Onyx & Ivory

by Mindee Arnett

  Kate shook her head. At the moment all she felt was tired and uncertain, utterly spent from the last few days.

  “I have an idea.” Bonner set down the gun he’d been cleaning and approached them.

  Kate looked up in time to see him make a grab for her, one arm pinning her while he started tickling her sides with his free hand. With a shriek, she struggled to get herself free, but she couldn’t keep herself from laughing.

  “Stop!” she tried to shout, unable to draw a full breath.

  Bonner only tickled her harder, relentless.

  “Stop!” she said again, starting to panic at the ache in her stomach. It soon sparked into anger. “Stop, I said!” This time, she put the force of her magic behind it, and Bonner stumbled backward, releasing her at once.

  “That was . . . unsettling.” Bonner touched his forehead. “It was like I felt you inside here.”

  Kate glared at him. “Now is hardly the time for tickling, Tom Bonner.”

  Raith waved at her. “Never mind that. Channel the emotion, Kate. Try to glean my thoughts.”

  Still angry, Kate closed her eyes and reached out again. Moments later she sensed two separate thoughts—the first an image of a gleaming red apple. The second was: Gods, I’m going to pay for that later.

  Kate opened her eyes, gaping. “It worked, I think.” She pointed at Raith. “You’re thinking about a red apple. And you”—she swung her finger at Bonner, wielding it like a dagger—“are worried about what I’m going to do to pay you back for that.”

  Bonner let out a nervous laugh. “That’s . . . a little frightening, knowing you heard what I’m thinking.”

  Kate’s stomach did a flip. It was frightening. And wrong. She cut her eyes to Raith, who was nodding his approval. “If I learn to do this, will it happen all the time? Will I start hearing everyone’s thoughts, whether I want to or not?”

  “I don’t believe so. Your father never spoke of such at least.” Raith cocked his head, expression curious. “Do you sense the thoughts of animals all the time without meaning to?”

  Kate considered the question before answering. “No, not unless their emotions are strong, like the horses that night in Jade Forest during the fire.”

  “There you have it, then.” Raith clapped his hands once. “There’s no reason why humans would be any different, I wouldn’t think. If you don’t want to listen in, then you don’t have to.”

  Kate nodded, swearing silently that she would never listen in on someone’s thoughts unless absolutely necessary. “So what’s the point here? When we head to Thornewall, I’m supposed to listen for whoever is in hiding or something? So we can catch them?”

  “You should do more if you can,” Raith replied. “Their thoughts might reveal all manner of important information, and once they’re caught, we can’t be certain they won’t kill themselves like Ralph Marcel at the Gregors’ house.”

  Kate shook her head, unable to imagine what could make a person desperate enough to willingly walk into death.

  We must uncover the reason, she realized, remembering Dal’s heartbroken expression at his brother’s death. Whoever is doing this must be stopped. It was up to her. She took a deep breath, wishing the gods had laid a different task at her feet. Why couldn’t she have to win a horse race, or some mounted trial? Anything other than stealing into someone’s mind.

  Because the gods want to be entertained, Kate thought, reminded of this truth by the mark of the Shade Born on Raith’s face. They don’t want anything to be easy.

  Sighing, she said, “Let’s try again.” She shook her finger at Bonner. “But no more tickling. I’ve got to learn to do it when I’m calm.”

  Bonner grinned. “Never again, I swear.”

  Hours passed before Kate managed it again. After a while she began to think of it like singing. That was the best analogy she could come up with. The thoughts of animals were on a different part of the scale. They were lower, in easier reach. Human thoughts resided on a much higher scale, one you had to stretch for. All she needed to do was attune her magic to the different plane. Easier said than done, after a lifetime of training her magic only to reach one level. But she kept at it until she was able to do it several times in a row.

