around his face.
Below him, Pevan spread-eagled herself, arms wide to slow her fall. Letting him catch up. It still felt like a terribly slow process, but inch by inch, she drifted up to him. She was still smirking. The distance between them came down to a couple of feet, and she made no move to grab on to him. Then it was eighteen inches, then a foot, and still no move on her part.
He opened his wings, just slightly, and let them drag him back to match her speed, so that she seemed to float just inches below him. Almost close enough that they could kiss, but when he met her eyes, he saw only mischief.
She gave him no chance to brace himself, but tackled him, somehow sharply slowing her descent and wrapping her arms around him. She managed to pin his arms to his sides, and her strength told quickly, squeezing his elbows into his ribs, the pain breaking his concentration and robbing him of his wings.
Then she tipped them over, so that she was above him, and they were falling not far off head-first. The firebird shape of Atla flashed across Chag's field of vision, far above. Pevan's grip was so tight that he could barely breathe, and it felt like the air was rushing past too quickly for him to get hold of it.
"Hold on, you muppet!" Pevan had to shout the words, and a shudder went through Chag as he felt them buzz past his ear. What was she playing at? His arms needed very little encouragement to wrap themselves around her rod-straight, stone-sturdy body, even without the threat of impending doom.
No sooner had he got a good hold on her than her grip on him vanished. For a moment, there was a rush of cold, but it cut off sharply, replaced by the punched-diaphragm sensation of deceleration. Despite his best efforts, Chag's arms jerked half-way loose.
He wrapped his fingers in the folds of Pevan's blouse, hoping to find the reinforced straps she'd sewed in there for exactly this kind of purpose. The terrifying pops of seams letting go, one stitch at a time, told him he'd missed. He tried to link his hands, form a ring of bones around Pevan's chest, but still the slipping, slipping-
Pevan beat her wings, and the shock jerked him loose. His veins just had time to freeze completely, and then the wind went out of him as he slammed into hard ground. He heard and felt Pevan's landing rather than seeing it - her back foot must have missed his forehead by all of an inch. Gasping, he lay on the floor, staring at the distant, circling shape of Atla, sharply distinct from the deep azure sky.
"There, that wasn't so bad, now was it?" Pevan drawled the words, her smirk still singing through them. He twisted to look, just in time to meet her eyes as she finished, "I still can't believe you don't enjoy flying."
Still tight for breath, he could do nothing but burst out in hoarse, gasping laughter. Pevan joined in, and the only mercy was that she didn't sound much better off. The paroxysms that came with the mirth didn't help with the task of getting up, but she leaned down and offered her firm but kindly support. Atla settled into a neat landing a little way away as the madness wore off.
They were on the walkway atop one of the walls of the Court, a yard-wide strip of black stone with a low parapet on one side and the drop to the courtyard on the other. Chag's stomach turned over when he looked down into the yard, so he fixed his gaze on the monolithic Court building beyond. It towered over the wall, the peak of its steep roof seeming almost as high as the points of the spires at either end of the walkway. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of narrow, white-framed windows notched its surface like the seeds on a strawberry.
Voice even weedier than usual, Atla said, "How did you get your wings back? I thought that was supposed to be impossible."
"That's just if you panic." Pevan shrugged, grinning. "I'm used to having to not panic when falling from high up."
Something writhed, deep in Chag's bowels. "Please tell me you've done that before?"
"Get my wings back midair?" She shot him that smirk again. "Not specifically. But it's no different than trying to plan three Gates ahead while dropping from a hundred yards up. Come on, let's go and meet the welcoming committee." She waved down at the courtyard.
It was all Chag could do not to throw up as he contemplated the drop, but the yard below was so neatly real that for a moment he found comfort in it. This yard - and the Court had dozens around its perimeter - was laid out as a simple formal garden, a path weaving across an immaculate lawn to the fountain at its centre.
By the fountain stood a figure who added a very different flavour to his churning unease. Hair like scarlet silk framed a knife-like face, and the unmistakably feminine form of the Gift-Giver was clothed in violet, skirt and sleeves so long that the dress looked more like a cloak. He didn't need to make out any more to recognise her.
"Taslin." Pevan's tone was grim.
"You know her?" Atla piped up, voice high and tight. His eyes were wide.
