“Sorry,” I say again as she takes my hand.
“It’s all right, really. Come on!” she laughs.
We run past Raefe and off toward the market. The chill wind bites at us, and before we’re at the end of the row my cheeks are numb. I duck my head against it and pull my hood up around me. Saesa tugs her orange hat over her ears. Her curls shine and bounce as she walks and chatters to me. She isn’t bothered anymore that I pushed her. I am. Never touch a girl, Nan always said. It’s wrong. It’s bad. I scowl beneath my hood. Why couldn’t I step outside? It troubles me, but soon I’m too distracted by Saesa and the market to worry.
She takes me to a few different booths. Even in the cold, people are out selling and shopping. Saesa buys little things. A ribbon finds out that the Mages came to the steps last night, to clear the ice. A bundle of salt fish tells us that the prince arrived quietly along with only a few men. Saesa gives me some coppers and makes me try. I buy a smooth stone with a ship painted onto it at the next booth. The merchant tells me the prince went straight to the palace. He was all wrapped up, because of the cold. Nobody really saw what he looked like.
We go to the sea wall, where the lift arms reach out over the ocean. It takes three men cranking the wheel to hoist the platform all the way up from the foot of the cliffs. This is how freight is moved to and from the ships docked far below. She tells me to stand across the street and watch. She changes her expression to look younger. Sweeter. Wide-eyed. Innocent. She skips to the wall beside one of the men and tilts her head to the side. They talk for a while, and then she comes back to me. Tells me everything she found out.
“It took four Mages to clear the steps last night,” she says quietly as we leave the market and walk toward the palace. “That’s important because the Mages haven’t been out for awhile. They’ve been keeping really quiet the past couple of months, ever since His Majesty’s Elite returned from their quest. The prince insisted on using the steps and not the lift. He didn’t want any special treatment or consideration. Rumor has it, he’s very down-to-earth. Of course, the palace didn’t want him to slip, so they sent the Mages to clear the steps. Six men climbed up with him. The rest of the crew went to the taverns. Three of his ships stayed, three left. Oh, and the one you were on is still there, too. More ships are coming from Sunteri in a month. Nessa will want to know that.”
“Why are more coming?” I ask. Maybe they found out about the boy who burned the towers. Maybe they’re coming to get me.
“I imagine to escort the prince back to Sunteri, with or without the princess,” she says. “It’ll be fun to find out how it’s going between them. Lilen thinks they should be married.”
“What do you think?” I peer up at the castle spires as we pass by. They’re tall. As tall as the spires of Zhaghen. I bet I could climb to the top.
“I think marriage is good for princesses, but not for me. Babies and washing and cooking,” she wrinkles her nose, “no, thanks. And an alliance with Sunteri would be good for Cerion, as long as they can keep their Sorcerers in check.”
We walk for a while, until my toes are numb inside of my boots.
“Where are we going?” I pull my cloak tight around me as we duck into a gust of wind.
“Well, Nessa will be happy with what we found out, so now we can do whatever we want. I want to show you something,” she says excitedly.
She leads me through a maze of crowded houses and shops until we reach a splintered doorway. The sign beside it rattles in the wind. It’s so faded and chipped that I can barely make out the sword and anvil painted on it.
Inside it’s dark, crowded, and hot. Cramped, like the roots. I hesitate in the door until Saesa pulls me through and slams it shut behind me. A broad man with a bald head leans to peer at us through stacks of weapons and wares. His eyes are hopeful until he sees us, then disappointed. Still, he smiles.
“Morning, Miss Saesa. Come to see Feat?” he asks as he ducks beneath the counter. He retrieves a bundle as Saesa leads me into the depths of the shop. It’s not so bad once we’re inside. It opens up a little at the counter.
“Who’s your friend?” The man’s eyes glint with amusement as he unravels the oilcloth and glances at me.
“This is Tib,” Saesa says, her eyes fixed on the counter. “Tib, this is Mister Bren. And this,” she pulls the last bit of oilcloth away to reveal a gleaming blade, “this is Feat.”
I eye the blade, which is as long as my forearm and almost as broad. The hilt is banded with leather, and the cross guard has a deep chevron design. I don’t know much about swords. It seems fine. Saesa is obviously very proud of it, so I make my eyes go wide with admiration.
