"Time to fill your belly. We can't have you fainting on us when we have important work to do," Ialani said. She scowled when Mrillis made to get up, and pressed on his shoulder to keep him in his seat. "Men. How you survived so many centuries without women to insert some common sense into this island, I will never know."
"There were plenty of women who were kind enough to act as mothers and nursemaids," Deyral said. "Surely a higher calling than scholarship?"
Meghianna snorted, attempting to smother a giggle. Mrillis grinned at her, and was pleased to see the other concerned, somber faces brighten. He fully intended to share his interpretation of the vision with Deyral much later--after the subject of that vision was safely back in her nursemaid's care. For good measure, he would wait until Meghianna was fast asleep, just to ensure she didn't come upon the discussion.
There was no reason to frighten her with the duty that awaited her--hopefully decades, centuries in the future--was there?
* * * *
Megassa grumbled when Gynefra and Nalla denied her breakfast the next morning. She didn't grumble long, though. Meghianna wondered just how much the guard captain had told her sister about the spell to be cast that morning. It made perfect sense not to let Megassa eat, in case she had a bad reaction to the twisting of the Threads around her and through her flesh, to more effectively bind her imbrose.
Trevissa sat quietly to one side of the village square, drooping in the heavy chair someone had brought out for her, wrapped in blankets against the chill morning air. Meghianna watched her while High Scholar Deyral and the others involved in the spell wove guarding walls of Threads. Was Trevissa her aunt, or her cousin? She couldn't call the woman her stepmother, because she had never been married to Efrin. Meghianna knew better than to extend even the lightest magical touch, to examine the woman, but she felt certain Trevissa had been drugged to keep her quiet and compliant. If she understood this morning's magic was to bind Megassa's imbrose so she couldn't use it, so it wouldn't grow, and to siphon away the power that sleeping imbrose generated, what would Trevissa do or say? Or would she even care?
Meghianna shivered, remembering what the woman had said yesterday on their arrival. How horrid, to believe she had to kill her own baby. Madness had to be very painful, and sad.
If working this magic would protect Megassa from enemies trying to use her magic against the Warhawk, their father, and prevent her going mad from the strain, the binding of her inborn magic was a very good thing.
"Are you ready?" Mrillis said, stepping through the woven wall of Threads that shimmered so strongly, she could see it with her physical eyes as well as the eyes of her soul.
Meghianna nodded and held out her hands. Her throat felt tight, and she didn't trust her voice not to break if she spoke. Maybe she shouldn't have eaten breakfast, either? Mrillis took her hands in his left hand and traced a web of Threads around her wrists with deft flickers of his right hand. He held onto the Threads and stretched them out as he walked away from her to Trevissa, where he wove those Threads around her wrists. Meghianna wondered if he wrapped the Threads around the arms of the chair at the same time, keeping Trevissa still.
Then Mrillis walked to the pallet near the well, where Megassa lay, guarded by Gynefra. He wove the Threads leading from Trevissa and Meghianna around the younger girl's wrists and ankles, binding the three together.
Chapter Six
We are all that's left of the Nameless One, Meghianna thought, and shivered. Wouldn't the World be a better place if we were all dead? Then she thought of the prophecies she had heard or read, of the Three Drops of Blood. She and Megassa were two, and every time she thought about the third, she envisioned a boy with golden-red hair and gray eyes, holding Braenlicach until the glow from the star-metal sword grew blinding bright. No, she decided as the scholars and enchanters formed a circle around the trio and the dome of woven Threads that enclosed them. The World needed her to guard the third drop of blood... and the Blood that would come from the Blood. Whose child would that child be? Hers, Megassa's, or their brother's?
Mrillis had warned her there would be pain, but she winced and gasped aloud at the sharp prick in all her fingertips as a single drop of blood came from each one. Trevissa didn't react as the same happened to her. Megassa flinched and lines of effort formed around her mouth and eyes, but she made no sound.
You will be a great warrior, my sister, Meghianna thought. I promise, I will do everything I can so that you will be happy and loved, and you will stand with me against our brother's enemies.
