The Guild

TWELVE

The first thought on her mind when she awoke was pure happiness. Rexei could not remember the last time she had felt such an unsullied contentment; usually, worry and stress plagued her days. The suncrystals overhead were still somewhat dim, suggesting it was barely morning, so she knew she had the time to spare for contemplating her happy state.

Let’s see . . . safe and sound within the wardings of the Vortex . . . well rested after a really good night’s sleep on Alonnen’s . . . Alonnen.

She blushed, remembering. His lips nibbling on hers, the suckling pull of his mouth on her nipple . . . the feel of those fingers stroking and sliding the fabric of her sleeping trousers through her folds. A shiver rippled through her muscles, bringing with it a flush of renewed desire.

Along with memory came a realization. He didn’t . . . he didn’t get to have any fun himself, last night. She blinked up at the ceiling, then knuckled away the grit of sleep. That isn’t right. I should’ve . . . Well, it’s a bit late for last night, but not too late for this morning, Rexei decided. She wasn’t ignorant of the theory of how sexual urges worked in men, not after a decade of pretending to be “one of the boys.” Right now, presuming he had enjoyed a good night’s sleep, Alonnen would be feeling the first stirrings of morning pressure.

Before she could lose her courage and backpedal herself into thinking this was going to be a bad idea, Rexei got up and headed for the bedroom door. She did hesitate before touching the panel, but only because she wasn’t sure whether to knock first or not. After a brief mental debate, she rapped lightly on the wood with a knuckle, then pushed on the handle.

A soft grunt met the opening of the door. She heard Alonnen trying again. “Mmfh . . . Rexei? Whazzit?”

He sounds rather cute like that, she decided, smiling shyly. “Shhh,” she said, closing the door behind her. “I’m just . . . um . . . returning the favor.”

“Huh?” Cloth rustled as he turned over and pushed up on one elbow.

Crossing to the bed, Rexei pulled up the covers on the left side and crawled under them. Her sleeping shirt and trousers weren’t thick enough to be proof against the cold winter air, but that was alright. Once she got close enough, she could feel part of the warm spot he had been occupying before rolling onto his side, and quickly huddled into it. Tugging the covers up to her neck, she gave him a shy, somewhat nervous smile.

Bemused, Alonnen studied her. Why would she come in here and crawl straight into my bed? “Bad dream?”

Rexei shook her head quickly. “Um . . . no . . . I, uh . . .” Taking a deep breath, she forced the words into the open. “I really liked what you did to me last night and, um . . . wanted to return the favor. This morning. If you want?”

Alonnen stared at her, groaned under his breath, and flopped onto the bed. On his back, because his body was instantly enthusiastic. Edging toward rampant. She took it as tacit agreement, for a moment later, her hand slid under the covers, brushed against his cloth covered hip, then fumbled a little onto the top of his groin.

Mindful of her undoubted innocence, he covered her hand with his, assisting her in cupping his thickening flesh. She squeezed him a little, fingers moving in gentle, curious exploration . . . then she wiggled her hand free from his.

Before he could ask if she was okay, he felt her fingers seeking and dipping beneath the waistband of his sleeping trousers. Breath catching, he sucked in his stomach under that tickling, explorative touch, then arched his back, lifting his groin up into her fingertips. Her skin was a little cool, a sweet, startling contrast to the heat of his manhood. Dizzy with lust, Alonnen panted, struggled for thought, and finally squirmed, shoving his sleeping clothes down below his hips, baring himself under the bedding.

Rexei blushed and bit her bottom lip at her daring; his enthusiasm did encourage her to continue, though. Twisting onto her left side, she leaned on her elbow and shifted her right hand into a better angle. Gripping his shaft, she marveled at the heat of it, the velvety-soft skin and slight spongy feel when she experimentally squeezed. His groan let her know she was doing it right.

A hundred crude comments and a thousand jokes came back to her, shared with her by men who had thought she was “one of the lads” at the time. She had even learned to give back as good as she heard, but this was the first time she actually touched one—at least, when trying to give pleasure instead of squeezing hard just to cause enough pain so that she could escape some would-be bully’s grip. This, however, was something she wanted to do right, with just enough pressure to stimulate and no more, with enough movement, enough . . . her palm stuck to his shaft, her skin a little damp from nerves.

He tolerated it for a few strokes, then nudged her gently. “There’s a jar of lotion on the nightstand, made from mint, for chapped lips and dry skin. You can use that.”

Blushing, she twisted over, found it, fumbled the lid off, and scooped a bit up with her fingertips. Careful not to get any on the bedding, she curled her fingers into a loose fist and returned them to his hip. From there, she found her way to his shaft, then gently spread the slick, mint-scented stuff onto his skin, grateful he had pushed his sleepwear even lower while she had been turned away. Not that she could see it, but she could feel it.

It helped a lot. Within moments, her fingers were able to stroke from base to tip and back with definite ease. The ointment felt extra cool on her skin because of the mint; Rexei could only imagine how it felt to the man himself, though she could guess. From the soft, deep whimpering noises and the way he tipped his hips up into each downstroke, it probably felt pretty damn good.

