The Agency, Volume III Page 6

  He felt Alex’s hands winding into his hair, urging him downward. “Yes,” the boy whispered. “Yes.”

  Jason smiled briefly against his throat, and struck, and drank.

  Part Four

  Beltaine.

  Rowan spent the day migrating from house to house, visiting friends he rarely had a chance to see; the entire village was decked out for the holiday, and every house’s altar was festooned with flowers, the smells of incense and cake baking combining with the sweetness of blossoms to make the air heady and almost dizzying. Every house he went to, he was given honey wine and fruit, cakes dusted with lavender sugar, and whatever delicacy the occupants specialized in. The Clan’s children all ran around with wreaths of flowers in their hair, and quite a few women had blooms tucked behind their ears.

  Between the faint buzz of too much mead and the overstuffed feeling he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to work, but at last toward midafternoon he ventured back to the House of Healing to check in on his patient.

  Sara had accompanied him on his round of the village and had dealt quite well with the stares and wonder. She was oddly quiet that day, looking elegant and splendid in an Elven robe with her hands clasped thoughtfully behind her back as she walked and her long hair unbound, for once, flowing down over her shoulders. He had asked her how her afternoon with Ardeth had gone—keeping any and all inflection out of the words—and she’d seemed…confused.

  “I don’t get it,” she said. “I know he’s interested, but he hasn’t made a single move. Aren’t you guys usually pretty forward about this sort of thing? Should I just go for broke and drag him off behind a tree?”

  Rowan frowned. “I couldn’t say, Sara. It may be that he’s conflicted over it—we’re pretty free about sex, but once the heart gets involved that’s a whole different matter. His amora has barely been gone a year; it may seem like a long time but to us it’s a blink of an eye. Perhaps you might, I don’t know, talk to him about it?”

  “Ugh,” she muttered. “I hate talking. Talking gets in the way of the naked part. This shouldn't be so much damn work. It’s not like I want to marry him or anything.”

  “Then I would say you should definitely come to the rites tonight. It’s a perfect opportunity to find out for sure if he’s interested.”

  “I don’t know. I’m kind of nervous about the whole thing. I don’t want to just stand there and watch everyone else get picked.”

  “It’s not like that. You’ll see tonight. Our gods don’t really go for humiliation in their rituals.”

  They reached the House, and Sara squeezed his hand. “I think I’ll go have a nap and try to sleep off all that food. I’m amazed Elves aren’t as big as orcas as well as you eat.”

  He smiled and kissed her forehead. “It’s a feast day, silly woman. It’s not as if there’s a McElf’s where you can get honeycakes every day of the year. Most of the time things are much simpler.”

  “If you say so. Good luck with Aven—I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  He bowed, and she grinned at him as she set off toward the guesthouse; he knew she liked seeing him among his own people, slipping easily back into their customs and mannerisms as if he’d never lived away. It was comforting being here, in the serenity and the gentle undertone of magic of the Clans, where far from being the only one of his kind, he blended in—well, mostly. He wasn’t stared at quite as much today since he’d opted out of human clothes for something more traditional. From a distance, aside from the length of his hair, he could be anyone. He didn't have to put any effort into seeming normal the way he did walking around Austin.

  The senior Healer was at the front desk as before, but this time she was helping one of her assistants arrange an enormous vase of yellow and white flowers with bright greenery. “Blessings of the day upon you,” she said with a smile, an expression he echoed.

  “And upon you. How is our young charge today?”

  “Outside in the back garden. He asked to sit out among the trees today, and I thought the air and light would do him good.”

  Rowan followed her directions out the back double doors of the House and into the ever-present gardens that ringed most of the village’s buildings. The House of Healing, like the Temple, stood on the edge of the woods, and afforded a peaceful view of the deepening trees along with a contemplative silence and cool, shaded spots for convalescents to rest and enjoy nature. Rowan had in fact modeled the labyrinth and its surrounding grounds back in Austin after just such a place, the Temple gardens of his own birth Clan. All Elven plantings, like their art and architecture, shared a certain flavor of design.

  He wandered along the shade-dappled path for a while before finding what he sought. There, beneath a tree, was Aven, curled up dozing wrapped in several warm blankets, his head resting sideways against the pine’s bark.

  Rowan paused a moment, admiring the lad’s profile and the way his slender hand held onto the edge of the blanket. His coloring was already shifting away from that of his birth Clan to the climate here, a little more green in the strands of his hair—his Clan had dwelt much farther north where it was still cold, and his eyes had been paler than those of Willow. There were still dark circles beneath his eyes, but he looked less gaunt and a little less likely to blow away in the first stiff wind.

  Aven seemed to sense his presence, and murmured in his sleep, blinking awake and looking at him—he didn’t start, which Rowan took as a good sign, as well as the shy half-smile he gave the Rethla in greeting.

