“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Kveta said, amused. “The castle roof hasn’t caved in, nor has the harbor been attacked by a giant sea dragon.”
“Give it time,” I said darkly.
Kveta laughed softly even as her ears moved in a canine version of a shrug. “Give enough time and all sorts of possibilities will come to pass.” Her clear brown eyes lifted as she stared over my shoulders. “Though if I were to offer odds, the aspects popping into view while you slept would be rather low on the list. It would’ve been understandable if you had talked in your sleep and maybe accidentally summoned them. But you didn’t. You didn’t even move. One moment you were aspect-less. The next, fully surrounded.”
“They tend to do that, Kveta,” I began.
“No, they don’t,” Kveta said. “As I said earlier, even gods don’t walk in unless invited. Someone summoned and set them on you.”
“But there’s no one here who can summon them,” I said. “Except me.”
“You’re not that slow, Rabbit,” Kveta said, impatient.
“Wyln’s not here and Laurel’s missing,” I pointed out.
“Do you really think you’re the only person here with the talent?” Kveta asked. “I can with near certainty name at least one, probably two with the fire aspect.”
I opened my mouth, then shut it again, my gaze going first to Captain Suiden lying quietly on his cot before sliding to Jusson still surrounded in his sleep by his trunks. In fact, despite our admittedly very quiet conversation, the entire floor seemed to be slumbering peacefully; even the injured royal guard lying on a pallet next to Kveta had not stirred. Forgetting the debate about my unsummoned aspects, I worriedly scanned the floor, wondering if the same enchantment that was on the upper floor had crept down here. However, at that moment, Jeff gave a couple of snorts before turning over and my spine relaxed. Figuring everyone was sleeping heavily because they were worn out from all of yesterday’s mishaps, I turned back to the wolf.
“Two people who are also very much asleep,” I said. “Along with everyone else.”
Kveta sighed, her head going down between her paws. “You’re determined not to see, aren’t you?”
“See what?”
“The aspects do not have personalities or wills—”
“Yes, they do,” I said. “Very much so.”
“They do not,” Kveta said. “When you were attacked by the mage earlier, did the air aspect refuse to do his bidding? Did it express sorrow or apologize or, on the other hand, perhaps indicate that it was glad that you were finally getting your comeuppance?”
“My comeuppance?”
Kveta’s brows pulled together, her head lifting from her pallet. Then she grinned. “You know what I mean.” Her grin faded. “They are forces, Rabbit. Much like a stick or stone, which do not care who throws them or at whom they are thrown. Neither do the aspects. Cast by a foe or friend, they will act the same each and every time. And like sticks and stones, the power belongs to whoever tosses them.”
Magus Kareste thought of the aspects like that—as impersonal objects to be manipulated at will—and when one’s will clashed with another’s, the greater will won. When I first started as his apprentice, I didn’t know much about them, one way or another. Nor did I care. I was more worried about escaping his plans for me. However, when I’d come into my full power last spring, I had become aware of the aspects as separate entities, with their own quirks and traits—the playfulness of air, the merry, dancing crackle of fire, the deep, quiet thunder of water, and the sacred solemnity of earth. But Kveta was right. When the unknown mage attacked me out on the broad walk last night, there wasn’t any playfulness between air and me. There wasn’t any communication at all. One moment I was chasing the feather-stealing thief, the next being slowly pulled apart. And despite what Wyln and Suiden had said, I didn’t think it was all because I was relatively untrained. True, I’d been taken by surprise and also true, I fumbled as I tried to defend myself, but I could feel the strength of the whirlwind, as I could also feel the strength of the talent worker who summoned it. And behind all of it was an implacability, almost like hatred. But that made no sense. Though the mage had remained in the shadows, the little I saw of his face, his build, and even the way he moved was unfamiliar. And unlike the Magus’ and Kveta’s view of the aspects, the hatred felt very personal.
“I don’t know, Kveta,” I said, rubbing my arms as the chill ignored the fire and bit through my blanket.
“I do know,” Kveta said. “Unthinking, unfeeling forces, Rabbit. And, as you pointed out, the known ‘throwers’ are not here. So who cast these aloft? And why?”
