The Last Canticle: Summoner's Dirge by Evelyn Shepherd Page B

lay down to sleep.

Chapter Nine
    Ides Tres
    Damir had slept restlessly through the night. The lightning strike had disturbed him. He could feel something stirring inside him, building to a crescendo. When he woke and found it raining out, he wasn’t surprised. The power inside him had dulled, but it remained just beneath the surface, waiting to surge back up. He swore it was trying to conquer him. Something had transcended inside him. He didn’t know what.
    Elina stood by the window the entire morning, watching forlornly as the rain fell. Chipo remained at her feet, a pouting shadow that whimpered her own dissatisfaction with the weather. Usually they were blessed with fair weather during the solstice, and Damir’s concern was whether it was a bad omen for the day. A few hours after they woke, though, the rain tapered off and the clouds broke.
    They dressed for Ides Tres. Damir loaded the wagon for the trip to Canaan. Elina donned her dress and tied her hair in a long braid, weaving some pale grassy-green ribbons into the pleats. The jade necklace rested comfortably against her chest, tying her outfit together into a beautiful ensemble.
    Damir had given Balin his father’s old dress clothes. The tunic was the same one his father had worn on his wedding day, the color of crushed cornflowers. Woven along the collar and sleeves were golden threads that knotted together.
    “Very handsome,” Damir declared as Balin walked out of the farmhouse, Chipo at his heels. The blue of Balin’s tunic made his golden eyes seem even more vibrant and drew out the azure hues of his raven locks, which gleamed in the early afternoon sun. Damir’s entire body tightened at the sight of him, buzzing with awareness and desire.
    “I could say the same,” Balin said with a small smile.
    Damir had pulled on a tunic the color of spring leaves that he kept for special occasions. It was simple in material and design but complemented his aquatic eyes and gilded hair. Damir had covered it all beneath a tawny spring cloak and a scarf.
    “I don’t see why you must wear such things,” Balin said as he checked the horses to make sure they were secure.
    “No one can see what marks me, and even during festivals, eyes stray. The last thing we need is to rouse interest.”
    Balin grunted in response and let the subject die. “Did you check the crater?” Balin asked.
    Damir nodded and looked over his shoulder in the general direction of the scarred earth. He didn’t understand what could have caused such damage. “I can only assume it was a stray bolt. I just pray it is not Lar angry with us.”
    Balin snorted in dismissal. Damir shot him a disproving look. Elina stepped out of the farmhouse and called for Chipo. She turned from her spot beside the wagon and trotted over to Elina.
    “Chipo really can’t go?” Elina called out to her brother and set down a bowl of water for the wolf. She scratched Chipo behind the ear and stroked her head.
    “You’ll be too preoccupied to keep an eye on her, and there will be far too many people at the festival. Now come on; we must get going,” Damir said with a note of finality. He knew his sister wanted to bring her companion, but like his precautions with his clothing, Damir wasn’t about to risk any trouble.
    “Stay. We’ll be back tomorrow,” Elina told Chipo, then climbed into the bed of the wagon.
    Balin snapped the reins, and the horse began to pull the cart. Damir sat beside him. Next to Elina in the rear of the wagon was a wicker basket filled with a lunch of sugared fruits, chilled sweet meats, bread, cheese, and a bottle of weak honey wine that even Elina could drink. Damir knew there would be plenty of food stalls at the festival, but he didn’t want to waste their money solely on food, especially when he knew Elina would wish to play games and browse the merchants. And he would be lying if he said he didn’t like the idea of stretching out on the grass with a picnic for himself and