Spirit Song

by M C Dwyer

  “Tad,” Nepenthe whispered, and he was immediately there.

  “Shadow, what did you do?”

  From his voice, it was difficult to tell if he was happy or sad, or possibly even angry, and Nepenthe’s eyes were too heavy to open. Blankets settled over him, warmed by the fire, and his shivering began to subside. “How’s Lira?” he managed.

  “The bruises are fading. The doctor said the internal bleeding has stopped. She hasn’t woken up yet, but since by rights she should be dead, everyone is—everyone is cautiously hopeful.” A weight fell on Nepenthe’s shoulder through the blanket. “What did you do?” he asked again.

  “Just wanted to help,” he murmured, and was asleep.

  Chapter 26

  He awoke sometime later to an empty room, though he could hear voices somewhere close by. The blankets were too hot and he pushed them off impatiently and stood up, only to realize that his clothes had been replaced with a long nightshirt and his boots were gone. That was irritating, but to be expected. A glance around the room revealed no clothes, so he gave up with a shrug and shuffled out barefoot.

  The voices resolved into Lira’s and Charl’s, and Nepenthe turned his footsteps that way. He was weaker than he wanted to be and leaned against the doorpost once he arrived.

  Lira was still lying on the bed, but she was awake and talking—laughing softly, actually—at something Charl said. Nepenthe smiled to see them, and then Lira looked up and saw him.

  “Nepenthe!” she called softly, and tried to move a hand. Charl stopped her, but turned.

  “Nepenthe!” he repeated. “Come, sit down before you fall down.” He stood up and ushered him to the chair.

  Nepenthe collapsed gratefully, tugging his nightshirt down over his knees. Lira reached a hand toward him, and he took it, careful not to move it much. “Are you okay?”

  “Thanks to you, Aileron,” Lira said, and there was something like wonder in her voice.

  “We hear you’ve been busy while we’ve been gone,” Charl added. “Foreign princesses? Assassination attempts? Unruly lords?”

  Blushing warmly, Nepenthe waved this away with his free hand. “It wasn’t nearly as exciting as you make it sound. It was mostly just uncomfortable.”

  Lira laughed softly. “Adventures usually are. Regardless, I’m glad we rescued you from those bandits. You’ve been a good thing for Alain.”

  Nepenthe ducked his head and was grateful that the doctor appeared then.

  “Too much excitement for you, ma’am,” he scolded Lira. “And you,” he shook his finger at Nepenthe. “I don’t know what you did, but you raged with fever all night, so you shouldn’t be up yet either.”

  Charl apologized and offered Nepenthe an arm back to the other room. Nepenthe leaned on him gratefully.

  “Thank you, Nepenthe,” he said as he helped Nepenthe back into bed. “By rights, she should be dead. I am in your debt forever.” He bowed, formal and low with his hands at his sides.

  Nepenthe grew increasingly uncomfortable as he held the bow. “I had to try. I didn’t know if I could help, but I had to try. You all saved my life, first.”

  “My debt is greater. If there is ever a way I can serve you, let me know.” He bowed again and left.

  Nepenthe slept again.

  When he awoke, it was dark, and someone was next to his bed. He sat up with a gasp, his heart pounding.

  “Easy, Shadow; it’s just me.”

  Nepenthe’s breathing eased. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

  “I didn’t want to disturb you. You need the sleep.”

  “I’m fine,” he protested, and Edmun sighed.

  “You say that a lot,” he complained. “I no longer believe you.”

  “Really, I am.” He reached toward Edmun’s voice and found his arm, then brought his hand to his forehead. “See? The fever is gone.”

  Edmun turned the hand around so it rested on Nepenthe’s head. “You didn’t answer my question earlier, which I allowed because you basically passed out. Shadow, what did you do?”

  Nepenthe blushed in the dark, and wondered if Edmun could feel the warmth. “Orin had a book about the different spirits and what they tend to be skilled at. Water spirits can heal. I had to try.”

  “I think it’s time that librarian retired,” Edmun said grimly, “if he’s just going to put crazy ideas in your head.”

  Nepenthe caught Edmun’s hand in his own and clutched it in his lap. “It’s not his fault. And it worked, didn’t it?”

  “My crazy, brave Shadow,” Edmun sighed. “I can’t even fault you because you saved Lira’s life.” He squeezed Nepenthe’s hand. “You frightened me, is all.”

  “I’m sorry.” Nepenthe lifted Edmun’s hand partway to his lips, then froze as he realized what he was doing. He carefully put it back on the blankets and replaced his hands in his lap. He twisted the hem of his nightgown between his fingers and was grateful for the concealing dark.

  “I should go,” Edmun said eventually. Nepenthe nodded. Yes, it would be better if he left, before Nepenthe did something he could not explain and would regret. “Be safe, Shadow. Good night.”

  “Thank you,” Nepenthe said, the words practically bursting out of him.

  “For what?”

  “It’s just, I haven’t had anyone worry about me in a very long time. It’s—it’s nice.”

