Free Wintertide by Linnea Sinclair Page B

stones and nine times the answer came back, without variation. She’d crossed a milestone in her life and now must expand her knowledge, increase her sphere of experience. And all signs led her to the City.
    The exultation she felt at the clarity of the symbols in the dust and the strength emanating from her circle overrode even the dull, painful ache she carried in her heart since she’d left Cirrus Cove. Had she more time, had supper not been boiling away and the Tinker not been aware of her absence she might pursue her investigations, requesting specifics. Where should she go in the City and whom should she see? Was there still danger? The rapidity and ease with which the few answers came back to her restored her faith in her powers that, for over a year, had lagged and been vague. Still they were yet a few days ride from the bustling trade center built on the North Cliffs, overlooking the sea. There was time for her to divine other information later.
    For now, the aroma of potatoes and leeks wafted in the air. She whispered the spell that would un-enchant the small patch of moss and rose, never bothering to look back to see if the ground recovered its formerly unbroken surface. As indeed it did.
    The Tinker stirred the potatoes with a long-handled wooden spoon. She bent over the pot, sniffing appreciatively.
    “Smells good.”
    “Better than I ever made it.”
    “You survived well enough on your own cooking before now.”
    He plucked at the front of his shirt. “I was on the verge of emaciation until you took over.”
    Khamsin’s laughter hid the slight flush on her cheeks. She remembered the feel of his strong, hard body against hers, when she was weak and trembling. There was nothing emaciated about the man at all.
    They finished the meal with light conversation dotted with stretches of comfortable silence. At last, when the fire reduced itself to a pale orange glow, Khamsin sighed and leaned back against the wheel of the cart, stretching her legs out before her.
    “You seem contented, m’Lady.” His voice was soft but carried easily over the night sounds of crickets.
    She couldn’t see his face in the darkness but the earring in his ear reflected the dim light of the glowing coals. She didn’t need to see his face anyway. She knew every line by heart. The sight of him that first morning after the burning of the village etched him indelibly into her mind.
    “Things are better, yes,” she replied, ignoring the direction her thoughts again traveled. She was a widow, she reminded herself. A widow, and when the Tinker touched her it was only to heal her wounds. Her outer wounds. Not the tear in her heart.
    “They were bad.” His words held no judgment, nor pity.
    “Could have been much worse.”
    “That is true of most things.”
    Then they were silent for awhile. The sound of the wind playing through the leaves around them was the only interruption to their thoughts. Khamsin’s drifted back to Cirrus Cove, to what she had been and what she could become. She thought of Tanta Bron, practicing her herbals and spells and marveled that the old woman never chose to further her own education in the occult. She seemed content to live her days out in the cave. Khamsin knew now that even if the raid on the village hadn’t happened, she would have left Cirrus Cove before Wintertide. With or without her husband. But her reasons, then, would have been different.
    “Haven’t you wondered, Tinker, why I was willing to leave my home?”
    She heard the rustle of clothing as he stirred and could envision his now-familiar noncommittal shrug in the dark.
    “Besides the obvious, you mean, with the destruction of the village and the death of your husband?”
    The words still carried pain, though not as much. “Yes.”
    “Did you love him?”
    His question caught her by surprise. She didn’t reply.
    “Your husband, Lady Khamsin. Did you love him?”
    “Tavis was my friend,” she said finally. “So I suppose I did