Blood & Bond

by Laura VanArendonk Baugh

  Maru looked between them. “What about the magic?”

  Tamaryl smiled. “Lady Ariana, please tell Maru how you began training.”

  Ariana shrugged. “When I was about four, I began to comment on the pretty sparkles that happened around Papa when he was working, and that’s when he knew I had inherited the ability. I then—‍”

  “Sparkles?” repeated Maru.

  Ariana nodded. “I’m a seer.”

  Maru blinked at her.

  “You know, I sense magic visually? Others perceive through another sense, hearing it, scenting it—‍”

  “But why do you see it?” Maru asked.

  “No one knows why some people perceive through one sense and some another. It doesn’t seem to be hereditary.”

  “But—it’s magic, it doesn’t have a color or a sound, it has an aspect. How can you hear it?”

  Tamaryl was grinning broadly at them.

  “Aspect?” Ariana repeated.

  “Yes. Its... its emanation.”

  “Emanating what? Do you feel it on your skin?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then what does it feel like?”

  Maru opened his mouth, hesitated, closed it, drew his eyebrows together, tried again. “It just—is. How would you describe what it feels like to breathe? Is there a sensation to that?”

  Tamaryl held up his hands to stop them. “Humans don’t have a natural sense for magic. Just five, and so one is pressed into additional service in mages.”

  Ariana and Maru looked back at each other with awed half-smiles. “Really?”

  “Then how can you use magic?” Maru continued.

  “It was hard for them in the beginning,” Tamaryl said. “So unnatural.”

  “It’s unusual, but not unnatural,” Ariana protested. “Clearly we can use it.”

  “The old stories say you stole it,” Tamaryl said archly.

  “What old stories? And we did not!”

  Tamaryl laughed. “Don’t be so quick to protest what you don’t understand. But, in fairness, I don’t know that we know the truth, either. It’s just said that humans stole magic shortly before or shortly after the Burnings. The tales vary.”

  Now Ariana jerked upright. “The Burnings!”

  “Yes, your father was very keen on that, too. The Burnings is the time of our oldest history, when history is myth—and yours also speaks of the Burnings.”

  “That’s shared history,” gasped Ariana. “In separate cultures. Separate worlds.”

  Tamaryl nodded. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t offer him much more than that. I am not a scholar of myth, and I had not thought to bring texts on ancient stories with me to fight in the human world.”

  “Still. That must have delighted him and then tantalized him.”

  “It took him two years to finally accept that I couldn’t offer him any more than I already had and stop asking.”

  His tone was light, but Ariana heard the faintest of undercurrents in it. Tamaryl was still struggling with her father’s betrayal, as he saw it, of keeping secret the Ryuven prisoners in the Naziar. How he weighed that against Tamaryl’s own theft of the Shard’s fragment, or whether Tamaryl blamed himself as well for the rift, she couldn’t guess. She was glad he was trying to put on a more agreeable face.

  Maru must have heard it, too. “Well, lacking philios, I’m going to bring some indecorous cider. Ryl, will you reset the game, so that Ariana’rika cannot cheat this time?”

  Ariana made a face at him. “Bring some of Mother Harriet’s sweet smallcakes and I’ll let you cheat a round.”

  “Done!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  SHIANAN STOOD AT THE door, beside the branches he remembered the boy Tam trimming. He stared at the decorative nails patterning the wood, taking a moment to gather himself. ’Soats, but he’d rather face an armed opponent than knock on this door.

  The latch rattled and the door swung back, startling him. “Come in, my lord commander,” invited Hazelrig with a smile. “We saw your approach through the window.”

  Simultaneous rushes of relief and irritation hit Shianan. “Thank you, my lord mage, I will.”

  Hazelrig led him to the little gathering inside. Shianan stiffened. Tamaryl sat on a tall stool, his wings folded behind him, holding a drink. Beside him Ariana rose from her chair. “You did come!”

  “I did, my lady mage,” he answered automatically. But he could hardly look at her for the Ryuven. Even when he had been here before as the boy Tam, he had not arrogantly displayed his own enemy form.