Mindful that he had done more to her than just stroke her folds, she leaned over, ducked her head awkwardly under the covers, and kissed his chest. His breath caught, and his hands shifted. One tugged the covers up higher over both of them, then cupped the back of her head. The other twined his fingers with hers, showing her how to squeeze and stroke faster, harder. She followed his silent instructions as best she could, breathing in the mingling scents of wintermint and musky man.

Alonnen loved the feel of her mouth nipping and tasting the muscles of his chest. It connected the nerves of his torso with those of his hips, even his legs. Groin lifting in needy rhythm, breath panting, he strained toward his bliss. Those little finger twists at the top, however, the little pulsing squeezes at the base, those blew his mind.

“So good . . .” he panted. “So . . . good . . . How’d you . . . how’d you learn to . . . do this?”

She blushed and smiled against the crinkly little hairs dusting his chest. “Lads like to gossip. I may not have one myself, but I’ve heard enough about what many like to do with theirs.” Nuzzling him, she felt something pebbled rubbing against her cheek and heard the hitch in his breath. Turning her head a little, she licked at his nipple and grinned at the way he spasmed. “Like that?”

“Slag, yes!” he gasped. She did it again and again, and his hips pistoned faster, pushing his shaft through her tightening grip. There was just enough lotion left to ease each rapid stroke, yet just enough drag to stimulate every last nerve. “R-Rexeeeei!”

Back arching, he came, hips jolting into the edge of her palm in several hard, unsteady thrusts. Hot dampness hit his chest, the sheet, and her fingers. He bucked a couple more times, then slumped, trembling. His fingers quickly covered hers, but she had already eased her movements. Settling instead on a gentle, slow-pulsing grip, his partner eased out the last few drops, then just cradled his softening shaft under her palm. Her lips dusted little kisses on his sweat-dampened skin, a tender touch that was not lost on his heart.

As soon as he had enough strength back, Alonnen tilted just enough to gather her in his arms, hugging her close. “Thank you,” he murmured, in between pressing little kisses to her forehead. “Thank you very much . . . for such a wonderful gift.”

A soft giggle escaped her. “You’re welcome. And I learned it by listening to the ‘other’ men bragging about what they liked when their lady friends stroked them. Ummm . . . if you want to do the same tonight? You with me, and, um, me with you . . . ?”

He didn’t have to give it more than two seconds’ worth of thought. “Okay. But tomorrow, clear heads. We have to go into town for the new-kingdom vote, and everything else that will have cropped up.”

Rexei nodded, her cheek nuzzling against his shoulder now that she wasn’t half buried under the covers. “Mmhmm . . . but tomorrow night . . . are we going to be staying at Big Momma’s again?”

His shaft twitched under her fingers. Just the thought of everything they could do, with the brothel’s supplies on hand, was stimulating. Unfortunately, now he needed the refreshing room, and he lacked a crucial piece of information on top of that. Kissing her forehead again, he started worming his way out of the bed to go clean up. “I think that could be managed . . . but the real question is, do you like strawberry jam, or would you prefer birch syrup?”

It took her a few moments to realize what he was talking about. When she did, Rexei blushed and blurted, “I’d want elderberry jelly. I think. Um . . . yeah. Elderberry.”

Grinning—and trying not to wince as the cold morning air hit the streaks of seed and mint, chilling his skin—Alonnen padded for the refreshing room. “Then dessert shall literally be on me. If we end up staying that late. If not, we’ll come back here, and I’ll introduce you to all the fun things we can do with honey. Win or lose, we’ll either celebrate or commiserate. But only if we concentrate, tomorrow. It’s a very important vote.”

• • •

Word had been spread, representatives picked and sent, but not everyone was coming. Part of it had to do with the weather; most of those who had arranged to travel to Heiastowne were from cities to the west and south, where the lands were less steep. To the north, a heavy snowstorm blocked travel, and farther north of that . . . many cities were now in full riot. Priests versus mages, militia versus citizens, old regime versus new would-be despots. The northlands were feeling the full brunt of the turmoil stirred up by Mekha’s destruction. Not all Precinct captains were interested in upholding the law, not when so many of them had also benefitted from the priests bending it.

Rexei didn’t know if it was due to her own words on the temple steps or to Captain Torhammer’s word that order would be maintained, or some combination of both. Probably both, since her words had quelled the initial urges to riot, yes, but the captain’s commands had ensured no others had a chance to start. She did know she was grateful that Heiastowne was not one of the cities embroiled in the horrors of a wintertime war.

She was also grateful the Consulate was toasty warm when she arrived through the back door, via the alley from Big Momma’s. The skies outside were clear, thanks to a steady wind from the west, but the thin winter sun couldn’t penetrate far enough to compensate for the sharp chill imbued in each frozen gust. Once safely inside, she focused on unwinding a layer at a time as she headed through the back halls toward the meeting chamber. First to come off was her scarf, then the long coat she had worn on the drive into town, then her gloves and cap, then . . .

“There you are!” Marta’s cheerful greeting startled her.

Blinking, Rexei found the older woman smiling with both sides of her mouth, to the point of beaming at her. Disconcerted, Rexei looked over her shoulder at the others who had come in the back way with her, but Alonnen only shrugged and tugged his cap down over his dark-spelled hair.

