Spirit Song

by M C Dwyer

  Nepenthe pushed himself away from the wall, nearly overbalancing. “I’m awake,” he said hoarsely. “And I need to see Tad.”

  “You need to see—” Aidan groaned and put his face in his free hand. “Couldn’t this wait until morning?”

  Morning was no good, Nepenthe thought, but was unable to articulate why. He simply shook his head.

  “Fine,” Aidan said. “Wait here.” He ducked back into his room and emerged a moment later with a few more clothes on. “Let’s get you back to your room, first.”

  “No,” Nepenthe said stubbornly. “I’ll wait here.” His eyes narrowed. “Just to make sure you go.”

  “Spirits of air and earth,” Aidan swore, then turned to go. “I’ll go ask, but I can’t promise he’ll come on such a crazy errand.”

  Nepenthe gestured for him to go and then slid slowly to the ground as soon as he was out of sight. The floor in this hall was carpeted, and he curled up on his side to await Aidan’s return.

  He must have dozed slightly, for he awoke with a start when Aidan returned. He bore a lantern and was followed by a sleep-tousled Tad who exclaimed when he saw Nepenthe on the floor. Kneeling, he picked him up and stood in one smooth motion.

  Nepenthe protested faintly and was ignored. Aidan led the way to Nepenthe’s room and pushed the door open. Tad set Nepenthe on the edge of the bed and then pulled his boots off.

  “I knew I should have made you come back inside that night,” he said guiltily, setting the boots aside.

  “Not your fault I got sick,” Nepenthe whispered. “But I need a favor.”

  “Of course,” Tad said, lifting the blankets so Nepenthe could slide his legs under.

  Nepenthe glanced up at Aidan and bit his lip.

  Tad turned to Aidan. “Thank you for fetching me,” he said. “Leave the lantern and I’ll return it when I go.”

  Shaking his head and muttering, Aidan left, pulling the door shut with a decided thump.

  “Now,” said Tad, turning back to Nepenthe and perching on the side of the bed. “What’s all this about?”

  Now that it came to it, Nepenthe wasn’t sure where to begin. Better start with a promise. “I need to show you something,” he said, moving a hand to his hair, “but you have to promise just to look.”

  Tilting his head to the side with a thoughtful look, Tad nodded. “I will.”

  “Promise!” Nepenthe whispered, and the word seemed to echo strangely around the room.

  Startled now, Tad said, “I promise.”

  Satisfied, Nepenthe pushed his hair behind his ear, revealing the earring for the first time.

  Tad leaned in to look, and Nepenthe pulled away.

  “I promised,” he reminded him, and Nepenthe held still, shivering. Tad stood up and retrieved the candle from the nightstand, then lit it from the lantern. He held the light up to Nepenthe’s ear to see the earring more clearly.

  It glowed in the candlelight, seeming to reflect back more light than it should have. The ring was one continuous ring of amber and had evidently been put in place by the simple expedient of cutting the flesh of the ear and stitching it back together around the ring. It was a messy scar, and it was no wonder that Nepenthe kept it hidden—the only wonder was why anyone would choose to do such a thing in the first place.

  “Thank you for trusting me with this secret,” he said gravely, and Nepenthe sighed.

  “That’s not the favor,” he said, panting slightly. He hadn’t talked this much since he’d gotten sick. But he needed to finish this. “I need you to close your eyes, and swear not to open them no matter what. No matter what,” he repeated fiercely. “Swear!”

  As before, the word seemed to echo around the room.

  “I swear,” Tad said calmly, and shut his eyes.

  Nepenthe waved a hand in front of his face and was satisfied. Taking a deep breath, he picked up Tad’s hand and brought it to the earring.

  Tad flinched back with a slight hiss at its touch, but kept his eyes closed as promised.

  “Sorry,” Nepenthe murmured, and tried to calm his roiling thoughts in case that transferred through the earring. “It may feel hot, but I promise it won’t hurt you.”

  Tad nodded, and once more Nepenthe brought his hand up to the earring. This time he grimaced slightly but held on.

  As for Nepenthe, the fire swept out from his body, leaving him gasping. He felt light and cool, as though the fire had swept away the fever as well, but then the walls in his mind came down, and he remembered everything.

