by Melanie Rawn
The usually soft-spoken Hollis rounded on him in sudden fury. “Can’t you see why she’s afraid? She’s seventy winters old, Andry! The scroll threatens her—not because she’s set in her ways, but because she’s old and may not have time enough left to control the danger you’ve shown her! Can’t you understand that?”
He stared at her. In all the times he had secretly put himself in Andrade’s place as ruler of Goddess Keep, he had never considered that one day he, too, would grow old, that time would grow short, that he would not be able to make plans and see them through. That he would die.
Hollis evidently found something in his face that satisfied her. In quieter tones she continued, “It’s not that she doesn’t want to know what’s in the Star Scroll. She’s frightened of a future she may not be around to shape. She’s spent her whole life at it. Do you wonder that it scares her?”
“But she can’t order me to burn it. She can’t.”
“I don’t think she will. She knows how important it is. But she also sees dangers you don’t.” Hollis rubbed her forehead wearily. “And forgive me for saying that you’d better learn to fear those dangers yourself.”
Silently he took the two small copper pots from the table, went to the fire, and scraped out their contents onto the coals. A sickly stench rose and he coughed, backing away hastily as his nose began to burn. Hollis, who had also gotten a faceful of the smoke, staggered over to a chair and slid into it, choking. Andry glanced around frantically, barely able to see through the tears clouding his eyes, and snatched up a cloth to soak in fresh water at the sink. He ripped the cloth in two, placed half to his own nose and the other against Hollis’ white face.
“Breathe!” he ordered.
After a moment the burning sensation faded, soothed by the droplets of water they both inhaled. But their eyes teared and they coughed for some while afterward. When each had recovered, Andry crouched beside Hollis’ chair and looked anxiously up at her.
She wiped her eyes and tried a smile. “It seems we haven’t translated far enough into the scroll to learn that one. Believe me now?”
Andry bent his head. “Yes. I’m sorry, Hollis.”
He felt her fingers tousle his hair fondly. “Listen to me, little brother—for I hope that soon you will be my little brother. You’re brave and clever and more intelligent than you have any right to be, and your gifts are far greater than you realize just now. I love you for yourself, Andry, and for Maarken’s sake.”
“But?” he asked in a muffled voice.
“You’re young. It takes years to learn how to be patient, how to be wise and cautious. Don’t let your powers and your intelligence blind you to the fact of your youth.”
He looked up, about to reassure her that he would be cautious and wise. But the deathly weariness of her face swept all other thoughts from his head. “Hollis—are you all right? You look awful.”
She chuckled softly. “Another thing you’ll learn with age is how to talk to a woman. The proper words would be, ‘You look a little tired, why don’t you go rest?’ But never mind. I’ll find Sejast and get him to brew me a cup of that special taze of his. It works wonders.”
“I feel in need of a little, myself,” Andry admitted.
“He swears the recipe was given to him in secret by an old witch in the mountains,” she said smiling.
Andry grinned and got to his feet. “Who made him swear never to reveal its contents, or she’d pry out his eyes with her fingernails and draw his veins from his living body—”
“Andry!” she chided. “Don’t make fun. Maarken told me you were terrified of lizards when you were little, because you thought they were baby dragons that had crawled out of their shells to breathe fire on you!”
“A perfectly natural assumption! But I suppose it really doesn’t do to make fun of witches.” He glanced significantly at the door where Andrade had disappeared. “You go to bed. I’ll clean up in here. And you really do look awful, you know.”
She pushed herself to her feet. “What happened to your share of your father’s infamous charm?”
“I’m saving it for a girl who’s not already promised to one of my brothers!”
It was very late, and Riyan had to keep pinching himself to stay awake. Following Lady Kiele on her nocturnal excursions in and around Waes was usually very dull. Tonight looked like no exception.
Riyan had made quite a few friends in Waes through the natural inclinations of a sociable nature, through ulterior motives, and through sheer boredom. His informant, the servant of Jayachin’s father and sometime drinking companion at a local tavern, had heard from a footman, who had heard from an undercook, who had heard from Lady Kiele’s maid (whom the undercook was courting) that she had ordered a horse saddled for an evening ride. A groom had accepted Riyan’s help in readying the horse, and it had been child’s play to cut a deep groove in the mare’s off hind shoe. The mark would show up very clearly on ground still moist after the previous night’s light rain, making it simple to follow Kiele.
Riyan had done just that after posting another servant outside his door with orders to answer all inquiries with the news that he was abed with a summer chill. Slipping out by one of the multitude of doors was easy. And now he huddled beside a bush, watching a small manor house tucked into a stand of trees.
The windows had been hung with black curtains, but jagged lines of light seeped through here and there, tempting him closer. He resisted, not knowing how many people might be within. He had no intention of being caught; he’d seen no guards thus far, but there was always a chance.
