The Realms of the Gods by Tamora Pierce Read Free Book Online Page B

herself.
    The cat’s eyes followed something in the grass that only she could see. “You’d better go do something with the stew,” she remarked, tail flicking as she crouched low to the ground. “It hasn’t been stirred in a while.” She pounced. A mouse squeaked and ran for its life, Queenclaw in hot pursuit.
    Grinning, Daine went inside. The stew smelled wonderful. Stirring it, the girl realized that she was half listening for a courier to arrive, wanting her or her friends to arm themselves and come quickly. There were no horns calling for riders to mount and ride out. There was no thunder of message drums, pounding signals to those whohad no mages to pass on the latest news. Her parents’ house breathed rest and quiet.
    I wish I could stay, she thought wistfully. I never realized how tired I’ve been, till now. And I can’t stay—neither of us can.

THREE
    DREAMS
    As she moved the stew off the fire, she heard an assortment of sounds from one of the other rooms. She grinned: Numair had a habit of talking aloud as he fixed information of interest in his memory. Walking to an open door, she looked inside. Bent half double, the mage stood at the window as he tried to shave, using a mirror propped on the sill. That’s the trouble with being so tall, she thought, not for the first time. The things most folk can make use of, like windowsills, are that much farther away from him.
    When he took the razor from his skin, she asked, “Need help?”
    His dark eyes lit in welcome. “It’s good to see you on your feet.”
    â€œIt’s good to be on them.” Getting the mirror, she held it for him. “Have you talked to Da or Ma about sending us home?”
    He smiled crookedly, and wet his razor again. “Let us say rather that I have attempted to do so. They are amazingly elusive on the subject. The best I’ve gotten so far is that we may discuss it once you have recovered.”
    â€œI’ve recovered,” she assured him. She knew that wasn’t entirely true, but the images she had seen in the sunbird’s display worried her.
    â€œDaine,” he said, then stopped. She waited. Something was troubling him; she could hear it in his voice. “Perhaps—perhaps you should stay here when I return. This is your home. You’d be safe here.”
    She put down the mirror, outraged. “How can you say that? Tortall is my home!”
    â€œYou’d be with Sarra—I know you’ve missed her. You’d get to know your father.” He put the mirror back on the sill and scraped the remaining bristles from his chin. “Look at it from my perspective.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes, but his soft voice was pleading. “I was powerless against the Skinners. There are so many foes in this war, and too many are strange. I would like to know that you, at least, had a chance to survive.”
    â€œI’ll make my own chances, if you please.” Standing, she fought sudden dizziness. Carefully, she sat on the bed as Numair rinsed and dried his face.
    â€œWill you at least consider it?” he asked, draping the towel over the window ledge.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDaine . . .” Picking up the mirror, he examined his face. His dark brows twitched together; he shoved the mirror under her nose. “What do you see?”
    Instead of her reflection, the glass showed battle. Sir Raoul of the King’s Own, Buri of the Queen’s Riders, and a mixed company of the Own and Riders fought in a temple square. Ranged against them were Carthaki warriors in crimson leather. Overhead, creatures swooped down to attack the Tortallans with long-handledaxes. Daine gasped: These were some kind of bat-winged, flying apes, their long, black fur streaked with gray.
    The image vanished. Numair put the mirror down with fingers that shook. Quietly, the girl described what she had seen in the sunbirds’ dazzling