lucky you and the healer were near.” With a last smile, Llyselle headed toward the lower level. The engineer-smith closed the tower door behind himself and hurried out to the end of the causeway, his ship-jacket closed only halfway.
Despite the bright sun, the first green tendrils of the snow lilies rising through the melting whiteness, and the dampness at the ends of the snow piles flanking the road, Ayrlyn's jacket was fastened all the way up, her gloved hands in the pockets of the worn heavy-weather parka that was one of the handful that had come down in the landers from the Winterlance.
“Cold?” he asked.
“I'm always cold here, even in summer.” Her brown eyes flashed in that way that conveyed a blueness, even though the smith intellectually knew that the blue flash he saw was more an order field manifestation than anything visual. Order field or not, it meant anger. “I've done pretty well for someone not raised in a freezer like the rest of you. I don't hide in the tower, and I don't crouch by the kitchen stove. Darkness knows, I feel like it. But I don't.”
“I never said anything about that.”
“You don't have to. You're not as bad as the others, but all of you are so damned condescending about it. I'd love to get you down in the lowlands in summer, and then smile at you while the sweat pours off your forehead and you feel like you're going to fall over from heatstroke.”
Nylan pursed his lips. Was he really that bad? “Am I that bad?”
“No. Not usually, but I'm in a lousy mood. And you ought to know why. That is something you should know.”
“You've been here for me . . .” he said slowly. “When no one else was . . . not anyone who understood.”
“There were others? You told me-”
“There weren't any others. Except... for last night... there never have been ... not since almost a season before the bat-tie last fall. I told you that, and it was true. There weren't any others, because I don't get close to just bodies. I'm not a Gerlich. I never have been. And I can't talk about it.”
“That's been clear, and I've tried to be understanding.” Ayrlyn shook her head, her eyes glistening.
“Then . . . why?” he asked helplessly.
Ayrlyn walked from the causeway out to the road and turned toward the ridge, leaving Nylan standing by himself.
He turned to follow, repeating his question. “Why?”
“Don't you understand, Nylan? I won't beg. I won't ask.” The flame-haired healer began to walk more briskly out toward the bridge.
Nylan hurried after her, then settled into a quick walk beside her. For a time he walked silently, hoping she would say more. She didn't.
“Did you ever think that I don't like begging, either?” he finally asked.
“Begging? When all you have to do is lift a finger, and any guard in the tower would crawl to your couch?” Ayrlyn stopped in the middle of the small bridge and turned eastward, looking out across the slow-melting snow, into the glare of the mid-morning sun off the expanse of white. Beyond the drop-off, in the distance rose the dark spires of the high forest, now that the evergreens had shed their cloak of winter white.
“I didn't notice you crawling,” he said slowly. “And I haven't lifted my finger, as you put it, to beckon anyone else.”
“I won't crawl. For you. For anyone. And you didn't turn Istril away, not at all.”
Nylan sighed. “It didn't seem right to have her in my bed, and it didn't seem right to turn her away. Especially when she said she'd talked to you. She doesn't lie,”
“That's a great line. I bedded her because she doesn't lie.”
Nylan winced, as though a Lornian arrow had slammed through him. “That isn't what I meant. It wasn't an easy situation.”
“You think it was easy for me? You ought to know by now how I feel. Yet you stand there and look at me as if I had four heads or
Despite the bright sun, the first green tendrils of the snow lilies rising through the melting whiteness, and the dampness at the ends of the snow piles flanking the road, Ayrlyn's jacket was fastened all the way up, her gloved hands in the pockets of the worn heavy-weather parka that was one of the handful that had come down in the landers from the Winterlance.
“Cold?” he asked.
“I'm always cold here, even in summer.” Her brown eyes flashed in that way that conveyed a blueness, even though the smith intellectually knew that the blue flash he saw was more an order field manifestation than anything visual. Order field or not, it meant anger. “I've done pretty well for someone not raised in a freezer like the rest of you. I don't hide in the tower, and I don't crouch by the kitchen stove. Darkness knows, I feel like it. But I don't.”
“I never said anything about that.”
“You don't have to. You're not as bad as the others, but all of you are so damned condescending about it. I'd love to get you down in the lowlands in summer, and then smile at you while the sweat pours off your forehead and you feel like you're going to fall over from heatstroke.”
Nylan pursed his lips. Was he really that bad? “Am I that bad?”
“No. Not usually, but I'm in a lousy mood. And you ought to know why. That is something you should know.”
“You've been here for me . . .” he said slowly. “When no one else was . . . not anyone who understood.”
“There were others? You told me-”
“There weren't any others. Except... for last night... there never have been ... not since almost a season before the bat-tie last fall. I told you that, and it was true. There weren't any others, because I don't get close to just bodies. I'm not a Gerlich. I never have been. And I can't talk about it.”
“That's been clear, and I've tried to be understanding.” Ayrlyn shook her head, her eyes glistening.
“Then . . . why?” he asked helplessly.
Ayrlyn walked from the causeway out to the road and turned toward the ridge, leaving Nylan standing by himself.
He turned to follow, repeating his question. “Why?”
“Don't you understand, Nylan? I won't beg. I won't ask.” The flame-haired healer began to walk more briskly out toward the bridge.
Nylan hurried after her, then settled into a quick walk beside her. For a time he walked silently, hoping she would say more. She didn't.
“Did you ever think that I don't like begging, either?” he finally asked.
“Begging? When all you have to do is lift a finger, and any guard in the tower would crawl to your couch?” Ayrlyn stopped in the middle of the small bridge and turned eastward, looking out across the slow-melting snow, into the glare of the mid-morning sun off the expanse of white. Beyond the drop-off, in the distance rose the dark spires of the high forest, now that the evergreens had shed their cloak of winter white.
“I didn't notice you crawling,” he said slowly. “And I haven't lifted my finger, as you put it, to beckon anyone else.”
“I won't crawl. For you. For anyone. And you didn't turn Istril away, not at all.”
Nylan sighed. “It didn't seem right to have her in my bed, and it didn't seem right to turn her away. Especially when she said she'd talked to you. She doesn't lie,”
“That's a great line. I bedded her because she doesn't lie.”
Nylan winced, as though a Lornian arrow had slammed through him. “That isn't what I meant. It wasn't an easy situation.”
“You think it was easy for me? You ought to know by now how I feel. Yet you stand there and look at me as if I had four heads or
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