The Bonemender (17 page)

It began with a simple question: “What happened to your hair?” Gabrielle asked. Féolan’s hair was still raggedly cut, though grown to about chin length.

“Oh, this is what’s left of my
Gref Orisé
disguise,” he began, and so unfolded the story of his journey over the mountains. Gabrielle’s face clouded as he described the
Gref Orisé
way of life. That’s what Derkh must return to, she thought, wondering what kind of life awaited him.

“And that’s how I was nearly shot by the Verdeau army after all my adventures,” he concluded. “But when I got your note I was stunned. Were you there at the pass the whole time?”

So then it was Gabrielle’s turn, and when she came to Jerome’s death there was more weeping, but there was comfort too, now that she was not alone.

“I was so sure I was meant to save him,” she confessed, her eyes dark and lost. “So sure. I decided in my pride that I could heal him. I should have got him off the field sooner and kept him alive.”

The two Elves exchanged glances. Here was a hurt that time alone would not heal.

“Gabrielle,” began Féolan gently. “Surely you do not blame yourself for your father’s death.”

“I made a wrong judgement, Féolan,” she insisted. “I would not have him crippled, so now he is dead.”

“And if you had not been there, would he be alive now?”

“That’s not the point,” she said. “I
was
there.”

“All right, then,” Féolan persisted. “And how would you have taken him to safety?”

Gabrielle flinched away from his questions, a tight, defensive shrug her only answer. Féolan looked to Danaïs: help me. It was unbearable to hurt her like this. Yet to let such self-blame go unchallenged, surely that hurt was the greater?

Danaïs took up the burden. “Gabrielle, listen. There was no way to take Jerome back. He would have had to be thrown over a horse and carried at a gallop for miles until they caught up with the carts. With a broken back, how could that not kill him?

“You gave him a gift. Not the gift you wanted to give him, not life, but at least he did not die suffering and broken. He died
without fear or pain, with his daughter walking beside him. That is a great mercy. You saw that hellish field. You know I speak truth.”

Gabrielle was weeping again, silently, hands over her face and shoulders shaking. Féolan sat by, his own eyes red with misery. Danaïs glared at him, gestured insistently. Idiot. Go to her. Gingerly, fearing her wounded refusal, Féolan reached out and pulled her to him. She didn’t refuse. She crawled into his arms, and Féolan sensed some relief in her, but she did not speak of her father again.

A
S THEY RESUMED
their journey, Danaïs left them to run ahead. “We will have a bath and some decent food waiting for you,” he promised. “And I beg you to choose the bath first.”

“I’m sorry I’m so slow,” Gabrielle said to Féolan. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel like an old lady.” Instantly she regretted her words; neither of them wanted to raise that issue now.

But Féolan smoothed it over. “You’re tired, Gabi. Body and soul. Anyone would be, after such an ordeal.” He took her hand and laced his fingers through hers, and they walked so along the narrow trail.

The sun was slanting in from the west when Féolan announced they were nearly there. For the first time it struck Gabrielle that she was about to enter an Elvish settlement. She stopped.

“What is it?” asked Féolan. He could feel her sudden anxiety.

“Oh, Féolan, I—” She tried again. “I guess I’m shy. I’m probably the first Human to visit your home in, what? A hundred years? More? And look at me ... “ She laughed, without humor. “Col said I was a bloody mess, and he was exactly right.”

“You won’t be for long,” Féolan promised.

G
ABRIELLE’S FIRST SIGHT
of Stonewater enchanted her. The dwellings, simple well-proportioned wood structures open to the air and light, were not lined up in rows but rather placed helterskelter, in harmony with the contours of the land. They seemed almost to have grown out of the earth. The trees had been thinned, but artfully, turning the forest into pleasant parkland. Winding pathways connected the dwellings, and she caught a glimpse of a larger structure that might be a meeting hall or royal lodge. Though she knew the settlement was well protected, she saw no guards or sentries. And yes, there was a rushing stream that leaped through the settlement from one rocky level to another, full of vigor from the mountains where it was born.

In truth, she paid close attention to her surroundings to avoid looking at the people. The Elves they passed kept a discrete silence, but Gabrielle was painfully aware of their polite curiosity.

