by Pati Nagle
True.
I will see you shortly. She started toward the door, then paused and looked back. Valani is much taken with you.
I know. More with the mindspeech, I think, than with myself.
Heléri gazed at him for a long moment, then softly smiled and left the chamber. Rephanin stood listening to her footsteps, wondering why she had brought up Valani. When he could no longer hear her, he glanced at the page in his hand and sighed.
“Tivhari, I am going across to the palace.” He came out of the work chamber and closed the door.
“Yes, my lord. Do you wish for your cloak?”
She held it out to him, and he smiled, grateful for her anticipation. Thanking her, he donned it, drew up its hood to shield his face from the light, and went across the colonnade.
The sun was just rising, and Rephanin hastened to get under shelter before its full force struck the city. Hallowhall was too open to the daylight for his taste. He kept his hood up and his back to the windows as he entered the gallery outside the governor’s chambers.
This long, airy room looked out on the fountain court through wide windows open to the colonnade and was filled with morning light despite its facing westward. Two attendants greeted Rephanin, one of whom went to apprise the governor of his arrival and a moment later returned to usher him in.
The governor’s suite comprised a large outer chamber and two smaller rooms, one where records and correspondence were kept, the other a workroom. Much of the governor’s business was conducted here, and the furnishings of the outer chamber—rich ornaments, heavy carved chairs with thick cushions, and many sconces blazing with light—reflected this. Rephanin paused a little way inside, gazing at a set of hanging tapestries that depicted the Midrange War. With a small shock he realized that he had never seen them before.
He had not entered this room in centuries—not since before Midrange, when Turon had occupied these chambers. For a moment the past swirled around him, memories and regrets haunting him.
“Thank you for your prompt response, Lord Rephanin.”
Jharan’s voice was quiet as he came forward from the doorway of the smallest chamber. He was dressed in a long tunic of pale green with silver embroidery at the throat and cuffs, wearing no other ornament than his circlet of state. Rephanin faced him, put back the hood of his cloak, and made a formal bow.
“How may I serve you, my lord governor?”
Jharan gazed at him for a moment, then turned aside, picking up a small wooden sculpture of a falcon from a table that stood behind a grouping of chairs. “How goes your work?”
Rephanin was certain that this could not be why Jharan had summoned him but answered respectfully. “Very well. We are now completing better than twenty cloaks a day and will soon be finished with what was provided to us. Berephan has weapons to bring us when we are ready for them.”
Jharan nodded, still gazing at the falcon in his hands. “I hear you have begun to use mindspeech with your circle.”
Rephanin blinked. “News travels swiftly.”
“Is it starting all over again?”
Jharan’s words were soft, but they froze Rephanin’s heart for an instant. He closed his eyes briefly.
“Not if I can help it.”
The governor put down the falcon and turned to gaze at him. “I had hoped for something more definite, Rephanin.”
A heaviness settled in Rephanin’s heart. “I will not make you a promise I am not certain I can keep. That is the best faith I can give you.”
Jharan walked a few steps toward the tapestries, frowning as if in thought. Rephanin wondered exactly how much the governor knew of the years before the Midrange War, years when the magehall’s reputation for magecraft had nearly been exceeded by its reputation for sensual excess. Jharan had been young then—a guardian, a minor connection of Governor Turon—uninvolved, or so Rephanin had thought. Now he was governor, and the face he turned toward Rephanin was stern.
“I left you in charge of the magehall after Midrange because of the quality of your work. That is the purpose of your circle, not your personal entertainment.”
“I agree.” Rephanin swallowed, misliking the conversation’s trend. “But mindspeech complicates that. It is very intimate and often becomes emotional. I cannot control the emotions of my circle—”
“Can you at least control your own?”
The edge in Jharan’s voice sparked resentment. Rephanin paused before answering in a careful tone.
“I do not know. I wish I could assure you that I can.”
