The Magic of Recluce - L. E. Modesitt [220]
“I know that. You want to get out your staff and thrash me soundly again.”
“I can’t do that—you broke your staff.” Then her voice dropped. “We’d fight too much, and if we didn’t, I’d hate you, and if we did, you’d hate me.”
She was right, but that was one of the answers I had figured out already, one of the few. There were hills south of Kyphrien, not all that far away, with water and trees, even some of the right kinds of trees. “You’re right. I realized you were right, back when we talked on the ship. I just wasn’t bright enough to understand. Now it may be too late.”
“What will you do?” She ignored my unspoken real question.
“I have an idea. But I don’t know if the sub-commander of Kyphros would be interested in a mere woodworker who occasionally dabbles in order.”
For once, Tamra looked surprised, almost foolish.
“Or having him build a house on a hill not too far from her place of business.”
Her mouth opened a shade wider.
“Or having a redhead whom I regard as a sister come to visit occasionally.”
For a time, but only for a time, she was speechless.
“You’re…still…impossible. You honestly think…”
“No. But I can hope.”
I left her there when I saw green leathers on the adjoining balcony—green leathers, black hair, and black eyes.
The Sub-Commander unlatched the doorway, and I walked onto her balcony.
“You were successful, I hear.” The music was still there, linked within the order she had found.
“So were you, I understand.”
She looked over my shoulder. “How is Tamra?”
“Bitchy as ever, thanks to Justen.”
“Give him hell, Krystal!” called Tamra before leaving my balcony.
“She does seem recovered.” Krystal’s lips turned up at the corners for a moment. We still stood there looking each other over at arm’s length, or more.
“Recovered enough,” I answered, wondering why I was dancing around all the things I wanted to say. “Enough.”
In the end, I stepped forward and took her hands.
And, like Tamra would have hoped, she took them back, walking to the railing and turning to look out on the city. “You may think you have your answers, but did you ask me?”
My stomach turned. Why was I always doing the same thing, assuming I knew what was best for the women I cared for? “No. I apologize, Highest Sub-Commander, for possibly thinking that the affections of a woodworker who dabbles in order could possibly be of interest to you.” I swallowed, looked down, wondering how soon I could get the hell out of Kyphrien—except I needed whatever reward the autarch might offer.
Krystal shook her head sadly. “You’re still doing it.”
“Doing what?”
“You won’t ask anything of anyone. You may want answers, but you never ask for help. There’s a difference.”
I shrugged. There wasn’t much to say. I looked at her short and graying dark hair, although I knew enough to keep her young, just as my father had my mother; at the broader shoulders that carried half the weight of Kyphros on them, and shook my head.
Krystal looked vaguely amused. “Just a moment. I’ve worn this damned sword straight for the past five days.” She unbuckled the belt and laid both sword and belt on the table.
“Damned sword?” I asked. “Not any longer. It’s ordered.”
“Stop assuming things.” She stepped around the table.
“What?”
“Like whether I would be or wouldn’t be this or that. I am. I always have been.”
“Been what?”
It was another stupid question, but it finally didn’t matter. This time, her hands didn’t stop at my fingertips, nor mine at hers. We couldn’t say anything more. Even the gusts of the full winter wind didn’t bother us. Then again, we didn’t stay on the balcony long, and she had already barred the door.
Someone knocked, of course, but that was later. Much later.
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental
THE MAGIC OF RECLUCE
Copyright © 1991 by L. E. Modesitt, Jr.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any