LITMIR.BIZ

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in a scream and swallowing the stuff. The liquid slid against her, like it was measuring every inch of her before seeking each tiny wound to torture—She came up against someone hard.

      It wasn’t a baby this time. It was a big guy. Well, normal for them, but big to her. Apparently he’d made it into the pool, but not out of it. Alexa could understand that; the liquid gnawed at her bruises and sent biting pain along scratches. She vowed to never, ever pick at her cuticles again.

      Thrusting her head above the liquid she gasped and thrashed to hold the limp, heavy limbs of the man. She sensed Sinafin trying to help, taking part of the man’s weight.

      Her nightgown tangled her legs, she floundered, slipped and sank, found her feet and tried again. Grunting and swearing she managed to roll the man out of the pool, but sank again before crawling out.

      He lives! Sinafin caroled in relief.

      Just as Alexa surfaced and opened her mouth to ask something instead of heaving a breath, Sinafin turned into a purple bat with golden wings and streaked from the chamber—through a closed glass window this time. As she did so she made the sound of a wailing baby.

      Alexa allowed herself to collapse on the floor. She’d been had! By her own…what? Mentor? Sidekick? Friend?

      After a few minutes the marble floor, though warm, felt really hard. Alexa rocked to her hands and knees, then stood and wobbled. Until she saw him. Then she was struck still and dumb with pure admiration.

      Wow! Only the dim crystals in the rafters and the glowing gemstone crystals in a rainbow on the altar lit the room, but it was enough. He lay on his back, the outline of his muscles flickering wet and golden-hued. Alexa swallowed hard.

      She took a step forward. Broad shoulders tapered to narrow hips, muscular thighs—she bet he had a killer butt—nice calves, long elegant feet. Oh yeah.

      Naturally she looked at his sex. She was a red-blooded American woman, wasn’t she? And she had to make sure that the people of Lladrana were like people at home. She peered a little closer and gulped. Yes, his parts were like those of the men at home. No, it didn’t look like he was hurt there at all—but otherwise…

      Just seeing the scars on him appalled her—new red welts, some slices that looked like they had come from the same sort of monster who’d attacked her. His body was a map of colorful bruises, scratches and circular raised bumps that made her think of leeches. She shuddered. He had a big, nasty puncture close to his, um, jewels that made her wince and shift from foot to foot.

      She was warm and safe here, as was he, but how was she going to get help?

      She eyed the gong and bit her lip. It was near the altar with those jewel-crystals and other magical stuff. She really didn’t want to touch it.

      “Sinafin?” she whispered.

      No answer.

      Alexa studied the studly guy again, this time making it to his face. She frowned. He looked a little like someone she’d seen before, but she couldn’t place the resemblance. Nice jaw, good straight nose. Eyes heavy-lidded and tilted up at the corners. Soft, mobile lips.

      Soft, mobile lips? She was losing it. Time to get her act together and see if she could help the man, but at least his wide, lightly haired chest rose and fell steadily.

      Then she noticed something else. Unlike every other adult in Lladrana, he didn’t have black hair or black hair with silver or gold streaks at one or both temples. No, the flickering light gleamed on his striped black-and-white hair. She stared. The baby had black-and-white hair like that too. Did they ritually drown those? She knew in her bones it must mean something.

      His lids opened and she stared into deep brown eyes that slowly focused. He opened his mouth and started coughing. He stirred, moaned, then subsided again into unconsciousness. But his breath turned steady and deep.

      The door pushed open and cold air swept around her, plastering her nightgown to her body. She whirled. A skinny teenager holding a tray and a pitcher stared openmouthed at her. She narrowed her eyes. He had that electric-blue outline that several of the Marshalls had had that morning. She glanced back at the man lying by the pool—yes, there was a slight electric-blue tint coating him.

      She looked at her own hands. They radiated blue. Then she saw her own body, fully revealed by the thin, wet nightgown. She looked very white. She made a sound like “Eek”—a girly sound, she thought in disgust—hurried and snatched her robe.

      “Voulvous? Vu?” The boy’s voice rose in a question.

      Alexa forced her lips into a grin, flopped a hand in what she’d intended to be a wave, and wobbled past the boy to the door. She’d done what Sinafin had wanted. Alexa didn’t plan to hang around for questions she couldn’t answer.

      The man groaned behind her. She quickened her pace. The teenager frowned, then set the tray down and ran to the man.

      Alexa slipped out the door and into the cloister walk. Silver rain fell tinkling around her, then sputtered into droplets and subsided into a soft patter.

      Once back in her room, after showering—another pain, since some of the jerir penetrated her scratches instead of sliding from her body—Alexa was restless. She went to the windows to look out, and saw blackness over the fields. Her tower was one of the four large round Towers of the Castle Keep, but no one lived there except herself.

      She dressed in leggings, a shirt and a long tunic, then she paced.

      Though the weather had cleared and brilliant stars shone in the night sky, there was only the faintest luminescence where she knew the Town should be. No use going to the Town, since she wasn’t even familiar with the Castle. The thought of walking alone down the hill to the Town daunted her. She shivered as the memory of the night hike she’d taken in Colorado flickered in her mind’s eye. She’d been crazy, spellbound, grief-stricken—maybe all three.

      She noticed the swaying white branches of the beautiful large tree in the garden below. Concentrating hard, she heard the soft murmuring of the tree’s Song, which spoke of contentment and spring and growing and destiny. The strains came too quietly to grasp and the melody was such that she wanted to listen to the whole of it. Or maybe she just had cabin fever and wanted out. She drew her heavy, warm purple cloak around her, then slipped from her room and down the stairs.

      Everything was quiet.

      Hesitating, she cocked her head to get the tree’s direction. With slow steps she followed the tune and found herself before a small door that would let her out of the Keep and near the garden. She opened it, and air laden with humidity and the rich secrets of night-growing plants wafted to her. As she inhaled, more notes joined the rich orchestral symphony. She exited, and a few strides later faced the tall hedge maze. Perfectly groomed, it stood a good fifteen feet high, dense and dark and green-black.

      Still the tree Sang, and it Sang to her. She could almost hear it Sing her name. She pulled her cloak close and the cowl low and threaded her way through the maze by sound instead of sight. Low bird chirps accompanied the soft tread of her own footsteps.

      A few minutes later she exited the maze at a right angle from where she had entered. There was a small lawn, then an old, low wall of stone with a little door that looked to be just her size. She smiled and walked to it, put her hand on the cold handle, pressed the latch and pulled, expecting an awful creak. The door swung silently and easily open.

      The moon had risen while she’d been in the maze and now painted the garden in silver light. A profusion of bushes with stark branches of various shades of gray and black were all tangled together as though the garden wasn’t well tended. Most of the Lladranans would have to stoop through the door.

      But the white tree lifting graceful branches into the sky was the only life taller than the wall.

      A bench circled the tree, and she picked her way through dead leaves along an overgrown path toward it. For a moment she hesitated, then slid her hands up and down the trunk, feeling the bark, smooth in some spots, rough in others. Tree-song enveloped her and

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