  She began to understand that attuning herself to the different scale was the hardest part of the challenge. The rest of it, the actual listening in part, was much the same, though the human mind was larger, more complex, like a massive vault full of thoughts and memories. Without meaning too, Kate caught glimpses of Raith’s past, of the life he’d endured as a child—fear and hate directed at him for no other reason than the different way his skin had been marked. But at his center, he possessed the same glowing flame, his essence as bright and beautiful as any she’d sensed before.

  In the end she found that using her magic on humans was actually easier, especially when it came to communicating back. After all, with humans, she spoke the same language. But the ease was also the biggest danger, Kate realized when she accidentally sent a thought directly into Raith’s mind.

  He winced and rubbed his forehead. “You’ll want to be careful about doing that, Kate. You’ll give yourself away at once. Those diamonds will only prevent the detection stones from going off. They won’t do anything to hide proof of magic happening. Also, there’s no need to shout.”

  “Sorry,” Kate said, sagging back on the chair. She felt drained to the point of passing out, the well of her magic like an empty hole inside her. Never before had she used it so much at one time. “I didn’t mean to do it. I’ll be more careful.”

  “Good.” Raith stood and glanced out the window, where the last rays of the sunset were casting faint orange streamers over the horizon. “I’m afraid that’s all we have time for. We’ll practice again on the road and when we stop to camp. If we’re lucky, the time it takes us to get to Thornewall will be enough for you to master the skill.”

  Kate nodded, ignoring the doubt that remained. Mastery or not, she would do the best she could and could only hope it would be enough.

  26

  Kate

  THE CARAVAN WAS READY TO leave at dawn the next day. When Kate spotted Corwin in the courtyard, he looked exhausted. Dark smudges circled his eyes, and he moved with a jerky sort of weariness as he mounted Nightbringer. Kate supposed the effort of organizing a group this large so quickly must’ve kept him up half the night. There were twelve blue robes, all handpicked by Raith, and ten Norgard cavalrymen on warhorses, with two more driving the supply wagons.

  Everyone bore arms—swords and daggers, as well as ranged weapons, either bow or revolver. There were ten working revolvers in all, carried by Corwin, Signe, Kate, Dal, and six of the cavalrymen. Stuffed in everyone’s pockets and saddlebags were a vast amount of flash stones and the shield stones Raith had promised. Kate felt as if she were riding off to war rather than a rescue mission.

  They traveled at a quick, steady pace that first day, the wagons rolling along easily on the smooth, even road. By the second day, they reached rougher ground, the road getting rockier by the mile and the hills more frequent. Although Corwin hoped they would make it there in three days, it soon became clear that four was the best they could manage—unless they wanted to enter the cliffs surrounding Thornewall at dusk and risk the threat of nightdrakes.

  Kate passed the time in the saddle practicing her sway. It was difficult at first, her instincts protesting the danger of wielding her magic so openly—and in front of a dozen magists as well, each of them carrying the required detection stone in their maces and only half of them sympathetic to the Rising. But after a while she grew to enjoy the freedom of it. While they were still in open country, she practiced stretching out as far as she could, listening for the minds of humans. Twice she was able to sense the approach of other travelers ahead before they came into view. Best of all though, Dal had brought Lir with him, and she occasionally joined with the falcon’s mind while it flew above the caravan, giving herself the ability to see far and wi
de and to savor the sensation of flying itself. She could get used to such freedom.

  When they made camp each evening, she would join Raith in his tent, and the two of them would discuss in low voices her accomplishments that day. Then they would spend the last hour before nightfall practicing as they had at Norgard, with Kate trying to uncover thoughts while Raith now actively tried to hide from her.

  When they stopped for the third day, Corwin called them all together to discuss plans for the morrow. They gathered in the center of camp, where he and Dal had drawn a crude map on the ground using rocks and sticks.

  “In the morning,” Corwin said, “we will send out the scouts as planned. Some will go ahead and others will follow behind. However, Lord Dallin believes that if there is to be an ambush, it will happen as we reach this point here.” Corwin indicated a place on the map where the trail became its narrowest. Stacks of large rocks had been laid side by side to indicate the bottleneck.

