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n_wilkinsonTitle: Whispers of Yesterday
Series: Infinity's End, Book Two
Description: Now firmly entrenched in the Theravada -- and firmly involved with Gale as well -- Ione discovers the hidden sides of both Grayshire and Theravada. She questions her own decisions -- and her feelings -- as the war takes on a more murderous, personal turn for the worst.
(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21)
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Chapter Fifteen
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It happened so quickly, Ione hadn’t even processed one motion before she found herself stumbling out of the library with only one boot and her clothes in various disarray. She wasn’t even sure why she had only shoe, because last she remembered, she was wearing two. She blinked at the painful brightness of the hallway, and spun to see the library door slam in her face. Gale, of course, was on the other side of it.
For several long moments, Ione stared at the closed door in stunned disbelief, one bare toe quite cold against the carved stone of the hall floor. Her mouth opened and closed.
What the hell just happened here?
The library door suddenly opened and Ione straightened, the words prepared to fall from her lips. But instead of seeing Gale, her missing boot came flying out.
Ione ducked and it hit the wall behind her, dropping with a dull thud to the floor, laces askew. The library door slammed again, with a loud enough rattle that it echoed down the empty corridor.
Or not so empty as it were. On the far right of it, Ione could see Malcolm approaching, looking quite confused. She thought to explain, as he came to a halt beside her, but before she could so much as open her mouth, the door opened again.
Fully expecting Gale to come storming out, Ione was surprised when a black coil came flying out of the open doorway only to be caught by Malcolm. It took Ione a moment to recognize Quetz, the small snake vibrating with a mixture of emotions.
The door slammed again, and the entire hallway prickled with the sensation of magic. Gale had sealed the door. He had, for a reason unbeknownst to her, put a barrier up so that Ione couldn’t re-enter the library.
“Bad day?” Malcolm asked after a moment, filling the silence as Quetz made urgent noises until he handed the distressed snake over to Ione.
“What did I say?” Ione asked, stunned, as she accepted Quetz and let the startled snake wrap around her arm like some kind of jewelry.
“Knowing you, Spitfire, it could have been anything.”
Ione rolled her eyes. “Gee, thanks.” She sighed. “Looks like I’m going to need a place to stay tonight if his reaction is any indication.” She turned toward Malcolm, a question in her eyes.
He laughed, shaking his head. “You really think it’s wise to ask me?”
“Good point. You might molest me in my sleep.”
Malcolm tossed a playful punch at her shoulder, which she returned with equal fervor.
“Seriously though,” Ione said and turned down the hall, the library door emanating go away vibes and glaring at her. “Gale’s pissed.”
“I noticed,” Malcolm said with amusement, swords clanking at his sides. “And I’d love to help but I’ve got that patrol with Grayson tonight. You could always bunk with your uncle.”
Ione shuddered. “And sleep amid a possible explosion? I value my life, thank you very much.”
“Antoinette?”
“She’s keeping Xavier and Naomi.”
“… Azriel?”
Ione stared at him. “I’m not that desperate.”
Malcolm clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, Spitfire, you’ve got a problem. Good luck with that.”
She grabbed his arm, giving it a squeeze. “You’re going to abandon me?”
“I didn’t say that.” Malcolm chuckled and gestured toward a side corridor, encouraging her to follow her. “Tell you what. Irvine and I are meeting for a quick drink before I head out. Maybe we can figure out how you made your snookie bear mad.”
Ione made a face. “Please, don’t call him that.”
“Honeypie? Sugarbunches? Sweetums?”
Each one was more ridiculous than the last and Ione laughed before she could stop herself. “That’s just awful, Malcolm. Stop it, please.”
“I won’t believe you if you tell me you guys don’t have pet names for each other. You’re too lovey-dovey not to.”
Ione sniffed, tilting her nose to the ceiling. “I don’t do lovey-dovey.”
“Liar.” Malcolm rubbed his knuckles into her forehead. “I never thought I’d see the day my Spitfire was actually head over heels, breakfast in bed, roses in the evening, over someone.”
“You’re just jealous.”
He grinned. “Only because I haven’t found a suitable replacement yet.” Malcolm looked around pointedly. “Pickings are slim. Unless you have a suggestion?”
To be honest, Ione really hadn’t socialized with anyone in Paragon outside of Gale and the upper echelons of Theravada’s command structure.
“Suffering from withdrawals? I seem to remember you having five perfectly good fingers.”
Malcolm lifted his right hand, wiggling said fingers pointedly. “Yeah, but they get tired.”
“And I know for a fact you switch it up often, Mr. Ambidextrous.”
From Ione’s arm, Quetz snickered loudly. “No wonder Gale can’t stand it when the two of you get together. Your mouth is filthy, Ione.”
“Master Arlen could stand to relax,” Malcolm said. “We’re working on it. We have to ease him out of that noble restraint bit by bit.”
Quetz turned her head toward Malcolm, as though looking him up and down. “Aren’t you a noble, too, Malcolm?”
He inclined his head, rubbing fingers over his chin. “Yeah, but Pa had a slightly unconventional way of bringing me up. He never did stand for all that bullshit.”
“Theron is a force of nature onto himself,” Ione agreed, thinking fondly of the man who was like a second father to her. Brash, overbearing, and maybe a bit psychotic, Theron was always business as usual to Ione, who’s own father was borderline manic. “So Malcolm’s in no way an example of his kind.”
“Thanks, I think,” Malcolm said, scratching at his hairline. “Is that what you call a compliment?”
“You’re not offended,” Ione dismissed. Malcolm was her best friend; she knew when he was really upset with her and now wasn’t it.
Before Malcolm could respond, Ione felt a familiar aether approaching. She turned to see Aponi fluttering down the hallway, a gleaming black and gold blur against the drab grey stone.
“There you are!” Ione exclaimed as the butterfly approached.
“I was visiting with Manah,” Aponi’s tinny voice replied.
