Wild Magic

Chapter 2. Be Loved, Honeychild

Reyna bent over the cot. Faan was fiercely asleep, her soft mouth working, her hands closed into fists. With his fingertips he gently, carefully, brushed a tangle of black hair out of her eyes and away from her nose, tucked the strands behind her ear. You’re mine, my honey. By law and by love, you’re mine.

He closed his eyes. The past month he’d walked among the traders, asking them about a child with bicolored eyes, getting headshakes and raised brows, but no word of where Faan might have come from; he’d repeated words and phrases she’d spoken, but none of them recognized the language-or admitted to having heard it bdore. With each negative he relaxed a little, though the fear was still there, churning in him, giving him nightmares. If he had to give her up…

He watched her a moment longer, then eased from the dressing room, holding his breath as he pushed past the blanket he’d tacked up to make door for her so he wouldn’t wake her when he came to bed himself and had to light the lamp.

Thank-offering and Evensong. Time to get ready. He pulled a hand across his face, grimaced at the sandpapery sound and feel, sniffed at his armpit and grimaced again. All that running around he’d done, he was ripe. He stripped and shaved, gave himself a sponge bath from the water in the ewer, chanting over and over the Dedication to the Honey Mother until he slid into the calm and muted joy he felt appropriate for Evensong and a Thank rite.

The sun was slipping away without much fuss and evening was settling in, clear and brilliant. The cadenthas were waxy, luminous, white cups glowing against dark stiff leaves. A few late workers from the altar hive hummed about, moving from bloom to bloom; their wings glittered like shards of mica in the light from Areia One-eye’s working candle, their small black bodies shimmered with gold guard hairs.

When Reyna came off the stairs, Areia One-eye was spiking the altar candles onto the kinaries. One was already in place in front of the hive; two others lay beside the squat holders, waiting for her to get to them.

Like the others in the Verakay Beehouse, Areia Moha was one of the Kassian Tai’s rescues. She was about thirteen-that was Tai’s guess, Areia had no idea when she was born, her ex-family didn’t celebrate girl-birthswith the burnt amber skin of a Naostam and tight curl-ing chestnut hair Coming home late one night from tending a new mother with milk fever, Tai blundered into a gang of wild boys who were tormenting Areia; she took her stick to them, chased them off and brought the girl to the Verakay Beehouse for a few nights’ sanctuary. In the end, Areia stayed as her novice and acolyte. She looked around when she heard the door open. “Faan?”

“Sleeping.” He set the cones on the altar beside the candles. “Want me to do the poles?”

“If you will.” Areia One-eye lifted another candle and began pushing it down on a spike. “I didn’t think to look out the incense tray. Perhaps the Kassian will have it when she brings the honey water.”

Reyna twisted the candle into the cup at the top of the pole, made sure it was steady, then set the kinari in the stand. “Your nursing rounds this morning. Any talk about Faan?”

Areia One-eye began trimming the wicks so she could light the candles. “Some.”

“Bad?”

“Some grumbling, but you know Edgers. Most people mind their own business.”

“Any threats to try taking her away?”

“Nayo. Rumors got about that she’s spooky. Dikhan’s told everyone what he thinks he saw, Bee Mother, you know.”

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“Diyo.”