Paths of Alir (A Pattern of Shadow & Light Book 3)

by Melissa McPhail

  “But look at me, delaying you so when the Mage awaits.” He wrapped an arm about Trell’s shoulders and guided him off. As they walked the sa’reyth’s labyrinthine corridors, Balaji aimed a knowing gaze Trell’s way. “Now you will get all of those questions answered, eh?”

  Trell gave him a quiet smile. For all he still had questions, so few of them remained from those he’d harbored the last time he’d come to the Mage’s sa’reyth. It surprised him in that moment to realize how much he really had grown in understanding, like Balaji had claimed of him.

  They parted ways outside, with Balaji directing him towards a red-violet pavilion crowning a hill east of the sa’reyth. As Trell neared the top, a glorious world spread out around him. He realized he still had no idea on what continent or in what kingdom the sa’reyth was actually located and had a sudden intuition that it wasn’t in Alorin at all.

  The First Lord sat at a table beneath the peaked and tasseled tent with his boots extended to the mountain view. He looked up as Trell arrived and waved him take a seat across from him. The table, Trell noticed, was set for four.

  “For the lovely Alyneri and her tutor,” the First Lord advised, reading the question in Trell’s gaze.

  Trell slowly sat. “Her tutor?”

  “Vaile has been teaching your Alyneri the dance of swords, among other skills.”

  Trell fell back in his seat. “Alyneri is learning swords from Vaile?”

  Björn cast him an amused look. “So I have been informed.”

  Trell spent a moment trying to envision that. Then he spent another minute wondering why. When he lifted his gaze back to the First Lord, Björn was regarding him quietly with his chin on his hand.

  Trell felt suddenly at a loss for words.

  “Where should we begin, Trell?” He leaned forward and poured tea for both of them, eyeing Trell as he did so. “With the Emir, perhaps? Or have you other questions more pressing?”

  Trell shook his head. There were so many things he might’ve asked, but only a few held any real importance to him. “Vaile. That demon hit her with something—”

  “Deyjiin.” Bjorn took up his tea and sat back in his chair. “A dark power, antipathetic to elae. She…survived it.”

  What was it in his gaze? Trell couldn’t decipher the look. But Vaile lived. That was a relief and a weight from his conscience.

  The spicy aromas wafting up from the tea in his cup called to Trell, and he absently retrieved it from the table with his mind caught up in a whirlwind of thoughts. How heady to once again have access to knowledge long lost, to be able to connect ideas to their rightful source and form suspicions and conclusions based on knowledge he’d always believed he should’ve had but couldn’t remember.

  He sipped his tea and then lifted his gaze back to Björn. “What of the war?”

  “Stalemated, as it was when you left, but I think not for much longer.”

  “And the Emir?”

  “He’s well, and admittedly anxious to see you.”

  Trell furrowed his brow in a frown and exhaled a measured breath. “He thinks I’ll be angry, but he owes me no explanation. I owe him my life. I wouldn’t offer suspicion where gratitude is better suited.”

  Björn settled his chin on his hand again, and his eyes conveyed his admiration. “You three are such wonders.”

  Trell looked back to him. “We three…your Kingdom Blades?”

  An enigmatic light danced in his gaze. “So you read that, did you?”

  “Your journal was open to the very page. Was I not meant to find it?”

  “Indeed, Trell. I hoped very much that you would.” Björn shifted in his chair and gave him another smile. “But as my sister would say, one never knows exactly where the seeds of possibility will find purchase when cast across a man’s path. The best one can do is wait and see where each blooms.”

  Trell went to drink more of his tea and realized he’d finished it. He set the cup down on the table with a frown. “When I left here all those months ago with Gendaia and a fortune in Agasi silver—your silver, your horse—I told Balaji that I thought you were making me into one of your pieces.”

  Björn leaned to refill their cups from the ornate silver pot. “And now?”

  “Now…” Trell exhaled an explosive breath. “Now I would willingly take any part in whatever it is that you do.”

  Björn smiled as he sat back. “I hoped you would feel that way.”

