For the first time, Aurian became truly aware of how many years had passed during her absence. Zanna was a woman now: capable, confident, and very much in command. She had cropped her hair short and her skin was brown and weathered by sea and wind. Yet many of the fine lines had been penciled on her face by laughter, and there was wit and wisdom in her eyes. Joyfully, the two women embraced, then, as if conscious of the palpable curiosity emanating from the folk around them, Zanna swung around to face the interested throng. “Now, you lot—no need to stand there gawking. You’ll meet our visitors in good time.—If anyone has no work to do, I can soon find them some,” she added ominously.—The crowd melted away as if by magic.
Aurian chuckled. “I recognize Dulsina in those words,” she teased.
A fleeting shadow dimmed Zanna’s smile for an instant, and was gone almost before the Mage could notice it was there. The Nightrunner woman shrugged. “If a ploy works, why not steal it?” She turned to the others. “It’s wonderful to see you, Anvar, Hargorn ...” Her words tailed off as she looked doubtfully at Grince, and the silent, shrouded form of Finbarr.
“Let’s go somewhere private,” Aurian suggested in a low voice. “We have a tremendous lot to tell you and Tarnal.”
Zanna nodded. “I can well imagine. Besides, you must see Dulsina—I’d better let her know we have visitors, or we’ll hear about it. Yanis is away at sea at present, but we’re expecting him back in a day or two. ...” As she spoke, she was leading Aurian and the others up the beach and into one of the tunnels, which Aurian recognized as leading to the cozy cavern with the wide fireplace that the Nightrunners used as a general common room and meeting hall. Zanna paused with her hand on the doorframe. “By the way, I have a surprise for you.—Another visitor arrived here a few weeks ago.” She opened the door and stood back to let the Mage pass first.
Aurian stopped short on the threshold, utterly thunderstruck. There, sitting alone by the fire, was one of the Winged Folk.
17
Snowsilver and Frost
Aurian stared in amazement at the slender, brown-winged young woman. Something about her seemed vaguely familiar. . . . The young girl had no such doubts.—She leapt to her feet and made a deep obeisance, her pointed little face wreathed in smiles of pure relief. “Lady! By the grace of Yinze you are here.—This is good fortune beyond my wildest hopes!” As she straightened, the veneer of formality began to crack. “I never thought I’d get here,” she confided. “I would have perished in the ocean for sure, had I not found Master Yanis’s ship.”
For the first time, Aurian noticed that the girl’s limbs bore a colorful collection of fading bruises, and that her wings were tattered and bedraggled, with pinions frayed and flight feathers missing. One wing was held at a skewed, unnatural angle, with its tip trailing along the floor. The Mage came out of her daze of astonishment to peer closely into the young girl’s face—but it was the thick mop of lustrous brown curls that finally jogged her memory.
“I know who you are!” she said suddenly. “You’re that child—the one who found Hreeza in the temple.”
“That’s right, Lady, I...”
“Come along, Linnet,” Zanna interrupted firmly. “Where are your manners? Let the Lady Aurian and her friends get to the fire—they’ve had a long and wearying ride, and there’ll be time enough for your news when they’ve rested a little. Run along to the kitchen, why don’t you, and tell them we have five hungry visitors, then bring Dulsina back here.”
Linnet looked crestfallen. “All right, Zanna.” Lifting the dragging wingtip, the girl scurried away, with one last, reluctant glance over her shoulder at the Mage.
Aurian shook her head, still dumbfounded. “My dear Zanna—where in the world did she come from?”
“You’d be amazed at the things we smugglers manage to find,” the Nightrunner woman chuckled dryly, “though that one surprised us all. There was a dreadful storm, near on a month ago, and Yanis was out in the midst of it. It’s as well he’s such a good seaman—he was lucky not to lose his ship and all hands.—Linnet was lucky too, that he happened to be there. She landed on his deck during the tempest, otherwise she would have drowned for sure. The poor creature was too exhausted from battling the wind—she would never have reached the shore.”
“But what in the world possessed her to make such a long and dangerous journey?” Aurian said wonderingly.
Zanna shrugged. “She was looking for you, apparently. It broke her heart when I told her you had vanished—but I’ll let her tell her own story.” Her expression clouded. “It’s been nothing but grief and heartache for all of us, this last year or so.”
Aurian took her hands. “Yes, I know about Vannor. Zanna, I’m so-sorry. .. .”
“Vannor brought his troubles on himself” said a harsh voice from the doorway.
“Unfortunately, he brought them on the rest of us, too.”
The Mage turned—and struggled to keep her dismay from showing on her face. But Dulsina wasn’t old, she thought. Alas, that was no longer true. Dulsina was almost unrecognizable from the straight and sprightly woman she remembered.—Time and grief had fallen heavy on her shoulders, bowing her back as though she carried some incalculable burden. Her glossy dark hair, always so impeccably neat, had turned snow-white and straggled in wisps about her face, and her once-flawless skin, of which she’d always been so proud, was now furrowed with lines of bitterness and anger When she saw the Mage her eyes flashed wrathfully, and she drew herself stiffly back as though she were about to spit in Aurian’s face. “You came back too late, Mage,” she hissed. “It was you who loosed the Phaerie on us, and then went away to escape the consequences of your deed. Well, it’s too late now.” She jabbed an accusing finger into Aurian’s face. “The damage has been done, and for all your magic, you can’t bring back the lives that have been sacrificed.”
The stricken Mage backed away from her, utterly lost for words. What can I say, she thought, in the face of such hostility? What could I do to make amends? How can I even be angry with such a pitiful, ruined creature?
“Dulsina, you forget yourself,” Zanna said sharply. “Aurian is not accountable for the evil of the Phaerie, nor is she responsible for Vannor’s folly. One was brought upon us by the other, when that poison robbed my father of his wits. You’d do better to put the blame where it truly lies, at the feet of his would-be assassin. You do neither yourself nor the rest of us any credit by carrying on in this fashion.”
His eyes dark with sorrow, Hargorn stepped between the three women and took Dulsina’s arm with care. “Come on, old friend,” he prompted. “Don’t distress yourself. Come talk with me a while instead. Hebba gave me all the gossip from Nexis to pass on to you.” With gentle solicitude, he led her from the room.—The Mage stood without speaking, her face pale but rigidly expressionless.—Only Forral, who had known her for so many years, saw the depths of her dismay and the distress that she so carefully concealed. He went to her and took her arm, unconsciously echoing Hargorn’s gesture. “Come on, lass,” he said, breaking the awkward, uneasy silence that had settled on the room. “The poor old creature is deranged—she didn’t mean it.” Feeling the infinitesimal tremor that ran through her body, he led her to a chair near the fire. “Come now—rest awhile, love. We’re all tired.”
“Aurian, I’m so sorry.” Zanna’s face was crimson with embarrassment, and she was all but wringing her hands in distress. “Dulsina hasn’t been well since—but I had no idea she would act that way. I—I’ll go and see what has happened to that food.” She scurried from the room.