by Ellyn, Court
“But he’s learning swordsmanship, too, right?” Andryn pressed.
“Your brother is only nine. I doubt it.”
“But I’m twelve. That’s not too young. You’ll teach me to fight with a sword?” Those large brown eyes harbored such hope, such eagerness.
Laral looked to Bethyn for approval. “It’s too late to turn back now,” she muttered, so he nodded.
Andryn cheered and bounced, nearly overturning the chair. “No more babying me?”
Anything for a little peace and quiet. “Agreed. But I don’t speak for your mother.”
“Keep me out of this.” Bethyn gave her son a swat on the rear. “Get to it, soldier.”
Andryn ran for the door. “Just you wait, Da. They’ll be the muck-freest stables you ever seen.”
“Do as Hal tells you, and rest if you get tired,” Laral called after him.
“Aw, Da, you promised.”
Holding up his end of the bargain was going to be harder than Laral expected. “I’ll make it up to you, soon as I can,” he grumbled.
“Swords?”
He nodded, then groaned and burrowed deeper into the blanket. His body ached with chills, his children were growing up, and he was forced to endure both.
~~~~
19
Heavy clouds swallowed the sun for the next two weeks. The Avidan River swelled with rain, flooding the ford to Ilswythe Village. Tradesmen shipping supplies to Bramoran had to camp under the castle walls until the river allowed them passage. Da scowled resentfully at them churning up the mud outside his gate, as if the change in plans were their fault. And up in the library, Carah felt trapped by throbbing, aching silence. Rain lashed the skylight and tumbled in rivulets down the windows while panic roiled in her belly. She was going to fail. That certainty rooted deeper inside her with every passing day. Da began preparing for the trip, leaving instructions for the house with Yris and orders for the garrison with Maegeth. Should Carah prepare as well? Esmi put a regal wardrobe together, only the finest of Carah’s gowns and silk slippers for the three days at court. It was work wasted.
“Should I pack my own things?” Esmi asked, uncertain after all the talk of nightmares and danger and disobeying the king’s orders.
“Even if by some miracle I get to go, you’ll stay here,” Carah said. “I’ll have one of the other ladies or their maids help me with my stays, and I don’t need ringlets or jewels in my hair, I suppose. I’d rather everyone gossip about the Ilswythe wildchild than the Ilswythe fool. I’ll wear my hair down and go barefoot and really give them something to talk about.” If she got to go.
Two days remained. The rain let up enough in the afternoon for Carah to take a stroll in Grandmother’s garden. How she loved the scents of wet earth and new leaves bursting out on the andyr tree. The night blossoms unfurled in the gray half-light and filled the cool air with spicy perfume. The daffodils were spent, their petals little brown flags, and the lady’s lips budded pink on the arbor. She wove a circlet of the vines in an attempt to cheer herself but felt even more a fool for wearing it and tossed it into the fountain.
About the time she decided to go in and dress for supper, the clouds broke, and the warm sunlight on her face held her captive a little longer. It glistered on the wet stones and rain-studded leaves, a brief gift. She climbed the wallwalk up to the western tower in time to watch the sun ignite the underbellies of the clouds with shifting shades of gold, fuchsia, and lavender. Staring at that fading fire, Carah broke into sobs. No hope now. She would miss everything, and why not? She was the worst avedra ever.
The scuff of boots on the steps startled her. She straightened, dried her face on her sleeve, cleared her throat, and turned to find Rhian’s dark head bobbing into view. Carah groaned. “What do you want now? Aren’t I allowed to be here?”
He paused on the top step, startled himself, and said, “Oh. Evening, Carah.”
“Don’t lie and tell me you didn’t follow me up here.”
“Still full of yourself,” he said, crossing the turret. His robe was the color of dried blood. The gold embroidery winked with the orange and red of sunset. He wore it unbelted and open over the studded black jerkin and the riding leathers that fit him like a second skin. They did little to hide the muscles of his thighs. Swimmer’s thighs. Carah flushed hot and turned away. “Just making my rounds, is all,” he said. “I get a view from the river to the mountains up here. Nice sky. You should see the sunrise over the sea.”
