Not Magic Enough and Setting Boundaries Boxed Set (The Coming Storm) (4 page)

“I can guarantee you privacy and peace,” she said, very gently, reaching out to touch his hand with just her fingertips, no more. “No one should be out in a storm such as this, Dorovan. The food will be plain but good and warm. There will be a hot bath, a bed for you and a stall for your horse with plenty of oats.”

The gesture touched him. Her blue eyes were calm, steady. The offer was a kind and honest one.

It was no more or less than any Elven Enclave would offer and he was far from home. In gratitude, Dorovan inclined his head.

It was late into the night by the time they reached the homestead but torches now burned at the entrance to the courtyard and in every holder but those on the west side of the quadrangle - welcoming beacons in the thickening storm. Delae was relieved to see them, even more to feel the thick walls of the quadrangle cut the fierce and bitter winds so she didn’t have to hold on just to stay on Besra’s back.

Such as it was, it was home.

Morlis hurried out to greet them with Petra and Hallis on his heels.

All three paused to see the Elf in their midst but a stern look and a sharp, “Oats for Dorovan’s horse, Morlis, please. How fare our guests - Petra, Hallis?” broke their hesitation.

With a glance askance at Dorovan, Morlis hurried to help untack the horses.

Charis followed at the man’s heels happily enough at the promise of oats, judging by the flick of his ears.

“They do well enough, lady,” Petra said, with curious glances at the strange figure in their midst, “the man is recovering his senses but I’ve only allowed him watered wine with a care for his head. The little one’s arm is set. There’s food in the kitchen.”

“Will you help the others to their quarters?” Delae said. “Hallis, will you get the water heated for baths?”

“Already done, Delae,” he said. “And the fire is stirred up in all the hearths.”

She smiled. “Thank you. Wonderful. Would you go then and prepare the guest room in the main hall for Dorovan, please?”

Bobbing his head – startled at the request – he hurried away.

Dorovan was grateful, too, to be out of the blowing wind and even more so when he stepped into the warmth of the great room in Delae’s wake. The thought of a bath was sheer delight. He would do much to feel clean.

It was all a surprise to him, to find such hospitality here among men - kindness and warmth among a people not much known for it.

A fire burned in the huge hearth, while a single brazier of candles cast flickering light over the threadbare carpets and well-worn benches around the fire. Fresh rushes had been scattered over the floor. A plain but serviceable tapestry loom occupied another wall. It was a simple room, but clean and well-tended.

“Have a seat by the fire, Dorovan,” Delae said softly, “leave your wet cloak on the stand beside it to dry. I’ll only be a minute.”

She was already doing so herself, drawing the wet heavy scarf away from her hair. The color of flame, it was brilliant amidst the dull colors of the room.

He followed suit as she stripped away layer after layer until she was dressed only in a simple tunic and trews such as the men among her folk wore - her bare feet startlingly white and appearing oddly vulnerable on the well-scrubbed wooden floors as she padded quietly away.

There is little of decoration here
, he noted, warming his hands by the fire.

Herbs grew in small pots in the high narrow windows that faced south, to gain the most sun. They smelled fresh and were brilliantly green against the shutters.

A tapestry hung on one wall, the stitches small and neat, depicting a little vale filled with little white wildflowers, the ones men called fairy rings, while another tapestry waited in the loom.

It was beautiful work, lovingly and patiently done.

Touching it, he knew instantly who had stitched it - who had created such beauty and allowed himself a smile here where no one could see. It was like her - a touch of brightness in the gloom of winter in the outerlands.

He sensed her presence coming down the hall and turned.

“Your room is ready,” she said, “and a bath awaits.”

Delae was grateful Dorovan couldn’t know she’d hauled the great copper bath there with Hallis’s aid and filled it, not being able to bring herself to ask Hallis to do it. She’d set him instead to filling her own bath, knowing it would be nearly tepid by the time he finished. The buckets were heavy. It was her duty to see to her guest anyway.

The room she showed Dorovan to was clean, as plain and unadorned as the rest. The ticking in the mattress was hay, but covered in thick wool and then in linen sheets so well used they were supple, clean and smelling lightly of lavender. A thick comforter topped it, offering warmth.

Steam rose from the waters of the bath where it sat close to the fire, and from a small kettle of stew set in the coals within the small hearth.

“Be welcome to my home, Dorovan,” Delae said, gently. “If you need anything, you have only to call. Else, no one here will bother you.”

He looked at her and inclined his head. “My thanks, Lady Delae,” giving her honor and title such as men did, not his own folk.

A small smile twitched at the corner of her mouth as she sighed ruefully. “I am no Lady, Dorovan - although the folk here call me so, and certainly not to you. Delae is enough. And the thanks are to you for your aid. Well I know - we wouldn’t have succeeded without you.”

It pained him - the certain knowledge in her blue eyes, shadowing them as she closed the door behind her.

She’d known she was likely to die there and yet she’d stayed, saving those she could with no sure chance at saving herself amidst the fury of the storm, yet still she would’ve tried and kept trying despite the odds. Here in this woman was one of the race of man who understood Honor as his own folk did.

For a moment he simply stood there, looking at the door through which she’d passed.

