“What are you doing here? Do you have a final model for the Ship yet?”
Raine jumped. She hadn’t heard the doors open. The Castle staff was keeping them too well-oiled. Slowly she turned to face the man who was also a great draw for her to come to the Castle. The sexy guy she’d longed would notice her, Faucon Creusse.
3
Since Faucon had been dumped by another Exotique—okay, the whole lot of them—he didn’t give Raine the time of day.
For some damn reason she swallowed sudden tears, hoped they didn’t show in her eyes. How humiliating. She dragged a silk handkerchief from her pants pocket and stumbled over to the low stone built-in benches that circled much of the temple. Sank down onto one of the fat jewel-toned cushions and sniffled.
I am here. We are fine. Her feycoocu levitated over to her, leaving a dripping wake, then glared at Faucon. The little creature didn’t give Raine any advice, a blessing since she wasn’t very wise.
“Pardon,” Faucon said stiffly. “I shouldn’t have been so rude.” He was cold, which was worse. His face was expressionless, masking the irritation she’d seen the first time they’d met and every time since.
“Is something wrong with the Ship?”
“The ship.” She bit her own irritated words off, tried for the chilled courtesy that he’d mastered. “Nothing is wrong with the ship. I should have a final model this week.” She bent her lips in a smile. “As for my welfare, I am a little touchy since all anyone cares about is my crafting of the ship, but I will get over my mood in a bit, thank you for asking.”
She thought his golden skin tinged red. He inclined his head. “I am sorry to intrude.” He hesitated. “Did you touch the gong? I thought I felt…thought I heard…”
She blew her nose and tucked the handkerchief away in a pocket. “No, I did not. But Summoning a new Exotique seems to be on all our minds. I wasn’t asked to be Summoned.”
“By the Song,” he muttered. “Only Alyeka was asked and came of her own free will.”
“Didn’t know what she was getting into,” Raine said.
“But the others have stayed with us to fight the Dark. I don’t remember them being so fussy during the time they were making that decision.”
He misremembered, she was sure, she’d read their accounts. But what came out of her mouth was, “My family! They still think I’m dead. And I don’t know what’s going on with them!”
He flung up his hands. “Is that all?” Now he strode to her, locked elegant fingers around her wrist in a strong grip, pulled her to her feet.
The feycoocu hissed, had turned into a little snake when they weren’t looking.
Faucon ignored the small being, and said, “Why haven’t you talked to mirror magician Koz about getting a mirror to your family so you can see what’s going on?”
Raine shook her head. “He hasn’t been around, has been in the east studying advanced mirror magic or something.”
“Well, he’s here now. We’ll go see him.”
Turn her over to Koz, Faucon meant.
She shrugged out of his grasp, turned again to the gong. She was sure she’d seen it tremble. A strange push of air popped her ears. She put a hand to her head. Faucon frowned, lines digging into his face, and steadied her with a hand to her elbow.
We must stay until it’s done, said the feycoocu.
Singer’s Abbey
Luthan stared at the new Exotique and waited for the screeching of all his senses into a cacophony. An awful Song that hurt until he learned to know the person behind the pummeling sounds that shrieked “mutant.”
Those who didn’t experience the horrible Song called the effect “an instinctive repulsion” and it was that, but it was more. An assault on his inner ear, his inner sight, his inner self. He’d learned to control it, of course. There was no honor in attacking an innocent person who had no knowledge that their Song was hurting him.
He waited and it didn’t come. Instead he saw the long legs of the woman dressed in that sturdy blue material the Exotiques liked so much. Soft cloth draped her breasts and a harmony ball gleamed against their round fullness. She had equally full lips. Her eyes were as tilted as his own, as his people’s, her skin not as golden as most Lladranans, but not that strange paleness of the other Exotiques, or Marian’s hint of olive.
Studying the length of lovely legs and slender torso, he knew she wouldn’t have the height of Lladranans. Marian would still be the tallest, this one was near to the size of Calli, the Volaran Exotique with the yellow hair. But this woman’s hair wasn’t yellow, or the red of Marian’s, or the browns of Bri and Raine. Nor the black with varying deep colors of his people. It seemed to be a very dark brown with black mixed in, not the other way around.
No repulsion. Had he finally mastered it? Squeezed the hideous moment from full minutes to less than a second? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. He only blessed the Song that this lady brought no instinctive repulsion and following shame.
In fact, her Song was vaguely muffled, heard dimly and not with the clarity of everyone else’s in the world. Odd, but relieving.
A red cockatoo watched over her.
His anger at the Singer had dissipated. It would return, but now he felt only extreme wariness. He inclined his torso to the Singer, not the full bow he had given her when he’d first become her representative two years ago.
“Sweet Song salutations, Singer.” Difficult not to hiss the greeting, to keep the proper rhythm and lilt, but that’s how she judged her Friends, judged him. Irritation would have made his tones hard and he was glad he’d lost it. He’d be courteous until the new Exotique was settled.
When his gaze met the Singer’s, he knew she saw that he doubted her deeply. There was a flash of arrogance there, her own annoyance.
A long glint caught his eye and he peered into the shadows of the cavern wall opposite them and saw a huge mirror, the glass covered with a faint sheen of blue that he thought could be sapphire dust.
He’d taken part in tuning Raine to the vibrations of Amee. Grimly, he said, “I see that you have chimes, and the crystal bowls for additional Song, cymbals to approximate the gong. But not the gong itself. You brought the Exotique by mirror magic.”
The Singer’s eyes flashed Power. She lifted her chin. “Do you presume to think that my Summoning could be inferior than the Marshalls’ puny chanting Song? Especially now that Partis has died and cannot lead them?”
A shaft of pain speared him—Partis had been his loved godfather. Luthan held his ground, narrowed his own eyes. “Your Song is incredibly more Powerful than the Marshalls—”
Her expression relaxed.
“Your voice magnificently trained, your Friends almost as good a team as the Marshalls.”
“Almost!”
“I have fought with the Marshalls, been mentally linked with them as a team in battle, in healing circles after battles. They are the premier team on Lladrana.” He gestured to the people in colored robes around them. “Neither you nor these Friends have experienced life-and-death circumstances that form such a bond. Further, the Marshalls participate within their bond as equals. Your Friends will never be allowed to be equal to you. Could never be equal to the Singer.”
Her expression showed pride mixed with irritation. Not many told her the truth. “But my team must have done well enough. We drew her here.”
Luthan nodded. “She is here, but how tuned are her personal Exotique Terre vibrations to our planet of Amee? You have the chimes, the