I found myself sliding another look at Jusson, then kept on staring as I noticed his breath misting out as he breathed slow and deep. Forgetting about suspects in talent working, I shifted, quickly looked over the entire room and noticed other plumes of breath rising from the sleepers. Though it was before sunrise in late fall, the room shouldn’t have been that cold—not with all the bodies packed into it. As I thought that, the chill bit deep and I shivered hard, a metallic taste forming in my mouth.
“What the hell?” I whispered.
I started to turn back to Kveta, afraid that the wolf had also fallen under an enchanted slumber. But before I could, I was distracted by the muffled sound of raised voices and scuffling outside the chamber door. The next moment, the door burst open and I saw Berenice struggling with the two Own standing guard, one pulling her back by her arm, the other getting in front of her, blocking access to the room. At the same time, Jusson sat straight up in bed, his hair an untidy mop, his face alert and wide-awake. He aimed a gold glance at me before getting out of bed and stepping into his slippers. Grabbing his robe from where it was draped over a trunk, he put it on.
“Secure ibn Chause,” he said, tying his belt.
My mouth fell open as I was surrounded by equally awake and alert royal guards in their nightclothes. “What?”
Jusson ignored me as he was joined by Thadro and Suiden. The king beckoned the guards holding Berenice. “Bring her.”
The guards dragged Berenice into the room. Or at least they started to. She jerked her arm away and, straightening her gown with a snap, strode into the chamber, her eyes flashing in the light from both the fireplace and my fire sphere. Jusson was unimpressed.
“Good morning, Lady Berenice,” he said, his voice mild. “Lord Rabbit is not available right now. Perhaps we can help you?”
“ ‘Isn’t available’?” I exploded before Berenice could respond. “You think I was going to sneak off with her?” Not caring about the female presence, I flung open my blanket. As Finn hadn’t been there to lay out my flannel nightshirt (and, more important, as I’d been bunking down with my old mates from the Mountain Patrol), I was wearing what I used to always wear to bed when I was just a plain trooper—my smalls. “Does this look like I’m about to go on an assignation?”
Jusson actually blinked as he took in my dress—or lack thereof—the gold fading a little from his eyes, while Suiden’s mouth twitched even as he frowned, though whether at my attire or my mode of addressing the king, I couldn’t tell. However, Thadro wasn’t amused.
“Then why are you up?” the lord commander asked, his own expression frosty.
“Because I was effing cold and wanted to get the fire going,” I said, tucking the blanket back around me. “Sir.”
“I actually came here to see you, Your Majesty,” Berenice said.
“Oh?” Jusson’s brow rose. “So Lord Rabbit did not agree to meet with you?”
“Yes, he did,” Berenice said.
“I said I’d see what I could do,” I said at the same time. “Contingent on His Majesty giving permission.”
“Hard to get permission, if you don’t ask,” Thadro pointed out.
“As I wasn’t going to meet anyone, sir, it seemed moot,” I said.
“Of course this was before you imprisoned Papa last night,” Berenice said, continuing as if neither the
lord commander nor I had spoken. “And as I hadn’t heard from Rabbit, I decided to come talk with you, Your Majesty.”
“We see,” Jusson said. “Then we shall talk, Lady Berenice. After we dress and go downstairs to break our fast.”
“No!” Berenice said. “It’s important that we speak now—”
“We are sure you think so,” Jusson said.
Thadro took his hard gaze off me and put it on the king, his expression changing to worry. “Perhaps we should listen, Your Majesty,” he murmured.
“This is neither the time nor the place,” Jusson said, indicating the packed chamber. “And we refuse to hold discussions in our nightdress, no matter how needful.” His own expression softened. Somewhat. “We realize that this is a difficult time for you, Lady Berenice. But rushing about helter-skelter will not answer. After we have dressed and have eaten, we shall speak.”
Berenice stood for a moment staring back at the king, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She then dropped a brief curtsey.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Jusson signaled one of the guards at the door. “See that Her Ladyship reaches her room.”
Berenice faltered midcurtsey. “Am I also under arrest, Your Majesty?”
“No,” Jusson said. “Just an escort.”
