by C Z Edwards
“Off duty until noon tomorrow,” he said. He made one of our hunting cant gestures, rolling his forefinger in a small circle. Go on. He ended by pointing towards Hazel Spring, our retreat. Rien, now standing beside him, nodded agreement. And both of them made our hunting cant signs for check, her, danger. Rien used her left hand and Quin his right, and I didn’t think they knew the other one said the same thing. I got their message, though.
I still had my day bag on my back, and hers was at her feet. “Will you come?” I asked.
She smiled, like the first ray of a spring dawn up here in the far north, gradual and brilliant and enduring. She offered me the hand that had been on my chest. I put mine in hers, and she laced our fingers together like we’d been doing this all our lives. She bent down a bit and swung her pack up on her right shoulder, then looked back at me, still smiling. “I’m delighted to meet at last... ?” She had a Celestan accent, a little clipped like most Uplanders, but precise and educated. Mannered.
“Cedri,” I said, and stopped short. I don’t use a patronym because my father denounced the name he had at my birth, nor the surname I was born with, and I won’t use the new name he gave me after he joined the New Order. I don’t know what name I’ll use, if I ever need one.
I think she understood. “Kya. Born Kya dat Gwen d’Archilia. Kya sator15 Archilia for the last ten years.” She paused. “I’m a Wisdomian16.”
So much information in just her names. Her mother was Archilian, too, and Kya was born an oblate. I’ve spent enough time at Archilavast to know that their form of oblation was nothing like the Lethian one. Once my father gave me to the Chapterhouse, I had no means of leaving except death. In running away, I made myself both a thief and stolen property. But that’s not how Archilians saw oblation. They offered passage to souls coming into the world, and they raised them in their goddess’ light, but their children were not prisoners. Being an oblate just meant that everyone in that community, be it conversatory17 or sancta18 or town congregation, has agreed to ensure the welfare of their collective children. They educated and fed and sheltered and loved them all together. And they let them go if the child needed to leave.
But Kya was also a priest, and one of their more dangerous and dedicated ones. If the Archilians made war, the Wisdomians would be their army. They didn’t make war, so the Wisdomians were their protectors. At least, I didn’t think they’re warriors. On the other hand, I’ve shared her mind for years. She’s been in some deep, dark water, and our shared dreams could be more nightmare than idyll.
But I knew her heart. I knew her mind. I trusted her, and I knew she trusted me. So I waited until we were beyond earshot of the treehouse clearing. “What was your job?” I asked.
“Rien and Laarens think I’m a courier,” she said carefully.
“And I’ll help you maintain that,” I said. “Wait, what? Laarens? Rien was right?”
She looked at me quizzically, then brightened and nodded. “Yes, he’s alive. I’ve been watching his back for several tendays. You must have all thought he was actually dead.”
“Rien didn’t. She said the facts didn’t fit the players. But I think even she was starting to doubt, the last few days. So, what was your job?”
“Spy.” She swallowed. “Of sorts. Listening post? Auditor? Examiner? The Council sent me places where situations felt strange, or where our Prognosticators19 thought someone might need help.”
I had to ask the question, because Rien was building a civil war. “Did they send you here?”
“Mostly no,” she said. “I’m now defying orders. I was supposed to escort Laarens until Last Summer’s Night. He’s too used to having a garrison at his back. He doesn’t watch himself nearly as well as he thinks he does. But now that he’s here, I’m supposed to go back to Archilavast for my next assignment. Except I think I need to be here.”
I stopped, but I didn’t drop her hand. “You have to explain why you need to be here. And I have to believe you’re not lying to me.”
