“Your mother needed to go alone this time,” a man answered. “It’s the last time. And you don’t know everything ... about how it might end.”
Hearing the voices brought both relief and the grief that Magiere had held off. But she wasn’t going to cry for a lost friend—not yet—and she walked off into those trees. She didn’t care about being quiet and barely caught sight of a short woman in a long dark robe among the night-shadowed trees near the sea.
That one turned. “Mother?”
A man struggled up from beyond a tree nearer the shoreline, and moonlight across the water haloed him in a glimmer that caught hair once fully white-blond.
“It’s about time,” he said. “So, is he finally dead or not?”
Magiere closed quickly, right past Wayfarer, and threw her arms around Leesil.
“You know better than that,” she whispered, suddenly so weary.
“Still had to ask,” Leesil whispered back. “Sooner or later, you and Chane were going to have it out. I knew even I couldn’t hold that off.”
Magiere leaned back, looking into her husband’s beautiful amber eyes. She saw his fright at having let her go alone fade. She also saw the lines in his face, the locks of hair that were now more white-gray than white-blond, and the exhaustion of the wait that she felt herself.
“As long as you came back,” he said.
All she wanted then was to go home and stay there with him. There was no telling how long she would have him. Yes, she had grown older as well, but not as much as he.
In the end, how long would she have to live without him? That was too terrible a thought, and she had to look away. And there was Wayfarer, watching her with as much worry as Leesil had.
“Get over here,” Magiere said softly.
Wayfarer, still too small for one of her people, slipped in close and wrapped her arms around Magiere. It felt good to hold her again. No matter how often the girl returned now, it was never often enough for Magiere. She didn’t even care about those ridiculous little wooden trinkets braided into the girl’s dark hair or how much the girl—no, woman—had changed over the years.
“All right, girl,” Magiere growled. “Where is that husband of yours?”
Wayfarer hesitated and let out a long, slow sigh. “He ... could not ... face it.”
“So he’s off playing with his deer again?”
The girl’s eyes widened and scrunched in a scowl. This was followed by a sigh that was more of a scoff. How much she—all of them—had changed.
“Clhuassas—listeners—are not deer!” Wayfarer admonished. “And he is not playing with—”
“I don’t care!” Magiere released Leesil and grabbed the girl by both shoulders. “You tell Osha we’d better see him by solstice or—”
“Yes, Mother,” Wayfarer interrupted, with a roll of her green eyes.
“Here we go again,” Leesil grumbled.
Magiere ignored him, finishing, “Or I’ll go drag him back here by his hair!”
“Yes, Mother!”
There was silence for three breaths before Magiere straightened with a quick snort.
“Fine, good enough. Now let’s go home.”
She grabbed each of their hands and pulled them along as she headed toward the back door of the Sea Lion’s kitchen. The high-pitched squeal of a child rose somewhere upstairs in the tavern.
Magiere stopped in her tracks and let go of Wayfarer and Leesil as she stared up at the windows of the top floor.
A laugh, like from a boy, was followed by the crash of pottery shattering and furniture toppling. More squeals and laughter were cut short by a deep rolling growl—but only for an instant.
Magiere wheeled on Leesil in fury. “What did you do this time?”
Leesil quickly looked away.
“I warned you, Father,” Wayfarer chided under her breath.
At that, Magiere took a step. “How many this time?”
Leesil winced. “Just ... two.”
“Two!” Magiere snapped. “That makes six—again!”
Over the passing years, there had been no children for them. She knew that couldn’t have been because of him, but it was another sacrifice for the way she had been born.
Just the same, there had always been children. He saw to that a bit too often.
“Don’t spit flame and smoke at me, my dragon,” he shot back, though he wouldn’t look at her. “What was I supposed to do, leave them on the street to starve or pillage the local bakery?”
Another crash from above mixed with more and more growling and squealing and ...
“Chap can handle it,” Leesil added.
“He is getting too old,” Wayfarer cut in, now glaring at him as well. “He can barely get up those stairs when we come for a visit.”
“Well, then Shade can do it,” Leesil added with a shrug.
Wayfarer turned on him. “Father, do not dare to put this on her.”
“Oh, seven hells!” he countered. “I handle it year-round, so you two can help out a bit when—”
“Both of you, enough!” Magiere snarled. “Get into the tavern before they bring it down.”
She turned, slammed the back door open with her palm, and rushed inside.
This had been their life for the last thirty years, and no matter how much Magiere fumed, she wouldn’t have wished it any other way. Magiere simply made certain Leesil never knew this. It would be so much the worse if he did.