Wing & Nien Read online

  Hand at his back, she pulled him down off the crumbling curtain wall and this time he did not resist. He tumbled into her, spinning her around, back against the wall. He kissed her thoroughly and said, “Well…”

  Making a short reconnaissance of the Village and festival grounds, took her hand and led her a short distance to a break in the castle’s curtain about four steps high.

  Climbing through the break, they tripped over the crumbling ruin, laughing and clutching at each other.

  Walking so closely together as to be clumsy, Carly pushed Wing backwards, one of her legs between his. He kissed her, maneuvering them deeper behind the concealment of the curtain. Carly was pulling at his shirt as Wing slid his hands down the back of her pants, a pair she often wore during Cant training drills. Made to fit tight beneath the leather armour, Wing was having a struggle getting his hands upon her skin. Carly continued to press against him, finally tying up their feet. Wing managed to salvage something of their spill to the ground, rolling her over his arm until he’d come back around to lie beneath her. Lying on top of him, Carly shoved her hair behind her ears and looked down into his face. As he looked back up at her his expression was so open Carly realized that she’d almost forgotten how raw and fragile he could sometimes be.

  At the beginning of their relationship it had not taken long, once they were alone, for him to transform, easing into the man he was when it was just the two of them. But in the last few revolutions those moments had seemed harder for him. This tore at her heart for she had never been a guarded person, wary of others. But then she’d never needed to be. No one wanted anything from her. She was a bit strange — being one of the first women to join the Cant, running with the boys, and having little in common with other women — but no one looked at her the way they looked at Wing.

  Gazing down into his face, she couldn’t imagine the weight of such a thing.

  Maybe, she thought again, as she often had, if we could just be alone together, make a home together, he could find his ease and we could live in peace. He might talk more, be more open more often.

  But the pressure put on Wing by the people and the Council as well as the obligation of her own commitment to the Cant seemed to be pushing that possibility further and further away.

  Perhaps it shouldn’t, Carly thought, tracing his mouth with a fingertip.

  Wing opened his mouth and took her finger in it, sucking softly.

  They could start their home out at the far end of the valley where Wing’s family lived. She loved Nien like her own brother, Jake was like a little cousin, and Reean and Joash had never seemed to have a problem with her. In fact, she believed they thought she was good for Wing.

  Pulling her finger from his mouth, she replaced it with her lips, exploring him as only a mouth could, with both pressure and great tenderness. Drawing back enough to kiss either side of his nose, she was overcome with happiness as Wing closed his eyes beneath her ministrations.

  It was true she’d never really been afraid of anything…

  Until Wing.

  Now, she felt fear all the time. She knew she shared the feeling with Nien and his family — the longing to protect Wing, to make the craziness stop so that he could be free to live a normal life.

  Wing moved beneath her and she felt the strength of him push up against her.

  She gulped, felt her belly quiver with desire. Fumbling at the buttons at the front of her pants, she rocked against him. One of the buttons popped, flying off.

  “Oops,” she said, grinning. Not bothering to see where it had gone, she took Wing’s hand and drew it down between her legs. She saw his throat tighten as his fingers slid through, finding her slick with wanting.

  He took her mouth with his again, moving her easily with his body, angling her pelvis at an easier position for the turn of his hand. Carly dropped her head into his shoulder. And then she was grabbing at his belt, unable to unfasten it quickly enough.

  Wing aided her, freeing himself.

  Carly bent her head and looked down at it, the beautiful odd thing that it was, irresistible, smooth skinned, dark blue veins standing out thick and heavy — pulsing blue rivers of blood and desire. It reminded her briefly of his hand, the blue veins there, just beneath the skin.

  Sech’nya, she swore silently to herself, you will be the end of me.

  Unable to resist, Carly scooted herself down and took him in her mouth, smoothing it between her teeth over her tongue in one long motion. She felt his body stiffen, the quick intake of his breath as he rose to meet her. Once, twice, saliva flooding her mouth, and she was crawling back up Wing’s chest, seeking his mouth.

  Wing met her kiss with equal frenzy and grunted a little as they both struggled to free at least one leg each from their pant legs. Ungracefully succeeding, Carly took a moment to breathe as Wing reached down and guided himself inside of her.

