Cephrael's Hand: A Pattern of Shadow & Light Book One

by McPhail, Melissa

  “Oh, Tanis, there you are,” Alyneri said. She was crushing herbs with in a mortar and pestle. “Did you finish up in town?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” He glanced at the man now sleeping peacefully in the adjoining bedroom. “Has he woken?”

  “Not yet. I want you to sit with him tonight so I can be with Farshideh.”

  Tanis sighed. “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “But pay a call on Farshideh first,” she said in a peculiarly emotionless tone. “She’s convinced…well, I should tell you, her health is failing quickly.”

  Tanis ducked out and ran down the halls and upstairs to Farshideh’s rooms. She bade him enter when he knocked, and called him to her bedside. “Ah, Tanis, khortdad,” she said weakly, her deep voice barely a whisper, her dark eyes half-mast, “you come to say goodbye.”

  “No, Farshideh,” he murmured, taking her hand in his. “Just good night.”

  “What fib is this?” She affected a chiding tone though her gaze was gentle. “A Truthreader cannot lie.”

  Tanis smiled lovingly at her. “Then it must be true.”

  She closed her eyes and nodded. “You are the dearest child I have ever known, Tanis, khortdad, as dear to me as my own Sudi, lost now these many years. I go to rest knowing the sky is big in your future.”

  Tanis didn’t know what to say, mostly because he had no idea what she meant.

  “Tanis,” she whispered, “do not fear for me. I go soon now to the Path of the Dead. The dead…they see so much. They know. I can see now what I should have seen long ago. Tanis, khortdad, when I am gone, Alyneri must return to our people—to her family in M’Nador. She has much family there, Tanis, family who will love her…her father’s people—good people. She must not stay in this cold place, a child of the desert. Tanis…”

  Tanis held her hand tightly. “Yes, Farshideh?”

  “Tanis, this world is dying. Tanis…” she whispered, but before she could say more, Tanis realized she’d drifted off to sleep.

  He stayed with her for a little while longer, but once he was sure she was merely sleeping, he made his way back to the infirmary.

  Tanis felt a great emptiness inside. Farshideh seemed so frail, and her words were so…so final; for the first time it became real to him that she would soon be gone.

  He took a seat on a stool at the end of the counter where Alyneri was measuring out varied powders into a beaker, but it only reminded him of the many hours he’d spent sitting on that same stool watching Farshideh instead. So he got up and walked to the window. He thought to maybe lighten the mood by sharing his news from town. “Your Grace, did you hear? Everyone’s talking about it. Prince Ean—”

  But Alyneri cut him sharply off. “Tanis, you know I don’t care to hear the court gossip.”

  Tanis sighed and slouched forward, resting his forehead on the windowpane. The night beyond seemed nothing but sharp shadows full of hate and spite. “Yes, Your Grace,” he muttered.

  Alyneri pushed her flaxen braid off her shoulder, brushed her hands together, and turned to him as she took off her apron. “Our mystery man’s tea is all ready for when he wakes. Two teaspoons per cup, and he should drink a cup every hour while he’s up—but encourage him to rest. You know where I’ll be if you need me.” She spun on her heel and left.

  Feeling dejected, Tanis walked into the man’s room and sat down glumly in a chair beside the bed. It wasn’t even a comfortable chair.

  ***

  In his dream, Ean faced the darkness boldly, but inside he was trembling. The pale certainty of his fate only filled him with fear. Not fear of death—though death was certain—but fear of failure. All those he loved and who loved him…all who had died that he might reach this moment, he felt their presence with him now. Everything rested on his shoulders.

  With the support of the lost and the loved, he carried the burden like his family’s banner: proudly, with unwavering determination, with certainty of duty.

  Before him the darkness undulated as far as the eye could see. Its emptiness was complete, yet the darkness comprised something so vast that the mortal mind could not fully embrace its existence.

  And every writhing, swirling, vicious inch of it seethed with hatred.

  Ean felt its malevolence washing over him in huge waves that stirred and lifted his hair and equally burned and chilled his flesh, but he held fast to the thread in his hand.

