“It’s so strange to me,” I say to Vale, who’s watching me closely. “Our flag. Everywhere. Everyone dressed in our sacred clothing. It was dangerous to be Gardnerian for so long, especially in Doveshire.”
Vale’s expression sharpens. “And soon it will be dangerous to be anything else.”
A few days ago, I would have bristled at this. Shot down his pretentious views, deeming them anchored in his privileged upbringing, always one step removed from any real suffering. But after a forced wandfasting, I see things differently. I’ve tasted the edges of something dark—something dangerous that rides along the underbelly of our people’s newfound power.
“Look at them,” Vale says with an air of foreboding. “So untroubled. So sure. So ready to rain the suffering done to us down on everyone who isn’t Gardnerian.” Pain slashes across his face, some private grief. I cast him a questioning look, but he shakes his head and looks away. I study him tensely for a long moment, then glance back out the window.
Gardnerians are out in force, packed tables spilling out into the road at a multitude of restaurants and guest houses, people eating, children waving small flags.
I draw back, surprised by the sight of pointy-eared, rose-white Urisk women in light gray tunics and skirts dotting the city—clearing tables, sweeping streets, their rose hair tied back in tight braids.
“There are Urisk here,” I blurt out, with no small amount of confusion and alarm.
Vale notes my shock with grave calm. “They’re Uuril, Tessla. They’re the lowest Urisk class, slaves to the other Urisk. Or they were. Years ago, a great many of them fled north.” He lets out a deep breath and eyes me soberly. “The original Uuril refugees were welcomed here and treated reasonably well for a time. But that ended with the onset of the border hostilities.” His expression darkens. “They were promptly roped into servitude—the men to help us build our own dragon army, the women forced into what amounts to slavery again.”
Our carriage slows to a stop, and Vale watches as an elderly Uuril woman with a hunched back sweeps refuse off the street, sad sympathy in his gaze.
I look to the woman, her skirts edged with street dirt, her pale face deeply lined and filled with a palpable grief that’s troubling to note. I was so recently a despised refugee myself, with nowhere to go. A conflicted compassion rises inside me for this outcast woman.
“I know how she feels,” I tell Vale as I watch the woman labor.
“The Gardnerians seem to be in a contest with the Urisk,” Vale says bitterly. “A contest to see who can treat the Uuril worse. It’s hard to top the Urisk royalty for sheer cruelty, but I think we’re currently winning.” His frown deepens. “In any case, we’ll be visiting that same cruelty on the Urisk upper classes soon enough.”
“Good,” I say flatly, remembering the terrifying blue-skinned Urisk soldiers, ready to set my family alight.
Vale shoots me a level look. “Really, Tessla? Should we kill them all? Their children, too?”
“Of course not,” I answer, startled. “Not the children, but—”
“Where do you think this leads next?” he cuts in, gesturing toward the outside festivity. “Have you thought about it?”
There’s an elderly Gardnerian woman with a white armband unfurling a Gardnerian flag from a window three stories up. The Gardnerian refugees on the street below applaud and cheer, ignoring the rose-haired Uuril woman as she sweeps.
“Our people are celebrating their freedom,” I say, turning back toward Vale. “You should be happy about that.”
“I am,” he agrees, but his troubled expression doesn’t waver.
The carriage lurches forward, the scene whisked from sight.
I let out a deep sigh as I take in the multitude of flags flapping in the sun. Vale’s grown quiet, and I glance over at him as he abstractedly peers out the window, my eyes wandering over his long frame.
He cuts a fine figure, my fastmate—dauntingly severe in his dark garb, his blackened eyes only adding to his look of reckless danger.
“I’m glad we’re not being killed anymore because of our prayer books,” he finally says, frowning. “Or because of our clothing.”
I consider this, my eyes drawn in by him, like a moth to flame.
“You know, it suits you.” I gesture toward his clothes. “Our garb. I can’t picture you in anything but black.”
He eyes me sidelong and grins. “It mirrors my lack of mirth.”