  Something in his gaze as he said this made Trell feel especially proud. The idea that this man—who’d earned the loyalty of immortals and men far greater than him—would desire Trell’s help…

  “Phaedor said—” Trell shifted his gaze away and back again. “He said you would accept my oath if I offered it.”

  Björn held his gaze evenly. “Are you offering it?”

  The question sounded so benign, yet Trell sensed such gravity in its meaning. “Yes.”

  “Then I accept it.”

  Trell waited for more. Then he blinked at Bjorn. “That’s…it?”

  Björn smiled crookedly. “You were expecting a crash of lightning? Blood in a chalice…?”

  “Words of an oath…” He cast him a somewhat pointed look.

  Björn leaned towards him in return and fixed Trell with his gaze. “You are not a man who needs words to shape his intention, nor one that requires the bonds of magic to hold his honor true.” He sat back again. “I would never insult you by considering otherwise.”

  Trell regarded him wordlessly. He received this admiration less with pride than with a sense of ominous duty.

  Björn smiled at him, and something in his gaze seemed to acknowledge the subtle challenge in his declaration; but his expression also offered encouragement and the sure certainty of his faith in Trell’s ability to live up to his esteem.

  Then his gaze shifted slightly and his eyes became softer. “But see who comes to greet you.”

  Trell turned around the side of his chair to see two figures approaching across the meadow. It was like the two women had traded identities, for Alyneri wore slim britches and a long tunic many times bound with leather bands crisscrossing around hips and waist, chest and arms, accentuating her slim form; while Vaile wore a desert gown of emerald green much like she’d been wearing the day he first set eyes upon her miraculous form. The zanthyr walked with a shawl of soft wool around her shoulders and wore her long hair as an added cloak, flowing and free.

  But for all of Vaile’s voluptuous beauty, Trell really only saw Alyneri.

  He’d forgotten how her features conveyed such vulnerability, yet her gaze held an amazing strength of spirit. He’d forgotten how lovely she appeared in the daylight and how innocent beneath night’s desirous kiss.

  And this graceful creature, so frail-seeming and fey, had somehow kept Fynn alive while finding her way through miles of desolate desert?

  My yes, he loved her.

  But he had confessions to make—what seemed a lifetime of confessions from but a few months—and he had no idea how to put words to many of those truths.

  Trell stood and turned to receive the women, whereupon Alyneri saw him and broke into a run. Heartbeats later she flew into his arms.

  Trell clutched her close, feeling her beating heart and her tears wet against his neck, himself choked with wonder and admiration and gratitude. He marveled sometimes that Naiadithine had delivered him a woman so constant and brave. However could he have questioned her love for him?

  Alyneri pulled away to look at him with tears of joy making her brown eyes lambent. He searched her gaze for a moment in wondrous silence. Then he planted a fervent kiss on her mouth. Afterwards she laughed and threw her arms about his neck so tightly that she seemed unlikely ever to let go.

  “Perhaps we should lower the drapes for them and break our fast elsewhere.” Vaile’s voice hinted of amusement.

  Trell repositioned Alyneri to cast the zanthyr a look of gratitude. He couldn’t quite forget her last kiss. “My lady, I cannot than
k you enough.”

  Vaile sighed and looked to the Mage. “Trell insists on calling me a lady,” she complained as she took a seat beside him, though her eyes were smiling. “I’ve been unable to disabuse him of the idea.”

  “There are worse crimes.” Björn settled his chin on his hand. “How went your training this morning?”

  “Alyneri has the cortata. I’ve tasked her now to teach it to our Trell of the Tides.”

  Trell finally extracted himself from Alyneri’s arms, but he gave her a kiss on the cheek that the separation of a chair’s width might not feel too torturous a distance. He kept her hand in his as they sat down. Then he asked, “What’s the cortata?”

  “The Adept dance of swords,” Alyneri said.

  She blushed a little at this, and Trell wondered why. Did she imagine he wouldn’t want her learning to defend herself? On the contrary, it made her that much more appealing to him. Ever Alyneri surprised him with her courage.

