(Backdated entry.)
It was an old quilt, pieced from worn silk dresses. Objectively, it was a beautiful piece, Tremaen could admit, but since his great-aunt Aselma had made it, the only good use for it was to keep the dirt and grass from clothing. Which, of course, was the intention today. He would have the ride home to get rid of incriminating evidence, but Ourna lived much closer.
He straightened his lanky sixteen-year-old frame to peer over his handy work, basket placed just so, full of fresh picked berries and the wonderfully light sweet cream his mother made. He'd picked a dozen wild roses he'd happened upon on the way and placed them in perfect arrangement next to the basket. Of course, the majority of the blanket was for sitting or lounging. The rest of his gear was placed way over to the side, covered by the camouflage of his dustcloak. No, there would be no reason to have to reach for either of his blades or the hunting bow today, and no reason to look on them. Besides, he thought as he rubbed at his right thigh, the sheaths for the long knives chafed horribly. He'd hate to have to wear them all the time.
The wind picked up a corner of the quilt, and Tremaen bent to straighten it just as he heard the snapping of twigs and the huffing of a horse nearby. Snapping his head up, he whistled out two short sounds and a long. He only breathed again when he heard the two long in response. It was Ourna.
Quickly, he dropped to the blanket and arranged himself three times before she came from around a tree. Her Realm-raven hair was bound plaited down her back and she had a quilted hunting vest over her green blouse and close fitting leathers. Tremaen had no trouble guessing what her story had been, but then he was a bit more interested in how the clothes fit over her blossoming body.
He watched her carefully put her hunting bow by a tree, then flashed her a grin as she took over the scene and broke out laughing, cheeks turning pink. “How in the world did you get all this out?”
“What, is that how you greet me now?” Tremaen patted the quilt next to him, and she came to join him, giggles trailing. He found himself rewarded with a kiss as greeting.
“Still doesn't answer my question.” She teased, twining a finger in his lengthening hair. “You don't know what I had to do to convince Jiulan that he didn't really want to come hunting with me. I think I might have hurt his feelings.”
“Good.” Tremaen snorted as he pulled away a touch. Let Ourna's twin, Tremaen's supposed heartbrother, have the same hurt feelings he did. However, not at the expense of having Ourna look at Tremaen like she now was. “I'm sorry, but Jiulan…”
“…has been defending you to our father now for a solid week. I told you it was a momentary thing. He asked you to leave only to try to put some water on the fire that day.”
Tremaen felt a little ill. “I guess so. I'm sorry.” Her kissing him again cured him very quickly.
“So,” Ourna started, poking him in the ribs with a forefinger. “How did you get this out of your house?”
“Well,” Tremaen cleared his throat slightly to stall. “Mother thinks I'm out with Kesee..er, Kelry..ah..” He scrunched his eyes trying desperately to remember the name of the girl who'd dropped the veil of anonymity at the last, his first, spring festival.
“Keleen.” Ourna sniffed. “The flipskirt's name is Keleen.”
“I'm obviously not, Ourna.” He replied, indignantly. “I shouldn't have ever….”
“I know, I know.” She snuggled up to him and he, in turn put an arm around her.
They sat like that for a while. Tremaen became aware of his heartbeat thumping steadily faster.
“It's spreading to the Council, you know.” Ourna spoke finally, softly. “Just yesterday, your Auntie actually insulted the Matriarch. I...don't know if it's going to hold for two years until I can choose you.”
He believed, as she did, that they could heal the breach between their families. As it was, it was his own fault, just being what he was. Not that he knew anything, save that he and his family were touched by the Wyld. And Master Mehtar couldn't accept that, being what he was. Tremaen sighed softly, almost wistfully for the closest thing to a father he ever had. “There's no way your father will apologize?”
“Mother's trying. In this one instance, it's too bad Father is an outlander, unused to wives having the final say. And proud. He's so terribly proud.”
Tremaen took both of Ourna's rough hands in his. “Maybe you should tell them now, show them. You already ride with the militia. Maybe they'll think you're old enough now.”
“Maybe.” She blinked at him.
He found himself kissing her harder than he ever did before. Letting go of her hands to embrace her, he was delighted to find her embracing him back. It wasn't a conscious decision to take a chance, just a response to the liquid flame running through his veins. He started leaning her back, moving a hand to loosen the first button on her hunting vest. For a moment, she resisted him, but he smothered her in kisses until she relented with a whimper. As he was fumbling with the third button, he felt her hands at his waist, fumbling with his shirttails.
