Spirit Song

by M C Dwyer

Edmun sighed and stretched his shoulders. “An unfortunate business all around, but it ended much better than it could have, thanks to you.”

  Nepenthe waved this away, blushing. “I think it’s my fault the betrothal fell through, though,” he said, after glancing around to make sure no one else was in earshot. “I told the princess no one would expect her to marry you after an assassination attempt. She apparently took my advice to heart.” He bit his lip. “I’m sorry.”

  King Edmun raised an eyebrow and studied him musingly. “Are you? Well, I’m not.”

  “What?” Nepenthe said, startled. “Really?”

  “Shadow, I told you before that the king had no interest in marrying a twelve-year-old princess. And now we have a promise of alliance with essentially no strings attached. It couldn’t have turned out better if I’d planned it this way.”

  “Oh. I suppose that’s true. What’s next?”

  “Next,” Edmun said, smothering another yawn, “I take the afternoon off and catch up on some sleep, and I suggest you do the same. Tomorrow your duties as Aileron officially begin, starting with training in the morning. We have some sparring practice to start.”

  At this, Nepenthe groaned, feeling a flush of fear wash over him briefly, followed by an answering heat from his earring. He flinched and put a hand to it.

  “Are you alright?” Edmun asked putting a hand on his elbow.

  Sorting through his memories, Nepenthe couldn’t spare the effort to respond. The red haired man he’d seen before was back, smiling cruelly when the Nepenthe of memory flinched back in fear. “Pyrdred,” he breathed, going cold all over. A clammy sweat broke out on his face and he swayed dizzily.

  “Easy, Shadow,” a voice said from far away, and he found himself sitting on the dais steps with his head between his knees, gasping.

  As the world stopped spinning and came back into focus, Nepenthe looked up. “Sorry,” he managed.

  “For what? A moment of weakness is nothing to be sorry for,” Edmun assured him. “You’re only human, after all.” He gave a slight smile. “Though anyone who’s seen you in a thunderstorm might doubt that.”

  Nepenthe managed a small smile in return.

  “Come on,” the king said, pulling him to his feet. “You obviously need to rest as much as I do. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Chapter 22

  It was a hallway. It was always a hallway, though he didn’t know why. Tonight, he did not run. Running never seemed to help, so this time he would not run. He wandered down its immeasurable length and found, as always, the old man waiting for him.

  “Father,” he said, and when the man turned, for a wonder his eyes were intact as he smiled sadly down at Nepenthe.

  “’Ware,” he said. “’Ware Pyrdred. Don’t let him find you; don’t let him see you!” His voice grew frantic as he started to fade. “Run, child, run!”

  Spurred on by this ghostly advice, Nepenthe ran, sobbing as he stumbled through the halls that had turned mazelike and uncertain. Laughter followed him, and the fluttering of black ravens’ wings.

  Eventually, he awoke.

  “We’ll start easy,” Edmun said, holding up his wooden practice sword as he waited in first form.

  Nepenthe took a deep breath and stepped into sixth.

  “I’m going to start by following the form,” Edmun explained, “but then I’m going to start changing it up and we’ll see how you do.”

  True to his word, Edmun followed the form exactly for the first few moves of the form, but when his block was supposed to return as an overhand pass, he whipped it around into an attack from the eighth form. Nepenthe’s brain was still trying to identify it when his arm automatically came up to block it.

  “Oh,” Nepenthe said, and then responded with a move from one of the other forms.

  They ranged back and forth across the training yard, skipping between the forms with reckless abandon. Edmun finished one form through to its final salute and they stood facing each other and panting slightly.

  “That wasn’t as bad as I thought,” Nepenthe admitted when he could speak. “Though it’s time to find a summer training outfit, I think,” he added, peeling his sticky shirt away from his chest and fanning himself with it. The May morning was sultry, a sticky promise of warmer days in store.

  Edmun was equally damp but bore it better. He propped his sword on his shoulder and said, “We’ll use the forms as a springboard to other things. For now, though, we’ll call a halt.”

  Surprised, Nepenthe said, “I’m not that tired yet.”

  Someone laughed, and Nepenthe turned in surprise to see Ena. “You’ll be tired enough, trust me.” She turned to Edmun and bowed slightly. “Are you finished with him?”

  “He’s all yours,” he returned.