  Tamaryl inclined his head in greeting.

  Shianan turned abruptly to Ariana. “Thank you for having me here tonight, my lady mage,” he said formally, bowing.

  She laughed. “There’s no need for that; we’re all friends here. Have some wine. Father, is your drink empty? Bring it here.” She moved into the next room.

  Shianan rotated to face Tamaryl, still on the stool. “Good evening,” he said shortly. “Don’t the Ryuven rise to greet other nobles?”

  Tamaryl’s cool smile flickered. “I thought there was little advantage in pretense, now that you know my true rank.”

  Shianan’s neck grew warm. “Then I must apologize for failing to bow to you. Truthfully, I hadn’t expected to find you here, not with so many outlying villages resting complacent and vulnerable in the belief there are no Ryuven within the shield.”

  The Ryuven’s eyes narrowed. “And—‍”

  “Bailaha, Tamaryl, please join us,” Hazelrig called. “I am told supper is ready.”

  They moved apart, watching one another warily, and went into the dining room where Ariana was in conversation with a second Ryuven. Shianan stared.

  Hazelrig smiled. “Maru asked to serve our supper. He felt our notable company deserved service, and he pointed out rightly that no human servant could be admitted here.” He gestured to chairs. “Tamaryl, if you please, and Bailaha, there.”

  Ewan Hazelrig sat at the head of the table, and Tamaryl took the seat to his right. Ariana sat on her father’s left, with the strange Ryuven standing between them, and Shianan beside her. He felt a tiny triumph at having the place nearer to her, but he resented Tamaryl’s place of honor by the mage’s right hand.

  Maru looked at Tamaryl and then turned to a sideboard. One wing hung behind him, not folded as tightly as the other. Shianan wondered at the obvious break, which a Ryuven’s unnaturally quick healing should remedy. But then, Hazelrig had called him a prisoner of war, and so he must have been Subdued.

  Tamaryl was saying something, Shianan realized, which he’d been ignoring.

  Hazelrig cleared his throat. “We’ll find a way.”

  “We can’t go back through the shield,” Tamaryl said firmly. “Even if I could do it again, it would kill Maru. It bled every shred of power for only myself.”

  “Don’t surrender hope yet. We might be able to use amulets as energy reservoirs to push you through.”

  Shianan blinked. “Are you instructing the Ryuven on how to penetrate our best defense?” he blurted.

  Four pairs of eyes fell on him—even the Ryuven servant turned to look. Shianan glanced at the colorful vegetables, dressed in a bright sauce to hide their softening with winter storage. “I’m sorry,” he bit angrily. “It’s not my place to speak against the White Mage at his own table. But—Pairvyn ni’Ai!”

  “I think—‍” began Hazelrig gruffly.

  “It would not benefit us in the end,” Tamaryl said, speaking over the mage. “We need no amulets to store power and so the Ai don’t have the skill of making them. And no number of amulets could bring an army through the shield.”

  “The Ryuven don’t manufacture amulets, no. But didn’t the servant boy Tam help Mage Hazelrig with his work? You know the method of them now, don’t you?”

  Tamaryl’s face tightened. “I have opposed this war for years. I helped to develop the shield. Do you think I’d help to defeat it so easily?”

  Hazelrig g
ave Tamaryl a sharp look.

  Ariana set her flat hands on the table. “We all want a world without war.”

  “That is true,” Tamaryl said, “but some also want other things, and more. Some make their living by it, others live by it.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Ariana said flatly. “They can find new ways to live.”

  “Can they?” Tamaryl’s mouth quirked as he glanced at Shianan.

  Shianan sat absolutely still, offering no resistance as the simple words knifed through him.

  Ariana caught the glance, but not its meaning. “The war is over.”

  Shianan found his voice. “The war is not over! Not while there are Ryuven raids still happening, and Ryuven still in Alham.” He fixed his eyes on Tamaryl. “But be assured, I will end it.”

  “And then what?” Tamaryl raised an eyebrow. “What will you be then—commander?”

  Shianan’s heart spasmed.