Ione sniffed. “I figured that much. Have you seen Fenris?”
“No.” Aponi landed on her ear, a barely tangible weight that was familiar nonetheless. “But what did you do to Gale? He seems a little angry.”
Ione winced, not even sure she could answer that.
“Nothing,” Quetz piped up. “He’s just being oversensitive.”
If the snake had said as much to Gale, no wonder she had been tossed out of the library as quickly as Ione had.
“What the hell did you say to him?” Malcolm demanded, surprised with a touch of humor. As though he wasn’t surprised Ione had screwed up somehow.
Ione shrugged, spreading her hands. “I just gave him a compliment,” she explained as they entered the mess, easily spotting Irvine at a nearby table. “I don’t know why he got so bent out of shape about it. Hey, Irvine.”
“Hey, Ione. Why the long faces?” he asked, impossibly dark eyes darting between her and Malcolm. The table in front of him was already decorated with a pitcher and two mugs, one of which was half-drank.
“Gale’s pissed and Ione doesn’t understand why,” Malcolm answered with an amused chuckle.
Irvine laughed, his deep, sonorous voice a direct contrast to the boyish cast of his face. “So she came to you.”
“More like I stuck my nose into it by accident.” Malcolm pulled out a chair and sat down heavily, the wood creaking noticeably. “Feel like offering our oblivious sweetheart a man’s advice?”
“Have a seat, Ione,” Irvine said, gesturing to a chair in welcome. “We’ll tell you how it is.”
“Great.” Ione rolled her eyes, sliding into the open seat. “I can now rest at ease.”
Elbows on the table, Malcolm reached for the second mug, waiting patiently for Irvine to fill it. “So,” he began, pulling the full tankard toward himself. “What did you say?”
Ione arched a brow, looking pointedly at the mug. “Aren’t you going on patrol?”
“It’s only one pitcher,” Malcolm said dismissively. “I’d need at least three before my judgment is affected. Stop stalling.”
She fidgeted; she couldn’t help it. “I gave him a compliment,” Ione hedged, strong suspicions beginning to grow inside of her.
Irvine’s dark eyes narrowed. “What kind of compliment?”
Quetz, unable to keep her opinion to herself, popped her head into view. “That he’d gotten good at sex now,” she all but chirped.
A moment of stunned silence swept the table before Irvine slapped himself in the face, burying himself in his hand. Malcolm shook his head in disbelief.
“But he is good at it now,” Ione insisted. “It was a compliment!”
“Yes!” Quetz agreed, her head rising and falling in a snake-like approximation of a nod. “He lasts a lot longer now!”
Both Irvine and Malcolm blinked, staring at the verbose snake. Ione winced.
“Aside from that,” Irvine said slowly, taking it rather well that a snake was not only talking, but discussing the sexual exploits of someone he knew. “You basically told him that he sucked at first.”
Honesty was supposed to be the best policy. “Well…” Ione hedged, looking at the safety of the ceiling where the carved out rock made interesting indentations.
“He was pretty bad,” Quetz said. “And he wouldn’t take our advice.”
Malcolm sat up his chair, sputtering as he nearly choked on the gulp of beer he had taken. “O-our?” he repeated, incredulous.
“Mine. Manah’s. And Aponi’s--”
“I helped!” the butterfly inserted cheerfully.
“Right,” Quetz agreed. “All of us really. His technique needed a little work. So I asked around for some advice for him. Surprisingly, Gwydion seemed the most knowledgeable.”
Irvine groaned behind his hand, looking as if he wanted to sink into the floor and never emerge. Not quite embarrassed, just incredibly disbelieving.
Ione sighed, hoping to fix the situation before it got any worse. “Look,” she said, sitting forward in her chair, spreading her palms. “It’s not that he was bad. Just… inexperienced.”
“Gwydion got Kieran to draw us some diagrams,” Quetz inserted in the background, though by this point, the two men were trying their hardest not to listen to her. “He had this really helpful book, with color pictures and everything. But Gale didn’t want any of it.”
Malcolm stared at Ione, wiping beer spittle from the corner of his mouth. “I thought we talked about this.”
Cringing, Ione felt an ounce of shame tint her cheeks. “Yes. But to be perfectly honest, it was meant to be inner dialogue.”
Irvine reached for his mug, hiding his own disbelief behind a deep chug of the beer. “You lost that brain-mouth filter again, didn’t you?”
“And then Manah talked to Azriel--”
“She’s had that bad habit for years,” Malcolm muttered, shaking his head again.
Sitting back, Ione kicked out sullenly, one boot snapping against the table leg. “All right. I get it. I screwed up. I insulted his male pride.” The pleading look returned to her eyes. “How do I fix it?”
Irvine and Malcolm exchanged glances.
“Begging,” suggested the former.
“Groveling,” suggested the latter.
“Make up blow job?” Quetz inserted with a happy clip, sliding from Ione’s right arm to her left arm as though that perch would be any different.
Three pairs of eyes focused on the small black snake, who seemed awfully knowledgeable to be a snake and not, well, a human being.
Malcolm’s mug hit the table with a dull thud. “How…?”
“That book with all the picturesss!” Quetz exclaimed in an annoyed voice, recognizing that they had, in fact, been ignoring her. “Page seven was our favorite but Manah didn’t think humans could bend like that. Inari and Fenris thought it looked like fun.”
Leaning forward, Malcolm looked intrigued. “What book was this?”
Ione snapped her fingers in his face, getting his attention. “Okay, pervert, this is important here. Worry about the book later.”
Malcolm shrugged. “We already gave you our suggestions.”
“It’s kinda hard to do either if he’s going to avoid me.”
“Then you’ll just have to wait until he comes around,” Irvine said, pouring himself more of the beer and topping off Malcolm’s tankard as well.
Ione folded her arms on the table, leaning her head on her elbow. “That’s not what I wanted to hear,” she said.