“It’s nice,” I say.
“It’s designed after Sir Azaeli’s. She lost hers on the last quest, though,” Saesa sighs, a little disappointed. “She has a new one now, but I’ve heard her say how much she misses the old one. This is much smaller, of course. I’m not a two-hander like she is.” She traces her fingers along the hilt lovingly under Mister Bren’s watchful eye. Everyone goes quiet. Finally, she reaches to her purse.
“Here you go, sir.” Saesa pulls out a silver coin and slides it across the counter looking hopeful. “How much more, now?”
“One gold forty yesterday. This,” he says, tapping the coin on the counter, “has you paid down to one gold and thirty-nine, Miss Saesa. You’re getting there. Unless you have anything else for me?”
Saesa chews her lip thoughtfully and glances at me.
“Prince Vorance arrived last night,” she ventures, watching him carefully.
“Aye, knew that,” he says with a short nod. He folds the oilcloth over the blade as Saesa watches with longing.
“Surely his men will need their weapons tended. They’ll need your services,” she offers.
“I like where this is going.” Bren scratches out a figure on a scrap of parchment pinned to the sword’s wrappings. He writes the new figure beneath it. The scrap is covered in similarly crossed out amounts. Saesa has been paying for this sword for months. Years, probably.
“I can drive them to you. Bring you business,” she says.
Mister Bren smirks as he tucks the sword below and then rests his elbows on the counter so he’s eye-level with her.
“You do that, Miss,” he says, “and I’ll knock five silver off your sword for every gold spent by a man who comes in here sayin’ your name. Deal?” He offers a rough hand across the counter, and Saesa shakes it firmly.
“Deal,” she grins. “Come on, Tib. Let’s go to the Inn.”
Outside, we’re greeted by a sheet of frozen rain and Raefe, who’s leaning against the rickety railing under the shelter of the leaky awning.
“How’s Feat?” he asks Saesa with a hint of disapproval.
“Raefe…” she sighs. “I was just…”
“Saesa.”
“One gold thirty-nine silver to go,” she mutters.
“Good,” he says, tugging his hood down over his brow. “That should take a while. Maybe by then you’ll be trained up enough for it.”
“I’m ready now,” Saesa says with a huff. “Hub says I’m the best in my group.” She crosses her arms under her furs.
“Care to test that again?” he asks. “Or do you remember the last time we had a bout?” He steps closer so he’s towering over her. Saesa purses her lips and glares at him. She doesn’t say anything.
“I thought so,” Raefe says. “Come on, let’s go home. It’s almost luncheon.” He ducks into the rain and Saesa turns to me.
“I really hate him sometimes,” Saesa says as she watches him saunter away. “You’re so lucky you don’t have a brother to boss you,” she grumbles. “Come on.”
Luncheon is pots of melted cheese with warm crusty bread to dunk into them, and vegetables and Saesa’s salt fish, all spread out on the dining table with fancy silver and fine dishes with gold rims that glint in the candle light.
“After we eat,” Saesa says to me as I stuff myself with bread an
d cheese, “I have my training. You could come.”
“It’s time Tib figures out what he wants to work towards, if he’s keen to stay,” Nessa says. She bounces baby Garsi on her knee while Emme clings to her arm.
“Well, he can’t do swords like Saesa and Raefe and me,” Ruben pipes up through a mouthful. “He’s too skinny.”
“I was weak when I started. Hub helped me get stronger.” Saesa argues.
“Master Hubvenchlis, Saesa.” Nessa corrects her.
“Master Hubvenchlis,” Saesa repeats apologetically.
“What is it you like to do, Tib?” Nessa catches a bit of drool with a lace-trimmed serviette as Garsi gums a crust of bread.
“Climbing,” I say. Right away I realize that I shouldn’t have. It might connect me to the towers.
“Magic.”
Nessa makes a suggestion that I don’t hear. Everyone watches me, waiting for me to answer.
“Say magic.”
Yes, say magic. No, I don’t want to. I despise magic. Mages, Sorcerers, I don’t want anything to do with them.
