by Rowan, Cate
“No, no,” Varene gasped, half-choking on laughter. “I was Yollin’s assistant for decades. When I was appointed the Royal Healer, Alvarr was but fourteen. Over time he became as a son to me.” She thought a moment. “So I suppose I do have a child after all, even though I got him during his bratty teenage years.” Her chuckle was infectious. “And he’s become a fine man.”
Jilian’s thoughts strayed to the prince’s teasing smile, then to his muscled chest…
She jerked herself back. Get a clue! Men are trouble. If Matt wasn’t a big enough sign for you, Alvarr’s a flashing neon billboard.
She swirled the spoon around the still-steaming bowl. “Where am I, exactly?”
“Teganne, in the city of Ysanne. Is that what you mean?”
“Partly, but… Is this a parallel universe, or a hidden place on Earth?”
A puzzled crease formed between Varene’s eyes.
Jilian blew out a breath. “Sorry, I don’t know how to say it. I want to figure out what happened. Where I am, and why.”
“I can understand that.” The Healer was silent for a moment. “Ysanne is the capital of the realm of Teganne. Alvarr is Teganne’s Prince, and protector.”
“There are other realms?”
“Yes, five others—Pennarah, Chellen, Whiterim, Kad. And Fallorm. We don’t have much contact with Whiterim and Kad these days. Snowfolk and sandfolk tend to stay to themselves, and sometimes that’s for the best. Fallorm, too, has become isolated in recent times.”
“And these realms make up your world?”
“Well, I suppose they do, if you put it that way. “
“Is your world…round?”
Varene looked amused. “Well, yes, aren’t they all?” At Jilian’s startled glance, the woman raised her hand to her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that where you came from, star studies might not be as advanced.”
A surprised laugh burst out of Jilian. “No, no, we’re doing fine with our…star studies. And yes, we know our world is round. I just…wasn’t sure if you did.”
She eyed the Healer, struck by the oddity of getting acquainted with someone from another world. Or was it universe? Varene had the same look on her face. They grinned at each other.
Another world. Jilian tried to wrap her mind around it. It seemed her mother—whom she cherished and trusted and thought she understood so well—had lived here, so far from all Jilian had known. And had never said a word to her about this place.
The deceit tore at her. “Did you know my mother?”
Varene shook her head. “Not really. I’d heard of her, of course. Everyone knew how deep her kyrra ran. She and Tanil, her mage partner, once saved a town from drowning. A storm’s waves nearly ripped away the cliffs on which the town was built. Word was that Tanil tapped enough power from your mother to calm the sea there for a hundred years, can you imagine? But by the time I came to work here with Yollin, Sara was often traveling, and we were never introduced.”
Varene leaned back in her chair with a thoughtful look. “You’re the spitting image of her, though. I saw her once. At the market. I was looking for cloth for a new kirtle. As she rode by, the merchant called out her name, teasing that she hadn’t visited lately to purchase his fabrics. She laughed and told him that when she came back from her travels, she’d come to his stall with coins for his exquisite cloths. She smiled then—a brilliant smile, and in the sunlight her hair shone like liquid obsidian.”
Jilian glanced down at the muted strands of her own black hair, then pictured her mother’s…gray now, and close-cropped. But when Jilian had been a little girl, she’d loved to snuggle with her mother and twine their hair together. It had been hard to tell whose was whose.
“You know,” Varene said, “there’s someone who can answer your questions better than I can—Rokad. He has an interest in the worlds and Crossings, and I know he and Alvarr spoke much about them before going to get you…er…your mother, I mean.” She busied herself brushing tiny breadcrumbs into her palm.
“Rokad? The same man who lost his magic when I got here?”
Varene stopped and cleared her throat with a rueful smile. “I do seem to be stepping in the piles today.” She dropped the crumbs carefully onto the tray. “Yes, Rokad’s one of the three mages whose power was taken when you first came. But he’s doing well. Better than the others. The body I can usually mend, but the mind…that’s much more difficult.”
“It’s bad?”
