“No daughter of mine would live a bastard’s life,” Fhionna told him seriously. “And your blood is pure.”
Trell was stricken by her words. “You cannot know that.”
She took his hand and bade him sit up to better look into her eyes. Pressing his palm to her bosom, she murmured, “But I do. My body tells me what the mind denies. I will honor the Mother’s wishes, but she cannot control what I feel for you. I am only attracted to men of noble blood, Trell of the Tides, and I cannot say…” She closed her eyes and finished breathlessly, “I cannot say when I was last so attracted to a man. You must be very noble indeed.”
Unwilling to accept her words, Trell retrieved his hand from her grasp. “The bastard son of a nobleman is still a bastard son, Fhionna.”
“Nobility is not merely a blood-right, Trell,” she argued. “It is honor embodied, and that…that is you.” When he said nothing, she took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Come,” she offered, holding out her hand. “I want to show you something.”
Trell resisted. “It isn’t safe to leave camp—”
“We won’t go far.” Her smile was so alluring, her hand so warm and soft, her face so beautiful... She’d promised not to enchant him, but he didn’t think she needed magic to claim a place in his heart.
So he remitted, against his better judgment, and went with her toward the river. They headed downstream together until Fhionna found what she was looking for, a rockfall of large boulders jutting out into the river, its rushing waters falling in a smooth but terrible wave that churned the raging water into mist about ten paces below.
With Trell’s hand tightly in her own, Fhionna led him out onto the rocks, to the edge of the waterfall where the stone was ever wet. “Now then,” she said. “Sit here, beside me,” and she settled casually onto the damp and slippery rocks.
Trell was more careful with his footing, but he soon found himself beside her. “And now?” he asked.
She smiled. “Now we listen.”
“Ah…riversong. You think to teach me to hear it?”
She gave him an approving smile.
“But I am just a man.”
“A man with Naiadithine’s blessing is not just any man.” She took his hand and interlaced their fingers, settling their joined hands into her lap. “Close your eyes,” she murmured.
Trell did as he was bidden, enjoying the moment and Fhionna’s closeness equally. It was a relief not to feel that unbearable need, to know only the natural desire a man might feel for a beautiful, intelligent woman. This was true, real…not a trick of Wildling magic. And Fhionna had promised to keep him free from further interference of that nature. He felt his body rising at Fhionna’s touch, but he had spent many years coexisting with Desire in all her myriad facets. He knew her like an old friend.
“You’re not listening, Trell,” Fhionna chided.
He darted a glance at her and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”
She sighed. “You are such a beautiful man.”
“And you, my lady.”
They gazed into one another’s eyes for a long time, and then finally Fhionna laughed and shook her head. “Now neither of us is listening. So…” She settled herself again more purposefully. “Let us try again.”
They closed their eyes together. For a long time, Trell heard only the roar of the waterfall, and then Fhionna whispered in his ear, “Riversong is cacophony…discord and noise to the inattentive ear. It roars, screams, rages.”
“Yes,” he murmured, eyes closed.
“But what is a cacophony but a merging of too many harmonies for the ear to separate?” she posed, her breath soft on his skin. “To learn to hear the song of the river, one must shut out all but one note. So, Trell,” and she gripped his hand tightly for encouragement, “you must try to find one note among the roar; listen for just that one sweet sound. Let it linger in your ear, on and on…on and on. The river sings all notes at once. Listen…”
Trell cleared his mind, pushing away everything but the sound of the churning water, even distancing himself from the feel of Fhionna close beside him. Only the water, rolling, falling, tumbling… The constant rushing became hypnotic, lulling Trell’s senses…and finally, once he’d long lost track of time, he did begin to hear beyond the noise. He couldn’t separate the notes, but he could perceive that there were many of them.
The river sings all notes at once.
Something about the roar of the waterfall triggered a memory, but it was so deep and distant from his consciousness, so hard to get hold of. He swam toward it. There was a luminous haze far off, too far to reach. His eyes and chest burned, and his head throbbed violently. He felt hope leaving him, floating away toward the light, and he reached for it with longing and regret…with apology.
