by R. M Garino
“Gotcha,” he said, rubbing his shoulder.
“I don’t know what’s wrong. And I don’t know how to deal with it.”
Angus pulled her close and wrapped her arm around his. “Maybe she’s got problems with her own love life. But don’t worry, we’ll figure this out,” he said.
She laid her head against his shoulder as they walked, and he felt the sensation of their proximity sooth her. “And I’ll win them over. Trust me, I’m devious.”
She craned her head back as if to see him better. “That’s supposed to be reassuring?”
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s not?”
“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “It most definitely is not.”
“Your father’s at the middle table, right?”
“Yes,” she said. “Why?”
“Well, I figured that since we’re doing the whole introduction thing that I would go over and introduce myself.”
“And you think that’s a good idea, even after the last fiasco?”
“Sure. Why not? Besides, he’s staring at us.”
Arielle jumped away, her gaze darting to the center table. Her father was watching the two of them, an impassive expression on his face. Arielle smiled at him, and waved. He inclined his head at her, and then tilted it as if to ask her intent.
“Come on,” she told him, grabbing Angus’ elbow and leading him.
“You sure?” he said, pretending to hesitate. “I’m sure he doesn’t want to meet me. He probably just wants to watch his little girl canoodling in the corner with some guy.”
“Don’t make me hurt you in public . . .”
“How about in private?” he said. “That sounds like fun.”
Dugal stood as they approached the table. Arielle hugged her father, and the two exchanged a warm greeting. When she introduced them, Dugal was silent as he appraised him. Angus stood at parade rest and did his best not to appear uncomfortable at the scrutiny. He knew he was failing. He couldn’t help but feel like he’d been caught in another misdeed. Dugal’s expressionless demeanor only augmented the impression. The urge to prevaricate and talk his way out of the situation as he always tried to do welled up within him, and he pushed it down. This was one introduction he had to do well.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Field Marshal,” Angus said, saluting.
“Your brother mentioned he’s expecting you,” Dugal said to Arielle, ignoring Angus’ pleasantry. Her sin’del spiked with fear, and her eyes sought Angus’. Her pleading was plain to see, and he could all but feel the urgency in her. He smirked, attempting to convey a confidence he did not feel. It worked; the tension slipped from her shoulders.
“Don’t be long,” she told them both. “The music will start soon.”
She gave her father another hug and continued toward to where her brother and grandfather sat.
“Walk with me,” Dugal said. “We need more space than this hall offers.”
“Yes, sir,” Angus said, and fell into step beside him.
“Arielle is an exceptional young lady,” Dugal said once they were outside of the mess. He walked with his hands behind his back, ignoring the effort from the stairs, and speaking over his shoulder. “She has always been a top student, and an exemplary soldier. She does her duty, she obeys orders, and she excels in all things.”
Angus nodded in agreement with each point. They were all obvious statements, and he suspected that Dugal was using them to build up to a more elaborate point. Angus had a suspicion as to what it could be.
“Until she came here,” Dugal said.
And there it was. Daddy didn’t want to accept his little girl’s mistakes, and so he wanted someone to blame. That was fine, Angus thought. He’d taken the blame many times for many things, and only a small fraction of them were his fault.
“I must say I should have expected this,” Dugal said. Angus almost missed a step. “But I was rather preoccupied with other things. I should have prepared her better.”
“I think I’ve lost you, Field Marshal,” Angus said.
Dugal stopped walking and faced one of the large, pointed windows that dominated the gallery hallway. During the day it offered a tremendous view of the surrounding mountains and the valley below. It was a favored spot for many of the Blades stationed here, but with the Conclave celebrations below, it was deserted. Dugal spread the tips of his fingers on the sill of the nearest window, and was silent as he watched the slow descent of snow filling the air.
Angus was expecting a dressing down—an occurrence all too common with anyone in a position of authority. Instead, it was as if Dugal was speaking to himself, and Angus was merely a prop to his monologue. Angus folded his hands behind his back while the Field Marshal stared out the window at the twinkling stars.
“I would not have chosen you,” Dugal said, turning from the window without warning. “Logan was a far better match for her. Why did you have to return?”
Angus waited, unsure if the question was directed at him, or just another part of the soliloquy.
“I asked you a question, graduate,” Dugal said, his patience thinning visibly.
“Your pardon, Field Marshal,” Angus said, stalling to gather his thoughts. “Do you mean why I returned to the Areth’kon?”
“That is what I asked.”
“It was my duty, sir,” Angus said. “Every Lethen’al trains in the Areth’kon. Every Lethen’al serves a tour at the Gates.”
Dugal studied Angus as he spoke. “But your family has a dispensation,” he said. “You did not have to serve. You could have stayed in Reven Marthal and no one would have questioned it. So, why did you return?”
“As I said, sir, I felt it was my duty to serve, regardless of the dispensation.”
“This will go better if you tell me the truth, boy. I detest liars.”
Angus fought down the first response that rose to mind, and lifted his shoulders at the insult. He could not afford to take offense with her father, of all people. There were enough opposed to the relationship as it was. “Would you have taken the dispensation if it had been offered to you?” he said.