“Rokad’s always been sensible—balanced, you could say. And Findar’s gone back to reading the Old Letters, which he relies on for guidance. Nenth, though…” Holding up her palm, she curled her fingers into it and let her hand sink to the table. “She’s gone inward. She’ll have a harder time of it.”
Jilian recalled the mages’ pale bodies limp on the floor, drained even of the color of their cloaks. A disturbing thought crawled into her head. “Do they…blame me?”
The Healer’s gaze flicked away. “I don’t know. I don’t see why they should, though. It wasn’t your fault you were mistaken for your mother.”
But inside, Jilian squirmed.
“Alvarr’s spoken with each of them,” Varene said. “He’s told them it’s his own fault. Taken responsibility. And each swore an oath to him years ago to do what was needed to protect Teganne.” She shook her head. “They pledged their lives. It’s a dangerous calling.”
Jilian sipped another spoonful of soup. She wasn’t sure what to feel. It wasn’t her fault that the mages had lost their magic. Was it?
“Speaking of Alvarr,” Varene said, “he said you’d start your training after lunch. He was sure you were healed enough.” After looking Jilian up and down with a professional air, she smiled. “I think he’s right. You heal quickly. You’re lucky.”
Jilian’s mood cracked into pieces. Lucky wasn’t the word she’d choose. The soup lost its flavor and she put down her spoon. “I need to get home.”
“Home?” Varene’s smile evaporated. “But you’re needed here. Bhruic’s become so powerful.” Her fingers splayed on the table. “Alvarr doesn’t say it, but I know he’s worried. Especially since…” She winced.
“Since what?”
“Since most of the Council of Mages lost their kyrra bringing you here,” Varene said softly.
It’s NOT my fault, any of this. Taking a deep breath, Jilian leaned forward. “I’m needed at home—my home—too. My mother’s dying.” Her throat constricted at the horrid word. She closed her eyes and swallowed. “I need to be with her. She’s all I have.”
The Healer sat for a moment, then spoke gently. “I’m sorry. This must be difficult. You have no other family?”
Jilian shook her head. “My father died recently. I didn’t know him well. I hadn’t seen him since I was very young. We didn’t even live in the same…realm.”
“Any brothers or sisters?”
“None. Maybe there are cousins on my father’s side, but if so, I don’t know them.” Her tone softened. “It’s really just my mother and me.”
Varene’s lips twisted in sympathy. “If I may ask, what is your mother’s illness?”
“Acute idiopathic progressive neuropathy.” The diagnosis slid off Jilian’s tongue with loathsome familiarity. “A paralysis that’s taking over her body. Her nerves are degenerating. When it reaches her lungs, her brain, she’ll die.” Her voice caught. She clenched the linen napkin in her lap. I will not cry. I will not cry. Breathe, Jilian. “They don’t know what’s causing it, and it’s moving fast.”
Varene tilted her head. “A stillness that spreads. Did it begin at the feet?”
“Yes. They tingled at first, then she couldn’t move them. It spread to her calves, then her thighs, and it just keeps going…”
“Ah.” Varene nodded. “Shadow’s Quilt. I’ve never seen a patient with that, but my foreHealers did.”
“Shadow’s Quilt.” Jilian pictured a dark gray quilt being pulled by invisible hands up her mother’s body. “Th
at sounds nicer than our name for it. A kinder name for a fatal thing.”
“But it isn’t fatal.”
Stillness washed over Jilian. “What do you mean?”
“Or at least it didn’t have to be. If I remember from the foreHealers’ records, initially many died. But when the antagonistic herb was discovered, most recovered. Eventually Shadow’s Quilt disappeared.”
Jilian clamped her hand around Varene’s forearm. “There’s a cure?”
“Well, there was,” the woman said more slowly.
“What do you mean, was?”
“It’s been so long since there have been cases.” Varene pursed her lips in thought. “The herb—starlace—isn’t collected any more. I don’t even know what it looks like, or where it grows.”
Jilian put both palms on the table. Leaning again toward the Healer, she emphasized every word. “Can you find out?”
