Chapter 10

Daphne couldn't sleep. It wasn't a new thing, though. Nightmares frequently plagued her nighttime hours, leaving her wide awake, staring up in the darkness. But just because it was old and familiar, didn't mean she was used to it or liked it—not at all. With a quiet but determined sigh, she decided she wouldn't put up with it any longer.

Casting back her covers, she sat up in her cot and placed her feet over the side. The grass of the tent floor was rather ticklish. Standing in the cool, early morning air, she tightened her wrap around herself and tiptoed over to her target. She heard a chuckle in the darkness.

"Can't sleep either, huh?"

She shook her head no and then realized he probably couldn't see that. "No," she whispered. "Mind if I join you?"

She noticed shadowy movement in the darkness and heard the rustle of fabric. "Come on in," he told her.

However much she hated Chirurgen, she had to admit the man had great taste in just about everything—including tents and travel accessories, like comfortable and roomy travel beds. And this was the first time, she thought to herself as she snuggled up next to Tory, that she'd ever come to this particular bed voluntarily.

"What?"

Realizing she'd made a rather sour sound, Daphne spoke up. "I was just thinking bad thoughts of the previous owner of this bed," she explained.

She felt him nod. "I can imagine," he told her. "It's a shame we didn't find his body on the field today."

She agreed but then thought of something she'd wanted to ask him. "What was that song you played after the captain and his men buried those six troopers?"

"It's called Ashokan Farewell," Tory explained softly.

"It was really pretty and really sad, all at the same time."

"That's true," he agreed. "It was originally written as what's called a goodbye waltz—a last song at a dance before everyone has to go home. It reflects the sadness that the dance everyone so enjoyed is over."

"Very fitting. I can see why you chose it," Daphne murmured as she rolled over and laid her head on his chest. "Made me cry, though."

"Me, too," Tory admitted to her. "Those men died protecting us and that was the only way I knew how to say thank you."

"Who taught you to play?"

"My mother, mostly," he replied, "though I've had a few other teachers, as well."

"What was she like?"

"Intense ... very intense," the boy admitted with a chuckle in the darkness. "Music was her passion and we kids learned quickly that there was no interrupting when she was playing. She was a lot of fun, though. Always on the go and forever dragging Papí and us along on trips to new places she'd heard about. We'd complain at the time, but what I wouldn't give to go on one with her now," he ended with a sigh.

"Did you ever go to Bavaria?" Daphne asked, curious to learn as much as she could of her father's homeland.

She felt him nod and listened as he told about that particular trip. She was amazed to hear how far apart Tory's home of Colombia was from Bavaria, which was part of a larger country called Germany. It was so far that he and his family actually had to fly to get there! Daphne had always thought her father was joking the few times he talked about flying. The mere idea of hundreds of people in a giant metal covered wagon with wings, soaring high in the sky like an eagle, seemed impossible. Tory insisted it was just a machine but she knew it had to be magic, like the portals or his new stick.

Daphne was disappointed when he didn't recognize her father's hometown. Still, his stories of his mother's concerts with something named a symphony, a big week-long party called Oktoberfest, as well as a Mad King Ludwig and his beautiful fairytale castle, fascinated her. Just hearing it all brought tears to her eyes. She had thought her father lost forever, and here was Tory giving a piece of him back to her.

Her heart totally melted, though, when her handsome protector noticed her tears.

"Missing the folks, I imagine," he softly guessed as he wiped them away.

"Sorry," she sniffed.

"What were they like?" he asked when she had quieted down.

"Papa was really tall and wide at the shoulders. And he had this longish, dark blonde hair that always got in his eyes when he was working," she recounted, the memory bringing a smile to her face. "He was a printer and usually had ink on his hands, so he'd have either Mama one of us girls tie it back in a ponytail for him."

She let out a small laugh. "Of course, he'd often chase us around the shop with those same inky fingers. Mama never seemed to mind getting caught, though. She was always a rather quiet, reserved person except when around him."

"It must have been hard for them, never being able to go home again."

Daphne nodded against Tory's chest. "It bothered Papa more than it did Mama. He'd left family behind on Earth—a mother and two sisters—so he sent letters back with any hero he came across. But he told us more than once that he never regretted his decision to stay with her. Mama, on the other hand, didn't miss home at all. Like nearly all Cassandrans she was an only child but sadly she couldn't stand her parents."

"That is sad."

"It was but Mama and Papa loved each other, so it was okay."

They laid there quietly for a while, just listening to the wind whisper through the trees. Daphne could hear the steady rhythm of Tory's heartbeat, and breathe in the masculine scent of his skin.

"So, where do you want to go when we get back to Crossroads?"

"Well, I'd like a chance to come back and find my brothers and sisters, but after that—Earth, definitely," she answered. "I'm sure Cassandra is nice, but Mama's descriptions of growing up there left me a bit cold. Maybe I'm selfish but I want what my parents had. And I have to confess something," she said, snuggling closer to him and twirling her fingers on his chest. "The longer I'm with you, the more I understand my mother's attachment to my Papa."

A giggle escaped Daphne's lips, when she both felt and heard his pulse speed up. He was so cute when he got bashful. He hemmed and hawed and mumbled a bit until she put a finger to his lips.

"Could you do me a favor?" She asked insistently.

"Ah, sure, I guess," he hesitated, his voice revealing his sudden nervousness.

"Nothing like that!" She teased, lightly slapping him on his chest. "There's just something my Papa would say to Mama that would make her really happy, and I was wondering if you would say something like it to me."