  Nepenthe looked from Edmun to Ena in alarm. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re an Aileron now, boy,” Ena said. “Swords aren’t enough. You have horsemanship, longbow, quarterstaff, and at least three other weapons to learn.”

  With a groan, Nepenthe turned back to Edmun. “Let me go back to the stables, please!”

  “Not a chance,” he said. “You’re mine, now, Aileron.” Heartlessly turning his back on Nepenthe’s pleas, he left the training yard, whistling a tune.

  Nepenthe turned back to Ena, who laughed. “We’ll start with horsemanship. You’ll be helping to exercise the horses as well as learning what you need to know about riding, jumping, and fighting from horseback.”

  At this, Nepenthe perked up slightly.

  “I thought you might like that,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  En route to the stables, however, one of the many young people clad in palace blues jogged up to her and murmured something in her ear.

  “Oh,” Ena said. “Thank you. I’ll take care of it.” She looked at Nepenthe. “I need to do something real quick, and then I’ll meet you in the stables. You know the way, right?” she said with a wink and a departing wave.

  Nepenthe rolled his eyes at her retreating figure and took himself off to the stables.

  No one was in sight when he arrived, so he wandered toward the stallions’ aisle to greet his former charges. He heard raised voices as he approached, and rounded the corner to see most of the stable’s workers gathered in front of a stall. Alric was at the back of the crowd, biting his knuckles and looking more upset than Nepenthe had ever seen him. His eyes lit up when he saw Nepenthe approach.

  “Penthe! There’s trouble.” In one breath he said, “Lord Wolfe brought a writ that supposedly says he’s allowed to take out Jasper, but Grandad doesn’t want to let him, but the writ has the king’s seal on it, so he can’t really say no, and they’re having an awful row about it.”

  “Can’t any of the stablehands read?” Nepenthe asked in surprise.

  “Highborn Ailerons,” Alric said in mild disgust. “Of course none of us can.”

  Nepenthe nodded and shouldered his way through. This, then, was the infamous Lord Wolfe. He was surprisingly young; younger than Aidan, but older than Nepenthe. He was tall and broad in the shoulders, with plenty of muscle filling out his fine tunic. At Nepenthe’s approach, he sneered slightly, seeing nothing more than a boy in sweaty training clothes.

  “Stablemaster Wyatt,” Nepenthe said quietly, and Wyatt turned.

  He greeted Nepenthe with a slight bow that suggested he’d heard about Nepenthe’s promotion.

  “Can I be of assistance, Stablemaster?” Nepenthe said, his eyes never leaving Lord Wolfe’s face.

  Wyatt wordlessly passed him the folded paper he’d been holding, and Lord Wolfe’s sneer turned more superior.

  Nepenthe turned the paper over, then unfolded it to reveal a list followed by what certainly looked like the king’s seal—that is to say, it matched the crest that hung in the hall at the entrance of the palace. He’d never had occasion to see it in use before. His eyes flicked back up to the beginning of the paper, and he read aloud, “King Edmun of Alain hereby promises to cancel the d
ebt of Lord Hiberian Wolfe incurred on this twenty-seventh day of January…”

  Lord Wolfe snatched the paper from Nepenthe’s hands with a furious snarl of “Common-born brat!” and then used the other hand to slash him across the face with his riding crop. Nepenthe fell to his knees in pain and surprise and watched a drop of blood drip onto the stable floor. His earring flared, sending fire through his veins, and he surged to his feet.

  “I,” he said, pushing Lord Wolfe backwards with only the power of his flashing green eyes, “am an Aileron of Alain.” Though he barely reached Lord Wolfe’s shoulders, Lord Wolfe continued to retreat, something like regret now lurking in his eyes. The fire roared in Nepenthe’s veins even as part of him watched, horrified and fascinated. “And if we go by birth,” Nepenthe continued in a voice too low to carry beyond Lord Wolfe’s ears, “my mother is a princess. Who was yours?”

  Lord Wolfe yelped in sudden pain as Jasper, eager to exact his own revenge, reached over his stall door and bit Lord Wolfe’s shoulder.

  Nepenthe wiped a hand across his bloody cheek and flicked it at Lord Wolfe. “Good-bye,” he said, and Lord Wolfe beat a hasty retreat, a hand clamped to his injured arm. A cheer went up behind Nepenthe who suddenly sank to the ground, exhausted and rather shocked as the fire retreated from his veins. He shivered.

