so angry. The baton in her hand began to hum cheerfully. Tiny figures incised in the jade that she hadn’t noticed before glowed and almost moved. Looking at the staff meant she looked at her arm—and the golden aura streaked with red crackling from it.
Alexa angled the baton but didn’t point it. Slowly she turned and, step by step, she looked at each person in the half-circle before her.
Too much. It was too damn much. Alexa whirled to the top nobles—Reynardus with the ivory baton and Thealia.
“This was a test?” she bellowed. The tapestries on the walls shivered. Alexa grinned. She turned back to the pool and pointed her baton, wondering what would happen if she sent a bolt of energy to it. She couldn’t find the urge to care.
“Ttho!” Thealia jumped in front of Alexa. Locked gazes with her. “Ttho.”
Alexa’s nostrils flared.
Partis pulled Thealia aside and took her place. He was protecting his wife. He spoke to Alexa, his voice rising and falling in beautiful lilting notes. She ignored the words—as she thought he meant her to—and listened to the tone, the rhythms, the cadences. Warm yellow light pulsed from him.
The craziness of it all hit Alexa. She was a Marshall. But they all wore swords. And armor.
She wasn’t a savior.
Hell, they had wanted Joan of Arc.
“I think everyone except Partis and I should leave,” Thealia said.
Reynardus snorted and swept her a mocking bow. “As you will, Swordmarshall Thealia.”
Thealia lifted her chin a bit. “Our mission was a success. We now have a powerful new Marshall. With her aid, the plague of evil invading Lladrana will be stopped.”
“You think so?”
“You doubt the Spring Song?” His constant arguing wore on her nerves. She looked him straight in the eyes. “One of the requisites for a Marshall is appropriate visits to the Caves of Melody and a trance with the Singer and the Song. Reynardus, how long has it been since you have undertaken an individual Song Quest to tell of your path?” She knew, but wanted to hear him say it aloud.
A vein throbbed in his temple. “Are you challenging me for the leadership of the Marshalls?”
“I’m saying that I’ve received several Song Quests in the past decade, and most recently when the third fencepost vanished.”
She waited a beat. He didn’t speak. “When was the last time you consulted the Singer and the Song?” she repeated.
He paced with sharp-sounding steps to where his cloak lay. Whirling it around him, he replied. “I’ve been.”
“When you were first confirmed as a Marshall. Before you even knew whether you were a Sword or a Shield,” she pointed out. “Have you been other times?” she ended quietly. He had this coming, but it wasn’t an easy thing to do—to force a Marshall to carry out his duty by shaming him.
“I’ll go to the Singer and endure the Song Quest.” He forced the words through clenched teeth as he clasped the brooch at the throat of his cloak shut. “Tomorrow.” He stared at each one of the Marshalls, lip curling. “I trust you will temper our new little Exotique and make sure she is amenable and Paired by the time I return.” Reynardus spun on his heel, then swept to the threshold and out into the portico in a dramatic exit.
Thealia caught the slamming door with her power and let it gently swing shut.
She turned to face the Exotique—Alyeka, Thealia corrected herself—and found the young woman still shooting out angry energy. Thealia glanced at the huge crystal points at the end of each rafter. Thank the Song such energy could be stored and harvested later.
Partis looked at the girl with his usual compassion. “She’s not happy with us,” he murmured.
“Who would be, enduring such Tests?” Marwey spoke up—out of her place.
Thealia frowned at her and the teenager faded back from the Marshalls. Then Thealia scanned the rest of her companions.
“What went wrong with Defau? He wasn’t supposed to try to kill her. He was only to test her courage.”
“Why ask, when we all know?” Shieldmarshall Faith said, rubbing her hands up and down her arms as if she were cold and didn’t have the strength for a warming spell. Her skin showed an underlying pallor. “He hates Exotiques beyond reason. A flaw we didn’t know and he didn’t reveal. Perhaps he didn’t know himself.” Faith glanced at Alexa. “She is odder than I anticipated. Her coloring—the ebb and flow of her Power, the rhythm of it.” Faith shook her head. “I don’t know whether to be repulsed or fascinated.”
“Obviously Defau was repulsed,” Thealia said dryly.
Faith’s eyes clouded and she tilted her head as if straining to use her Power. “His lifepulse is thready. I doubt he will live.”
“We all knew there could be casualties among us,” Thealia said. She felt the weight of their gazes.
“And you sent Reynardus away,” Armsmaster Swordmarshall Mace said. His wife and Shield set her hand on his arm and squeezed. He shut his mouth.
Thealia passed a hand across her eyes, caught small beads of perspiration. “You only say what everyone thinks.” She looked at them all. “We can’t afford to have a negative influence in our Circle. We lost her for a moment. We could have lost her for good. Reynardus has challenged every step we took. I listened to the Spring Song and underwent a personal Song Quest.” She nodded to a couple of friends. “So did some others of us. Reynardus won’t listen to the Spring Song or believe our personal Song Quests.” She shrugged. “He’s always been a man who will only trust what he himself knows to be true—what he sees, or touches or perceives. Let him undergo trance with the Singer and hear his own Song. I only wish his results would be different and more hopeful than the