Jharan leaned his hands against the table, flanked by elegant ornaments. “This is not an idle matter, Rephanin. We have mages coming here from other realms. They must be treated honorably.”
“What is it that you want me to do? Renounce my gift?”
He was half-angry but also half-serious. Such a command from the governor would make his life simpler and safer, though he believed it would ultimately be a loss to his people.
“I have spent five centuries that way, Jharan. Heléri has convinced me it was wrong. In the past two days my circle has accomplished more—”
“I do not want you to renounce your gift. I want you to use it in a responsible manner!”
“I never intend otherwise.”
“Why do I not believe you?”
Rephanin inhaled sharply. “You accuse me of deceit?” He stared at the governor, his anger rising. “If I gave you the promises you want, I would perhaps be guilty of that. Believe me, it gives me no joy to confess my failings to you.”
Jharan’s eyes were hard, and one finger tapped the polished wood beneath his hands. At last he withdrew the insult.
“I accept that your intentions are honorable. But I want more than that, Rephanin. I want some assurance—”
“I do not demand your trust.”
“But I do!” Jharan slapped his hands against the table with a force that made Rephanin start, then rounded it and strode toward the magelord, his eyes blazing with anger. “I demand that I can trust you! My son came to you for advice! In the past he has always come to me. Always!”
Caught off guard by this shift, Rephanin took a step backward. “He wanted advice about mindspeech.”
“And is that all you gave him?”
Their gazes met and held. Beyond the wrath radiating from Jharan’s eyes, Rephanin sensed a trace of fear.
“I have not harmed your son, Jharan. I will not harm him.”
The governor’s lip curved in a mirthless smile. “Not if you can help it!”
Rephanin’s anger flared. “Do you think me a fool? He is handfasted!”
“That did not stop you before!”
The words smote him like a physical blow, recalling all the worst memories of his life, memories he had tried to leave behind. He spun away, seeing a face he had tried to forget—young and fair—
Soshari.
Delighted with her first visit to the city, breathless with wonder and excitement, open to any adventure. Come to visit the magehall at the behest of some friend, who had not bothered to explain to her what magehall gatherings were like …
Rephanin took a few steps and blindly stumbled against a chair, caught at it, and gripped it with both hands, feeling sick. “I did not know she was handfasted.”
Jharan pursued. “How could you not have known?”
A bitter laugh escaped him. “She did not tell me.”
“Ah! So the blame lies with her!”
“No!”
Rephanin turned to face him, furious with grief though he managed to control his voice. “I accept the responsibility. Do not think I will ever forget it. Two are dead because of me.”
Jharan stood silent, watching him. Rephanin looked away, unable to bear the accusation in those dark eyes.
“I did not think you knew.”
A moment passed before Jharan answered. “Turon spoke of it.”
Rephanin swallowed, then smiled wryly. “Turon. I think he would have cast me out ha
d the Midrange War not … intervened.”
“Had he survived, do you mean?” Jharan’s voice was quiet. Rephanin heard him step closer and glanced up. The governor’s anger was gone; now he merely looked weary. “His death was a great loss to us. His and all the others.”
Behind Jharan, a tapestry of Skyruach depicted his younger self fighting the desperate defense of that place where so many had perished. Rephanin wondered how he could bear to be reminded of it every day.
Jharan sighed and ran a hand across his face as if warding off his own bad memories. He moved to one of the chairs, sat down, and gestured to Rephanin to join him.
“You gave good service during that war. I want to believe that you will always give good service, Rephanin.”
“So do I.” Rephanin sat across from him, feeling numb. “Talk to my circle if you wish, though I doubt that will reassure you. There is one among them who is already … showing a personal interest.”
“Someone other than Heléri?”
Rephanin looked up sharply to meet Jharan’s gaze but saw no censure there. “Heléri is a visitor. I do not count her among my circle.” He sighed and spoke in a softer tone. “She is an old friend, Jharan.”