  Setting their connection, Carly paused, resting in quivering silence upon his chest, flooded with unspeakable relief at having finally met the compulsion moving through her.

  She moved a little, widening her legs and coming down again. He shifted in response, moving deeper into the space her movement created.

  They moaned softly together, Wing’s arms wrapped hard about her, Carly’s own arms up, resting on the ground just above his shoulders, cradling his face. She swallowed and considered his eyes. They were dreamy, lost in desire. Beneath her, she could feel the thud of his heart and with a sudden madness hated the barrier of what clothing remained between them. Raising herself, and with Wing’s help, she managed to get an arm out of her shirt, freeing her breasts. Wing took the nipple of her left breast in his mouth and Carly moved her hips against him as he sucked, the twin sensations of his push inside of her and pull at her breast locking up her breath. Pressing herself against him, she felt him shudder beneath her.

  “I…” Wing muttered, bowing his head into her shoulder. Carly could feel him contract beneath her, the length of his body taut with restraint — muscle, bone, and sinew quivering.

  Breathing hard, she set her cheek against the heat of his neck. “Go ahead, please…”

  Wing thrust into her and she felt the beginnings of orgasm flood her abdomen, reaching up into her chest, flashing brightly somewhere deep inside her head before reaching climax. A moment later, Wing stiffened and went still and she felt a brief, familiar rush spill into her.

  Heavy, washed into oblivion with release and completion they lay blessedly numb, one flesh, one breath, the boundaries of their individual bodies dissolved into the other.

  Spent, the thread of their emotional connection still made the thought of parting difficult. Catching her hair up in his hand, Wing held her tightly as she lay languid against his body, feeling the strange drain of energy that spiraled down her legs post-orgasm.

  The sun shone brilliant and warm upon their brief exposed patches of skin. The tangle of clothes about them was almost funny. Carly got her arms beneath her and pushed herself up. Wing grunted with displeasure.

  “I know, but if we have some stray from the festival show up…”

  Wing glanced around as Carly rolled over. Pant legs were tangled, caught up around boots and socks. Their shirts were present, inside out. Carly tugged to free a foot, as Wing scooted into his pants and lay back to the ground, his fly and shirt front still open to sky and breeze. Carly scooted back into her own pants, examining the thread hanging from the popped button. Wrangling the shirt back around her shoulders and untwisting it, she looked around for the missing button.

  On his back, eyes closed, Wing lifted his hand, holding up something between his fingers.

  “Oh, thank you,” Carly said, taking the small button. “I won’t ask where you found it.”

  Wing grinned, still not opening his eyes.

  Where his fly and shirt lay open, exposing the smooth, con-caved surface of his belly, Carly placed her palm.

  He jumped a little at the cold touch of her fingers, and then relaxed, bringing h
is hand to rest over hers. Carly curled up next to him, head in the cradle of his shoulder, caressing her thumb softly over his skin, the feel lulling her into a drowsy state of bliss.

  For a time, they lay unmolested except for the occasional insect. And then Carly heard some scuffling, the slip of loose rock, and a shot of laughter. She raised her head and saw two boys peeping at them through a hole in the curtain.

  Shy and necessarily protective of his personal life, Carly wondered if she should tell Wing. But Wing laughed lightly from where he lay beneath her and opened his eyes to brief slits.

  Carly grinned back at him and waggled two fingers, indicating that there were two peepers.

  Wing whispered, “That’s a pretty big hole in the wall.”

  “Uh huh,” Carly whispered back.

  “Wonder how long they’ve been there.”

  “Sounds like long enough.”

  Wing closed his eyes again and said, “Ah. Well. Who said only parents have a hand in educating their children.”

  Surprised at his assessment, Carly laughed. In response, she felt the low rumble of Wing’s chuckle beneath her.

  Easing herself back down to the solid warmth of Wing’s shoulder, Carly mused over Wing’s nonchalance. There were times he was so shy it was almost unbearable for her to watch. And then there were times like this, when it would have been normal to be shy and he didn’t seem to be bothered in the least.

