33rd of Nema, Continued

NaVarre was standing in the foyer, his back to the main staircase. He hadn't heard me yet, and I hesitated on the balcony above him. The sky beyond the windows was a clear azure, the air thick with the honeyed-apple scent of blooming baraboe. I was dressed in a pretty summer riding outfit, my hair pinned up under an adorable hat, and an extremely rich (and absurdly handsome) man was about to take me on a riding tour of his sprawling plantation. It would almost have been romantic if it wasn't so stupefyingly civilized. After sleeping in a hut made of logs, wearing mud to escape biting flies, and running from things with too many sharp teeth, this sort of civilization seemed unreal, and oddly stifling.

Feeling old and worn in spite of my pretty dress, I started down the stairs.

NaVarre lifted his head at the sound of my wooden riding heels and turned to look up at me. His eyes widened slightly, and he came all the way round to face me, his teeth flashing in a sun-stealing smile. "I have to say, that shade of green suits you very well."

I inclined my head. "Thank you." You would. You picked it. Just like the pink day dress from this morning.

NaVarre's smile gave way to a boyish grin, but the sparkle in his eyes didn't dim. He offered his arm and quirked a brow.

Without a word I slid my hand into the crook of his elbow, following along as he ushered me through the lofty front doors and down the steps to the coach loop.

"I have a surprise for you." He gave me a sidelong glance as he led the way around the drive toward a wide, arched gate set in the ivy-covered wall of the central courtyard.

"A surprise," I got out, trying not to wince. The new riding boots were lovely, but my feet were still quite sore.

NaVarre just flashed that big, pretty smile, and held the gate open for me.

Unsure what I should think about that, I walked through in front of him. The smell of horses and fresh sawdust met us. The gate led onto a sandy exercise yard bordered on three sides by a well-kept stable. Long equine faces peered out at us over half-doors, tear-drop ears pricked in our direction. And in the middle of the yard, a stable lad stood with a pewter dappled Jordollano mare.

"This is Flyte," NaVarre said simply.

"She's lovely," I breathed. She really was. Large, liquid-dark eyes, a neat white star and blaze, a regal head and that signature gracefully arched Jordollano neck. She had to have cost a small fortune.

NaVarre didn't say anything. He just handed me a carrot from his jacket pocket, urged me forward with a touch to my shoulder, then took the lead rope from the lad. The mare did the rest, working her sweet-natured magic, whickering softly as I held out the treat and let her lip it from my fingers.

"Your father mentioned how much you loved riding, so I thought... maybe she would give you something to enjoy here."

I turned to look at him. He was right. I had enjoyed riding. And a great many other things. Things that couldn't be replaced, no matter how beautiful the replacement. I glanced away, wishing he hadn't said anything.

Flyte finished her carrot and nosed hopefully at my hand. I let out a little, shaky chuckle and let her take the rest of the greens.

NaVarre came to stand on the other side of the mare's head, rubbing his hands behind her ears and down her neck, his movements calm and steady. "I've always found that the hardest part, making new memories that they aren't part of. Laughing without them." He glanced at me, unusually somber.

There was a long moment of silence between us. Then NaVarre cleared his throat, his tone oddly cheerful. "Well, she's yours whenever you want her. So. What say we see how she does against Aestrul in a fence chase? Think you're up for it?"

I hesitated, but then gave in and nodded, smiling.

Twenty minutes later NaVarre's big bay springer and Flyte were both saddled up, and we were flying down a dirt road that ran along the inside of the perimeter wall, heading for the vast, rolling emerald sea of sugarcane that was the 'lower fields'.

The sky was still clear, the birds were still singing their evening songs to each other, but there was a storm coming. I could feel it looming over me, invisible but there, growing stronger with every step I took, crackling in the air around me. I was heading straight into it, now, and the only way out was to keep going.

~~~

The hallway was quiet. That was the only reason I heard the splash of water as I lifted the latch pull on Arramy's door. I froze in the act of pushing it open, caught off guard by what I saw through the crack between the door and frame.

First, Arramy was lying flat on the bed, wearing nothing but a towel draped across his hips; second, the maid named Ina was bending over him, humming softly as she dabbed at his bare skin with a wet cloth.

My heart stopped, then began beating too hard, all the air rushing from my lungs.

Ina was being gentle, careful of his unbandaged sutures as she cleaned him up. She wasn't doing anything unseemly. There was no reason for the lurch in my chest, or the weird, queasy sensation that something was unraveling in my middle as I backed into the hallway, but it still felt very much like I had just seen something I shouldn't have.

I heard Mrs. Burre say, quietly, "That'll do, Ina, thank you. Now. What is the first thing we do to redress the sutures?"

There was some more splashing, and then Ina said, "Tinctured honey first, then gauze."

Dragging in a shallow breath, I about-faced and headed for the balcony. I was halfway down the hallway when something clattered to the floor in Arramy's room, followed by the sound of furniture being moved in a hurry, and Mrs. Burre saying, loudly, "Wait, Captain, we haven't finished changing your -"

There was a muffled curse in a familiar Altyran brogue. Then the door came flying open with a bang, and Arramy lurched out into the hallway, clutching the towel around his waist with one hand, the other hand supporting his weight on the wall.

My feet faltered. I went still, spellbound, watching as he turned to his right, peering away from me down the hallway for a moment, clearly unaware that I was there. Then he swayed, and swung around toward the entrance to the balcony instead, his attention on where he was putting his bare feet. He took two wobbly, limping steps, then brought his head up and came to a halt, his eyes locking on my face.

For one breathless, aching heartbeat, we stared at each other.

His lips parted, and I almost thought he was going to say something.

The next instant Mrs. Burre and the maid came through the door behind him, Mrs. Burre loudly ordering him back to bed. He held my gaze but closed his mouth on whatever he had been about to say, his jaw tightening as he let Mrs. Burre and Ina help him back into his room.

Stunned, I stood there in the hallway. Then I brought my hands to my mouth to cover a crazed laugh that came out as a weird, airless little sob. Slowly, I turned around again and walked away. No matter how hard I tried, though, I couldn't make myself remember how dangerous he was, and how careful I would have to be around him. My stupid heart was just glad he wasn't dead.

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