Free Falcorans' Faith by Laura Jo Phillips Page A

so fast that they would have been little more than a blur to human eyes.  They moved as a unit, Tristan leading, Gray and Jon flanking him, all of them rushing to their Arima’s aid by pure instinct, without giving a second thought to what they were doing.  They were at her cabin door in less than a minute.
    The next scream was filled with such terror that for a moment they were unable to move, think, or breathe.  Then Tristan used Air to crush the lock on the door and blast it open at the same time, not even noticing the loud crash it made as they all flashed into the cabin and surrounded the bed.  But, aside from the twisted, sweat soaked sheets, the bed was empty.  They stared at each other in confusion, uncertain what to do next.    
    When the next scream began, Tristan leapt over the bed, using Air to yank the closet door open before he reached it.  There, curled into a tiny ball on the floor of the closet, was the shaking, sobbing, figure of their Arima.
    Tristan hesitated for one fraction of a second, then deliberately shoved aside the heavy armor built of anger and resentment that he’d nurtured for two long years.  He reached down and lifted Faith into his arms as gently as he could, shocked at how little she weighed, and how thin she was.  He cradled her carefully against his body, sensing that she was very fragile.  How had he not noticed that before? 
    The question fled as Faith opened her mouth and screamed again, a sound that seemed to rip his heart in two.  He began crooning softly to her, realizing that she was still asleep and in the grip of some horrible nightmare.  He looked up into Gray’s eyes, then Jon’s, and saw the same play of emotions on their faces that he felt within himself.
    Using Water magic, he carefully nudged Faith into a deeper, sounder sleep where nightmares could not reach her.  He felt her body relax in his arms and sighed with relief.
    “Jon, get a cool cloth for her face,” he said softly.  Jon turned and vanished into the bathroom.  A moment later they heard an odd, strangled sound and looked up to see Jon standing in the bathroom doorway, an expression of confusion and worry on his face. 
    “What is it?” Gray asked.
    Jon shook his head as he started to dab at the sweat on Faith’s flushed face. 
     “What did you see in the bathroom?” Tristan asked, allowing himself to study Faith for the first time.  Her face was, like the rest of her body, fine and delicate.  She had a rosebud mouth, a straight nose, and expressive brows over the large hazel eyes that were now closed.  She also had dark circles under her eyes, and her skin was so pale that it was translucent.  He could even see the fine tracery of blue veins beneath her skin.
    “There are towels over the mirrors,” Jon said.  Both Tristan and Gray stared at him.  He’d spoken in a whisper, but it wasn’t the flat, emotionless monotone they had become accustomed to.  Instead, there was fear and worry in his voice.
    Gray walked the two short steps to the bathroom.  A moment later he came out, his eyes dark with the same worry Tristan saw on Jon’s face. 
    Tristan looked down at the woman in his arms.  What could possibly be so horrible that she couldn’t bear to look at her own reflection in a mirror?  Whatever it was must be hidden by the oversized t-shirt and cotton shorts she wore since, apart from the fact that she was too thin, he saw nothing to explain an aversion to mirrors.  In fact, he thought that she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen though he had no intention of admitting it.   
    He looked up again, meeting Gray’s gaze, then Jon’s.  After a moment Jon shook his head.  “No, we can’t,” he said.  “That would be a gross violation.  If we want to know her secrets, we must first earn her trust.  We cannot steal them from her.” 
    Tristan knew that Jon was right, but he also felt an almost desperate need to know what had happened to her, or been