  It was a delicate silver thing, so ephemeral, so fragile, yet it was the key to the Undoing. So he drew upon it, slowly at first, then with more speed…finally reeling in the thread in voluminous, billowing clouds until the length of thread formed great silvery mountains around him.

  And all the while the darkness raged. It beat and tore at him, shredding his clothing, singeing his hair until he stood burned and naked before it. It invaded his body then and destroyed him from within, delving deep into flesh with sharp biting barbs, gnawing voraciously on his living bones. But no matter the agony of Its violation of him, no matter the bloody tears that stained his cheeks, Ean kept pulling on that thread; faster…faster, feeling each hand firmly around the string until he looked down and saw that the thread was now attached to him. His feet, his legs were already gone, Undone, yet he couldn’t stop pulling now. The thread kept unraveling at lightning speed, taking him, screaming, with it…

  ***

  Tanis must’ve drifted off to sleep in spite of the hard wood pressing into his backside, for he started awake to the sound of the man groaning and thrashing in his sleep. He seemed to be having a bad dream, so Tanis leaned to gently shake him. “Sir…wake up, sir.”

  The man jerked awake with a startled half-cry, surprising Tanis, who jumped backwards into the bedside table and nearly knocked it over. The man pushed palms to eyes and blinked a few times. “Where…where am I?”

  “Aracine, sir.” Tanis bent and helped him sit up slightly, propping pillows behind his back for support.

  The man ran his hands down his face and then turned to look full at Tanis. He had eyes the color of a stormy sea. They seemed in striking contrast to his tangled brown hair and beard. “Aracine,” he repeated, sounding more lucid with every waking moment. “At the healer’s home? What is it—Fersthaven?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Ah…” he said. Then he frowned. “How did I come to be here?”

  It was Tanis’s turn to be surprised. “You don’t know?”

  He shook his head. “The last thing I remember is…” He frowned. “Well, it all seems a dream, really.”

  Tanis wasn’t sure what to tell him; it seemed the poor man knew less than they did. “All I know, sir,” the lad began, “is that a zanthyr brought you here on the biggest stallion I’ve ever seen. He brought your horse, too, sir, and if it’s not too bold for me to say, well…he’s a real beauty, that one.”

  “No, no it’s fine.” He ran hands down his face again. “A zanthyr…” and his gaze clouded at mention of his rescuer—or at least Tanis supposed the creature was his rescuer, though there was certainly no proof it wasn’t the zanthyr who’d stabbed him in the first place. “Yes, I certainly remember him, and you said…my horse is here?”

  “We stabled him, sir. Happy as a lark he is. What’s his name, if I may ask?”

  “Oh…yes. His name is Caldar.”

  Tanis nodded his appreciation. “He certainly looks the part, sir.”

  “He is well named, I’ll admit,” the man agreed, sounding more lucid with every waking moment. “He hasn’t hooves of gold like the Second Vestal’s famous stallion, but the name is apt.”

  Tanis rubbed at one eye. He still had one question. “The zanthyr, sir. Was he a friend of yours?” Tanis wasn’t sure why, but he did hope that the zanthyr could be trusted. There was something just too frightening about him should he prove otherwise.

  The man scratched thoughtfully at his beard. “A friend? Why…why, yes. I suppose you could say that.” Then he added with a little frown, “Though I wonder if he would agree with you.”
/>
  Tanis looked at him doubtfully, a look which elicited a chuckle from the man. He brightened and gave Tanis an amiable smile. “Well, lad,” he said then, “I fear we haven't been properly introduced. Shall I do the honors?”

  Tanis gave him a relieved look. “If you would, sir.”

  “Certainly. I think I remember you—you’re the Truthreader, Lady Melisande’s ward. Am I right?”

  “Yes, sir. My name is Tanis.”

  “Well met then, Tanis. Know me as…” but here he paused and seemed to reconsider his answer. “As…Ean of Calgaryn.”

  Tanis gave him a curious look. His Truthreader’s sense told him there was something the man wasn’t saying. But what? Clearly he’s not lying. That much Tanis could easily tell. The lad had quickly discovered that being a Truthreader wasn’t the easy gift everyone thought. Most of the time he was more confused by the snippets of thoughts and emotions that he picked up than he would’ve been had he sensed nothing at all. So Tanis asked, “Have you no surname, sir?”