Varene sat for a minute. “I think so.” Excitement sparked in her blue eyes as she rose to her feet. “I’ll look through my notes and the castle records.” Purposeful strides carried her out the doorway.
Jilian’s hands reclaimed the napkin and resumed twisting it. Oh God, oh God. What if there’s a cure?
Careful, Jil! Shadow’s Quilt might not be what Mom has…
But each new breath seared her lungs. What if it IS?
Her fingers whitened from their stranglehold on the napkin.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Far away, in a pentagonal room laced with a chill that crept into mortal flesh and bones, a sharp-faced man sat at a table made from the trunk of a massive baellan tree. Frost etched the wood just as ice etched his soul. He took some vicious satisfaction from that.
By his right hand were three vials of colored liquids and a jar of gray powder. By his left lay a glass rod half the thickness of a woman’s finger and a crystal bowl barely the width of his palm. The inner surface of the delicate vessel was incised with angled runes.
The man positioned the vessel over a darkened knot in the table’s polished wood. He inserted the glass rod into the first vial, pulled it out, and let a thick drop of crimson fluid fall into the bowl. He repeated the motion until ten drops gleamed. With a practiced hand he swirled the liquid, watching it surge up into the runes and drain back to the center.
From the second vial he added two drops of ebony liquid to the red. Again he swirled the contents, studying the runes through which the fluid coursed, and placed the bowl back upon the knot.
From the third vial he tipped one amber drop into the vessel. It sank beneath the crimson to lay unmixed at the bottom. He added a pinch of the gray powder.
The powder began to sizzle. The color of the bowl’s contents mutated from red to an oily silver, and then to virulent green. A puff of smoke shot into the air.
Undisturbed, he closed his eyes against the acrid air, then pulled the vessel closer and looked in.
The liquid was gone. What remained was a long strand of sable hair.
Only the barest twitch of a finger betrayed his shock. He grasped the bowl and stared at the dark strand.
At last he sat up. Without moving his gaze, he withdrew a pair of metal tongs and a golden box from his pocket. Carefully, he lifted the hair with the tongs and coiled its slender darkness against the white silk lining the box. He stared at it for a moment longer and inhaled once, slow and deep, then slipped the box into his pocket and glided from the room.
Jilian paced the healing room, too wound up to hold still. Her hands fisted through the hair at her temples and her gaze shot to the flagstones, the window, the ceiling, and back to the floor.
Footsteps sounded in the hall and she froze, staring at the doorway. One look at Varene’s smiling face and Jilian almost burst into tears of relief. “Tell me.”
“I think the symptoms match. Your mother likely has Shadow’s Quilt. And,” Varene paused as she placed the book on the wooden table, “I found the herbal treatment.” She touched her finger to the appropriate entry.
Jilian clutched the book’s edges and read.
Treatment: Starlace. Rare herb that grows in alpine meadows on the eastern fold of the Neril Mountains. Prefers sunny rock faces, but easily crowded out by Yellowwort or Beebane. Scarce and sometimes difficult to preserve, but can be potent against Shadow’s Quilt.
“Starlace!” she said, looking up at the Healer. “So you have it?”
Varene’s shoulders lowered. “No, unfortunately. And I don’t know of any herbalists who would collect it.” She took a deep breath. “The area where starlace grows—or at least did grow, at one time—is a good fiveday journey from here, and not easily accessible.”
“Did grow?”
“Since no one’s needed starlace as a treatment in hundreds of years,” Varene said quietly, “I can’t be sure it still exists. It’s noted to be rare.”
Jilian nodded. “Okay. We’ll just have to go find out. But five days?” She slumped. “Isn’t there a way to get there quickly? Like Alvarr used when he brought me here?”
“That kind of Crossing can only be made using a known portal. Most of those on our world have been destroyed, as Bhruic did to the one in Fallorm when he rose to the throne. An unregulated Crossing can’t be done without tremendous power, or…” A shudder rolled over Varene. “Bhruic has found ways to allow his men to move short distances invisibly, as Gurdan did to enter the castle, by stealing the power of others. It’s rumored he even takes kyrra from the souls of the dead.” She shook her head. “You’ll need to go on fyddback.”
