by M C Dwyer
When sixth bell rang, Edmun stood and stretched.
“Are we done?” Nepenthe asked hopefully.
From the other side of Edmun, Drinian laughed, and Edmun grinned.
“We’re halfway through,” he said, and then laughed as well at the look on Nepenthe’s face. “Actually, yes; though some days we go all the way to seventh bell.”
Nepenthe’s heart quailed at the thought of four hours of what he’d just endured. “When did you say Aidan gets back?” he asked hopelessly.
“Not soon enough to help you,” Edmun returned with what Nepenthe considered a rather heartless smile. “See you at dinner.”
He slipped out one of the side doors as Nepenthe turned to Drinian. “What’s this about dinner?”
“Ailerons eat with the king and court. Seventh bell. Wear your blues.” He grinned and waved as he left, too. “See you at dinner!”
Muttering darkly under his breath, Nepenthe went to the library to complain to Orin about his mistreatment and take another look at the new books he’d shown him the day before.
Orin was kind but not particularly sympathetic. “We all do our duty, child, whatever it may be. This is the duty before you now.”
“I just don’t like being stared at. People stared at me all afternoon, and now they’re going to stare at me through dinner, too. I won’t know where to sit or how to behave,” he added, “and—and I don’t want to embarrass the king.”
“Why would he be embarrassed by you, child?” Orin said in surprise. “He made you an Aileron because he wanted to, not because he was forced to. He obviously saw something worthwhile in you. As do I,” he added, placing a hand on Nepenthe’s arm.
Nepenthe ducked his head and changed the subject. “Aidan should be back in about two weeks.”
“Oh, good. That will be nice for you.” He paused to cough and waved away Nepenthe’s worried look. “I’m fine; it’s just a tickle.” He changed the subject, too. “What do you think of that new book?”
“It’s wonderful,” Nepenthe said, eyes alight. “Did you see the illustration on the inside cover? It’s like the water is actually moving!”
Orin smiled. “I thought of you when I saw it. You have quite an affinity for water.”
Was it so obvious? Nepenthe wondered. Regardless, it was a lovely illustration. He’d been staring at it for the last five minutes and hadn’t even made it as far as the title page. It was very calming, and he fancied he could almost hear the waves. Eventually, Orin put a hand over his, startling him.
“It’s nearly time for dinner. You don’t want to be late.”
“Probably not,” Nepenthe agreed. He returned the book with a longing sigh and carried himself to the great hall, hoping he’d run into Drinian, Mae, or one of the other Ailerons before he had to enter all by himself.
Unfortunately, his timing was off, and he arrived at the doors alone. There were people inside already, standing in groups and chatting, but they were mostly nobles or Ailerons Nepenthe didn’t know well enough to feel comfortable approaching.
He sidled in and leaned against the wall, his hands behind his back. The stares weren’t as bad here as they’d been at court; perhaps the flickering lantern light was concealing his bruise. Or maybe he’d become invisible again. That would be all right, too.
He stood watching the people as they entered—sometimes singly, sometimes in groups—and then either merged into other groups or formed their own. He bit his lip and shifted his weight, growing increasingly nervous as he waited.
Finally, he spotted Mae coming through the door chatting with Iva, an Aileron he knew by name only. He slid up to her side and tugged on her sleeve.
He might as well have shouted in her ear, for she jumped a foot in the air and came down with her hand on her heart. “Spirits, child; make a little noise when you move.”
“Sorry,” he apologized. “I don’t know where I’m supposed to be.”
“Oh. Is this your first time eating with us? I suppose it must be,” she said, answering her own question. “Ailerons sit on the left, along that table there.” She pointed. “Unless the king invites you to join his table. Which he may.”
“What?” Nepenthe said, alarmed. “Why?”
Mae looked at him skeptically, then explained when he continued to stare, “The king usually invites his favorites to eat with him. It’s an honor, Penthe, not a punishment. Relax!”
