“That’s so sad.”
Shad nodded slowly, staring into the glowing coals. A comfortable silence stretched between them for a long while, long enough that Ember lay down in the grass near the fire, close enough to stay warm, but far enough to keep from being caught by sparks.The flame seemed to know she was named for it and was sending an invitation. Shad continued to stare into the fire as if he could see things beyond Ember’s ken.
She was drifting off to sleep when he spoke again.
“Your father showed an incredible talent for magic when he was very young. He was six when I caught him milking the goat without hands, seven when he learned to fly.”
“Really? My father could fly?” Ember sat up, astounded. “Oh, yes, that man could fly like a bird.
You should have seen Asana’s face the first time she saw him. I couldn’t stop laughing—it just about gave her a heart attack,” Shad chuckled at the memory. “He apologized, of course, but it wasn’t long before Asana took him to the academy in Karsholm to get some training.”
“At seven? Isn’t that a little young?” Ember wasn’t sure, but it seemed most magi started between eight and twelve.
Shad nodded. “Yes, it’s very young, but it was either that or tie him down. Asana couldn’t keep his feet on the ground once he learned to fly, especially once he could shape-shift into hawk form. Oh, he was beautiful. I never could do the bird shift, but he was a natural at it. Almost preferred hawk to wolf form, which is near to unheard of. In fact, it is unheard of—except for him—at least among the Bendanatu.“
Ember chuckled at the image of her father tied to the ground. If he was anything like she was, that would have been next to impossible. What a treasure of memories Shad gave her. This was exactly what she’d always wanted from her mother and never received. The thought of her mother brought back her longing and fear, now that Ian Covainis had entered the picture. She changed the subject to keep her thoughts from dangerous realms.
“How did you and DeMunth meet?” she asked. Her thoughts had continued to linger on him and his wordless song throughout the day.
“DeMunth? That’s a long and strange story. In short, I found him wandering the woods one day, delirious, and I took him to your grandma Asana to clean him up. She was the only person I could think of at the time who might care enough to help. I’ve kept an eye on her over the years, though she doesn’t know whose son I am.” Shad fiddled with a loose string on his sleeve. “She took a real liking to DeMunth, healing what was left of his tongue and nursing him back to health.”
“What happened to his tongue?”
Shad met her eyes across the fire, his lips drawn into a thin line. “That’s not my story to tell. You’ll have to ask him.” The silence stretched between them for a moment before he continued. “Your grandmother treated him like her own son, and he treated her like the mother he never knew. I haven’t seen a closer relationship between two people that weren’t kin. He helps her around the house, doing all the physical things that age makes difficult for her, and she keeps him healthy and fills his emotional needs. It’s a good situation for both of them.” Shad shifted against the log and pulled off another twig to feed the fire.
“Every once in a while, the two of us go to Javak and check in. Asana sends some of her best mage stones with him to sell. Since the trials are in session, the people we need to see are there. It seems easier to travel together, and we enjoy each other’s company. He’s quiet and laughs at my jokes, and I give him a living pillow at night,” Shad grinned.
Ember’s grandma mined mage stones. What a thought. She wondered what it would have been like to be raised with grandparents in her life. She’d not really thought about it before, but now the absence left her aching from one more loss.
“Will I ever meet my grandparents, do you think?” Ember thought aloud. She knew she must be getting tired, with her thoughts popping out of her mouth as they were.
Shad thought about it for a minute. “I don’t know, lass, though I hope so. I think they would love and welcome you. Neither of them has seen or heard from your father in over twenty years.” Shad threw the last of the twig into the fire before scooting to the ground and putting his back against the log. “It’s incredible we’ve met like this, but the Guardians have reasons for all the things in our lives. This was meant to be.”
Ember wasn’t sure about that, but she found herself open to the idea. She knew of the Guardians, of course, but had thought of them only as legend or myth, not as real, living beings watching out for and guiding her throughout her life. It was a strange thought, yet somehow comforting. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering with the drop in temperature the dark had brought.
“You know, you’d sleep a lot warmer in wolf form. I was about to change myself. Care to join me?” He grinned at her and began to slowly shift his body back into his natural shape.
Ember tried to follow him, attempting to recreate what she had done at the cave. Shad stopped his transformation at a patchy halfbald look, not quite human or wolf, to laugh at her attempts.
“Lass, you’ve got to let your clothes absorb into your skin. Change the color. Right now you have clothing-colored fur.“
Ember looked down and was appalled. She had a brown breech-shaped bottom half and a sage green top. She must be quite a sight indeed, and that would have to change immediately. She imagined the fur white, as his was, and it slowly faded into the same snowy shade.
“Good,” he applauded with paw-shaped hands. “Let’s continue.”
The change was gradual—first hair, then body, then limbs and face and teeth. Ember learned about halfway through the process that if she stopped thinking about it and simply tried to feel her way through the change, she was more successful in her attempts.
At last they were done.
