Storm Warning - Mercedes Lackey [63]
“But I might not have!” he cried, panicking again.
“But you did,” she replied with emphasis. “You did, even when you didn’t know it was a game and meant nothing. You did control yourself, when you thought you had every reason to strike back. Now you know what the silly teasing-game looks like between two very good friends, and you won’t make that mistake again. You know how much we value you, and that we would never knowingly hurt you, and I hope that you will ask one of us before you jump to any conclusions.”
He stopped and never completed the sentence, because he frankly did not know what to say. She had an answer for every one of his fears and his arguments. She could even be right. He had no way of knowing.
She waited patiently for him to say something, then shrugged. “Right now I think we ought to do something to salvage this situation. I don’t think you want anyone else to know that you came running up here, hurt. If I were you, I wouldn’t.”
Well, he had to agree completely with that, anyway. He felt enough like a fool; the last thing he wanted was for everyone else in the gathering to know he was a fool.
“In that case, we need to think of some logical reason for both of us to have come up here.” She nibbled a fingernail for a moment, deep in thought. “Food, maybe? Or something to drink? Do you two keep those things here?”
“Yes,” he replied, nearly speechless with gratitude at her quick thinking. “And surely everyone is thirsty by now.”
“Good. Let’s go get some drink and bring it down to them; maybe something in the way of a snack as well.” She rose to her feet and gave him her hand. He took it and she helped him to his. She was a lot stronger than she looked.
Her brief tunic had dried, and so had her hair; it curled around her face in a wispy silver-streaked cloud. He wondered how it was that she could be so earthy and so unearthly, all at the same time.
“Lead the way, ke’chara. I’m not a lot of good as cook, but I can carry a tray with the best of them.” She winked at him, and he found himself smiling back at her as he led the way to the tiny kitchen where he prepared meals from time to time.
They assembled enough food and drink to have accounted for their absence, and she used a damp, cold cloth to erase any lingering traces of his hysteria. He allowed her to persuade him to rejoin them all by promising that she would make certain he was not left out of things from now on.
But he did not go back down those stairs without an invisible load of misgivings along with his other burdens. She was very likely right when it came to her assertions about Darkwind and Firesong—but when it came to himself, he was not so sure.
And despite Elspeth’s kind words, Falconsbane had left traces inside him, in the form of knowledge and memories. Even if he was able to control his emotions forever-more, there were things he could never have faith in again. There were too many things he could not blindly believe in now, after hosting a madman in his body. No, when it came to the future, he could not seem to muster Elspeth’s level of hope. There was no blind optimism left in him, no confidence that he’d control his rage next time, and he was very much afraid of that uncertainty.
There was more than one way for a madman to be born.
Eight
Horses were never suited to traveling by night, especially moonless nights. Karal was a good rider, and the gelding’s tension communicated itself to him through a hundred physical signals he felt in his hands and his legs; the horse was nervous as well as tired, and all of his nervousness stemmed from the fact that he couldn’t see.
Trenor stumbled on the uneven road, and Karal steadied him with hand and voice. The gelding whickered wearily, and Karal wondered if he ought to tell Herald Rubrik he was going to have to dismount and lead the poor horse before he took a tumble and ruined his knees.
“We’re almost there. Just over the next rise, Karal, you’ll see it in a minute,” Rubrik’s voice floated back through the moonless dark. He could have been a disembodied spirit