The governor shook his head slightly, making a dismissive gesture. “I do not mean to intrude on your privacy. Only where does it end, Rephanin? Where does your privacy end and the good of your circle begin?”
The brown eyes he raised were filled with concern. Rephanin rubbed his forehead with one hand.
“I wish I could tell you. It would give me peace as well.”
They sat together in silence for a moment, then Jharan spoke, almost in a whisper. “What did you say to Turisan?”
Rephanin drew a slow breath. “I made some suggestions to help him and his lady avoid being distracted by mindspeech.”
“Distracted?”
“Distance speakers must agree on when and how to make contact, or they can distract each other at inopportune moments. Suppose Turisan was addressing the Council, and Eliani began speaking to him. It would jar him.”
“Oh. I see.”
Jharan looked troubled, and Rephanin’s instinct prompted him to be more specific about his meeting with Turisan. If Jharan should question his son and learn that they had shared khi, he might well think Rephanin had tried to mislead him.
“I also showed him a technique for signaling a desire to make contact.” He met Jharan’s nonplussed gaze and continued carefully. “I used mindspeech to demonstrate for him, as I have lately done with the mage circle.”
The fair eyebrows twitched together. “You spoke to him.”
“Yes.”
Jharan looked away and rested his chin against his clasped hands, frowning. Rephanin watched him for a moment, then spoke again, softly.
“Jharan, he is perhaps the one individual in Southfæld who is least in danger from me.”
The governor closed his eyes. “Have I your word on that?”
“Yes. On that I will give you my word.”
A wry smile touched Jharan’s lips. “I should not be satisfied with that. I should hold the well-being of all as equally important.”
Rephanin was silent, knowing he was seeing a side of Jharan few were shown. He was reminded of Jharan’s installation as governor of Southfæld—a ceremony in which Rephanin had played a minor part—and the dread that had resounded through Jharan’s khi at that time. The young governor-elect had been aghast at the authority to be placed in his hands, intimidated by the circle of officials and advisors seeking to influence him, and clearly overwhelmed by his new responsibilities.
Some echo of those feelings showed in Jharan’s face now, though he had risen to every challenge, had restored Southfæld’s prosperity and increased its security tenfold. It was no accident that Southfæld had the largest and best-equipped guard of any ælven realm.
“Well.” Jharan inhaled deeply and sat up straight in his chair. “I suppose I must take your five centuries of self-imposed abstinence as a sign of good faith.”
Rephanin made no answer. Jharan met his gaze.
“If it begins to get out of control … at least give me warning. Come to me, and I will help if I can.”
“Agreed.”
Rephanin nodded, though he was not sure what help Jharan could give. The smoothing of ruffled feathers, perhaps. He preferred not to envision the problems that might arise.
The governor rubbed a hand idly along the arm of his chair, staring at the floor. “I have a reputation for excessive formality, for a love of pomp and ceremony. It is in some ways undeserved.” He frowned slightly in thought. “Perhaps excess is not necessarily wrong, as long as it causes no harm.”
“It is my ardent wish to avoid causing harm.”
Jharan met his gaze. “I see that. Hold to it, Rephanin.”
The outer door opened, and an attendant looked in with an apologetic cough. “Your pardon, Lord Jharan. Governor Pashani is without.”
“I will see her in a moment.”
The door closed again, and Jharan turned to Rephanin with a sigh. “The day moves forward, and I am keeping you from your rest. Thank you for being open with me, Lord Rephanin.”
“I am grateful for your understanding. Also for your forbearance.”
Jharan regarded him for a moment, then gave a small nod, smiling slightly as he extended an arm. Rephanin could not remember when Jharan had last offered him this courtesy. He clasped arms, feeling a whisper of the governor’s khi: controlled and vigilant, with a surprising underlay of gentleness and an echo that reminded him of Turisan.