“Tough luck, Spitfire,” Malcolm said, reaching over and ruffling her hair. “Damage a man’s pride and he’ll brood about it for weeks.” He lifted his tankard to his lips, downing half the mug in one big gulp.
“Pouting more like,” Ione muttered.
Quetz nudged Ione’s ear. “Don’t worry. Gale likes you. He won’t stay mad for too long.”
“Yeah. Every marriage has its bumps and bruises,” Irvine said with a wink, and then turned to greet one of residents of Paragon as she walked by, her bosom rivaling that of Vivian’s. Irvine was such a breast man.
Ione rolled her eyes. “It’s not a marriage.”
“Might as well be.” Malcolm rose to his feet, taking one last gulp of his beer, and hiding an awful belch with his shoulder. Such a fine display of the manners Theron had taught him. “Well, kiddies, I’m off to patrol. Try not to have fun without me.”
“However will we live?” Ione asked dryly, dragging what remained of his tankard toward her and taking a sip of the brew. “By Tyr, this is disgusting.”
Irvine laughed and tapped the side of the empty pitcher. “You don’t have any taste is all.”
“More than you,” Ione retorted, and flipped a hand in goodbye to Malcolm. “Thanks for nothing.”
“Happy to oblige,” he said cheekily. “And just so you know, that was the same advice I gave Gale when he came crying to me about you.”
Ione gaped at him. Irvine snickered, joining Quetz in amusement. And Malcolm vanished from the mess hall, to wherever he was supposed to meet Grayson for their patrol. Unexpectedly, the two of them had hit it off quite nicely. She supposed that Malcolm’s temperament helped balance out Grayson’s tendency to brash behavior.
“In all seriousness though,” said Irvine, pointedly clearing his throat. “Give Gale some time, and then try talking to him. Apologize. Remind him that you can be an idiot sometimes. If he knows you at all, he’ll recognize that.”
Ione smiled and sipped at the rest of Malcolm’s drink. Why waste beer? Even if it tasted awful. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Irvine finished off his mug and rose to his feet, idly wiping his lips. “Now if you’ll excuse me. I just made a date with a nice blonde right over there.”
Ione followed his line of sight to the same busty woman she had seen earlier. Irvine was ever so predictable. She was so glad she’d never fallen for his charm. He wasn’t really her type anyway. Then again, Gale wasn’t really her type. Go figure.
She lingered at the table, alone, finishing off the rest of Malcolm’s beer. Her mind wandered, touching briefly on what had been bothering Azriel. Obviously, his father’s hand in the Varos attack was really bothering Azriel, enough that he would lose his normal composure.
It baffled her.
Sighing, Ione shoved away the empty mug and rose to her feet. One of the many mess attendants wandering around would grab their dirtied dishware, she knew. It occurred to Ione that she could stand to be a little more useful in Paragon. Joining Gale on his patrols didn’t count, especially when she dragged him to a huge Blackwood for some personal groping.
Ah, good times.
Of course, thinking about Gale reminded her of how badly she had pissed him off and guilt crested in Ione again. When did things get so damned complicated?
Ione supposed now was the perfect time to burn off some energy in the training grounds. With Malcolm gone, Sabriel surly and Kieran busy with Azriel, she had nothing better to do. Gale could hold a grudge ten times longer than Ione could. The last time they’d disagreed, it had been a week before Gale was willing to talk to her again. And over their sleeping arrangements of all things.
o0o0o
Later that night, after burning herself out throwing out random bursts of magic, a quick bath, and a fulfilling dinner, Ione wandered the halls of Paragon. Her intent was to find a place to sleep, having already stopped by her shared room with Gale and finding it barred to her. If she really wanted, Ione could easily break down the barrier and invite herself inside. Somehow, she didn’t think that would lead to Gale’s forgiveness however.
She supposed she could always build a pallet out of books in the library. The idea of Ishmael’s disapproving face was most amusing. And if necessary, Ione could break into Malcolm’s room and appropriate his bed. She didn’t think he’d mind since he’d be gone until early tomorrow morning. It was a pity her old room had been given to Lady Neorah.
Her feet, however, didn’t take her toward the hall where she knew Malcolm’s quarters to be. Instead, she found herself climbing higher and higher, toward the upper rooms where she knew the observatory and mural room to be. It was warmer up here, and much, much quieter. Few residents of Paragon ventured to the upper levels and Ione’s footsteps echoed around her.
“Shouldn’t you be looking for somewhere to sleep?” Aponi wondered sleepily, her wings a faint flutter against Ione’s ear.
“Later,” Ione reassured, rolling her shoulders as fatigue settled around her. “I want to check out the mural room.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure.”
Instinct she supposed.
Aponi made a tiny huff. “Well, that’s fine, I suppose. At least I’ll get to talk to Manah.”
The crane, one of Azriel’s familiars, was often known to linger in the mural room. Along with Orion, Azriel’s other familiar. Too large to stick to Azriel like glue, they were nonetheless devoted to him.
Ignoring Aponi, Ione turned down the last curve as the door came into sight, closed but not locked. Why would it be? There was nothing of value within. Nothing tangible, at any rate. Just the tapestries, and beyond those, the paintings on the wall and the beautiful view.
The door opened without a creak, revealing the tapestry room lit by a single torch, which flickered when Ione entered. She padded softly across the floor, to the long, narrow corridor that led to the mural room. This night, the tapestries weren’t enough to capture her attention. Her eyes were only for the murals.
Small torches lit her path, flickering as she passed, until she found herself stepping into the mural room. Nothing was lit, and the only illumination was provided by the moon as it shone through the consistently open balcony, a pale, white light. Ione’s breath seemed caught in her throat as she approached the flecking paint on the walls, eyes tracing the elegant brushstrokes. It was beautiful, a perfect picture of the past, a moment in time before things had collided in a shitstorm.