  I’ll never figure you out, she thought, and sighed, the sun like a warm blanket over their cooling skin.

  It was the brisk rise of an evening breeze combined with the din of the festival’s evening activities that roused them at last from their love-making spot. Stretching and yawning, they collected the last of their clothing, exchanged correct socks, and exited the crumbling bastion still drowsy but hungry. Carly accompanied Wing to the Cawutt camp where they could be at their ease. Wing built up the fire, procured some food, and they stretched out on a blanket enjoying the empty camp and the lights and revelry from familial campfires.

  Carly and Wing spent that night as well as the following day, unmolested. Except for the two peepers through the hole in the bastion, it seemed the festival might pass uneventfully until, on the third day at the Cawutt family booth, Reean looked up to see Councilman Fu Breeal’s wife coming toward her.

  Great, Reean said to herself, groaning.

  Wishing she could magically disappear, Reean bought herself a few more seconds by ducking behind the booth on the pretense of looking for something.

  “Mother-Cawutt, where’s your son?”

  “Which son would that be, Leeal?” Reean said, poking her head over the top of the booth. “I have three.”

  “Why, Son-Cawutt Wing, of course.”

  Of course, Reean thought. “His whereabouts are important to you, why?”

  “Not for me, I would never.” Flushing with embarrassment, Leeal cut her message short. “Certain members of the Council were wondering.”

  Reean’s eyes blazed. “You tell them to leave him alone — it’s the Festival.”

  Leeal’s back stiffened. “Perhaps you should tell them, then.”

  “Perhaps they should have come and asked me themselves.”

  Leeal looked like she was trying to find some kind of reply, but the Go Away look in Reean’s eyes decided her. She turned and left. Reean was about to plant a fist in one of the pies she’d made to sell when Joash walked up.

  “I lost one of your pies,” he announced and flopped into a chair. “Sorry.” When Reean didn’t reply he looked up at her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Leeal. She...she’s so pressing.”

  “What’d she do?”

  “She had the nerve to ask where Wing was.”

  “How dare she,” Joash said lightly.

  “I’m not being funny,” Reean snapped. “She said the Council is looking for him.”

  Joash’s cheerful mood vanished. “Do you know where he is?”

  “No. He’s still off with Carly. Do you think we should warn him?”

  “We can try. I don’t know if he’ll hear it.”

  Reean sighed. “Well, perhaps if we told Carly, she could direct him away, discretely…”

  “I have a good idea where Nien is. He can find them.” Joash pushed himself back out of the chair.

  “Why can’t they leave him alone?”

  Joash met her eyes briefly. “Tradition.” Soothingly, he laid a big hand on her shoulder and said, “I’ll be back,” before striding off, navigating the crowded festival grounds, heading for the familiar spot near the castle where Nien and the other Cant members often lounged about during the festivals. He hadn’t gotten far, however, before mutually spotting two Council members moving across the lawn toward him. It took only an instant for Joash to make up his mind. Deciding not to find Nien, he went to meet the Council members himself.

  “Father-Joash Cawutt,” the two Council members said, greeting him.

  Joash nodded to them. “I’ve heard you are looking for my son.” He didn’t feel the need to say which one — both parties already knew.

  “We were,” the Council members answered in unison, one more timidly than the other.

  “I’d like to talk to the Council myself, if you don’t mind. Are they gathered then?”

  “Informally, yes, it being during the festival and all.”

  Joash tried not to show his irritation. Might as well get on with it, he thought.

  The three walked in awkward silence across the festival grounds and through the abandoned Village streets to the Council chamber.

  Inside the door, they were greeted by Councilman Ne’taan, the Council’s youngest member, who motioned for them to go on in.

  “Father-Cawutt,” Grek Occoju said, inclining his head from where he stood at the head of a large Mesko wood table — a table Joash had fashioned with his own hand when he’d been quite young. “It has been some time since you’ve joined us here.”

  “It has,” Joash agreed.

  “It is an honour.”

  Joash nodded politely.

  “Will Son-Cawutt Wing be joining us?”

  “No,” Joash said shortly. There was a pause of discomfort felt by everyone in the room.