"What was it," he asked, clearly confused by the request.

She leaned up and whispered it in his ear.

"Really?"

"Really."

"You sure?"

"Will you just say it!"

"Okay! Okay!" He stopped to clear his throat. "Ahem ... Daphne Schreiber, I am Hector Valderrama of Earth and I am here to rescue you."

Tingles of excitement ran up her spine at the mere hearing of the words, causing her to shiver. Giddy, giggly and horny all wrapped into one, she now understood what got her mother all hot and bothered. Propping herself up on her elbow, she leaned up again and this time, pressed her lips sensuously to his.

"My hero!" She murmured into his mouth as the kiss deepened.

Miri gingerly stepped out of the tent and into the morning sunlight. The warmth of the sun felt good on her skin even if its brightness bothered her eyes. Shielding them with her right hand, she glanced about at the hustle and bustle around her. Most of the activity appeared to be villagers hard at work constructing temporary dwellings. The reason for this was obvious when she looked to her left. There, still sending hazy plumes of smoke into the air, were the charred remains of Red Feather Village.

Though she'd woken up not long before, Miri felt worn out and exhausted. The truth was, while she'd survived the previous day's wounding, the poison was still taking its toll. Her left arm in a sling, the petite girl reached for her fairy pendant with her right. It felt very warm in her grasp. Katka, the Veela healer who'd watched over her during the night, had told her they were only able to slow the progression of the toxin—not stop it. For complete healing she would need to go back to Crossroads.

"Hey, you're up!"

She smiled at the sight of Pavel walking up, hand in hand with a familiar Veela—who was just shy of his shoulder in height—and her small, dark-haired girl in his other arm.

"So are you," Miri shot back, trying to affect more cheerfulness than she felt. "And who is this little cutie?"

"This is my daughter, Duska," the collier beamed proudly. "And this... ," he said, turning toward the woman.

"Is Janja," Miri finished for him. Smiling at the lovely fairy, she greeted her in her own language. "It is so good to see you again and I'm so happy for Pavel. He adores you. You're all he ever dreams and talks about."

The white-haired Veela blushed at her words and smiled back. "I am happy, too. Before I was only allowed to go to him at night and let him think it was a dream. But now we can be together."

Miri was about to ask why, when Pavel interrupted.

"Hey now, Miri, it was bad enough you and your brother always babbling away in—what was it, Spanish?" he complained, somewhat teasingly. "Now you're doing the same thing with my woman. It's not fair."

Janja, however, turned on him and let off a long string in her own tongue, even poking him somewhat fiercely in the chest. When she finished, she put both her hands on either side of his face and pulled way down towards herself.

"You I love," she told him eye to eye. "No worry. Miranda you be nice to now." And then she kissed him.

Miri and the baby giggled at the interaction between the child's parents.

"What did she say?" Pavel asked in wonderment when Janja let him up.

"Pretty much what she said to you at the end, only longer," Miri tried to explain. "She also said she'd teach you her words so you won't feel left out when she talks with her people."

"But only if he's good," Janja added.

"But only if you're good."

Pavel laughed. "Okay, okay. I know when I'm beat."

They talked for a little bit longer before the trio headed off to where the Veeli were staying. Pavel would return with Dalibor after lunch to escort her and Tory back to Judgment Falls. Miri tried to dissuade him—after all, he'd just reconnected with his love and gotten to meet his daughter for the first time. Janja, however, intervened and eventually Miri relented.

"We take care of our own," she had said.

Watching them leave, Miri realized that while she was looking forward to going back to Crossroads, she was also sad to leave. She was just getting to know this place and its fascinating people and now she had to go. The melancholy strains of Ashokan Farwell came to mind as she walked through the camp. She'd heard it on the breeze when Tory played it for the burials the previous evening and it reflected her mood perfectly.

She knew she could probably come back to visit someday but Miri was a realist. Chaos is a dangerous world for adult heroes, let alone eight year old girls from Earth. "Especially eight year old girls who get themselves shot with poisoned crossbow bolts," she murmured to herself in Spanish.

Feeling very tired all of the sudden, she put her hand against a tree for support. In moments, there were two other hands there holding her up. Lifting her head, she found herself staring into the older face of her healer.

"Hi, Katka."

"Don't you 'Hi Katka' me," she chastened. "What are you doing all the way over here? Trying to scare me to death?"

"I'm sorry, Katka."

"Hmm. Let's have you sit over here a bit," she said somewhat mollified, pointing to a rough-hewn bench near a fire pit. "When you're feeling stronger, we can head back to your tent."

Sitting there, watching people come and go, Miri decided to ask the older woman something she'd been curious about. "Katka?"

"Hmm?"

"I've been wondering ... why did the Veeli come all this way to help us?"

The healer looked at Miri with a searching gaze and then shrugged. "When Dedek Bran sent word to Beyla that you three were in trouble, we had to help. She sent us ahead of you here."

"But why?"

"We take care of our own," she replied, matter-of-factly.

"Janja said something like that, too. What does that mean?"

"You are one of us," the healer told her as if it were totally obvious. "Pavel, because of Janja and Duska. Tory, because of you."

That only confused Miri more. "But I'm not from here and my parents aren't from here."

"You may be of Earth and Cassandra, Wonderful Girl, but you are one of us," she replied, fingering the pendant around Miri's neck. "You can wear the lifeshield. Only a Veela can do that."

"About that," the young girl asked, looking down at the pendant, "don't you want the necklace back? It seems awfully important for a little girl like me to keep."