  “Ean of Calgaryn is sufficient,” the man answered.

  “Ean of Calgaryn,” Tanis repeated, wishing he understood all of the perceptions feeding into his awareness. “You’ve the same given name as the Prince of Dannym.”

  Ean broke into an even broader grin. “Fancy that! How keen of you to notice, Tanis.”

  Tanis frowned at him. “Are you mocking me, sir?”

  “Surely not,” he denied, though Tanis wasn’t so sure his smile didn’t say otherwise.

  “I’d best get you your tea,” Tanis murmured, and went to attend to it. While he was stoking the fire in the infirmary and setting on a kettle to boil, Ean called from the adjoining room, “And how is Alyneri? I take it she healed me?”

  “Yes, sir,” Tanis called back. “She had a bit of help though.”

  “How is that?”

  “Her Grace says the zanthyr worked a pattern to spare you from poison and sure death.”

  “Yes…that zanthyr,” Ean repeated musingly again. “Then Alyneri knew him, did she?”

  Tanis sat back on his heels while he waited on the kettle. “No sir, not really. She only knew he was a zanthyr. Her Grace is astute at that sort of thing… spotting Wildlings and so forth. Raine’s truth, sir, she rather hoped you’d be able to tell us something about him.”

  He heard Ean murmur something that sounded much like, I could tell you many things, but he didn’t think he was supposed to hear that, so he made no mention of it.

  When he had the tea prepared, Tanis returned and handed it to Ean. Then he sat down in the chair to be sure to watch him drink it—for as Her Grace often admonished, the infirm developed devious tendencies when it came to taking their medicine. But Ean complied without question.

  When he was finished, he handed the goblet back and settled Tanis a crooked sort of half-grin. “I find it curious, Tanis,” he commented, “that you and Alyneri aren’t at Festival. It was my understanding that all of Dannym’s nobility—not to mention dignitaries from seven kingdoms—had collected in Calgaryn to receive Prince Ean.”

  “Lucky for you Her Grace had to come to the country,” Tanis pointed out, sounding more resentful than he intended.

  “Oh indeed,” Ean agreed, smiling in such a disarming way that the boy soon found himself grinning foolishly back.

  “Truth be told, sir,” Tanis confessed then as he settled the goblet on his knees, keen to speak with Ean since he seemed in the mood to converse, “they started Festival without the prince.”

  Ean raised brows. “Indeed?”

  Inspired by his interest, Tanis leaned in and whispered, “The prince didn’t show up in port when he was due. Some say he’s gone missing!”

  “Ah no!” Ean exclaimed. He clapped a hand to his cheek. “What do they say has happened to him?”

  Tanis shrugged. “Nobody knows. Some say his ship rendezvoused with an Agasi draegoon owned by a princess of the Imperialty, and others say he was captured by pirates, but some think he sabotaged his own homecoming, leaving the ship mid-sail between the Isles and Calgaryn, vanishing in the dead of night.”

  “Oh indeed, and why should the prince want to avoid Calgaryn?” Ean’s eyes glinted with mirth.

  “Because of the heiress that refuses to marry him,” Tanis answered in a tone that implied everyone should know that. At the same time, he almost seemed indignant on the Prince’s behalf.

  Ean seemed to be having incredible trouble concealing his smile, for it kept twitching the corners of his mouth. “An heiress, eh? That’s one I hadn’t heard before.”

  “My friend Tad val Mallonwey thinks it’s the only explanation for the prince not being betrothed yet.”

  “I see. And who would—ahem,” he paused and cleared his throat, “this heiress be?”

  “How should we know? Nobody knows.”

  “Now quite obviously the prince knows,” Ean pointed out in his teasing way. “And the heiress too, I imagine. Too bad we can’t ask either of them.”

  Tanis just looked at him. He was sure Ean was mocking him, but he couldn’t decide how, exactly.

  “And did you mention this to Her Grace, by chance?” Ean asked.

  Tanis frowned and rubbed at the goblet with his thumb. “No. She doesn’t care to hear the court gossip.”

