— 38 —

Cook was as good as her word; the supper was ample and well received. Everyone gathered around one long table and the squires helped the serving girls carry the dishes back and forth from the kitchen.

Nari sat on Tamír’s left and asked endless questions about her battles and Ero and all that was going on at Atyion in preparation to meet Korin, but not once did she ask about the change. She treated Tamír just as she had treated Tobin, not in the least troubled by the alteration. She didn’t even forget and call her Tobin. Not once.

They sat around the fire with their wine afterward and told more stories of the fighting they’d seen. Then Tharin and the women began reminiscing about Tamír and Ki when they were children here, much to the amusement of the other Companions. Arkoniel joined in, embellishing with apparent relish on what a poor student Ki had been. There was no mention of the death and tragedy these walls had witnessed, but Tamír caught the younger squires glancing around nervously as night closed in.

“I’ve heard this keep is haunted,” Lorin ventured at last. Nikides gave him a warning look and the boy shrank down on the bench, murmuring, “That’s only what I heard.”

With no proper entertainment, there was little to keep them up late. Tamír kissed Nari and Cook good night and sent her guardsmen off.

“It’s time we got some sleep, eh?” Nikides said, gathering the others.

They said good night outside their rooms, but Ki lingered at her door. “I’ll stay, if you want. No one here cares.”

The temptation to say yes was so strong it took her breath away, but she shook her head. “No, better not.”

“Good night, then.” He turned for the door, but not before she caught the hurt look in his eyes.

It’s for the best. This is my task. He can’t help and it would only endanger him needlessly. It’s for the best…

She kept telling herself that as she sat cross-legged on the bed, waiting for the others to settle next door.

Someone laughed. A low murmur of voices followed, and the sounds of a good-natured argument as the unlucky squires were relegated to the pallets on the floor. She heard the shuffle of feet, the creak of bed ropes, then a dwindling murmur.

Tamír waited a bit longer and wandered over to the window. The moon was bright over meadow and river. She rested her chin in her hands, thinking of all the times she’d played there with Ki, the snow soldiers they’d fought, the fishing and swimming, and just lying on their backs in the tall grass, finding shapes in the clouds.

Satisfied that all was quiet next door, she took her night lamp and stole from the room. There was no sound from Tharin’s room, either, and no light beneath his door.

Upstairs a single lamp burned in a niche near Arkoniel’s chamber. She tiptoed past, keeping her gaze fixed on the tower door. Only when her hand was on the tarnished latch did she recall it had been locked since her mother’s death, the key long since thrown away. Brother had opened the door for her last time.

“Brother,” she whispered. “Please?”

She pressed her ear to the door, listening for any sign of him. The wood was cold, much colder than it should have been on a summer night, even here.

Another memory stirred. She’d stood here before, imagining the bloody, angry ghost of her mother just on the other side, in a rising tide of blood. She looked down, but nothing crept out from beneath it but a big grey spider. She flinched as it scuttled across her bare foot.

“Tamír?”

She nearly dropped her lamp as she whirled around. Arkoniel caught it and placed it safely in a niche beside the door.

“Bilairy’s balls! You scared the piss out of me!” she gasped.

“Sorry. I knew you’d come and thought you might need some help with that lock. And you’ll need this, too.”

He opened his left hand and light spilled out between his fingers from the small pebble glowing there.

She took the lightstone. It was cool as moonlight in her hand. “Less chance of me setting the place on fire with this, I guess.”

“I should go with you.”

“No. The Oracle said it’s my burden. Stay here. I’ll call out if I need you.”

He pressed a palm to the door beside the lock and Tamír heard the wards grind and fall. She lifted the latch and pushed the door open with a squeal of rusty hinges. Cold air rushed out, smelling of dust and mice and the forest beyond the river.

They stepped into the little open space between the door and the base of the tower stairs and Arkoniel pushed the door to, leaving it open just a crack.

She climbed the stairs slowly, holding the lightstone up and steadying herself with one hand against the wall. The scabrous feel of lichen and bird droppings brought back more memories. She felt like a little child again, following her mother up these stairs for the first time.

