Free Michelle West - Sun Sword 04 - Sea of Sorrows by Winterborn

fact, had more in common with stag and Arianni lord than he had ever had with her, her den, and the House that she loved.
    Why did he serve? Why did he serve her?
    No, that wasn't the real question. And she wasn't going to ask the real question right now.
    Lord Celleriant and Kallandras of Senniel had participated in a single conversation, all by the edge of blades; they now circled each other warily. Something about that wary preparation for combat was wrong, but she was tired; it was a minute before Jewel realized what it was. There was no sound.
    Well, fine. She'd make some.
    "Lord Celleriant."
    She thought he would ignore her. He seemed consumed by the pattern of the circle made over fallen leaves, dying grass, waning light. His shadow was as long and slender as he when it came to rest.
    "Kallandras."
    The bard sheathed his weapons. "My pardon, ATerafin."
    "Why? I was obviously about to say something stupid."
    He was silent.
    "And someday you can tell me what it was."
    He smiled slightly. "Some day." The smile, as always, was beautiful, and as always, brief. "Although I think you will understand what it is better than I do now by the end of our journey."
    "Our?"
    "I think we're fated to travel together for some distance." He turned to the Arianni lord. "You are in mortal lands."
    "I have been in mortal lands before." His smile put Kallandras' to shame, but it was thing of ice and death.
    "Indeed. But you will find they are very different when you are forbidden to kill those who dwell within them. My apologies. You will not find a worthier lord than Jewel Markess ATerafin, but she is… spontaneous in all reactions."
    "This means I speak without thinking."
    "Indeed."
    Lord Celleriant turned to face her. "You allow this?"
    "This?"
    "This… easy contempt."
    Jewel closed her eyes. Opened them. The Arianni lord was still there.
Kalliaris
, she thought.
Smile
.
    "You have a lot to learn," she told him. "And I'm sorry you have to learn it."
    That evoked a response. "I desire none of your
pity
." Wasn't the one she wanted, but she'd had worse in her time.
    "Don't earn it, then."
    Take care
, a warm voice said. She saw the stag's shadow join hers. Felt his fur beneath her hands and realized she had raised her hand to touch him automatically.
    "ATerafin?" Kallandras had exchanged the swords for the harp.
    "Yes?"
    "Have a care, now. What you built once, you built in desperate circumstances, but you chose the materials well, and you have been rewarded. Here, you have been given no choice." He bowed. "We will enter the desert soon, and it has only one face; Lord's or Lady's. They already speak of you, ATerafin, in the encampment."
    "Great," she said, in a tone that implied anything but. "What are they saying?"
    "That you faced the Winter Queen and won."
    She snorted.
    "That you have a mount that not even the clansmen could claim."
    She snorted again.
    "And that you are served by one of the Lady's warriors. You are becoming legend."
    "Legend is old and musty," she snapped. Then, after a moment, she added, "Help me."
    "I will do what I am able. But my influence extends only so far. If you cannot take the wonder out of the companions fate has chosen for you… your story will travel across the Dominion like brushfire."
    "Thanks."
    "I will withdraw now, to prepare." He smiled again, and his smile was the smile he offered the Queen Marieyan when he flirted as openly as any unmarried man dared with the Queen of the wisdom-born King. She had seen him, swords in hand; had seen the expression on his face—or rather, the lack of expression—as he joined silent battle with an Arianni lord. Kallandras was many, many people— and the tricky part was that in some measure,
all
of them were genuine. "Have faith in your own ability, ATerafin."
    She laughed. Looked around the clearing. What, Lady, what did she have to work with?
    A lord who had tried to kill her.
    A stag that could speak to her, and whose tines, she knew, were more than decorative