  Ean chuckled. “That sounds like her.” He stifled a yawn, and for a moment Tanis caught the briefest flash of his thoughts spilling over, full of sorrow and regret, so in contrast to his outward demeanor. His tone betrayed none of his feelings, however, as he smiled and said, “I do believe Your Lady’s tea is working, Tanis. I think I should try to get some rest. But don’t fret, I have a feeling you’ll have some gossip to spread around none too soon.”

  It was a clear dismissal, so the boy took his leave, but long into the evening, he couldn’t stop wondering what the man could have meant.

  Eighteen

  ‘Dare not seek to outwit Fate. It is the rabbit that cannot be caught.’

  – origin unknown

  Farshideh im’Shiavash, daughter of Parviz the Scholar, died that night. The God Inithiya came for her spirit as Alyneri was holding her hand. Azerjaiman claimed her last breath in a passing sigh, and His wind blew outside as the gods left Aracine with Farshideh flying free among them.

  “Tanis.” Alyneri shook him gently, for he’d fallen asleep in his chair at the foot of Farshideh’s bed.

  The lad opened his colorless Truthreader’s eyes, so like the deep waters of a rushing stream, and saw Alyneri’s tears. He stood and embraced her, and they remained in this fashion until her shuddering sobs subsided and no more tears would come for either of them.

  She wiped her face then and braved a smile. Together, they pulled the sheet over Farshideh’s closed eyes. Her body would be returned to M’Nador for the proper rites. Alyneri had promised.

  Her Grace sent Tanis off to bed then and herself looked in on her charge. The man was sleeping peacefully again, so she also retired, though it was a long time before sleep came to her.

  When she woke, it was with the dawn. Alyneri always woke with the dawn. She made the rounds in Farshideh’s stead, nodding approval to the maids as they began their rounds of the occupied rooms, saying good morning to the cook and her staff and listening attentively to complaints about the gardener. She looked in on the head groundskeeper and his gardeners and listened to complaints about the cook and her crew, but all the while she felt in a daze, like she’d forgotten something important that should’ve been remembered. She left a note for her chamberlain, who would oversee Fersthaven until Alyneri could find a new seneschal, and issued instructions for transport of Farshideh’s body. Then she bolstered her courage to face the day and went to the infirmary.

  Her guest was still asleep, so she set to preparing his morning tea. Tanis had told her last night that he’d woken, but she’d really heard little of the lad’s report, being so absorbed with Farshideh at the time. Now for the life of her she couldn’t even remember the man’s name. Is
that the important thing I’ve forgotten? she wondered as she poured boiling water into a goblet, but then she thought, Honestly, what difference does it make?

  As it turned out, a great deal.

  She entered his bed chamber and set the tea upon a coffer chest before crossing the room to open the curtains. As she was tying back the stays—

  “Alyneri.”

  She turned to find him awake and sitting up, and their eyes met…grey eyes beneath cinnamon lashes. She knew those eyes, and now she knew that voice. It was older, yes, but no one spoke her name with quite the same inflection.

  “You don’t recognize me?” he inquired with a crooked grin. “I was under the impression before I left Calgaryn that you had something of a crush upon me, despite being betrothed to my brother.”

  Oh yes, she knew him. “Ean,” she managed, such emotion evident in the simple utterance of his name. It was a shock, to be sure—not simply that she’d healed him without realizing who he was, but mostly that she’d taken such strides to avoid him yet he was delivered to her doorstep!

  Five years—five years!—she’d spent trying to rid her heart of Ean val Lorian. Five years wasted, for she felt the pull of him as strong as ever upon her heart. She gripped the curtains for meager support and searched for any words to cover her dismay. “By Cephrael’s Great Book, what happened to you, Ean? You were supposed to arrive in the harbor. There was going to be a…a parade…”

  Ean observed her discomfiture with a shadowy smile. “What—that’s it? No ‘welcome home, Your Highness?’ Not even an ‘I’m so marvelously glad to see you, Ean, might I have a kiss?’ I’ll freely admit that I’ve missed kissing you, Alyneri.”

  Alyneri gathered her shattered composure like shards of broken china, brusquely and without undue ceremony. She released the curtains as if suddenly affronted by their proximity and pushed hands to her sides. “Were you hijacked,” she inquired, all business as she walked to retrieve his tea. “How did you wind up in Stradtford?”