I’m like these swallows, with my nest high above the keep.

The door at the top of the stairs stood wide, a gaping mouth of darkness. She could hear the breeze sighing in the room beyond, and the skitter of mice. It took all her courage to climb those last few stairs.

She paused in the doorway, clinging to the jamb as she searched the deeper shadows beyond. “Mother, are you here? I’ve come home.”

Ki had guessed what Tamír intended to do the moment they’d turned aside for the keep. During supper he’d seen how often her gaze strayed to the stairs. When she turned down his offer to stay with her that night, he knew for certain she meant to go to the tower alone.

Lying in bed beside Lynx, he listened until his ears rang, and heard the sound of her door quietly opening and the soft pad of bare feet passing his door.

She’d have asked me to come if she’d wanted me along. Tamír had always been close-mouthed about the ghosts who haunted this place, even with him. So he wrestled with himself, and tried to sleep, but every instinct said to follow her.

He’d lain down in his shirt and breeches. It was a simple matter to ease out of bed and step carefully around the squires on their pallets. He thought the others were all asleep, but as he opened the door to creep out, he glanced back and saw Lynx watching him.

Ki put a finger to his lips and closed the door softly behind him, wondering what his friend thought he was off to do. There was no help for that now.

There was no sign of Tamír. He crept up the stairs and paused, stealing a quick look down this corridor just in time to see Arkoniel slipping through the tower door.

That gave him pause. She’d left him behind, but asked the wizard to help? Ki shrugged off the hurt and stole down the corridor to the tower door. It was slightly ajar and he pushed it open.

Arkoniel was sitting on the bottom step, fidgeting with his wand. A lightstone glowed on the next step up.

Arkoniel gave a start when he saw Ki, then shook his head. “I might have known you’d show up,” he whispered. “She insisted on going alone, but I don’t like it. Stay here with me. She’ll call if she needs me.”

Ki joined him on the step. “Is her mother really up there?”

“Oh yes. Whether or not she chooses to show herself—”

He broke off, and they both looked up as they heard the faint sound of Tamír’s voice. Ki broke out in goose-flesh, knowing what it meant. Tamír was talking with the dead.

Mother?”

There was no reply.

The room was just as Tamír remembered. Broken furniture, rotting bolts of cloth, and mice-chewed bales of stuffing wool still lay where Brother had thrown them. A table had been righted under the east window and the last of her mother’s mouthless dolls sat there in a row, leaning awkwardly against each other like drunken men. Arkoniel had found her doll among them; she could see a gap where it had been.

She went to the table and picked one up. It was mildewed and discolored, but her mother’s small, careful stitches were still visible in the seams. She held it up to her light, looking at the blank face. This one was still plump with wool, its limbs even and loose. It surprised her, how tempting it was to carry it away with her. In a way, she missed the misshapen doll she’d hidden for so long, though it had been a burden at the time. But it had also been a tie to her mother, and her past. She clutched this doll impulsively to her heart. How she’d wanted her mother to make one for her! Tears stung her eyes and she let them fall, mourning the childhood she’d been denied.

A soft sigh made the hair on her neck stand up. She turned and searched the room, clutching the doll and the lightstone.

The sigh came again, louder this time. Tamír squinted into the shadows by the western window—the window her mother had leaped from, that winter day. The one she’d tried to push Tamír out of.

Brother’s not here to save me this time.

“Mother?” Tamír whispered again.

She heard the rustle of skirts, and another sigh, full of pain. Then, in the faintest of whispers, a ghostly voice murmured, my child—

Hope made the breath catch in Tamír’s throat. She took a step closer. “Yes, it’s me!”

Where is my child? Where? Where—

The brief stab of hope died, just as it always had. “Mother?”

Where is my son?

It was just like it had been on her mother’s worst days. She wasn’t even aware of Tamír, longing instead for the child she’d lost.

Tamír started to speak again, but a sharp crack startled her so badly she nearly dropped the lightstone. The shutters on the western window shook as if they’d been struck, then creaked slowly open, pushed by unseen hands.

