Wild Blood (Book 7) by Anne Logston

rolled on until Ria lost count of the days. Occasionally there were small fords to cross—branches of the Brightwater River, Lord Sharl said, signs that they were getting closer to Allanmere. Ria was disappointed that the caravan rarely stopped at these fords; she’d never seen a body of water larger than small streams, and she was fairly aching to tear off her clothes and jump into the cool water.
    One night, however, to Ria’s delight they camped by one of these small branches. Ria lay in her bedroll listening to the water chuckle over the rocks until she could bear it no more; then she slipped quietly out of the tent. The guards walked slowly around the camp; it was a surprisingly simple matter to stand quietly against one of the wagons, think herself small and unnoticeable, and then dart off into the tall grass when the guard was safely past. When she had worked her way downstream out of earshot, however, she was surprised to see that someone had arrived at the idea of a midnight swim before she had; she was even more surprised to recognize the shadowy figure pulling the tunic up over its head as none other than Lady Rivkah.
    Ria thought she’d moved silently, but she must have made some sound, for Lady Rivkah turned and peered up into the darkness.
    “Ria? Is that you?” The High Lady kept her voice very soft. She beckoned almost furtively.
    “Uh-huh.” Ria sighed and scrambled down to join her foster mother. “I’m sorry I sneaked away. I just—”
    To Ria’s amazement, Lady Rivkah smiled and dropped the tunic over a bush.
    “I know,” she said. “I felt the same way. Hang your clothes up and come on.”
    The water was almost too cold for swimming, but Ria and Lady Rivkah waded in the shallows and scrubbed their skin with the soap Lady Rivkah had brought, splashing each other in the moonlight and giggling as quietly as they could. When they grew too chilly, they shiveringly pulled on their clothes and sat on one of the boulders edging the stream.
    “You know,” Lady Rivkah said quietly, “you’re not the only one who sometimes feels trapped and dreams about just breaking loose in some way.”
    Ria glanced sideways at her foster mother. Lady Rivkah seemed the very image of a perfect High Lady—disciplined, self-contained, competent. But she could remember from childhood a different image—Lady Rivkah in old patched leathers, staging mock swordfights with Ria and Cyril using sticks for swords, having snowball fights in the winter, building mud castles in the soft plowed earth after a rain. Where had that woman gone over the years?
    “Once when Sharl and I were riding through the forest with your mother,” Lady Rivkah said, “it was raining hard. Very hard. Chyrie and her mate Valann wouldn’t let me cast a rainproofing spell for them to ride under, and I worried about her becoming chilled and sick—she was pregnant with you then. But before I knew what was happening she’d jumped down to the ground, pulled her clothes off, and was pelting off down the trail as fast as she could go.” Lady Rivkah chuckled. “When Sharl and I caught up with her—on our horses, mind—she’d run herself out and was on her knees in the mud howling, I do believe. At first I was horrified, and embarrassed, but for a moment—just a moment, mind—I saw that look in her eyes and I wanted to be there howling with her in the rain. Her mate said it was the wild blood in her. The same wild blood that runs through your veins, Ria.”
    Lady Rivkah shook her head.
    “But don’t ever believe, Ria, that only you—or only elves—ever feel that wild blood. No matter what you think, we all want to run in the rain and howl sometimes. Now let’s get back to camp.”
    Ria thought about Lady Rivkah’s words in the next few days. She could certainly sympathize if Lady Rivkah felt caged and trapped as Ria herself did; however, that didn’t change the fact that Lady Rivkah had chosen her cage and Ria had not. Moreover, why