  Grek was the first to adjust his composure and taking his seat, offered one to Joash.

  Joash declined, briefly meeting the eyes of Commander Lant.

  “We are sorry,” Grek said, “about the unfortunate circumstance and result of our meeting on the outskirts of the Village last season.”

  “I appreciate the admission,” Joash said.

  “Did Son-Cawutt Wing come with you to the festival?”

  “He did,” Joash said. And then he shrugged. “I haven’t seen him since about a moment after we arrived.”

  “Uh huh,” Grek said absently. “We have seen Son-Cawutt Nien, however.”

  Joash felt a small, painful flutter in his chest. Here it comes, he thought.

  “There is word circulating that he wishes to open a school of sorts.”

  Joash nodded.

  “He has your approval in this?” Grek Occoju asked.

  “He has my blessing.”

  “No matter how misguided?”

  “I do not find his desire misguided.”

  “Perhaps that is where the problems lie — with both your oldest sons.”

  Joash’s hazel eyes flicked to Cuiku. “Problems, gentleman, is a point of view.”

  Cuiku began to speak again, but Grek cut him off. “We were wondering if Son-Cawutt Wing has come to a decision regarding the Cant?”

  “I know my son’s heart — as well as any father can know their child — and he has no intention of joining the Cant.”

  “Can you tell us why he is so reluctant? Does he disapprove of it?”

  Joash knew that the slightest hint of Wing disagreeing with the Cant would see the force dismantled by the end of the turn. He shook his head. “It’s not something he’s against, it is simply not part of what he
is.”

  “Perhaps it is only a part of himself he has yet to discover.”

  Joash looked to Councilman Tael Ruke. “As you know, one of my sons is already a member of the Cant.”

  “Yes,” Cuiku said, jumping in again, “and we were hoping he might be of some help in encouraging Son-Cawutt Wing to join.”

  Like a rash, Joash felt a familiar discomfort flush his skin.

  “We are well aware, Father-Cawutt, that Nien is a high member of the Cant, but he is not pure Rieevan — as Son-Cawutt Wing is,” Councilman Breeal said.

  “Wing? Have you seen him?” Joash said. “If it’s purity you’re after, if it’s the perfect Rieevan you want, you won’t find it in him. On his mother’s side his blood reveals the influence of a people from a far distant valley. Doesn’t that make all of this…misapplied?”

  “No,” Breeal said plainly. “It is your lineage the code takes into greatest account, and yours is a Rieevan line as far back as we have record.”

  Joash’s breath fell like metal shards in his chest.

  “If you will not talk to him, then we will request to talk with him,” Breeal said.

  “You have spoken with him before,” Joash replied. “His mind nor yours has changed in the time that has passed between.”

  “We shall see,” Breeal said.

  Grek Occoju leaned forward in his chair. “Apologies,” he said to Joash, turning his steady gaze upon Breeal. No matter the current situation and concern, Breeal’s lack of respect toward the Mesko Tender and honorary member of the Council was an affront to all of them.

  Turning back to Joash, Grek concluded the meeting. “Thank you for coming, Father-Cawutt. We hope you enjoy the rest of the festival.”

  Joash nodded to Grek and went to leave. Near the door, however, he stopped.

  The Council members, beginning to talk amongst themselves, didn’t notice that the Mesko Tender was still in the room until his deep voice filled the chamber. “You,” he said. “All of you.”

  The Council members paused in their chatter and looked up to see the Mesko Tender’s sinewy frame filling the doorway.

  Secured of their attention, Joash said, “My son has never expressed an interest in either a prophetic calling or the Cant. I will not have his life destroyed as those who came before him.” There was an unmistakable edge of warning in Joash’s voice. “I will not have him cajoled, nor will I succumb to threatening him myself, especially when I’m not sure he is...” Joash paused as every nerve, every impulse in his body suddenly roared with a timeless ache. His history in Rieeve was a long one. His influence quiet and profound with the great trees, Commander Lant, the older members of the Council itself, and even with the terrible circumstances leading up to Rhegal’s disappearance. Taken together, Joash’s warning words had not only his but every heart in the room hammering...