Then he saw her. She coalesced above him from the liquid sea, her water-clear features alien, long hair like ocean waves…barely visible, only a mirage. Her lips moved, speaking without sound.
Trell of the Tides...
Beside him, Fhionna gasped. “Oh no! No!”
Her alarm instantly brought him back. His eyes flew open.
Fhionna was already on her feet and pulling him to come. “Hurry, oh please, Trell. Hurry!”
He scrambled to his feet. “What happened? What did you hear?”
“Hurry!” she urged, and as they made land, they ran.
They met Kamil and Radiq halfway back to camp, the former trying to pull the latter out of the Cry, both men drenched and bare-headed, long hair like vines around their shoulders. Trell rushed to help rescue Radiq from the icy waters, slipping himself on the slick rocks, but they managed to get him to safety.
“It’s my knee,” the Khurd gasped as he collapsed onto the sand. “Twisted.”
Kamil looked to Trell and bent to rest hands on his knees. “Nadoriin.” he said, catching his breath. “They chased us down, drove us into the river. No doubt they thought us lost, but Naiadithine carried us safely, because we are your companions, Ama-Kai’alil.”
Trell was horrified. How could he have been so careless with their lives! “And the others?” he urged.
Kamil shook his head. “I do not know.”
With a look of profound apology, Trell left them and ran back to camp. The site was in shambles, the ladies’ tent trampled, their things scattered. He began to feel the fingers of panic but pushed them away, letting cold anger descend in their place.
A moan from afar drew his attention, and he sprinted toward the sound. He found Sayid crawling out from beneath the collapsed tent dragging the unwound cloth of his turban behind him. His head was bloodied, but he seemed otherwise whole.
Trell grabbed his elbow and helped him up. “What happened?” he asked, desperate for news.
“A dozen horsemen,” the Khurd answered. He pushed a fold of cloth to his bloodied head, looking dazed. “They charged down the hillside from above, scattered us. Took the girl.”
Trell cursed himself. The Nadoriin had probably been watching them for days, waiting for the chance to attack. “Fhionna was with me,” he told Sayid, “and we met Kamil and Radiq downstream, injured but whole.”
“Khoob, that is well for the sun.” Sayid sat down uncertainly and checked the cloth from his head. The wound seemed to have stopped bleeding. “Ammar was guarding the little Lily,” he told Trell then, seeming more alert. “The Nadoriin struck him down. It may have been mortal, I do not know. The blonde nymphae Aishlinn dragged him unconscious into the river with her.”
Trell looked around angrily at the ruins of their campsite, his breath coming hard. He felt it an unconscionable mistake; if Lily came to harm, he might never forgive himself. Sherba was idling among the trees, but there was no sign of their mounts. “Did they take the horses?”
Sayid cracked a grin, his teeth white in the night. “Your mare, the Hallovian, she broke free before the Nadoriin could grab her. Nearly trampled two of them as she fled. The other horses escaped in her wake, followed her upriver. I suspect they wi
ll all return if you call her back.”
Trell placed a hand on his shoulder. “What can I do to help you?”
He shook his head. “Do what you must, Ama-Kai’alil.”
With fury matching the river’s boiling frenzy, Trell walked to the river’s edge, put two fingers to his lips and whistled for Gendaia. He waited a minute and whistled again. As he was rejoining Sayid, Fhionna and the other two Khurds arrived with Kamil supporting a limping Radiq.
“Salaam,” they greeted laconically. He nodded to them.
Trell frowned at their condition. “Kamil, how fare you?”
“I am unharmed, Ama-Kai’alil, save for my pride, which requires retribution at least in kind.” He helped Radiq to sit and then squatted to inspect the other man’s knee.
“The Cry is hungry for Nadoriin,” Fhionna murmured mercilessly, her blue eyes hard as agates.
“Good,” declared Trell. “I’d like to feed her tonight. Feed her well.”
The Khurds took a moment to tend their wounds while Trell and Fhionna salvaged what they could of their things. Trell’s packs lay miraculously untouched, and most of their food remained, though their water stores had been found and the bags slashed. The women’s tent was destroyed, but their things were merely scattered. It wasn’t long before Trell and Fhionna had put things right again.