Over the spring and early summer he had followed Kiele whenever he could manage it. Most times she went to the homes of various notables in the city—including that of Jayachin’s father. The visits were undoubtedly connected with plans for the Rialla, but every so often Riyan strongly suspected that Kiele’s arrival was a complete surprise to her hosts. She went out every eight or ten days, and once he had traced her to a dockside house. Investigation the next afternoon had revealed only a very large sailor and a very ugly servant woman, neither of whom he could imagine being of use to the Lady of Waes. Riyan had not seen her go to the house again, and cursed himself for scaring her away. His own visit had doubtless been reported, and she had not dared go there again.
But tonight the marked horseshoe had led him from the city gates to this country manor. Riyan had lost her in a wood, not being overly familiar with the paths around Waes despite interesting excursions with Jayachin. (They usually had more to do than conduct a comprehensive walking tour—although Riyan had thus far enjoyed little romantic success.) But the nick in the horse’s shoe had served him well, and he had only to conjure a wisp of Fire as needed in order to know where she had gone.
Kiele’s journeys might be nothing more sinister than meetings with a lover—Riyan wouldn’t have blamed her, Lyell being the dullard he was—but Kiele had struck him as a cold woman whose passions would be reserved for power and hate. He’d heard the stories about her father and her sister Ianthe.
And there was an odd feeling slithering around the residence these days. Chiana, after being rebuffed more than once by Riyan, had at last left him alone and concentrated on Lyell. Kiele didn’t even seem to notice. She spent a great deal of time away from the residence, saying she worked on arrangements for the Rialla. But sometimes Riyan saw her sitting with plans spread out before her, staring into space with a secret, feral smile on her lips.
After waiting what he considered enough time to make certain no one would come marching around the side of the house with sword in hand to guard whoever was inside, Riyan moved closer. He was sufficiently familiar with the mare tethered outside so that the animal did not sidle nervously or whinny at this appearance; he patted her neck in thanks and crept up to the windows.
He could see a slice of the room through the chink in the curtains. Clean, neatly but not luxuriously furnished, blazing with light that made him blink, it was the home of comfortable but not
wealthy people. Kiele walked past and he started at her closeness to the window. She was wearing a light summer gown of green silk and he could almost hear it swishing with the angry swiftness of her steps. Riyan squinted, trying to bring into focus a figure standing just out of his range of vision.
A steely hand clamped own on his shoulder. “What in all hells are you doing here?” a voice hissed in his ear.
He nearly yelped with fright. Another hand grabbed his jaw shut to prevent just that. Riyan considered struggling, abandoned the idea as too noisy, and was just about to go for his boot knife when he realized the hand over his mouth wore rings. He relaxed completely and lifted his own hand.
“So,” the voice breathed, and let him go.
Riyan followed the man away from the house. Safe in the cover of the trees, he saw a little finger of Fire dance delicately atop a waist-high bush, and nearly yelped again.
“Kleve?” he whispered. “What are you doing here?”
The older man grinned tightly. “What I’ve done for most of my life, of course—following Lady Andrade’s orders.”
“So am I! She told me to watch Kiele—”
“But not, I think, to follow her all over Waes and beyond.” Kleve sank down in the dirt, shaking his head, and Riyan crouched beside him. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to hide from you as well as from her when she takes her little jaunts in the night!”
“You mean you—and I didn’t see you?”
“Of course not. Count your rings, Sunrunner. And then count mine.” Kleve gave him a genial slap on the shoulder. “You’ve grown since last I saw you at Skybowl.”
Kleve was one of a few itinerant faradh’im who traveled the princedoms at Andrade’s behest, observing and reporting things that Sunrunners attached to specific courts did not usually hear about. He had been instrumental in certain maneuverings during the war the year Prince Pol was born, and during Riyan’s childhood at Skybowl had sometimes arrived for a few days of relaxation, companionship, and good food. Ostvel set great store by Kleve, and a running joke between them was the athri’s attempt to persuade Kleve to become his court Sunrunner. Kleve hated walls of any kind, be they around a city or a small keep; he was happiest traversing the rugged lands around Cunaxa, Princemarch, and the northern Desert.
“Why so far from home?” Riyan asked now.
“I could ask you the same. Has Clutha given up and thrown you out of Swalekeep in despair at your ever becoming a knight?”
“He doesn’t trust Kiele or Lyell, either,” Riyan answered, grinning. “And I’m to be knighted at the Rialla. Father will be here, I hope—say you’ll stay long enough to see him.”
“Wouldn’t miss it. Do you know what Kiele’s up to?”
“I know about the house by the docks,” he began.
Kleve snorted. “You mean the one you scared her away from? I could have throttled you for that!” He doused the finger-flame with a gesture and peered out at the house. “Get back to the residence now, Riyan. I can take it from here.”
“Lady Andrade told me to watch,” the youth said stubbornly.
Kleve gripped Riyan’s shoulder. “Andrade would half-kill me and your father would finish the job if I let anything happen to you. So far you’ve been safe enough—you haven’t seen anything or learned anything important. But if what I suspect is true, then it’s more dangerous than you know to be here tonight.”
“What have you found out?”
“A few things,” he evaded. “I hope to know for sure tonight. You did me quite a service, by the way—by following you, I found Kiele. She’s given me the slip the last few times out.” He got to his feet. “I’m going for a look and a listen. You can help me best by returning to town. There’s a goldcrafter named Ulricca who lives on New High Street. Meet me at her place tomorrow morning. Now, move.”