The taking of drops of blood wasn't the forbidden blood magic that their great-grandfather had indulged in, but rather echoed the magic used when Braenlicach was formed and bound to their bloodline through Athrar, their grandfather. Meghianna had listened hard to her instructions and dreamed of this spell weaving all night. When Mrillis snagged more Threads from Trevissa and Megassa and flung them to her, she reacted without thought, grasping the Threads and wrapping them around her wrists with three deft twists. What should have been a tangled knot vanished in a bright flash of light that was visible to the physical eye as well as the soul-eye. The dome of Threads flashed and vanished. Megassa let out a yelp. Meghianna felt the momentary sting in her sister's flesh, like a dozen individual hairs being yanked from her scalp. Then the spell ended, complete and successful.
"Are you all right?" Meghianna called to her sister. She nearly leaped up from her seat, but knew better.
"It's gone." Megassa sat up, rubbing at her temples, eyes narrowing in concentration. Then she laughed and leaped to her feet, turning three somersaults in a row to cross the open area and land in front of her sister's chair. "It's gone!"
"What's gone?" Deyral asked, amusement touching his eyes and voice.
"The humming. The fuzzy stuff in the air. Am I ordinary now?"
"You, my dear, will never be ordinary," Gynefra assured her.
"Are you all right, Meggi?"
"My head... feels like there's too much inside." Meghianna started to nod, but the heaviness and thickness in her skull made her think that wasn't a wise move, either.
"You will be fine." Mrillis bent and scooped her up. "To your bed, little one. When you wake, everything will feel normal again."
Meghianna closed her eyes and snuggled close against his chest. Her last clear thought was to note that Mrillis hadn't said she would be normal again, only feel normal.
That made perfect sense. After all, she now held the imbrose siphoned away from both Trevissa and Megassa.
* * * *
Some sense of impending sorrow subtly urged Mrillis to extend his stay at the Stronghold longer than he originally planned. He let Meghianna lead him in explorations up staircases and down passageways that he could have walked in his memories, with his eyes closed. She made him laugh, with a threat of tears in his eyes, over her eagerness to play hostess and lady of the Stronghold. The child knew he had grown up here, had lived here with Ceera and Emrillian, so she knew nothing was unknown to him. Perhaps it was his long absence that prompted her to re-introduce all the subtly changed yet familiar places to him. He let her, delighting in her constant stream of too-wise questions mixed with piercingly sweet innocence and wonder, and saw wisdom and understanding grow brighter in her eyes. Sometimes he looked for Ceera looking at him through Meghianna's eyes, half-expecting to learn the Estall had been merciful and allowed his beloved wife to return, even if only in an echo, to guide and teach and form her successor.
When the time came to return to the Warhawk's fortress, Mrillis did not hurry, though he knew each day brought the fall storms closer. The last ship for Moerta would leave Quenlaque's docks just about the time he would reach the Warhawk's fortress. He had planned to be on that ship, intending to work with the other enchanters to study the condition of the tunnel under the sea as they sailed above it.
For the first time since Pyris went to take over the kingdom of Goarlotte and become a minor king under Efrin Warhawk, Mrillis would final
ly be able to visit his grandson. He hadn't seen Pirkin since he had returned from killing Endor. The boy had been a babbling, toddling, laughing little creature who didn't know him, but Mrillis had promised himself he would become a part of his grandson's life. In all that time, he had never been able to go to Moerta, too busy protecting Lygroes from Endor's followers, from Encindi enchanters, and then seeing to the protection of Meghianna and Megassa. Pyris had come only a handful of times to the Warhawk's Court in all those years, but he had been faithful in sending Mrillis reports on Pirkin's welfare.
Mrillis knew Pyris wasn't delighted to know he would finally visit the court of Goarlotte and meet his Noveni wife and spend time with Pirkin. His former son-by-law had never said anything to discourage Mrillis from visiting, but there had always been a sense of relief in the letters of response when Mrillis wrote to say, yet again, that he wouldn't be able to visit as planned.