If he tried to make small talk about the weather, Carah swore she’d kick him. He leaned through the crenels to inspect the last of the tradesmen bound for Bramoran. Garrs, Lord Helwende passed through the day before, claiming he wanted to arrive early, so he could “get a good seat.”
Satisfied that the tradesmen weren’t ogres in disguise, Rhian added, “No, you’ll go wherever you like, lady. Sure as hell I’m not coming after you again.”
The words stung her vanity. Quite the dose of medicine, discovering that not everyone adored her. She cursed herself for caring what this pearl fisher thought. Still, she knew she ought to thank him for saving her from the ogres that day by the river. The simple phrase clogged in her throat. “Have you … have you seen any ogres since?” she asked without her usual bite.
He shook his head, searching the hills and the length of Highway as far as the dark hazy smudge of Avidan Wood. There wasn’t much light left to see by, but Carah supposed he wasn’t searching with mundane sight anyway. For an instant she thought she glimpsed the ache of longing in his face as he stared at the Wood, but then it was gone. She decided it would be a mistake to waste the coin in betting on how he felt at any given moment. If he felt anything at all.
“I’ll never learn to see them,” she muttered to herself, watching the stars emerge between the tattered clouds.
Rhian overheard. “The naenion aren’t pretty to look at.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
He exhaled as if he had no choice but to dive in with the sharks where he knew he’d get bitten. “You cause everyone needless worry by insisting you go with us.”
Carah knotted a fist on her hip. “Thorn isn’t the only person of privilege. The Goddess spoke to me, too, I’ll have you know. A long time ago I flew with the falcons over Mount Drenéleth, and a light appeared and told me I had to wake. ‘Go with Kieryn Dathiel,’ she said. ‘You have work to do.’ I haven’t done a damn thing yet, but something is waiting to be done at Bramoran.”
Rhian regarded her with sharp interest while she confessed her childhood visitation, then he turned away. “Maybe.”
“Maybe, nothing! You want me to fail as much as Uncle Thorn does.”
He rounded on her. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I never said that. It’s joyful I’ll be when I don’t have to look after you anymore.”
“I do not need—” She stopped herself and dropped her face into her fingers. “Oh, I … I’ve been so cruel and ungracious. I’m sorry.”
The only change in the pearl fisher’s expression was a fractionally higher eyebrow. Was it surprise? Skepticism? Cold apathy?
She crossed her arms and grit her teeth. “Do you have any idea how irritating that is?”
“What?”
“Your face never changes. It’s unnatural!”
A grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. Well, at least that was something. “Learn to read my thoughts.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Apology accepted, by the way.”
“What? Oh.” Before he misinterpreted her regret for unconditional surrender, she said, “I don’t like being afraid and helpless to do anything about it, all right? I … I guess that’s why I’ve been nastier than usual, and I don’t give you permission to agree with me.”
Rhian closed his mouth.
“When I was little,” she went on, “I was afraid of the dark like everybody else. My fear caused me to resent the dark, so one night I blew out all my lamps and dared the dark to do
its worst. I remember being so scared and so cold, but when neither ghost nor rágazeth jumped out to hurt me, I learned the dark was just the same as closing my eyes, and there’s nothing scary in that. But this is the exact opposite. I can’t open my eyes to see what is coming to get me.”
Had his eyes grown softer? “I’m impressed,” he admitted. Carah wished he’d stop looking at her like that. Didn’t he realize the effect those eyes had on people? “Maybe it’s just a matter of aiming that defiance at the silence.”
Carah turned to gaze out between the merlons; it was safer to avoid those eyes. She planted her elbows on the crenel and rested her chin on her fists. “I’ve tried that. I don’t understand. I could do it once, when I was little. I heard the falcons plain as day. Is it possible for an avedra to lose the ability?”
“Can you lose the ability to think or feel, breathe or blink? I don’t know. But pressure doesn’t help, that’s for sure. Take it from one who had to learn everything on the run. You’ve been trying to keep pace with a small fry of a kid and added a time limit on top of that. You just need to relax.”
