But it was.
She must have known it all her life. Now she had evidence. This must be the first step of the way to greatness.
Provided that you stay alive, of course, the feeling at the back of her mind grumbled, but Linden shut it down as she steadied her feet. She would think about staying alive later. Just now she felt invincible.
She grabbed Calia's waist and span both of them into a wild whirlwind dance.
"Let's go for a nice long walk, Cal! We can always look for that husband of yours tomorrow."
"Right, Lind!" Cal shouted happily. "There are fourteen days left, after all, and today is such a beautiful day!"
Rianor and Linden
Day and Night 77 of the Fourth Quarter, Year of the Master 705
Rianor tried to smile encouragingly as he adjusted his coat and sat beside the table. Perhaps I should remove it, he thought, they do not trust me yet. He had already removed his gloves, but the metal cup of tepid drink that the woman had offered him had warmed his fingers well enough. A hot drink would be welcome, but he would have to wait for that until he got back home. He had forgotten that commoners could not make hot food and drinks at home but got them prepared from neighborhood kitchens or canned from the store. Usually the food and drinks were deliberately cooled before they left the kitchens, and in winter they would often become fully cold by the time people brought them home. No one but Bers and Mentors ever saw fire, for it was always enclosed in pipes, stoves, buckets or wells. However, commoners, all but the Master Cooks and their workers in the kitchens, could not even feel fire. In homes, even in times of abundance, fire was too weak for anything but making the temperature inside barely tolerable and for somewhat re-warming food and drinks.
Rianor resisted a sigh. The temperature here was not even tolerable. He had become used to being without a coat outside while watching the firewells, but he had worn a commoner's cloak, which was almost as warm. And here was almost as cold as outside.
The man seemed to have noticed. "I will increase the fire, your lordship."
Of course, use it all now, and then chill that girl to death later. He made a mental note to send them more fire when he got back. Qynnsent's own fire was enclosed in pipes and thus unreachable, but in a Noble House there must still be some full firebuckets for emergencies. He could spare those.
"I am fine, my good sir. Please, do sit down."
The man obeyed, just like he was supposed to. In his own home, lord Rianor thought. The man did not even seem to have realized what he was doing. Or perhaps he had. Either the light of the tiny candle tricked Rianor's eyes, or for a fraction of a second the look the healer shot him was anything but submissive.
Rianor smiled at them again. "Mister Ellard, Mistress Kelley, I am Rianor, High Lord of the House of Qynnsent. I would like to talk about your daughter."
The woman's cup settled in its saucer a bit too roughly, and the shadows beneath the man's eyes deepened. He looked pale and worn out, and Rianor realized that he must have been sick very recently. His wife reached for his hand beneath the flower-patterned tablecloth, but when they looked at Rianor their faces were unreadable.
"What about Linden, my lord?" They spoke in unison, and the voices were so expressionless that it irked him. Rianor could not contain himself.
"I would like to test her."
"Test her for what, High Lord Rianor?"
Ah, now that was the spirit. Gone was the control from the mother's voice. She stared at him, and there was a certain glow in her amber eyes. Albeit not as strong, it resembled the glow that he had seen in the daughter's four days ago, when she had passed through the crowd on her way home. The same amber eyes, which on Linden's exquisite face had been sharp with intelligence, fury, and utmost contempt for those around her.
The father was also watching him intently, so Rianor locked each of their gazes in turn, forcing them to look away. Although he appreciated these people's uncommon lack of servitude, he could not afford to allow them too much freedom now. Then again, there was no point in making them additionally nervous, either.
"I would like to test her Science abilities, madam." His look was more amiable now. "Your daughter is listed as an apprentice applicant with the Science guild, and I have learned from one Mister Podd that she is his brightest student and exhibits, as he put it, an incredible talent in Science. I myself am doing research in some Science areas, and I happen to be in need of an apprentice. Since the Day of the Master is approaching fast, I would like to discuss the possibility with Linden. I would also like to start tonight, when she comes home from her walk."
He waited for them to assimilate his proposal. He was giving their daughter the chance of her life. There were very few ways for a commoner to rise to nobility, and one of them was to become an apprentice to a noble. This, although not unseen, did not happen often. It was too risky an endeavor, since nobles and commoners thought in vastly different ways.
She does not seem to think like other commoners, though, Rianor mused. She seemed too rebellious for that. Also, he was certain that she did have an unnatural skill. It should be worth it.
* * *
An hour later he was outside, waiting for her to come home. The houses were cramped close to each other, and the small balconies on the second floors of two adjacent buildings formed something like a tunnel, where he could stand without being seen from the street. The parents had politely asked him to wait in the apartment, but he had told them that he would be back later. In this way he did not intrude into their tiny space for longer than necessary, and they had some time to wonder whether he would really come back.
It was getting colder and darker, and the shadows were growing, including his own. Rianor moved further back into the tunnel and huddled in his coat, drawing the hood lower over his face. It was so cold that even his hair felt brittle at the touch of the heavy cloth. "Cold is evil." This was a line from the book that he had read just before coming, and he sighed in annoyance. Simple but powerful Ber propaganda phrases were able to wriggle themselves even into his mind.