  Björn served them all tea and looked up under his brows as he poured. “The cortata is a pattern. It is most closely aligned to elae’s fifth strand, but it’s truest to say the pattern draws upon the lifeforce in its fullness, for hints of each strand can be detected in the power it provides the skilled practitioner.”

  Trell turned to Alyneri. “And you’re going to teach this to me?”

  She smiled into her tea.

  Vaile pulled her woolen wrap closer about her shoulders, earning a look from the First Lord that Trell couldn’t quite interpret. “I know where I found you at the end of your path,” the zanthyr said to Trell, “but not how they overcame you at its beginning. You could’ve held your own against even a host of men, Trell of the Tides. How is it they claimed you?”

  Alyneri’s hand tightened around his own.

  Trell leaned against the side of his chair, the better to be nearer to her. He sighed. “They had a wielder with them. A man called Işak’getirmek.” He shifted his gaze to the First Lord, who was watching him with quiet compassion. “He was my brother Sebastian.”

  Alyneri gasped.

  “Neither of us recognized the other, and yet…” Trell frowned, holding the First Lord’s gaze.

  Björn nodded. “Yet you both knew each other.”

  “On some level, I think we must have. Even though he tried to hide his face from me…perhaps because he hid his face from me, I felt that I knew him—that I should’ve known better of him—and I felt in my heart that our paths would cross again.”

  Alyneri was staring at him. “Sebastian is alive? But I thought—”

  “Lies.” He shook his head and pressed his lips together, tight with a fury yet unavenged. “All lies, crafted by Radov and his wielder, Viernan hal’Jaitar. A web of lies intended to draw Dannym into their war.”

  “Effective, if predictable.” Vaile arched a deprecating brow as she sipped her tea.

  “But then—” Alyneri shifted in agitation. “Where is Sebastian now? Is he—”

  “He’s with Ean.”

  All eyes shifted to Björn.

  He regarded each of them in turn. Then he motioned to the many silver domes upon the table. “Let us eat, my friends, and I’ll speak of what I know.”

  When all plates were filled, Björn told the tale as he had pieced it together. First he told Rhakar’s story from his interaction with Sebastian while still in the Kutsamak, and how the drachwyr had followed Sebastian’s group to the mountain castle of Tyr’kharta. He explained how his contacts in the Cairs had received a demand for ransom for Trell’s men—Ean’s men—and how Ean and Isabel had gone to save them while Rhakar had continued searching for Trell.

  Finally he told Isabel’s tale as she’d relayed it to him, describing how Ean had come upon Sebastian in Tyr’kharta, how he’d seen the terrible compulsion binding his brother, and how he’d sworn to free him from that torment.

  Björn crossed one knee and leaned back again with a sigh. “Ean’s entire path shifted in that moment.”

  “But he succeeded?” Alyneri sat nearly on the edge of her chair. “Ean freed him?”

  Björn blessed her with a dazzling smile. “Yes.”

  Alyneri pressed both hands to her mouth. She darted a look to Vaile, and her fingers slipped but an inch to free the words, “He’s grown so powerful.”

  “He was always powerful,” Björn murmured.

  These estimations of his brother puzzled Trell. “Are we speaking of the same person? My little brother, Ean?”

  “Who is Arion Tavestra, Returned,” Vaile remarked with a zanthyr’s characteristic bluntness.

  Trell frowned. He remembered Alyneri explaining to him that Ean was a Returned Adept, but he couldn’t reconcile Ean the Adept with the images he had of his twelve-year-old brother. Though he admitted a sudden welling gratitude again that he could reach those memories at all.

  Trell looked around the table at the others. “Who is Arion Tavestra?”

  Three answers came at once:

  “A gifted wielder,” said Vaile.

  “Isabel’s eternal soulmate,” breathed Alyneri.

  “My closest friend,” answered Björn.

  “They bound themselves to each other, Trell,” Alyneri went on before Trell could process any of that information. “Ean and the Mage’s sister—in Ean’s last life and in this one.” Her eyes darted to Björn and back again. “Ean is the Vestal’s brother now.”