Tamír clenched the doll and stood her ground, watching in mounting horror as a dark figure resolved from the shadows and lurched with slow, jerking steps to the window. Its face was turned away, as if watching the river below the window.

The ghostly woman wore a dark gown and was clutching something to her breast. She was of a height with Tamír and her shining black hair fell in loose disarray to her waist. Strands of it stirred around her, coiling lazily on the air. Framed against the night sky, she seemed as solid as a living person.

“Mo—mother? Look at me, Mother. I’m here. I’ve come to see you.”

Where is my child? The whisper was more of a hiss this time.

Where is your mother? The Oracle’s voice goaded her. “I’m your daughter. I’m called Tamír. I was Tobin, but I’m Tamír now. Mother, look at me. Hear me!”

Daughter? The ghost turned slowly, still with that unnatural, jerking hesitation, as if she’d forgotten how a body moved. She was holding her old misshapen doll, or at least its ghost. Tamír held her breath as she caught sight of a pale cheek, a familiar profile. Then her mother was facing her, and the sight of her was like an eerie mirror.

The others were right after all, Tamír thought numbly, beyond fear as those eyes came to rest on her with something like recognition. In the months since the change, Tamír’s face had altered subtly, not so much softening as shifting into more of a semblance of this dead woman’s face. Tamír took a step toward her, vaguely aware that they were clutching their dolls the same way, in the crook of their left arm.

“Mother, it’s me, your daughter,” she tried again, searching for comprehension in that face.

Daughter?

“Yes! I’ve come to tell you that you have to go on, to the gate.”

The ghost saw her now. Daughter?

Tamír moved the light to her left hand and reached out to her. Her mother mirrored her, reaching out to her. Their fingertips brushed and Tamír could feel them, solid as her own but deathly cold as Brother’s.

Undeterred, she clasped that cold hand tight. “Mother, you must rest. You can’t stay here anymore.”

The woman came closer, staring at Tamír as if she was trying to understand who she was.

A tear tickled down Tamír’s cheek. “Yes, it’s me.”

Suddenly the room was bright around them. Sunlight streamed in at all the windows, and the room was cozy and filled with color and the good smells of wood and sundried linen and candles. The hearth was filled with withered flowers and the chairs were upright beside it, their tapestry cushions whole and unblemished. Dolls littered the table, clean and dressed in little velvet outfits.

Her mama was alive, blue eyes warm with one of her rare smiles. “Have you learned your letters, Tobin?”

“Yes, Mama.” Tamír was crying outright now. She dropped the doll and the lightstone and embraced her. It was strange, being tall enough to bury her face in that silky black hair, but she didn’t question it, overcome by the light flower scent she remembered so well. “Oh Mother, I’ve come home to help you. I’m sorry I was gone so long. I tried to help Brother. I really did!”

Warm hands stroked her hair and back. “There, there, don’t cry my darling. There’s a good boy—”

Tamír froze. “No, Mother, I’m not a boy anymore—” She tried to pull back, but her mother held her tight.

“My sweet, dear boy. How I love you! I was so frightened when I couldn’t find you.”

Tamír began to struggle, and then they both went still as the sound of horsemen came to them from the road outside.

Ariani released her and ran to the east window. “He’s found us!”

“Who? Who’s found us?” Tamír whispered.

“My brother!” Ariani’s eyes were wide with terror and black as Brother’s as she rushed back to Tamír and grasped her arm in a painful grip. “He’s coming! But he won’t have us. No, he won’t have us!”

And she pulled Tamír toward the west window.

Ki and Arkoniel had moved halfway up the stair, straining to make out what Tamír was saying. Suddenly they heard her call out to her mother, pleading with her about something.

Then the door at the top of the stairs slammed shut with a bang so loud that Ki missed his footing and tumbled backward into Arkoniel.

Tamír knew beyond all doubt that she was fighting for her life, just as she had that other day. Her mother had been too strong for her then, and her ghost easily overpowered her now. Caught in that inexorable grip, Tamír was dragged across the floor toward the window as if she weighed no more than a child.