Nepenthe wished he could simply dissolve into a mist and blow away. He did not want that honor. He had a sudden fleeting wish that he could go back to the past when Tad was just Tad and he was still cleaning stables.
Taking pity on him, Mae looped an arm around his shoulders and led him to the table. “If we sit down now, maybe he won’t see you, and you’ll be safe,” she teased.
Teasing or no, Nepenthe felt much better when he was seated on one of the long benches. When Drinian came in shortly after and sat down across from them, he felt even more protected.
The king entered moments later, exchanging greetings with the various nobles and Ailerons. He smiled and nodded to Nepenthe’s group, and Nepenthe shrank back, wishing he were invisible. Edmun passed by without comment however, so Nepenthe let out the breath he’d been holding.
Supper passed without incident. Nepenthe compared it to his meals in the kitchens with Alric and his friends and decided he preferred this, even though it wasn’t as safe. Alric’s friends were about the same age as Alric, and had similar interests—that is to say, they were interested in the sorts of things young boys tended to be interested in, which rarely intersected with Nepenthe’s interests. Since Nepenthe’s interests were books, horses, and remaining invisible, that was hardly surprising. While the Ailerons also spoke of things Nepenthe had no knowledge of, they were things of interest to the Ailerons, and thus he felt a desire to know more, and listened wide-eyed as he ate.
After supper, he returned to his rooms and changed out of the formal suit and into something simpler. And then he hesitated. As an Aileron, should he put in an appearance in the courtyard where they were all gathered?
Even as his mind debated, his feet had already chosen, leading him upstairs. He smiled wryly as he emerged on the queen’s balcony. He took a seat on the bench and watched as the sun vanished in a spectacular array of reds, golds, pinks, and purples. They reflected off the gathering clouds, and Nepenthe tasted the air. It would rain tonight, though probably not till later.
He leaned back and watched the clouds rolling in and covering the stars, and found himself wishing for Tad—Edmun’s—company. He sat up abruptly, scowling. That was a dangerous road, he thought. He’d depended on himself for most of the past five years, and he’d survived. He’d been running scared, but he’d survived. As much as he loved Alain and its people, could he really afford to get too involved? His past, unremembered though it was, would likely come back to haunt him eventually. He’d have to run again.
But then, he thought, chewing his thumbnail, he’d already sworn an oath to Edmun. He thought back to a long ago conversation with Aidan regarding terms of service. The shortest term, if he remembered correctly, was two years. Though it hadn’t come up during the ceremony, he was no doubt bound by the same rules as the other Ailerons. Though, he supposed, if he had a good enough reason, Edmun would probably release him from service earlier, though he didn’t like to ask. Edmun was more likely to offer to help. He might have to sneak away, if it came to that.
The end of his thumbnail was in shreds, and he looked at it ruefully, then switched hands and started on the other one, too.
“I didn’t take you for a nail-biter, Shadow,” Edmun said, emerging from the shadows.
“I didn’t realize I was, either,” he returned. “I must be under a lot of stress.” He scooted to one end of the bench so there was room for Edmun to sit.
“I’m working you too hard, then,” Edmun said, and Nepenthe left his nail alone to look up to see if he was serious. He was.
“It was a joke,” he sa
id lamely. “I was just thinking. And my nails are too long, so between the two”—he shrugged, and didn’t finish his sentence.
Edmun looked at him consideringly, probably wondering if he was being truthful. “In that case, eat with me tomorrow.”
“What?” Startled, his hand brushed his bruised cheek and he winced.
Grimacing in sympathy, Edmun took Nepenthe’s chin in his hand and turned his face. “Does it still hurt?”
“Only when I bump it. Do you really want me to eat with you?”
Surprised, Edmun said, “Yes. Is that so hard to believe?” He seemed to remember where his hand was and took it away.
Nepenthe simply sat and studied his face until Edmun started to shift uncomfortably. It was only the second time Nepenthe could remember him being put out of countenance, and both times were in the same week.