We'll see about that evil, Rianor thought. Soon enough.
Linden came with another girl, the two of them emerging from behind the grove at the side of the street. There were trees in the neighborhood, some of them in this street. Even narrow and crowded as it were, the street might be beautiful when they had leaves, but Rianor's investigations had revealed that the commoners avoided them. Trees were living things, and they had too much to do with water.
The girls stopped, and Rianor could hear them talk.
"Trees really are nice, Lind," the girl he did not know laughed. "I hope that they don't mind the cold. I don't mind it right now, myself. But you know what? Right now I don't even mind the Mentor!"
Linden laughed as well, with only the slightest hint of bizarreness in her laughter. Rianor tried to see the expression in her eyes, but she was not facing him directly. He could only see a part of her face and a lock of hair that fell out of her hood to the tips of her shoulders. He could not see the other girl well, either, but it was evident that her cloak was of a much finer material. He should get Linden a nice noble lady's coat when the time came. Rianor rubbed his eyes. The cold was obviously getting to him, thinking about women's clothes instead of focusing on why he had come. He shifted silently and felt a pang in his body, then adjusted his coat again with a hushed curse under his breath.
The girls whispered something, then hugged each other and laughed again. There was definitely something aberrant in this laughter. Rianor was very annoyed that he could not quite catch what it was, but he was certain that it was a good thing that there were no Mentors around. Even if the girls did not mind them.
Linden and her friend said their good-nights, and the friend walked further away in the street, while Linden aimed towards the house next to him, pausing to gaze at a puddle of frozen water. First the trees and the careless conversation and now this—her unorthodox attitudes were a bit too obvious if she were to stay
safe. He waited for her friend to disappear, then walked slowly out of the shadows. The girl needed to be taught some subtlety, and he was going to start now.
* * *
Linden silenced the scream a split second before it escaped her mouth. The young man seemed to have materialized from nothing. She had almost bumped into him, and right now he was staring at her with an intention in his gray eyes that she could not define. Probably it was better to scream. If he was not dangerous, he would go away, and if he was, well, it was definitely better to scream, then. However, somehow it seemed that he wanted her to do just that, so she locked his gaze instead.
He removed his hood and gave her a teasing smile as he brushed a streak of dark hair away from his eyes, then moved closer to her. Linden resisted the urge to back away and continued to glare at his face.
"Stay where you are, sir!" she hissed, hoping that he had not noticed where her right hand was.
"Good evening, Miss Linden," the man said in a soft voice carrying only the slightest trace of danger. "I like the way you laugh."
He moved again, his steps fast and unnaturally stealthy. She did back away now, her eyes quickly scanning his body for weapons. Then she felt his eyes scanning hers, and she trembled, hoping that the cloak hid it from him.
Linden made a dash towards the entrance and tripped, hitting her knees hard at the fall. Strangely enough, the man did not come after her; he stayed still and pulled his cloak around himself while she was staggering up. He was still watching her. A belated realization slowly crept into her mind. She had perceived the lithe muscles and the weapons beneath his cloak, but she had failed to notice the most important aspect of him. What he wore was not a cloak. It was a frock coat. He was a noble and, save for a Ber or a Mentor, he was more dangerous to her than anything she might have imagined him to be.
Unlike a Ber or a Mentor, he did not have the legal right to follow her home, but right now Linden's legs seemed too weak to take advantage of that. It had been such a stupid idea to try to make waves beneath the ice in the puddle. Nobles did not come to this neighborhood every day. He knew something.
Slowly, Linden took control of her body and rose, then trembled violently as he moved towards her, his teasing smile gone. Suddenly her earlier exhilaration was gone, and the apprehension it had suppressed overwhelmed her. Still, she made a step forward but stumbled, then felt the man's arms around her, just as her eyes instinctively closed to protect her thoughts. He pulled her towards himself and then dragged her somewhere else, just as voices sounded down the street.
* * *
Rianor had to press his hand against her mouth as he almost carried her to the tunnel. There was no time to reach the house's entrance before the two Mentors saw them. If they did, and if they had heard her and her friend earlier, he would have to surrender her to them or kill them. He pulled her further into the shadows. He was definitely not going to do the first and preferred to avoid the second, if possible. She tried to bite his hand through the glove. Her eyes were tightly shut, and her whole body was shaking in his arms. Rianor opened his coat and put it around her above the cloak, then drew her closer to himself.
* * *
The Mentors halted two houses away, where Linden could see them but not hear them. She had opened her eyes. He had her, anyway, so right now it was more essential to see than to hide her thoughts. The Mentors gestured as if they were talking urgently, their whips shifting on their belts. They could be at her in seconds. Fear and anger fought in her, and then somehow both faded away. Against all judgement, she suddenly felt safe in the man's embrace, and for a second stopped trying to break away from him. His response was to adjust his arms more comfortably around her. She felt the warmth of his body and the scent of his cologne, and for a moment wanted to stay like this. Then her rationality screamed—for a moment she had been a scatterminded female. If he suspected her, he might use anything to invade her mind and expose her thoughts, including physical attraction. She slowly moved her right hand up between the two of them.