She looked chagrined. “I’m not sure I can lie to you. None of the others can, or at least not very well. And if I do, you’ll know the next time we sleep. Trust is the advantage, and I think why it comes into being at all. But me, here? I’m a battle Healer. I can patch someone until we can reach a real Healer. I’m another researcher. I’m a good generalist. I know a little about a lot, and I can use that to find more. My presence is an opportunity to make amends with the Comitae —”
I interrupted because I’d rather admit what I didn’t know than just look stupid. “Hallo, I’m Ced, I’ve lived in this forest for nine years, I read everything I can buy, beg, or borrow. Galantier’s best Advocate20 is teaching me to be a counselor21, and you and I have shared dreams for six years. None of that means I know anything about what you just said.”
She grinned. “I’m rushing. Right. Laarens said to explain slower.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “We share dreams. You’re not much of an Evocator22, correct?”
“I’m not an Ingenia at all,” I said, “except that we share dreams, and I knew you were My Lady of the Dreams even though I’ve never seen you before.”
“Not in dreams, no,” she said. “But we’ve met at least once in life. I don’t know when other than about six years ago, so I was at Celestan, that whole year.”
“Quin and Bran and I spent two tendays at the Archilavast hospital with Fanik,” I said. “Spring of 1132. And I was at the bookshop at least four other times that year.”
She nodded. “That’s probably it. I bet I recommended something. They assigned me to mind the bookshop while I was still nursing Gwen. An encounter so trivial neither of us noticed enough to remember it.”
That was another question, but it could wait a moment. “Other people share dreams?”
She nodded. “Mostly though, not exactly like we do. We call it a soul bond. We thought they were out of a supper story, but no. It only happens between Ingeniae. When we meet, our ingeniae recognize one another as... emotionally compatible. They tune to each other and make a perfect chord together. It endures. It’s both more common and more rare than I suspected when I started this research.”
“Is this your actual research, or a cover for spying?” I asked, amused.
“Both,” she said, and laughed. “It started out with me trying to figure out who was invading my dreams, and why. It was something to do while— ” She stopped.
“While you were nursing,” I finished. That second question. “You have a child?”
She became solemn, caught my gaze, and took her time answering. “I have shared my vitality with souls. Twice. Girls. Gwen is seven and Peri is four.”
I didn’t let go of her hand, but I turned away. I loved my sisters, all five of them. I missed them every day. I loved Fanik and Lin’s son, Nik. I wanted a family, and I wanted to raise them. Every day of their lives, from the moment they quickened in my beloved’s belly. I tried not to think much about my mother because I couldn’t bear to think about my father. I couldn’t understand how he grew cold enough to leave his wife and daughters. I feared if I thought about what sent him to the Lethians, I’ll find the same flaw in me.
But this woman, the Lady of the Dreams, had left her children. Often. Half a year ago, I knew she was far away, out to sea. I couldn’t do that, not to my children. Not to my wife. I didn’t like leaving the brothers I’ve chosen. So I needed to know who Kya sator Archilia was. I knew I loved the mind and heart she shared with The Lady of the Dreams. I just didn’t know if... “Are you married?” I asked, still facing away.
“No,” she said. “I love Gwen, and I love Peri, and they belong to themselves first. I’m a terrible mother to them right now. I get bored when every day is exactly the same. I’m impatient. The conversatory, their father, and my parents give them the consistency of hot meals on time and daily lessons and stories at bedtime. And security. All things I can’t give th
em. My ingeniae are the problem. The Wisdomians started training me when I showed, but they failed to teach me how to be a partner and a mother. I’m too useful as a spy. I can do things nobody else can, which keeps my girls safer. And this kingdom. That’s why Darav and I agreed that he would be their every day parent. Every time I leave, they keep a part of my heart, and they’re why I always come back.”
“What are your ingeniae?” I asked. “Nobody’s that rare.”
“Let go of me,” she said. “Close your eyes, turn in place, and count to ten.”
I’ve seen Lyrics23 and Healers24 and Advocates work with their ingeniae. I’ve seen Quin move stuff with his mind. Ingeniae aren’t that impressive to watch. Pols writing music with his Lyria doesn’t look much different from Bran writing it without. Quin can cheat any arrow, but his is mostly just a trick, and Rien setting a little fire25 is no more impressive than someone using a flint. Still, I did as I was told.
