Valdemar Books

by Lackey, Mercedes

  But she was unnerved. These two were Elspeth’s closest friends among her year-mates, and they only confirmed what Talia had begun to fear. There were gaps of an hour or so in Elspeth’s day during which she was vanishing, and no one seemed to have any idea of where she was.

  It was time she checked her other sources—the Palace servants.

  Talia perched herself on a settle, next to the cold fireplace in the Servant’s Hall. She had come to her friends—for many of the servants were her friends, and had been since she was a student—rather than raise anyone’s attention by having them come to her. Seated about her were a half-dozen servitors she had found to be the most observant and most trustworthy. Two of them, a chambermaid called Elise and a groom named Ralf, had pinpointed the guilty parties when a group of the “Blues” (or unaffiliated students) had tried to murder her as a student by attacking her and throwing her into the ice-covered river. Elise had seen several of Talia’s attackers coming in mucky, and thought it more than odd; Ralf had spotted the entire group hanging about the stable earlier. Both had reported their observations to Elcarth when word spread of the attempt on Talia’s life.

  “All right,” Talia began, “I have a problem. Elspeth is going off somewhere about midafternoon every day, and I can’t find out where or why. I was hoping one of you would know.”

  From the looks exchanged within the group, she knew she’d found her answer.

  “She’s—this goes no farther, young Talia—” this from Jan, one of the oldest there. He was a gardener, and to him, she would always be “young” Talia. Talia nodded and he continued. “She’s hangin1 about with young m’lord Joserlin Corby’s crew. Them as is no better’n rowdies.”

  “Rowdies!” Elise snorted. “If ‘tweren’t for their highborn da’s, they’d been sent home long ago for the way they paw over every girl they can catch unawares.”

  “Girl” here meant “female servant”; if Elise had intended to say that the young men had been mishandling other females, she’d have said “m’ladies.” Not that this difference was very comforting; it meant that they were only confining unwanted attentions to the women who dared not protest overmuch.

  “It’s said,” added another chambermaid, “that at home they gets t’ more’n pawings.”

  “Such as?” Talia replied. “You know I won’t take it elsewhere.”

  “Well—mind, m’lady, this is just tales, but it’s tales I hear from their people—this lot is plain vicious.”

  Besides forcing their attentions on the servants of their estates, it seemed that “Corby’s Crew” was given to so-called pranks that were very unfunny. A cut saddle-girth before a rough hunt was no joking matter, not when it nearly caused a death. And some of these same adolescents were the younger brothers and sisters of those who had tried to murder Talia.

  But thus far—that anyone knew—Elspeth had not been a participant in any of their activities. It seemed that at the moment she was simply being paid elaborate court to—something new to her that she evidently found very enjoyable. But it could well be only a matter of time before they lured her into some indiscretion—then used that indiscretion to blackmail her into deeper participation.

  Elspeth’s good sense had probably protected her so far, but Talia was worried that it might not be enough protection for very much longer.

  This required active measures.

  She tried to set a watch on the girl, but Elspeth was very clever and kept eluding her. She tried once or twice to read her with a surface probe, but Elspeth’s shields were better than Talia’s ability to penetrate without forcing her.

  Something was going to have to be done, or among the three of them, Elspeth, Dirk, and Kris were going to drive her mad in white linen.

  So she decided to try to do something about Dirk first, as being the easiest to get at—and since he wasn’t talking to Kris, the way to him was through her blood-brother Skif.

  “I’m as baffled as you are, little sister,” Skif confessed, running a nervous hand through his dark curls, “I haven’t got the vaguest notion why Dirk’s making such an ass of himself.”

  “Lord and Lady,” Talia moaned, rubbing her temple and collapsing onto an old chair in Skif’s room, “I’d hoped he’d have said something to you—you were my last hope! If this doesn’t clear up soon, I think I’m going to go rather noisily mad!”