The governor rose, and Rephanin did likewise. He made another formal bow, then turned and left the chamber, pulling up his hood as he reached the door.
Daylight smote him, and he felt inclined to retreat to the magehall at once. Heléri deserved greater courtesy, however, so he hastened up a broad flight of steps to the upper colonnade and sought her chambers. Her attendant admitted him to the comforting darkness of the outer room, where he stood still just inside the door, realizing how much tension had invaded his flesh.
Heléri came toward him with a smile. “Welcome, my friend.” One dark brow rose slightly.
He met her gaze but could not bring himself to use mindspeech at that moment. He stood looking out at her from the depths of his hood, unwilling to forsake its shelter. Swallowing, he spoke slowly.
“Perhaps I should not stay. I doubt I am very good company just now.”
Concern flitted through her eyes, but then she smiled. “Then come and sit by the fire a little while before you must go out into the day.”
She moved toward the hearth, where a bed of coals glowed softly. After a moment he followed, sighing as he removed his cloak. Misani, the attendant, took it from his hands and exchanged a glance with Heléri.
Rephanin sat in one of the chairs—less ornate and more comfortable than those in the governor’s suite—and gazed at the coals, feeling drained. A part of him was tense, waiting for questions, but Heléri raised none. She sat opposite him in companionable silence while her attendant brought forward a small table and placed it between them.
The attendant, a russet-haired Stonereach, was quiet and efficient as she set out tea, fruit, and fresh bread, then left the room. The door closed with a soft click of the latch, and silence descended.
Rephanin was still. He should speak, in voice or in thought, but felt disinclined to do it. He should eat, but his stomach rebelled at the idea. Jharan’s anger and suspicion had troubled him, but it was more the knowledge that they were justified that weighed on him. He closed his eyes.
The past would not be repeated, not if he was vigilant. There would be no more salacious gatherings in the magehall, no explorations of arousal through mindspeech. The very thought made him sick at heart for what it had cost.
He would have only his circle to cope with, and the new circle that was forming, and the visitors when they arrived. Just a few mages, never all at once. He would speak to them i
n groups as seldom as possible, only when their work would plainly benefit by it. In this way he would avoid being swept away by their emotions. He would stand vigilant, and thus the mage circles’ work would be worth the risk.
How ironic, when he considered that the greater part of his life had been spent reveling in just the sort of indulgences he now hoped to avoid. Doubly ironic, for beneath the heartache and regret, he still wanted them.
He drew a sharp breath and opened his eyes. Heléri remained unmoving in her chair, her eyes closed and her hands clasped lightly in her lap. Around her head and shoulders he again saw a soft light, faintly golden, glowing against the darkened room behind her. He watched for a moment, then broke the silence with a murmur.
“What are you doing?”
Heléri opened her eyes. “Praying for healing.”
“For whom?”
A whisper of a smile touched her lips. “For you.”
Rephanin’s brow drew into a frown, and he rubbed at it with one hand. That she should pray for him thus made him uncomfortable.
“I am not wounded.”
“No?”
The subject of healing teased at him; there was something he needed to say about it. He looked back at Heléri and saw that the golden light had faded.
“You studied healing at Hollirued, did you not?”
“Yes, for a short time. I practiced the art now and then after I removed to Alpinon. It has been useful.”
The bothersome memory crystallized as Rephanin remembered his conversation with Turisan. He turned in his chair to face Heléri, watching her intently.
“Did you put a healing focus into the handfasting ribbon you made for Turisan and Eliani?”
She raised her eyebrows. “I put every blessing I could think of into that ribbon. They have a hard road before them.”
“But a focus to enhance healing? Specifically?”
Heléri frowned in thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Not specifically.”
Rephanin leaned toward her. “Eliani has performed a healing. Did Turisan tell you?”
“No!”
He repeated Turisan’s description of how Eliani had healed the two wounded guardians. Heléri seemed as mystified as he. Her blue eyes widened as she listened.