She was gone. Broad daylight, in a clearing. No place to hide. Enough leaf litter on the ground that I’d hear her footsteps if she was just keeping herself behind me.
I’m here, she said into my head. May I kiss you?
I’d never heard an Evocator’s voice in my head before. I didn’t know how it worked. It was like hearing without my ears. It didn’t echo at all, but her voice wasn’t flat, either. Just in my head, as if she spoke behind my eyes. It should have terrified me.
And yet, I trusted her. For six years, I’ve known how she makes every decision. I didn’t think I always agreed with her, since I didn’t have details, but I knew the shape of her logic. We’ve shared grief and fear and danger. There have been mornings I’ve awakened not knowing if I’d find her again when I slept. She always made it through. She’d come back this time, too.
“If you want,” I said. Then I just waited, because she’d have to explain what she was doing.
I felt her hands on my shoulders a long second before I felt her lips touch mine, and it took longer than a long-held breath before I saw her again. She shimmered into my gaze, blurry like everything for me if it’s closer than arm’s length. But also like how rising heat above a fire distorts whatever’s beyond it. She’d dropped her hat.
I thought I’d like this kissing thing, when it wasn’t wrapped in fear and anticipation and confusion. The first one was pretty good, except I really didn’t know why she was licking me.
Kya pulled back. She looked puzzled, then suspicious. “Hallo, Ced, who has lived in a forest for nine years, and was once tattooed like a Lethian. How old is Cedri, no last name?”
“Twenty-eight,” I said.
“And before you lived here?”
“A little more than a year in Gorthania. Fire watch over the leeward forests east of Selapol. Forty feet up a tree, with Quin. Twenty-one days on shift, four days off.”
“And before that?”
“Chapterhouse.”
“And before that?”
“Five sisters, two parents, in a six room byhouse on Dastorian.”
She became perfectly still. “You’re virgin.”
“No,” I retorted. “We’ve shattered together at least a thousand times. You taste like salted honey. A little vinegar. Your sweat makes me hard. You want to be on top when you engulf me the first time, but the second time, you’d rather we spoon together and take our time. You’ll flood on the fourth, when we have the time. You’re the only woman I’ve ever tumbled, but my first time was about six years ago.”
“It’s not the same,” she said. “Not one festival? Not one paid night? Not a sweetheart?”
“I don’t go to temples. I couldn’t afford a Courtesan until a couple years ago,” I said honestly. “By then... it would have felt like cheating on you. You might forgive me, but I wouldn’t forgive myself, and I have to live with me.”
“That’s unfair,” she said, and looked down at the forest floor. “I never asked that of you.”
“I know,” I said. “I made that choice, for myself.” I stooped down for her hat and put it on her head, then offered my hand. She took it, and I started walking again. We needed to keep going to reach Hazel Spring with good light left. And she still needed to talk to me while I was in whistle range. I trusted the Kya who was my Lady of the Dreams, but she told me she spied. If the Lethians knew this infant army existed, they wouldn’t hesitate to set a spy on us. They’d probably want a puppeteer, someone who could control Rien. Until that failed, then they’d kill her. I thought the Archilians were better people, but all power intoxicates and corrupts. Kya knew where we lived, and how to get here. She wasn’t leaving. Quin and Rien sent us away overnight not entirely out of kindness, but to separate the two new arrivals. Rien knew Laarens, and Quin would trust her judgement of him, but they wanted me to assess Kya. Whether she stayed alive would depend on the next few hours.
“You can make yourself invisible,” I said.
“Not exactly,” she said. “Invisibility can’t exist. What I do is a variation on Perceptio26. The easier version is I just make myself uninteresting. I don’t entirely have much control over it. I fade into the background. It’s like I become a single grey pebble in a field of grey pebbles. It’s useful when I need to follow someone or eavesdrop. If someone is looking for me, they’ll find me, but not if they’re just looking for any priest, or any Archilian. Mostly they don’t think to look for me. I use it in crowds and on busy streets. And so Observers27 don’t notice me.”
