Meri considered his companion as they followed the path to the top of the knoll.

"I've seen a Wood Wise sublimate," he said quietly and Ganat turned his head to gaze at him. Whatever he saw in Meri's face, some of the cheeriness left his own, and he bent his head soberly, in respect.

"A terrible thing, I'll own, and one that I'll be glad never to witness myself," he answered, and said nothing more.

They walked a dozen paces in silence before Meri sighed and asked, "But what happened to you? Did the tree return the gift?"

"Eh?" Ganat shot him a startled look. "Well. I daresay it might've tried, and I'm not the man to tell you that it didn't. Next I knew was waking up at the Hall there, so weak you could see sunlight through me, and not a flicker of kest to my name. My kith bore me back to my place-aye, that same charred and blackened spot that I'd all but killed myself trying to save."

They reached the top of the knoll, and paused by silent agreement, looking out over the dawning meadowlands.

"Turns out, I'd slept so long the land had healed itself, just as my elders had said it would," Ganat finished. "I sat down 'mong my growing things and by the time I'd got up again, I was solid and strong." He nodded, and sent Meri a sidewise look. "Same'll happen for you. All we have to do is get you to your home wood."

"It seems good advice," Meri said slowly, not wishing to startle his companion into silence again. "Unfortunately, Sea Hold is not my home, though Vanglewood lies not too far distant."

"Eh? Why're we taking you to Sea Hold, then?"

Meri shrugged. "Because the Engenium has commanded my presence."

"So she has. So she has. But-you'll forgive me-that begs the question. Which would be . . . why?"

Meripen sighed and started slowly down the hill, the long gra.s.s rippling ahead of him like waves along the sh.o.r.e.

"I don't know," he said.

"Here?" Becca turned in her saddle to look at Altimere, much good it did her. All she could see was his strong profile, cast in shadow by the moon.

"It is a very comfortable inn," he said. "Does your power show you otherwise?"

"My common sense," Becca said, with an asperity born of panic, "tells me that we're scarcely off Beauvelley land, and on a main road! Searchers must ask here for news almost immediately I'm discovered gone-and so they will find us."

There was a small silence, man and horse almost preternaturally still. Then Altimere's mount shifted, blowing lightly against the breeze.

"It is possible-in fact, probable-that there will be no searchers," Altimere said, quietly. "But if in fact my small skill has proven inadequate and searchers come to this inn and ask-they will find that none of the patrons looks in the least like those they pursue." He moved his arm in a wide sweep, shadow slicing shadow. "They will then move on, and we will not be discommoded in the least."

Becca frowned. "How can you be certain of that?"

"In the same way I am certain that foolish and vain Miss Caroline did nothing more than return to her bed like a good child, forgetting that she had ever seen me," he answered, sounding amused. "Come. Let us bespeak a room."

He shifted and his horse moved, silent as the moonlight falling upon the land. Becca took a breath, leaned forward and laid her head against Rosamunde's neck.

Bespeak a room.

She closed her eyes. Rebecca Beauvelley, you are a fool.

And yet-who but a fool would choose death over life?

She straightened, and flicked the reins gently.

"Follow them, beautiful lady," she murmured. "We've made our choice, for good or ill."

Chapter Fourteen.

"Evening, sir! Madam! What might we do for the pair of you this fine evening?"

If the innkeeper of the Dash and Tondle found anything amiss, with themselves or with the hour of their arrival, he kept it well away from his wide brown face. Indeed, thought Becca, the man looked uncommonly pleased to see them-or at least, to see Altimere. Upon her, he had bestowed a single benevolent glance so broadly incurious that she was quite sure he would be unable to provide a description even of her cloak, had Altimere asked.

"We require a large room with a private parlor," Altimere told the man, sweeping off his hat and tucking it under one arm. "Also, a cold collation, the house's best wine, and a bath."

A bath? Becca thought. At this hour of the night? And a meal? She could scarcely think of food without an unsettling cramping of her stomach. Still, she thought, it was certainly possible that Altimere was hungry; in her experience, gentlemen were often hungry at peculiar times. And if Altimere were kept occupied by his meal, she thought, then perhaps she might slip away while he was at it, and pretend to sleep . . .