Pushing himself up, Tremaen shifted all his weight to his knees to free his hands to complete their assignment. Her hands went still, gripping his shirt with white knuckles. He could see the twinge of fear in her face, a fear he once had. Smiling softly at her, he leaned back forward to kiss away that fear.
Unfortunately, she chose that exact moment to turn her head. “Did you hear…?” She hadn't the time to complete the phrase before his forehead met her jaw with more force than either of them thought.
Tremaen pushed back to rub at his forehead as Ourna let out a wordless yelp and started to scramble up herself. Suddenly, Tremaen fell backward as her elbow accidentally met his nose in her scramble. Tears instantly sprang to his eyes and he moved a hand to his nose, which brought on a new onslaught of pain and water. Feeling the stickiness of blood flow to his hand, he decided that his nose was most likely broken.
He blinked his eyes several times to at least clear them to see and started to sit back up. He could see Ourna on her hands and knees, and Tremaen winced when he saw her spitting blood off to the side of the blanket. He blinked his eyes again and realized that she was quiet and staring straight ahead of her, wide eyed. Following her gaze, he felt his insides freeze up. For, at the edge of the trees, was Jiulan holding the reins of his horse, and staring right back.
Frantically, Tremaen wondered if something, anything could be done to salvage what was bound to happen next, but the pain and the shock kept him frozen. So he just sat as still as a startled rabbit watching Jiulan turn his raven dark head to take in the scene, blanket, basket, state of dress and all. Then, to Tremaen's surprise, the other boy threw his head back and laughed.
Jiulan laughed until he was wiping tears from his eyes with a knuckle. “Oh, oh do I see which way these winds have blown,” he quoted the punchline from an old and extremely crude Seven Willows joke, which earned him a fistful of sod in the stomach, courtesy of his own twin sister.
The action loosened Tremaen's limbs and scooted to Ourna without taking his hand from his nose and held his position defensively.
“Get over here and help us, you goose,” Ourna said to her brother, spitting out another mouthful of bloody saliva.
This brought on another round of laughter from Jiulan, but he did come over and kneel to take a look at his sister's injury. And then Tremaen's.
Some time later, after it was assessed that Tremaen had, in fact, broken his nose and Ourna was now missing a tooth, cold fear returned to Tremaen. He could see his own face, minus certain types of swelling, mirrored in Ourna as they both watched Jiulan.
Jiulan grinned back at them. “Oh, come now, sister mine. You can fool Mother and Father, but I knew you were up to something. I even suspected who with.” He narrowed his eyes a bit, though the grin was still there. “Though not the extent.”
Ourna shot her brother a baleful glare. “We were sparring, right?”
Jiulan blinked innocently. “And I hit you too hard. I am terribly sorry about that.” He turned the look to Tremaen. “And you, I haven't seen in weeks. Did hear that a branch cracked and happened to hit you in the face.”
Tremaen managed to painfully smile hesitantly at Jiulan, starting to see the face of a friend again. “Right. Terrible luck, that.” He stuck out a hand to Jiulan, who grasped it firmly, then pulled Tremaen forward to give him a clap-back hug.
“Yeah, those tree limbs are dangerous.” Jiulan winked, then got to his feet. “Well, I'm going to go back to my horse, and I think it would be a good idea to get my sister home. It'll take me a moment to get ready.” Jiulan whistled off.
Tremaen looked to Ourna, limbs trembling, not really sure what to say or do. She, in turn, let out a long breath as if she were holding it for ages. “That was far too close.” Tremaen nodded in agreement. “Maybe…maybe this isn't a good idea.”
Images of Master Mehtar running him through and spitting him like a pig at feast made Tremaen reply, “Probably not.” And both went home.
The swelling in his nose was mostly gone when the news spread through the villages that Mehtar Kotari and Kiratu Aselma had exchanged public apologies in front of the Council. Tremaen knew that he would eventually be welcomed back to the home of Master Mehtar and Torves Kayiera…and Jiulan and Ourna. But he also thought that the secret magic of the wood meetings was done and over, and the fact that he had ever agreed to Ourna's last statement to him made him want to weep.