Part 35 (2/2)

She paused and reached up to touch her Signet. Part of her wanted to cancel the entire project and give up on the idea of performing. So many people had been hurt . . . but in the end, she couldn't be anyone but who she was, and as she had told Faith, music was a part of her she wouldn't surrender unless there was no other choice. She'd find a way to make it work . . . tomorrow.

Tonight, she just wanted to be warm and safe and comfortable, with the rain falling outside and the firelight soothing her inside. But her heart still ached, and her body still ached, and it was hard to feel comforted knowing how many of her friends had suffered at the hands of Marja Ovaska. It was hard not to feel guilty-for not stopping Marja sooner, for letting Sophie get killed, for a hundred things Miranda couldn't have antic.i.p.ated and couldn't change even if she had. There were still questions that needed answering-chief among them, who was Ovaska working for? What did that client want with a Signet? Miranda was afraid to even contemplate that.

There was a knock at the door.

”Come in,” she called.

When she looked up, she was surprised, and said, ”Deven.”

The Prime closed the door quietly behind him. He, too, was still drawn and tired looking, moving a little more slowly than usual. He hadn't even regained consciousness until last night. Even Jonathan's power combined with David's and Miranda's almost hadn't been enough to save him-Jonathan wasn't a healer and didn't have Deven's skill to direct the raw power as a healer could. He could only push the energy into Deven and hope it kept him alive. It was something of a miracle Deven had survived at all. It would take a while to fully recover from that, even as strong as he had been.

David had apologized to Miranda a half-dozen times for taking the liberty of offering their energy . . . before she reminded him that Deven had given his own life to save her and had been the one to s.h.i.+eld her from the explosion before that. She had no regrets about having to sleep an extra day or two if it meant that Deven was still alive . . . and that was something she'd never expected to hear herself say.

Deven came to the couch where she was sitting and held something out to her.

Miranda frowned. ”What is this?”

He smiled. ”It's a sword, Miranda.”

”I know that. But why are you giving it to me?”

”Because she's yours.”

Miranda set aside her guitar and took the blade he offered; it was the one he had worn here, the one David had said was new. Her fingers wrapped around the hilt, and she felt a stab of recognition-she had fought Ovaska with it, not with Sophie's sword. This one felt natural in her grip and was perfectly balanced, as if it had been created for her arm.

”I had her made for you,” Deven explained. ”Not by Volundr, though, don't worry. Call her a wedding gift, or perhaps a peace offering.”

She drew the blade partway from the sheath, admiring the carving along the steel. ”It's . . . she's beautiful . . . thank you.”

He nodded and took a step back, intending to leave, but she said, ”I've been thinking.”

”About?”

Miranda went on. ”I was thinking that . . . maybe you and David should see each other again.”

He didn't bother-or perhaps didn't have the energy-to hide his surprise. ”What?”

”I don't want to be the reason that David is unhappy,” she said. ”He loves you. So maybe you could meet sometimes, like a weekend every couple of months, no questions asked. We could make some kind of arrangement that would work for all four of us.”

Deven stared at her for a long moment. Then he smiled and shook his head. ”No.”

”Wait . . . you're saying no?”

”That's right.”

”But . . . why?”

Again, the smile; a touch rueful, a touch enigmatic, a touch wry. ”Because I don't want to be the reason you're unhappy.”

”But . . .”

He reached over and touched her head as if in benediction. She felt a light energetic pulse, as if he had stroked her hair, though his hand didn't move, and it made her feel warm and safe . . . the way she had craved to feel for days. ”It's time for him to be with you, Miranda. You have the right to grow together as a Pair without me interfering. Life is going to be hard enough for you already in the next few years. Perhaps one day later on we can talk about it. But for now . . . Jonathan and I are going home, where we belong.”

This time he did walk away, but as he opened the door, she glanced down at the sword in her hands, then looked back up and called, ”Deven.”

He paused in the doorway without looking at her. ”Yes?”

She held up the blade. ”David said you name your swords, and that's what this carving is.”

”It is indeed.”

”Well . . . who is she? What do I call her?”

Deven smiled at her over his shoulder. ”Shadowflame.”

The stables were heated, of course, but David still fretted over the horses' comfort in such ghastly weather, so he visited them every night for at least a few minutes. As far as he could tell, neither one was at all perturbed at being cooped up inside-the forecast called for a few days' clearing before the next front, so he hoped he could take them both out tomorrow night, but in the meantime both seemed content to be coddled.

He ran his hand down Osiris's nose. The Friesian flicked his ears toward David and whuffled his hair affectionately.

”Here you go,” David said to the stallion, offering him a cookie from his pocket.

Osiris munched contentedly on the cookie and nosed David for more, but David shook his head and chuckled, admonis.h.i.+ng the horse. ”Don't be greedy.”

”He can't help it,” came a voice. ”You're irresistible.”

David turned toward the sound; he hadn't felt anyone approaching, but it wasn't that surprising given who it was. ”You should be in bed . . . and certainly not walking through the cold to get here.”

Deven shrugged. He was bundled up in his coat, with a scarf and gloves; he looked a hundred times better than he had even the night before, but still weary, even with his usual wardrobe, jewelry, and eyeliner perfectly in place. For once Deven looked older than a teenager, and it made David want to drag him into the house and tuck him back into bed whether Dev liked it or not.

”Our steward called,” Deven said. ”The jet's been cleared to leave tonight. There's a car on the way to pick us up.”

”You're . . . you're leaving? Now?”

”We've been away too long.” When he saw the uncertainty in David's expression, he added, ”I'm fine to travel, dear one. I need a few days' rest yet, but I'll sleep much more soundly in my own bed.”

”With your own Consort,” David said-almost blurted-before he could stop himself.

Deven gave him a searching look. ”So that's why you were angry at me,” he mused. ”It wasn't just for keeping the Red Shadow secret from you . . . it was for keeping it from you but telling Jonathan.”

David started to make the expected denial but couldn't. He also couldn't meet Deven's eyes. ”You're right.”

”He's my Consort, David. I don't say that to rub it in your face . . . it's just the way things are. He knows me, and loves me, in a way you can't . . . and vice versa. Each of you is a part of me, and that will never change.”

<script>