Deana drew up her courage, then knocked on the door. She held her breath. Nothing happened. Either Traed hadn’t heard her or he had gone to bed. She knocked again, louder.
Traed’s voice boomed from behind the door. “By the blood of Aiyah! Can you not leave me in peace? Enter!” Deana must have jumped three feet. She hesitantly opened the huge door, timidly stepping into the room.
Traed sat in a chair, staring into the flames in the fireplace while absentmindedly stroking a round, fuzzy object in his lap. Deana stood there for several minutes before she realized Traed had forgotten he had told whoever was at the door to enter. He just kept staring into the flames. This did not appear to be a healthy pastime to her. Especially if it was done for hours on end.
“Are you looking for the phoenix?”
Traed turned to her, a slight lifting of his eyebrow the only indication that he was surprised to see her in his study. “What is the ‘phoenix’?” he calmly asked her, still stroking the fuzzball on his lap.
“A mythical bird which lived a very long time, and then consumed itself in fire, rising renewed from its own ashes.”
Traed turned back to the flames. “If I were this phoenix, I would stay consumed,” he said quietly.
Not healthy. Not healthy at all. “Why do you say that?”
He shrugged, not answering her. Score nothing for Deana.
She tried again. “What is that?” She pointed to the fuzzball on his lap.
“It is called a phfiztger.”
“A what?” Before he could reply, the ball rolled off his lap toward her. She backed up. “It’s alive!” The thing stopped in front of her feet. It pivoted slightly, revealing a gaping maw with three rows of very sharp teeth. “Eek! Does it bite?”
“Not unless provoked.” The ball hurled itself up into her arms. Deana dropped it like a hot potato. The ball issued a little cry. “Do not hurt it!” Traed sprang out of his chair, bending down to the creature.
Deana’s head snapped up. A pet! Traed had a pet. Who would have guessed it? And what’s more, if the concern on his handsome face was anything to go by, he cared about it.
He gathered the phfiztger carefully in his arms. “They are gentle creatures; they would not harm anyone.” He stroked the fuzz reassuringly.
“I’m sorry; I didn’t know. Is it all right?” He nodded curtly. “I’m not from around here, so I’m not very familiar with the fauna, or the flora for that matter.” She smiled at him with her best “let’s be friends” smile.
“I did not think you were from Zarrain. And I know you are not from Aviara.”
She shook her head. “No, definitely not from Aviara. Lorgin says I come from a different universe. Sometimes I don’t know if he means that figuratively or literally.”
Traed blinked as if not quite sure what to make of her. “A different universe—truly?”
“Truly.”
That seemed to fascinate him. “What are your worlds like?”
“I don’t think I’m supposed to talk about it—at least that was the impression I got. All I’ll say is, boy, you are really missing out.”
He seemed to ponder her words.
“Perhaps, when I return home, you can visit me sometime. Sort of a return of hospitality.”
He seemed surprised, but not by her invitation. “Lorgin is letting you return to this universe of yours?”
“Sure. He’s taking me. Well, when he’s finished—” She had almost said with his quest. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. “When he’s finished with me,” she ended lamely.
“When he is finished with you?”
Deana nodded.
That had got a rise out of him. His voice got significantly louder. “Has the man lost his honor? What can he be thinking of to shame his line in this manner? How will he face Krue with this?” Deana threw up her hands to stop the tirade.
“Hey, easy! It’s not what you think.” She never would’ve guessed Traed would get so hepped up on this honor jazz. Whatever he was ranting about, he was upset. At least she had succeeded in piercing his cool reserve. Now to get him back on the right track.
“We’re going for a visit—just a visit, so cool it.” As if it should matter to him what they went back to earth for. These Aviarans were downright weird.
What she said must have appeased him, for he simmered down at once, slipping back into his cool reserve. He stroked the fuzzball again.
“It looks like a tumbleweed. That’s a—” What exactly was a tumbleweed? “Well, it’s a thing that looks like that.” Traed looked at her strangely. “Does it have a name?” He shook his head. “How about Tumbles? May I hold it? I’ll be careful this time.”