“Guild Master Rexei Longshanks,” Marta stated, turning partially to face two youths and an elderly gentleman, “I present to you your new apprentices in the Holy Guild. Pensen Tuckerhart, of Lumber, Springs, and Brewers Guilds,” she introduced, and Rexei found herself facing a tall, lanky youth with reddish hair and light brown woolens that almost matched. He dipped his head in a little bow, then stepped back as Marta continued. “Alsei Cartwound, of Bakers, Binders, and Embroiderers Guilds,” Marta introduced next, which meant a young blonde girl in a cream felted dress decorated with gray and black embroidered vines bobbed a curtsy. “And Master Gearman Jorro Foundertack of fifteen Guilds, so I shall only mention that he has master-rank in Mathematics, Exchequery, and Lessors Guilds.”

The balding, gray-haired fellow, clad in gray wool with blue-dyed trim, dipped his head and lifted his palm toward her. She found herself clasping his ink-stained and pen-callused fingers, which were warm and firm. He gave her a slight smile as he shook hands and said, “I understand you have me beat with thirty guilds?”

“Beat in numbers, yes . . . but not in the wisdom of years, I should think,” Rexei countered, forced to be honest in the face of such seniority. She offered her hand to Alsei and Pensen as well. “I’m rather surprised anyone could be found so quickly. I . . .” She trailed off, realizing only now that she didn’t even have a way to pay them wages yet. She shrugged, feeling awkward, but knowing it would be better to be honest about just how disorganized things still were. “I’m afraid the Holy Guild is still trying to get started. I’m terribly sorry to say this, but I, ah, haven’t even figured out how to create an income for the Holy Guild yet, so . . .”

“Actually, I have that covered for you,” Marta informed her, pulling out a stiff-paper folio from the messenger-style bag slung over her shoulder. Blinking, Rexei found herself the owner of a sheaf of papers, and the advice to, “Just bring up the laws on the summary sheet and call for a vote to change them in the ways indicated, and you should be able to get a portion of the previous mandatory tithes to the Priests Guild transferred over to the Holy Guild in no time.”

“Right. Thank you, Grenspun,” she said, still a little off-balance by how efficient the woman was. Clearing her throat, Rexei gestured at the doors in the distance, ones that led into the meeting hall. “We should head on in and discuss what we can of your thoughts and expectations before the meeting begins.”

“Will we get to see Her?” Alsei asked her. “Guildra?”

“I’m not sure when,” Rexei said, feeling a bit odd as two youngsters and a man old enough to be her grandfather followed her to the meeting chamber. “I’m told that manifestations take a lot of, uh, faith-energy. She said She wouldn’t appear again until things were more settled. By that, I suspect She meant a lot more people acknowledging and worshipping Her.”

“Well, according to what I read in some of the old books in the Binders Guild,” the younger woman said, “if we’re going to vote to become a kingdom tonight, we’re going to have to ring a sacred bell, and then prove we have a Patron Deity by manifesting said deity.”

“Just so long as Mad Mekha doesn’t pop back to life when we do so,” Pensen muttered. “I’ll take any God over Him again. Just about. Won’t take a God or Goddess that’s worse.”

“Smart lad,” Jorro stated.

Rexei let the other two enter the hall first, but paused the old man with a hand on his arm. “A moment, if you please. Master Jorro . . . why did you agree to be my apprentice? You’re a master thrice over, highly ranked as a Gearman. Why join the Holy Guild? Someone who is young, I can understand being willing to try something new, but you’ve suffered for decades under the old system.”

Her comment earned her a smile and a tap of his finger first on the tip of his own nose, then on the tip of hers. “That’s it, exactly, young man,” Jorro told her. “I have suffered under the old system. And what Mistress Grenspun described to me, what she recorded of your thoughts on the matter, is very much in line with my own thoughts over the years. I just wish I’d thought of a Patron of Guilds myself, since it’s so suitable.

“Besides, you’ll get the younger ones to follow you with young apprentices in tow, but to snare a master-rank in three disciplines of my years? That’ll command the respect of the older set.” He tapped her one last time on the nose, then on his own.

Rolling her eyes, Rexei lifted her finger and tapped the edge of it on his nose as well. “Mind your manners, apprentice, and have some respect for your Guild Master. No more nose bopping. I’ll let those ones pass, but no more, or you’ll be stuck with the scut work . . . if I ever have any that needs doing.”

He chuckled, not in the least offended by her sass, daring to speak like a gray-bearded grandmaster to a man who looked old enough to be her grandfather. She couldn’t even remember her grandparents, though. As it was, she could barely remember her two half brothers and her father.

The shock of seeing a man who looked very much like her eldest half brother, Lundrei, in the third row of the now very packed meeting room blew all other thoughts out of her head a few moments later. She stared, blinked, then shook it off. It couldn’t be him. He looks to be in his thirties . . . Oh. Right. He would be in his thirties, she thought, sneaking another look. Is that the badge of the Laticifers Guild on his shoulder? Yes, a tree branch with a drop falling off of it, representing the rubber sap that guild collects for things like tires and piston gaskets and such. It’s probable that after Mother’s disappearance, Father and my brothers split up and scattered. But that can’t be Lundrei.