“No, Mother, no!” she pleaded, trying to break loose.

It was no use. The specter gave a last yank and Tamír found herself halfway out the window, teetering with her belly on the sill, only her bent knees keeping her from falling. It was night again. The river flowed black and the rocks it tumbled around looked silver and she was tilting farther and screaming and something dark was hurtling past her, dragging her down, a pale wraith with swirling skirts and wild black hair…

Ki and Arkoniel tumbled over each other to the base of the stairs. Ki was up first and dashed back up, heedless of the bruises or the taste of blood in his mouth as he took the worn steps two and three at a time. He struck the door with his shoulder and wrenched at the latch, but someone or something was holding it shut from the other side. He could hear the sounds of a struggle, and Tamír’s wordless cry of fear.

“Arkoniel, help!” Ki yelled, frantic. “Tamír, can you hear me?”

“Get back!” Arkoniel shouted.

Ki barely had time to duck before a wave of force swept over him, knocking the door off its hinges. Ki scrambled up again and bolted into the room. It was cold inside, and a foul, swampy odor hung in the air. A lightstone lay amid the wreckage on the floor, casting enough illumination to see the horrid, bloody figure at the west window trying to force Tamír out. All Ki could see of her were her flailing legs and bare feet. Even as Ki dashed to save her, the thing thrust her out over the sill.

It was a woman, that much he could tell in his headlong rush. The form was pale and flickered like fox fire. Ki had an impression of writhing black hair and empty black eyes in a bone-pale face. Hands like claws clutched Tamír by the hair and tunic as it shoved her out even farther.

“No!” Ki reached Tamír just as she began to teeter over the brink. He lunged through the specter and felt an even denser chill, but his hands were strong and sure as he caught Tamír by one bare foot and hauled with all his might, roughly dragging her back to safety.

Tamír collapsed limply to the floor. Ki crouched over her, ready to fend off her mother’s vengeful spirit with his bare hands if he had to, but there was no sign of her now.

He pulled Tamír farther from the window, then gently turned her over. Her eyes were closed and her face was horribly pale. Blood flowed from a deep cut across her chin, but she was breathing.

Arkoniel stumbled across the littered floor and fell to his knees beside them. “How is she?”

“I don’t know.”

Hands clawed at her back, then Tamír was flying backward again. Something struck her chin hard enough to stun her. The world spun—stars and river and rough stone walls and darkness.

Then she was lying in the dark, ruined room again and someone was holding her tight, so tight she couldn’t breathe.

“Mother, no!” she screamed, struggling with what little strength she had left.

“No, Tamír, it’s me! Open your eyes. Arkoniel, do something, for hell’s sake!”

She heard a sharp crack and she was blinking in soft pale light. It was Ki holding her, his face etched with sorrow. Arkoniel stood just behind him, wand in hand, blood streaming from a cut on his forehead. A strange smell hung in the air, bitter like burned hair.

“Ki?” She tried in vain to comprehend what had just happened. She felt chilled to the bone and her heart was pounding so hard it hurt.

“I have you, Tamír. I’m taking you out of here.” He stroked her hair back with shaking fingers.

“My mother—”

“I saw her. I won’t let her hurt you again. Come on!” He dragged her up and wrapped an arm around her waist.

Tamír found her feet and staggered with him for the door. Ki’s arm was strong and sure around her, but she could still feel the icy grip of her mother’s hands.

“Take her down to my room. I’m going to seal this door,” Arkoniel said behind them.

Somehow Ki got her down the stairs without falling and hurried her into Arkoniel’s chamber. Candles and lamps burned brightly there, casting a bright, comforting glow.

Ki lowered her into a chair by the empty hearth, then yanked a blanket from the bed and tucked it around her. Kneeling, he chafed her hands and wrists. “Say something, please!”

She blinked slowly. “I’m all right. She—she isn’t here. I don’t feel her anymore.”

