On hot nights they’d string hammocks and sleep here, cooled by the night breeze come down from the mountains, sloughing through the pines. Though to be honest there was often more story telling and giggling than sleep.
A deplorable room in winter, true, having but an undersized fireplace in a far corner, but the Westietas had come up here for their Midwinter Beholding as long as Emon could remember. It rarely snowed this low in the valley, but there’d be drifts to play in up the slopes and somehow, before, the cold hadn’t mattered. Except as a sign they did something special, together.
Last night’s breeze had icy fingers and a wicked howl. Emon trusted their guests dressed accordingly.
Dry wood scavenged over the summer stood stacked in two huge piles past the terrace. Before anyone was thoroughly chilled, the bonfires would be lit, casting their glow and warmth over the stones. Chairs outside had woven throws for bundling and there’d be warm drinks, but neither he nor Lila expected the casual among their guests to linger.
Over forty of Vorkoun’s remaining lords and ladies were set to make the climb up the valley in a couple of hours; they’d written the invitations so the first to arrive should be those most reliable: family in the form of his cousins and Lila’s uncle. Their Ansnan guest was to arrive tarry and enter last, to avoid any potential problems at the entrance.
When Emon returned to the small library, Lila was draped over a chair, boneless as a cat. “I told you we’d have staff.”
Emon bent to bestow a kiss. “You’ve the kindest heart in all Rhoth,” he murmured.
Her eyes brimmed with mischief. “A foul rumor. No one will believe it.”
He sank into another chair. “There are fourteen now wearing our colors who already do. Where did you find them?”
“It wasn’t difficult.” The amusement left her face. “Ancestors Foolish and Unforgiven. I know who’s slunk away to Avyo with wealth stolen from Vorkoun, deserting their homes and abandoning their people. People I offered work here, to any willing.” The gleam of teeth. “Not all, dear husband, considered serving a baron in disgrace at court an improvement.”
“The baron in question has been enjoying his disgrace, thank you.” Emon stretched. “Alas, we both know Ordo will find a way to bring me back sooner than later. The treaty stipulates our portion of Vorkoun retain its representation in the capital. The Ansnans and Eld are watching. My empty seat weakens his claim to still rule here.”
“Not to forget our prince frets about what you’re doing out of his sight and beyond his reach, as well he should.” She wiggled her fingers in the air. “Don’t think he won’t hear about tonight’s meeting.”
“You suspect someone among our guests?”
“Sweetling,” as if to one of their sons. “I suspect everyone.” Almost a purr. “As for your return to Avyo? How fortunate we’ve fourteen new sources of information, only too glad to share what they’ve overheard at their former employers.”
“Kindest heart in Rhoth,” Emon declared again. “As well as brilliant.”
“I’ll settle for prudent,” Lila said contentedly.
He’d waited for the right moment, which hadn’t been this morning with urgent messages at their door, nor since, having been beset by staff needing instruction as well as sleeping quarters and introductions to their own hard-done-by people.
The right moment having arrived and likely the last of the day, Emon retreated, doing equations in his head about tonnages and loads.
Lila gave him a sidelong look. “If I’d learned anything useful from the truedream, I’d have told you by now.”
He returned a rueful half smile. “That obvious?”
“You await news, Dearest Heart, as patiently as a hound ready for the hunt. Or a kruar, for that matter.” Some memory curved her lips. “Tonight I’ll try another piece from the notebook. I can tell you Werfol barely slept—the beets would be my guess.”
Emon blinked. “‘Beets?’”
“Clever lad. They upset his stomach.” Her lips thinned. “All I found in my truedream was what Semyn surmised for us. Werfol is afraid of his own story. So much so I felt trapped with him in the dark, with something nearby. Something large I must assume was his dragon.”
“He’d written it to remember the one from Marrowdell.”
“Whatever Weed’s created in his mind is nothing like Wisp.” Fingers flew dismissively, then paused. Curved. Became a pale fist. “Though—perhaps like enough to something else entirely.”
“What are you thinking?”
“That it was Wisp, the dragon Werfol knows and loves, he tried to recreate. Somewhere, that recollection went awry. I’ve told you of the sei.”
Beings as close to gods as could be imagined, who’d ripped an opening into this world from theirs, and somehow stitched it back together with their own flesh—or rather one, impossibly large sei. Seeing Lila was serious, Emon felt the blood leave his face. “Werfol had nothing to do with them.”
“That we know.” Lila rose and began to pace, as if her thoughts demanded action. “There could be some lingering influence.”
“They’re in the Verge,” he protested, his eyes following her back and forth. “The sei aren’t here.”
“The sei exist along the edge,” Lila corrected, “or this world wouldn’t, according to my dear brother and his partner.”
Ancestors Dire and Desperate. “Putting aside, if you please and for my sanity, the notion that our continuation depends on the whim of some mad magical creature, what could the sei possibly have to do with our little boy?”
“Maybe nothing.” She stopped at the fireplace, staring down at the nearest muted song stone. “Maybe everything. Dreams of the Verge come close in Marrowdell. Those who can suffer them are happy there. Those who cannot, flee.” She turned to look over her shoulder at him. “Bannan said a sei could resemble a dragon if it chose, an ugly one. Emerald green, with rainbow eyes.”