Human and forest spirit alike, living and laughing, eating and drinking together. There was a long table, burdened under the weight of numerous platters and fancy pitchers of drink. Huge blossoms of flowers in vases were perched in intervals atop a lacy tablecloth. Above them, the ceiling sparkled as though it were a night sky, and trees sprouted in the background, like stalwart soldiers.
At the head of the table, a tall stool sat, in a position usually reserved for a monarch’s high throne. Only this monarch was no human. It didn’t require a chair, just a high place to sit and be seen, a glow of benevolence surrounding her tiny form. Ione wasn’t sure why she was so certain the lovely creature in the image was female; it just felt right to her.
“It’s the last, standing proof of what we used to be. What Varos used to be,” a voice said, emerging out of the shadows to sit on his haunches at Ione’s side.
She cocked her head, admiring the delicate lines and vivid colors. “Who painted it?”
Orion made a noise in his throat, similar to a purr. “It was a joint project. The humans supplied the hands; the spirits the imagery.” He sighed softly, blue eyes filled with an unimaginable sadness. “I long for those times.”
Ione’s gaze moved to the scene of dancing, half-convinced she could hear the lively music, a wonderful blend of flute and drums and pipes. “The way things used to be,” she murmured.
“The way things ought to be,” another voice inserted, though Ione didn’t have to look to recognize this arrival. She would know Fenris anywhere. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her. “I hear you and Gale are having problems.”
Irritation swept through Ione before she could stop it. “News travels fast.”
“In a small space like Paragon, of course it does,” Fenris said with a lupine snicker, and nosed at her hand affectionately. “Don’t worry. I still love you.”
“I’m very much relieved,” Ione said, rolling her eyes, and let her shoulders sag, feeling impossibly heavy. “Nothing left to do but wait until he calms down. Until then, I’m out of a bed.”
Fenris chuckled. “Malcolm hasn’t offered?”
“Oh, he will. When I break into his room and commandeer his bed for my own use,” Ione said with a sniff, and lifted her eyes back to the mural, somehow drawn to their display. The scenes tugged at something inside of her every time she looked, as if that past was as much a part of her as it was the older spirits.
Next to her, Orion chuckled and nudged at her with his massive head, easily larger than Ione’s own. “There’s no need for that. You can stay here.”
Ione was skeptical. “It’s cold,” she said with a pointed look to the opening directly behind them, allowing both a fresh breeze and the moon’s light. It was late autumn, too close for Ione to even consider sleeping that close to the elements.
The tiger laughed again, his footfalls barely audible as he rose to his paws. “It should be a great honor that I am offering myself as a pillow.”
Fenris snorted and Aponi tittered on Ione’s ear. “You, Orion?” the butterfly chirped, and made a sound similar to a giggle. “Manah would call it undignified.”
One furred ear twitched. “There are a lot of things Manah considers undignified,” the tiger retorted, amused. “Anything that has to do with fun for example.”
Ione watched as he padded over to a rug she had never noticed before, one that seemed laid out on the floor for his personal use. It looked plush and comfortable, far more than the thin, worn down strip of fabric that Ione had appropriated for use in her shared quarters with Gale.
Aponi gasped in mock-disbelief. “She’d nip your hide if she heard you say that.”
“I’d like to see her try,” Orion said with a sniff as he turned in a circle before lowering himself down with a huge yawn, looking quite ferocious though Ione had learned him to be as gentle as a kitten. Then again, she’d never given Orion reason to be angry with her. “Come, Ione. I won’t bite.”
She glanced at his mouth and the row of gleaming, sharp fangs. “Promise?”
Orion chuckled again. “I’ll tell you stories of the past,” he said, a note of wistfulness in his voice. She wondered if maybe, Orion just wanted new ears to hear his stories.
Ione’s curiosity overwhelmed her. The books in the library were understandably vague about the truth between the forest spirits and the people. There was very little information to be found about Varos’ former glory, about the lives of person and spirit alike. And Ione, always the information whore, was desperate to know more. Varos, however, was a touchy subject for the familiars, especially those who had lost friends to the Merihem curse. Ione didn’t dare ask and no one had offered – until now.
Her lips curled into a smile. “With such persuasive methods, how could I say no?”
Orion turned out to be a warm and fluffy pillow indeed. In fact, Ione was more concerned with the fact he radiated heat then the possibility of getting chilled. It didn’t help that Fenris had curled against her other side, boxing her between the two of them as if to ensure protecting her against the possibility of sickness.
Ione had been tired, but she still sat there for hours, listening to Orion’s soft rumble as he told tale after tale. Aponi occasionally interjected with a few comments, and even Quetz stirred once or twice to add in her own two cents. Ione fell asleep to the sound of Orion’s growling laughter and the sight of the mural, the brightest scene that of men and spirits, dancing in harmony.
She understood how Orion could long for those times.
That night, she dreamed of dancing with bears and having a drinking contest with a pair of mischievous badgers. She saw a world where magic soaked the land. It was in the air, in the trees, in the earth. All of Talemar vibrated with it. And Ione felt that if she had been able to breathe, she could have tasted it. Fresh and clean, like spring rain or winter melt.
Ione laughed, walking on streets of alabaster stone. Watching as a young man perched on a fence, talking with the lizard that skittered over his fingers. The smell of freshly baked bread lingered in the air, warm and fragrant. The trees swayed, their leaves rustling to a familiar music.
She had the distinct sensation that she was walking in a dream. But not just any dream. A vision of the past perhaps, something borne by Orion’s stories and the images of the mural.
That night, Ione slept without nightmares, without reliving her failures and the lives she had taken. That night, Ione walked in the past with a smile.
****
A/n: Still don't have an editor for this so if you spot any mistakes, feel free to point them out to me. I was aiming for a return to some of my usual humor with this chapter but if it felt stilted, feel free to let me know.
I love feedback. Anything to help me hone my writing skills is appreciated.