Ki glanced around and let out a shaky laugh. “That’s good news. I don’t ever want to see anything like that again.” He used a corner of the blanket to dab at her chin. It hurt and she flinched away.

“Hold still,” Ki said. “You’re bleeding.”

She touched her chin and felt warm, sticky wetness there. “The sill. I hit the sill. Just like before.”

Ki gently pulled her fingers away. “Yes, just like before, only you’re going to have a bigger scar this time.”

Tamír clutched her forehead, feeling faint. “He—Brother? He pulled me back?”

“No, that was me. I heard you cry out, and got there just—” He was pressed close to her, his belly against her knees. He was shaking.

“By the Flame,” he went on, his voice less steady now. “She almost had you out, that horrible creature. It was worse than Brother—” He broke off again and wrapped his arms around her as if she could still fall.

“You pulled me back?” she whispered against his shoulder.

“Yes, but I almost lost you. Damn it, what were you thinking, going up alone?”

He was weeping! She hugged him, burying one hand in his hair. “Don’t cry. You were there, Ki. You saved me. It’s all right.”

Concern for him swept away the last of her fear. She’d never heard Ki weep like this before. It shook his whole body and his grip on her was painfully tight again, but it felt good.

At last he sat back on his heels, wiping his face on his sleeve. “I’m sorry! I just—I thought—” Tamír saw real fear in his eyes. “I didn’t think I was going to get to you in time, before she—” He grabbed her by the arms as fear gave way to anger. “Why, Tamír? What made you go up there alone?”

“The Oracle said—”

He shook her angrily. “That you ought to get yourself killed?”

“What did the Oracle say to you?” asked Arkoniel, coming in to join them. The bitter smell around him was stronger than it had been upstairs.

“She told me that my mother—how she is now—it’s my burden. I thought that meant I was supposed to set her free. I thought if she saw me in my true form, it would—I don’t know, that it would give her peace? But it didn’t,” she finished miserably. “It was just like that day Uncle came here.”

“Then Nari was right.” Arkoniel stroked Tamír’s hair. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“I don’t know. I guess I was ashamed.”

“Of what?” asked Ki.

Tamír hung her head. They couldn’t know what it had been like, to not be enough, to not be seen.

“Forgive me, Tamír. I should never have let you go alone.” Arkoniel sighed. “You can’t reason with a spirit like that, any more than you could with Brother.”

“Then why did the Oracle tell her to do it?” Ki demanded.

“I can’t imagine. Maybe Tamír misunderstood.”

“I don’t think so,” Tamír whispered.

“Damn Illiorans!”

“You mustn’t blaspheme, Ki,” Arkoniel chided.

Ki stood up and wiped his face. “I’m staying with you, in case she comes back. Don’t even try to talk me out of it. Can you walk?”

Tamír was too tired to pretend she didn’t want that.

“Stay here,” said Arkoniel. “I have protections on this room, and I’ll keep watch outside. Rest well.” He went out, closing the door behind him.

Tamír let Ki tuck her into Arkoniel’s bed, and caught his hand when he was finished. “Sleep with me? I—I need you.”

Ki climbed in under the covers with her and pulled her into his arms. She put an arm around his waist and relaxed against his shoulder. He stroked her hair for a few minutes, then she felt the warm press of lips against her forehead. She brought his hand to her lips and kissed him back.

“Thank you. I know this isn’t—”

Lips against her own cut off the apology. Ki was kissing her, really kissing her. It lasted longer than any brotherly peck they’d shared before, and was far softer yet more decisive than his awkward attempt in Afra.

Even now, with Tamír safe in his arms, Ki kept reliving that awful moment when he was so certain he wasn’t going to reach her in time. Over and over again, in his imagination, he felt what it would have been like if she’d died. His own tears earlier had shamed him, but this sudden impulsive kiss did not. He wanted to do it, and she was responding. So was his body.

Tamír. This is Tamír, not Tobin, he told himself, but he still couldn’t quite believe what he was doing.

When it ended they stared at each other, wide-eyed and unsure, and she gave him a hesitant smile.