  When she had finally given up on trying to manage the problem of Dirk by herself, and had sought out Skif’s aid, he’d invited her up to his quarters. He’d been to hers a time or two, but this was the first time she’d seen his. Skif s room was much like Skif himself; neat, decked with odd weapons and thick with books. Lately Talia hadn’t had much time to devote to picking her own rooms up, and she found his quarters a haven from chaos. He had only one window, but it looked out over Companion’s Field—always a tranquilizing view.

  “First things first—this bond you’ve got. Kris was right. It’s a lifebond—and he’s got it, too. I have no doubt whatsoever of that. I can tell by the way he looks at you.”

  “He looks at me? When? I never see him anymore! Since the fight he spends all of his tune out in the mud.”

  “Except at meals—any meal you take at the Collegium—he spends so much time watching you that he hardly eats. And I think he knows your schedule by heart. Any time you might be passing under a window, he’s got an excuse to be near that window.” Skif paced the length of the room restlessly as he spoke, his arms folded. “He’s wearing himself to a thread. That’s why I wanted to talk to you alone here.”

  “I don’t know how I’m supposed to be able to help when the man won’t let me near him.”

  “Oh, great!”

  “He acts like I was a plague-carrier. I’ve tried to get him alone; he won’t let me. And that was before all this mess with the argument with Kris. Now it’s twice as bad.”

  “Havens, what a mess.” Skif shook his head ruefully. “He hasn’t said anything to me. I can’t imagine why he’s acting this way. I’ve had it though, and I know you’re at your wits’ end. It’s about time we brought this out into the sunlight. Since he won’t talk to you, I’m going to make damned sure he talks to me. I’m going to have it out with him as soon as I can corner him, and I’ll do it if I have to trap him in the bathing-room and steal his clothes! I’m going to get things settled between him and Kris and him and you if I have to tie you all together in a bundle to do it!”

  Neither of them had reckoned on the whims of Fate. Dirk had been fighting what he thought was a slight cold—one of the many varieties that were currently decimating Court and Collegium alike—for about a week. Perversely he refused to care for it; continuing to escape Talia and Kris by retreating into the dismal weather out-of-doors. In a bizarre way, he didn’t really mind feeling miserable; concentrating on his symptoms kept him from thinking about Her and Him. Physical misery provided a relief from emotional misery.

  So he ducked in and out of the cold and rain, day after day, getting soaked to the skin more often than not, but not doing much about it except to change his clothing. Added to that, the emotional strain was taking a greater toll on him than anyone—including himself—realized.

  It was midweek, and Talia was taking dinner with the Collegium instead of the Court. She was watching Dirk out of the corner of her eye the entire time, and hoping that Skif was going to be able to fulfill his promise. She was worried—very worried. Dirk was white to the ears; he kept rubbing his head as if it ached. She could see him shiver, although the common-room was warm. He seemed to be unable to keep his mind on what anyone was saying, and he couldn’t speak more than two words in a row without going into a fit of coughing.

  She could also see that Kris was watching him, and looking just as concerned.

  He pushed his food around without eating much. Kris finally seemed to come to some conclusion, visibly steeled himself, and walked over to sit down next to him.

  Kris said something to him, which he answered with a shake of his
head. Then he stood up—and Kris had to catch him as he started to crumple.

  Kris had decided he’d had enough. He couldn’t stand watching his dearest friend fret himself to pieces—and he’d come to some unhappy conclusions over the past couple of weeks. He’d gone over to sit next to Dirk before the Herald was aware that he was even in the common room, and spoke his piece before Dirk had a chance to escape.

  “I was wrong; I was wrong to put so much trust in my uncle, wrong to have doubted you, and wrong to have said anything about your private life. I apologize. Are you going to forgive me, or will I have to throw myself from the battlements in despair?”

  Dirk had started a little when Kris first began speaking in his ear, but hadn’t moved away. He’d listened with a mixture of relief and bemusement, then shook his head with a weak smile at Kris’ last sally. Then he stood up—

  And the room faded from before his eyes, as he felt his legs give under him.

  Half a dozen instructors and field Heralds made a rush for him as Kris caught him. They lowered him back down into his seat, as he protested weakly that he was all right.

  “I—” he coughed, rackingly. “I just was dizzy a minute—” he bent over in a fit of coughs, unable to continue, hardly able to catch his breath.