Féolan led her to a building that was more closed in than the others, with only small windows, high near the roof. Danaïs was waiting outside the door, grinning his welcome. By his side stood a tall woman, golden-haired like him, and skipping about them like a butterfly was a beautiful girl-child, maybe eight years old. She stopped as soon as she saw Gabrielle and skittered over to her parents, staring with solemn hazel eyes.

Danaïs met her with a formal Human bow, and the foolishness of it made Gabrielle laugh in spite of her nervousness. Immediately the atmosphere lightened. “Gabrielle, meet my Lady, Celani, and my daughter, Eleara.” Gabrielle’s hands, at least, were clean. She made the gesture she had been taught, palm to breast and then outstretched. Celani met her hand with a welcoming smile. Eleara managed a quick smile also, then hid behind Danaïs’ legs. Danaïs translated for both: “Celani bids you welcome and
apologizes for not speaking your tongue. She asks if you would like to come into the bathhouse with her. Eleara, I’m afraid, is not yet completely convinced you are not a monster from her dreams.”

“I can hardly blame her,” said Gabrielle. She looked at Celani and said one of the two Elvish words she had learned on the trail with Féolan, “
Thank you
.” Celani opened the door, and the two women disappeared into a delicious cloud of steam.

The bathhouse was warm and clean and smelled of cedar. The sheer luxury of sinking into the waiting tub of hot water made Gabrielle’s throat choke up alarmingly. Gods, you cry about everything these days, she scolded herself. She would not cry over a bath. Instead, she held her breath and slid right down under the water, soaking her grimy hair. When she emerged, Celani was waiting with soap and a soft cloth. The scent was fresh as a pine wood, and Gabrielle scrubbed every inch of herself from toes to scalp and down to the ends of her hair. Then under the water again to rinse.

As days of mud and sweat and blood sloughed off, the water darkened to rusty brown around her. She looked at it in dismay. She had wanted a second soaping and a long soak but not in this cesspool. Jumping up, she grabbed for the towel Celani had left and wrapped it around her. Celani came in with an armful of clothing and looked at Gabrielle in surprise. Then she saw the bath, and her blue eyes went round. With a quick smile, she held out her hand, as though to a child, and led Gabrielle across a little hallway to another closetlike room where—praises to the Mother—a second bath lay ready. Gabrielle slid into it with a groan of pleasure. She thought she might stay there forever.

F
OR THE SECOND TIME
Gabrielle was wearing someone else’s clothing, but these were the lightest, softest garments she had ever touched. As she stepped through the bathhouse door, she felt like a new, damp butterfly, just emerged from its chrysalis and dressed in unfamiliar wings.

Féolan stopped mid-sentence and stared as Gabrielle appeared.

“Is something wrong?” She glanced down at her new outfit. It fit her well, she thought, though too long in the sleeve and leg. She loved the muted gray-green of the overmantle. But Féolan had the oddest look on his face. “Féolan? Does it look so ill?”

He shook his head slowly, almost dreamily, and stood and walked over to her.

“Nay, Gabrielle, forgive me. You look—” he seemed to stop himself, and his eyes lingered over her once more, from the delicate sandals to the tiny braids holding back her hair, before coming to rest on her face. “You look beautiful.” But Gabrielle thought there was something forced about his smile. As their eyes met, she felt again that strange sensation of connection, as though an invisible door had opened between them. She felt what Féolan had not spoken: his bright love—and the sadness shadowing its edges.

They ate with Danaïs’ family—food that was lighter and more subtle than Gabrielle was used to, and utterly satisfying. Eleara had lost her shyness and in the absence of language made friends by bringing Gabrielle little offerings: a clip for her hair, a cold fruit-berry drink, a tiny tame flying squirrel that peeked out of Eleara’s pocket and accepted a nut from Gabrielle’s fingers. Danaïs and Féolan translated the stream of Elvish conversation, but Gabrielle was first so hungry, and then so drowsy, that she could pay little attention. The talk flowed over her like soothing music.

It was barely dark when Féolan noticed that Gabrielle was falling asleep where she sat. He led her to a tiny guesthouse. The wide window shutters had been dropped against the chill spring night, and a small stove warmed the room. Nightwear had been laid out on the bed for her, an extra set of clothes draped over the rail and a basin of water and a comb stood ready for the morning.

A lantern, which Féolan lit, stood on a small table. At the doorway he turned, took Gabrielle in his arms and kissed her. Ignoring the warning in her brain, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. For good or for ill, she could deny her heart no longer. A whispered good night, in Krylaise and in Elvish, and he was gone.