  It was too much. The memories crashed in on him, and he remembered why he hadn’t wanted to remember, but the buried memories were as relentless as a tidal wave, pouring over him and leaving him gasping. “Ah, no!” he said.

  “Nepenthe? Shadow?” Tad said, without opening his eyes. His other hand reached for Nepenthe’s, and Nepenthe clutched at it like a drowning man. “Can I let go now?”

  Beyond answering, Nepenthe could only sit and shudder, though no tears fell—he remembered now how important that was.

  Tad released the earring and opened his eyes to find Nepenthe collapsed over the hand he still clutched.

  “Are you alright?” he said, putting a hand on Nepenthe’s shoulder.

  With heavy sigh, Nepenthe sat up, his eyes troubled but free of tears. They glinted green in the candlelight as he squeezed Tad’s hand. “Thank you for keeping your promise.”

  “Of course,” he said, and hesitated. “Shadow, is there anything else I can do for you?”

  Shaking his head, Nepenthe reached for his bottle of cold medicine and took another swallow. “Not unless you can silence dreams,” he said sadly. “I think I’m going to have some bad ones tonight.” He patted Tad’s hand where it still rested on the blankets. “Don’t worry about me,” he added sleepily, eyes drifting closed.

  “I do, Shadow,” Tad said softly. “I do.”

  For a wonder, no nightmares troubled Nepenthe’s sleep, and by the time he awoke sometime mid-morning, his throat had stopped aching and he was actually feeling hungry. He was out of bed and shakily making his way to the chair by the fire when Mae knocked and entered carrying the usual tray of porridge.

  Nepenthe grimaced. “I’m hungry, but not for porridge,” he complained. “Can I have some eggs and toast instead?”

  Mae looked at him in pleased surprised. “You sound better, and your appetite appears to be back. I’ll make you a deal: eat the porridge now, and I’ll bring you something better this afternoon.”

  “Done,” Nepenthe said, and ate the entire bowl without stopping for breath.

  Smiling, Mae took the bowl back and picked up the tray. “Don’t try to do too much today,” she admonished him. “You’re still recovering.” She carried the tray to the door and threw over her shoulder, “I told you you’d get better.”

  She left, and Nepenthe smiled wryly. He was fairly certain he knew why he was feeling better. His smile vanished. Most of the memories had faded to dim outlines, but he’d regained a few that remained clear.

  The clearest was his mother. With the return of his memories of her, he understood why the earring troubled him as it did. The fire in the earring ran counter to the water spirit in his blood, two opposites that could never coexist peaceably. The wonder was that it worked at all, though Nepenthe was glad that it did. The horror of his memories had faded, leaving him only an impression of what was hidden in his past, but that was enough. He did not want to relive those memories ever again, though no doubt he would have to face them some day. He hoped that day was far off.

  The other memory that remained clear was that of an older, bearded man. He was thin, and his shoulders were somewhat stooped with age, but he had a kind smile as he looked down at Nepenthe.

  “My light, my joy,” the man said, putting his hand on Nepenthe’s curls. Nepenthe could feel the warmth of his love, even through the memory. He smiled and held on to the feeling for as long as he could. Eventually, he let it go with a sigh and poked around to see what o
ther memories had escaped the wall of fire.

  Most of the rest were mere snippets, brief flashes of people and places he did not know. There was an image of a castle perched on a cliff over the sea, and moments of splashing in the waves along a rocky shore, but not much else.

  Nepenthe sighed and stretched, then stopped when the motion pulled at the sleeves of his shirt. Looking down at his wrists in confusion, he realized the cuffs no longer reached to his wrists but fell a good two inches short.

  Standing up, he saw that his trousers were also too short. He untucked the rolled hem and they fit perfectly. He bit his lip in thought. The earring had interfered with his healing; had it also interfered with his growth? How else to explain clothes that were suddenly too small? Surely, though, he was nearly done growing. Or was this his body’s way of catching up on four years of suppressed growth? If it was the latter, then perhaps he should get someone to reset it every few weeks. His extra two inches of height would be hard to explain, though if he was lucky, maybe people would just assume he’d hit a growth spurt.