  “Well done, Aileron,” Wyatt said. “Though if I’d called you that sooner, I might have spared your face.” He crouched next to Nepenthe and reached a hand out.

  Nepenthe pushed it away. “I’m fine.”

  There was a disbelieving snort behind Wyatt. “He could be lying on the ground gutted by a broadsword, and he’d still say, ‘I’m fine.’” Alric stepped forward and offered Nepenthe a clean rag that had been soaked in cold water.

  Holding it to his cheek, Nepenthe leaned against the stall door and closed his eyes. Something warm and damp snuffled in his hair, and he looked up at Jasper’s questing nose. “I’m fine, Jasper,” he said, patting the fuzzy black muzzle. Jasper snorted and shook his head, which made Alric laugh.

  “He agrees with me.”

  “Up you get,” Wyatt said, pulling Nepenthe up. “You need to go get that looked at. It will probably need to be stitched up.”

  Nepenthe nodded, pushing Jasper’s face away. “Silly horse, I’m fine,” he complained.

  “You don’t look fine,” Ena said, approaching at a leisurely stroll. “I see I missed some excitement.”

  “Nepenthe was kind enough to help us out of a sticky situation,” Wyatt said. “Unfortunately the cost was a bit higher than I anticipated.”

  “He was amazing!” Alric said. “He pushed Lord Wolfe back against the stall just with his glowing eyes, and then Jasper bit him!”

  Ena nodded. “I look forward to hearing the story. But first, let’s get you to the doctor.”

  Tired of protesting and starting to ache, Nepenthe simply nodded and let Ena help him inside.

  The doctor shook his head at Nepenthe, put two neat stitches through the cut, then dressed the wound with an ointment that smelled faintly of honey. “Keep it iced for today,” the doctor said. “It’s going to be an impressive black eye, but your sight should be fine. You’re lucky.” He handed Nepenthe a couple of small packets. “Willow bark, for the pain and swelling. Add it to hot water before you sleep.” And then he shooed them both out of his rooms.

  “Well,” said Ena, “you heard him. Go on back to your room, and I’ll send someone with some ice.”

  Nepenthe nodded carefully, as his head was beginning to throb.

  “If you want to get out of training,” Ena teased as he turned to go, “I can suggest some easier methods.

  Since it hurt to smile, Nepenthe merely shook his head and plodded back to his room.

  As promised, a girl in palace blues brought him a bucket of ice and an oilcloth to wrap it in. Nepenthe made himself an icepack and then curled up in his chair so the water would drip on the floor as it melted.

  He took the willow bark with the lunch someone brought him and fell asleep with the ice pack on his face. He awoke damp and groggy sometime after dark to find that his ice had all melted and his supper tray had cooled completely. He slathered on some more of the doctor’s ointment, then picked up the bread and wandered into the hall. The bread was too much for his aching jaw, so he tucked it away in a pocket as his feet took him, as ever, to the queen’s balcony. He sat on the floor and leaned his head back against the stone bench, cool now after the sun’s departure.

  “Your first full day as Aileron,” Edmun said, and Nepenthe blinked in the sudden light as Edmun sat down on the bench holding aloft a lantern. He turned Nepenthe’s chin so he could see the bruise. “Usually I prefer my Ailerons to wait until at least their third day before trying to right the injustices of the world.”

  He looked angry, Nepenthe thought, but not necessarily at him. He put a hand up to shield his eyes from the lantern, and Edmun obligingly moved it away. Nepenthe sighed and leaned against Edmun’s knee.

  Edmun placed a hand on Nepenthe’s head. “My poor Shadow,” he said. “What shall I do to Lord Wolfe?”

  “Mm,” said Nepenthe, very near sleep. “Nothing. Jasper got all the revenge I would want. Just bar him from the stables.”

  With a quiet laugh, Edmun said, “Done.”

  Chapter 23

  Nepenthe woke with the disorienting feeling of not knowing where he was. He sat up in confusion, taking in the rich tapestries and the tall four-poster bed. Across the room was a wardrobe that was familiar, and it was the butterfly carving on the front that told him where he was: the queen’s bedroom. He sprang from the bed, jarring his aching face, and quickly smoothed out the dust cover that was the only blanket on the bed. Looking out the balcony door, he guessed that it was just before first bell. He needed to get going before the maids came in to dust these rooms. He could only imagine trying to explain how he’d come to be there, since he didn’t know himself—though he guessed it had something to do with falling asleep on the balcony. He bit his lip. He’d have to apologize to Edmun.

