Free Isle of Glass by Judith Tarr

tell me. Where is my lord?”
    “Safe,” Alf replied, “and no prisoner.”
    Thea was not satisfied. “Where is he?”
    “I can’t tell you.”
    She sat on her heels. Without warning, without movement, she
thrust at his mind. Instinctively he parried. She paled and swayed. “You’re
strong!” she gasped.
    He did not answer. A third presence tugged at his
consciousness, one for which he could let down his barriers. Slowly he
retreated into a corner of his mind, as that new awareness flowed into him,
filling him as water fills an empty cup.
    Thea cried a name, but it was not Alun’s.
    Alf’s voice spoke without his willing it in a tone deeper
and quieter than his own. “Althea. Who gave you leave to come here?”
    She lifted her chin, although she was very pale. “Prince
Aidan,” she answered.
    Alf sensed Alun’s prick of alarm, although his response was
quiet, unperturbed. “My brother? Is there trouble?”
    “Of course there’s trouble. He’s not had an honest
communication from you in almost a month. And I’m not getting one now. What’s
wrong? What are you hiding?”
    “Why, nothing," Alun said without a tremor. “If he is
so urgent, where is he?”
    “Home, playing the part you set him and growing heartily
sick of it. He would have come, but your lady put a binding on him. Which he
will break, as well you know, unless you give him some satisfaction.”
    “I’m safe and in comfort. So I’ve told him. So you can tell
him.”
    Thea glowered at the man behind the stranger’s face. “You’re
a good liar, but not good enough.” Suddenly her face softened, and her voice
with it. “My lord. Aidan is wild with worry. Maura has been ill, and—”
    For an instant, Alun lost control of the borrowed body. It
wavered; he steadied it. “Maura? Ill?”
    “Yes. For no visible cause. And speaking of it to no one. So
Aidan rages in secret and Maura drifts like a ghost of herself; I follow your
mare and your belongings, under shield lest you find me out, and come upon a
stranger. Why? What’s happened?”
    Alf watched his own hands smooth her tousled hair and stroke
her soft cheek. “Thea, child, I’m in no danger. But what I do here is my own
affair, and secret.”
    She did not yield to his gentleness. She was proud, Alf
thought in his far corner, and wild. “Tell me where you are.”
    “Inside this body now,” he answered her.
    “And where is yours? What is this shaveling doing with all
your belongings? Have you taken up his?” He nodded.
    “ Why ?” she cried.
    “Hush, Thea. You’ll wake Jehan.”
    She paid no heed to the oblivious hulk by the fire with its
reek of humanity. “Tell me why,” she persisted.
    “Someday.” He touched her cheek again, this time in
farewell, and kissed her brow. “The bells are ringing for Matins. Good night,
Althea. And good morning.”
    Alf reeled dizzily. His hands fell from Thea’s shoulders; he
gasped, battling sickness. For a brief, horrible moment, his body was not his : strange, ill-fitting, aprickle with
sundry small pains.
    She fixed him with a fierce, feral stare. But it was not he
whom she saw. “You dare—even you, you dare, to bind me so... Let me go!”
    His eyes held no comprehension. She raised her hand as if to
strike, and with a visible effort, lowered it. “He bound me. I cannot follow
him or find him. Oh, damn him!”
    In a moment Alf was going to be ill. He had done—freely
done—what he had never dreamed of, not even when he let Alun use his eyes.
Given his body over to another consciousness.
    Possession...
    He was lying on the ground, and Thea was bending over him.
She had forgotten the cloak again. He groaned and turned his face away.
    “Poor little Brother,” she said. “I see he’s bound you, too.
I’d pity you if I could.” Her warm fingers turned his head back toward her.
    His eyes would not open. Something very light brushed the
lids. “I’m covered again,” she told him.
    She was. He looked at her, simply looked,