Windhaven

"Yes you do," Dorrel said, his voice gentle. "This argument happened. Your loves and your loyalties are divided between the flyers and the land-bound. Mine aren't. Life isn't simple anymore — not for you. We don't want the same things, and it's hard for us to understand each other. We loved each other so much once…" He took a sip of the hot tea, his eyes cast down. Maris watched him, waiting, feeling sad. She wished for a moment that they could return to that earlier time, when their love had been so single-minded and strong that it had seemed certain to weather all storms.

Dorrel looked up at her again. "But I still love you, Maris. Things have changed, but the love's still there.

Maybe we can't join our lives, but when we are together we can love each other and try not to fight, hmm?"

She smiled at him, a bit tremulously, and put her hand out. He grasped it strongly and smiled.

"Now. No more arguing, and no more sad talk of what might have been. We have the present — let's enjoy it. Do you realize it's been nearly two months since we were together last? Where have you been?

What have you seen? Tell me some news, love. Some good gossip to cheer me up," he said.

"My news isn't very cheerful," Maris said, thinking about the messages she'd heard and carried recently.

"Eastern has closed Airhome. One of the students there died in an accident. Another one is taking ship to Seatooth. The others have given up and gone home, I suppose. Don't know what Nord will do." She disengaged her hand and reached for her tea.

Dorrel shook his head, a small smile on his face. "Even your news is of nothing but the academies. Mine's more interesting. The Landsman of Scylla's Point died, and his youngest daughter was chosen to succeed him. Rumor has it that Kreel — d'you know him? Fair-haired boy missing a finger on his left hand? You might have noticed him at the last competition, he did a lot of fancy double-loops — anyway, that he's going to become Scylla Point's second flyer because the new Landsman's in love with him! Can you imagine — a Landsman and a flyer married?"

Maris smiled slightly. "It's happened before."

"Not in our time. Did you hear about the fishing fleet off Greater Amberly? Destroyed by a scylla, though they managed to kill it, and most got away with their lives, even if without their boats. Another scylla, dead, washed up on the shores of Culhall — I saw the carcass." He raised his brows and held his nose.

"Even against the wind I could smell it! And up in Artellia, word is that two flyer-princes are warring for control of the Iron Islands." Dorrel stopped speaking, his head turning as a violent gust of wind from outside rattled the heavy lodge door.

"Ah," he said, turning back and sipping his tea. "Just the wind."

"What is it?" Maris asked. "You're so restless. Are you expecting someone?"

"I thought Garth might come." He hesitated. "We were supposed to meet here this afternoon, but he hasn't shown up. Nothing important, but he was flying a message out to Culhall and said he'd meet me here on the way back and we'd get drunk together."

"So maybe he got drunk alone. You know Garth." She spoke lightly, but she saw that he was truly worried. "A lot of things could have delayed him — perhaps he had to fly an answer back. Or he might have decided to stay on Culhall for a party. I'm sure he's all right."

Despite her words, Maris, too, was worried. The last time she had seen Garth he had obviously put on weight — always dangerous for a flyer. And he was too fond of parties, particularly the wine and the food.

She hoped he was safe and well. He'd never been a reckless flyer — that was comforting to remember — but he'd also never been more than solid and competent in the air. As he grew older, heavier, and slower in his responses, the steady skills of his youth were becoming less certain.

"You're right," Dorrel said. "Garth can take care of himself. He probably met up with some good companions on Culhall and forgot about me. He likes to drink, but he'd never fly drunk." He drained his mug and forced a smile. "We might as well return the favor and forget about him. At least for tonight."

Their eyes met, and they moved to a low, cushioned bench closer to the fire. There they managed, at least for a time, to put aside their conflicts and fears as they drank more tea and, later, wine, and talked of good times from the past, and exchanged gossip about the flyers they both knew. The evening passed in a pleasant haze, and much later that night they shared a bed and something more than memories. It was good to hold someone she cared about, Maris thought, and to be held in turn, after so many nights in her narrow bed alone. His head against her shoulder, his body a solid comfort against hers, Maris fell asleep at last, warm and contented.

But that night she dreamed again of falling.