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She grinned up at him. “Maybe someday,” she replied, eyes dancing. “But only if you’re very, very good.”
“What if I’m very, very bad?” he whispered, the heat in his voice making her shiver agreeably. He gathered her into his arms and eased his mouth over hers, caressing her lips with his, teasing, until all she could do was hang in his grip.
“Still maybe someday,” she replied finally, when she could do more than simply gasp. “But you’re welcome to try and convince me to make it sooner.”
This is as lovely as colts frisking in the sun, Cloud remarked from outside the screen of willow branches, but you’re going to have company. Kitten is bringing Tkaa and Onua here.
Daine giggled and told Numair what the pony had said.
“Then by all means, let us totter down to meet them,” said the man with a sigh. “I will resume persuading you in regard to matrimony at another time, when we’ve rested, and eaten, and had baths.”
Daine slung his arm around her shoulders. She was tired, but she could feel him trembling as well. From the grayness of his skin, his battle had cost him a great deal. “So that Inar Hadensra was a hard fight?”
Numair dug his free hand into his shirt pocket and produced a ruby globe: the dead mage’s eye. “The hardest. I believe I’ll retire and return to juggling for a living.” He tossed the ruby into the river. “I could support us with juggling, if you were to marry me.”
“We’ll see,” she said.
“I take it Uusoae was acting through Ozorne?” Numair asked quietly.
Daine nodded. “I’ll tell you all of it later. It will take a bit of telling.”
There were Stormwings overhead. They descended from behind the cover of the clouds in a spiraling pattern, feathers blazing where they reflected the sun. By the time Tkaa, Kitten, Onua, and Tahoi met Daine and Numair and brought them to the north gate of Port Legann, the Stormwings were at work on the bodies of the fallen. Watching them from a distance, Daine realized that it might be just as well if she told only a few, trusted friends that she had spoken for the Stormwings’ right to stay in the mortal realms. Somehow, she had the idea that not everyone would understand.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
When I complete a series, I like to thank all those who assisted me in some fashion. With The Immortals, I had a great deal of help from general reference and wildlife sources. While I have thanked some persons or groups in the book for which I most needed their help, I would like to thank them again, so they know the debt I owe them, but also so that anyone who also has an interest in these areas can find them. My heartfelt thanks to:
Subscribers to two computer networks, including but not limited to CompuServe’s Pacific Forum, Members of the Australia Section, particularly Douglas Dow, who gave me invaluable tips on duckmole (platypus) lore; Barbara Delaplace, CompuServe’s Science Fiction Literature forum, who has given me sound advice on professional matters.
America Online: the KMart Shoppers, particularly MaxEntropy for her extra assistance with duckmole information; Steven and Lisa Dawson for the loan of their imperious orange-marmalade cat; Virginia Caputo, who helped me to find a different name for platypi and named Broad Foot; also, KO Gen and the KO staff, Guides and kids of America Online’s Kids Only, where I have found such friendship, warmth, community, advice, enthusiasm, and input as I never would have expected to come from a computer. {{{{{Gen & Co.}}}}}
Richard McCaffery Robinson, for his valued critical comments, his eleventh-hour naval and plot pointers, and his way of cheering up woebegone persons under deadline: Our friendship alone is worth every penny I pay to CompuServe!
Ellen Harris, who would be very happy to do a Daine doll.
Cat Yampell, for her enthusiasm, moral support, and her own wonderfully wacky writing—I hope she gets the recognition that she deserves.
Ms. Vivian Ellner and the kids of U.N.I.S., who have invited me to read for their book fair three years in a row.
Tas Schlabach, who helped set Daine’s feet on the path of the horse-hearted.
My foreign editors, agents, and publishers, who have kept me afloat: in the United Kingdom, Jacqueline Korn and the staff of David Higham Associates, and Julia Moffatt and David Fickling at Scholastic Children’s Books (and David Wyatt, who does most cool covers!); in Europe, Ruth Weibel and Liepman AG, which has been tireless on my behalf, and Barbara Küper, my editor at Arena Verlag, her staff, and Arena’s dedicated translators.
Robert E. J. Cripps, Celtic Wolf Medieval and Renaissance Style Crossbows, for making me look at crossbows in an entirely new light.
The wildlife researchers and experts whose work I relied on for insights, ideas, and research, and whose efforts to preserve wildlife deserve aid and applause across the world: L. David Mech, researcher and writer on wolves; Farley Mowat, the author of Never Cry Wolf; Marty Stouffer and his Wild America television series; The Nature Conservancy; the National Wildlife Federation; NYSZ The Wildlife Conservation Society; Sir David Attenborough, whose many programs and books on nature changed the way I looked at it; and the International Wolf Center of Ely, Minnesota, which tries to make it possible for future generations to hear pack-song.
Friends whose contributions are intangible but vital all the same, including Amelia and Molly Bonnett, who I got to meet at last; Nikki Johnson, who went from fan to friend; Kelly Riggio, whom I think of far more than my rare letters would lead her to believe; Iris Mori, because Benkyo ni narimashita (It’s been educational, literally!); Heather Mars, who’s earned a much deserved degree after wading through quanta, vectors, and m-m-m-math; Stacy Norris, who is never afraid to speak her mind; and my inspirational helper, Andy Foley, who has made me laugh (on purpose) at times when I could use a laugh.
Peter, James, Rich, Tim, and all the other wonderful people at Books of Wonder, still my favorite bookstore.
Jean Karl of Atheneum, who has borne with me during crazy times, and Howard Kaplan of Atheneum, for the work he’s put in.
And, as always, my own personal family constellation: my husband Tim, who nurses me through my deadlines as I nurse him through his; Raquel, who at last sighting had submerged in nineteenth-century New York for her current book; Thomas, whose approach to artistic growth and experience always gives me guidance on staying young from the neck up; my sister Kim, who rescues people and keeps them alive for a living; Pa and Ma, who teach me to age with Attitude; Melanie, Fred, and C. J., who share my love of animals; and the agents, accounting department, assistants, and receptionist of Harold Ober Associates, who do so much for this grateful ex-employee and client.