“It’s too late to relax.” The panic coiled tight in Carah’s belly. “I have only one day left to learn it all. It’s impossible.”
Softly Rhian insisted, “Very little is impossible. And this is easy.”
“How then?” Tears put a strangle hold on her throat. She swallowed them fast, damned if she’d cry in front of him.
“Take my hand.”
Carah stared at his open fingers, long and agile, his upturned palm lined with callouses from practicing swordplay and riding without gloves. “I’d rather not.”
“Do you not trust me, Car?” The shortening of her name sounded like an endearment—or a dare. “Or are you afraid to dirty your hand by touching a commoner?” A dare it was, then. So be it. She slapped her hand down into his.
“Now close your eyes.”
She huffed. He was determined to make a fool of her with his ridiculous game. “Look, it’s no use—”
“Just do as I say.”
With a sigh, she decided to humor him. And swore bloody vengeance if he tricked her.
“You have to feel as much as listen. Understand?”
She nodded yes, but that was a lie. All she could feel was the warmth of his fingers, the strength and command in his grasp. A delicious wave of dizziness swept through her. That couldn’t be what he meant. Better concentrate on something else.
“You have a headache here?” His finger brushed across her forehead.
She shifted away, opened her eyes.
“Relax, will you? I’m not going to toss you from the tower. Yet.”
Relieved that he’d not been spying on her thoughts, Carah closed her eyes again. “Yes, a headache over my eyes for the past four weeks. Just like Jaedren described, but I don’t hear anything.”
“No, that’s a stress headache. Jaedren’s headache will have started here.” His free hand slid underneath her heavy hair and squeezed the base of her skull. He might as well have slipped a hand up her skirt, the touch was so intimate and gentle. Carah gulped, and his hand slid away again. “The pain should radiate toward the temples, but not come from there.”
“All this time, I’ve been doing it wrong?”
“It’s no matter. Forget the past. Try thinking about this part of your brain.” His fingers touched the base of her skull again but remained outside her hair. Had he glimpsed her thoughts, after all?
“Are you concentrating?”
“Yes.” She cleared her throat, breathed, focused. “Yes.”
“Whatever makes us different from everyone else, it seems to come from here. The voices, the energies, they all flow through here.” He spoke in a whisper now; his words were a touch of gossamer on her cheek. “Concentrate,” he demanded and clucked his tongue. He was listening! The sweat of embarrassment broke out between Carah’s shoulder blades. She had to push it away, the embarrassment, the panic, the keen awareness of Rhian’s nearness. “Go down deeper. Float down and down until you find the void. It’s a dark place. You’ll see flashes of light. Like lightning, though very faint. And you can feel them.” Yes, crackling along her arms, up her spine, in the contact between their hands. “You hear something.”
“Bees,” she muttered groggily, as if she talked in her sleep.
“Yes, that’s it. This is where you shape the energies however you wish. Silent Speech comes from here and Veil Sight.”
Carah floated in a pulsing, humming emptiness. It was inundating, intoxicating. Familiar. Yes, she had come here when she reached out and took hold of her mother’s bleeding finger. Here the four falcons had found her and whisked her away to the snowy spire of Mount Drenéleth. It was a bad place. A dangerous place. She’d be trapped again.
She heard a whimper echo across the void, recognized her own voice, and tried to pull her hand free, but Rhian held her fast. “Don’t fear it. There’s no need. This is what you are.”
Yes, if she put aside the fear, the void was a beautiful, restful, exciting place to be. She remembered having felt that, too. When the falcons came, she had found it so enchanting that she didn’t want to leave.
“Whatever happened to you,” Rhian said, “it closed a gate. We’ve just reopened it, Carah. Do you think you can find the path again on your own?”
Yes, she replied, gleeful.