A short laugh erupts from me at this, and a tendril of his fire reaches out to pulse through me. Our eyes briefly meet, a small flush rising on both our cheeks.
Unsettled, I turn my attention to the docks we’re passing, instantly fascinated by the variety of ships and skiffs.
“There,” he says, pointing past the line of docks. “That’s my home, there.”
Far in the distance, there’s a raised causeway leading toward a circle of land, a traditional Gardnerian manor situated in the middle, ringed by a small forest of trees.
“Killing kraken pays well, doesn’t it?” I gasp.
“Quite well.” He shoots me a significant look. “If you saw them, you’d understand.”
* * *
Vale is a quiet presence as we disembark from the carriage, the salty wind whipping my hair as we enter his sizable home.
An elderly Uuril woman ushers us inside, her skin a pale pink, her ears sharply pointed, her large eyes a vivid coral. I struggle to tamp down my shock at finding an Uuril servant here, especially after Vale’s words in the carriage.
She smiles broadly at Vale. “It’s so good to have you back, Mage Gardner.” Her accent is thick, but lyrical and lovely. She grows silent, her warm smile dampening as she takes in the sight of his bruised face.
“Please don’t ask, Senal’lyn,” he tells her with a resigned sigh, absently rubbing his nose.
Her eyes dance with amusement. “I won’t.” She turns to me, beaming, and gives a slight, gracious bow. “It is a true pleasure to meet you, Mage.”
I can feel Vale’s eyes on me, sense him almost holding his breath in anticipation of my reaction. The Uuril woman also seems to be breathlessly waiting, vulnerability showing in her eyes. I think of the hunched woman in the street, of my recent refugee status—all of us caught up in events far beyond our control.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, as well,” I tell her, extending my hand, my heart pounding high in my chest. She takes my hand and relief brims in her eyes, a wavering smile coming to her lips. Vale’s regarding me with open gratitude.
Senal’lyn brings us to a library that overlooks the ocean as she chats amiably with Vale about affairs of the estate.
My grandfather is sitting in a richly cushioned chair by a well-stoked fire, his head bent, spectacles low on his nose, a book in his lap.
A brief stab of hurt and anger spikes into me as I remember how he forced me into fasting. I can sense Vale behind me, his fire flaring and then banked rigidly back, his affinity lines almost vibrating with uneasy tension.
Grandfather looks up, and his face lights at the sight of me, his papery skin wrinkling into an expression of pure joy. “Oh, my sweet Tess,” he cries and falteringly rises.
At once, my anger dissolves, and a staggering wave of relief washes over me.
He’s safe. And fine. His silver glasses brand-new.
A gray-haired Gardnerian woman in a steel-colored apothecary apron springs forward to support Grandfather’s elbow. She hands him his cane.
Grandfather teeters toward me, and all of my remaining anger falls away. I’m overcome by a wave of protective affection for him and embrace his thin form without any malice. I throw a quick look toward Vale, who seems unmoved by Grandfather’s feeble state. He remains still, his eyes narrowed severely.
He won’t soon shed his grudge, I realize. I take in
Grandfather’s clean, new clothing. The apothecary hovering nearby. His newly trimmed white beard. The healthy color in his cheeks.
Vale might not like him, but he’s caring for him, and that’s enough for now.
Grandfather bows repeatedly toward Vale, hardly daring to make eye contact. “Mage Gardner... I am honored.” He’s clearly overwhelmed to have a Level Five Mage in our family, and the son of the Black Witch, no less. I’m not sure if he even notices Vale’s blackened eyes—if he does, he doesn’t dare say anything.
Grandfather reaches over to cling to my arm with a trembling hand. “Tessla, your brother. He’s doing so well.” He kisses his other fist and shakily makes the sacred sign of blessing over his chest three times.
“Tessie!” Wren bursts from an adjacent room and runs toward me.
My heart lurches, and I fall down to my knees, throwing my arms around my brother’s slender frame, tears coming to my eyes. We grasp each other tightly as I laugh and cry all at the same time.