"Will there be anything else, sir?" the innkeeper asked.

"I believe that will suffice."

"Very good. I'll just show you to your rooms, and-would you like the bath first, sir, or the meal?"

"The bath, and the meal laid in the parlor for us."

"Very good," the innkeeper said again, grinning. He looked to Becca, his glance sliding off her face as if it were a window he was determined not to look through. "This way, if you please," he said, catching the lamp up.

Altimere turned to her, offering his arm. "Miss Beauvelley," he murmured.

In the act of raising her hand, she froze, as if all her muscles were as useless as her withered arm. She tried to draw a breath-to scream? to speak?-but her cramped chest admitted no air. Her heartbeat was loud, frantic in her ears, and stars danced at the dark edges of her vision.

"Miss Beauvelley?" His voice pierced the panicked thunder of her heart. "You placed your power into my keeping. Do you withdraw your word?"

She looked up into eyes that seemed to glow in the dimness like a cat's. Warmth suffused her, as if his glance heated the very blood in her veins, and she felt her mouth relax into a smile.

"Withdraw my word?" she repeated, tucking her hand around his arm, her fingers delighting in the st.u.r.dy weave of his traveling coat. "Certainly not, sir."

He smiled, his eyes narrowing into glowing slits, as if he were a cat in truth, and put his hand over hers, there on his coat sleeve.

"You relieve me," he murmured, and then said nothing else as they followed the patient innkeeper down the hall, past the empty common room, up a wide staircase to a door.

"Here you are, sir and madam!" He pushed the door open and would have gone inside, but Altimere spoke.

"Give me the lamp and leave us," he said, receiving that item into his free hand. "We will be wanting the bath and our food as soon as they may arrive."

"The fire wants-" the landlord began.

"I will see to the fire, and the lady will see to the lamps. You will see to those other needs we have indicated."

The innkeeper bowed. "Yes, sir!" he said smartly, and took himself off, his footsteps firm and certain in the dark.

"Come," Altimere murmured, and drew her into the room.

The lamp threw his shadow, macabre and towering, against the spotlit walls. He set it on a table, raised his hand and snapped his fingers, once.

Becca flinched in the sudden blare of light as every candle in the room took flame.

She gasped, and looked to the tall Fey.

"How-"

He laughed, the first time she had heard him do so, and reached out, capturing her chin in cool, thin fingers.

"So powerful and yet so childlike." He looked down into her face seriously, like a man contemplating the heart of a flower. "You have much to learn, Miss Beauvelley." He bent close, his breath warm against her cheek. Becca felt her blood heat until she felt she must surely melt-and the thin mouth brushed hers, the merest touch of lips against lips. She shuddered, longing for-for what, she scarcely knew, though she leaned toward him- "Much to learn," he whispered in her ear.

He withdrew, turning from her to toss his coat onto the chair.

Trembling, she gripped the chair back, watching him stride across the room to the fireplace, the poker in one long elegant hand.

Happily, the room was provided with a boot jack, which Becca made use of while Altimere showed the boy where to place the tub.

She shivered, standing there in her stocking feet, and almost wept. Plainly Altimere expected her to bathe and, truth told, she would welcome warm water on tired muscles. But to bathe . . . Becca dared a glance at the gla.s.s, wincing at the tangled ma.s.s of her hair, all too like that cold, doomed future she had glimpsed, and nothing at all like the glittering, immaculate vision of herself among the adoring plants. She was a fool, three times a fool! And lucky she would be if she came out of this night's work with- The door opened, and Altimere stepped within. He rid himself of his boots, and unb.u.t.toned his shirt, showing a narrow chest as smooth and as pale as alabaster. Becca took a hard breath, feeling her face heat. Altimere paused, head tipped to a side, and a small smile along the side of his mouth.

"You do not look ready to bathe, Miss Beauvelley. Perhaps you require a.s.sistance?"

Perhaps, Becca thought, the man had enlisted a housemaid to a.s.sist her. She gave him a smile.

"As it happens, yes. I do require some . . . minor . . . a.s.sistance."

