Upon which statement the audience erupted into shouting—a hundred enthusiastic questions bombarded the stage all at once. Franco glanced weakly over his shoulder and noted dispiritedly that Gannon, Kardashian and Ledio had all lined up behind him, conveniently barring any escape.
As the noise of reaction among the brethren was dying down, someone called from the audience, “Franco…”
Franco reluctantly tore his burning gaze from Carian to look out across the sea of indistinct faces.
The same voice called then, “How many rings do you have?”
“Three,” Carian answered before Franco could lie about it—or at least attempt to avoid answering.
“Three.” Devangshu and Kardashian said in wondrous unison, while the audience murmured with sibilant awe.
“The High Mage of the Citadel bestowed them upon him herself,” Carian announced to them proudly. Then he just grinned in response to Franco’s murderous glare.
Franco stared hard at the stage floor with his face burning and unspoken curses singeing his tongue. With every secret that Carian so blithely revealed, he felt like a layer of his flesh was being flayed.
Perhaps Gannon was right. Perhaps they’d lived with these secrets for too long, but he didn’t know how to live without them now. They’d become part of who he was-is-would-always-be. He couldn’t separate himself from them…he didn’t know where he began and they ended.
“Niko has but two rings,” someone in the audience shouted, “and he gained his second after the Wars!”
A general murmur of malcontent answered this point, for everyone knew that the trials held since the Wars were inferior to those overseen by the Citadel’s High Mage.
“Brothers, there’s no question about it.” Devangshu quieted them with upraised hands. “If the Alorin Seat is determined to appoint someone to the vestal position in lieu of the Great Master’s return, it must be our brother-in-arms, Franco Rohre!”
To which the shout of approval reverberated the loudest of all.
“Brothers!” Devangshu held a hand proudly to Franco, hope and possibility making his brown-eyed gaze uncommonly bright. “I give you our candidate for Second Vestal: the Admiral, Franco Rohre!”
Abruptly Devangshu and everyone else cleared the stage. Franco found himself standing alone, facing a theater filled with Nodefinders shouting a roaring applause, and the repeating echo of his name:
Fran-co! Fran-co!
By Cephrael’s Great Book!
Franco’s mouth had gone dry, and a sudden lack of breath made him feel that he was choking on seawater and trapped again in a dark cave alongside Immanuel di Nostri. Would that the man had made his own escape that night and left Franco in that cave to drown! He remembered all too well seeing the stars of Cephrael’s Hand through the opening in the cave roof, and later the feeling of Fate’s threads reaching out for him, binding him to a new course.
Now, seeing where that course was leading, he knew that somewhere up in the heavens, Cephrael had to be laughing.
Fifteen
“Destiny isn’t chance but choice. It isn’t a thing to be waited for. It is a thing to be achieved”
–The Adept Socotra Isio, Sormitáge Scholar
Alyneri walked the path from the rebellion compound back to the sa’reyth carrying a tray under one arm and a lightness in her heart. Since binding with Trell, she’d hardly known a moment outside of bliss. She felt him always in her mind, even when he was physically distant, yet he might’ve shared a chair across the fire from her for how close he seemed when she thought of him…for how easily they could converse.
Of course, she was always happier when she felt useful, and between her training sessions with Vaile, teaching Trell the cortata, and caring for the Nodefinders—none of whom seemed capable of mending or washing their own shirts, much less preparing a meal for themselves, yet not a one of them had thought to bring a servant along to their secret hideout to care for their needs—Alyneri was feeling rather gainfully productive.
She hummed a Kandori tune to herself while Farshideh’s husky voice sang in her head and her feet kept a steady rhythm on the path.
Once upon a wildling sea,
My love sailed a ship, or three,
And crashed upon my shores, did he
A-weary of his measure
I took him to my breast that day
And held fever’s chill kiss at bay
And chased skulking Death away
To keep him as my treasure…
Alyneri rounded a rise, and both tune and feet came to a halt.
