A Husband for Deva

Magic and Anger

Ashlen's knock woke Deva from an unintentional doze. Startled, Deva jerked awake in her chair, to see that the sky had grown dark and the fire burnt down. Ashlen knocked again, a hard rap that Deva recognized at once, even half asleep as she was - the knock was as distinctive as Ashlen's fiery braids and barbaric jewelry, her long stride and accented voice.

"Come in," Deva called out, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Ashlen slipped around the door and pushed it closed with one hip, her hands occupied in balancing a covered tray, a wax-sealed bottle, and a basket. "I'm sorry to be so long, caila; you must be starving!" she said, lowering the tray onto the nearest table and folding back the linen cloth that covered it. "I've brought your supper."

As the rich smell from the main dish reached her, Deva found that she was indeed starving, and pulled her chair hastily to the table. "Oh, bliss! I haven't eaten all day."

"Jenia brought you nothing? I thought she was supposed to see to your meals - no? Well, I'm twice glad I told her I'd bring up your meal, then."

"You're very kind."

"I wanted that sour-faced thing out of the way. We have things in hand tonight that do not require her presence or her tattling." Ashlen cracked the wax seal off the bottle she had brought, and a sweet herbal scent filled the air. She measured out a small cupful and handed it to Deva.

"What is this?" Deva looked dubiously at the pale green liquid in her cup.

"Syrpe pehr sygneidhe. A distillation of herbs mostly; I think you would call it a tonic, to give your baby health. I brought it with me in anticipation of the day when I should quicken, but that time has not yet come, and Brialach's baby will have need of it."

"Everyone else is hoping I lose the baby," Deva commented bitterly.

Ashlen did not reply, but stirred up the fire with a poker and added more wood to fuel the blaze. "That's better," she observed, with a nod toward the brightening flames, as though it were natural for a princess of the realm to mend a dying fire. Then she opened her basket and took out a pouch of fine leather. From this she drew out a segmented collar of intricately carved gold, which she proceeded to fasten around her neck. Citrines and opals glinted in the firelight, studding the collar and hanging in a central pendant. "It is mae torcha," she explained, in response to Deva's look of surprised admiration. "At home, we wear them always. But no one here wears such a thing for regular days; the bandhi in my hair are seen as odd enough."

"It's gorgeous," said Deva. "It suits you."

"Yes, it does," Ashlen agreed with a pleased smile. "It was made by a very fine craftsman. But it is more than just pretty jewelry. Wearing a torcha is the sign of a majkeidhe."

Deva couldn't quite suppress a shudder at the thought. "Sorry," she murmured.

"No, I am sorry," replied Ashlen. "I don't like to bring the majka into your thoughts or your presence, but tonight I have no choice. I'm not sure my family would believe a letter, and you don't have weeks to waste while riders travel back and forth, caila." With her left hand, she gripped the citrine-and-opal pendant of her gold collar. An intense, far-away look came into her eyes, and the air crackled with static tension. The gems in Ashlen's collar sparked and flared and started to glow, and then the gold ornaments in her hair lit up too, webs of light joining them in a radiant network of fire.

The beauty of it stunned Deva.

"Don't be frightened," Ashlen said softly, and though Deva automatically crossed her wrists against evil, she wasn't afraid - it would surely not be possible to fear something so magnificent as the flaring web of golden light against Ashlen's fiery hair. Ashlen slowly raised her right hand, palm upward, and made a curious reversed-beckoning gesture with her fingers. The air snapped and sparkled around them... and an eye-shaped slit opened and widened in the air above Ashlen's hand.