  “You forget, I know this world. You are honored—tolerated—only because they fear us more than they dislike you.”

  “Tamaryl!” Ariana gasped.

  Shianan stared at him, unable to respond, his soul’s terror peeled bare and raw before his enemies and his friends.

  “You need us, commander,” Tamaryl said, “and you need us here.”

  “Tamaryl.” Mage Hazelrig’s steely voice did not need to be loud. “You are both guests in my home.”

  Tamaryl raised a hand. “Forgive me. That was more than I should have said. I only meant to illustrate that it is not always so simple as saying a war should end. My people are starving. Without raids, they die. And both Ryuven and human fighters earn their positions in fighting. Even if someone wanted to end war, not all could surrender his own standing and worth.”

  “No one could put his own desires above the deaths of civilians and children,” Shianan said, his jaw moving stiffly.

  Tamaryl gave him a significant look. “I feel the same.”

  “So you want the raids to continue? To feed your children on the blood of our farmers and soldiers?”

  Hazelrig raised his hands. “Gentlemen, friends, we are not covering any new ground. None of us wishes for war, but none of us has found a way to end it.”

  Shianan was not ready to be placated. “How are you even here? You are a traitor to your own professed cause. The shield is still in place. How did you come through it?”

  Tamaryl gave him a disappointedly patient look. “I am the Pairvyn ni’Ai. I am more capable than the average Ryuven.”

  Shianan gave him a hard look. “We’ve confirmed the recent raids are Ryuven. The farmers killed some, we have Ryuven bodies.”

  Tamaryl met Shianan’s eyes steadily. “And do you think, if I had been there, farmers would have prevailed?”

  “You were injured and hiding in Mage Hazelrig’s workroom.”

  Tamaryl tipped his head in incredulity. “You think some farmers could have done that?”

  “Anyone can have a bad day.” Shianan knew it was incorrect—the Ryuven lying supine on the workbench had been destroyed by magic, not physical attack—but the shocked affront in Tamaryl’s eyes was worth it.

  Tamaryl raised his spread hands, palms toward Shianan, touching the tips of the thumbs before him. “I spoke too harshly before, but now I swear to you by the Essence, I have not participated in these raids.”

  “Then how are they happening?” demanded Shianan.

  “They may have stopped happening,” Ewan Hazelrig said. “We’ve had no new report for nine days.”

  “That’s not long enough to prove anything. There aren’t supposed to be any Ryuven here at all, and yet there are raiders to the north and two here in this room. Why?”

  The room went uncomfortably quiet.

  At last there was the sound of a throat being tentatively cleared. “I was trapped here,” offered the second Ryuven, Maru. “I could not get through the shield to return home.”

  Relief flooded Shianan like warm water after chilling wind. Torg’s supposition had been right; the resurrection of the shield had trapped some Ryuven in the human world. Those remaining were dying off, which was why reports had slowed. There were no gaps in the shield. “And why did Tamaryl come here?”

  “To find him,” Tamaryl answered for himself. “Maru is my friend. I came to bring him home.”

  “And you think you can take him home without any of your officers asking questions about the shield?”

  “Tamaryl’sho is strong enough to have carried himself through it,” Maru said. “As for me, I will have been missed in my duties, but I can simply say I was shirking—‍”

  “Even a runaway slave draws notice,” Shianan interrupted.

  “Nim are not slaves,” Tamaryl snapped. “We don’t—‍”

  “Enough!” shouted Ariana. “You both are beyond squabbling at your host’s table. This is ridiculous.”

  Shianan hesitated, stung. He looked at Ariana and then across the room, avoiding Tamaryl just as the Ryuven avoided him.

  “Do either of you believe my father would let harm come to this kingdom or to his friends?” she demanded.

  Shianan looked at the vegetables on the Ryuven’s plate.

  “Do you?”

  Shianan licked his lips. “I do not believe the White Mage would knowingly bring harm to us.”

  Tamaryl’s answer was more eloquent. “I have trusted the White Mage with my life for many years.”

  “Thank you,” Ariana said shortly. “Then, if you’ve finished bickering like schoolboys, Maru might hand around the bread.”