Across the meadow, Trell and Vaile were approaching. She might’ve guessed from the quiet of Trell’s thoughts that he was shielding his mind from her, but she’d been too enraptured by joy’s dazzling spell to imagine it coming to an end. Now, seeing Vaile’s expression, not to mention the silence of Trell’s thoughts, Alyneri knew that it had. Still, she looked to Trell for explanation as he neared.
In his thoughts he gently stroked her cheek, while in the world he gave her a kiss. Then he captured her gaze significantly. “Rhakar has come.”
Rhakar. The Shadow of the Light. He flew closest to the First Lord’s field, occasionally even straying into the game, and rarely ventured into the sa’reyth unless duty or one of his siblings summoned him. Alyneri feared this time his presence was due to the former.
She gripped the silver tray to her chest. “Why is he here?” Yet she needn’t have asked, for she saw her thoughts mirrored in Trell’s gaze.
They’d both known the day would come when Trell would need to resume his place in the First Lord’s game. Balaji had told them that the game had intensified, that Players now faced off on both sides of the field. In fact, this knowledge had spurred them to seek their binding, that even in separation they could know each other’s minds.
Yet even understanding that Trell would soon be called had not prepared Alyneri’s heart for the moment.
“Have you…” she had to force the breath from her frozen lungs, “spoken with him?” She saw in his gaze that he had. “I see.” Alyneri summoned her composure and her courage in equal measure to ask in a voice that sounded much calmer than she felt, “When do you leave?”
He brushed a hand across her hair. “Dawn.”
Alyneri pressed her lips together tightly and nodded.
“Trell!” Náiir’s voice reached them from higher up the hill.
Alyneri turned to see him standing there with Rhakar, the latter radiating his usual formidable air.
Trell waved to Náiir and then kissed Alyneri again. “I’ll join you in a moment.” He headed off.
Alyneri hugged the tray to her chest and frowned after him.
“Do not fear, she-sidthe,” Vaile murmured, using her name for Alyneri, which meant ‘fierce kitten’ in Old Alaeic. She brushed a lock of hair back from Alyneri’s shoulder in motherly fashion. “His lifeline extends far.”
Alyneri let out a slow exhale. “I no longer worry as much for his life. More I worry for the time we must spend apart, even knowing I can reach him now…” she gave a contemplative smile. “Well, it’s not the same as being by his side, is it?”
“We must teach you Dreamscape in our next lessons. It is at least some consolation when we must endure a lengthy separation from those who are dearest to our hearts.”
“You can teach me to weave Dreamscape? I thought it was only available to those with the variant trait.”
Vaile took Alyneri’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, her emerald gaze darkly enticing. “You can teach most anything to those with the will, she-sidthe, but there is one thing you cannot teach.” She leaned in—
The unexpected kiss caught Alyneri completely off guard. A deep kiss. Vaile’s lips were soft upon hers, her tongue even more so. Her kiss was confusing and…electric and wondrous.
Vaile withdrew and eyed her quietly.
Alyneri felt an odd and marvelous stirring in her core, as a butterfly fluttering ephemeral wings.
<
br /> The zanthyr smiled a very feline smile. “I have given you the Pattern of Life just now.”
Alyneri’s breath caught. She stared at Vaile.
“This pattern can only be gained from one who already knows its path. I’ve bestowed it already upon your Trell of the Tides, on the night Náiir and I took him back from that mor’alir witch at Darroyhan. If you both choose to wake the Pattern into being, you may know immortality together. Time will never again be your enemy.”
Tears sprang unbidden to Alyneri’s eyes.
Vaile cupped Alyneri’s cheek and gazed softly upon her. “True love should not be bound to the lifespan of a mortal shell. Now you may pursue it together across the centuries, or not, as you both choose.”
Alyneri threw her arms around Vaile. She said in a choked voice, “I have never had such a friend as you.”
Vaile stroked her hand across Alyneri’s hair, as a mother gently grooming her cub. “If you cannot enjoy living your life with those you love, you’ve already lost the game. Remember this, she-sidthe.”
