She shook off such contemplations. The skirt she’d chosen first, along with the bodice, went back into the chest. She kept the shirt but selected one of her everyday skirts with a patch near the hem. He’d seen her in both before, numerous times. They still fit and would suit fine. The heat in her face slowly lessened as she changed and repeated the phrase to herself a dozen times.She made one bow to vanity, twining a lock of hair at each of her temples into tiny braids that she tied off with string.
She left the bedroom and found both Gheza and Luda waiting in the parlor. She twirled for their inspection. “What do you think?”
Luda clapped her hands. “I think you’re pretty!”
Gheza’s reaction was far less enthusiastic. She raised an eyebrow as her gaze traveled over Disaris’s brown skirt and rust-colored shirt that hung loose over the skirt. “I thought you’d wear something…else. Fancier. What about the bodice I made for you in the spring?”
Disaris prayed the awful blush from earlier wouldn’t resurface. She shrugged. “It’s Bron, amman, not the Crown Prince of Daes.”
The blush betrayed her under her mother’s knowing stare. “Is that so? And you charging across the garden like a spooked herd of horses, demanding a bath with honeysuckle soap as if your life depended on it, was just for my and Luda’s benefit?”
Disaris squirmed. “Amman,” she whined.
Gheza laughed before pushing a basket of darning toward her. “No need to help in the kitchen tonight. Don’t want to waste all the effort youdidn’tput into smelling nice and looking prettyish for Bron’s upcoming visit. You can darn while you wait.”
“What if he doesn’t visit?” Disaris surprised herself with the question. When had she started to doubt him? Of course he’d visit her. They were best friends and hadn’t seen each other in months. They’d exchanged a few letters, but those didn’t offer much comfort. She’d missed him sorely, missed his voice, his enigmatic smile, the gift of him being physically close by. She hadn’t appreciated that until he was no longer there.
Her mother gave a disbelieving snort. “Does the sun rise each morning? He’ll be here, Disa.”
She sat in her mother’s usual chair in the foyer, darning feverishly and staring out the window as the afternoon lazed its way toward twilight with excruciating slowness. Her industrious efforts with the darning cleared the basket in no time, and she paced the parlor until Gheza brought her an apron and a dust mop with strict instructions not to miss any corners and also keep her clothes clean.
The tedious tasks didn’t blunt the edge of her anticipation at seeing Bron, and she’d even argued with Gheza that maybe it was best if she visited his mother with a loaf of freshly baked bread.
“Absolutely not.” Gheza scowled at her. “Hazarin doesn’t need you underfoot at her house while she’s visiting with her son. Remember, she too hasn’t seen him in several months.”
Soundly admonished for her impatience, Disaris sighed and finished her dusting before entertaining Luda in numerous rounds of the girl’s favorite card games. Luda had just declared herself the winner of their latest game when their father walked through the door. Luda shrieked, threw down her cards and rushed to hug his legs. Dusty from the fields, he patted her back and gave Disaris a quick nod. “I saw Bron. He’s coming up the hill about now.”
It was all she needed to hear. She was out of the house and halfway to the gate before she remembered to take off her apron and toss it onto the nearby bean trellis. Her mother could scold her later.
The sky lapped above her in waves of purple, from palest lavender to deepest indigo. Stars winked to life, along with the fireflies that danced in the verge lining the gentle knoll between the village’s main road and her house. The encroaching darkness didn’t slow her down. She’d walked and run this path since she was on lead-strings and could do so blindfolded without amisstep. Fortunately, the firmament smiled upon her, sending up a bright full moon to plate everything in silver.
She was almost to the knoll’s peak when she spotted Bron cresting the rise. Disaris’s heart galloped at the sight. “Bron,” she whispered. He was here, returned to her after an eternity of separation. She waited until he reached the top, a slim silhouette with the fading orange horizon behind him. He paused when he saw her.
Disaris grinned. “The moon rises,” she called out, admiring his silvery-bright hair.
A whisper of laughter floated down to her. Bron bowed. When he straightened, his grin was as wide as hers. “And a star waits.” He held out his arms. “Why are you just standing there, Disa? Didn’t you miss me?”
She flew up the slope, hurling herself into his embrace. He staggered back with a gusty “oomph” as she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, clinging harder than an ivy to a mulberry tree. His neck was warm where she pressed her cheek, and he smelled of cloves and the incense his mother liked to burn in her house. He felt different in her arms too. Larger, more muscular, definitely taller.
He clutched her just as tightly until she gasped for air. Instantly his arms loosened. He leaned back to look at her, abashed. “Sorry.” His grin returned. “Consider it repayment. Remember how you used to squash me?”
Disaris smacked him on the arm, noting there was no give in the hard muscle there. “That was when we were still the same size.” He held her easily as she explored his face with her fingers. “Your face is thinner, but you’re bigger.” In the fading light, she could see the way his cheeks had hollowed and his jawline had sharpened. “Are they feeding you enough at Burnpool?”
Bron carefully peeled her off him and set her on her feet. His hands lingered at her waist a moment longer than needed beforehe let her go. “Rations are generous. Probably so we don’t eat each other.” He laughed at her wide-eyed expression. “Training makes for hungry work.”
Disaris had so many questions for him but tamped down her curiosity for now. “I want to know everything, but not here. Come to the house. Amman just tapped an ale she made, and we have cider and tea. Food too if you’re hungry.”
She took his hand, lacing her fingers with his, feeling a new set of calluses on his palm, different from those earned by the swing of a harvester’s sickle. Bron followed her down the hillside, then passed her, his much longer legs widening the gap between them until they both raced home.
Bron’s arrival was met with great enthusiasm from both her sister and mother, and a firm arm clasp from her father. They gathered at the supper table, where Gheza had laid out small pitchers of cider and ale, a pot of tea, and a plate of bread with butter and honey. Bron held Luda in his lap while Disaris helped pass around cups and buttered bread. She thought she might explode with happiness. Those she loved best surrounded her in the home that was a sanctuary. She couldn’t think of a better moment than this one.
Reylan raised his cup in a toast to Bron. “The entire village is proud of you, lad. No one in Panrin imagined we’d have a battle mage living in our midst. I’m sure finding your place among your group wasn’t easy. How many black eyes did you get in your first month at Burnpool? And how many did you give?”
Bron tapped his cup against Reylan’s. “Two and five,” he said. “It reminded me of when I first came to live in Panrin, just without Disa to defend me.” He winked at her.
They listened as he recounted his months at the garrison, describing the first hard weeks of adjusting to a grueling regimen of training that started before dawn and ended well into the evening. Sparring, wrestling, horsemanship, all-nightguard duty, and squiring for those of higher rank. For the battle mages like Bron, there was also studying spells and invocations, learning enchantments and practicing them on each other.
“And there are the rocks,” he said, mouth quirking in a half smile. “Our commanders believed simple work made for good muscle. I think I’ve moved a mountain of rocks to help build a retaining wall at the garrison.”
