That might make a good experiment, if we have time,Gerant said, completely confusing Darya. She looked blankly from her waist to the other Sentinels, and Katrine, reading her face, laughed.
“Those of us with our minds above our belts,” she explained, “were talking about whether two of us could—link?—as you did with Amris. It’d be a four-way tie, of course, since we’d both have soulswords.”
“Yathana says she’s willing to try,” Branwyn added, “but she’ll need detailed instructions, since she…ah, never was much of a scholar.” By the other woman’s face, Darya thought that was probably a tactful translation.
Gerant laughed in her head.I’ve never minded an opportunity to lecture. Just ask…ah, Amris!
Darya wasn’t sure if he’d truly seen the figure across the room before she had, or if she’d just avoided the knowledge. Once Gerant spoke, though, the words locked her focus into place. Every detail about Amris stood out: his tousled hair, his straight back and slim hips, the faint but gentle smile on his lips as he spoke to Olvir. It wasn’t just heat that ran through Darya’s body at the sight, but pure sensation, awareness as bright as sunlight on her first steps outside a ruin.
She wished she were alone so that she could start swearing.
* * *
“Ah,” said Olvir, helpfully, “there’s the Sentinel who brought you in!” He raised a hand, which, given his height, was hard to miss, and beamed a far-too-engaging smile in Darya’s direction.
She was sitting on the floor with two of the other Sentinels, long legs folded neatly beneath her and a mug of beer in one hand. As Amris turned to regard her, she laughed at some comment and waved her free hand, dismissing the suggestion or the speaker. The firelight flickered over her, and the shadows welcomed her when it faded.
Amris couldn’t have avoided her, not without rousing Olvir’s questions or offending Gerant—and he didn’t really want to do so, only thought he should. He was old enough to know the difference.
However the top of his mind might protest, whatever he knew of temptation and risk, he couldn’t be displeased that Olvir had called his attention to Darya, nor hers to him. When she turned, not only Amris’s body leapt to attention—though that was certainly a factor, and one which made him glad he still wore armor and a long tunic.
He raised his own hand and thought resolutely of troop numbers and defensive preparations. The soldiers in the tavern laughed. A few of them had already started singing, and a few others were groping in corners, seizing what might be their last few hours with vigor.
Amris looked away quickly and let Olvir lead him over to the group of Sentinels.
“You haven’t died from recruits yet?” asked Darya, with a determined smile. “Good to see it.”
“In my day, I’ve trained far worse. And in my turn, I’m glad to see that you returned safely from your mission. I hope the same holds true for your friend.”
“Oh, Emeth’s fine, thank you,” said Katrine, “only she has to wait in our room in case any of her creatures return with warning. She’s far from thrilled about it, but I’ve promised we’ll drink with her later.”
“It’s a noble sacrifice,” said Olvir, and Amris introduced him around. He bowed low over the Sentinels’ hands and smiled earnestly.
He is egregiously adorable,said Gerant, laughing.If he weren’t a knight and they weren’t Sentinels, at least half of them would be carrying his picture next to their hearts.
“You’re not wrong,” said Amris, thinking of the way most of the women and some of the men in his squad had watched when Olvir came up the lines. “And I now have many questions I can’t ask, you know.”
I wasn’t thinking of that, but it is an unexpected gift.
Amris laughed, started to make a face, and then caught himself.
“It must be a very strange situation,” said Branwyn. “We’re all used to it, and it’s just one more odd thing about us where everyone else is concerned.”
“You do look normal otherwise,” Darya added.
“My thanks,” he said, with a slight sardonic bow, and then, to Branwyn, “It is, but little about this isn’t—for all of us, I expect.”
“Is that how you’re climbing the ladder?” asked a slurred male voice from behind Amris.
Olvir turned his head toward the speaker, and the three Sentinels, all in a position to see without turning, looked up: Katrine with bland curiosity, Branwyn with her eyebrows arched in quiet challenge, and Darya with tightened lips and narrowed eyes. Amris himself didn’t move. The drunk was too far away to be an immediate threat, and ignoring him might yet prove fruitful. He shook his head slightly at his friends.
Theywerehis friends, albeit on very short notice—Branwyn and Katrine on the strength of only a few conversations, words passed when Katrine left the chapel as he was entering, or when Branwyn mended armor on the manor steps. Still they’d welcomed him, and if some of that had been for Darya’s sake, or Gerant’s, he couldn’t be unhappy about that either. In the barren taproom, Amris felt an unexpected tie binding him to that time and place, one which was more than necessity, and he smiled because of it.
“Oh, you think that’s funny?”
Ah, the drunkard. He was closer, and there was muttering behind him. Amris sighed and turned. He hadn’t even had the chance to sit.
The speaker was a washed-out blond man with an aristocratic lift to his chin—and lack thereof—that went with his voice, as well as a silk doublet and a fine linen shirt. Jewels shone in the sword at his hip, but Amris would never have mistaken him for a Sentinel, even without knowing there were only four in the keep. His friends, two women and three men, were also dressed richly. All wore sashes of rank.
