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og had his things packed and ready to go. Not that he had much to call his own in the world. He sat on the cedar chest that the servants would soon deliver to the sigil pad. Armand and Brigit were thrilled that he would be going with them for the winter but now he was having misgivings. His temporary home had seemed empty once Lemony and Xue Xue had moved out. The little monk’s high spirits could fill an entire hall and he had to come to terms with the fact that he missed her. Not simply that he missed her, but that he felt empty without her.
“Moggie!” she cried, pushing past the open door to the apartment they had once shared. For her sake, he smiled and held her tightly when she rushed over to give him a hug. What was he thinking falling in love with her? It was not just physical reasons that made such a match impossible, it was her nature. Everyone loved her and she loved everyone. It was not the ardor shared by Brigit and Armand. It was pure and undemanding, like sunlight, given freely and warming all within her gaze. He felt foolish, as he would were he to fall in love with the sun.
“Aw Lemmy,” he rumbled, caressing her gently and kissing her downy pate.
“Are you really going to leave?”
“Aye. Not much here fer me, lass, an’ Armeh says they be needin’ able bodied folk t’ protect th’ passes n’ mountain villages.”
She smiled up at him and squeezed his hand, enormous next her to her tiny digits. The gods were cruel making him fall in love with this precious human being. It could not work, they both knew that.
“Have you been hiding in here all day?” Lemony asked, “Did you even leave to get food?”
He shrugged.
“I manage, Lem. No need t’ fret, darlin’.”
“I keep waiting for you to come say goodbye,” Lemony said, a faint note of irritation in her voice, “Armand is going back to Brigit and her folk tonight. He is expecting you to come with him so he can guide you to her village.”
“I know,” Mog said, an unwelcome surge of emotion knotting his throat. He did not want to go. He had asked Armand to leave him be that morning while he prepared. Prepared for what? Everything he owned was already in the chest. It had been the moment Lemony had moved out five days before. He as waiting for something that was never going to happen and now his friends were nudging him along.
“Well, Mopey Moggie, at least come visit Pen before you go,” she teased, squeezing his hand as she regained her feet.
“Did th’ lad wake up?” Mog asked, genuinely curious and pleased that the harpist Armand had led back to the island may have proved successful.
“No, not yet,” Lemony replied, hesitating, “You should come with me. I think there’s someone you should meet.”
“Lemmy, ‘m not feelin’ ‘specially soc’able.”
“I noticed that,” she replied, grinning slyly, “So are you coming or do I need to put wheels on your feet and drag you?”
Mog sighed and got up, annoyed that he was towering over her yet again, annoyed that by an accident of ancestry he happened to be twice the height of someone he loved and wanted to be close to for the rest of his life. He was tired of the stupid jokes about his height, annoyed that he had to duck to get past a doorframe, furious that the only people who were routinely glad to see him were the tailors who stood to make more coin on account of his unusual stature. Which of course, only served to annoy him further to think of his last coin going to buy appropriate clothing for the harsh mountain clime.
He followed her down the corridor, more self-conscious than usual about the stares he got from servants or recent visitors. What, had no one seen a big ugly giant before? Lemony squeezed his hand as she led him along and he wondered if she could sense the turmoil seething within him. What was the point in telling her how he felt? It would just make things more awkward. And besides, she was living with Master Bei. How could he even begin to compete with that?
Gods, he felt stupid feeling jealousy of all things. How petty and juvenile. They would all be better off with him gone. Lucky him, he was about to embark on a new adventure and annoy a whole new crowd of people with his off color jokes and noise making, as Armand called it. He should be happy for Lemony. She was finally settling down where she was adored and needed.
“After you!” Lemony announced as she held open the door to Master Bei’s apartments. He flashed a tense smile and ducked past the door frame. The sitting room now exhibited a comfortable lived-in feel that came from exuberant children being encouraged by an exuberant Lemony. Mabane was sitting at a desk near the window practicing his letters with his left hand. The right was nestled in a sling at his breast. Xue Xue’s drawings and paintings were gracing most of the vertical surfaces and whatever horizontal spaces were not occupied by Zhou’s odd devices. The little girl was curled up on the couch where Zhou was napping.
“Yeh run a tight ship,” Mog chuckled as he tip-toed past some of Xue Xue’s latest offerings while Lemony quietly closed the door so as not to awaken the two sleepers.
“Listen,” Lemony whispered and Mog tilted his head toward Pendaran’s room. The faint glistening notes of a harp drifted to his ears, sweet and sad. He was about to smile and nod at Lemony dismissively when an angelic voice lifted in song. Transfixed, he could only listen as she gave voice to the aching places in his heart. Low and delicate at first, she sang each word tenderly, as she might to a sleeping child. Then, building in strength, she held the note at the end of each phrase perfectly, sometimes ornamenting with a sad tremolo and other times letting the note go with the softest caress.
“My tears fall like rain
And the wind carries my sigh.
Do you hear me, shining sun
Alone in your sky?
“Whose is the voice that calls?
I arise like a newborn fawn.
Shaking where I stand
To hear your sweetest song.
“Love, do not forget me.
Bright star of my sky,
Gods grant me wings,
And to you I would fly.”
The simple song faded to the gentle music of the harp. Lemony was grinning foolishly at him while he could only stand there mute and stunned. Such a voice was surely nurtured by one of the old Lyssan temples. There was magic in it and it had moved him nearly to tears with its beauty. It made him feel homesick, something he had tried to avoid feeling for many years.
“I need to go,” Mog said quietly, “I should not keep Armand waiting any longer.”
Lemony stared at him like he was mad.