“Then there you have it,” Emon said with relief. “His uncle spun him the tale and Weed took it for his own.”
“Or our son’s truedreaming found a different sort of dragon.”
He closed his eyes. Opened them. “No.”
Lila’s lips quirked. “That’s your answer?”
“There’s no answer to this. Not outside Marrowdell. Unless you’re going to tell me Weed has brought a sei-dragon home with him—using his gift—and then?” Emon ran a hand through his hair. “Even then, no. I refuse to expand my considerable worry over our child’s understandable temper and wild imagination into some imminent crisis of magic, not as long as he’s safe, here and now. Is he? As in all things, my lady wife, I rely on your assessment of the risk.”
“I’ve told you.” Green eyes turned cold. “Too intense a truedream could kill him.”
“Then we keep watch, a close one. Wake him when we must. Enlist your Master Setac and learn what he knows.”
“How long?”
“As long as it takes.” It was Emon’s turn to rise, to take a restless step away then back. “But today, Lila. What more must we do for Weed on this day, that can’t wait until we don’t have dozens of angry, despondent guests in the house?” He threw up his hands. “Or do we cancel the party and lock the doors? At least we’ve cake.”
A dimple deepened. “We’ve cake.” Lila let out a breath, her eyes warming again. “The party must go on—you must consult with your Ansnan engineer, find your solution for Vorkoun, and keep the masses hopeful. Whatever the significance of Werfol choosing a sei as the model for his story dragon, if he has, my assessment for my lord husband is that it doesn’t matter while he’s beyond their reach, in our world. The fear in his story, that William’s dragon will become too powerful to control—I take as a good sign.”
Emon raised a brow. “You do?”
“He’s smart enough to fear what lacks constraints.” A small smile. “Ha
ven’t we both taught them that?”
“You’ll talk to him—”
The knock on the door meant their time alone, to discuss family, was over. Lila stepped into his arms to give him a quick hug, cool lips brushing his. Yes, that meant.
Courage, that too.
* * *
The beets did their best, which was their worst, and Werfol resolved never to eat one again. The boys looked up blearily as dawn’s first light fell on the piles of scattered books. They’d stayed awake.
Though twice Werfol had had to wake his brother when his eyes drooped closed over some detail of Eld life, and once Semyn woke him with a pinch, though he hadn’t been asleep, not really, just resting.
“We did it,” Semyn said, his voice hoarse but triumphant. “Let’s get breakfast.”
Werfol pulled himself to his feet. The house toad remained ensconced on a pillow near the warm fireplace. “Maybe we should move it first.”
“Will it bite?”
A good question. The creature’s eyes were not only closed, but blissfully pulled into its body and JoJo would certainly bite anyone trying to wake him from such a sound sleep. “Let’s leave it alone,” Werfol decided. “Besides, it’s good at hiding.”
“Even if it doesn’t,” Semyn pointed out, “who’d believe it’s real?”
“Momma would. We’d better go to breakfast right now.”
“Wait.” His brother regarded him carefully. “You’re a mess.”
The truth, so Werfol scowled. “So are you! And you smell,” he added.
Semyn didn’t take offense. “If we want to be left alone, we have to look like we don’t need any help.”
Which was smart of his brother, so Werfol nodded. He poked at the mess on the floor with a toe. “Do books count?”
“That’s scholarship.”
The pair set to work, careful not to bother the sleeping toad. They left the scholarly mess, but made their beds, using the military technique Dutton had taught Werfol, testing each bed solemnly with a sprat. They washed their faces using the ewer of water and basin on the wash table, rubbing the damp towels over their hair. Semyn combed Werfol’s, then his own. After finalizing their plans, they pulled their best clothes from the wardrobe and laid those on their beds for later, choosing their second best for the day.
Because, as Semyn pointed out, they would be meeting the new staff for the first time. Momma would expect them to make a good impression.
As for his notebook, they made a plan about that, it being risky to leave it in the room. Werfol tucked it into his Marrowdell satchel to carry with him.
All of this activity had helped Werfol forget he hadn’t slept, but the reminder of new faces made him stop before following Semyn to the door. His brother turned around. “It’ll be all right, Weed,” he said. “These people want to make a good impression on us too.”
“Meaning they’ll lie,” Werfol glowered.
“If they do, you’ll give me a sign and I’ll tell Momma they can’t stay here.” Semyn used his adult face and voice.
Which wasn’t as irritating as it used to be, for some reason.
* * *
“Studying.” Emon eyed Dutton. “Could you tell what?”
“The books were about the Eld, m’lord.” The guard leaned shoulders and back against the wall beside the door to the room where the younger Westietas were in session with their new tutor. He chuckled. “Ancestors Witness, Master Setac may find himself on his toes this morning.”
He’d find himself with two exhausted pupils, Emon thought to himself. It had to be Semyn’s idea, to keep his brother from ’dreaming. “Has Weed apologized?”
“Not in words.” Dutton winked. “I have, however, been brought a cup of tea and informed, in detail, where the lad will be throughout the day. Including trips to the privy. Apparently there were beets.” With some sympathy.