Edmun cleared his throat and tugged at the front of his tunic and turned his gaze to the sky. “I think it’s going to rain.”
“Not for at least another hour,” Nepenthe said, furrowing his brow in concentration.
“What can you possibly be thinking about so deeply?” Edmun finally asked, slightly exasperated.
“A puzzle,” Nepenthe said, looking at him once more from the corner of his eyes and then looking up at the sky again. “I thought I understood you, but now I’m not so sure.”
“What’s not to understand?” He sounded curious and ever so slightly hurt.
“Exactly,” Nepenthe answered, which he acknowledged was no answer at all. He stood up and moved to the railing but wasn’t satisfied there, either. He put his back to it and crossed his arms over his chest, not in defiance, but rather protectively.
They held that tableau for a moment or two until Nepenthe sat down again with a sigh, bumping Edmun with his shoulder. “Don’t mind me. I’m just—tired,” he ended lamely.
“Then I am pushing you too hard, Shadow,” Edmun said, putting an arm around his shoulders and giving him a brief squeeze.
Nepenthe let himself relax even as he warned himself to be careful. It wouldn’t do to fall asleep again.
Instead, feeling as safe as he ever did, he prodded at his mental wall, wondering if it could be coerced into giving up any new information. Though the fire ran throughout the whole thing, there were places where it burned more brightly, and others were it was a faint flicker. Nepenthe wondered if, like a real wall, it could be taken in a surprise attack. He didn’t want to bring it down entirely, as he remembered the horror of the memories even when he didn’t remember the memories themselves, but it would be nice to remember his childhood in something more than brief flashes. It would also be helpful to know the purpose behind his current disguise, as he would better know how to move forward.
He sat up. “Can I borrow you again?” he asked.
Ever quick-witted, Edmun said, “You need me to touch your earring? Will you ever explain that to me?”
“It’s possible,” Nepenthe said, reaching up automatically to cover it. “Someday. And yes, if you don’t mind. I want to try something.”
“Is this ‘something’ a good idea?”
Nepenthe smiled crookedly, an expression that got lost in the night air. “Possibly not. So please don’t open your eyes until I say so.”
Edmun nodded and put a hand up to cradle Nepenthe’s chin, closing his eyes in the process.
“Hang on,” Nepenthe said, taking a deep breath and planning his attack. When the walls went down, he was hoping to metaphorically dash in, grab what he could, and leave before the tide of memories crashed over him, burying him completely. He’d have to be fast. “Okay,” he said. “Hold it for a count of three, and then let go.”
Nepenthe gritted his teeth as Edmun’s hand moved up to touch the earring. The wash of fire spread out across the balcony, and the walls crashed down. Nepenthe whimpered slightly, and his hands grabbed at Edmun’s wrist. He tried to ignore the memories that roiled around him, focusing instead on the section in front of him. He looked straight ahead, frantically grabbing at passing images and holding tightly even as he heard Edmun’s whispered “Three” and the walls sprang up, throwing him from his own mind.
He sat gasping for a moment, studying what he’d remembered. There were several new ones, primarily of him as a young child. There were new ones of his mother, which made him smile, and a few more of the red-haired man who made him shiver in fear.
“Shadow?” Edmun said, his eyes still closed.
“Once more,” Nepenthe said. “Count to—” he hesitated. “Count to five.”
“Are you sure?”
“No,” he said, and moved Edmun’s hand to the earring.
Edmun swore softly but started counting, and Nepenthe dove back into his memories. There was another spot he’d been eyeing, but the swirling maelstrom caught him off-guard and swept him into one that was not of his choosing.
“Stare into the fire, my dear,” a voice said. “Focus on the flames. I’m afraid this will hurt a great deal.”