For the second time that day Ember felt at ease in her wolf body, and thankfully warm. Her senses went back to their heightened state, both smell and hearing aware of every minute sound and scent within the forest, down to the steady tread of a beetle crawling across the clearing and the scent of various animals around the woods marking their territory. She had to adjust to the greater sound before she could sleep, but just as the nose adjusts to a familiar scent, even when overpowering, she found her awareness of noise slowly fading. Once she got used to it, she sauntered over to join the pack, circling to find a comfortable position. She finally settled, curling her nose around to meet her tail in typical canine fashion. It seemed a natural and comforting way to sleep.
Then she had a thought. “Uncle?” she yipped in wolf speak.
“Yes?” he answered, half-opening a single emerald eye.
“Did my father ever sleep with you under the moon like this?”
Shad smiled in his wolfish way, tongue lolling, and sighed, sadness oozing from him like a reopened wound. “Every chance he got. When your father and I ran, the moon was our best friend, the night our ally. Song was our hearts, and sleep our souls. Wolf was life. Being wolf was sheer joy when we were together.”
Ember could understand that sensation. Never before had she felt so comfortable in her own skin. No more awkwardness, no more questions about who she was or what she should do. Things were clearer, simpler. There were no more lies about her family and past. She might not know everything about who she was or where she had come from, but she now had a start and a source of information. She had a feeling she and Uncle Shad were going to be very close indeed, and it was a relationship no one would be able to sever.
Not even her mother.
And with that happy thought, she faded into sleep.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Bless you, Joyson. Your help has been invaluable,” Kayla said to the boy as he dropped her trunk in the middle of the cellar.
“T’was no problem at all, miss,” he replied, winded. “The other servants had all your things packed afore I even knocked on the door.”
Kayla nodded at him, not really paying much attention as s
he knelt in front of her trunk and unbuckled the leather latches. She raised the lid and let it fall back with a muted thump on the dusty stone, pulling the hovering magelight closer.
“Yes, it looks like it’s all here,” she mumbled and smoothed the top gown, a vivid blue with lace cuffs at wrist and neck. By the depth of the dresses, it looked as if the servants had packed three or four of her best, as well as socks, underthings, and two more pair of good, heeled boots. She buckled the leather straps and stood.
“I hope you’ll be having a pleasant mornin’.” The boy bowed awkwardly and turned to leave.
“Joyson, thank you,” she said. “You’re an asset to this household and bring honor to your family.”
“No trouble, miss,” he said. “Happy to help.” He nodded his head to her once more and headed up the stairs in that long-legged stride of his. He was a kind soul. Brant was lucky to have him.
T’Kato chose that moment to enter from the far reaches of the back rooms. In the faint blue glow of the magelight, Kayla was surprised at his changed appearance. The apron had been replaced with trousers so loose they were almost a skirt, and he wore a cream tunic caught at the waist with a wide purple sash. It was not a color she would have imagined for this intense hulk of a man. His boots were knee-high leather that rippled with his muscles.
“Did you get your things?” his deep voice rumbled quietly at her, eyes flicking up and down to appraise her dress. He shook his head slightly in dismay. Kayla was not sure what to make of that. She had thought her new dress would be perfectly acceptable.
T’Kato rubbed his temples, then dragged his hand down his face, the sound of his whiskers scratching loud in the stillness of the room. “Did anyone see you come down?” He sounded tired and a little exasperated.
“Just Joyson. He brought my trunk.”
“Joyson can be trusted,” T’Kato said in that gravelly voice of his that sounded as if it boomed from the depths of a cave. “He won’t speak, I’m sure of it.”
Sarali stepped lightly down the stairs and joined them. “’Tis nearly dawn, Kato. I’ve brought a bit of food for the journey. Would you like me to divide the stores between us?” She held a bulging sack in her right hand.
T’Kato nodded, then turned his attention back to Kayla. “Have you got anything useful in that trunk of yours?”
“That depends on what you consider useful. I’ve got two pair of good boots, several dresses and underthings, some books, a knife . . . what is so funny?” she demanded of the snickering Sarali, who got herself outwardly under control, though her eyes still sparkled. T’Kato glared, dismissing his wife with a sharp gesture of his head.
“Does she have issues with me?” Kayla asked, surprised by the change in the servant girl she had liked so well the day before. It was interesting to note how uncomfortable she was having Sarali treat her as an equal instead of a superior.
T’Kato ignored the question.
“Would you please open your trunk so we can see these ‘good boots’ of yours?” he asked politely, though Kayla had the feeling he would not accept no for an answer.
She knelt before the chest and threw back the lid. She was almost embarrassed by her finery and unsure how to deal with the emotion. T’Kato bent in half to reach inside her trunk with his huge hands. He pulled out her boots, snorted, and tossed them in the corner.
“Hey! What are you doing?” Kayla started toward the outcast boots, but T’Kato grabbed her arm and forced her to stay at his side without offering a single word. The feelings that washed over her then were overwhelming. She felt helpless and a little scared and definitely angry, standing next to this gorilla of a man she did not know and had to trust. What did she really know about him, anyway? Was she making a mistake? She couldn’t answer that, but felt she had to take the chance.
T’Kato pulled her dresses out one by one and tossed them into the corner with her boots. He sorted through her books and set two aside. The rest joined the growing pile. He tossed all the frilly underthings but one. When he had emptied her trunk, he took the knife from its jewel-encrusted sheath and examined its edge with his thumb.