Dugal waved away the question. “I was born Fel’Mekrin. That would be absurd.”
“Why?”
Dugal regarded him a moment, put off by such a direct question from a subordinate. His sin’del reared toward Angus like a giant wave, but he held it back.
“Because our survival is greater than my own life,” Dugal said after considering his responses. It was clear, however, that he felt the question was in bad taste, and a personal affront.
“My mother’s family is exempt from serving,” Angus said. He wanted to be explicit with his thought, to force his idea into the limited confines language offered. He did not understand the idea in its entirety himself, but he knew that he had to articulate it here and now.
Dugal folded his arms across his chest as he waited.
“There is good reason for that exemption,” Angus said. “My mother, and my sister, spend an inordinate amount of time learning how to use the magics that are their birthright. They have little time for anything else. Should the Apostate gain his freedom from the Sur, they would be all that stands between him and another genocide. In their hands, a sword would be unnecessary. They can do things with their magics that make a sword obsolete. With either of them on the field, there is no need for the Areth’kon.”
“I am well aware of their abilities,” Dugal said. “I have sealed many a breach with the Matriarch.”
“Then you understand,” Angus said, placing his thumb and forefinger against his upper lip. “There are three of them. My sister, my mother, and my grandmother. There was no need for me to take the exemption. I felt that I would better serve by entering the Areth’kon and following my father’s path.”
“Is that the reason for calling yourself Kal’Parev?”
“I am a Kal’Parev,” Angus said, perhaps too much on the defensive. “My father is Talon Kal’Parev. I have every right to h
is name.”
“You have just as much right to your mother’s.”
“I am not Tu’renthien,” Angus said. “I have done nothing to deserve that name among the Magi. Maybe someday I will earn it in the Areth’kon.”
“I can respect that,” Dugal said. “It is important for a male to be useful. It would have been easy for you to stay in Reven Marthal as a pampered prince. That you chose this path speaks well for you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Angus said, although he felt no gratitude for the assessment.
“How much do you remember?” Dugal said.
The sudden change of topic made Angus blink. “Everything,” he said. “The Magi are as adamant about the mental disciplines as the Areth’kon are with the physical.”
“So you remember why you left the Vaults when you were little?”
“No, sir,” Angus said. “I remember being there, and I remember leaving. But I was never told why I had to leave.”
The admission gave Dugal pause, and he seemed to consider it before speaking again. “I made a promise long ago not to intervene. But I will not stand by and let you ruin my daughter. Understand that one point above all others. I am forced to accept what is, rather than what I would wish. If I cannot change that, I must guide it, and make sure it is beneficial for all involved.”
“I understand your intent, sir,” Angus said, “although I do not fully grasp your meaning. I mean no ill will toward your daughter. I will not harm her.”
“It is not for you to understand at this time,” Dugal said, seeming to relish being cryptic. “I will take you at your word, for now. But understand that I am not an enemy to take lightly. Do not make me one.”
“I have no desire to do so, sir,” Angus said. “It would make Arielle unhappy if we were enemies.”
“Her happiness is important to you?” Dugal said.
“Paramount, sir.”
“Then you will make sure that she succeeds in her endeavors,” Dugal said. He dropped his arms and moved closer to Angus, so that they were separated by less than a hand space. “She is the descendant of Sui Rhen’val, and she will be Mala’kar. If you care for her happiness as you say, then you will see to it that she excels as she has always done. You have caused her nothing but turmoil since she arrived here, and I will hold you personally responsible for her failures in the future. That, my boy, will make us enemies.”
“It was not my intent, sir,” Angus said. “Has the Master of the Gates been keeping us apart intentionally?”
Dugal was surprised by the question. “What makes you ask such a thing?”
“You heard what happened the night she called out the Ninth,” Angus said, knowing he had been informed. “Since then, it has been all but impossible for me to see her.”
“But you have found the means to do so anyway.”
“Yes sir, I have. So has she. If you want me to help her succeed, to make sure she does so, help us. If we’re spending all our time just trying to see one another, it takes our attention from our studies. Speak to Trenton and have him ease up. Do that, and I will help her in every way possible.”
“Are you giving me an ultimatum, boy?”
“No, sir,” Angus said. “I am asking a favor of you. For me to do as you ask, I need some help. I will gladly do it, not that she needs my help much anyway. But it will make her life easier.”
Dugal considered the offer, nodded once and returned to the feast.
“So be it,” he said as he walked away. “I will hold you to your word, young Kal’Parev. Prove yourself worthy of the name.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Tales of
Reven Marthal
The remainder of the night was far more pleasant once the formalities of the introductions were over. In her father and Angus’ absence, Arielle had spent the time with her brother and several of his closest friends. Still more had traveled to the Gates from surrounding farms and cloisters to spend a convivial evening with him. The Elc’atar regarded her with blatant hostility, seeing only the plain uniform of a graduate, as she approached her brother’s table. The artisans, those who had walked away from the Areth’kon after their tour was complete to pursue a simpler life, were more welcoming, although they too were rather aloof. The reaction of the Mala’kar, however, took her by surprise.
