While Alyneri ate, Vaile leaned back against a rock and curled her legs beneath her. Far below, nestled in the bosom of undulating hills, the tents of the sa’reyth glowed copper in the lengthening sun, while the mountains across the grass-green valley—and indeed, the very air—reflected a golden sheen.
“What will you and Trell do when the game is won?”
Vaile always pushed Alyneri to envision her future and never allowed her to dwell on fears of the present. Sometimes imagining any possible future took greater effort than all the exhaustive sword forms she’d worked during the day.
In the dying light of that afternoon, after a hard day’s lesson, she found it especially challenging. “Sometimes the fear hurts so much that I wish I could hate him,” she confessed to Vaile after a moment, “or at least harden myself against him—against the loss of him. But I can’t. I managed to let go of loving Ean by forgiving him, but I’ve nothing to forgive Trell for.” Her eyes lifted to meet Vaile’s, seeking understanding. “All I can think about is his bravery, his compassion, his sense of honor and his intelligence…” she dropped her gaze, “…and of how incredibly special I felt beneath the warmth of his attention.”
“Strong men rage through life burning as brightly as the sun.” Vaile cast Alyneri a fleeting look while her fingers brushed idly across the grass…reverently, as if each blade represented a treasured memory from her long life. “Some great men burn for eons; others expire in an explosion of honor. But women…” Her gaze shifted to Alyneri with these words and then drifted away again, off towards the distant mountains. “Ever living in the shadows of their bold lives…women endure.”
“Endure.” Alyneri swallowed. Yes…that was all she could say of herself at present. She was enduring…counting the hours and minutes of a life caught out of time while she waited for Fate to play his hand and decide her happiness or utter desolation.
Vaile reached over and cupped Alyneri’s cheek. “In our hearts we carry the still-glowing embers of everyone we’ve ever loved. We can no more extinguish those embers than quench the desire to gather them newly. Men live for honor, women for love. Such is the way of life in this world.”
Alyneri closed her eyes, nodded, and then turned away, trying to stave off threatening tears. She didn’t like to cry in front of Vaile—not because the zanthyr was insensitive to her grief, but because she bore so much more of it personally. Lifetimes of grief. Learning of the things Vaile had endured…it made Alyneri feel small by comparison, her tiny fears petty and insignificant.
In the beginning she’d thought Vaile was helping her because the zanthyr also cared for Trell, but in their conversations since, Alyneri had come to understand that everything Vaile did, she did for the First Lord.
For love of him, she managed his sa’reyth; she slew his enemies, fought his battles, and waited timelessly for his infrequent and too-brief visits. For love of him, she helped those who were important to his game, suffered the indignation of close association with other than her own choosing, and even gave the gift of her wisdom when benevolence truly struck her. For love of Björn, Vaile endured…though Alyneri felt that if not for Björn, Vaile would not have lingered.
Because if ever a woman walked with grief shadowing her steps, Vaile did. Perhaps others saw this shadow and interpreted it as a zanthyr’s typical remoteness, but Alyneri knew better now.
She’d asked Vaile once about the sorrow that lingered behind her every smile. The zanthyr had replied that some sorrows must never be forgotten.
Alyneri blinked dual tears and wiped them quickly from her cheeks. She looked back to the zanthyr and finally answered her, “I hope we’ll live together.”
The flicker of a smile danced across the zanthyr’s lips. Her emerald gaze surveyed the valley while her raven hair made a velvet cloak over one shoulder. “Where would you live?”
“If I had a choice?” Alyneri tried to imagine a life without the looming shadow of the Eagle Throne. “Kandori perhaps. Or even the Akkad. Trell loves it there, and the Emir was good to him.”
Vaile gave her an approving smile. “What will you do in your life together?”
Alyneri managed a fleeting expression of hope. “Make a home? Have children?” She shrugged and shook her head. “It seems so…improbable.”
Vaile gave her an amused look—or possibly her amusement stemmed from Alyneri’s suddenly blushing cheeks. “Children should be experienced,” she agreed. “It is an adventure unlike any other.”
Alyneri lifted her gaze back to her. “Do you…?” But the words froze on her tongue. She’d never heard of zanthyrs having children, and it seemed suddenly rude of her to ask if such was possible.