He snorted. “This thing wouldn’t cut butter, lass. You ever use it?”
Kayla didn’t trust herself to speak, so only shook her head.
“A gift, by the look of it,” he questioned her with brows raised.
“My father,” she spat, still fuming over his dismissal of her best clothes.
“And his name would be . . .” he waited.
She considered not answering. What business was it of his, anyway? She wasn’t comfortable talking about her father with people she knew, so why should she talk about it with this stranger who alternately terrified and soothed her? In the end, his silence won out.
“Felandian,” she answered, barely giving him what he asked for.
T’Kato’s eyes showed surprise. “Felandian the evahn? Of the Kingdom Fashan?”
Kayla was startled. “You know my father?”
T’Kato’s eyes showed new respect. “I do,” he said, moving to the pile of clothes he had tossed in the corner, gathering them up in one arm and dropping them back into the trunk. He closed and latched it quickly before Kayla thought to object to the mess he was making of her dresses. She’d be forever ironing when she returned.
“What’s Felandian doing, fathering a human child? That’s not like him.” His words cut sharply into Kayla’s heart, and she had to blink back tears she would not allow herself to shed.
“I don’t know, and frankly don’t care. He left when I was young. I barely remember him.”
“And you’re how old? Seventeen? Eighteen? That would have been about the time his grandfather died. It was hard for him. They were very close. I hadn’t known he’d taken up with a human, though. Interesting.”
Kayla wasn’t sure whether to spurn the man for his insensitivity, or thank him for the knowledge. She had known nothing of her father but his name and race. She had a few scraps of memory. He never seemed happy, and now she knew some of the why. Kayla only wished he had involved himself with her rather than leaving her behind like worn-out rags or dirty laundry. She turned her back on T’Kato so he would not see how much his words pained her.
She could hear him rummaging about, then the soft scrape of metal on stone. She looked over her shoulder to see what he was doing. He had her small knife and was honing its edge on a dark whetstone.
He licked his finger and slid it across the blade, making a rasping sound as his calluses caught at the sharpened steel. “If this thing is evahn-forged, it should hold its edge once sharpened. At least he left you a gift to show you some kind of favor, though I’m sure that’s pennies to your heart with the ache he must have caused.”
Kayla turned her head again to stare at the slits, brightening with the rising sun. How keenly this man knew her, and she knew him not at all. Sarali’s soft footsteps startled her out of her reverie.
“I didn’t know me da either, Kayla. He left when I was but a wee babe, and it breaks me heart still these thirty years later to think on it. Never did know what became of him.” She gave Kayla a moment to collect herself, then thrust an armful of clothes at her. “Here. These ought to fit yer needs a bit more rightly than those dresses of yours. A dress is fine for the dances and such, but when it comes to traipsing through the forest, they do nothin’ but slow ye down, and I can promise ye, the dresses wouldn’t be fine for long.”
Kayla took the clothes gratefully. She was not sure what to expect from T’Kato’s wife. It unsettled her. The woman noticed and laughed. “Ah, don’t mind me, miss. I’m a bit put out that I have to leave this place when I just came to like it. Been here longer than most, and Dragonmeer feels a lot like home.”
Sarali took Kayla by the arm, leading her into the small room where she had spent the night on an uncomfortable straw mattress.
“It’s goin’ to be an adjustment for ye, but we’ll do our best to lead ye along and find that player of yours, miss.”
“I don’t understand why the king would make me guardian of the flute and yet I’m not its player. I’m having difficulty with that.” Kayla tugged at the laces on her corset.
“I wouldn’t know much about that, only what me husband has seen fit to share. We’ll help ye find some answers somewhere, and T’Kato can keep ye safe if anyone can. The man’s a beast with a sword, he is.” With that, she turned and left Kayla to dress herself.
There was only one problem.
“Sarali?” she called before the woman could leave. “Could I trouble you for some help? I’ve got this darn corset on . . .” she waved her hands helplessly, and Sarali laughed.
“Sure, sure. Never could fathom why a woman would want to wear one o’ them things meself. Nothin’ but misery, pure misery.”
Kayla grimaced. “I would agree, but unfortunately this particular society demands them, and I’ve had to spend most of my life living by their rules. I didn’t have much choice.”
“There ye be wrong, Kayla. Ye always have a choice. Ye just need the courage to take the chances when they come.” Sarali punctuated her words with sharp pulls at Kayla’s laces until she was free and able to breathe deeply. It felt good. Really good.
Kayla stepped out of the dress and turned to the heap of clothes Sarali had given her, not sure where to begin. They were all so foreign. The sash she could figure out, but the blouse and trousers had no buttons—just flaps and small laces that seemed to criss and cross endlessly. Sarali laid the individual pieces out on the straw bed.
“Here. This is what we use for bindin’ ourselves up, instead o’ the corsets yer women wear.“ She handed Kayla a cloth that looked like two thick circles joined together, with straps that went around and tied together in the back. It was fairly comfortable compared to the corset she was accustomed to wearing, though she felt almost naked. It would definitely take some getting used to.
The Sapphire Flute Page 18