  Nepenthe sighed. First thing tomorrow, then, was a trip to see the seamstress.

  Chapter 12

  The next morning, Nepenthe felt almost back to normal. Aside from some lightheadedness that probably had as much to do with hunger and inactivity as lingering illness, he felt pretty good. He put on his stable greens, as they still fit moderately well, and took himself off to the seamstress.

  She clicked her tongue at him, but accepted the clothes. “The shirt’s no good,” she said, flipping it inside out to look at the seams. “It’s been let out as much as it can be. I’ll send it down to the laundry and then it can go back in the ragbag.” She accepted the other clothes and sorted through them quickly, some to be let down and out, others to go back in the ragbag. “Here,” she said, thrusting the bag in Nepenthe’s direction. “See if you can find anything else that will work for you in the meantime.”

  A few minutes’ digging produced a couple serviceable shirts, and the seamstress promised to have the others ready within a day or two.

  Nepenthe nodded and promised to return, then returned to his room feeling shaky and weak. Maybe he wasn’t as recovered as he thought.

  A short nap and lunch did much to restore him, and he made a visit to the stables in the afternoon to tell Wyatt he was going to come back to work.

  “You had us worried, boy,” the stablemaster said. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, though. Take it slow tomorrow.”

  Nepenthe nodded. On his way out of the stables, he ran into Alric.

  “Are you okay?” Alric said, his eyes wide.

  Suddenly realizing he was tall enough to see over Alric’s head, Nepenthe smiled slightly. “I’m alright. It was a bit rough, but I’m getting better now.”

  Alric nodded, then shifted uncomfortably. “Look, I’m sorry about before. I was a bit of a brat about you getting promoted. But you definitely deserved it.”

  Ducking his head, Nepenthe said, “It’s fine. I get it. I probably would have felt the same way in your place.”

  With a groan, Alric said, “It makes it worse when you’re nice about it. Couldn’t you punch me just once? I’d feel better, and you would, too.”

  Nepenthe stepped back in alarm, hands going behind his back unconsciously. “What? No, I wouldn’t.”

  Alric gave a martyred sigh. “Fine. But I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

  “That’s really not necessary,” he said, and beat a hasty retreat.

  The rest of the afternoon he wandered restlessly, unable to settle down to anything. He wondered if Aidan was still waiting on the king, and if the king had made any decision about Iona. Nepenthe had been sick almost two weeks; surely something had been decided. He thought of Tad and wondered what he was up to. Was he stuck in meetings with the king all day, too?

  Nepenthe wandered the halls of the palace breathing occasional heavy sighs until his feet took him unwittingly to his favored balcony. He paused by the wardrobe. He’d promised himself he wasn’t going to use the cloak, but it wouldn’t do to get chilled again so soon after getting better.

  Lifting down the fur-edged wool, he marveled at its softness and warmth. He wrapped it around his shoulders, lifting the hood over his head, and suddenly caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror that stood in the corner. The cloak was nearly perfect in size, and trailed very elegantly on the floor behind him. He preened in front of the mirror for a moment, then laughed at his own foolishness and went outside.

  He’d never been out here in the daylight, though the short winter day was already nearing its end. He stayed on the balcony, snug in his borrowed finery, and watched the sun set over the city.

  It did not disappoint. The sun turned gold, then orange, painting the faint clouds with streaks of coral before fading into the lavender blue of the sky. As it sank behind the city, the lavender faded to the rich purple blue of the night sky, and Nepenthe released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

  His stomach growled, and with a smile, he returned the cloak to the wardrobe, feeling a slight pang at leaving it behind.

  Alric joined him at supper, and though the conversation was strained, it was an improvement over the last few weeks. Afterward, Nepenthe gratefully returned to his room and went to bed early.

  “Take it slow,” Aidan said when Nepenthe showed up for training the next day. “You’re going to be weak after all that time in bed.”

  “Aidan,” Nepenthe greeted him happily, and then sobered as he asked, “Is the Ionan embassy gone? What did the king decide to do?”