Vaile seemed to know her mind. “You’re not wrong in your assumptions, Alyneri. A zanthyr mating with mankind will always produce an Adept child, but we cannot create our own kind together.”
This truth startled her. “But…why?”
“We are the Maker’s children—like the drachwyr, like the angiel…like Malorin’athgul. Only the Maker can decide when the cosmos needs more of us.”
Alyneri frowned. “It seems cruel somehow, to have made you so.”
“Sometimes the sun seems cruel, when the rains don’t come and the crops die…when nature is out of Balance.”
Alyneri heard a significance in these words that ran far deeper than the statement alone conveyed, an undercurrent of meaning spoken as Phaedor often did—saying two things for every one thing spoken.
“Come now.” Vaile pointed to the food she’d brought. “You’ve eaten but little, and we’ve more to do today.”
Alyneri did as the zanthyr bade her, but food was the last thing she wanted just then. “It’s so difficult, the not knowing…” She frowned as she took another bite. “The mystery of where Trell is and what he’s…enduring. Not knowing if I’ll ever see him again.”
Vaile leaned on one hand. “The Mage says the best way to know the future is to make it.”
Alyneri looked back to her. “Do you believe that’s true? With everything that’s happened to Trell…” She shook her head while frustration and fear made an ache in her chest. “It seems like Cephrael stands against him.”
“Not so, Alyneri d’Giverny. If the angiel stood against him, our Trell of the Tides would’ve died in the Fire Sea.” Alyneri must’ve looked confused, for Vaile arched a humorous brow. “The gods of this world are naught but echoes of the angiel; incarnations of Epiphany and Cephrael in their various aspects.” She placed a hand on Alyneri’s knee and smiled. “Trell is a Player. His path stretches long before him yet—”
“Vaile!”
Both Alyneri and the zanthyr spun their heads at Náiir’s call, which had resonated with unmistakable urgency. Alyneri spotted the drachwyr as he rushed over the rise of the hill just below them.
“Vaile,” he said, planting his feet and sprouting a grin, which he shared with Alyneri when he spotted her, “they found Trell.”
Vaile spun a look at Alyneri. Then she snatched her blades from the grass and sprinted down the hill. Even as Alyneri watched, Vaile seemed to pass through smoke—or else become of it—and when Alyneri’s vision cleared, the zanthyr wore her fighting blacks. She sheathed both swords at her back as she ran.
Alyneri scrambled to follow.
Náiir waited on the rise for her. She’d never seen him offer such a smile as that which graced his features when she reached him. He took her hand in his own, kissed it, and then drew her rapidly down the hill. “This is good news, Alyneri.”
Apprehension fluttered in her heart. “What is the news?”
“Trell is being held at the fortress of Darroyhan.” He grimaced slightly at this statement. “Well, perhaps that, in itself, is not good news, but keep heart. Having knowledge of his whereabouts means action can finally be taken.” He gripped her hand and drew her more urgently on.
When they reached the others inside the sa’reyth, an argument was raging. Náiir released Alyneri’s hand to join in the f
ray between his sisters and Vaile, so she wandered along the edge of the tumult and sat down shakily on one of the couches. She couldn’t decide if her stomach was twisting with knots of terror or if the currents, roiling from the immortals arguing before her, were simply battering it into a pulp. But in either case, apprehension had her hands twitching and her body trembling, and she couldn’t sit still.
Nor could she understand a word of what they were arguing about until Mithaiya raised her voice to insist in the desert tongue, “We must wait for the Mage’s command!”
To which Vaile snapped in reply, “Think you he’ll say differently? They’re brother-bound, Mithaiya. You know what Trell means to him.”
In reply to which, Náiir said loudest of all, “I’m going.”
“No, Náiir!” Mithaiya gasped. “If any of us, it should be Rhakar. He’s already invested in the game.”
Náiir’s eyes were hard and uncompromising. “It’s high time he had some company on the field, Mithaiya, don’t you think?” The air around Náiir shifted as if with waves of heat and his form blurred. When the haze cleared, Náiir wore the drachwyr’s fighting blacks and had a greatsword strapped to his back.
“At least take Rhakar with you,” Mithaiya pressed. She sounded unhappily outranked.
