Page 10 of Arrows

“I don’t mind either way.” Lorre poked the map again. “If I split this, here, and we send a tributary down…”

“Is that what you were talking about, with the Queen?” He was taller than Lorre; he’d known that, but somehow he knew it again, just now. Standing nearer.

It was something about Lorre’s quietness, or his startlement about Van wanting to be here. Something that made the magician, for all his maybe-eighty years, younger. With sex-rumpled hair, falling all down his back.

“Yes. It’s perfectly possible—I’m good with water—but apparently political implications exist.” Lorre scowled at the map. “I hate thinking about implications.”

“Isn’t that why you’re here, though?”

Lorre sent the scowl his way, but not, Van thought, seriously. “I’m good at what I do. Doing what needs to be done. Maybe I should leave Averene. Kings and queens and rulers and politics and humans…”

“But—” Van put out a hand, shocked; then made a grab for his blanket. He couldn’t be the one responsible for the Sorcerer leaving the kingdom. No. Fuck. As it were. “But you live here. You’re here to help us. You’re one of us.”

“I am not, and I resent you saying so.” Lorre kicked the marble table with bare toes. And then, with mild surprise, said, “Ouch.”

“Fucking hell,” Van said, and winced at his own mouth. “Come here. Sit down. Did you break those toes?”

“No. Well, not anymore.” Lorre, back to sitting on the bed while Van picked up his foot, shrugged with both eyebrows. “It’s fine.”

It was now. Van had seen the straightening, heard the sounds. Hands on Lorre’s ankle, holding on so he could check, he asked, “Does that hurt? I mean the healing of it.”

“No. What’re you doing?”

“Foot-rub.”

“Oh, go away and be nice someplace else.”

“Really?”

“No. Tell me something about you. Not about you. About…the land. Where you’re from. Something you hold onto, when you’re here.”

Something to hold onto, Van thought. When Lorre himself had said, I’m not one of you. And then managed to injure himself.

He said, hands kneading the fine-boned shape of the magician’s foot, “I grew up in Baylight. Tiny village, mostly fisherfolk, you wouldn’t know it. A good stop for trading boats, though, and a good trade in boat-building. My parents run the local inn.”

Lorre made a sound, which might’ve meant anything or nothing; but he put his other foot in Van’s lap too.

“I always liked going down to the shore, in the morning. Early morning, with the sun coming up, and light all across the water like a giant looking-glass, catching the colors of it. Peaceful, and bright.”

“Perhaps you should’ve been a lighthouse keeper.”

“Maybe. I’ll take over the inn someday. But the Queen needed volunteers. I’m here now.” He ran a hand along Lorre’s calf. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Do you have to?” Lorre summoned tea with one lazy finger. “I don’t know you. You don’t need to know me. It doesn’t matter.”

“You said you weren’t from Averene. Is that true? It’s just, in the stories I know, you’re part of our history.”

Lorre snorted. And took the feet away, getting up. He collected and threw on a loose indigo robe, with ties at the waist, along the way. It had impractical beribboned sleeves. “And that’s a very stupid question you’ve chosen.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s complicated.”

“I’m sorry, I said.”

“If you know the stories you know the answer.” Lorre went back to the map. “Those mountains…but I can handle that…if you want the short version, the barony of Valpres is still independent, and my mother was a river, so no, I’m not one of you, on both counts. If Penth needs fresh water, the Argent’s the best option, but I could play with the ocean, also…”

“A whole ocean?” Van was pretty sure he’d said the wrong thing; those lapidary doors had slammed shut. “You can do that?”

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