Series: Infinity's End, Book Two
Description: Now firmly entrenched in the Theravada -- and firmly involved with Gale as well -- Ione discovers the hidden sides of both Grayshire and Theravada. She questions her own decisions -- and her feelings -- as the war takes on a more murderous, personal turn for the worst.
(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21)
Chapter Fifteen
-----------------------------
It happened so quickly, Ione hadn’t even processed one motion before she found herself stumbling out of the library with only one boot and her clothes in various disarray. She wasn’t even sure why she had only shoe, because last she remembered, she was wearing two. She blinked at the painful brightness of the hallway, and spun to see the library door slam in her face. Gale, of course, was on the other side of it.
For several long moments, Ione stared at the closed door in stunned disbelief, one bare toe quite cold against the carved stone of the hall floor. Her mouth opened and closed.
What the hell just happened here?
The library door suddenly opened and Ione straightened, the words prepared to fall from her lips. But instead of seeing Gale, her missing boot came flying out.
Ione ducked and it hit the wall behind her, dropping with a dull thud to the floor, laces askew. The library door slammed again, with a loud enough rattle that it echoed down the empty corridor.
Or not so empty as it were. On the far right of it, Ione could see Malcolm approaching, looking quite confused. She thought to explain, as he came to a halt beside her, but before she could so much as open her mouth, the door opened again.
Fully expecting Gale to come storming out, Ione was surprised when a black coil came flying out of the open doorway only to be caught by Malcolm. It took Ione a moment to recognize Quetz, the small snake vibrating with a mixture of emotions.
The door slammed again, and the entire hallway prickled with the sensation of magic. Gale had sealed the door. He had, for a reason unbeknownst to her, put a barrier up so that Ione couldn’t re-enter the library.
“Bad day?” Malcolm asked after a moment, filling the silence as Quetz made urgent noises until he handed the distressed snake over to Ione.
“What did I say?” Ione asked, stunned, as she accepted Quetz and let the startled snake wrap around her arm like some kind of jewelry.
“Knowing you, Spitfire, it could have been anything.”
Ione rolled her eyes. “Gee, thanks.” She sighed. “Looks like I’m going to need a place to stay tonight if his reaction is any indication.” She turned toward Malcolm, a question in her eyes.
He laughed, shaking his head. “You really think it’s wise to ask me?”
“Good point. You might molest me in my sleep.”
Malcolm tossed a playful punch at her shoulder, which she returned with equal fervor.
“Seriously though,” Ione said and turned down the hall, the library door emanating go away vibes and glaring at her. “Gale’s pissed.”
“I noticed,” Malcolm said with amusement, swords clanking at his sides. “And I’d love to help but I’ve got that patrol with Grayson tonight. You could always bunk with your uncle.”
Ione shuddered. “And sleep amid a possible explosion? I value my life, thank you very much.”
“Antoinette?”
“She’s keeping Xavier and Naomi.”
“… Azriel?”
Ione stared at him. “I’m not that desperate.”
Malcolm clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, Spitfire, you’ve got a problem. Good luck with that.”
She grabbed his arm, giving it a squeeze. “You’re going to abandon me?”
“I didn’t say that.” Malcolm chuckled and gestured toward a side corridor, encouraging her to follow her. “Tell you what. Irvine and I are meeting for a quick drink before I head out. Maybe we can figure out how you made your snookie bear mad.”
Ione made a face. “Please, don’t call him that.”
“Honeypie? Sugarbunches? Sweetums?”
Each one was more ridiculous than the last and Ione laughed before she could stop herself. “That’s just awful, Malcolm. Stop it, please.”
“I won’t believe you if you tell me you guys don’t have pet names for each other. You’re too lovey-dovey not to.”
Ione sniffed, tilting her nose to the ceiling. “I don’t do lovey-dovey.”
“Liar.” Malcolm rubbed his knuckles into her forehead. “I never thought I’d see the day my Spitfire was actually head over heels, breakfast in bed, roses in the evening, over someone.”
“You’re just jealous.”
He grinned. “Only because I haven’t found a suitable replacement yet.” Malcolm looked around pointedly. “Pickings are slim. Unless you have a suggestion?”
To be honest, Ione really hadn’t socialized with anyone in Paragon outside of Gale and the upper echelons of Theravada’s command structure.
“Suffering from withdrawals? I seem to remember you having five perfectly good fingers.”
Malcolm lifted his right hand, wiggling said fingers pointedly. “Yeah, but they get tired.”
“And I know for a fact you switch it up often, Mr. Ambidextrous.”
From Ione’s arm, Quetz snickered loudly. “No wonder Gale can’t stand it when the two of you get together. Your mouth is filthy, Ione.”
“Master Arlen could stand to relax,” Malcolm said. “We’re working on it. We have to ease him out of that noble restraint bit by bit.”
Quetz turned her head toward Malcolm, as though looking him up and down. “Aren’t you a noble, too, Malcolm?”
He inclined his head, rubbing fingers over his chin. “Yeah, but Pa had a slightly unconventional way of bringing me up. He never did stand for all that bullshit.”
“Theron is a force of nature onto himself,” Ione agreed, thinking fondly of the man who was like a second father to her. Brash, overbearing, and maybe a bit psychotic, Theron was always business as usual to Ione, who’s own father was borderline manic. “So Malcolm’s in no way an example of his kind.”
“Thanks, I think,” Malcolm said, scratching at his hairline. “Is that what you call a compliment?”
“You’re not offended,” Ione dismissed. Malcolm was her best friend; she knew when he was really upset with her and now wasn’t it.
Before Malcolm could respond, Ione felt a familiar aether approaching. She turned to see Aponi fluttering down the hallway, a gleaming black and gold blur against the drab grey stone.
“There you are!” Ione exclaimed as the butterfly approached.
“I was visiting with Manah,” Aponi’s tinny voice replied.