It felt good to bathe and then to take up the bowl of stew, a pleasant change from dry travel bread.

As she’d said, the food was simple but good - there was fresh bread beneath a cloth on the tray by the fire. It was all very welcome.

She’d also put herbs and lavender in the bath to sweeten the water, and oil to soothe the skin. With a grateful sigh, he stripped and sank into the heated waters - letting his head fall back against the smoothed oak of the tub, his eyes closing. He hadn’t thought to find anything like to this before he reached his Enclave.

For a time he drifted in thought, the memory of the days past returning to haunt him.

He ached for the one they’d lost - for Melis and her pain at the loss of her soul-bond - he who’d been half her soul.

If Dorovan had had his own soul-bond she would’ve been there to offer comfort and to be comforted in turn but that balm to his soul hadn’t yet been afforded him.

There was time yet and he was neither the oldest not to have found a soul-bond yet by far, nor a true-friend bond either - he’d had alliances, as he must to preserve the bloodlines and for the comfort they offered. Elon of Aerilann had gone far longer, although he had Colath for true-friend, at least. Some solace against the isolation.

Still, Dorovan longed for a bond - any bond - for the comfort it would’ve offered to his grief at the loss of one who’d been a friend, if not a true-friend.

It was his own fault - he was so far from others of his kind who would’ve offered solace; he was  rare thing, a solitary elf, restless and yearning…though, for what he didn’t know.

Once more he saw Calon fall, the goblin’s spear taking him from the saddle even as Dorovan himself had turned his bow upon it. His desperate race to reach Calon was nearly a match to Melis’. He could still hear her cry of grief as Calon fell…

He shook his head to clear it. Restless - that cry of agony still ringing in his head - he dressed in clean clothes from his pack.

The room was too small, too confining. It wasn’t for Elves to be held within stone, yet the storm outside raged ever more fiercely, as he found as he returned to the great room to look out through the shutters there. Even if he left the warmth here – took Charis out into the storm – it would be a day or longer before they would reach Talaena and there would be the storm to add to the difficulty. Even his innate magic would be hard put against it, not to mention the risk of injury to both himself and Charis. It was foolish to consider it.

Still, grief and sorrow moved in him.

Delae, too, found sleep far away - her thoughts caught up with worry, with calculation and cost. The storm looked not to abate for days and the food the refugees would eat would deplete their stores badly. Once the storm broke she would have to send someone to Riverford to purchase more against need - there would be more storms yet to come in what promised to be a very long, very harsh winter.

And if this was a harbinger of what was to come
? If they were caught short, folk would starve. They were her responsibility. And yet coin was short.

Her cares ate at her. They weighed on her as she tried to find the balance between current need and future need.

For all her weariness, she knew she would get no sleep this night so long as she fretted.

It seemed a heaviness to the spirit hung in the air.

In only her threadbare robe and linen nightdress she wandered out to the great room, thinking of the tapestry that awaited her there and the distraction it would offer.

And was surprised to find herself not alone - Dorovan stood at the shutters looking out onto the howling winds of the storm-tossed night.

As it had in that first moment when he had crouched beside her, his beauty caught at her. More so now.

Dressed simply in an Elven-silk tunic and loose drawstring trews, it was clear he was as lovely in body as he was in face.

Lost in thought, completely unaware of her presence, there was something in his stance - his solitude, a slump of those broad shoulders, the slight bow of his head – that spoke of some greater sorrow than her own. She understood what it was to be alone with no one for comfort. When the grippe had come, laying waste to whole villages, it had taken her parents and so many others with as it passed, leaving no solace behind it.

What she couldn’t have, she would give.

Small slender fingers touched the back of Dorovan’s hand, so much in the way of his people that the simple gesture alone eased him, gave him a small measure of peace. It softened his surprise as he looked down to find Delae beside him, her vibrant hair atumble, her blue eyes compassionate, her expression gently questioning.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

She shook her head, all unknowing of what she’d done.

“No thanks needed. Should I ask?”

That courtesy was a surprise as well, giving him the room to withdraw if he so chose. He didn’t.

“I was with a party of Hunters - we lost one among us.”

His heart twinged at the memory.

To his surprise, he found himself taking the comfort she offered, his fingers threading between hers.

The pain was piercing, Delae could see it.

In comparison to the lands of men, those of the Elves were few and their numbers equally so as they weren’t as fertile. She also knew enough to know of the empathy they shared. To lose someone who shared that same kind of sense, who he would’ve known so well…

“Oh, Dorovan,” she said, heartfelt, “I’m so sorry. This then is little enough comfort to give.”

There was a shared grief in her eyes - sympathy and sorrow at his pain - at his loss.

“It is enough,” he said. And, surprisingly, it was. To find it here even more so.  “Like enough to what my own folk would give to remind me that sorrows can be shared.”

And eased. Something her very presence gave him a kind of solace. He felt less alone - not so far from home with her there - although she wasn’t Elf. He found it didn’t matter so much. Yet still, he wasn’t alone because she was also awake at such a dark hour.

“Which brings me to ask what you do so late? Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

Delae waved it away as if carelessly, not wanting to make much of it. “I don’t sleep well or often, I just hadn’t expected to find another awake on my late night ramblings.”