“I—I see.” A little unsteady, Berenice rose, turned, and walked out again, the Own on her heels, shutting the door behind them, but not before she cast a look over her shoulder at me. A look Jusson, Suiden, and Thadro all saw, along with everyone else in the royal chambers. Sighing, I pinched the bridge of my nose. Not only did I have Jusson ready to put me in irons over collaborating with someone who had gone from a potential bride to apparently the enemy; I could feel the speculation start that there was more to Berenice and me than a late night spent under the watchful eye of near a half dozen chaperones. Wondering who had felt the need to tell Jusson about Berenice’s demand that we meet, I shifted a bit as Bertram hustled up to hang a large pot on the fireplace hob. I stared down at the boy before lifting my gaze to his welter of blankets on the floor. They were empty.
“Lieutenant.”
I turned to see that Suiden had left Jusson and somehow gotten past both the guards and aspects to stand next to me.
“Sir,” I said tiredly, bracing myself for more questions about significant looks and my adventures on the broad walk the night before last.
“You’re blocking the heat,” Suiden said.
I blinked at my former captain before glancing behind me. While I had shifted out of Bertram’s way, I still stood in front of a good portion of the fireplace. I hadn’t noticed the warmth.
“Sorry, sir,” I said. I moved once more, this time starting for my cot, vaguely thinking that donning clothes would help. However, I was brought up short by the guards surrounding me and the red mist from yesterday filled my vision. I began to pivot to go to Jusson and Thadro and tell them—something—but I was once more stopped, this time by a hand clamping over my arm. I stared at it a moment, before lifting my gaze to its owner. Suiden looked back, his face impassive.
“Wear your army uniform.”
I grew very still. “Sir?”
Suiden didn’t respond. Turning, he faced Jeff and Arlis. Arlis was still abed though awake while Jeff had risen and now stood beside his cot. “You two, also,” Suiden said. “The three of you are with me.”
“Am I no longer in the King’s Own?” I asked, not moving.
“What you are or are not is not up for discussion,” Suiden said. “You received an order, Lieutenant. I suggest you obey it.”
With that, Suiden went back to his cot where his own kit waited. I watched him go, before looking at Jusson and Thadro, neither of whom paid any attention to me. And they weren’t the only ones. All around, royal guards and troopers alike were keeping their eyes averted as they went through their morning routines. I didn’t move, even as Bertram started laying out my old army uniform. I noticed that it had been pressed and I wondered at the whispered discussion that must’ve happened while I’d been asleep. The red mist thickened.
“Rabbit,” Jeff said.
I turned to my … What? Personal guard? Troop mate? Judging by the expression on his face, Jeff didn’t know either. Also judging by his expression, my own was pretty impressive. He didn’t take a step back, not exactly. But I could see him stiffen, bracing himself. “This is effing bunk,” I said, my voice very low.
“Yeah,” Jeff said, “but what choice do we have?”
“Do you think I should’ve run to the king about Berenice?” I asked.
“His Majesty thinks so,” Jeff said. “And that’s what matters.”
Dragging in a breath, I silently let it out and once more started for my cot and my army uniform, this time the royal guards allowing it, the spheres moving with me. As I did, I passed Arlis. He had finally risen from his cot and was setting out his gear. He looked up as I went by, his face blank, his eyes hard, and I realized who told Jusson—or more likely the lord commander—about Berenice. I must’ve made a sound, for Jeff reached past the guards, snagging my arm and holding me still.
“Don’t,” he said, his voice a mere wisp of a sound. “Not with the king and the captain and everything the way they are right now.”
“Different tune than you were singing yesterday,” I said.
“Yeah, well, yesterday our host wasn’t imprisoned,” Jeff said very softly, his grip still tight. “Now, it would be stupid and not worth the problems it would cause. He’s not worth the problems it would cause.”
“That’s true,” Ryson said, joining us. “He’ll find out soon enough that serving under Suiden isn’t sunshine and daisies.”
“If he’d even thought that he’d be busted back to Mountain Patrol,” Jeff murmured. “Probably tried to curry favor, thinking he could work it so he’d go back to his old troop.”
Maybe. Or maybe it was a not-so-backhanded slap at me with no care to the consequences—which sort of surprised me given his highly developed sense of self-preservation. Even now, there was a heavy hint of smugness about him as he deliberately turned and went back to his gear.
“Not worth it,” Jeff repeated.