It did something to him Ki couldn’t explain, and he kissed her again, lingering a little longer over it this time. His chin bumped the cut on hers and he tried to pull back, but the arm across his chest tightened and he felt her leaning into him. He buried his fingers in her hair, snagging a braid. She flinched as it pulled, then chuckled.

At the sound of it, he felt like something that had been dammed tight in his heart let go at last. He combed his fingers through her hair more confidently, then stroked his way down to her waist. She was still fully clothed, wearing the dress she’d put on for Nari at supper. The skirt had ridden up a little. He could feel her bare leg warm against his through his breeches. No, this wasn’t any boy in his arms. It was Tamír, as warm and different from his own body as any girl he’d ever bedded. His heart beat faster as he deepened the kiss and felt her eager response.

Tamír felt the difference in Ki’s touch and the unmistakable press of his arousal against her thigh. Unsure what she wanted or where this would lead, but determined nonetheless, she took his hand and pressed it to her left breast. He cupped it gently through her bodice, then tugged the lacings and chemise aside and slipped his fingers inside to caress her bare skin. Rough and warm, his fingertips found the scar between her breasts and traced it lightly, then brushed across a nipple. He’d never touched Tobin like that. It sent warmth spiraling down through her to blossom into a new sensation between her legs.

So this is what it’s like? she thought as he kissed his way down to her throat and bit her gently on the side of the neck.

She caught her breath and her eyes widened as the feeling between her legs flared stronger. Just as before, she could still feel the phantom shape of her male body, but with something much deeper, in places only a woman had. If she had both bodies at once, male and female, then both were awakened by Ki’s hands and lips against her skin.

It was too much, too unsettling, that dual sensation. She pulled back a little, heart pounding, her traitorous body at once yearning and afraid. “Ki, I don’t know if I can—”

He withdrew his hand and stroked her cheek. He was breathless, too, but smiling. “It’s all right. I’m not asking for that now.”

That? Bilairy’s balls, he thought I meant fucking! she realized with dismay. Of course he did. That’s what he does with girls.

“Tamír?” He gently urged her head down on his chest and held her tight. “It’s all right. I don’t want to think about anything but you being here right now, alive and well. If you’d—died tonight, like that?” His voice went husky again. “I couldn’t have stood it!” He fell silent a moment and his arms tightened around her. “I was never scared like this for you in battle. What do you suppose that means?”

She found his hand with her own and clasped it. “That no matter what, we’re both still warriors, before all else?” Somehow, that was comforting. At least in this, she still knew who she was.

She could still feel the hardness against her thigh, but Ki seemed content just to lie next to her, as they used to. Without thinking, she shifted her leg a little to get a better sense of his body.

It’s bigger than what I had, she thought, then froze as Ki let out a soft sigh and shifted a little against her.

Arkoniel sat in the doorway of his workroom, gaze fixed on the tower door, and wondered if he dared leave long enough to fetch Tharin. He ached here and there from his tumble down the stairs and his ears were still ringing from the spell he’d cast to seal the door.

No, he decided. He’d stay until dawn, then go down and make certain the others didn’t worry at finding Tamír’s bed empty.

And what will I do if Ariani does come looking for her child again?

It had been Ki who’d saved Tamír, not him. He’d only driven the ghost off after Ki had her safe.

Blessed Lightbearer, what was your purpose, putting that into her mind? You couldn’t mean for her to die, so what was it you were trying to show her? Why open up those old wounds now?

His bruised limbs were beginning to stiffen. He stood and paced the corridor, pausing a moment outside the bedchamber door. All was quiet inside. He reached for the latch, thinking to check on them, then drew it back. He stood there a moment longer, debating, and cast a wizard eye instead.

Ki and Tamír were fast asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms like lovers.

Lovers?

Arkoniel took a closer look. They were both still dressed as they had been, but he could make out the faint smiles they both wore in sleep. Ki had a smear of dried blood on his chin that matched nicely with the cut on Tamír’s chin.

Arkoniel dispersed the spell and turned away smiling. Not yet, but there’s been a change. Perhaps some good will come out of this night, after all.