The souls of the dead. What a charming fellow this Bhruic must be. And fyddback? What the heck’s a fydd? But… “What do you mean I’ll need to go? Won’t you come? You’re the one who knows herbs.”
The Healer’s eyes took on a haunted look. “I will not.”
Jilian studied the woman’s stiffened features. “Why?”
“The Nerils border Bhruic’s land, Fallorm. I won’t go back there.”
Bootsteps sounded in the hallway, their march even and purposeful. “Alvarr,” Varene mouthed to Jilian.
The prince strode through the doorway, nodded at the Healer, then turned to Jilian. His gaze caught hers and the smile on his lips warmed his eyes. “I’m glad to see you’re better.”
A small spark lit within Jilian and scattered softly through her body.
“I suppose I am.” She touched her bandage with self-conscious fingers.
“Good. Then you’re ready to begin.” He swiveled to Varene, who eyed the two of them with an amused expression. “If that meets your approval, Healer?” he said with a wink.
The corners of Varene’s mouth slid farther upwards as she looked at Jilian and then back at Alvarr. She inclined her head with dignity. “If she feels she’s ready, then she is.” Then, less formally: “Jilian, just be careful for a few days, and soon it will seem like time’s gone backwards.”
If only it really did, and none of this had happened. Except…what if the starlace can cure Mom?
Alvarr stepped forward. “Let’s begin the training. Will you excuse us, Varene?”
Jilian shot a quick, pleading look at the Healer, but Varene smiled serenely as she walked out, gesturing behind her back at the open book of herbs.
Okay then. Jilian glanced up at Alvarr, who gazed down at her from well over six feet. And he still wore that green sleeveless tunic. He’d make a great Chippendales dancer—if he weren’t already a prince. And a wizard, to boot.
“Be seated,” he said, gesturing to the table and chairs. “The initial learning might take a while.”
To save Mom, I need the herb. How do I get him to find it—and send me home to give it to her? Home… This could get me back to Earth for good.
Alvarr pulled out a chair for her. When she didn’t move, he looked at her quizzically. “Jilian?”
“Um. Yes,” she mumbled, and sat down.
He seated himself opposite her. His eyes, now the color of dark steel, made her pulse leap. Stop it, Jil. You’re just nervous.<
br />
Alvarr clasped her hand, palm-to-palm across the table. The heat of his hand warmed hers. He traced his fingertips along the exquisitely sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist. Warning bells clanged in her head.
He leaned toward her. “The first thing a Source must know—”
“Wait,” she blurted. “Something’s happened.”
His lips drew into a frown. “I thought you were healed.”
“It’s…not me who needs to heal.” She shifted on the chair.
“Explain,” he said, apparently forgetting that his fingertips still caressed her.
“My mother. Sara. The woman you wanted to bring here…” Tendrils of green emotion swirled through her belly and she blinked in surprise. Am I jealous? No, that’s crazy.
She shook her head to clear it. “My mother,” she said more forcefully, “is dying.”
Alvarr, very silent, raised his brows.
“She has an illness, and the doctors…Healers…can’t treat it. She has only a few more weeks to live.” Jilian took a deep breath. “Varene says that in your world, the illness is called Shadow’s Quilt. And that there may be an herbal cure.”
Alvarr’s fingertips finally stilled on her wrist. His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t open his mouth.
“This herb, starlace, grows in the Neril Mountains. Varene doesn’t have any here, and she said no one’s gathered it for many years because no one’s had Shadow’s Quilt.”
Alvarr’s gaze felt like x-rays beaming into her and her tongue began to chatter away. “See, my mom’s all I have. My parents separated when I was young, so my mother’s been my whole family. We moved really far away, then came back, but then she was diagnosed with the neuropathy. She went through all these tests, and the treatments that were supposed to help her didn’t. It got worse really quickly, and—”
He lowered his gaze to their linked hands. “So you want me to locate this rare herb and take it to your mother.”
“Yes. Well, that is, I’ll go with you to find the starlace, and then you can send me home so I can give it to her—”