Náiir began patting various places on his person, ostensibly inspecting for hidden blades. “I think I can handle a few Nadoriin, Mithaiya. Besides, Rhakar mans the lines at Raku.”
“We should not wait for Rhakar,” said an entering Balaji, “and the Mage has gone to Illume Belliel.”
Vaile turned him a look. “Illume Belliel.” Her green eyes narrowed. “To Alshiba?”
“The time to act is now,” Náiir said.
Mithaiya’s gaze begged his understanding. “Náiir, think about what you’re saying—”
“I agree with Náiir.” Vaile looked back to the others. “We must act now, before they can move Trell. Darroyhan is heavily fortified, but at least we know he’s there.”
“Exactly.” Náiir gave Vaile a look of comradeship.
“Which is precisely why I’ll be going also.”
Náiir’s eyes widened, and Mithaiya hissed, “Vaile—you can’t mean it!”
“Vaile…” Even Náiir sounded uncertain.
“But the Balance, Vaile—” Jaya began.
“Where will Balance fall if Trell is injured and cannot walk?” Vaile snapped, turning flashing emerald eyes on Jaya. Then she settled Náiir with a penetrating look. “We all know Taliah hal’Jaitar walks the path of mor’alir at Darroyhan.”
“She will have tried to break him,” Mithaiya murmured.
“Peace, Mithaiya!” Jaya glared at her, after which Mithaiya glanced apologetically at Alyneri.
Alyneri’s chest in that moment constricted so painfully she thought her heart must’ve stopped. A mor’alir Adept holds Trell? Her nails dug into the velvet couch as if to somehow restrain her mind from exploring the horror of this news.
“Are you going to fight off an entire battalion of Nadoriin one-handed while carrying Trell of the Tides over your shoulder, Náiir?” Vaile hooked her fingers through the baldric strapped across Náiir’s chest and pulled their noses closer. Her thumb traced the patterns inscribed in the leather while she held his gaze. “What power will you be forced to work to save him…and what consequences will it draw?”
The room seemed to swirl around the two immortals while they stared at each other in silence. Finally, Vaile released Náiir with an arch look. “Exactly. I’m coming with you.”
“Vaile…” Mithaiya sounded desperate. “You cannot serve the Mage if you’re dead.”
Vaile spun her a glare. “Neither can Trell val Lorian,” she hissed. Then she vanished.
Mithaiya threw up her hands and spun away in exasperation.
“Balaji, do something,” Jaya protested.
Balaji in that moment became very interested in his wine.
“By the Lady’s blessed star, have both of my brothers gone mad?” Jaya crossed her arms beneath her breasts and stared away. Alyneri imagined she could see nebulae exploding in her gaze.
“You will be careful, won’t you?” Mithaiya asked Náiir. She glared accusingly from across the room. “Vaile is absurdly careless in her use of the fifth, and you’re so unpredictable in these situations.”
He looked affronted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Mithaiya shook her head. “The Mage wouldn’t appreciate another disturbance like Nab Kaleer right now.”
“Balaji and Ramu caused the cataclysm that destroyed Nab Kaleer.” Náiir flung a hand at an uncharacteristically quiet Balaji. “I had nothing to do with the city’s destruction. I was minding my own business at the time.”
Mithaiya snorted. “Business indeed.”
“Balaji,” Jaya turned back to him, “have you truly nothing to say?”
Balaji sipped his wine.
Náiir frowned at his sisters. “I have to go.” He turned and strode from the room.
“Vincal, Balaji!” Jaya swore.
Alyneri didn’t understand the energy that was whirling around them, but at the same time she imagined that she probably didn’t want to. Whatever had so upset the female drachwyr, it couldn’t be pleasant. It probably wouldn’t make her happier for understanding it better, and it most certainly wouldn’t make her any less afraid. Besides, something else Vaile had said had her unsettled enough.
Alyneri captured her hands between her knees and shifted her gaze to the drachwyr. “What did Vaile mean when she said the Mage and Trell are brother-bound?”
Balaji looked to his sisters. “I will leave this to you.” He left.