Something in the air, some sad song ringing through the Threads muffled the urgency he felt to get to Quenlaque and join the ship, silently whispering that there was no hurry.
More understanding must have come to him in his dreams, he reasoned later, giving him warning. He was not surprised, and only a little hurt, when he found Pyris' letter waiting for him on his return to the fortress.
My Lord Mrillis,
I must request that you not come to Moerta for the winter, as you intend. If you must come on the Warhawk's business, I ask you not to come to Goarlotte.
I know that you have the right by law to come, and even if I mustered all the soldiers of my domain against you, the Warhawk would send a thousand Valors to stand with you. I ask you for the sake of the pain we both share, do not come.
The honest, bitter truth is that Pirkin does not remember you. My wife is the only mother he remembers, and her parents are his only grandparents. For you to come now, after such a long absence, would only cause him confusion and pain. Yes, I am aware that the upheavals in both our lands kept you away these many years. I do not condemn you for putting the safety of our kingdom and the High King above your grandson.
Here I must confess my dishonesty. I have never passed on to Pirkin your messages or your gifts. Or when he did receive the gifts you sent, he was told they came from the Warhawk, from friends in the court, not from you.
Condemn me, and justly, but have pity on your grandson and spare him further pain. For Emrillian's sake, and the love she bore me, do not bring distress on my dear wife, who admits she suffers some fear of my memories of Emrillian, and who lives in terror of you, as the great Rey'kil enchanter, the power behind the throne. She loves Pirkin as if he came from her own womb, and for you to make your claim as his grandfather would threaten the love they share, simply by reminding her that she is not his blood-mother.
I humbly beg you, for the honor and wisdom of your reputation, rightly earned, do not come to Goarlotte. Let us live in peace.
Pyris, King of Goarlotte by grace of Efrin Warhawk.
Mrillis read the letter through three times, slipping a little further into the heavy sense of quiet that threatened to weigh down his mind and heart. He supposed he would feel some great tearing pain later, when he had time to digest Pyris' carefully, politely worded letter.
The bitterly amusing part of all this was that Pyris was wise to make his request. If Mrillis had been able to visit every winter as he had intended since Efrin gave Goarlotte to the former chieftain of the Valors, this would not have been necessary. Pirkin would have grown up knowing his grandfather, even if only distantly. Lynzette, Pyris' second wife, would have had a chance to see him as something other than the power that brought Braenlicach back to the Warhawk's throne. They might have even become friendly, sharing their love for Pirkin.
Sighing, Mrillis put the letter away, far in the bottom and back of the chest he used to store important documents and mementos. Then he closed his eyes and reached through the Threads to notify Balin that he would not sail with the team of enchanters after all, and they could set sail as soon as they wished.
* * * *
As the sisters grew older, Meghianna found some amusement in realizing that Megassa didn't need her with the same strength that she felt toward her younger sister. She knew Megassa loved her and missed her when they were separated for moons at a time, but didn't share the sense of wistfulness Meghianna felt when fall came and she left the Warhawk's fortress to return to the Stronghold.
The sisters wrote to each other often, with their message packets sometimes crossing the width of Lygroes twice each moon. Efrin gifted his daughters with ney-hawks the spring of their eighth year, to carry messages back and forth between them. He teased that he did it to save wear and tear on horses and horseshoes and saddle leather, not to mention exhausting messengers who had far better things to do. Ney-hawks were a lesser breed of the same species as the warhawks, but smaller, faster, less intelligent, and therefore more easily bound with magic spells to bond them to their owners. Mrillis personally saw to the knotting of the Threads that tied the ney-hawks to the girls, so no one else would ever be able to take the message from the leather cases on the hawks' legs.
Megassa's messages were always full of news about their father, about the latest renegade Encindi attacks, and plans for the grand adventures the sisters would share when Meghianna came home in the spring. Meghianna sometimes felt an odd tearfulness whenever she read her sister's references to the fortress as their shared home. That was a surer sign than any more blatant words that Megassa loved her. She thought her sister pitied her for having to study magic and the duties of the Queen of Snows, and considered the life of a warrior far preferable and more enjoyable.