Traed went down on one knee to place the fuzzball on the floor. “First, you must get used to the way it feels. Here, give me your hand.”
Deana gingerly placed her hand in Traed’s. Surprisingly, instead of being cold and rough as she had expected, it was warm and strong. He knelt with her in front of the little beastie.
“Now, stroke your hand slowly down from the top, yes, like that.”
Lorgin, who had heard those words as he rounded the doorway in search of Deana, was wondering what was going on in there. He stopped short at the scene in front of him. Traed was on the floor with his wife, holding her hand.
Traed’s head snapped up as Lorgin bounded into the room. He dropped her hand like a hot poker, immediately standing. “Your wife came to me. She wanted to—I was just showing her—”
Lorgin’s glance took in the phfiztger on the floor. He smiled. “What are you so worried about, Traed? I trust you.” Lorgin pushed his first button, implying that the reciprocal couldn’t be said. Traed had yet to open to him. Their eyes met. Traed was the first to look away. He spun on his boots and stormed from the room.
“Nice going. Remind me to nominate you for a Nobel Peace Prize,” Deana said.
Disgusted with his failure, Lorgin turned and strode from the room. Deana was left with Tumbles. She bent down, softly stroking the ball of fuzz. “Well, aren’t you a revelation, though?”
The little pet rolled against her.
“Don’t you get it, Lorgin?”
“I am getting it. I think.” He continued nuzzling her neck.
“No!” She yanked his hair. “Listen to me; he has a pet.”
“So?” He dropped his head back down to the crook of her shoulder, his tongue swirling a pattern across her collarbone.
She pushed at his shoulders. He did not appear happy with the interruption. A frustrated expression crossed his regal features.
“I am listening. He has a pet—I do not see the significance you place upon this.”
She brought her hand up to the side of his face, cupping it. “It has a lot of significance. He cares about this little fuzzball.” Lorgin placed his large hand over hers, turning his head to kiss her palm.
“How do you know this?” he mumbled into her hand.
“If you could’ve seen how he was stroking the thing—he was so gentle. Then when he thought it might be hurt, he was really concerned.”
He removed her caressing hand from his face. “So, you were fascinated by the way he strokes the phfiztger, were you? And why were you paying so much attention to this?”
The big idiot was jealous! She balled up her fist, socking him in the stomach. He wasn’t prepared for her punch; he grunted. “Will you get real! I am trying to tell you I think there might be something under all those layers of icy reserve. Oh, and he also got quite angry.”
Lorgin bristled. “With you?”
“No, with you.”
“With me? Why?”
“I don’t know. It was weird—he just sort of blew up after I mentioned that you were taking me back to my world after you were finished with me.”
Lorgin looked at her aghast. “You what?” he bellowed.
She put her hand against his chest, totally misinterpreting his anger. “Well, I couldn’t very well tell him about your quest, could I?” He settled down somewhat.
&
nbsp; A speculative look came over Lorgin’s face. “Tell me how he reacted.”
“He started spewing off about honor and how could you do that to Krue—What was he blathering about?”
A spark of hope flowed through Lorgin. “Yes. I believe you are right. Traed has not forgotten who he is or his responsibilities.”
“He’s in there, Lorgin. The Traed you knew—I feel it.”
Lorgin looked down at her, considering her words. “I would not discount a woman’s senses in this. Perhaps tomorrow my plan with Rejar will work.”
“What plan?” Lorgin stared down at her; for some reason he was suddenly speechless. “What plan?” she repeated.
He quickly covered her mouth with his own in an attempt to distract her. The gharta was not going to be distracted. She broke away from his searching lips.
“Well, I’m waiting.” Sitting up, she crossed her arms over her naked breasts, unknowingly pushing them up. Lorgin’s eyes fell to her chest, sparking pink flames. He pushed her back down onto the bed.