“A pair of schemers worthy of their mother,” Emon warned. “Don’t trust them for an instant.”
The guard’s grin was wolfish. “Understood. The lad won’t give me the slip twice.”
“I wouldn’t make that a challenge, if I were you,” he advised. “Tell me, have you seen Werfol’s notebook?”
“The baroness doesn’t have it?”
“Semyn asked for it.” With, according to Lila, an entirely plausible argument about how he’d taken it from his brother and now suffered from remorse. Emon ran his fingers through his hair. “I admit I’m uneasy about Weed having the thing, Dutton. I know it seems trivial—”
Dutton straightened from the wall, no longer amused. “I disagree, m’lord. We’ve seen enough uncanny business not to dismiss a potential threat.”
“We have at that.” He’d only to think about the devices he’d brought from Channen, with their deadly combination of secret mechanisms and magic. For that matter, the notebook was paper—look what his wife could do from that humble source. “Do you know where it is?”
The guard nodded to the closed door. “Werfol carried in a satchel. I’ll retrieve it.”
Emon shook his head. “Don’t interrupt them, Dutton. But yes, I’d feel better if we had the notebook, rather than Weed. At least till tonight’s done.”
“About tonight, m’lord.” Though they were alone in the upper hall, the other lowered his voice, an edge to the words. “Ancestors Fraught and Foolish. What you and m’lady have decided? For this special guest of yours to simply walk through the door? None of us have a name, m’lord, let alone a face. Any Ansnan could gain entry. A spy. An assassin.”
“Our guest carries a compass like mine for identification.” Emon pulled the twin-legged metal tool from a pocket. He kept his voice low too, but smiled reassurance. “Hardly an assassin’s tool of choice.”
Dutton frowned. “At least have the guards intercept before he—or she—enters the house. Provide an escort. Or send me outside.” With a hand dropping to the hilt of his sword.
“It’s a new era, old friend. Trust has to begin somewhere.” Emon waved to the door and said in a normal voice, “Sounds as though they’re almost finished. Good luck with your assignment.”
* * *
“Are we to learn Eld protocols?” Werfol asked hopefully. He remembered most of what they’d studied through the night. Well, to be honest, he remembered some of it, and most of that oddly muddled in his head, but Semyn would impress Master Setac, that he knew.
“Not this morning.” Master Setac had made profound changes to their schoolroom. The air sparkled with dust, as if everything had been cleaned. Master Issan had sat behind a wide desk covered in papers he’d never let them see, their desks drawn up to face his. Those desks and their chairs were gone, replaced by a large high table with stools near the windows. Werfol squinted at it, then realized where he’d seen the table before. It was from Poppa’s workshop, making the table a workbench.
Promising. Not that he expected Master Setac, who knew about foreign cultures, to let him build anything on it right away, but there could be time—
“What are we to learn, Master?” Semyn asked, drawing Werfol back to the present.
The tutor, today without his coat and looking far more ordinary, gestured to the stools. “Sit, please. I’ve been asked to help you learn the terms supplied by Baroness Westietas for tonight.”
Three sheets of paper laid white and ominous on the table, each in front of a stool. The boys obediently climbed up to sit, Werfol’s feet dangling so he hooked them on the lower rail of his stool. Semyn could reach the floor, but chose to sit as his brother did, though his knees bumped the table edge. Werfol sat straighter. Did their strange new tutor notice? Did he understand?
Bright blue eyes regarded them. “It is my intention to teach you together,” Master Setac announced, implying that indeed he did. “As lessons progress, should one or the other of you wish more on a topic, you will explore that on
your own, then share. Is this acceptable, Master Semyn, Master Werfol?”
They nodded in wary unison.
“Very well. Once these words are memorized—”
Werfol glanced over them then nodded. “I’m done.”
Semyn’s “Me too,” followed at once.
The tutor blinked like a doubtful toad. “Well then. Please turn over your pages. Now, recite the words on them to me—” he held up a hand when Werfol opened his mouth “—in reverse order, taking turns.”
So they did, Semyn starting. “Economic benefit.”
“Gear ratio.”
“Trade routes.”
“Lubricant.”
“Gear shaft or drive.”
“Combustion engine.”
“Fuel source.”
“Railbed.”
“Load comparison.”
“Apple porcupine,” Werfol finished in triumph. “Momma always puts in a funny one, because it’s a game.”
Semyn glanced at him. “It’s not, Weed.”
It had been, one of Momma’s special games and fun, until the Northward Road turned everything too real. Annoyed, Werfol puffed out his cheeks like Dutton.
“I suggest we move on to our review of Ansnan protocols.”
Ah. Semyn’s game, this time. Werfol fixed his gaze on Master Setac and asked using the words his brother wanted. “Tell us first. Where does your loyalty lie?”
The tutor looked from one to the other, then returned Werfol’s steady look. “I am loyal to peace and those who value it.”
Semyn challenged at once. “Our lady mother would say peace is a desired result of its opposite. Conflict.”
Master Setac nodded. “The baroness is a realist, but your father would not, if you allow me, consider a path to peace that destroyed.”
A Dragon for William Page 11