  Aidan frowned as he started jogging slowly around the room. “They’re gone, and the king has agreed to the betrothal—provisionally.”

  Nepenthe looked at him in concern, and at the same time acknowledged that he’d been right about being weak. He was already beginning to pant. “He’s going to get betrothed to a twelve-year-old?”

  “Provisionally,” Aidan repeated, slowing to a walk. Nepenthe dropped back gratefully. “The princess is coming to visit this spring and spend some time here in Alain. If she’s still willing at the end of it, they’ll be formally betrothed. King Edmun pushed for five years, and made them include an escape clause—if either one wants out before the five years is up, they can, no questions asked.”

  Nepenthe pursed his lips as he considered. “That sounds good for the princess, but what does that mean as far as an alliance? Isn’t that just as bad as having no alliance at all? I mean, from the point of view of the clans?”

  Aidan shrugged. “King Edmun has advisors for that sort of thing; I’m sure they’ve discussed it six ways from Friday. Me, I’m just a fighter.” He flexed his arms, displaying his biceps.

  Rolling his eyes, Nepenthe started jogging again, leaving him behind.

  After a shortened round of strength exercises, Aidan called a halt and told Nepenthe to take the rest of the morning off.

  Nepenthe shook his head. “I’m going to the stables today. I promised Stablemaster Wyatt.”

  “Well, take it easy. He won’t work you too hard, but don’t get carried away. You need to recover.”

  Rolling his eyes, Nepenthe said, “Such a mother hen! All right, all right. I’m going, now. Good-bye!”

  Working in the stables actually felt good, though Nepenthe could tell he was moving slower than usual. Nobody pushed him; instead, several people he did not know by name came over to congratulate him on his recovery. Nepenthe simply flushed a deeper red and mumbled his thanks. He hadn’t meant to worry anyone. And truly, it had just been a cold, though it had gotten complicated because of his earring.

  “It really was just a bad cold,” he protested to Eli as the latest well-wisher waved good-bye.

  Eli shook his head. “You were quite ill. Drinian’s a friend of Master Wyatt, and I know they discussed you a fair deal. Word got around.” He shrugged. “We thought you were like to die.”

  Nepenthe snorted softly. “I guess I should be glad
it wasn’t Mae who was spreading the rumors. You would have all thought I was faking the whole thing.”

  With a faint smile, Eli said, “It was Mae who verified Drinian’s reports.”

  Nepenthe blinked. “Oh.” She must have been putting on a cheerful front for Nepenthe’s sake. “I did her a disservice, then.” He bobbed a bow to Eli. “Thank you for your concern. I’m not worthy of it.”

  Eli’s smile grew. “You’re part of our family, now, whether you realize it or not. We care for our family.”

  Nepenthe bit his lip and bobbed another bow, unable to find any words.

  Chapter 13

  February brought with it heavy snows that made Nepenthe’s balcony retreat untenable and the walks to the stable sloppy. Training had also turned unpleasant, for while Nepenthe had quickly regained what strength he’d lost to illness, Aidan had pronounced him ready to start sparring.

  “Again,” Aidan said, taking a deep breath and waiting for Nepenthe to retrieve his sword.

  Nepenthe picked it up reluctantly, knowing it was only going to end up on the ground again in a few seconds.

  “First form,” Aidan said, slipping into the stance. Nepenthe copied him, but when Aidan began his attack, he completely froze. As before, Aidan knocked the sword from his hand with a stinging blow, leaving Nepenthe to wring his hand and grimace in pain.

  “Again,” Aidan said with a sigh.

  This continued for some time before he gave up. “No more for today,” he said, dropping his sword with a clatter and digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

  He spun on one heel and left, so he didn’t see Nepenthe drop to the ground in a crouch, shuddering. Wrapping his arms around his knees, he buried his face in his lap and waited for the shaking to stop. He emerged eventually and scrubbed his sweaty face dry on the tail of his tunic.

  He didn’t want to stop training; he’d asked for this—practically begged Aidan to train him—but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on. The last three days had been miserably similar, with Aidan growing more impatient with every failure. He would have asked Tad for advice, but he’d been noticeably absent in the last month. He turned instead to Orin, stopping in before heading to supper.