“Precisely.” Now it was her turn to cock her head to the side, quizzically. “I assume you do have a form in mind?”
“Oh, yes!” Now he laughed. “And that is the cream of the jest! So let me tell you___”
If Shana had allowed herself any time to think of anything but their immediate problem, she knew she would have been baffled, bewildered, and entirely turned round about by now. She had thought that she was and would always be in love with Valyn, poor Valyn, who had sacrificed himself to save all of them from his father.
Her friendship with Mero had never turned to anything more than that, after all. Nor did her friendship with Zed or with any of the other wizards her own age. She had told herself that love only came once—and that it was her job to take the life that Valyn had given to her and make the best she could of it. After a year, she was even able to enjoy herself again. She had thought that would never be so heart-touched again.
Now—now she was not only no longer so sure of that, she was no longer so sure that she had ever been in love with Valyn at all! Infatuated, of course. Emotionally at a boiling point, certainly. But in love? Perhaps not.
Her first reaction when she saw Lorryn without any illusion cloaking his features was to compare him to Valyn, and in that comparison he came out a poor second. In a way it was inevitable that she should do so, since his elven blood was so clearly in his features, as opposed to Mero, who looked far more human.
Or even me, she reminded herself. Her hair had grown out enough that combing it out was a necessity and a chore, but the time needed to untangle it gave her time to think about something other than problems. And that flaming red hair coiling itself around her fingers was a stark reminder that there was very little of the elven maiden in her, either.
Lorryn, on the other hand—well, compared to Valyn, he was a copy of a masterpiece by an inexperienced student. His human blood coarsened and thickened his features just enough that it was very noticeable. So her first impression based on looks alone was not a favorable one.
Ah, but then he opened his mouth.
That was when she realized that appearance was the smallest part of Lorryn, and that he could have been as coarse as a mud-doll, and she would have paid attention to him.
He listens to me, which is more than Valyn ever did most of the time. He gives my ideas the same weight as his own. And his own are nothing to be ashamed of.
She took a bit of leather cord and began braiding her hair, working carefully to keep from making more knots than she’d taken out.
He was sensible, too; just because he really liked an idea, that didn’t mean he wasn’t prepared to give it up if someone came up with a reason why it wouldn’t work.
He was willing to learn from all of them: from Shana, who was female; from Mero, who was younger than he; from his own sister, whom by all logic he should have held in the gentle contempt that all elven males held for their women.
Not mat they hadn’t had their share of fights—
Well, more like squabbles. Mostly because we were all tense. But he had been just as willing to patch things up and apologize as she had been, once their tempers had cooled, and after the events of the past two years, she had learned to apologize to just about anybody if it had to be done. Hadn’t she learned to be polite to the old whiners? She hadn’t expected the same out of him, however.
And now—now she was going out of her way to spend time with him she could have been spending alone. She was fussing with her clothing and hair, things she hadn’t cared about in a year or more. She had confided things to him that she hadn’t told anyone else—not facts, but feelings, the way she hated being “the Elvenbane,” the horrible weight it put on her when people expected miracles of her, and the worse weight of rancor when they didn’t. She had confessed how the burden of responsibility often felt as if it was going to crush her spirit—and precisely how poor a leader she really was, when it came down to cases.
She thought he understood. At least he listened. He didn’t trivialize what she was feeling.
She shook her head a little, and tied off the end of her braid. She’d made a kind of appointment with him tonight, him and him alone, because there was something else going on with their little group of conspirators that could cause some difficulties if he disapproved. She didn’t know if he’d noticed, but it seemed to her that she’d better talk to him about this business of Mero and his sister just in case he hadn’t.
Although how he could not notice, when the two of them were taking long walks in the moonlight before bed at precisely the same time, she had no idea. Then again, males were sometimes a bit more oblivious to that than females were, or so she’d heard.
She slipped out of the tent, the empty tent. Mero had already gone off on his quest for “exercise”; Keman and Kalamadea were hunting. The two elves were entertaining their captors, and would not be back until after midnight at best. There was no one to notice her going.
Kala noticed her arrival, though, when she presented herself to the Priest-guard at the entrance to Diric’s tent. That wise woman only smiled, assured the guard that Dine was expecting the demon, and waved her inside.
Diric, of course, was nowhere to be found; Kala went off to her side of the tent, chuckling at something under her breath. Shana was just as glad she hadn’t insisted on playing escort. This was going to be difficult enough as it was.
Lorryn was waiting at the entrance to his slice of tent, holding the flap of the partition open for her, his golden hair shining with the sheen of the true metal in the lamplight. “I heard you outside,” he said by way of explanation.
She slipped inside and he dropped the flap behind her, taking his favorite pillow and gesturing to hers. “So what was so important that you needed to talk to me late at night—” one eyebrow rose shrewdly “—without Rena? And without Mero? Both of whom seem to have pressing concerns elsewhere. Or can I guess?”
“I think you already have,” she replied, both relieved and a little deflated at the same time. After the way she’d been steeling herself to present the terrible revelation to him—
“So my precious sister is falling in love with a halfblood, if she hasn’t done so already.” He shook his head dolefully. “Aye me, what is this world coming to? It is the end of civilization as we know it! Unnatural! Depraved!” He pulled a long face and stroked an imaginary beard with feigned agitation in a clever imitation of a horrified elder of any race.
It was so clever that she broke into a fit of giggles; he grinned, and dropped the pretense.
“As long as you don’t mind, how could I?” he countered. “Mero is your friend, after all, and I don’t know what he could have meant to you before this. And I’m not asking,” he added hastily, before she could say anything. “Rena is her own woman, and has the right to make up her own mind about who she ties herself to in any way. The Ancestors know she paid for that right.”
He fell silent for a moment, but she sensed he had a bit more to say. “She was betrothed to a complete idiot, just before we ran away. It was Lord Tylar’s idea, a marriage-alliance with a family that was older and more powerful than ours, and he would have had her mind altered before if he had to if that was what it would take to put the marriage through. She says that, and in retrospect, I believe her. How could I not wish her well?”
Shana shrugged. “Mero and I have never been more than friends, although his cousin tried to play matchmaker between us. It didn’t work.” And the least said about that, the better. “I know that he really likes Rena as a person, and I know he’ll never treat her as less than a person. After that?” She shrugged again. “Who knows? Whatever happens, happens. When we get back to the Citadel, though, I don’t think you need to worry about the wizards refusing to take her in. Not after what Valyn did for us.”