  “May I join you?” Rowan asked.

  A nod. “Yes. Please.”

  Rowan left the cobbled path to settle beside him under the tree, and it didn’t take much urging to get Aven to lean against him, holding on tightly as if Rowan were a teddy bear. Rowan kissed his ear and said, “You’re looking better today. How do you feel?”

  “Much better in body.”

  “And in mind?”

  A long sigh. “My dreams were dark and fearful. I didn’t sleep much until I came outside—I spent so long in the dark, I think being in the open air helped me to rest.”

  As he listened, Rowan extended his senses toward the Elf, projecting calm, reading both his words and what lay beneath them. He shifted into a Healer’s vision effortlessly and, through the fingers he threaded through Aven’s, began working more energy into him, using a more delicate touch than before to avoid it feeling like an intrusion.

  "The plants here are different," Aven said a moment later, sounding drowsy. "I wonder if my knowledge will be of any use to Clan Willow."

  "Of course it will," Rowan replied soothingly. "You'll learn how things grow here quickly--whatever color their leaves they all speak a language you know."

  "Tonight is the Beltaine fire, isn't it? I can smell the flowers in the air."

  "Yes."

  "I...will anyone think ill of me if I stay here? I don't think I can join in the rituals tonight."

  Rowan chuckled. "Given what you've been through, dear one, I suspect the Clan would be shocked if you did. You're not the only refugee here from the slavers, after all. I can think of at least five people who have seen what you've seen."

  "I don't know if that is comforting, or simply sad," Aven mused, burrowing closer into Rowan's shoulder as if chilled. "Comforting to know I’m not alone, but sad that so many of us have been...I would not wish the last year of my life on anyone, not even the humans who used me. No one should ever..." He shuddered.

  Rowan cupped the Elf's chin in his hand and tipped it upward, kissing him softly on the mouth. "Leave it be, for now," he instructed. "There will be plenty of time to deal with the memories once you are stronger. Take what comes, but don't force more."

  "Are you sure I'll be all right?"

  "I promise you. If I could heal, so can you."

  Again, Aven stroked the scars on Rowan's wrist, and Rowan sensed him thinking, digesting the Rethla's words, and taking them to heart. He was doing far better than Rowan had himself so soon after his rescue--and a
s if he'd heard the thought, Aven asked, "How did you survive, having to recover so far away from our people, surrounded by mortals who didn't understand? What enabled you to heal? How long did it take?"

  Rowan considered all three questions for a while before replying, "I was very ill for a long time, and drugged within an inch of my life for much of my recovery. Even once I could function again I still had episodes of pain and tormented memory. In fact I still did, up until I came together with my anama Sara, and then my amori. The two of them helped me more than I ever would have believed possible. I was afraid for years of allowing anyone close to me--if I could give you one piece of advice, that would be it. Don't shut yourself off. Find someone to talk to, find someone to cry to. You don't have to do this alone."

  Aven looked uncertain, so Rowan kissed him again, this time more deeply; the lad responded without hesitation, another encouraging sign, and Rowan slid his hands beneath the blankets and around his waist, eventually stretching them out together in the grass, body parallel to body and mouth against mouth.

  Rowan gazed down into Aven's eyes. "Blessed Beltaine," he said. "I would offer you my cup, but I left it at the guest house."

  Aven smiled back tentatively. "And to you.”

  This time it was Aven’s hands that began to move, and as Rowan set up the energy flow between them that would finish the work he had begun the day before, he found a word returning and returning to his mind: healed. He had never really considered it before, but he found that yes, as he passed on what those he loved had given him, knowing he had both power and love to spare, he finally felt that he was whole now, whole and healed.

  Rowan smiled.

  *****

  It wasn't until he was walking back to the guesthouse that he began to feel...odd.

  Rowan bowed in greeting to those he passed, and his thoughts were on having a bath and finding something appropriately festive to wear for the rites, but about halfway back from the Healing House, a strange feeling of weakness overtook him, and he had to stop for a moment and lean panting against a nearby statue of the Goddess holding a basket of bread.

  It passed in a moment and he resumed walking, only to have the same thing happen just as he reached the guest house door. Caught off-guard, he grabbed the column of the front porch and held on, trying to steady his breathing.

  What the hell?

  He heard movement, and Sara poked her head out. "Hey--are you okay? You look kind of...Jesus, get in here and sit down!"

  She propped him up and helped him inside, to a chair where he sagged into the soft cushions. Sara knelt in front of him, hands on his knees, peering into his eyes with concern. "What happened? Did you overdo it with the boy? What do you need?"

  "I don't know," Rowan said honestly. "I was fine when I left him, but all of a sudden I feel like I've been hit by a truck. Could you bring me some water?"

  "Hang on." She vanished and returned a moment later with both a glass of cold water and one of the Bakers' hand pies, a savory pastry pocket filled with potatoes and vegetables. "This will help ground you."