Alyneri withdrew and brushed tears from her eyes with the back of her fingers. As she met Vaile’s gaze again, she nodded. It felt a solemn promise. Vaile wrapped an arm around Alyneri’s waist, and they walked together back to the sa’reyth with the Pattern of Life still fluttering in Alyneri’s core.
Reaching the open-sided tent where she’d so often spoken with Balaji of deep and meaningful truths, Alyneri found that He Who Walks the Edge of the World had set out a late luncheon on the long wooden table. Trell ducked beneath the awning just as Alyneri arrived.
Unsurprisingly, Fynn was already seated at the table, perched on a stool with goblet in hand, his unruly dark hair mussed and standing up on one side, and his violet jacket askew. He looked very much like he’d only just awoken.
Trell grinned and clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. “You’re starting to resemble something of a wild bird, cousin.”
Fynn yawned. “One must occasionally sacrifice a little dignity to serve the greater good. Isn’t that right, Your Grace?”
Alyneri left Vaile’s side to rejoin Trell’s. “Your statement presupposes one exhibits some shadow of dignity to begin with, Lord Fynnlar.”
Trell wrapped an arm around Alyneri and drew her close. Amazing how relieved she felt just standing next to him. With the shadow of his now imminent departure looming, each moment sang with a heightened clarity: his touch, his smile, the heady feel of him so near…Alyneri willed each of these moments to become indelible, that she might return to them during the weeks ahead and take comfort in the memories.
Fynn meanwhile screwed up his face. “Don’t the Kandori have some saying about dignity? How does it go…” he waved his goblet airily, “‘only the alfalfa takes the measure of the earth’s indignation’ or some such?”
“Only the wind knows the truth in the water?” Alyneri offered helpfully.
Fynn lifted a finger off his goblet. “That’s it.”
“I’m afraid that saying has nothing whatsoever to do with dignity.”
“Damn.” Fynn scowled. “I was sure I had that one figured out.”
Balaji spread a piece of linen on his prep table and looked up under his brows as he was placing figs upon it. “Rhakar mentioned that you’ll leave at first light, Trell of the Tides. I’ll have a basket ready for your travels before dawn.”
“Thank you, Balaji.”
Dawn. Alyneri turned her face into Trell’s shoulder. Suddenly the sun seemed to be streaking towards the horizon, the hours remaining to them already too short.
Trell took her chin and kissed her.
“Ah…young love.” Carian vran Lea gave them a lusty grin as he ducked into the tent. He ambled over to where Fynn was sitting, looped a leg over an empty stool and leered at Trell. “It’s a fine thing to see you with the little Healer, Trell of the Tides. Such a pretty chase as you, I might’ve taken you otherwise for a nancy boy.”
Alyneri wrapped her arms around Trell’s waist and looked to the pirate. “They say we see in others those attributes we most fear confronting in ourselves, Captain vran Lea.”
Carian frowned at her.
Fynn nudged him. “Don’t mind her. She’s been cooped up day and night with Vaile for weeks now. Spending that much time with a zanthyr can’t be good for anyone.” Fynn took a drink of his wine. “So where are you off to, cousin?”
Trell glanced to Balaji. “All I know is that my presence is required and I should bring my sword.”
“That sounds ominous,” Alyneri murmured.
“Or merely prudent.” He winked at her.
“Right…” Fynn scrubbed at his hair, which stood up like a rooster’s tail, as though he’d slept all night in a bowl. “Looking back on our travels together in hindsight, being so enthusiastic to reunite with good ole daddy mightn’t have been such a fantastic idea.”
“You don’t seem too unhappy with your current position of glorified debauchery,” Alyneri pointed out.
Fynn pressed himself taller. “A man of my quality must count his blessings, Your Grace. Don’t you realize there are thousands of others equally qualified to fill my shoes?” He waved his goblet in a wide arc. “The job market is saturated with the corrupt and dissolute, while the positions calling for truly honest men are few and far between. Would you rather see me drunk and unemployed?”