I let out another soft breath. “No,” I said. “He’s not. In fact, none of this is worth it.”
“Rabbit,” Jeff said again, glancing at the stoic guards surrounding me before looking around at the troopers, guards, and servants busy pretending I didn’t exist. I merely shrugged, but did allow myself to be herded to my cot, where I waited for Bertram, who was at the iron kettle filling a bowl with hot water. As I watched, I saw him falter and stare down at Kveta still lying on her pallet by the fireplace, her head between her front paws, her eyes half closed as she took in the commotion in the room, her face unreadable. Thinking back, I supposed it was the first time Bertram had been that close to her—though he had been plenty close to Laurel and seemed to have no problem with it. Whatever the reason for his unease, I roused myself to call out a warning about Kveta’s injury. Before I could, however, Bertram recovered and brought the steaming bowl back to my cot, setting it down next to my shaving kit. In short order, I shaved, washed up, and put on a uniform I thought I’d never wear again. But the army drab fit me fine, the trousers with their knife-edge crease actually falling over my boots correctly. Still surrounded by spheres and royal guards, I folded my yellow officer’s gloves over my sword belt before picking up my boot knife and staff. Sliding the knife into my pocket, I walked over to where Suiden was mustering the rest of the troopers. As I did, Thadro signaled and the four night-attired Own stepped away to be replaced by four others who were appropriately dressed. I said nothing, keeping my face blank. Arlis had taken a position near the rear, but Jeff was somewhat in the middle and I joined him, my mouth quirking as the space around us cleared.
It seemed that royal displeasure was contagious and no one wanted to catch it.
His Royal Majesty himself wasn’t dressed in his normal austere attire. Inste
ad, he wore his armor, with Thadro standing beside him carrying his battle helm and shield. They both headed for the door and the rest of the troops and King’s Own stirred, falling in line, Suiden buckling on his sword belt as he moved behind Thadro. It was still dark out, so two royal servants stood at the door with lit candles, ready to light the way down the winding steps. But as they reached for the latch, the door swung open and Wyln slipped in. The elf enchanter looked fresh with no clue as to where he’d slept last night—if he’d slept at all. He had changed clothes, so he had been upstairs in the enchanted chamber. Seeing the mob heading his way, he moved aside, his gaze going over the soldiers and guard before snagging on me. His winged brows pulled together.
“Good morning, Lord Wyln,” Jusson said.
“I give you good morning, Iver’son,” Wyln said. “Is there a reason why Two Trees’son is under guard?”
“There are several reasons,” Jusson said. “We’re about to descend for breakfast. Join us?”
Wyln hesitated, then stepped aside, allowing the royal train to depart. As he did, his gaze lit on the tapestry, his eyes widening as he moved closer, tracing the tips of his fingers over the tapestry’s weave. As I neared, I could see it clearly in the light from my fire sphere. The figure had fully emerged from the shadow of the trees, revealing the same Lord of the Forest that was on the carved screen in the castle entryway. I blinked and tried to join my cyhn at the tapestry, but my guards swept me past and out the door.
The lit candles cast flickering shadows as we worked our way down the winding stairs. I was at the tail end of the parade that just about emptied out the floor. Kveta was one of the few who remained behind. I figured that the she-wolf was still in enough pain to not want to navigate the steps. My aspects, on the other hand, went with me. Shaking off my worry over the tapestry, I cast the spheres a glance, my mind going back to Kveta and my conversation about them, wondering if I’d been wrong about their self-determination. They were still a square around me, with air and fire in front and earth and water behind. Offense and defense. But against who—or what—was the question. There was the unknown mage on the broad walk and whoever had enchanted the upper royal chambers, stealing away Laurel, Cais, Finn, and the butterflies in the process. And there were the ambushers in the forest yesterday eve. All of which could’ve been done by separate attackers or the same person. However, I found myself discarding the thought of outside threats and focusing on the back of Jusson’s head as he rounded the curve ahead of me. As he disappeared, my gaze fell on Thadro and then Suiden before moving to Arlis, who’d worked his way to just behind Groskin. The red had gone from the edges of my vision, but I could feel the weight of my anger in the space between my chest and my gut, heavy and slowly burning.
Shadows Past Page 29