As she grew older, and the time of her full investiture as Queen of Snows approached, Meghianna sometimes found she agreed with her sister. Though she couldn't imagine any other fate she would want or any duty she would be suited for, other than to serve Lygroes, sometimes weariness and a portent of great loneliness would descend on her at the thought of decades and perhaps centuries of duty and honor and responsibility lying ahead of her. Usually such feelings descended on her in that misty realm between waking and dreams, and her spirit would rise up in drowsy protest, wishing and reaching for... something she couldn't quite imagine, let alone name.
She welcomed Megassa's exuberance and mischievous spirit when she went to the fortress, to drive such thoughts and forebodings from her mind for all the moons they were together.
The summer after they turned fifteen, everything changed.
It started subtly, enjoyably enough, with Megassa and Gynefra riding out to meet Meghianna's escort halfway across Lygroes. The spring day shifted often between chilly rains and bright sunshine. The sisters laughed and urged their horses to ride just a little faster, to splash through puddles so often, Gynefra gave up cautioning them to slow down and save their mounts' strength. Megassa was full of news, most of which centered on the crop of new Valor trainees who had come to the fortress for the summer. Ten of the fourteen were from Moerta.
"You'd think they'd been insulted, to find out they had imbrose," Megassa added, after offering that bit of news. "What's wrong with them?"
"Noveni who aren't used to working with magic or seeing it at work regularly are afraid of it, I suppose," Meghianna said. "Captain? What do you think?"
"I think anyone who resents a tool put into his hands is a fool," Gynefra said with a sharp nod. "These new Noveni are going to be a problem. We've been warning the Warhawk's Council for several years now. The new generation coming up on Moerta have taken it into their heads that because the Encindi rebels practice blood magic, and keep trying to steal children from imbrose-strong families, to use their magic when they're grown, that makes all magic dangerous, so no one should study or practice it. That's like refusing to pick up a sword lying on the paving stones--"
"While you walk around barefoot, with your eyes closed," Megassa broke in, obviously interrupting one of Gynefra's pet phrases. The sisters grinned at each other, their fac
es half-hidden from their elders by the deep hoods of their cloaks.
"Far too smart for your own good," the guard captain growled, and landed a gentle slap against the back of Megassa's head.
"They are being foolish and harming themselves," Meghianna agreed. "Magic is still needed to purify the land from raw star-metal all over Moerta. And most healers use magic, of one level of strength or another. How would they feel about magic if they had to rely on guesswork, and nothing but herbs and knives and needles to tend their illnesses and wounds?"
"That is the voice of reason we need traveling across Moerta," Lord Rondell said. The retired chieftain of the Valors, he had asked to lead Meghianna's escort this spring. He and Gynefra shared a nod and a look that communicated far more than Meghianna could pick up in just the few seconds she saw it. "It's a pity you can't travel Moerta and talk to all the minor kings and chieftains."
"Why not? Is it that dangerous?"
"You're fully Rey'kil, Meggi," Megassa said, eyes narrowing and mouth flattening in displeasure. "Why would they listen to you? You're living magic, even more than Papa with Braenlicach glowing in his hands."
"Unfortunately, you're right," Gynefra said with a sigh. "I'm proud you're clever enough to see that."
"Then what can I do?" Meghianna said, fighting not to wail. Or was that a whine of frustration trying to seep into her voice?
"Maybe you aren't supposed to do anything." Megassa's somber expression cracked into a grin. "Maybe that's what I'm supposed to do." She tapped the leather-wrapped grip of the sword anchored to her belt. "Beat some common sense into idiots who keep trying to tear the roof off just as fall storms come in."
"Threats won't work, but earning their respect might," Gynefra said, nodding. "Lord Rondell? What do you think?"
THREE DROPS OF BLOOD Page 8