Ione sniffed. “I figured that much. Have you seen Fenris?”
“No.” Aponi landed on her ear, a barely tangible weight that was familiar nonetheless. “But what did you do to Gale? He seems a little angry.”
Ione winced, not even sure she could answer that.
“Nothing,” Quetz piped up. “He’s just being oversensitive.”
If the snake had said as much to Gale, no wonder she had been tossed out of the library as quickly as Ione had.
“What the hell did you say to him?” Malcolm demanded, surprised with a touch of humor. As though he wasn’t surprised Ione had screwed up somehow.
Ione shrugged, spreading her hands. “I just gave him a compliment,” she explained as they entered the mess, easily spotting Irvine at a nearby table. “I don’t know why he got so bent out of shape about it. Hey, Irvine.”
“Hey, Ione. Why the long faces?” he asked, impossibly dark eyes darting between her and Malcolm. The table in front of him was already decorated with a pitcher and two mugs, one of which was half-drank.
“Gale’s pissed and Ione doesn’t understand why,” Malcolm answered with an amused chuckle.
Irvine laughed, his deep, sonorous voice a direct contrast to the boyish cast of his face. “So she came to you.”
“More like I stuck my nose into it by accident.” Malcolm pulled out a chair and sat down heavily, the wood creaking noticeably. “Feel like offering our oblivious sweetheart a man’s advice?”
“Have a seat, Ione,” Irvine said, gesturing to a chair in welcome. “We’ll tell you how it is.”
“Great.” Ione rolled her eyes, sliding into the open seat. “I can now rest at ease.”
Elbows on the table, Malcolm reached for the second mug, waiting patiently for Irvine to fill it. “So,” he began, pulling the full tankard toward himself. “What did you say?”
Ione arched a brow, looking pointedly at the mug. “Aren’t you going on patrol?”
“It’s only one pitcher,” Malcolm said dismissively. “I’d need at least three before my judgment is affected. Stop stalling.”
She fidgeted; she couldn’t help it. “I gave him a compliment,” Ione hedged, strong suspicions beginning to grow inside of her.
Irvine’s dark eyes narrowed. “What kind of compliment?”
Quetz, unable to keep her opinion to herself, popped her head into view. “That he’d gotten good at sex now,” she all but chirped.
A moment of stunned silence swept the table before Irvine slapped himself in the face, burying himself in his hand. Malcolm shook his head in disbelief.
“But he is good at it now,” Ione insisted. “It was a compliment!”
“Yes!” Quetz agreed, her head rising and falling in a snake-like approximation of a nod. “He lasts a lot longer now!”
Both Irvine and Malcolm blinked, staring at the verbose snake. Ione winced.
“Aside from that,” Irvine said slowly, taking it rather well that a snake was not only talking, but discussing the sexual exploits of someone he knew. “You basically told him that he sucked at first.”
Honesty was supposed to be the best policy. “Well…” Ione hedged, looking at the safety of the ceiling where the carved out rock made interesting indentations.
“He was pretty bad,” Quetz said. “And he wouldn’t take our advice.”
Malcolm sat up his chair, sputtering as he nearly choked on the gulp of beer he had taken. “O-our?” he repeated, incredulous.
“Mine. Manah’s. And Aponi’s--”
“I helped!” the butterfly inserted cheerfully.
“Right,” Quetz agreed. “All of us really. His technique needed a little work. So I asked around for some advice for him. Surprisingly, Gwydion seemed the most knowledgeable.”
Irvine groaned behind his hand, looking as if he wanted to sink into the floor and never emerge. Not quite embarrassed, just incredibly disbelieving.
Ione sighed, hoping to fix the situation before it got any worse. “Look,” she said, sitting forward in her chair, spreading her palms. “It’s not that he was bad. Just… inexperienced.”
“Gwydion got Kieran to draw us some diagrams,” Quetz inserted in the background, though by this point, the two men were trying their hardest not to listen to her. “He had this really helpful book, with color pictures and everything. But Gale didn’t want any of it.”
Malcolm stared at Ione, wiping beer spittle from the corner of his mouth. “I thought we talked about this.”
Cringing, Ione felt an ounce of shame tint her cheeks. “Yes. But to be perfectly honest, it was meant to be inner dialogue.”
Irvine reached for his mug, hiding his own disbelief behind a deep chug of the beer. “You lost that brain-mouth filter again, didn’t you?”
“And then Manah talked to Azriel--”
“She’s had that bad habit for years,” Malcolm muttered, shaking his head again.
Sitting back, Ione kicked out sullenly, one boot snapping against the table leg. “All right. I get it. I screwed up. I insulted his male pride.” The pleading look returned to her eyes. “How do I fix it?”
Irvine and Malcolm exchanged glances.
“Begging,” suggested the former.
“Groveling,” suggested the latter.
“Make up blow job?” Quetz inserted with a happy clip, sliding from Ione’s right arm to her left arm as though that perch would be any different.
Three pairs of eyes focused on the small black snake, who seemed awfully knowledgeable to be a snake and not, well, a human being.
Malcolm’s mug hit the table with a dull thud. “How…?”
“That book with all the picturesss!” Quetz exclaimed in an annoyed voice, recognizing that they had, in fact, been ignoring her. “Page seven was our favorite but Manah didn’t think humans could bend like that. Inari and Fenris thought it looked like fun.”
Leaning forward, Malcolm looked intrigued. “What book was this?”
Ione snapped her fingers in his face, getting his attention. “Okay, pervert, this is important here. Worry about the book later.”
Malcolm shrugged. “We already gave you our suggestions.”
“It’s kinda hard to do either if he’s going to avoid me.”
“Then you’ll just have to wait until he comes around,” Irvine said, pouring himself more of the beer and topping off Malcolm’s tankard as well.
Ione folded her arms on the table, leaning her head on her elbow. “That’s not what I wanted to hear,” she said.