“I suppose you want to know my reasons for joining?” Alsei asked her, distracting Rexei. At a nod, the younger woman launched into a tale about how she’d always felt sheltered by the Guild System, and . . . Rexei knew she should pay closer attention, but the man in the third row, with the master’s medallion and the dark brown hair, with the little mole just in front of his right ear, really did look like her long-lost brother. “. . . So that’s why I’m not afraid,” the blond girl concluded. “And I want to prove right off the top that women can be priests . . . er, members of the Holy Guild, too.”

Rexei nodded, pleased the girl had foreseen that need as well. “You have my complete support in that, and I’m glad you’re so willing. Now, I have a quick task for you, while I chat with Pensen about his reasons. See that fellow in the third row?” she asked, nudging Alsei around and pointing at the man who looked so familiar. “Would you go ask him if his mother’s name was Luwese, long, long ago? And if his next-mother’s name was Yula?”

“Uh . . . sure. And if he says yes, or if he says no?” Alsei asked her.

“If he says yes or if he asks who wants to know, ask him to stay after the meeting so that the Guild Master of the Holy Guild can pass along a message. If he says no, then thank him for his time, and apologize for bothering him,” she instructed.

Nodding, Alsei moved forward. Forcing her attention to the other youth, Rexei looked up at Pensen. “What about you? What are your reasons for apprenticing in the new Holy Guild?”

He shrugged. “Marta knows I’m a cousin of Master Tall’s. A couple generations removed. Never had any affinity for . . . you know,” he added, fluttering his fingers in a little ripple, the kind suggestive of spellcasting without actually saying the dreaded M word aloud. “I want to make sure the new guild’s safe for ’em. That, and I qualify with three different guilds.” He eyed her from his lofty full handspan of extra height and shrugged. “I would like to get paid, though.”

“So would I,” Rexei muttered, her gaze slipping to Alsei, who had reached her target. The man started, blinked, and searched the crowd. Following the pointing of her cream-clad arm, he stared at Alsei’s target. Rexei stared back. It was rather disappointing to see no sign of recognition in the man’s gaze, only confusion. Guessing that the answer was no, she sighed and turned toward the eldest of her trio. “I already know your reasons, Jorro, and I can appreciate them. Please find yourselves a seat, or a spot on a wall or the floor. I may or may not call you up for proof of apprenticeship, though I’ll still need to get you some medallions made.”

“I know some people in the Engravers Guild,” Jorro offered.

She smiled. “I earned my second journeyman rank in the Engravers Guild. I just have to get my hands on some tools and materials.”

“Do we have a place to stay tonight?” Pensen asked. “Because I’ve come from Luxon, and I only have so much money on me.”

“I’ll see what can be arranged,” Rexei promised, hoping Alonnen would be willing to be generous toward her new apprentices. He had created more quarters in the outer circle of the Vortex, after all, so surely there might be some room there for them, even if it had to be shared. At least until she could figure out a safe place for everyone to stay that was still within reasonably close reach of her quarters in the inner circle of the Vortex. She didn’t want to be without its protections, not until the demon summonings were completely thwarted and the last ambitions of the priesthood broken.

Alsei made her way back through the crowd to Rexei. She smiled. “He said yes to both, and he wanted to know why, so I told him you’d have a message for him after the meeting.” Her shoulders shrugged. “He also wanted to know how you knew, but I didn’t know, so he’ll probably ask you that, too, when you give him whatever the message is. Unless you’d like me to pass it along now?”

The sound of stone striking stone cracked through the hall. Rexei shook her head. “Find a place to sit with your brother apprentices—and thank you for asking him that,” she added. “I need to go join the other Guild Masters at the head table now.”

Nodding, Alsei moved to join the other two in finding a place to settle and observe. The hall was absolutely packed, though; the trio ended up having to sit on the ground in front of the foremost row of pews, while Rexei found herself sharing the same bench not only with Guild Master Grenfallow but another woman. With Grenfallow taking up the middle, the two relegated to sitting on the ends of the bench could barely plant a single buttock on the padded top. Turning sideways allowed Rexei a more secure perch, but that left her facing the back wall, since the other woman was seated facing the front.

As Grandmaster Toric rapped for order, someone brought up a stool liberated from elsewhere in the building, which allowed the woman on the end to perch on it. Grenfallow slid over, and Rexei turned and accepted her share of the bench more fully, if on the other side of the curvy head of the Actors Guild from the previous time. That gave her a chance to put down Marta’s papers and quickly peruse the top sheet.

The more she read, the more she had to admire Grenspun’s ability to think of a million little details and organize them by importance, necessity, and urgency. I wonder if I couldn’t convince her to join my guild, just for her sheer organizational skills . . . or maybe not, she thought. Maybe I should point her in the direction of whatever sort of government we should have.

Rule by committee is fine for some things, but only if we have the time for them. The Patriarch ruled in times of peace, and the Precinct generals in times of war . . . or at least areas of war, but even they reported back to the Patriarch. So we need a King or a Queen or something . . . but that would imply a hereditary rulership, and it’s a very common Guild Charter law that no offspring is guaranteed any rank in a parent’s guild beyond that of apprentice . . . and at that, for only one month. The rest, the child has to earn.