The small smile deepened, and he stepped forward. "It is my pleasure to offer such . . . minor . . . a.s.sistance as you may require," he murmured, and cupped her cheek in his palm. "So pale, Miss Beauvelley. And you would have had us ride further." He rubbed his thumb lightly along the line of her cheekbone. Becca shivered.

"Nay, you have nothing to fear from me," he said, dropping his hand. Becca felt a pang at that separation, and bit her lip.

"Tell me," Altimere said. "What a.s.sistance may it be my pleasure to render unto you?"

"I-" She took a breath and met his eyes firmly. His smile widened in delight.

"Yes," he urged. "Tell me."

"If you will only recall it, sir, I did tell you-at the dance. I am less than perfect."

"But of course I remember this discussion, for it seemed absurd to me."

"Yes, and so it seems to many people. But the truth of the matter is-my left arm is crippled. It has no strength and very little range of motion. I require a.s.sistance in the smallest things. Washing and dressing my hair, for instance. Putting on or taking off clothing . . ." She looked down at herself ruefully. "These I can manage, but anything more . . . convenable, let us say, and I must have help." She raised her head and met his eyes again.

"If I must bathe tonight, I will have to ask you to summon the innkeeper's wife, or perhaps a chambermaid to a.s.sist me."

Altimere considered her out of warm amber eyes. "There is no need to summon a stranger to this task when I, in whose hands you have placed your power, stand ready to a.s.sist you and care for you. Come."

He stepped toward the door. Becca hesitated, her hand fisted in the fold of her skirt.

"I don't-"

"Come," he repeated, without heat, and Becca moved forward obediently. He held the door open for her and followed her into the parlor.

"Stand there by the tub," he directed, and she did as she was told.

He came up to her, smiling softly, and began to unlace her shirt. Becca shook her head, and stepped back, her hand rising.

"Please, I-"

Altimere caught her hand, his touch cool and intoxicating. Becca swayed, feeling as she had when they had danced, only- "You need fear nothing from me," he repeated. "I will care for you, and comfort you."

"Why?" she whispered, swaying toward him, as if she were the moth to his flame.

"But why not? Would you not have groomed your Rosamunde and fed her and seen her in all ways comfortable before tending to your own needs, had there not been a stable boy present?"

"Why-yes . . ."

"And so it is with us. Come now." This time, he reached for her skirt, unb.u.t.toning in a trice what had taken her hard minutes to secure. She stood docile under his hands, watching his face as he let the skirt, and then the petticoat, down to pool 'round her stockinged feet before he reached again for the laces.

The blouse fell open. He slid it off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. For himself, he stood very still, his face bearing an expression she had no hope of reading. She did not think it was repugnance; rather it looked like . . . exhilaration.

"This?" he breathed at last. He ran his fingers down her ruined arm, leaving trails of pleasure in their wake. "This is what makes you-how did you say? Less than perfect?"

"Yes," Becca whispered. "I-"

"They are fools," Altimere said. Taking her strengthless fingers in his, he raised her hand, bent, and kissed her wrist where the bruises from Jennet's outrage showed.

"This must never be hidden again," he murmured, and his voice made Becca shiver.

"But now," he said, practical again, "we must finish what we have begun." He released her hand, gently, dealt with the rest of her clothes summarily, and held her right hand as she stepped into the tub.

"Oh . . ." she sighed as the warm water enveloped her.

"Yes." Altimere knelt beside, shirt gone entirely now, cloth and soap in his hand. "Allow me."

She should, Becca thought, be terrified, scandalized, given over to remorse-any or all of those emotions which the romances had taught her were the territory of a maiden who was about to have her virtue reft from her. Instead, she felt . . . peaceful, drowsy, cherished. Doubtless, she thought muzzily, her sensibilities were coa.r.s.ened by reason of having been ruined once, already.

All too soon the bath was done. Altimere brought her out of the tub, wrapped her in warm towels and sat her on the stool in front of the hearth, while he combed out her hair.

"Our dinner has arrived," he murmured. "I will bring you a plate and some wine."

This he did, setting a low table between them, and they ate together, companionably silent, while the fire dried her hair.

"You should have your bath," she said, over her second gla.s.s of strong red wine.