She let me lead. I didn’t walk directly to the spring, but kept us on a large arc that would get us there eventually. She didn’t know this forest. If I thought she was a danger to Rien, I’d make sure I could get the other eleven of us here fast enough to eliminate her. I had a monarch to protect.
“And that’s not what you just did,” I said. “I was looking for you.”
“It’s the more difficult version,” she said. “I can... put myself in someone’s blind spot and stay there. It only works on one person at a time, but if I concentrate all of my puissance28 on someone, they won’t see me until I want them to see me. The person standing right next to them will see me, but I can use it if I need to read a letter while it’s being written. Or overhear a conversation in a crowded tavern.”
“Or slit a throat,” I said. I remembered both times. We’d had nightmares for a quarter-year afterwards.
“Only twice,” she agreed. “Those murders weren’t justice, but they weren’t vengeance, either. They were... public safety. If I could have done anything else, I would have, but those two would kill again.” She stopped. “You can’t tell Rien. I wasn’t in her jurisdiction, I wasn’t there as a Galantieran citizen, and I will not be an assassin for the Razia29.”
“Not even Savrin?” I asked. “Do you know what he did?”
“You mean what he’s still doing,” she said. “Yes. I think he raped Rien, or so close the law would call it rape. He’s incubilating. I’ve met rather dim sheep who would make more competent monarchs. I’ve an idea what a monster he is. I want to see him dead, but I’ve spent quite a lot of the last two years trying to figure out how, and I can’t get close enough.” She touched her medal. “I was five the first time I got lost. I was in that open niche on the landing beside the main stairwell, where the guest house meets the dormitory. You know that place?”
I nodded. I’ve stayed in Archilavast’s guest house and used their libraries more than a few times. That niche was a nice place to sit with a book and read, when what you really wanted to do was soak up being around other people again.
“The entire conversatory spend most of a day looking for me, because then, I didn’t have control, and I thought I was in trouble. That ability makes me dangerous and we’ve known this since I was a child. We have rules for people like me. They’re not ethics if they only apply when convenient. If I have to kill, I have to be identifiably a priest of Archilia, mantle and stole and academic veils.�
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“I should inspect your pack and person to ensure you’re not a threat to the rightful monarch,” I said, trying to tease, but uneasy about it. That was a dangerous ingenia, even with limits.
She stopped, dropped her pack at my feet, and spread her arms.
I picked up her pack and handed it back. “Later. Do you love your daughters’ father?”
“It’s complicated,” she said after a pause. “Now, yes, but not romantically. Like a friend and brother and fellow academic. I respect his mind and his decisions, my parents consider him their son, and we work together well, so I’m content with our choice. But that’s after eight years. Wisdomians are required to ensure we replace ourselves. I’ve known Darav my whole life. He and my older sister were fond of each other, before we lost her. His eldest child is also my nephew, my sister’s only child. We grieved for Justia together. On the other hand, we can’t live in the same house, we can only share a bed for a few days, and he has appalling taste in sagas.”
“Does he know about me?” I asked.
She nodded. “He helped me confirm I wasn’t losing my mind. And in a few days, he’ll have the letter I put in the post at Valanding explaining I’ll be away longer than originally planned.”
“When are you going back?”
“When Rien allows me to go,” she said. “I’ve been observing her, through you, for most of a year. I was nothing but relieved when I figured out who she had to be, but I know her safety right now depends on discretion. I won’t risk that.”
“Good,” I said. “When she approves, is that when I get to meet Gwen and Peri and Darav and your parents?”
“Do you want to?” she asked, sounding a bit astonished. And wary.
“Ayuh,” I said. “I figure it this way. If six years, a dozen close brushes with death between us, and you halfway to the other side of the earth doesn’t break this soul bond, it seems fairly permanent, right?”