I have no idea how we’re going to rule ourselves, she admitted, turning her thoughts toward the Heavens. Gods and Goddesses . . . and in particular, my Goddess, Guildra . . . I hope You’ll give us good, solid ideas on what to do in the coming weeks and months and years.

Grandmaster Toric rapped his stone-tipped gavel one more time, this time in the pattern that invoked the Consulate meeting, and then there was no more time for idle speculation. Rexei was a Guild Master of a shattered nation that had to vote on whether or not to be a whole nation, or at least whatever parts of said nation cared to rejoin with its brethren. That would require concentration, even if the meeting threatened to run long.

It was only early afternoon, and it looked like the food was being supplied by the Hospitallers Guild this time; if the meeting ran to suppertime, there would undoubtedly be spicy and sweet pocket pies for everyone to eat, shipped in from the nearest taverns and inns. Thank the Gods . . . Guildra, I mean, she corrected herself. Thank You for small, tasty favors.

• • •

Alonnen did not like the way that sap master in the third row kept staring at the new head of the Holy Guild. It had taken him a good hour of covert study to realize the symbol on the other man’s master’s medallion was the branch and sap of the Laticifers Guild. There was no logical connection he could see between the makers of tree-sap rubber and Rexei’s lengthy history . . . unless perhaps the man knew her from her short time in the Lumber Guild. A short time, however, would surely not have generated any of the intense looks aimed her way.

When Grandmaster Toric finally ended the meeting, Alonnen’s mind was not on the laws that had been altered and passed. It wasn’t on the extra budget allocated to his guild for paying for the rehabilitation and reintegration of the mages who had to be passed to the safety of the carefully unmentioned Vortex, because their personal shielding was nearly nonexistent after too many years of being locked in spell-controlled mindlessness. It wasn’t on the fact that the Holy Guild now had a budget; one-third of the funds originally tithed to the Priests Guild were now allocated to her needs and the other two-thirds to a new-kingdom fund, but only those funds from all the cities which had attended and agreed to become a part of Guildra.

He wasn’t even thinking about the fact that they still needed a blessed, sacred bell to formally ring and summon proof that they were their own kingdom, with a Patron and a voice and an identity, though they now had eight cities and villages firmly under the banner of Guildara, and seven more whose representatives needed confirmation from the folks back home that this was the right thing to do.

His thoughts arrowed in on the need to get Rexei away from that older man before . . . well, he didn’t know what might happen. Rising from his seat the moment Toric set the mallet down, Alonnen hurried to the end of the table. Stooping over Rexei’s shoulder, he reached for the papers in front of her. “Right, then. Time to go.”

“I can’t leave just yet,” she murmured back, pressing the papers back down when he tried to lift them. “I have someone to talk to first. Plus my apprentices need a place to stay,” she added. Looking up at Alonnen, she gave him a wry smile. “I’d prefer it if that were somewhere near my current residence, but if you’d rather not, then I can get them somewhere here in town. At least I have the funds to pay them some wages now.”

“I’ll see what rooms can be found for them. But we really have to go now,” he warned her, seeing a certain dark-haired man working his way forward through the tide of bodies headed for the doors out of the meeting hall. Beside Rexei, Guild Master Grenfallow murmured a farewell and rose, her own notes cradled in her arms. Alonnen lifted his chin in reply, but he didn’t look at Saranei. She wasn’t the one who concerned him at this moment.

Rexei caught his stare and followed the line of his gaze. So that’s what this is about. He’s trying to be protective of me. She thought that was very nice, but unneeded at this point in time. Covering the hand still trying to pick up her papers, she smiled up at him. “It’s okay. I asked him to come talk to me.”

Alonnen frowned at that, but it was too late to question her. The dark-haired man made his way around the three Holy Guild apprentices, who were fielding questions from the others. Flicking a wary look at the green-spectacled Guild Master not quite looming over Rexei’s shoulder, he braced his palms on the front of the table, leaned over the corner, and spoke in a low, urgent tone.

“I have several questions for you, lad,” he asserted. A flick of his brown gaze at Alonnen’s face and back, and he added, “So unless you want this aired in public, I suggest you point out some place private where we can talk.”

“You’ll speak with Master Longshanks in full view of everyone else,” Alonnen told him, leaning half over Rexei’s shoulder. “If you want it private, keep your voice down.”

Eyeing the two men, both in their early thirties, both determined to have their way, Rexei sighed heavily. Scooting to her left on the bench into the fading warmth left behind by the head of the Actors Guild, she snapped her fingers under Alonnen’s sharp nose to get his attention, then pointed at the spot she had just vacated.

“You. Sit. Behave,” she added. Hesitating only a moment, Alonnen did as she bid. That freed her to face what she hoped was her half brother. “If your mum’s name was Luwese and your next-mother’s name was Yula . . . then you tell me the family name of Luwese, and I will tell you the family name of Yula.”

“How do you know such things?” Lundrei asked, suspicion clear in the narrowing of his brown eyes and the crease that formed between his brows.

