Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar

:If that’s how you feel.:

:It is.:

:Good luck.:

:Oh, that’s very helpful.:

:Thank you.:

Never let anyone tell you that Companions can’t be as sarcastic as cats, Jors muttered to himself as he turned and went back inside. The curve of Alyise’s back stopped him cold. Her pants hung low on the flare of her hips, low enough to expose the dimples on the small of her back just under her waist.

She smiled at him over her shoulder as she pulled a sleeveless tunic out of her pack. “I just had to get into something that wasn’t all sweaty. I don’t know what it is about spending the day in the saddle that makes me so damp, since Donnel’s doing most of the work, but from my breast bands right on out everything is just soaked through. I guess the good news is that, at this time of the year, I can rinse them out tonight and they’ll be dry by morning unless it rains, of course, but I don’t think it’s going to. There’s really no point in having the village laundry deal with them.” Her brow wrinkled as she pushed her head through the tunic’s wide neck. “Does this village even have a laundry?”

“Laundry?” He tried not to stare at the pale swell of her breasts as she pulled the tunic down and turned to light one of the lamps with shaking hands. He was not ready for this kind of responsibility.

“Men.”

Was she allowed to laugh at him? There was too much about this mentoring that he didn’t know.

“I don’t suppose you even noticed,” she continued, slipping out of her pants. “Ah, that’s better. Shall you cook or shall I?”

“Me!” Cooking would be a welcome distraction. “You can tell me about your time with Jennet. So I know what you’ve covered . . . done.”

“Okay; how much of . . .”

“Everything!”

Everything took them through dinner and into bed. Separate beds. Alyise seemed fine with that, Jors noticed thankfully, since he wasn’t certain his resolve would stand up against a determined assault. Long after her breathing had evened out into the long rhythms of sleep, he lay staring up at the rough wood of the ceiling and wondered just how authoritarian he was supposed to be. All Heralds were equals, that was a given. Except when they weren’t, and that was tacitly understood. I’m just not ready for this yet.

:Sleep now, Heartbrother.: Gervais’s mental touch was gentle. :Many tasks seem less daunting in the morning.:

Jors woke just after sunrise to discover that Alyise had already gone out to feed and water the mules.

“I can never stay in bed after I wake up,” she explained with a sunny smile. “My mother used to say it’s because I was afraid I’d miss something, but I think it’s because I didn’t want to get bounced on by my younger sisters and I’ll tell you, that habit stood me in good stead when I was a Gray because you know how hard it is to get going some mornings and the first up has the first shot at the hot water and there were mostly girls in my year; six of us and one boy. What about yours?”

“My?” When did she breathe?

“Your year; how many boys and girls in your year?”

“Oh. Three boys, two girls.”

“How . . . nice.”

He heard Donnel snort, realized she was staring at him, and a moment later realized why. He’d gotten a little panicked when he’d seen her bed was empty and raced outside wearing only the light cotton drawstring pants he’d slept in. With the early morning sun behind him, he might as well be naked. Oh, yeah. This is going to help me maintain some kind of authority.

:Authority does not come from your clothing.:

And that would have been more reassuring had his Companion not sounded like he found the entire situation entirely too funny. :Maybe not, but it sure doesn’t come from . . . : It occurred to him that while he was standing talking to Gervais, Alyise was still staring. Appreciatively. “I’ll just go and get dressed. We’ll be heading into Appleby right after we eat.”

And thank any Gods who may be listening for that, he thought as he made as dignified a retreat as possible into the Waystation.

Appleby wasn’t so much a village as it was a market and clearing center for the surrounding orchards that gave it its name. Jors told the younger Herald all he knew about both the area and the inhabitants as they rode in from the Waystation, but since his available information ran out some distance before they arrived, Alyise took over the conversation.

Her mother made a terrific apple dumpling but wouldn’t give out the recipe no matter how much Alyise or her sisters begged.

Donnel was very fond of apples, especially the small, sweet pink ones that grew farther north.