Sinking into the soft warmth of her bed—a real bed!—she was barely able to blow out the light before sleep claimed her.

T
HE
sun was high in the sky when Gabrielle stepped uncertainly out of her little cottage, wondering what to do next. She felt worlds better, almost her old self, better enough to feel curious about her new surroundings. The war against the Greffaires and its burden of death seemed far away.

Eleara waited for her outside, ready to be her guide. Slipping her small hand into Gabrielle’s, she led her along the winding pathways to an open-air shelter where many Elves were gathered. It was Gabrielle’s first clear sight of a group of Elves, and they were a marvel to her—so many fair, smooth faces, sparkling eyes, graceful gestures. She could think of only one Human comparison: a troupe of dancers she had seen in Blanchette, reportedly from the Tarzine lands across the Gray Sea. The women and men alike had moved with the sinewy grace of cats, heads held proudly on necks that seemed longer and straighter than any in the audience.

As they drew near, Gabrielle saw that a meal was laid out—late breakfast? Early luncheon? Whatever it was, she was famished again. Eleara led her to the buffet and waited while Gabrielle filled her plate. Today she felt more confident, her royal training returning to her, and she met the eyes of the Elves she encountered, murmuring greetings and thank-yous, smiling and shaking
her head when they tried to converse further, Eleara jumping in to explain her muteness. She followed Eleara to a table where Danaïs, Celani and Féolan were just finishing their meal, aware of the surprised eyes that followed her progress.

“I guess we don’t have to ask if you slept well,” teased Danaïs. Féolan reached up and twined his fingers in the hair that spilled down her back, gently pulling her onto the seat beside him. Then he leaned over and kissed her cheek. Gabrielle was dismayed to feel herself blushing—like a fifteen-year-old caught smooching in a hayrick—and did her best to pretend it hadn’t happened. “I must confess I can remember nothing of the night, not even dreams.”

“So you call this night,” mused Féolan. “Note, Danaïs, the odd ideas these Humans have.”

Gabrielle grinned. So easy and pleasant it was to fall into their old bantering. “Thank-you, gentlemen, I do feel the better for it.”

“You smell the better too, I must say,” said Danaïs. “Doesn’t she, Eleara?”

Eleara spoke to her father in Elvish, her manner serious. Danaïs sighed. “Eleara reproves me, Gabrielle. She knows I am teasing even without knowing the words and says it is unkind to make such remarks.”

An Elf with a commanding manner, rather more heavyset than the rest, came over and bent down between Féolan and Danaïs, speaking quietly and rapidly. Féolan seemed both sobered and satisfied by his news. The man straightened, glanced at Gabrielle and offered his palm to her, talking a mile a minute. Gabrielle smiled and returned the gesture, while Féolan came to the rescue: “Gabrielle, this is Haldoryn. He led our raid on the Greffaire camp.”

“Then I owe him my thanks, for myself and for my people. Please tell him that, Féolan.”

Haldoryn looked momentarily nonplussed, but he smiled and bowed. Then clapping Féolan on the shoulder and speaking briefly once more, he strode away.

“Why do they do that?” Gabrielle demanded.

“Do what?” asked Danaïs.

“Everyone seems to assume I speak Elvish. Do they suppose that Humans, who have not even laid eyes upon them for so many years, all study their language just in case?”

She had meant it to be humorous, but Féolan gave a frustrated laugh that seemed almost angry.

“They don’t realize you’re Human, Gabrielle, not at first. You should look in a glass sometime. When I saw you dressed as one of us, it seemed as though ... “ His voice trailed away.

Gabrielle was startled. “Are you saying I look Elvish?”

Féolan turned to Danaïs. “Am I wrong?”

Danaïs smiled at Gabrielle. “I mistook you for an Elf the first time I laid eyes on you. Of course, I was not my usual perceptive self at the time. But in those clothes, I think you will have to display your ears if you wish to be recognized as Human.”

Gabrielle let her fingers glide over the remarkable softness of her new clothes.
I had never felt anything so soft as the shawl you were wrapped in
. Solange’s words leaped into her head, bringing with them a thought so heady it left her weak. A foolish thought, no doubt, mere running after rainbows, yet she could not seem to thrust it away. Her very skin tingled with it.