He didn’t recognize her? Rexei had seen his long, hard looks all through the lengthy meeting, and she had hoped he had figured it out. I guess I need to start spending more time trying to look and act like a girl. Wear a dress, grow out my hair . . . well, not a dress all the time. Sighing, she fixed him with an honest, blunt look. “Because I earned a master rank in the Actors Guild?”

His brows lowered farther in confusion. She rolled her eyes. This close, she could feel his aura, though he wasn’t technically a mage. There were hints of home, of baked breads and worn fabric, in its feel, but there was also something else, something like a cheese that had aged and grown more sharp. Rexei wasn’t sure yet if she liked the new flavor of her brother. Or how long it was taking him to get her point.

“As a lad?” she emphasized carefully.

Comprehension dawned. Eyes widening and brows lifting in shock, he gaped at her for one moment, then lunged inward, arms wide—and got stopped by the slapping of Alonnen’s palm on his chest, straight-arming him from behind Rexei’s neck.

“Guild Master Longshanks asked you a question, Master Laticifer,” he growled, using the man’s guild for lack of a family name. “You will answer it to both our satisfaction.”

Lundrei pulled back, visibly affronted and tense with a pent-up retort. Rexei blushed a little, but she didn’t counter or soften Alonnen’s demand. Sharp brown eyes flicked between her face and her companion’s before the man standing to her left did an odd thing.

He relaxed. He even lifted his chin at Alonnen, though he kept his gaze on Rexei’s face. “You know, he’s not worthy of you.”

For a moment, she didn’t know what Lundrei was talking about. Alonnen lowered his arm to her shoulders in what would look to anyone else like a casual touch, but which to her half brother would be a clear statement that Alonnen didn’t give a damn what the other man thought of his presence in Rexei’s life. It felt good to know that she only had to say the word, and Alonnen would fight at her side for whatever she wanted. She slipped her arm around his waist in return, a visible show of solidarity. It felt right to do so.

Still, a ghost of an old memory teased at her senses; the scent of the apple pocket pies the Hospitallers had served along with the mutton and beef pies brought back the memory of her father sliding an apple cobbler out of the brick oven in their little house and her two brothers teasing each other about whether or not some of the local girls were “worthy” of them . . . and then they’d turned on Rexei and teased her, too, until their father, Gorgas Porterhead, had asserted that no man would be “worthy” of his little girl.

That was when her mother—his second wife—had given her husband an arch look and a witty retort. Smirking, Rexei gave it right back to Lundrei, if worked around a little so that it fit the current circumstances better. “I don’t know, he seems to have managed . . . just like Da did for Momma. But I’ll have your mother’s family name out of you.”

“Springfan. Now give me yours,” Lundrei ordered, lifting his chin.

“Dartingcam.” That earned her a grin, which she returned. She wanted to rise and hug him until the break of dawn, but Alonnen’s arm on her shoulders was a reminder that they were in a hall still partly filled with people, some of whom were close enough to maybe overhear and definitely see.

She also felt an uneasy distrust at how quickly she had found one of her long-lost brothers. It could just be a decade-long habit of caution, or it could be a worry that somehow he’s been converted by the priesthood, or it could be . . . I don’t know. Guildra, I just don’t know, other than I want to take things slowly.

That, and Alonnen had promised her there would be more fondling and cuddling tonight, and she suspected he would need some soothing and reassuring after this unexpected encounter with her brother. Not to mention hunger now warred with her weariness, letting her know that retiring to Big Momma’s would not be amiss for yet another reason.

Still, this was her long-lost brother. Contenting herself with a smile, she said, “I’ll be here tomorrow morning to take care of some business. We’ll have more time and privacy for talking then.”

Lundrei frowned at that. “Why not tonight?”

“Because I am a Guild Master.” Gathering her papers, Rexei stood. Alonnen rose with her, guarding her almost like a hound standing over a fallen bone. She would have to talk with him about that, but first she needed to deal with her brother. “I still have to find quarters tonight for my brand-new apprentices plus give them their initial instructions, and that takes precedence.”

“But, I haven’t seen you in ten years!” Lundrei protested. He had the courtesy to keep his voice low, but the intensity was still there. “What happened to you? Where have you been all this time? Don’t you want to know about Father and Tandron and me? Where we’ve been and what happened to us? Don’t you want to tell me what happened to you?”

“Of course I want to know. But I am not going to abandon my responsibilities. I am not a little . . . child anymore,” she amended carefully, mindful of the others still in the meeting hall. “Now, what name are you known by, and where are you staying? Since, if you’ve paid attention to this meeting, you’ll know my name by now.”

“Lundrei Cogsprite. And I’m staying at the Fallen Timbers,” he added, naming an inn she vaguely recalled being on the southeast side of town. “Rubber makers get a discount there, same as Lumber and Woodwrights.”

“I’m glad you get a discount,” Rexei told him. She wished she could just toss the papers out of her arms and hug her brother instead, but too many years of caution said be careful, be cautious, don’t rush things. “If I don’t see you here tomorrow morning, I’ll leave word at the Fallen Timbers.”