  “It’s called the Serpent’s Pass,” Dal said, sweeping his gaze over the group. “Both because of the way it twists and because of how deadly it can be. In the spring, summer, and fall, there’s always the chance of rockslides. In the winter, avalanche. The horses won’t be able to go much faster than a walk. The ground is too rocky.”

  “If there hasn’t been any sign of daydrakes or their handlers by the time we reach this point,” Corwin said, “we will purposefully delay. We don’t want to meet them in the Serpent’s Pass. We’ll stage one of the wagons to appear broken down. Whoever is watching will see us as easy prey, but we won’t be.”

  There were murmurs among the men as they digested this news. Corwin allowed them a few moments, then raised his hands for silence. “Now, we need to decide on the scouts.” He began listing the names. Kate waited for hers to be called, but it wasn’t, and upon reaching the end of the roster, Corwin said, “The rest of us will stay with the wagons to defend the supplies and to take down any drakes that come into range.”

  Signe leaned toward Kate and said with a hiss, “Does he think we’re mere decorations? I don’t want to guard the wagon.”

  “Neither do I,” Kate said. What was worse, it would make it harder for her to detect the drakes’ handlers. She needed isolation to hear clearly with her magic.

  When the meeting ended, Raith approached Kate. “We need to change Corwin’s mind,” he whispered.

  “Yes, but how, without telling him the truth?”

  Raith glanced around the camp as if searching for the answer. “I have an idea. Come with me.”

  Kate followed Raith to where Corwin and Dal were spreading out their bedrolls. Despite the crisp air, they’d decided there would be no fires this evening, so as not to tip off any potential enemies.

  “Your highness.” Master Raith bowed his head in greeting. “We need to discuss the scouts.”

  Corwin looked up, his expression at first surprised, then annoyed, as his eyes fell on Kate before shifting back to the magist. “In what way, Master Raith?”

  “I believe Miss Kate would make the best scout. Her skills will be wasted guarding the wagons.”

  “So will mine,” said Signe, who, predictably, had come with them.

  Dal fixed a stare at Signe. Although he’d pretended to be his usual, lighthearted self these last few days, everyone who knew him could feel the change in him. It was as if he’d been weighed down by an invisible cloak, his jokes slower to come than before, his smiles less liable to linger. Kate hadn’t heard him laugh at all.

  “I would prefer,” Dal said, his gaze sliding off Signe’s face to land somewhere near his feet, “that you stay near me.”

  Signe openly gaped in response, and Kate cringed at her lack of finesse. Then, to her surprise, Signe closed her mouth and nodded. “If that is what you want.”

  Dal looked up, his expression intense. “It is.”

  “Good, now that’s settled,” Raith said with a touch of impatience. “But what about Kate? She is the best rider here and should be the first scout. To be honest, she might be the only scout we need. One rider is less liable to be spotted and raise an alarm. Also, with the path so treacherous, no one else has a better chance of getting back to us unscathed if there’s an ambush ahead.”

  Corwin stared at the magist, his lips pressed tight together and every muscle in his body rigid.

  “He makes a fair point,” Dal said, nodding at Corwin. “Not to mention one scout will mean more here at the ready to join in the fight.”

  Kate braced for an angry refusal as Corwin cut his gaze to her. His blue eyes were like ice, coaxing a shiver down her spine.

  “Is that what you want, Kate? To ride ahead?” A muscle ticked in Corwin’s jaw as he awaited her response.

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The air between them felt charged as if from an approaching storm. The tension caused a flood of memories to rush into her mind of the last time they’d faced each other like this. An ache of desire pulsed through her. She couldn’t help it. When it came to Corwin, her body was its own creature. She looked away first.

  “So be it,” she heard Corwin say. “I will discuss it with the others.”

  Kate watched him go for a moment, then forcibly pulled her gaze away.

  Raith stepped up to her and said, “Go get something to eat and turn in early. There’s not enough daylight left to train, and you need to be rested for the morning.”