Jaya and Mithaiya exchanged a troubled look. Then Jaya came over and sat down on the couch facing Alyneri, so that their knees nearly touched. “Vaile said brother-bound,” she began, looking hesitant, “because the Mage is bound, in a sense, to Ean val Lorian…and therefore to Trell by extension.”
For some reason, this answer made Alyneri feel shaky inside. “What do you mean, Ean and the Vestal are bound in a sense?” she could barely hear her own words, her voice sounded so faint.
Jaya placed a hand on Alyneri’s knee. “Perhaps we should wait for a better time to speak of these things.”
“Will there ever be a better time, Jaya?” Mithaiya came across the room. “It’s time you knew, Alyneri.” She spared a brief glance at Jaya. “As you know, Ean has Returned and Awakened, but what you don’t know is that in a previous life, Ean was a man named Arion Tavestra.”
“Arion Ta…” It was a name out of history—a famous name. Alyneri’s eyes grew wide as she looked up at Mithaiya.
“Arion Tavestra was one of the Mage’s Generals,” Mithaiya continued. “He sat on the Council of Nine and was integral in the creation of T’khendar. He was…” Mithaiya glanced to Jaya, “he was the Mage’s closest friend, but…”
“But more than this,” Jaya said, picking up the thread with a concerned furrow between her golden brows, “Arion Tavestra is the eternal soulmate of the Mage’s sister, Isabel. Before the Adept Wars, Arion and Isabel bound themselves to each other with the Unbreakable Bond. They reunited in T’khendar, and…” She cast a worried glance at Mithaiya.
Mithaiya came and sat on Alyneri’s other side. “Sweetling…Ean and Isabel bound themselves again in this life as they were bound in the beginning.”
Jaya squeezed Alyneri’s hand to regain her gaze. Hers conveyed the utmost compassion. “Ean is the Mage’s brother now.”
Alyneri pressed a shaking hand to her throat. She’d claimed to have expunged Ean from her heart, so why did this news make her feel so extraordinarily ill?
“Wait—Ean is Björn van Gelderan’s brother?”
Everyone turned to find Fynn standing in the opening between tents. “As in my cousin Ean? Do you mean to say I’m cousin-brother-bound to—” Fynn paused to emit a long belch. “—Björn van Gelderan?”
Jaya cast him a look of stony disapproval. “It is
by this grace that Vaile chose to save your life, Fynnlar val Lorian—much testing the Balance in the bargain, I might add.”
Fynn came on into the room. “Oh, I’m most grateful, your worshipful sunful rivalness.”
Jaya blinked at him.
Fynn threw himself on the low couch across from her. “Thirteen hells, who wouldn’t want the most powerful wielder in the realm as a cousin by bondage? Besides, doesn’t he—I don’t know,” Fynn waved airily, “own an entire realm or something?” He crossed a booted ankle over one knee and spread his arms along the back of the couch. “Do you think he’ll be here any time soon? I have this investment opportunity he might be interested in.”
“How can you joke at a time like this, Fynn?” Alyneri protested desperately. She sank back against the sofa and pressed hands to her cheeks. She felt like the entire world was slipping off its axis…
“I never joke about needing money, Alyneri.” Fynn waved with his empty goblet. “I find people who joke about needing money to be terribly rude. The indigent have no sense of humor, so jokes are entirely lost on them, which is a wanton waste when one is already down on his luck.”
Carian just then poked his head around the curtains demarking the portal between tents. “Oh—there you are.”
Fynn scowled at him. “Where’ve you been? You said you were going for wine an hour ago.”
Carian shrugged a mass of his wavy hair off his shoulder and hitched up his britches. “I was occupied.”
“Doing what?” Fynn and Mithaiya demanded in unison.
Then Mithaiya narrowed her gaze at him. “What are you doing here, Carian vran Lea? I told you to stay in your valley. You’re already testing Vaile’s patience being here at all.”
“Yeah, but the cat just left didn’t she?” Carian sauntered over to Mithaiya, loins in the lead. He grabbed her up by the waist, clutched her close, and proceeded to agitate her hips in a manner that looked extraordinarily unpleasant to Alyneri, although Mithaiya seemed to enjoy it, if told from the lustful smile she cast the pirate in return.
Paths of Alir (A Pattern of Shadow & Light Book 3) Page 86