I pull back to look at him, overwhelmed with relief and joy.
He’s dressed in fine Gardnerian silks, his hair neatly cut and clean. The dark circles under his eyes are much less pronounced. And for the first time in I can’t remember how long, there’s color lighting his cheeks. Fragile, but there. And the spots around his mouth—I can scarcely believe what I’m seeing. Only one day on the expensive medicine, and they’re already almost gone.
Wren tugs at my hand, his eyes lit up. “Come see, Tessie! Come see what I have!”
I let Wren drag me into his new bedroom, just off the library. Grandfather and Vale follow us in. Two gigantic glass doors are thrown open to let in the unusually warm early autumn air. A small white kitten sits in the center of Wren’s mussed bed and looks quizzically at us.
“Fain was here,” Wren tells me excitedly as he picks up the kitten. His usual wheeze is markedly lessened.
“Wrenfir Harrow,” Grandfather weakly chastises my brother as he totters up to my side. “Mind how you speak of our great Mages.”
Wren glances briefly at Grandfather, his smile momentarily dampening. “Mage Quillen,” he corrects himself.
I turn and look questioningly at Vale. “Fain was here?”
Vale’s eyes flick toward mine, but he remains silent, his severe look not budging, his protective fire flaring out over me.
“Mage Quillen brought us here, Tessie!” Wren tells me, filling me in. “And he gave me the kitten!” The small animal twists in Wren’s hands and meows. My brother hugs the kitten to his chest, and it begins to purr. “She likes me!”
“Did you name her yet?” I ask, overwhelmed by Fain’s kindness.
“Snowy!” he tells me, coughing. But it’s not the bone-deep rattle I’ve gotten used to. It’s higher up in his chest. Much higher.
I want to leap for joy and kiss everyone in the room.
My fire flows out toward Vale, and he stolidly meets it.
“Fain’s nice!” Wren enthuses, then looks worriedly at Grandfather. “I mean, Mage Quillen. He gave me this, too, Tessie!”
Wren grabs up an intricate mariner’s scope from the bed and hands the golden instrument to me.
My eyes widen as I take it. It’s no child’s toy, this scope, and probably cost a pretty guilder. I peer through it, out over the bay. The optics are exquisite. I can see clear over to the distant ship I’m looking at, the lines in the halyard rope as vivid as if I held the rope right in my hands.
A laugh escapes me. “This is a really nice gift, Wren.”
“And he brought us chocolate and gave me a book!” Wren points to a colorful bestiary lying on his bed. “He’s nice, Tessie. I like him.”
“Mage Quillen is so very kind,” Grandfather tells me, glancing uneasily toward Vale. “He’s everything a Mage should be.”
Vale’s eyes are tight on my grandfather. I can feel his fire crackling like hot oil in a pan.
I consider Grandfather with a resigned sigh. You only like Fain because you don’t really know him. I can’t help it—the thought slips through like dark water.
“Vale,” I say, gesturing toward my brother, increasingly worried that he’ll frighten Wren half to death with his withering stare and intimidating silence. “I don’t believe you’ve met my brother, Wren.”
Wren loses his smile and looks sidelong at Vale, eyeing him with trepidation.
Vale strides forward, his serious expression not wavering. He gives Wren a slight bow. “I’m honored to meet you, Mage Harrow.”
Wren looks down at his shoes.
New shoes. Brand-new, well-fitting shoes.
My brother dares to glance up at Vale, looks quickly down again, then seems to rally his courage and eyes him squarely. He cocks his head at Vale, as if confused. “What happened to your eyes? And your nose?”
Vale’s lip quirks. “A minor altercation.” He looks closely at Wren. “Are you finding the house to your liking, Mage Harrow?”
Wren nods, his intimidation seeming to lessen, but then his expression darkens. “Grandfather says you’re powerful.” His eyes dart to Vale’s wand, his expression quickly becoming filled with an almost beseeching hope. “He says you can kill dragons. And demons. And their soldiers, too. That’s what Grandfather told me.” Wren looks back up at Vale with an expectant gravity far beyond his years.