  “Like Hell!” replied Teren, one hand on his forehead, “You’re on fire, man. You’re for the Healers, and I don’t want to hear any nonsense out of you about it.”

  Before he could regain enough breath to object, Teren draped one of his arms over his own shoulders, while a very worried Kris did the same on Dirk’s other side. The rest surrounded the three of them, allowing no opportunity to escape, and escorted them out the door.

  By the time they’d reached their goal, his breath was rattling in his chest and there was little doubt of what ailed him. The Healers isolated him and ran everyone else off, and there was very little that anyone could do about it.

  Talia had turned ashen when he’d collapsed, and had left her dinner uneaten, waiting for Kris’ return.

  Kris finally reappeared, to be engulfed by everyone who’d been present, demanding to know what the Healers had said.

  “They tell me he has pneumonia, and it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better,” he replied, his voice carrying easily across from the doorway to the bench where Talia sat. “And they won’t let anyone see him for at least a day or two.”

  Talia made a little noise like a strangled sob, stood quickly, and pushed blindly away from the table. The knot of people surrounding Kris had blocked the door nearest her; she stumbled against benches twice as she fled to the door opposite and to her room. She ran all the way down the corridors of the Collegium and through the double doors leading to the Herald’s Wing. She hurled herself up the darkened spiral staircase of the tower that held her room, pushed the door open and flung herself down on the couch in the outer room of her suite, sobbing with a lost despair she hadn’t felt since that awful moment in the Waystation ....

  She hadn’t closed the door behind her in her flight, and wasn’t in much shape to pay attention to sounds around her. She only realized that she was not alone when she heard someone settle beside her, and somehow knew it was Keren and Sherrill.

  She tried to get herself back under control, but Keren’s first words, spoken in a tone of such deep and unmistakable love that Talia hardly believed her ears, completely undid her.

  “Little centaur, dearheart, what cause tha’ greeting?”

  Keren had slipped into the dialect of her home, something she only did on the rarest of occasions, and then mostly with her twin or her lifemate—moments of profound intimacy.

  That broke down the last of her reserve, and she turned with gratitude into Keren’s arms and wept bitterly on her ready shoulder.

  “Everything’s gone wrong!” she sobbed, “Elspeth isn’t talking to me anymore, and I know there’s something going on—something she doesn’t want either Selenay or me to know about—but I can’t find out what. And Dirk—and Kris—we fought, and now they won’t talk to me either and—and—now Dirk’s sick, and I can’t bear it! Oh, gods, I’m a total failure!”

  Keren, wisely, said nothing, and let the hysterical words and tears wear themselves out. Sherrill meanwhile went quietly about the room, closing the door and fighting candles against the growing darkness. That done, she seated herself at Keren’s feet to wait.

  “For tha’ problem of Elspeth I can think of no solution,” Keren said thoughtfully when Talia was in a better state to listen. “But if there was anything truly wrong, her Gwena would surely seek out Rolan—and thee would know.”

  “I hadn’t even thought of that.” Talia looked up into Keren’s eyes from where she rested on her shoulder, crestfallen at her own stupidity.

  “Why should thee? She’s never given thee anxiety before.” Keren almost-smiled.

  “I’m not thinking very clearly. No, that’s not true. I’m not thinking at ail. It’s wrong of me, but—Keren, I don’t know how much longer I can bear this trouble with Dirk without flying to pieces. Keren, I want to be with him so much sometimes I think it would be easier to die!”

  Keren sighed. “Lifebond, then, is it? And with Dirk—gods, what a tangle! Well, that explains his madness, for certain. Lady only knows what cracked notion the lad has in his head, and ‘tis sure the thing’s got him all turned round about.”

  “We know how it can be—an agony.” Sherrill rose from her place, sat next to Talia, and slipped her arm around Talia’s waist, joining Keren in supporting her. “It’s hellish, being pulled inside out by something that can’t be denied and won’t be turned to anything else. Is anyone trying to help you get this straightened out?”