  Trell felt a little unbalanced beneath so much information. He rubbed his forehead, trying to process it all, and turned his gaze to Björn. “My brother…your sister?”

  Björn nodded.

  Trell dropped his hand and sort of stared at him. “We’re…family?”

  Björn opened palms and smiled in acceptance of this truth.

  Trell felt a little unbalanced. “I think I see what you meant.” He poured some wine and quickly drained his glass. Then he gasped, “About our three paths turning back to cross again.”

  The Mage just smiled.

  When the meal was complete, Björn stood and bade Alyneri and Trell enjoy their afternoon. Then he offered Vaile his arm, and they walked into the hills together.

  Watching them depart, Trell suddenly felt uncomfortably alone—alone in his indecision of how to move the conversation forward, of how to set things right with Alyneri so they could proceed in building their lives together…assuming she wanted that. He hoped she wanted that.

  He turned his chair to face her and took her hands in his, but then words wouldn’t form. As he searched her gaze, so open and naked to his inspection, he saw only the things he couldn’t tell her—things he wouldn’t tell her—so many truths he dared not burden her with. Yet he was the one who’d admonished her that only truth and trust could lie between them.

  Abruptly Alyneri pushed to her feet and tugged on his hands. “Can we walk? I need to walk.”

  Trell stood and let her lead him into the daylight, feeling oddly lost. He tugged on her hand to stop her before they’d gone too far. “Alyneri…” He cupped her face with one hand and gazed intently at her. She felt such a treasure to him, and he so blessed to be alive. “Thank you.”

  Her eyes grew bright beneath his inspection, her cheeks flushed. “I think what it means to love someone is that you never need them to say thank you.”

  He stroked her face with his thumb. “I wouldn’t be here if not for you.” Oh, never had he said anything more true! The weight of his sword at his hip was testimony to this. It would forever stand as a reminder of her troth and courage.

  But at his gratitude, a deep furrow creased Alyneri’s brow. She turned and drew him off again. “There’s something you need to know, Trell, and I can’t wait another moment to say it—I dare not.” She glanced at him over her shoulder, and he took heart from the endearment in her gaze.

  She looked forward again, and he saw her shoulders lift and fall with a sigh, perhaps summoning the courage he still hadn’t found. “In those hours when I thought I was losing you…” She shook her head and glan
ced at him again. “I felt tremendously ashamed.”

  He pulled on her hand to stop her and immediately brought their bodies close. His hand went to her neck and his fingers twined within her hair. The longer he spent in her company, the more he felt drawn to her. Taliah had only repelled him, but seeing Alyneri again engendered such amazing feelings of desire. He felt almost as if those terrible weeks might be expunged by her kiss alone.

  “Whatever could make you feel that way, Alyneri?” he whispered.

  “You.”

  He blinked in surprise. “Me?”

  She brought up her hands to make a V around his face. “You are perfect and—and immaculate, and I betrayed your trust and made you feel as though I was ashamed of you when really I was just such a fool!” She pushed a hand to her forehead and dropped her gaze. “I was so afraid of being chained to someone else’s path instead of being free to follow my own that I didn’t stop to think about what it would be like to walk that path alone.” She dropped her hands to her sides and looked up to meet his gaze again. “But now…” Tears filled her eyes. “Now I can’t imagine a worse hell than living one more day without you.”

  A joyous warmth bloomed upon hearing this. Trell took her hand and searched her gaze with his own. “Do you imagine I don’t feel the same?”

  “I don’t know how you feel. I sense a great distance in you…and we parted under such dreadful circumstances.”

  Trell drew her into his embrace. “The distance you perceive is my desire to protect you from my own nightmares.” He kissed her forehead and then drew back slightly to look at her. “I want to restore truth between us, but, Alyneri…”

  She stopped him with fingers across his lips. “You need tell me nothing of what happened, Trell—or all of it, as you desire. I care only that you’re here and safe and whole.” Her gaze shifted away beneath a furrowed brow and then darted back to find his, resolved suddenly. “We’re not the same people who said goodbye in the Kutsamak. We can’t be. We shouldn’t be—I don’t want to be that girl.”