“I can,” Vale says with rock-solid assurance. “You’re safe here.”
Wren’s lip quavers, and then his face falls, his whole body slumping.
Vale puts his hand on Wren’s thin shoulder. I can feel him pushing his fire, a hot flare of it, into Wren, bolstering my brother with the warmth.
Wren’s head hangs low as a tear streaks down his cheek. His mouth turns down in a trembling grimace. “I’m worried that they’ll come back,” he says in a small, rasping voice, almost a whisper. He looks to Vale, his eyes gone wide with raw, undisguised terror.
Vale comes down on one knee, his hand still on Wren’s shoulder. “I’m stronger than any of them,” he says slowly, his voice laced with danger. “And you are now under my protection.” Vale’s fire blazes hot and he pushes it toward Wren.
Wren nods, looking relieved. He takes a deep breath, and my heart thrills at the sound of it.
It’s the first clear breath I’ve heard my brother take in over two years.
Chapter 26: Kindred Lines
Vale stares out over the bay. A brilliant sunset breaks through the cloud cover and suffuses the gray clouds with a shimmering rose light that reflects off the water.
We’re out on the outdoor balcony that wraps around the mansion’s top floor, a beautiful view of Valgard and the sunset-colored bay splayed out in front of us. Lights are being lit all over the city, like a growing splash of stars.
“Your Uuril servants seem content,” I observe. All five servants here greeted Vale’s return with palpable relief. The haunted looks apparent in the Uuril we passed on the way here are markedly absent.
“I don’t beat them or prey on them.” His words are clipped, his fire flashing. He grows silent for a long moment, as if something dark and troubling is on his mind.
“Edwin and I were raised by a Uuril nursemaid,” he finally says. “She was one of the refugees, fleeing north.” He turns to me, his gaze probing in its intensity. “Edwin and I consider her to be our true mother.” He sighs and looks back over the bay. “My Black Witch mother, once she started to come into her power...it consumed her. She had no time for child rearing. She hasn’t the disposition for it, in any case.”
“What of your sister, Vyvian?” I wonder, surprised by all this.
He shakes his head. “She had a different nursemaid, being a girl. Oralyrr. A different Uuril woman. She...wasn’t kind.” Vale spits out a bitter sound. “I had to threaten the woman several times when we were all childr
en to keep her from taking the strap to Vyvian. Needless to say, my sister has no love for the Uuril. But Annel’lin—the woman who looked after Edwin and me—was very kind. Very loving. We were lucky.”
We’re both quiet for a time, looking out over the bay, watching a happy crowd gathered on one of the docked ships. They’re sending paper lanterns up into the air.
“So, you see,” Vale finally says, “hatred doesn’t come so easily to Edwin and me. I’ll rescue our refugees. Fight the Keltic and Urisk armies. Carve out a land where our people can be safe.” He turns to me, eyes blazing. “But I won’t slaughter our enemies’ children. Burn their villages. Do to their families what they did to us. There are orders I will not follow, Tessla.” His brow tenses. “I want our people to be safe. But I refuse to become as monstrous as the Kelts and the Urisk.”
I let out a long breath. “They were pretty monstrous, Vale. It’s better that we’re in power. No matter the cost.”
“If it means killing children?” he shoots back. “Really? Where does it end, Tessla? Where? We’re simply dressing the nightmare up in different clothes. Ours.” Vale glances back over the bay. His fire is fitful, like a confined cat. “A few weeks ago we were at the southern border,” he says in a low voice. “We arrived too late. The Kelts had already rounded up about ten of our families, and...” He breaks off, anguish streaking across his face.
“And what, Vale?” I ask him gently.
“I was sent to fetch Malkyn Bane later that day. And I found him.” Vale’s eyes grow tormented, and he looks at me. “He slaughtered every Kelt in the adjacent village. Everyone. Speared some with ice. Froze most of them. There were babies, children. Old women. Caked in ice.”
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