“It is nothing. If it works, you will know.” He covered her with himself. She squirmed out from under him.
“You haven’t cooked up some stupid scheme with Rejar to take the man on a woman hunt, have you?”
His silence was answer enough for her.
“It will never work.”
Lorgin raked his hair back. “Really? You are such an authority on this?”
“I know what I know. It’s the wrong approach with this man.”
“Would you like to wager on this? He is a man; it will work.”
“It won’t.”
He glanced sideways at her, tongue in cheek. “What do you wager?”
It wasn’t as if she had a lot to bet with. She pointed to the barrette he had given her on the bedside table.
“What would I do with it—when I win? I have a better idea.”
“What?”
He rolled over to whisper in her ear.
Her eyes widened and she giggled. “It can’t be done that way!” He raised one of his eyebrows. “It can? Okay, you’re on. But what do I get if I win?”
His husky laugh vibrated over her as he lowered his head. “Same thing.”
Seemed like a fair bet to her.
The next evening, the two brothers all but dragged Traed out for a walk with them. Deana had no doubts that Lorgin was trying to put his genius of a plan into motion. She smiled to herself. There was no way it would work. Traed was too tense, too guarded, and too damn smart. They’ll find out, she smirked.
Sitting down on the middle of the main sitting room floor, she carefully unwrapped the cloth which held the clay. Earlier in the day she had told Lorgin she wished to purchase something at the sacri. He had simply said, “Of, course, zira,” then filled her hand with an assortment of gemstones.
At first, the woman in the sacri was leery of trading with her, but when she realized that Deana was a real customer, the sale went smoothly enough. Now, what to make with the clay? A lascivious thought went through her brain. No, not that. Besides, if memory served her accurately, she didn’t have enough clay to do it justice. She grinned at the idea. Better stick with the little pots she had seen the women making.
Lorgin, Rejar, and Traed strolled around the perimeter of the keep. So far, no one was talking. If Traed wondered at the strange behavior of his companions in insisting on his company, he was silent about it. Lorgin nudged Rejar’s shoulder to get him started. Rejar cleared his throat.
“Traed, what do you do for entertainment here?”
“What do you mean?”
Rejar threw Lorgin an exasperated look with a personal opinion. {I told you—it is hopeless.} Lorgin was not of the same mind; he discreetly motioned to his brother to continue. Rejar resignedly turned back to Traed.
“You know—for entertainment.”
Traed knew exactly what he meant. Crossing his arms, he rocked back on the heels of his boots. “You cannot find your own amusements?” His voice was distinctly suspicious.
Rejar scratched his chin, at the same time throwing his brother a dirty look. “Yes, of course, Traed. I just thought—”
“What did you think?” Traed’s eyes were now distinctly narrowed.
“I thought you might wish to accompany me this evening. We could have some keeran, and perhaps”—Rejar was floundering under Traed’s glittering green gaze—“perhaps we could reminisce; and then, who knows? The caravan is here. There are many delightful—”
“You thought wrong, Familiar.” Traed turned, swiftly heading back to the keep.
The brothers watched his rapid departure silently.
Then Lorgin chucked his brother on the head.
“Have you no sense, Rejar! You do not just approach a man like this with your intentions. You were too obvious!”
Rejar’s eyes took on a strange light. He was getting angry. {And how else was I supposed to do it? Let him guess my meaning?}
“I never should have listened to this foolish idea of yours. Now I will have to devise something else.”
“My idea! What do you mean my idea? It was your idea! If you recall, I wanted no part of it.”
Lorgin threw him a quelling glance before he turned and strutted inside. Rejar followed on his heels, ready to do battle.
They were still arguing when they came into the main sitting room, their voices preceding them. Lorgin was first to enter. Deana, arms elbow deep in clay, looked up from her spot on the floor, a smudge of clay on her face.
Lorgin stopped short.
Rejar, not expecting this, barreled into him.
Both men gazed at her in horror.
Lorgin found his voice. “Adeeann, know you not what this is?” He gestured to the clay covering her.