They were at the river refilling what waterskins could be saved when the horses returned. Gendaia announced their approach as she came over a rise, and the other horses filled in to either side of her. Trell felt choked with gratitude at seeing her, both for the treasure that Gendaia was to him as well as the gift of receiving her.
Balaji, your Mage again has saved me, it seems.
He stood and clicked his tongue, and Gendaia pranced across the distance to join him, pressed her nose into his chest, and nickered a hello.
“Oh,” said Fhionna, coming to stand beside him, “she adores you.”
“The feeling is mutual.” He stroked Gendaia’s neck. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
She nickered again.
Within an hour after the attack, order had been restored. Kamil lit a fire to dry their soaked clothes, and they all collected around it. Trell rejoined the Khurds, taking a seat beside Sayid. He was quiet for a long time, and then he leveled Sayid a serious look. “I have to go after Lily.”
“Indeed so.”
“I cannot ask you three to accompany me on this endeavor.”
Sayid nodded sagaciously. “You know us well, Trell of the Tides. To ask for our aid would be insulting.”
A smile twitched in the corner of Trell’s mouth.
“You’ll be risking your lives,” Fhionna said. She was fretful and full of ire, and they knew she feared for Lily. “All to save a Nadori girl. You could be walking to your deaths to save the daughter of an enemy. Is that really what you want?”
Sayid’s dark eyes settled on her evenly. “Are not our lives just as worthy as Trell of the Tides’? Why do you ask one man to make a noble sacrifice and not ask the same of his companions?”
Fhionna looked taken aback. She dropped her eyes to her hands. “Your honor shames me, sir.”
“Let not the politics of kings invade your heart, princess of the waters,” the Khurd replied. “All men may find brotherhood in their hearts.”
“Well spoken, Sayid,” Trell murmured. He gave Fhionna a compassionate look , for he could tell she was feeling fragile.
“We will find your sister-kin,” Kamil reassured her, “and rescue her from the heathens. Be at peace, Naiadithine’s child.”
Fhionna braved a smile and brushed a stray tear from her cheek. “Forgive me.” She looked them all in the eyes. “I am overwhelmed by the nobility of the men who surround me tonight. The Mother’s blessing on your quest.” Her aqua eyes lingered on Trell.
Trell looked to Sayid inquiringly. The de facto leader of the Khurds nodded. “So. Radiq will stay with the nymphae and the horses. We two will go with you.”
“Let it be so,” Trell replied quietly.
Twenty-six
‘Death is only the beginning.’
– An old Wildling saying
Ean found his queen mother in her apartments surrounded by a host of clucking hens, most notably his Admiral grandfather, who fussed ridiculously over her state, quite in contrast to the way he treated his sailors—verily, a man took his life in his hands bringing anything less than a mortal wound to the Admiral’s attention, for Cameron l’Owain swore by the healing powers of the sea and was more likely to send a man to naptha the hull while the ship was afloat than to call a Healer to attend his injury.
To her credit, Alyneri seemed oblivious to the commotion surrounding her as she healed the queen’s cheek. Neither woman noticed Ean’s arrival, so he stood back and watched intently, hoping to see some outward proof of Alyneri’s talent, in part to assuage his confusions over his own wound that had healed so quickly while in the Shade’s captivity. Sadly, his mother’s wound looked no different when Alyneri finally dropped her hands to her lap and smiled at the queen. “Tomorrow it will be much improved, Your Majesty,” she said. “There will be no scar.”
“You are a blessing, child.” The queen graced Alyneri with a kiss on the cheek. Errodan’s eyes lifted then and fixed on her son, and something ineffable came into them. It was that look of joy and love and adoration that only a mother’s gaze can truly express. The adoration didn’t fade, though she noted Ean’s ill mood with a furrowed brow. “I was going to ask how it went with your father,” she said to him, “but I see now I shouldn’t have wondered.”
Ean’s frown deepened. He glanced around the room and noted the many eyes now upon him. “It’s not…it’s not what you think. I hadn’t known of the…missing dead.”