Riyan looked rebellious. “Kleve—”
“Sunrunner you may be, and nearly a knight—but this isn’t work for you. Do I have to number my rings and quote the authority they give me?”
“No, but—”
“So do as you’re told. You’d better get started. It’s a long walk.” Kleve softened the command with an affectionate nudge. “I’ll tell you the whole thing tomorrow.”
“You’d better,” Riyan muttered.
Andry could not sleep. He almost went to Hollis’ room to ask her to work the spell she’d been learning from Urival, but basic decency demanded he let her rest. With or without Sejast’s witch’s brew, she had been exhausted recently. He shook his head as he pulled on his clothes, glad he’d grown up in sophisticated places where witches and the like were tales to entertain children.
And yet—he was brought up short on the stairs as a thought hit him. Some of the things in the Star Scroll could definitely be considered witchcraft. Its very title was evocative: On Sorceries. What if Sejast really had run into one of the old folk? He was more inclined to think the boy had encountered a sage who knew odd herbal remedies, rather than a sorceress of the old ways. But someone had been watching the night Meath had delivered the scrolls—watching not on sun or moons, but the faint thin glow of stars. Andry continued down the stairs, shivering slightly, and resolved to find out more from Sejast about his witch.
He made his way to the library wing through the silent halls of the keep. He was nearly at the locked door of the chamber where the scrolls were kept when he realized Hollis had the key. So much for spending the night in soothing research, Andry thought ruefully, and wondered what else might ease his restlessness. A brisk walk around the gardens? Perhaps he could visit the stables to check on his horse. Maycenel had been sadly neglected while he worked on the scrolls, and he felt guilty about it. His father had given him the young stallion when he had become Prince Davvi’s squire—a mount fit for the knight Andry would never become. Sorin had been gifted with Maycenel’s twin brother on his departure for Prince Volog’s court that same year—a nice piece of work, twins for twins. But Sorin had put his Joscenel to the use their father had intended, and would be knighted this year. Andry wondered suddenly if Chay was terribly disappointed that he had not done the same. And, if he was, whether he would ever show it.
The courtyard was empty but for cats on the hunt. Andry crossed the flagstones to the stables, expecting to hear only the drowsy sounds of horses in their stalls. The clink of a bridle startled him. He followed the sound to the far end of the building, stepping noiselessly on fresh straw.
“Hollis!” he blurted, unable to prevent the exclamation when he saw her long tawny hair. “What are you doing here?”
She whirled and dropped the bridle in her hands. A saddle was propped in the straw near a fleet little mare that had been his father’s gift to Andrade a few years ago; old as she was, the Lady of Goddess Keep could still appreciate a fast ride on a good horse. Hollis stared for a moment, then bent to retrieve the bridle. The metal clanked with the shaking of her fingers.
“I just—I thought I’d go riding—”
“At this time of night? Have you slept at all?”
She shrugged, back to him as she fitted the leather straps over the mare’s head. Andry leaned his elbows on the half-door of the stall and frowned. Hollis loved horses and riding—she would hardly have been a suitable wife for the next Lord of Radzyn Keep if she had not—but this was more than a little strange.
“Want some company?” he finally asked, a deliberately casual offer.
She shook her head violently, untidy golden braids whipping around her shoulders. Her fingers were wound in the mare’s black mane, and her body began to shake. Andry’s jaw dropped when he heard a tiny sob claw up from her throat. He hauled open the door and went to her, patting her back awkwardly, wishing Maarken were here to comfort her. He must be the reason she wept, Andry told himself.
When she stopped crying, she faced him and attempted a smile. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually so silly.”
“You don’t have to worry about the Rialla, you know,” he said,
trying to explore his surmise about Maarken. “My parents will love you, just as Maarken does.”
She blinked, and he realized that his brother was the farthest thing from her mind. She didn’t even bother to cover the reaction, and that startled him even more.
“You’re tired,” he went on, floundering for excuses to explain her behavior. “You haven’t gotten any sleep. Go back upstairs, Hollis.”
She nodded feebly. Andry took the bridle from the mare’s head, hung it on a nail, and heaved the saddle back up onto its stand. When he turned, Hollis was gone.
He caught up with her in the courtyard and touched her arm. She gave a little cry and started away from him.
“Oh! Don’t sneak up on people! What are you doing out this time of night?”
It was as if the moments in the stables had never occurred. He could find nothing in her face or her eyes to indicate she was not seeing him for the first time that night. “I couldn’t sleep. I went to the library to work on the scrolls, but you’ve got the key.”
“It’s up in my room.” She cast a glance back over her shoulder at the stables, almost desperately.
“I know,” he said, more mystified than ever at her strangeness. “I’ll just go back to bed and pretend I can sleep.”
“Maybe a book would help,” she suggested, sounding more like herself. “I know several guaranteed to have you snoring in two pages.” She laughed, but there was a wildness to the sound that canceled any relief he might have felt at the return of her sense of humor. She was fey and skittish as an untamed filly—not at all the sensible, practical Hollis he knew.