  He drank and obligingly took a few bites though he wasn't hungry, and in a few minutes he felt normal again. "That was weird."

  "Do you feel an energy drain anywhere? Do you need to shore up your shielding?"

  Rowan closed his eyes and checked his psychic protections, but it seemed they were fine as usual; whatever was wrong wasn't coming from outside. "No, they're all right. I think whatever it is has passed now."

  She didn't look satisfied but didn't argue. "Did things go all right with Aven?"

  "Better than all right. I think tomorrow he's going to request regular housing--he's not a hundred percent better by any means, but he's determined to start his life again and not let himself remain a victim. I'm proud of him."

  Sara smiled. "He has a good teacher."

  Rowan grinned at her. "So did I."

  She squeezed his hands and stood up, turning in place in front of him. "What do you think?"

  For the first time he noticed what she was wearing: a forest green robe embroidered with ivy, over a dark brown underdress, both slit so that when she walked there was a flash of leg. It clung and flowed in exactly the right places, and the colors made her eyes seem to glow almost like an Elf's. Her dark hair was still down, but now the sides had been braided back. "Beautiful."

  "Thank you." She looked down at herself. "I really do look pretty fantastic. When I saw this I was afraid it would be all shapeless or wouldn't look right on my figure, but I think they altered it. Most of the women I've seen around here are kind of..."

  "Flat?" he ventured, and she laughed. "I told you I like human women's bodies better. More curves, and more variation."

  "Well, I have both of those in spades," she said, and he held out his arms; she climbed into the chair with him and lay her head on his shoulder with a contented sigh. "You should probably get ready too--it's almost sunset."

  He breathed in the woodsy scent of her hair. "Good point. I'm guessing our hosts have left something perfect for the evening in my closet too."

  "They sure did. I looked. You like pink plaid, right?"

  He snorted and pushed her off his lap, and she caught herself, giggling, and stood up to grab his hand and haul him to his feet.

  His momentary weakness forgotten, Rowan followed Sara into the bedroom, laughing with her as she rummaged through the clothes the Elves had provided. "I'll go wash up," he said. "You pick out what I should wear."

  "Good plan. Did you want to wear pants?"

  He tossed a pillow at her and went into the bathing room to strip off his slightly sweaty, slightly sex-scented robe and have a quick shower. The Elves had their own indoor plumbing system that was fed mostly by gravity and pressure but also with a touch of magic instead of an electrical pump. He had no idea how it all worked, but he was thankful it did--the heated water, which smelled of sunlight instead of chlorine, eased the aches in his overused muscles from a long session of magic and lovemaking beneath the Healers' tree. He scrubbed stubborn bits of grass from his knees and picked a few leaves from his hair before wrapping himself in a towel and returning to the bedroom, where Sara took great delight in treating him like her own personal dress-up doll for the next hour.

  She held up a deep blue outfit much like her own. "Is this silk?"

  Rowan nodded. "We gather the castoff silk of the worms in certain climates and it is bartered among the Clans--it's very rare, though, because we won't kill the creatures just for their silk. It takes a long time to come up with enough to make a whole outfit."

  Sara ran her hand down over the material, admiring its sheen. "They must really revere you, then, if they gave you this. It's gorgeous. And the weave is perfect. And look--look at the edges!"

  She held up the lower hem of the tunic, and he saw an embroidered edge like the one on Sara's robe, except this one was in a silver thread, and was exactly the same pattern carved into his bracelet--the pattern that included Jason's name in Elvish and the shape of a violin's body. Rowan held the fabric in his hands, speechless at the amount of work and art that had gone into it.

  "Look at this one," Sara was saying, holding up another garment, this one a casual robe in his favorite dark purple. "It's got the same embroidery, but it's a less formal weave."

  "Amazing," Rowan murmured, pulling the tunic over his head and reaching for the outer robe. There was a pair of pants to complete the outfit, cut to allow for free movement, exactly the sort of thing he had worn in his old life as a Rethla. He remembered having a silk robe set like this once, long ago, that he'd worn for special clients and occasions. He'd been a different person then, and yet looking in the mirror at himself now, it felt for the first time as if that person and this one were no longer quite so sundered.

  He reached up to touch the mirror, earning a concerned look from Sara. "I've changed so much," he said quietly into his own eyes. "Everything is so different now."

  Sara came up behind him and slid her arm
s around him. "What was it Elora said when you met her? You're all new now, it's okay."

  "Yes," he said, threading his fingers through hers. "Yes, it is."

  *****

  Sara had been surprised many times since she'd met Rowan. She had expected Elves to be airy, cerebral beings of pure light, not sensual creatures who loved great food and fantastic sex. Everything she had learned so far about his people and their culture had been counter to all the crappy fantasy novels she'd read as a teenager.