Grandmaster Toric approached along the curve of the head table. “Guild Master Longshanks, I know night has fallen, but if I could have an hour of your time, Grandmaster Della Grindhammer of the Exchequers Guild is willing to begin the paperwork assigning you . . . and your apprentices . . . the funds allocated to your guild during this meeting. The local grandmaster for the Mintners Guild is also willing to work on a suitable set of guild medallions for your, ah, growing numbers.”

Since it was clear he wasn’t going to get the freedom to speak with her tonight, Lundrei sighed, ran a hand over his dark hair, and gave Rexei a look that said they would have words later. “I can’t believe you were appointed a Guild Master at your age.”

“I am what I am . . . and I am not the only one who has to deal with what is, instead of how we all wanted things to be. A good evening to you, Master Cogsprite,” she told him. “I look forward to catching up with you tomorrow morning. Tuckerhart, Cartwound, Foundertack, if you’ll come with me, we’ll see about getting our first stipend set up, then see if the Mintners have the tool-spoked gearwheel already among their designs, or if not them, then the local Engravers Guild. Master Tall, if you’d like to accompany us, I’d be grateful for your continued guidance.”

Thankfully, Alonnen simply nodded, relieving Rexei that he wasn’t going to cause further trouble.

• • •

Alonnen held his tongue until after they left the Shambling Mountain Inn, where Rexei had secured temporary rooms for her three apprentices. It was late, he was tired, he had been looking forward to fooling around with his Rexei . . . and he didn’t know what to make of the turmoil of feelings he had at the thought of that man. Under the prodding of young Alsei during the walk to the inn, Rexei had confessed the gentleman from the Laticifers Guild was her half brother, and Alonnen had felt a bit of a fool over his reaction. Or rather, his overreaction. He still felt protective of her, but he should not have reacted so strongly.

The temperature had thawed a bit, melting most of the snow left over from that snowstorm, but the night was cold and damp from an intermittent drizzle. Since they had several blocks to go before reaching Big Momma’s, he adjusted the scarf to cover his nose a bit more, caught her gloved hand in his, and tucked both into the pocket of his leather motorhorse coat. Thankfully, she didn’t object. In fact, she huddled closer while they walked.

“Rexei . . . I’m sorry I got a bit jealous in the meeting hall over your brother,” he found himself confessing. “I’m not used to that. I didn’t know who he was, and I was a bit of a guard dog there, but . . . you’re not a bone for me to claim or fight over.”

“I know,” she murmured. Then clarified. “I mean, I know you didn’t mean it. I already know you know I’m not something to be fought over. And I do appreciate that you are willing to help protect me. I’m feeling just as cautious, too—excited,” she admitted. “Part of me just wants to run to the Fallen Timbers and talk with him all night long about . . . about everything. But part of me is wondering, why is he here now? Is this some trick or trap of the priests? Is it some subtle maneuvering of my Goddess, to try to restore all that I’ve lost? Or is it pure coincidence only?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “If you like, we can swing by the Consulate and I can put in a call for a scrying specialist to come out tomorrow morning to examine him for priest-spells. We have all manner of amulets and pendants for that sort of thing. I’d do it myself, but it’s not my specialty.”

She nodded. “I think I’d like that. I mean, he is my brother. He looks like him, he knows the family names, he . . . I don’t like having to doubt.”

“It’s just the product of living too many years with a False God,” Alonnen teased lightly, nudging her with his elbow. “You’ll get over it. Now, since we can’t do anything else about that until tomorrow morning . . . do you remember what I promised and what you offered yesterday?”

She blushed, cheeks heating despite the cold, damp wind curling through the streets. A particularly strong gust tried to extinguish the flicker of the gas lamps, but the glass panes kept most of the breeze out. “I remember . . . and I think I’d like to try that big bathing tub. That is, if it doesn’t cost too much to fetch up hot water?”

“They have a big boiler in the attic,” he told her. “Hot water on demand for every room, fed by the aqueducts from the Heias Dam. None of that tedious heating it by the kettleful, even if they don’t have magical runes.”

“Good. Then we’ll get warm, and, um . . . yeah.” She blushed again, but grinned, thinking of the possibilities inherent in old but clean sheets and elderberry jelly.

The rumble of several engines approached. Wary of the noise, the pair slowed and moved close to the side of the nearest building, where motorcarts and motorhorses would be less likely to pass. Sure enough, a full seven glass-enclosed motorcarts drove past. It wasn’t the sight of so many expensive machines that made Alonnen and Rexei stare, however. It was a glimpse of the Priests Guild symbol enameled onto the side of one of the carts.

“Did you see . . . ?” Alonnen asked her.

“It . . . it looked like the Patriarch’s seal,” Rexei confirmed, eyes wide. “I had to study it when I joined the Engravers Guild.”

“This isn’t good. If that’s the Patriarch . . .” Giving the last of the vehicles a worried look, Alonnen stepped up his pace, heading for the Consulate.

Several blocks, a bit of ringing and waiting for someone to answer, and a little bit of fast-talking later, Alonnen had the talker-box cranked up and working. “. . . Are you sure you cannot see anything, Gabria?”