“Mog? Is that you? Where’s your brogue?”
“Sorry, Lem, I’m not feeling well,” he muttered, which he realized too late was about the stupidest thing he could say to a monk. She frowned and clasped his hand and drew him into Pendaran’s room despite his initial attempt to resist. He did not want to go in there; he did not need a reminder of all that was now gone from his life. It was time to move on. Long past time.
“Maeve, this is Mog Ruith Mac Simagh,” Lemony announced, “Mog, this is Maeve An Binnech. There, you’ve met, so stop being silly and talk about music.”
He bowed automatically when Lemony introduced him and Maeve rose from the harp and swept aside her velvety green gown to offer a respectful curtsey. Her statuesque figure towered over Lemony. Long legs flowed into the voluptuous curve of hip and swell of breasts that taunted him over the top of her green brocade bodice. Midnight hair gleamed beneath a fine netting of silver filigree spangled with tiny gems over her crown. Mog stepped closer out of politeness, sensing it was expected of him by Lemony. He gazed into an intense pair of steel gray eyes and froze. The expression on her face matched his, startled and bewildered.
“Good song,” he stammered and immediately felt ridiculous. There were no words to describe how her voice had made him feel. It was like calling a masterpiece average, “It was beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she replied, the faintest smile tracing her full lips. He blushed to realize he wondered what it would feel like to kiss them and had to look away. Just because she was beautiful and could look him in the eyes without making his neck ache was not grounds to go crazy.
He glanced anxiously at Lemony and chuckled, realizing the little monk was trying to play matchmaker. Mog ached with love for her upon realizing that she loved him enough to want his happiness.
“Mog sings, too,” Lemony said into the awkward silence.
“Lemmy, no need for this, lass, I can handle it from here,” Mog said, trying to spare them all any further embarrassment. Maeve laughed now and sat back down before the harp, moving with the measured grace of a queen as she arranged her long skirts.
“Forgive her, she gets an idea in her head and there’s nothing for it” Mog murmured, relieved when Lemony was amused by his assessment, “I suspect she took in our heights and musical inclinations…”
“Do you sing?” Maeve asked, lifting a narrow brow.
“Aye, but me voice is not half so fair as yours, Lady Binnech.”
“I should hope not,” Maeve said, grinning slyly, “It would sound quite disconcerting coming from you. And please, I am Maeve among equals and have no claim to nobility.”
Mog sighed, relaxing a little, aware that perhaps he was staring a little too much and his stomach was aquiver. He had to get a grip on himself before he said something ridiculous. He sat down on the window seat and loosened the red cravat at his throat. The silk of his fine jacket felt oppressive as he began to sweat.
“What songs do you know?” she asked, drawing the tuning key from the alluring place between her breasts where it was attached to the end of a long chain. He crossed his legs in embarrassment, painfully aware that his hose was a little too formfitting given the situation. He might as well be naked. It was like being an adolescent again.
“Many,” he coughed awkwardly, “Perhaps yeh could pick one an’ I’ll accompany as bes’ I can.”
Maeve chuckled and summoned a few experimental chords as if letting the harp decide for her. Hoping his voice would not fail him, he listened, trying to recognize the series of chords and glissandos that traced out a sweet and familiar melody. Fortunately it fell well within his range and he hoped he would not sound like a barking dog compared to her sparkling voice.
“Five and twenty years I slept,
Eyes open and yet I could not see.”
Mog realized she expected him to take the next couplet. Maeve’s gray eyes focused upon him with all the intensity of a falcon. He knew the song but he had not sung it for many years. She was testing him.
“Fair Lyssa wake my heart,
Illusion’s veil lift from me.”
Maeve lowered her face, her visage unreadable. When she did not finish the prayer, Mog continued, for it was unlucky to do otherwise.
“One path unwinds and becomes two,
Upon my choice your blessings be.
Fear not the unknown path,
For choice is the price of being free.”
The music faded and she rose stiffly and strode toward him. As if in a dream, she laid her hands softly upon his shoulders and gave him the ritual kiss, once on each eye, to show she recognized him as a priest of Lyssa.
“Go in beauty,” he murmured as she sat down beside him, finishing the rite as was required of him, “How did you know?”
Maeve shrugged.
“Mesmer intuition, I guess,” she said, “You woke up your friend, too.”
Mog nearly fell off of the window seat.
“Apparently you were good at invoking the goddess,” Maeve said, laughing softly as Mog rose and went to Pendaran’s side with Lemony. Pendaran’s eyes were open, windows into pain and sorrow beyond anything Mog had known.
“No,” Pendaran rasped, “I should be dead. Gods, why didn’t I die? I can’t be allowed to live.”
“Pen, sweetie, you’re safe now. Just relax.”
“I’ll get Master Bei,” Mog said as Lemony clasped Pendaran’s hand under the blanket.
“It seems I am no longer needed here,” Maeve said to Lemony, “I hope your poor friend finds peace. Farewell.”
Mog hurried to find Master Bei, hesitating when he saw the man was fast asleep and Xue Xue had taken possession of his hand. Mabane darted past Mog, his eyes wide with fear for his father as cries of misery erupted from the bedroom. Zhou’s eyes snapped open.
“Fetch Xiang Yi!” he cried at Mog, “Please hurry.”
An instant later Mog was alone with Xue Xue. He glanced at the little girl still blissfully asleep and ignorant of the drama playing out around her. Sighing, he pushed toward the door and jogged miserably down to the infirmary feeling that something precious had just been flashed before his eyes and snatched away.
“I know how yeh are, Lyssa an’ this ain’t funny. Jus’ so yeh know.”
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