  At Talia’s nod, Keren pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I can’t think of anything at all to help thee, little centaur. First it’s a matter of getting Dirk and Kris speaking, then getting Dirk’s mind made up about thee. Hopefully the first is done already. But the second—my best guess is that he’s gotten confused somewhere, and has been chasing his own tail. Time, dearling. That’s all it will take. Time.”

  “If I can just hold out a little longer—” Talia relaxed herself with an effort while Keren and Sherrill held her in a circle of love and comfort for long moments.

  “You know we understand, dearling,” Sherrill said at last for both of them. “Who better? Now, let’s change the subject. We’re determined to make you smile again.”

  With that she and Keren took turns telling her the most hilarious stories that they could think of—mostly of some of the goings-on at the Collegium during her absence. No few of them were libelous; all of them were at least undignified. Talia wished profoundly that she had been present to witness the grave and aloof Kyril picking himself out of the fish pond with a strand of waterweed behind his ear. Between the two of them, they soon had her laughing again, and had drained at least some of the tension from her.

  Finally, Keren nodded to her lifemate and gave Talia a comforting hug. “I think you’re cheered enough to survive the night, dear one,” the older woman said. “Yes?”

  “I think so,” Talia replied.

  “Then let tomorrow take care of tomorrow, and have a good long sleep,” Keren advised, and she and Sherrill departed as quietly as they had come.

  Talia wandered back into her bedroom to shed her uniform. She dressed for bed, then changed her mind and wrapped a robe about herself and settled down on her couch with a book. She must have dozed off without meaning to, because the next thing she knew, Kris was standing beside her and touching her arm lightly to wake her, and the candles were burned down to stubs in their holders.

  He was hardly what she expected to see. “Kris!” she exclaimed joyfully, then fear took the place of joy. “Is Dirk—worse?” she asked, feeling the color drain from her face.

  “No, little bird, he’s no worse. I’ve just come from there. He’s asleep, and the Healers say he’ll be all right in a week or two. And we’re friends again. I thought you’d w
ant to know—and I wanted to make up with you, too.”

  “Oh, Kris—I—I’ve never been so miserable in my life,” she confessed. “I was so angry with you, that I swore I wasn’t going to speak to you until you came to me and apologized, but my pride isn’t worth wrecking our friendship over.”

  His expression softened a little, and she realized he’d been tensed against her answer. “I’ve never been so miserable either, little bird. And I’ve never felt like quite so much of an idiot.”

  “You aren’t an idiot. Your uncle is—”

  “My uncle is—not what I thought,” he interrupted. “I have to apologize to you, like I apologized to Dirk. I was wrong about my uncle. I’m not certain what his problem is, but he is trying to undermine you. And he’s trying to wean me away from you. I’ve extracted information from the unwary often enough that I ought to have recognized it when he was doing it to me—but I didn’t until just recently. He became a little too eager, and failed to cover his trail.” Kris’ expression was troubled. “I hope that what he did to Dirk was unintentional, but I’m afraid I can’t be certain anymore. I wish I knew what his game is. At the moment if I were to hazard a guess, it would be this: he wants the position he had as Selenay’s closest advisor, and he wants me slightly disaffected from the Heralds so that my family loyalty is just a trifle stronger than my loyalty to the Circle. You were right; I was wrong.”

  “I—I’m almost sorry to hear you say that.” A little breeze from the open window behind her made the candles flicker and stirred locks of his hair as she assessed his rueful expression. “What happened to change your mind?”

  “Mostly that he tried too hard after the squabble; as I said, he tried to pump me for information about you, and made one too many slighting remarks about Dirk. You were right, that he has a grudge against you, though why, I have no idea. And I think he used that incident with the scrolls as a chance to get at you through Dirk ... and as a chance to come between me and Dirk. I can only hope he didn’t manufacture it, too.”

  She almost said angrily that the dropped scroll was no accident, that Orthallen had manufactured the incident, but decided to hold her tongue. He was in a receptive mood, but the quickest way to close his mind would be to make further accusations. “I have to admit I’m of two minds about this. I’m glad you’re coming around to my way of thinking, but I’m sorry to have changed your faith in your uncle.”