“Tib?” Saesa whispers. Nudges me. Everyone’s looking.
“Magic,” I say reluctantly. Most of the eyebrows around the table go up. Lilen is the first to break the silence.
“No offense,” she says, “but you really don’t seem bright enough.”
“Lilen!” Maisie scolds. “Just because you start off saying ‘no offense’ doesn’t make it all right to insult someone.”
“Well anyway, he’s too old. Mages start at six, like I did.”
“How old are you, anyway?” Ruben asks me as he dunks his bread and pulls out a long, stretchy string of cheese from the pot.
“I don’t know,” I say, shrugging.
“You don’t know?” Lilen asks with disbelief.
“You must be around my age. Twelve.” Saesa says.
“Nobody ever kept track.” I mumble.
“Didn’t you have birthdays?” Emme asks, wide-eyed.
“Not really.” I look around at them and then down at my fine plate. They have no idea. “In the fields, we work. We work every day, all day. We work and we sleep. Picking, hauling, pulling, dumping. It never stops. You’re too tired for anything but bread and sleep. We don’t play. We don’t dance or celebrate birthdays. We work. We sleep.” I pluck at my shirt. “So you can wear your red.” The room falls into awkward silence. Finally, Rube speaks up.
“Well, do you have hair yet?” he asks. Nessa covers her laugh.
“Ruben!” Maisie gasps. “Where did you hear that?”
“Raefe,” Ruben leans across the table. “He says you get hair on your chest when you’re thirteen. I’m going to have a beard. If you don’t have any, you’re probably twelve. Do you?” I shake my head.
Nessa clears her throat, still quite amused.
“I’ll see if I can set up an interview for you, Tib, if you’re certain,” she says. “Studying at the Academy is a hefty expense, but Master Rendin and I have an agreement. If you’re serious and he deems you suitable, I’m sure we can work something out.”
I spend a few quiet days with Saesa, gathering information, paying a silver on her sword, following her around, before Master Rendin shows up for my interview. The Mage is warm to Nessa, and she doesn’t seem frightened of him at all. Not like I am. She welcomes him into the sitting room and offers him tea. It’s just us: Nessa, Master Rendin, and me. I have new clothes now. Not red. Green trousers. White shirt. Blue vest. I picked them out myself. I kept my boots, though. They’re good boots.
I’m not sure why Nessa made such a fuss over my appearance, when Master Rendin doesn’t seem so concerned with his own at all. His hair is a great nest of white frizz that nearly covers his face. It doesn’t look like it has ever been combed. His white eyebrows are so long that they creep up and tangle into the nest, and his beard goes all the way to his belt where it’s caught in the clasp of it. He watches me with a twinkle in his eye as I take a seat across from him. I try not to shiver. He and Nessa make small talk until the tea comes. I’m glad. I don’t want to talk to him. After a while, though, he turns his attention to me.
“Tib,” he says. “Nessa tells me you’re interested in an apprenticeship at the Academy.”
No, I think to myself. I don’t want to do this.
“Say yes, sir.”
“Yes, sir. I am.” I mumble.
“Delightful,” Master Rendin smiles at me. “And won’t you tell me why? What is it about magical studies that interests you?” There’s an awkward stretch of silence as I try to think of a reply. Nothing about magic interests me. It only brings destruction. Pain. Mages are wicked people. Selfish. Power hungry. Nessa reaches to pat my hand, which is clenched into a fist in my lap.
“Don’t be shy, dear. You can speak freely to Master Rendin,” she says with an encouraging nod.
I look across at the Mage. Maybe he isn’t so bad. He has none of the Mark that covered the Sorcerers who lured my sister away and later captured my family. He has a kindness about him. As I look at him, the space beside his right ear glitters. There’s a silent flare. A stream of light. He doesn’t seem to notice it, nor does Nessa. I shift in my seat and the answer comes to me.
“I want to learn. I want to know things. So I can help people.” The beam of light pulses between his ear and the odd shimmer, and then it fades slowly away until it’s gone. I glance at Nessa, who bobs her head at me again. She’s looking at me with an odd expression. Nobody has looked at me that way before. It takes me some time to realize what it is. Pride. She’s proud of me.