“Tough luck, Spitfire,” Malcolm said, reaching over and ruffling her hair. “Damage a man’s pride and he’ll brood about it for weeks.” He lifted his tankard to his lips, downing half the mug in one big gulp.
“Pouting more like,” Ione muttered.
Quetz nudged Ione’s ear. “Don’t worry. Gale likes you. He won’t stay mad for too long.”
“Yeah. Every marriage has its bumps and bruises,” Irvine said with a wink, and then turned to greet one of residents of Paragon as she walked by, her bosom rivaling that of Vivian’s. Irvine was such a breast man.
Ione rolled her eyes. “It’s not a marriage.”
“Might as well be.” Malcolm rose to his feet, taking one last gulp of his beer, and hiding an awful belch with his shoulder. Such a fine display of the manners Theron had taught him. “Well, kiddies, I’m off to patrol. Try not to have fun without me.”
“However will we live?” Ione asked dryly, dragging what remained of his tankard toward her and taking a sip of the brew. “By Tyr, this is disgusting.”
Irvine laughed and tapped the side of the empty pitcher. “You don’t have any taste is all.”
“More than you,” Ione retorted, and flipped a hand in goodbye to Malcolm. “Thanks for nothing.”
“Happy to oblige,” he said cheekily. “And just so you know, that was the same advice I gave Gale when he came crying to me about you.”
Ione gaped at him. Irvine snickered, joining Quetz in amusement. And Malcolm vanished from the mess hall, to wherever he was supposed to meet Grayson for their patrol. Unexpectedly, the two of them had hit it off quite nicely. She supposed that Malcolm’s temperament helped balance out Grayson’s tendency to brash behavior.
“In all seriousness though,” said Irvine, pointedly clearing his throat. “Give Gale some time, and then try talking to him. Apologize. Remind him that you can be an idiot sometimes. If he knows you at all, he’ll recognize that.”
Ione smiled and sipped at the rest of Malcolm’s drink. Why waste beer? Even if it tasted awful. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Irvine finished off his mug and rose to his feet, idly wiping his lips. “Now if you’ll excuse me. I just made a date with a nice blonde right over there.”
Ione followed his line of sight to the same busty woman she had seen earlier. Irvine was ever so predictable. She was so glad she’d never fallen for his charm. He wasn’t really her type anyway. Then again, Gale wasn’t really her type. Go figure.
She lingered at the table, alone, finishing off the rest of Malcolm’s beer. Her mind wandered, touching briefly on what had been bothering Azriel. Obviously, his father’s hand in the Varos attack was really bothering Azriel, enough that he would lose his normal composure.
It baffled her.
Sighing, Ione shoved away the empty mug and rose to her feet. One of the many mess attendants wandering around would grab their dirtied dishware, she knew. It occurred to Ione that she could stand to be a little more useful in Paragon. Joining Gale on his patrols didn’t count, especially when she dragged him to a huge Blackwood for some personal groping.
Ah, good times.
Of course, thinking about Gale reminded her of how badly she had pissed him off and guilt crested in Ione again. When did things get so damned complicated?
Ione supposed now was the perfect time to burn off some energy in the training grounds. With Malcolm gone, Sabriel surly and Kieran busy with Azriel, she had nothing better to do. Gale could hold a grudge ten times longer than Ione could. The last time they’d disagreed, it had been a week before Gale was willing to talk to her again. And over their sleeping arrangements of all things.
Later that night, after burning herself out throwing out random bursts of magic, a quick bath, and a fulfilling dinner, Ione wandered the halls of Paragon. Her intent was to find a place to sleep, having already stopped by her shared room with Gale and finding it barred to her. If she really wanted, Ione could easily break down the barrier and invite herself inside. Somehow, she didn’t think that would lead to Gale’s forgiveness however.
She supposed she could always build a pallet out of books in the library. The idea of Ishmael’s disapproving face was most amusing. And if necessary, Ione could break into Malcolm’s room and appropriate his bed. She didn’t think he’d mind since he’d be gone until early tomorrow morning. It was a pity her old room had been given to Lady Neorah.
Her feet, however, didn’t take her toward the hall where she knew Malcolm’s quarters to be. Instead, she found herself climbing higher and higher, toward the upper rooms where she knew the observatory and mural room to be. It was warmer up here, and much, much quieter. Few residents of Paragon ventured to the upper levels and Ione’s footsteps echoed around her.
“Shouldn’t you be looking for somewhere to sleep?” Aponi wondered sleepily, her wings a faint flutter against Ione’s ear.
“Later,” Ione reassured, rolling her shoulders as fatigue settled around her. “I want to check out the mural room.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure.”
Instinct she supposed.
Aponi made a tiny huff. “Well, that’s fine, I suppose. At least I’ll get to talk to Manah.”
The crane, one of Azriel’s familiars, was often known to linger in the mural room. Along with Orion, Azriel’s other familiar. Too large to stick to Azriel like glue, they were nonetheless devoted to him.
Ignoring Aponi, Ione turned down the last curve as the door came into sight, closed but not locked. Why would it be? There was nothing of value within. Nothing tangible, at any rate. Just the tapestries, and beyond those, the paintings on the wall and the beautiful view.
The door opened without a creak, revealing the tapestry room lit by a single torch, which flickered when Ione entered. She padded softly across the floor, to the long, narrow corridor that led to the mural room. This night, the tapestries weren’t enough to capture her attention. Her eyes were only for the murals.
Small torches lit her path, flickering as she passed, until she found herself stepping into the mural room. Nothing was lit, and the only illumination was provided by the moon as it shone through the consistently open balcony, a pale, white light. Ione’s breath seemed caught in her throat as she approached the flecking paint on the walls, eyes tracing the elegant brushstrokes. It was beautiful, a perfect picture of the past, a moment in time before things had collided in a shitstorm.