  In the meantime, he realized he was still wearing his training clothes from the day before, so with a shrug, he stopped first by the kitchen for a pastry and then headed to the training yard. Ena met him on the way and set him back to his room with a stern warning to rest all day. Nepenthe changed into clean clothes and then took himself to the library to see how Orin had recovered.

  While still coughing occasionally, Orin was much improved. He greeted Nepenthe with a smile that quickly fell into a frown as he took in the mottled bruise.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” Nepenthe said, careful to smile with only half his mouth.

  “I hear you’ve been busy, child,” Orin said, shaking his head.

  “A little,” he acknowledged, but readily told Orin of his recent adventures. Orin was an appreciative audience, and when he’d finished, Nepenthe said, “This is why you shouldn’t get sick. You miss out on all the adventure.”

  Orin sighed and coughed a little. “Too much adventure for me, I think. I’ll stick with my books. By the way, we just got a couple new ones in. Would you like to see them?”

  “Does Jasper bite?” Nepenthe returned.

  “Apparently only those who deserve it,” Orin said serenely. “Let me get those new books for you.”

  The next day, Nepenthe was still tender, but not nearly as sore. He took himself to the training yard in the morning, where Edmun grimaced at his bruise but allowed him to practice as usual. Then it was off to the stables, followed by a round of archery with Ena and staff practice with another of the Ailerons.

  By the time they let him stop, it was past noon and his muscles felt like jelly. He dragged himself back to his rooms where he collapsed on his bed. A knock on the door came soon after.

  “What?” Nepenthe moaned.

  Drinian poked his head in the door. “Court starts at fifth bell. You’re expected to attend.”

  Nepenthe coughed weakly. “I’m sick; I can�
��t go.”

  “Good try,” Drinian said. “Wear your blue and silver tunic and the sword; King Edmun will want you to look official.”

  Levering himself upright, Nepenthe asked, “What’s the occasion?”

  “No occasion. This is the court where he takes care of daily business. He usually has a couple of Ailerons with him while he’s hearing cases. Aidan usually attends him, but since he’s gone, the king wants you.” Drinian grinned. “Better you than me. You’d best get going.” He left, pulling the door shut behind him.

  Nepenthe put a pillow over his face and groaned, then frowned when it bumped his healing cheek. There was no hope for it; he had to go.

  Fifth bell was enough time for him to wash up and change, and also long enough to look in the mirror and find fault with his hair. It had grown out again, and was becoming unruly. He sighed. The easiest solution was to just pull it back, but when he tried it, it left his earring dangerously exposed. He retrieved a knife and quickly sliced off the ponytail, which allowed his hair to fall forward around his chin. It would have to do. He donned the blue and silver tunic and attached the sword to his belt, gave himself one last nod of encouragement in the mirror, and headed for the throne room.

  There were only a few people there when he arrived: a few Ailerons he recognized, some minor court nobles who’d stayed at court—and Drinian.

  “Don’t say a word,” he said when Nepenthe approached.

  Nepenthe bit his lip, stopping the grin that would have hurt too much. He shrugged. “Obviously the king values your presence as much as mine.”

  “I wish Aidan would hurry up and come back,” he complained. “I’m tired of covering for him.”

  Perking up, Nepenthe said, “Are they expected back soon?”

  “Probably another two weeks, unless they run into any delays.”

  “Oh,” he sighed.

  Drinian laughed and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Come along, boy; I’ll show you where you’ll be.”

  Nepenthe hadn’t known what to expect from this informal court session, but he hadn’t expected the mind-numbing tedium. He was positioned on the dais next to Edmun, but hadn’t said more than two words to him in the last hour. Instead he stood silently and watched a long parade of people who all seemed to have business of some sort with the king. This one was a representative of the guild of leather crafters; that one was from the glassmakers. Some of them merely reported on how business was doing, while others were seeking approval for new plans and expansions. It was all a mystery to Nepenthe who hadn’t been outside the palace gates since arriving a year ago. He also felt like he was receiving a fair number of stares, likely at the purple-blue bruising on his cheek.