  With a grateful sigh, she told him thanks, then headed off to find a place to lay down her bedroll. They had stopped for the night less than a furlong from the cliffs, and there were several large boulders scattered throughout the camp. Kate selected a place near one of the biggest, hoping it would shield her from the noise of the soldiers, who she suspected would be up late, too restless for sleep with what waited for them tomorrow.

  She untied the bedding and flung it out before her. Bending to straighten it, she froze as a voice said, “Is there something between you and Master Raith?”

  Looking up, she saw Corwin leaning against the boulder, his face half hidden in shadow. She slowly rose, letting the full meaning of his question settle in her mind.

  “Something between us?” She put her hands on her hips, uncertain if she felt like laughing or hitting him. A little of both, most like.

  He nodded, his gaze locked on her face. “I know it’s none of my business, but . . . I can’t keep my head straight around you, and perhaps knowing that you have moved on might . . .” He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.

  Might let me move on, too. For a brief moment she considered giving him a lie to put him out of his misery. But she was tired of lies. They seemed to be growing all around these days like invasive vines, strangling her at every turn. Instead she longed to tell him about herself and about Kiran and what she hoped to accomplish tomorrow. She longed to do what Raith asked of her—to convince him to help bring an end to the Inquisition. The diamond magestone felt like a manacle around her neck.

  Carefully, she shook her head. “No, there is nothing like that between Raith and me.” She searched for an explanation, realizing too late that she should’ve anticipated this. Corwin was bound to wonder about what she and Raith were doing all that time they spent together. “We’ve been discussing the drakes and the best way to handle them. That’s all.”

  Doubt clouded Corwin’s expression, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  Before she knew what she was doing, Kate said, “There’s never been anyone but you, Corwin.” Her bottled-up emotions threatened to burst inside her, and she held them back with a hard swallow.

  His eyebrows rose on his forehead. “Never?”

  “Not one, not on purpose anyway.”

  He seemed to mull this over. “You mean that kiss with Edwin.” Jealousy rang clear in his voice, despite his obvious effort to hide it.

  She took pity on him, remembering that she never had offered an explanation. “I thought he was you. I even said your name. I wouldn’t have kissed him otherwise
. But you do look alike, and it was dark. I never would’ve hurt you willingly. Edwin tricked me. He tricked us both.”

  Corwin gritted his teeth, a muscle flicking in his jaw. “He’s always hated me, hasn’t he?”

  Kate started to agree, then stopped. “I think it’s more complicated than that. He loves you, too, but you were never allowed to be mere brothers. The uror made you rivals from the beginning, and your father’s favoritism didn’t help.”

  It was strange how the years had given her such clarity, and she felt an unexpected wave of pity for the older Tormane brother, almost enough to make her understand the man he’d become now. She recalled the subtle way Edwin demeaned Corwin at every turn—snide, biting comments about his character, his looks, everything. They’d often been said in jest, but jealousy fueled them. Then after Queen Imogen died, he’d had even more fuel to feed his resentment.

  Corwin slowly nodded. “It makes you wonder if there isn’t a better way than the uror.” For a second his gaze turned far away, the look of a man wandering lost in his own thoughts. Then he shook his head and came back to her. “I’m sorry, Kate. I know you would never have hurt me on purpose. I’ve always known. I just let the events of that night cloud my feelings. I suppose I’m always doing that. Even now, it’s easier to think Edwin simply hates me without cause than to admit the cruel circumstances between us. But I suppose I should look for the good in him as well.”

  Kate bit her lip, fighting the urge to step closer to Corwin, to comfort him with a touch. Or maybe it was herself she sought comfort for.

  His gaze dropped to the rocky ground between them. “I need to stop judging by appearance alone, with just my gut feeling on the matter. Like the way I misjudged you. The assumptions I made about . . .” He trailed off, his eyes flicking to her waist for a moment. The moonbelt wasn’t visible, but they both knew she still wore it. He raised his gaze to hers. “I’m sorry for making that callous offer. I never meant to hurt you. I hope you know that.”