The interview goes on for a while, but not as long as I expected it to. When he’s through with his questions, Nessa dismisses me. I go out to find Saesa milling nearby. When I close the door behind me, she presses her ear to it and beckons me close.
“Don’t you want to know what they’re saying about you?” she whispers.
“Not really,” I whisper.
“Oh, Tib. Come on.” She beckons me again, and I lean against the door to listen.
“I’m sure you understand our hesitation,” Master Rendin is saying. “He is Sunteri, after all. After the last one we accepted…”
“Of course,” Nessa says. There’s the tinkling sound of silver on a cup as she stirs her tea. “I’m certain you’ll make the right decision for all those involved.
“They’re talking about Viala,” Saesa whispers. “She was Sunteri. She went bad. The Academy has been under close scrutiny since then.” The name causes my head to go light and fuzzy. I cling to the door. Close my eyes. The image assaults me. My sister sitting among the red blossoms, her black hair fanned out by the breeze, the book on her knee.
“What happened to her?” I manage hoarsely.
“Nobody knows,” Saesa replies. “She disappeared. Rumor says she was stripped, but there’s no proof of it. It’s actually caused a lot of trouble lately.”
I shake my head slowly, unable to focus on anything even as Saesa keeps talking. Viala. The name echoes through my mind and along with it the image of my sister riding away with the Sorcerers. The roots. The trees. The dust.
Chapter Three: Mevyn
Tib
“Climb the wall.”
Yes, climb the wall. It feels good to scale it to the top, up to the ledge that overlooks the ravine. I found this place on my own. It’s a secret place, tucked away past the spires of the palace. Hidden by the thick trees of the forest park. The wall plunges on the other side to a river three stories down. It’s dark. I can’t see the waterfall from here, the one that drains into the sea behind the palace. I can hear it, though. Peaceful and soothing. This is my favorite place now. My own. I didn’t even tell Saesa about it, though I’ve been coming here for a couple of days.
I dangle my feet over the edge. Wait. Listen. The air in front of me shimmers like it did beside the Mage. A figure emerges, pale and gaunt and only as large as my hand. His eyes are black but bright at the same time. Everything else is faded. Pale skin,
yellow-white hair, faded blue pants. Reddish stubs at his back where his wings once were. Almost colorless. I press myself back against the arch. My heart races. I grip the stone, ready to climb down. Ready to run.
“Stay.”
Yes, stay. His voice is in my mind and also in the air around me. Stronger than it has been. He drifts closer to me and our eyes meet. Link. I know him. I trust him. This is Meyvn. We’ve been through things together. Many things. Roots and sand. Towers and flames. Ships. Nessa’s manse.
“There,” he says, both in my mind as always and also aloud. I remember him now, though he’s changed a little. His skin has more color to it. He seems stronger. Not skeletal as he has been at the trees or on the ship. How am I remembering all of this now? I wonder. Where have these memories been?
“It’s typical to have confusion,” Meyvn says. “Don’t be alarmed. You remember me now, hm?”
Memories surface and fall away in my mind. I see a time when he was nearly dead. Almost all bones. A shadow of what he had been. Dancing around my root prison. Shouting orders about Nan and Zhilee. Zhilee, little sister. He defended her. Kept the others away. What happened to her? I can’t remember. He’s right. I’m so confused.
“You…” I whisper. The white figures of my nightmares flash before me. “You look different. Better.”
“Yes, the Mage was a great help. Thank you for that. I wondered how we would lure one in. It was easier than I expected. I was sorry to make you lie to them.”
“You made me say I wanted to study there? Just so you could take his magic?” I ask, shaking my head in disbelief. I think of the Mage in the sitting room. The strange shimmer that nobody seemed to notice. The stream of light that bled from him.
“Just a little bit.” Mevyn sits on the ledge beside me. Peers up at me. Watches. I can’t stop thinking of Zhilee.
“It was necessary,” Mevyn says. “He won’t even miss it.”
“What happened to her?” I ask. “My sister?”
“Which?”
“Zhilee.”
“You,” he says gently, “asked me to take that memory away. Are you sure you want to know?”
Call of Sunteri (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 2) Page 3