“Ah, yes.” She held her hands to him, and he came and took them to help her stand. Errodan looked him up and down, and then she flashed another adoring smile. “Let’s go for a walk. Alyneri, dear, why don’t you come, too?”
Alyneri looked startled. “Me?”
“Unless you know another Alyneri in the room.”
Alyneri dutifully got to her feet, but Ean noted that she made a point of walking on the other side of the queen. Her Majesty led them eventually into a tower, and after a spiraling climb, they arrived in Errodan’s circular solar. On a sunny day, the room was bathed with light, but now the bay windows seemed to hover in the center of the growing storm. Ean decided that the dark clouds roiling around them perfectly mirrored his mood.
Errodan walked to one of the windows and placed her hand on the glass. It could have been a trick of the light, but Ean thought the gash on her cheek looked slightly better. “You three were educated in this room, do you remember, Ean?”
The prince nodded. It had been many years since he and his brothers studied together, long years since his eldest brother Senastian spoke with excitement of going to M’Nador as an ambassador for peace.
Errodan looked over her shoulder at Ean and Alyneri, and tears brimmed in her eyes. “We have each of us lost those most dear to our hearts. In that we are bound together.”
Ean glanced at Alyneri, but her gaze was fixed upon his mother.
“In the Isles, we do not speak the names of the dead. Did you know that, Alyneri?”
“Yes, Your Majesty—at least, I knew that you wouldn’t speak the names of your lost sons.”
“It is so. Do you know why?”
“I would gratefully hear your explanation, Your Majesty.”
Errodan walked to Ean and took his face between her hands. He gazed tragically down at her, choked by his own emotions and the memories she’d evoked. “We do not name them,” she said as she looked upon her last and youngest son, “unless we are ready to forget them.”
“Does that mean…” Alyneri paused and caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Do you mean, if you name them—”
Errodan released her grieving son and looked to the girl. “We can never speak their names again.”
The queen smiled crookedly at her. She slipped her arm around Ean’s waist and hugged him close. “The difference is in our hearts, sweetling. Some prefer to keep the dead close forever, always thinking of them, never naming them aloud. Others prefer to let the dead go and refuse to think of them again, believing this denial helps the departed move on to the Returning, and that with Epiphany’s Grace they will know them again some day. These rituals are from the old ways, and many of the mainlanders practice them no longer, but they have value.”
Pulling away to face Ean again, Errodan cupped her son’s face and kissed his cheek. “What happened with your father?”
“I told him if he wouldn’t look for the Shade, I would.”
“And what did Gydryn say?”
“He gave me his blessing.”
“That’s folly, Ean,” Alyneri blurted before the queen could reply. “To go in search of such a creature. He could be anywhere—or nowhere!”
Ean cast her a surly look. “Then I’ll hunt down his master—someone will pay the price of my blood-brother’s death, Alyneri.”
“It could well be you if you go in search of a Shade, Ean.”
“Either way, the price is paid!”
“Ean,” his mother’s gentle voice drew his gaze to her, inviting calm. “Wait until you’ve spoken with the Fourth Vestal before you storm off after this creature—that’s all I ask of you. His Excellency promised to consult with you upon his return from Illume Belliel.”
Ean glared at Alyneri as he replied, “I don’t intend to go storming off into the night with no plan of attack nor even any trail to follow. I am not so reckless as that, no matter what some people say about me in court.”
“Don’t look at me,” Alyneri sniffed indignantly. “I hardly speak of you in court at all.”
“No doubt when you do, it is simply to malign my memory.”
Errodan stifled a smile as she inserted, “I hate to interrupt such lighthearted gaiety, though I note you’ve both reclaimed your old roles with one another and they don’t seem to have evolved at all between ten and three and ten and eight.” She cast them both a droll smile. To Ean, she offered, “I know your mind, my darling. You will spin yourself into knots over this Shade and all that happened in his wake. Might I suggest finding your way to Ysolde’s chambers when you’re finished here? There is an Espial sharing quarter with my companion, and he has most recently been in the employ of the Fourth Vestal. Perhaps he may prove of some help to you in planning your search for the Shade.”
Cephrael's Hand: A Pattern of Shadow & Light Book One Page 40