Trell laughed. “I’m sure my uncle Prince Ryan would be relieved to know you’ve finally found gainful occupation, cousin.”
Fynn belched and lifted a finger to point at him. “Except on Tuesdays.”
“Speaking of which…” Carian angled a look at Fynn and then grinned meaningfully at Alyneri. “Have you asked this lovely poppet about traveling with us on our little errand, Fynnlar?”
“No,” Alyneri replied firmly, in answer to both questions.
Fynn scowled at her. “You haven’t even heard my proposition yet, Your Grace—and you must admit an opening in your calendar now that my cousin is heading off to probably get himself nearly killed again.”
Trell chuckled. “I appreciate your vote of confidence, Fynn.”
Fynn turned him a look of deep sincerity, even if not of impressive sobriety. “One must be realistic, cousin. How many lives can one man really have?”
Vaile came up behind Fynn and placed her hands on his shoulders, making him jump half off of his stool. She leaned to reply next to his ear with her eternally knowing gaze pinned on Trell, “That very much depends on how many gods are watching over him.” She shifted slightly to level her green eyes on Fynn then. “Or have you forgotten how you yourself received the benediction of immortal patronage?”
“No,” Fynn grumbled into his wine. He lowered his goblet to glare at her. “When I’m sleeping through the night again, then you’ll know I’ve forgotten.”
Balaji folded down the top of the basket he’d been packing and came over to Trell and Alyneri. “A meal for you both.” He offered the basket to Trell along with a smile, the one that always made Alyneri a little nervous inside. “Go, have your night together. Náiir will call you when time can wait no longer.”
Trell took the basket and in return gave Balaji a smile of gratitude. “Thank you, Balaji.”
Alyneri leaned and kissed Balaji’s cheek, murmuring demurely, “How well you know our minds.”
Balaji smiled at them both and replied with a wink, “There are no secrets in the First Lord’s sa’reyth.”
They made their way into the high hills with Trell gripping Alyneri’s hand and silence holding her tongue. There was no reason she should fear separation, yet fear had her firmly in its grip. Alyneri tried to think as Trell did and view his return to the game as the next thing life was throwing at them, and they just had to handle it, but somehow this simplicity got tangled in all of the worries she held in her heart.
Finding a clearing with a commanding view of the mountains, the valley, and the depthless blue sky, Trell opened the basket and took out a blanket Balaji had
packed inside. “Do you think we’re still in Alorin?” He shook out the blanket and spread it across the grass.
Alyneri was holding herself with her arms, gazing out over the vista of green hills towards the jutting, granite peaks—which hovered so close, she thought she might’ve draped a garland upon their crags. “I don’t think so.” She hugged her arms closer about herself. “This world just feels…”
Trell came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Cleaner?” He enfolded her in his arms and drew her against him. “Clearer?”
Alyneri let out a slow exhale. “I was going to say innocent, though it sounds a strange thing to say about a world. But there’s a guilelessness to this place that I can’t explain.” She glanced back at him and smiled. “I’m glad to know you feel something, too.”
“Yes, it’s quite perceptible. I recognized it the first time I came here, though at the time I didn’t realize what I was feeling.”
“Some other realm then.” Alyneri leaned her head back against Trell’s shoulder and tried to quell the ill anticipation of his departure, tried to enjoy instead the moments that remained. “But which one?”
“Ah…that is the question, as Balaji would say.” He planted a kiss upon her neck and drew her down to the blanket, adding in his best Balaji imitation, “We must ask ourselves, young Alyneri, in pursuit of this answer, where would the Mage have chosen to establish his haven?”
Alyneri laughed—Trell had exactly captured Balaji’s inflection of voice as well as the elusive twinkle in his gaze. She settled down across from him and watched quietly as he withdrew the various bundles Balaji had prepared for them, her mind a whir.
As he was unfolding the meal, she asked him, “Will you see the Emir?”
Trell handed her a cloth filled with figs. “I expect so. I hope so. I need to thank him for his generosity and kindness,” he looked up at her under his brows, “and for sending me on a quest that led me to you.”
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