He drew away from her. Her companion in the empty, humming void vanished. Her hand dropped to her side. She wanted to beg him to come back, accuse him of leaving her alone, but she steeled herself. Her fists knotted; indistinctly she felt her nails bite into her palms. She risked staying for what felt like hours, swimming through the darkness, darting toward the faint sparks of lightning. The darkness proved to be illimitable, though somehow contained within the confines of her own skull. Dichotomy, indeed.
When at last she felt confident in the dark, she told herself to wake. She remembered that she stood on the western tower under the stars. The stones were solid beneath her feet, the night wind chilly and damp on her face. The buzzing surfaced with her. Holding onto it, she opened her eyes. Dazzling, blinding light struck her full in the face. She ducked away from it. The sun was long gone, and the moons never shined so brightly.
The light hurried closer, and she found Rhian standing inside it. Beams and ripples of light radiated from him like the rays of dawn bursting over the horizon. “Azeth,” she breathed. Now she understood.
A smaller light, white and winged, hovered at his shoulder.
“That’s Zephyr,” Rhian said, jabbing a thumb at his guardian. He was smiling at last, so broadly that Carah could actually see that his teeth were nearly straight. She raised a hand and saw her own lifelight radiating through her skin. The rippling patterns, the colors hidden inside the brilliance, differed subtly from Rhian’s, and where the two azethion touched, the rays sparked and twined and danced.
“I need to blink,” Carah said, her eyes stinging, “but I’m afraid I’ll lose it.”
Rhian chuckled. “Blink, but keep focusing with your mind.”
She tried it, blinking in the exaggerated manner of the newly skilled. When the lights still burned steadily against the night sky, she whirled and laughed, pointed out the sentries glowing in far towers and leaned through the crenels to count the lights of the tradesmen drifting about their campfires. How dull they were, compared to Rhian’s and her own, like fading embers.
A headache throbbed at the base of her skull and reached aching fingers toward her temples. She had never been more delighted with pain. As much as she wanted to hold onto the lights forever, she decided she better let them go before the headache got any worse. At supper she would try again. What better way to inform Uncle Thorn about her success than telling him over roast capon that his azeth was beautiful?
Like releasing delicate petals into the wind, Carah released the buzzing. Big mistake. The headache slammed through her skull as if someone beat her head with a stone. She doubled over, wrapped
her head in her hands, and staggered. Rhian caught her before she struck the crenels. “Here, sit here.” He lowered her down against the wall.
“Explode. Going to explode,” she cried through her teeth.
“I shoulda warned you that’d happen. First time is always the worst.”
Carah had heard the same thing applied to other “firsts.” The thought, thinking at all, pushed her over the edge. She whirled aside and vomited all over the stone floor. Rhian’s fingers scraped her hair from the cold sweat on her neck and held it out of the way. Carah hurt too badly to be embarrassed. When the nausea passed, she pressed herself against the wall and laid her forehead on her knees.
“Stay here,” Rhian said. “Don’t move. I’ll be back.”
Don’t tell Uncle Thorn. I want to tell him, she wanted to say but hadn’t the strength.
Rhian’s footsteps hurried away. She didn’t know how long he was gone. She might’ve even slept, relishing the feel of the cold stone against her body. It eased the pain in her head and the turning in her belly. Rhian was suddenly there again, crouching beside her. “Drink.” He put a cup to her lips. Carah smelled minty silverthorn, tasted its bitterness on the back of her tongue. A strong solution, it seeped fast through her veins. “Wine.” He pressed a full bottle into her hands. She sloshed a mouthful, spit out the taste of vomit and medicine, then took a long, desperate swallow.
“Now for Silent Speech,” she croaked.
“Don’t press yourself.”
“I’m out of time. Maybe my uncle will take me halfway to Bramoran.”
He chuckled at the quip. “If he doesn’t, I will. Whatever good it will do you. But Veil Sight is the important thing anyway. You’ll be able to see anything coming at you now.”
“All I need is bolts of fire from my hands.”
“In time. Come, m’ lady, let’s get you inside.” He hoisted her to her feet, guided her to the wallwalk. The view down into the garden made her reel. She dropped the wine bottle. It bounced a couple of steps, then shattered. She’d always been enamored of heights, but not tonight.