Windhaven

"Seatooth. Sena asked me to come spend some time with the students. I've been working with them for about ten days. Before that I was on a long mission, to Deeth in the Southern Archipelago."

Dorrel set down his mug and sighed. "You don't want to hear my opinion," he said cheerfully, "but I'm going to tell it to you anyway. You spend too much time away from Amberly, working at the academy.

Sena is teacher there, not you. She is paid good metal for doing what she does. I don't see her pressing any iron into your palm."

"I have enough iron," Maris said. "Russ left me well-off. Sena's lot is harder. And the Woodwingers need my help— they see precious few flyers on Seatooth." Her voice became warmer, coaxing. "Why don't you come spend a few days yourself? Laus would survive a week without you. We could share a room.

I'd like to have you with me."

"No." His cheerful tone vanished abruptly, and he looked vaguely irritated. "I'd love to spend a week with you, Maris, in my cabin on Laus, or your home on Amberly, or even here in the Eyrie. But not at Woodwings. I've told you before: I won't train a group of land-bounds to take the wings of my friends."

His words wounded her. She pulled back in her chair and looked away from him, into the fire. "You sound like Corm, seven years ago," she said.

"I don't deserve that, Maris."

She turned back to look at him. "Then why won't you help? Why are you so contemptuous of the Wood-wingers? You sneer at them like the most tradition-bound old flyer — but seven years ago you were with me. You fought for this, believed in it with me. I could never have done it without you — they would have taken my wings and named me outlaw. You risked the same fate by helping me. What has changed you so?"

Dorrel shook his head violently. "I haven't changed, Maris. Listen. Seven years ago, I fought for you. I didn't care about those precious academies you dreamed up — I fought for your right to keep your wings and be a flyer. Because I loved you, Maris, and I would have done anything for you. And," he went on, his tone a little cooler, "you were the best damn flyer I'd ever seen. It was a crime, madness, to give your wings to your brother and ground you. Now, don't look at me like that. Of course the principle mattered to me, too."

"Did it?" Maris asked. It was an old argument, but it still upset her.

"Of course it did. I wouldn't fly in the face of all I believed just to please you. The system as it existed was unfair. The traditions had to be changed — you were right about that. I believed that then, and I believe it now."

"You believe it," Maris said bitterly. "You say that, but words are easy. You won't do anything for your belief— you won't help me now, although we're on the verge of losing all we fought for."

"We aren't going to lose it. We won. We changed the rules — we changed the world."

"But without the academies, what does that mean?"

"The academies! I didn't fight for the academies. Changing bad tradition was what I fought for. I'll agree that if a land-bound can outfly me, I must give him my wings. But I will not agree to teach him to outfly me. And that's what you're asking of me. You, of all people, should understand what it means to a flyer to lose the sky."

"I also understand what it is to want to fly but to know that there's no chance of ever being allowed to,"

Maris said. "There's a student at the academy — S'Rella. You should have heard her this morning, Dorrel.

She wants to fly more than anything. She's a lot like I was, when Russ first began to teach me how to fly.

Come help her, Dorr."

"If she really is like you, she'll be flying soon enough, whether I choose to help her or not. So I choose not. Then if she defeats a friend of mine, takes his wings in competition, I won't have to feel guilty." He drained his mug and stood up.

Maris scowled and was seeking another argument when he said, "Have some tea with me?" She nodded, watching him go to the kettle on the fire where the fragrant spiced tea steamed. His stance, his walk, the way he bent to pour the tea — all so familiar to her. She knew him probably better than she had ever known anyone, she thought.

When Dorrel returned with the hot, sweetened drinks and took his place close to her again, the anger was gone, her thoughts having taken another direction.

"What happened to us, Dorr? A few years ago we planned to marry. Now we glare at each other from our separate islands and squabble like two Landsmen arguing fishing rights. What happened to our plans to live together and have children — what happened to our love?" She smiled ruefully. "I don't understand what happened."