Nepenthe, though that wasn’t the name that came to mind, stared deep into the flames and saw two slitted orange eyes gazing back from a sinuous shape. He felt the water in his blood withdraw slightly under that gaze, and then there was pain in his ear and the fire was sweeping through his body, racing through his arteries and tracing along his nerves, burning and changing as it went. He screamed as the fire consumed him, burning his memories along with his flesh. He whimpered as it withdrew, but shed no tears. Tears were dangerous; tears had brought—but now there was a wall, and he couldn’t remember. The child of before was gone, and only Nepenthe remained.
Chapter 24
There was light and warmth as Nepenthe awoke. He blinked his eyes open and looked around him in confusion. There was the wardrobe; he was in the queen’s bedroom. A branch of candles stood by the bed; that was the light. As for the warmth—
“You frightened me, Shadow,” Edmun said, squeezing his shoulder.
Nepenthe realized that what he’d thought was a pillow was actually Edmun’s leg. He pushed himself upright quickly. “Sorry,” he said. “This is turning into a habit.”
Edmun narrowed his eyes. “You passed out, this time. Not quite the same.”
Ducking his head, Nepenthe said, “I was caught off guard.”
Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, Edmun said, “Obviously. Are you going to tell me what you were doing?”
“I was trying to access some memories,” he explained, or tried to. “When you touch the earring, the wall comes down and I can see all of them. But there were too many and I got swept away.”
Edmun was staring at him in open-mouthed shock. “You were trying to—” He put his head in his hands and then ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand up even more than usual. “Shadow, promise me you won’t try it again? I really thought you’d died for a moment there. You weren’t breathing.”
“Oh,” Nepenthe said, surprised. “I promise not to try that method again.”
Edmun gave him a stern look.
“I can’t promise to stop,” he said pleadingly. “I need to know what’s in my past, and whether it’s going to be a problem in the future.”
“But those memories are blocked off for a reason, aren’t they?” Edmun returned. “Otherwise you’d simply remove the ring.”
“I don’t want all of them back,” Nepenthe said, and faltered. It sounded a little silly now that he said it out loud. He mumbled, “I just want to see if I’m going to endanger you—or Alain.”
Edmun shook his head. “Silly Shadow. If something comes from your past to haunt you, we’ll handle it together. All right?”
“All right,” he murmured, then turned away, embarrassed. He saw movement from the corner of his eye and threw a hand up to block Edmun’s attempt to tousle his hair. He laughed at the affronted expression on his face, but then Edmun responded with his other hand, and it devolved into an all-out wrestling match that ended with no clear victor.
“Tomorrow,” E
dmun said, “we need to add unarmed combat to your list of things to learn.”
Nepenthe rolled off the far side of the bed with a groan. “Not another one!” he said, climbing to his feet. “Fine. Fine! See you in training.” He gave an elaborate bow. “Your majesty.”
Edmun laughed. “Good night, Shadow.”
Between training, court, and supper with the court, Nepenthe was busier than ever before. Training improved slowly as he began to master the basics of each different skill, and even court was bearable as he began to gain a picture of what life in Alain was like outside his limited realm of the palace. In between supplicants and visits from the various people who needed the king’s attention for whatever issue they had, Edmun would talk and joke with Nepenthe and whichever other Ailerons were stationed near the stage. He had a knack for cracking a joke right before someone entered, and then assuming a serious expression while Nepenthe and the other Ailerons struggled to keep themselves together.
In the afternoons, Nepenthe would visit Orin in the library or Alric in the stables before hurrying off to eat with the king. His cheek healed and his bruise faded, and he felt less like people were staring at him, which made the whole affair more bearable.
After supper, he would sometimes go out to the courtyard with the Ailerons, but more often he would seek solitude in his old hiding places. He was hesitant to go to the queen’s balcony, but hadn’t come up with a satisfactory explanation for his reluctance. The most probable, that he had had a surfeit of Edmun’s presence and wanted to be alone, was obviously false. He picked at the problem as he sat in the window seat at the end of the empty hall, or perched on the roof of the great hall with only a low wall protecting him from a three-story drop. No other reasonable solutions presented themselves.