Raven's Shadow (Raven #1)(85)

"I don't think that Benroln will be able to do anything to Seraph that she doesn't want to happen. Lehr is with her."

He swallowed, "And you are safe here."

"Yes," she agreed. "I'm safe with you. Would you help me with my knitting until your mother's business is completed?"

She opened her bag and gave him a skein that she'd tangled just for this purpose. After a little hesitation he took it from her. He stared at it for a minute, but at last his long-fingered hands began to work patiently at untangling knots. The rough wool thread had a mind of its own, and it would take a while to unravel the mess she'd made.

She settled at his feet and began knitting with a ball he'd rolled for her yesterday. She leaned lightly against his leg, prepared to shift away if she made him uncomfortable. The long muscles of his thigh softened and relaxed, so she let him take a bit more of her weight.

She glanced into his eyes and saw the fury trapped impotently in the net of the foundrael. She shivered and looked back at the sweater she knitted. For a while he seemed calmer. Perhaps if the tent had not been so starkly furnished, or if that idiot Isfain had quit looking at Jes as if he expected him to explode, Jes would have been all right.

"I don't like this," said Jes, abruptly throwing his yarn on the ground. "I need... I need to be somewhere."

Hennea looked up at him and saw the despair in his eyes. Enough, she thought. "Wait a moment," she told him.

Kors was not a problem. He knew what was right when someone shoved it in his face, as much as he wished he didn't. Isfain, though, Isfain might be more difficult.

He was one of those gifted with magic, though not Ordered. Hennea knew that other Ravens had a tendency to look upon unordered mages as weak, but she was not so foolish. A good wizard used subtlety as well as power, and like a well-knit wool sweater, their spells could be difficult to unravel.

The trick with wizards was not to give them time to do anything.

"Isfain," she said simply. "Hush, be still."

It wouldn't have been worth doing to a Raven, because they needed neither word nor movement to call magic. A wizard could call magic that way, too - but it was a poor business they made of it. It would be a long time before Isfain worked his way free of her binding.

"What?" asked Kors incredulously, surprised at Hennea's rudeness.

She put her knitting away carefully, then she took the yarn Jes had thrown and set it in the top of her bag. Time enough later to unspell it so it could be organized more easily.

"He's too far," she said.

"What do you mean?" asked Kors, who still hadn't noticed that Isfain was now immobile because of her magic. He didn't know what she was.

"Have you ever seen a Guardian released from the foundrael?" she asked. "It's not bad if they haven't been upset - but your Isfain precluded that."

"Mother," said Jes sadly.

She nodded. "I know. Lehr will keep her from harm, but that is your job. To protect your family."

"Yes," he said.

She turned to Kors. "If I were you I'd leave this tent, so that you aren't the first thing he sees when he's free."

She'd given him warning enough. If he didn't choose to follow... she relaxed as she heard him leave. Really, Kors wasn't a bad sort.

"All right, Jes, I'm going to take this thing off."

She reached up, but he caught her hands. "Can't. Benroln said only him."

"Well," Hennea said. "I'm not as powerful as your mother, Jes, but I have spent a long time studying. I think I know how to take the blasted thing off. I'll not lie to you, there is some danger - but not as much as leaving it on."

"To me," he said, catching her hands before she could touch the foundrael. "Not you."

"Only to you," she lied, but she'd had a lot of practice lying and it came out like the truth.

He let her set her hands on the soft band around his neck. The leather was soft and new-looking, as if it had been tanned yesterday instead of centuries ago. That made it easier, because she knew which one it was.

"No," he said, pulling her hands away again.

"It's all right," she said.

"No," Jes said again. "The Guardian will kill the big man. That would be bad. He thinks that killing would be very bad for us. Killing is bad, but he would have no choice. He is very angry."

Hennea considered him. Everyone had a tendency, she thought, to ignore the daylight Jes in their fear of the Guardian. Oh, Seraph loved him in either guise, but she treated him with the same indulgence and discipline that she treated their dog and the others followed her example.

Jes, thought Hennea, was more than just a disguise where the Guardian resided. Impulsively she put her hand, still clasped loosely by his, on his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned against it, moving so the light stubble, new-grown since his shaving this morning, prickled her fingers.

He was just a boy, she thought, uncomfortable with the instant response his innocently sensual gesture had called from her.

He might be right about killing. The Order of the Eagle came only to people who were empathic, a rare gift and usually weak. If Jes were a strong enough empath, killing might very well be enough to damage him.

"The Guardian won't calm until we take it off, Jes. He'll just feel worse and worse," she said, though she didn't move her hand from his face. "The longer we wait the more difficult it will be."