Shane jumped from his seat to greet her.
One of his friends gave her a cursory glance, and raised his tankard at her. “About time,” he said. “Fetch me some more ale, scrub. The porter, not that pale piss.”
Arielle reacted as she’d been trained, and moved to take the mug, but Shane intervened and punched his friend’s shoulder.
“Is that any way to speak to my sister, Vance?” he said. “She’s still a greenie, but I’d wager the next round that she can drop you in three moves.”
Vance, and the others, stared first at Shane, and then at Arielle. “Oh, ho! It's the little miss, is it?” he said. “Three moves, hmm? The blood must be getting thin. It would only take you two.”
“She’s young yet,” Shane said, drawing Arielle to a seat next to his. “Give her time. She’ll improve.”
“Shortberry!” another called as he saw her, moving up before she could take her place. “Look at you!”
“Hello, Ethan,” she said. “I trust you’ve been well?”
He set down the pair of mugs he’d been carrying and wrapped his arms around her fast enough to steal her breath. He lifted her and spun her around.
“Eth,” Shane said, “put her down!”
Ethan returned her feet to the floor, but kept his arms around her.
“Eth . . .” Shane said, his voice dropping an octave.
He let her go, muttering an apology and took his seat at the table.
Arielle settled next to her brother and observed the group’s interaction. This was his Pride, his squad from when he’d been in training. The ease with which they regarded each other, even after so much time apart, reminded her of her own peers. There was an unguarded familiarity about them born of numerous trials and substantial dependency. There were no individuals in a Pride; there were members, and each pulled their own weight.
One had moved into the ranks of Mala’kar with Shane. Two had risen to Elc’atar. The other three had decided to pursue the path of the artisan, and spent their days sculpting, painting, and casting pottery. That so many from one group had risen so high was still talked about. They were called the Illustrious, and many of their records were still unbroken. Arielle was honored to be sitting at their table.
The Mala’kar, Misha, placed a mug before her and clapped her on the back.
“Drink,” she said. Her hair was so black it had a bluish cast, and it was shaved on both sides, leaving only a middle sliver to fall down to her shoulders. Her dark eyes twinkled with something akin to mischief as she regarded Arielle.
“I hear you are following in your brother’s footsteps,” she said as Arielle wrapped her hands around the earthenware mug.
“Is that what you’d call it?” one of the group said. There was no mistaking the derision in his voice. He did not seem the least bit pleased to be sharing a table with a scrub. “I don’t recall Shane making an ass of himself at every turn.”
“That was your job,” she said. Uproarious laughter boomed from the table, and the speaker aimed his glower at his cup.
“I’m Misha,” she said to Arielle. “And I was referring to your performance against Le’Manon’s Ninth.”
Arielle mumbled her gratitude at the compliment. She was uncomfortable being a part of the conversation. She was much more at ease as an observer here, as when she was a child and Shane’s Pride accompanied him home on their rare sabbaticals.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” Misha said. “You should be proud of your accomplishments. You suppressed their sentries, and walked into their barracks to call them out. Then you dropped their captain in one move. Stand tall, girl, and shout that to all who will hear. You’ve earned it.”
Arielle straightened her shoulders. She did have her own accomplishments to boast about. Granted, they were not as numerous as those at this table, but they were hers nevertheless.
“I’m trying,” Arielle said. “I’ve a rather large legacy to live up to.”
“Forget that,” Misha said, pushing Shane. “You’ll never get anywhere living in his shadow, or anyone else’s for that matter. Build your own legacy. Go your own way.”
“Aren’t you supposed to tell me to toe the line and follow orders?” Arielle said.
“Mala’kar don’t follow orders, squirt,” Misha said. “We give them.”
“But I’m not a Mala’kar.”
“Not yet. But I’ve heard what you can do.” She dropped her voice to a whisper for Arielle alone. “You performed the Caul,” she said, her voice full of secret importance. “And you resisted it as well. No mere scrub does that.”
“I didn’t know what I was doing.”
“All the more reason you should be proud. Can you do it again?”
Arielle considered it. She could feel Misha’s sin’del pulsing next to her, the undulating waves moving with a contented rhythm.
“I thought so,” Misha said before Arielle could respond. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.” She sat back by the smallest measure.
“Corrupting the young?” Shane said, peeking out from behind Arielle.
“Nothing of the sort,” Misha said. “Watch this one. She’s capable of more than you expect.”
“I’m not so sure,” Shane said. “I expect a great deal from her.”
Misha gave Shane the privacy to speak with Arielle alone.
Father is concerned, Shane sent to her.
Just Father?
No, not just Father. Mother too.
That's not what I mean, Arielle sent.
I’m not greatly concerned. I trust you.
But Mother and Father do not?
That’s not what I said. They worry. You’re their eldest daughter. Of course they’re going to worry about you.
But you know better?
I do, he sent. It's the benefit of being oldest. I know more than you. I know our parents better. That’s how I know they’re worried. And I know the way the world works.