“Yes, and I’m sorry, Master Tall,” the young woman on the other end of the aether-connected machine stated in his ear. “But wherever they are . . . ah! Aha! I just checked the paper roach in the dining hall. They’ve been taken there, and . . . yes, here comes an apprentice priest with the first of what looks like plates. They’re going to be fed after their long journey.”

“It’s rather late; I suppose food would be foremost on their minds, not business. What about the Patriarch?” he asked as Rexei listened in to his side of the conversation alone. “Can you see him?”

“Elderly, gray haired, long beard in the traditional braid, with the God’s Sigil on his forehead? . . . Well, not that the symbol would be there, since it’s vanished from everywhere,” Gabria muttered. “No, I cannot. I . . . oh, a name! Oh. Archbishop Gafford. And he looks like the descriptions I’ve heard. Tall, lean, thin mustache, soothing voice. That’s . . . not good.”

“Archbishop Gafford? No, it isn’t. That’s the Patriarch’s right-hand man,” Alonnen agreed. “Are they saying anything about the reason why he’s here in Heiastowne?”

“Wait . . . shh . . .” Several seconds of quiet passed, then Gabria spoke quickly. “He’s just given Archbishop Elcarei a setdown, saying he’s too tired and irritated to speak of business matters until morning. He just wants food, a warm bed, and quarters for his entourage—heh,” the mage-clerk giggled, surprising Alonnen. “He’s just, oh the naughty, insulting words he used, should Elcarei try to stick him in one of the former prisoner cells . . . I’m torn between being frightened at h-having the Patriarch’s Chief Enforcer in town, and . . . He has a very inventive vocabulary.”

“Be calm, Gabria,” Alonnen directed her. “Remember, you’re in the safest place. We’re the ones in potential danger. Arrange for surveillance through the night. Oh, and get some detection pendants sent out here with, um . . . Master Tildei. Or Master Julianna. Either of them are good at detecting and discerning priest-spells laid on people.”

“Yes, sir,” Gabria agreed. “I wish I knew how to record these scrying images. Archbishop Elcarei just turned an interesting shade of purplish red . . . Oh! Here comes the Aian mage. Wait . . .”

Curious, Alonnen waited. And waited. Rexei lifted her brows, so he cupped his hand over the cone of the mouthpiece and whispered to her what was happening. Finally, Gabria spoke once more through the earpiece.

“Oh my . . . This Torven fellow just firmly put the Patriarch’s right-hand man in his place. This is important, Alonnen,” Gabria told him. “Important and frightening. The Patriarch’s man came here to wrest control of the . . . the demon summonings from this ‘usurper,’ and Torven Shel Von just thoroughly set him in his place as being half trained, shoddily warded . . . and enchanted the archbishop into standing and dancing around to prove it! If Gafford was intending to s-summon demons . . . I think I am now very, very grateful this foreigner is in charge, even if his efficiency and skills frighten me.”

“So you’re saying it looks like the Torven fellow is firmly in charge?” Alonnen asked.

“Yes . . . yes, I do think so. The Archbishop Gafford isn’t happy about it . . . but he’s reseated himself and is no longer threatening or bluffing. What do we do about this?”

There were several options, but Alonnen had to admit to himself that if Torven Shel Von was firmly in charge, even of the arrogant newcomers, then that meant they had more time to prepare. “Continue to monitor all roaches. Arrange for around-the-clock study of the scryings, and have everyone take copious notes. If this Torven fellow is indeed in charge, then we have time, since it’s clear he won’t allow any rash, hasty acts.

“I’ll stay in town for now. Don’t hesitate to call the Consulate to send me a message if you overhear something that needs me urgently. I’d come back, but if anything happens, it might be better for me to be here on hand than all the way back at home.”

“Right . . . Heavens, but I am very glad I’m all the way out here and nowhere near there.”

“Goodnight, Gabria,” he told her, and at her murmured reply, ended the connection by dropping the ear-cone back into its cradle. He gave the crank several turns to keep it charged, then faced Rexei. “Looks like our Aian invader is containing and controlling the problem. For now. Eventually, he will conjure a powerful demon and . . . do something with it.”

“Are you sure you don’t need to return?” Rexei asked him, anxious at the thought of something slipping through their fingers, some opportunity or piece of news.

Alonnen shook his head. “There’s not much more I could do there than I could do here. I can’t watch all night long without exhausting myself, so I’d just have to make others do what they’re already doing right now, watching and taking notes on everything. Gabria’s been introduced as my Sub-Consul to a couple of the other Guardians, in case any of them call. And . . . I’m here with you.

“I don’t know how much time we’ll have before the muck hits the motor, but since we can’t do anything until we know more, either of what they’re up to or how to stop them for good . . . I’d rather spend my time with you,” he admitted plainly, searching her brown eyes. “I don’t know why it’s you, but I know it’s you, Rexei.”

“You know it’s me . . . what?” she asked, unsure what he meant.

He gave her a lopsided smile somewhat reminiscent of Marta. “I know it’s you I want in my life . . . and in my bed. For more than just sleeping. Still willing to head to Big Momma’s?”

She blushed and ducked her head, then nodded. Eyes bright, she smiled and helped him to his feet. “You, me . . . and elderberry jelly.”

Grinning, he let her pull him out of the talker-box room.