Human and forest spirit alike, living and laughing, eating and drinking together. There was a long table, burdened under the weight of numerous platters and fancy pitchers of drink. Huge blossoms of flowers in vases were perched in intervals atop a lacy tablecloth. Above them, the ceiling sparkled as though it were a night sky, and trees sprouted in the background, like stalwart soldiers.
At the head of the table, a tall stool sat, in a position usually reserved for a monarch’s high throne. Only this monarch was no human. It didn’t require a chair, just a high place to sit and be seen, a glow of benevolence surrounding her tiny form. Ione wasn’t sure why she was so certain the lovely creature in the image was female; it just felt right to her.
“It’s the last, standing proof of what we used to be. What Varos used to be,” a voice said, emerging out of the shadows to sit on his haunches at Ione’s side.
She cocked her head, admiring the delicate lines and vivid colors. “Who painted it?”
Orion made a noise in his throat, similar to a purr. “It was a joint project. The humans supplied the hands; the spirits the imagery.” He sighed softly, blue eyes filled with an unimaginable sadness. “I long for those times.”
Ione’s gaze moved to the scene of dancing, half-convinced she could hear the lively music, a wonderful blend of flute and drums and pipes. “The way things used to be,” she murmured.
“The way things ought to be,” another voice inserted, though Ione didn’t have to look to recognize this arrival. She would know Fenris anywhere. She could feel the weight of his gaze on her. “I hear you and Gale are having problems.”
Irritation swept through Ione before she could stop it. “News travels fast.”
“In a small space like Paragon, of course it does,” Fenris said with a lupine snicker, and nosed at her hand affectionately. “Don’t worry. I still love you.”
“I’m very much relieved,” Ione said, rolling her eyes, and let her shoulders sag, feeling impossibly heavy. “Nothing left to do but wait until he calms down. Until then, I’m out of a bed.”
Fenris chuckled. “Malcolm hasn’t offered?”
“Oh, he will. When I break into his room and commandeer his bed for my own use,” Ione said with a sniff, and lifted her eyes back to the mural, somehow drawn to their display. The scenes tugged at something inside of her every time she looked, as if that past was as much a part of her as it was the older spirits.
Next to her, Orion chuckled and nudged at her with his massive head, easily larger than Ione’s own. “There’s no need for that. You can stay here.”
Ione was skeptical. “It’s cold,” she said with a pointed look to the opening directly behind them, allowing both a fresh breeze and the moon’s light. It was late autumn, too close for Ione to even consider sleeping that close to the elements.
The tiger laughed again, his footfalls barely audible as he rose to his paws. “It should be a great honor that I am offering myself as a pillow.”
Fenris snorted and Aponi tittered on Ione’s ear. “You, Orion?” the butterfly chirped, and made a sound similar to a giggle. “Manah would call it undignified.”
One furred ear twitched. “There are a lot of things Manah considers undignified,” the tiger retorted, amused. “Anything that has to do with fun for example.”
Ione watched as he padded over to a rug she had never noticed before, one that seemed laid out on the floor for his personal use. It looked plush and comfortable, far more than the thin, worn down strip of fabric that Ione had appropriated for use in her shared quarters with Gale.
Aponi gasped in mock-disbelief. “She’d nip your hide if she heard you say that.”
“I’d like to see her try,” Orion said with a sniff as he turned in a circle before lowering himself down with a huge yawn, looking quite ferocious though Ione had learned him to be as gentle as a kitten. Then again, she’d never given Orion reason to be angry with her. “Come, Ione. I won’t bite.”
She glanced at his mouth and the row of gleaming, sharp fangs. “Promise?”
Orion chuckled again. “I’ll tell you stories of the past,” he said, a note of wistfulness in his voice. She wondered if maybe, Orion just wanted new ears to hear his stories.
Ione’s curiosity overwhelmed her. The books in the library were understandably vague about the truth between the forest spirits and the people. There was very little information to be found about Varos’ former glory, about the lives of person and spirit alike. And Ione, always the information whore, was desperate to know more. Varos, however, was a touchy subject for the familiars, especially those who had lost friends to the Merihem curse. Ione didn’t dare ask and no one had offered – until now.
Her lips curled into a smile. “With such persuasive methods, how could I say no?”
Orion turned out to be a warm and fluffy pillow indeed. In fact, Ione was more concerned with the fact he radiated heat then the possibility of getting chilled. It didn’t help that Fenris had curled against her other side, boxing her between the two of them as if to ensure protecting her against the possibility of sickness.
Ione had been tired, but she still sat there for hours, listening to Orion’s soft rumble as he told tale after tale. Aponi occasionally interjected with a few comments, and even Quetz stirred once or twice to add in her own two cents. Ione fell asleep to the sound of Orion’s growling laughter and the sight of the mural, the brightest scene that of men and spirits, dancing in harmony.
She understood how Orion could long for those times.
That night, she dreamed of dancing with bears and having a drinking contest with a pair of mischievous badgers. She saw a world where magic soaked the land. It was in the air, in the trees, in the earth. All of Talemar vibrated with it. And Ione felt that if she had been able to breathe, she could have tasted it. Fresh and clean, like spring rain or winter melt.
Ione laughed, walking on streets of alabaster stone. Watching as a young man perched on a fence, talking with the lizard that skittered over his fingers. The smell of freshly baked bread lingered in the air, warm and fragrant. The trees swayed, their leaves rustling to a familiar music.
She had the distinct sensation that she was walking in a dream. But not just any dream. A vision of the past perhaps, something borne by Orion’s stories and the images of the mural.
That night, Ione slept without nightmares, without reliving her failures and the lives she had taken. That night, Ione walked in the past with a smile.
A/n: Still don't have an editor for this so if you spot any mistakes, feel free to point them out to me. I was aiming for a return to some of my usual humor with this chapter but if it felt stilted, feel free to let me know.
I love feedback. Anything to help me hone my writing skills is appreciated.