  Hazelrig coughed, and Shianan saw the telltale smile lines above the concealing hand.

  “I apologize,” Shianan said gruffly. “I should have known that you have a plan for the Ryuven.”

  Hazelrig shook his head. “I don’t always have a plan. You have seen when I was lost and grieving, unable to think. And I don’t have a clear plan now to return Tamaryl and Maru to their home. But if we cannot return them safely, I will see them settled safely here. They can be hidden as Tam was once hidden. I won’t have them endangered or beleaguered.”

  “I see.”

  Tamaryl shook his head. “We have to return. There must be a way.”

  Ariana nodded. “We’ll keep working. And I still have hope that we might be able to end this war in another way, more formal than a shield.”

  Hazelrig nodded, chewing on a sprig of herb. “I think we can all agree that we want peace and prosperity. Will you drink to that and end this talk?”

  They drank, divided in nature yet united in this wish at least. And then Hazelrig spoke of other things, leading them into less inflammatory topics.

  Ariana was animated and attentive, listening to Shianan’s words with interest and adding ideas of her own. Shianan would have been glad, but she showed the same courtesy to her Ryuven guest.

  Maru was quick and unobtrusive despite the broken wing, and Shianan found himself enjoying the well-prepared food. With argument implicitly forbidden, the conversation was a little forced but not unpleasant. Hazelrig led them neatly between stories of their travel over the mountains and comic tales of magic practice gone wrong or other lighthearted adventures. Shianan was finishing a story of bumbling soldiers trying to complete a task they had utterly misunderstood when Maru brought a dessert wine to pour.

  Ariana lifted her glass, the dark liquid swirling. “To friendship,” she offered suddenly. “Between ourselves and our peoples. May we find a way to share stories over a meal again.”

  A sudden and intense need took Shianan, the longing that he would sit again at a table with the White Mage and his daughter. He raised his cup. “May we find a way.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  TAMARYL LAY ON HIS bed—less comfortable in his natural form than it had been for the boy Tam—and regretted.

  He should not have said the things he had over supper. His assessment of the commander’s position was accurate enough, but to say it so plainly would drive tender-hearted Ariana to Shiana
n’s support. Nor was it appropriate behavior as a guest in the Hazelrigs’ home.

  Edeiya’rika had neatly incised Ryuven society with a single, quiet observation and extracted Daranai to be cast out like the cancer she was. Tamaryl wished he had that skill.

  He wished a lot of things. He wished he had not learned his friend of so many years had kept such a secret from him. He could, if he checked himself for a moment, understand; Ewan Hazelrig had been sworn to keep the secret of the Ryuven prisoners before he had ever met Tamaryl, and what would the boy Tam have done even if he had known? But that did not touch the hurt.

  And any thought of betrayal raised shame and a deeper hurt. Tamaryl had not planned clearly to take the fragment of ether; he had grabbed it on impulse as the finality of his leap home pressed upon him. He had not even been certain it would work. But had he even then acted on a desire to keep a secondary plan open, a possibility of returning not only to his friends, but to a sure source of supplies for a starving population?

  He did not know.

  What was certain: He had worked for fifteen years in partnership with a noble man trying to save his own people and then had betrayed him. Now that man had rescued Maru and was sheltering two Ryuven in his own home. Yet his betrayal and Tamaryl’s had driven a wedge between them, and Tamaryl hated it even through his anger.

  It was easier to resent the commander. Shianan Becknam had no just claim to Ariana. His was a pathetic attraction, the grasping love of a man who was ostracized from most social contact and had latched frantically onto the only woman to be kind to him in his loneliness.

  ...And no, that wasn’t Tamaryl’s situation, it wasn’t the same at all. He knew Ariana, knew her better than Becknam did, and he had rejected another already betrothed to him, so it certainly wasn’t that he wanted any sweet comfort, desperate for any feminine sympathy.

  Memories of Daranai’rika’s pliant lips and teasing hands came unwelcome to him, and he writhed angrily into another position on the unaccommodating bed, grunting as he pinched a wing.