The Warden

Chapter 8

Though summer, a purring fire curled in the Domrae's great fireplace, its dancing light silently flitting over the now night shuttered window panes. Masis always wondered how one could make a fireplace in a tree so it could not and would not burn it all down. In the end he had chalked it up to magic and let the matter rest.

Tea cups rested on tables, armrests, and window sills, much like the lounging individuals, sprawled in different spots about the room. Lord and Lady Domrae had taken up posts near Saret's sleeping form, laid out on a small sofa. Several days had passed since the accident, but they still hovered about her whenever she settled in one place. Danya's head bobbed gently to the rhythm of a dreamer's tuneless lullaby while she sat in a large, overstuffed armchair. Masis stood by the window, staring into the mirror the firelight had created in the glass.

His eyes didn't seem quite his own. He had stared into a soul. Healed a body. Staved off death. His had done something he did not think possible. The steel-blue orbs shone with a new burnish and he didn't know what to make of the change, even if only noticeable to him.

The experiences in the forest did little to settle his mind. Whether he had actually used his newfound abilities to warm the water he did not know. Upon reflection of the day's events, the water had felt warmer. Truthfully, he doubted it greatly. But then again, he would not have thought healing his sister possible. Even the strange woman with her odd probing questions and insinuations seemed more a hallucination than anything of substance or reality.

It all meant nothing, he thought, staring straight into his reflected pupils. Nothing! Just a bad dream. Not real.

He turned from his reflection with a huff of finality.

Lord and Lady Domrae still sat on either end of the chaise lounge, staring down at their miracle child, Saret, soft, contented smiles hanging on their faces. From time to time their eyes would creep up and brush the other with a loving glance. Their hands never moved far from Saret's head or the blanket that lay across her small, sound body.

Stirring, yawning, and eventually cracking her now bleary eyes, Danya rubbed her face as she peered around the room, letting out a disappointed moan for having woken up.

"I do believe that creature of ours needs to be taken to bed," Lord Domrae said.

"Yes, I think so," Lady Domrae replied. "Should I ring for Calla or Humphrey?"

"I think that would be wise."

A knock came at the door before it opened and Humphrey entered stiffly, his body rigid and jerky much like a marionette.

"Ah, Humphrey," Lady Domrae began. "I was about to ring for you. Would you please ask Calla to take Danya to her room? We'll take Saret ourselves."

No twitch of recognition came for the words spoken to the butler. No movement. No quick nod or shift of his eyes. Humphrey stood stalk still except for the occasional defiant shiver as if he were struggling against unseen bonds.

Masis frowned, confused at the behavior of a man he thought of as the very definition of steadfast.

Stepping toward him, Lady Domrae reached out a hand in his direction. "Humphrey? Are you all right? Humphrey?"

She took another tentative step, her hand still outstretched. Her hand mere inches from his frame, his head jerked to look at her, his very breath rebelling in the movement, his eyes tight with exertion.

Lady Domrae jumped back, putting her hand to her chest. "Humphrey, what are you trying to do scare me out of my wits?"

"I'm sorry, my lady." He said, eking out the words. Tears brimmed his eyes, barely constrained. "I'm so sorry."