* * *
Rianor could not resist another teasing smile when he felt the blade at his throat. The amber eyes were intent on his, and she pressed the blade slightly in response. Just slightly, not to draw blood, but to hint of the possibility. Her body was still trembling, but her hand was admirably steady. The perfect apprentice, Rianor thought, and wondered if she would really try to kill him. Mierber's laws gave her the right. Although he was a noble and she was not, if a man caught a woman like this, she could fight back.
He suddenly shifted to the side, yanked her towards himself to catch her free hand between their bodies, and locked the wrist of her knife hand with his own. She tried to jerk it away, and he was forced to push a finger at the special tiny spot on her wrist that would cause her pain and loosen her grip of the knife. She gasped, and he released the pressure a little. It was not a good idea to have her drop the knife and make sound. It did not seem a good idea to hurt this delicate wrist too much, either. Rianor gently pulled the knife out of her hand and breathed in her ear.
"Stop fighting me. I am not with them, and I am here to help you."
"Who are you? What do you want?"
She was still glaring at him, and he could not refrain from provoking her. "I want to take you with me, on the Day of the Master."
He shifted just in time for her kick to miss his knee. "As a Science apprentice. If you want."
The Mentors had started moving again. Rianor released his grip on her and handed her back the knife. "Only use it if they decide to attack. Better yet, stay aside and let me deal with them."
She nodded, still eying him warily, and he unsheathed his own dagger and waited.
* * *
Linden watched the silhouettes intently. They did not seem to be aware of anybody in the tunnel, and gradually her fear of them gave way to curiosity. She had never seen a Mentor without being seen by him too, her thoughts scrutinized and her self-control pressured.
One of the Mentors raised his hand and seemed to be looking at something at the back of it. "I wish it worked at a distance," he said.
"Dominick, my son," the other one replied, "you should concentrate on the task at hand, and keep to yourself desires some of our brothers and sisters might consider aberrant. I will not overextend you. We go back if the two noisy young women are not here or in the next street."
Linden knew the voice. It was the Mentor to whom she had to make Confessions every thirty days. An austere old man, but he had never hurt her. Well, only because I never let him deep enough in my mind to discover the reasons to do it, she thought bitterly, resisting a shiver. She was not certain that she could do the same today if they found her and made an inquest. And they were looking for her, whether or not they knew who she was. Worse, the Mentors were also looking for Cal, and even if they did not feel like raiding people's homes, only the Master knew whether Cal had reached the safety of hers.
It was all Linden's fault. She had been so unstable after the event at the well, and today she was being mindlessly careless ... She bit her lip, fighting both tears and anger. It should not be a fault to talk and act according to your own opinions! But hers had endangered a friend, so she had to make amends.
"Old man, you know as well as I do that I did not mean this. I must say I am surprised to hear such a suggestion from you. It is our duty to find the possible reprobates, even if it takes us all night." This Mentor's voice was younger, and a certain quality in it made Linden grateful that it was not to him she made Confessions. "Reprobates should not exist!"
* * *
The young Mentor had been fingering his whip's handle, so he was not entirely unprepared when an apparition floated out of the shadows and said, "And you think that you should?"
He had known about them all his life, of course. As a child, he had been whipped often enough for believing in his grandmother's stories about women who were made of mist and danced deep in the forbidden forests, at a whim healing or killing those who dar
ed approach them. As an adult, he himself had whipped a lot of people whose minds told stories about preternatural lands and creatures. Those who went as far as to believe that such creatures appeared in Mierber, he sent to the Bers.
Yet, now a young woman stood before him, her cloak and hair flowing around her with no wind, her fierce eyes glowing with hatred and mist. The Mentor raised his whip.
* * *
Rianor had not expected this. At one moment Linden was crouching beside him; next she was out of their hiding place, doing what would most probably cost her life. He leaped after her, ignoring the pain in his benumbed muscles, and silently cursed the Mentors, the cold, and her most of all. He was not fast enough; he watched in horror as the whip lowered and curved around her slender body—and then the whip stopped a centimeter away without touching her, mist fizzling away from the invisible impact. The young Mentor jerked away.
"Run!" Rianor shouted, but the silly girl did not move at all. He barely had time to notice the distorted smile she gave him, before the old Mentor attacked her from behind. Rianor jumped between them. He planted his knife between the man's ribs just as the whip stung his own face and neck. The buildings rotated around him, and he fought the desire to sit down, as his own blood dripped on his gloves.
* * *
Linden realized that the lord was hurt just as her hair fell over her face and her body started sagging. She reached towards him, but a figure that had been squatting before her suddenly dashed, hissing "Die, foul creature!" Something inside her shrieked that the young Mentor still had a whip, and she found the strength to duck and then spring forward, pushing at his hips with all her strength and managing to cut one of them with her knife. He staggered, but then his hands were on her throat and he squeezed, pulling her upwards. Linden felt her control of the knife waver, so she cut blindly, being vaguely aware that the enemy did not have a whip any more. The knife met resistance, and she felt something warm and liquid on her hands. After that, the world diluted into a mass of meaningless colors, and she collapsed to the ground together with her attacker.
The Seekers of Fire Page 3