Deana held her muddy hands up in front of her, shrugging her shoulders.
“It is prautau…” He let the sentence drag out meaning-fully, allowing her to make her own conclusions. It didn’t take her long. She jumped to her feet, shrieking.
“Ugh! Are you telling me this is prautau poop?!”
Lorgin and Rejar just stared at her, their revulsion plain in their faces for what was all over her hands.
Then the three of them turned amazed faces back to the door.
Traed was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, one leg crossed over the other, and the man was laughing. Deep and rich, his laughter echoed across the room, shattering the dark shadows like a door flung open to sunshine.
Lorgin’s eyes lit up. This was the Traed he remembered!
He joined his friend in laughter as he recalled the expression on Adeeann’s face when she realized what she had been molding. Soon Rejar was laughing with them.
Deana looked at them stunned. She didn’t see anything funny about this at all. She only prayed the stuff wouldn’t be too difficult to get off.
It had taken her 45 minutes and two baths to get the wretched stuff off of her. When she got into bed, Lorgin experimentally sniffed her.
“It’s gone.” Her lower lip pouted mutinously, as if she dared him to rebut the validity of the statement. Lorgin dropped his head, gently suckling that pouting lower lip into his mouth.
“Did you not notice the strange odor, Little Fire?” He smiled against her lips.
“I thought it was just—smelly clay.” Against her will, she felt her eyes start to water. He noticed at once.
“What is this? Do not be foolish.” He wiped away the single tear that had escaped her eye.
“Oh, Lorgin. I can’t believe I did something so stupid! I’m terribly embarrassed.”
He gathered her in his arms, letting her burrow her face into his chest. “Forget this. How could you know?” As he patted her back consolingly, he rolled his eyes to the ceiling, not believing what she had done.
“Rejar and Traed must think I’m a nutball,” she mumbled into his chest.
“They do not think you are a—what is it?”
“A nutball,” came the mumbled response.
“They do not think you are a nutball.”
She looked up at him, her face streaked with tears. “Are you sure?”
He wiped her face with the back of his hand. “I am sure.”
She sniffed. “Well, how did your scheme with Rejar go? By the way Traed was laughing, I guess I was wrong about that too.”
“No, you were right about that, zira. He took affront at Rejar’s suggestions and left us. Rejar and I were discussing it when we came into the room and saw you…”
Deana remembered their raised voices. “You mean you were arguing about it. I bet Rejar didn’t think the plan had any merit either, did he?”
Lorgin stopped rubbing her back, annoyed at her accurate observations. “The point is, it did not work. It was the sight of you covered in your clay that did it.”
At the mention of the humiliating fiasco, her eyes teared up again. “I can imagine how I looked!” Lorgin couldn’t help but smile as he thought about it.
Deana reached around him, grabbing a pillow. She walloped him on the back of the head with it. “Don’t you dare laugh at me again.”
Lorgin raised his hands, palms up in surrender. “I would not, Adeeann. I swear.” He broke his promise immediately by collapsing into laughter.
She went to swing at him again with the pillow, but he neatly fielded it this time. In the blink of an eye, he pinned her to the bed, holding both her wrists over her head.
Bending low, he murmured in her ear, “I noticed you had quite a number of those little pots lined up across Traed’s floor. Perhaps you intended to serve us our keeran in them tomorrow?”
“That’s not funny.” She bucked against him, having no effect on his hold on her whatsoever.
He continued on. “I had not realized how artistic you are until now. This creative genius must not be allowed to lie fallow. I especially admired that one pot which sagged to the left. I said to myself, this is brilliance! What is she saying through her miraculous creations?”
Deana pursed her lips. “Oh, you are terrible! I planned on giving one of those to you as a gift. Now you can forget it.”
He dropped his head forward, as if in humility, his hair swinging onto her chest. “I am deeply moved you would think of me in this manner, Adeeann. I truly do not know how I could repay such thoughtfulness.”