Pevan turned to him, and Chag walked up to join her, keeping his eyes on the Gift-Giver and trying not to let his knees wobble. In a voice that would do nothing to restore the Guide's confidence, Pevan said, "If anyone knows what's happened to Rel, she does."
Without another word, she turned and headed for the staircase that clung to the inside of the wall. Chag shared a worried look with Atla, then moved to follow. At least this set of stairs had a handrail, flimsy though it looked. The rail was probably all that stood between him and a heart attack, so badly did his heart pound as they descended.
Taslin made them come to her, not moving from the fluid, abstract stonework of the fountain bowl. Angular buildings, both ten or more stories in height, framed the ends of the yard, but they had nothing on the Gift-Giver's monumental presence. Dim memory reminded Chag that a Gift-Giver welcoming humans to the Court was supposed to wait for them, but he was sure they weren't always so rigid about it.
How Pevan found the courage to lead them right up to her he had no idea. He could almost feel Atla's trembling. His own blood roared in his ears. It didn't help that Taslin towered over them all by the better part of a foot.
Pevan drew breath, but Taslin cut her off. "It is considered extremely bad manners for Separatists to come to the Court unannounced." Her tone was sharp enough to cut sunlight, but there was nothing of a Wilder about it. She sounded like an irate Four Knot dressing down a recalcitrant squad. "Were you of my kind, your Talerssi would be very great indeed. What are you doing here?"
Pevan twitched, and Chag watched with some small awe as she fought back whatever violent urge had hit her. She couldn't match Taslin for tone, but her voice was flat with anger as she hissed, "Greetings, Gift-Giver. I am Pevan Atcar, Gatemaker of Federas."
All the expression went out of Taslin's face, except for the faintest glint of anger in her eyes. She turned her glare on Chag so hard he almost cringed. He cleared his throat, found his mouth almost too dry to speak. "I'm Chag Van Raighan, Witness of Tendullor."
Atla handled himself rather better, pulling himself up and staring through the Gift-Giver as her attention fell on him. Only the faintest swallow spoiled the act. "Um, I'm Atla Colber, candidate Guide of Lefal, training under Bersh of Vessit."
Chag watched Taslin's face, but could read nothing there. She had to be wondering whether they'd abducted the boy. It had been a mistake to bring him. The Gift-Giver somehow managed to make her voice warm, though none of that warmth made it to her eyes. "Welcome to the Court. I am Taslin of the Gift Givers."
Again, Pevan drew breath, but Taslin's glare returned full force. The Wilder raised a single finger under Pevan's nose, her fingernail long and deep, sparkling purple, as if she'd painted it. Pevan went white, muscles in her jaw rippling.
Taslin said, "Now that charade is out of the way, I'll ask again. What do you think you're doing here? And with a coerced trainee Guide? You and him" - Chag flinched as her finger snapped round to point at him - "are under warrant for arrest for more crimes than I care to count."
Atla stepped forward, started to say something, but Chag waved him back. Better to keep the kid out of this as much as possible. Whatever Pevan had done to recruit him, it wasn't anythin
g to do with Separatism.
Somehow, against the terrible force of Taslin's silence, Pevan found courage to speak. Her voice held, quiet and steady. "I've come seeking information about my brother, last seen being carried away from Vessit by an unidentified Child of the Wild for unknown purposes."
"Your brother is under my personal authority, as you well know." Taslin let her arms fall back to her sides, but somehow managed to scowl even more deeply. "He was put under my authority in your presence, and you directly aided him in committing the offence for which I arrested him. Why should I not arrest you too?"
Pevan bit her lip and took a deep breath. Again, Chag had to wave at Atla to keep quiet. Less steady now, Pevan said, "My crimes, whatever they are, are for human justice to decide on. As Gatemaker, if one of my kind is in danger in the Second Realm, I am entitled to bail for the purpose of transporting a rescue or relief mission."
In the moment that Taslin took to make a show of speechless anger, while Chag was distracted watching her, Atla spoke. "Won't Relvin also be entitled to human witnesses to the proceedings?"
Chag gaped at him. Where had that come from? Pevan, too, turned to look at the lad, a new level of respect in the set of her eyes. She said, "You're right, you know. I hadn't even thought of that. Well done."
Atla looked like he