  With a sudden wafting of air, Edmun was back across the room and kneeling with one leg on the bed. He wrapped Nepenthe in a hug, then pressed a fleeting kiss to his temple. “Good night, Shadow,” he whispered, and was gone.

  Nepenthe stared at the dark ceiling for some time after he left.

  Lira improved slowly; Nepenthe had fully recovered—physically, at least—by the following day. He returned to his training, duties at court, and supper with the king. It was business as usual, except it wasn’t.

  Aidan had returned, and his silent presence could be felt almost everywhere. He had few words for Nepenthe and seemed to spend most of his time watching him with a curious expression on his face.

  Nepenthe was, for the most part, too busy to notice, save to mourn the apparent loss of one of his first friends in Alain.

  There was good news mixed in with this; the eastern clans had suffered an assassination and devolved once more into infighting and bickering. The timing seemed to align with events in Alain, and Edmun hypothesized that the failure of the plot against the princess had led to someone’s removal from power. Regardless, it was good news for Alain, who could breathe a little easier now.

  It was one more thing to celebrate as the court began to look forward in earnest to the Midsummer’s Ball. The palace was a flurry of preparations as the day approached, and Nepenthe sought refuge from the chaos in the relative calm of the library.

  “What’s so exciting about this ball?” he asked Orin, somewhat disgusted.

  Orin chuckled, which caused him to break into a fit of coughing that lasted for some time.

  “Are you alright?” Nepenthe asked, rubbing the old man’s back.

  “Just a tickle,” he said hoarsely, and put another lozenge in his cheek. “It’s a constant companion, these days.” He patted Nepenthe’s shoulder. “Getting old is not for the faint of heart.”

  “Maybe you should take some time off,” Nepenthe said, unwilling to grant that it was simply old age. “Or at least go see the doctor?”

  “Later, child, later. The ball is the main event in Alain. All the nobles come back to court for a couple weeks and make contracts and betrothals. So if you’re looking for a likely young lady, this is your best chance.” He winked at Nepenthe and smothered another cough.

  Nepenthe dismissed that thought with a derisive snort and a rather bitter smile that Orin did not see. “I think it’s all foolishness,” he said, and went and curled up with a book in a window seat.

  Chapter 27

  Foolish or not, the ball arrived along with what Nepenthe was sure was half the kingdom. As in the winter, the palace was ov
errun with nobles who seemed to find every one of Nepenthe’s hideaways. During the day there was no escape, either. His training was curtailed as court extended into the morning hours to allow Edmun time to formally greet all of his guests. Nepenthe stood on the dais opposite Aidan and guiltily caught himself wishing to return to the time when Aidan was still out on business for the king.

  He had leisure to examine these feelings during the interminable court sessions and spent many a long hour trying to pinpoint what had changed between him and Aidan.

  It was worst, he realized, when Aidan was watching Nepenthe and the king. Edmun had cracked a joke under his breath, causing Nepenthe to double up in stifled laughter that he tried to banish before the next guest approached. Straightening up and fighting with the grin that wanted to break through, he caught a look on Aidan’s face that was familiar. It took another hour of interrupted pondering to figure out where he’d seen that look before, but when he figured it out he was nearly speechless in surprise.

  “You’re jealous,” he blurted as he followed Aidan from the courtroom. Aidan did not respond, but his ears practically glowed red, as he quickened his pace.

  Nepenthe jogged after him and tugged on his sleeve, pulling him to a reluctant stop. “Of me? Why?” His confusion was clearly written all over his face, and Aidan softened slightly.

  “Oh, Penthe. Sometimes feelings are completely irrational. I left for almost three months and came back to find a scrawny runt had replaced me.” He reached out to tousle Nepenthe’s hair, but Nepenthe ducked out of reach with a troubled look on his face. “That’s not helping either,” Aidan said. “There are rumors; did you know? About you and the king.”

  Nepenthe looked quizzically at Aidan, and then the blood drained from his face as he realized what kind of rumors they must be. “They’re not true,” he whispered, his throat tight and scratchy.

  “Of course not,” he quickly agreed. “But you can see how it looks to me, right?”

  Backing away slowly, Nepenthe shook his head. Aidan sighed, and Nepenthe bolted down the hallway.

  His feet tried to take him to the queen’s balcony, but he sternly turned them away. While it was no doubt clear of the omnipresent nobles, it was too close to the king’s quarters. He would not fuel rumors, however untrue. He went instead to the only other place guaranteed to be clear: the roof of the great hall. He leaned back against the warm, slanted tiles and let the wind wash over him, cleansing him of the uncomfortable feeling of Aidan’s words.

  Sylphs giggled in his ears as he lay there, and he put a hand up to feel them whisk past.

  “I envy you, sisters,” he said. “You haven’t a care in the world.”

  Come away with us, they whispered back. Dance on the wind, and be free, dear sister.

  Nepenthe blanched slightly even as his heart warmed. As tempting as the sylphs’ offer was—what a relief to float free in a place where he was known!—he suspected that such a choice would mean death—at least for his physical body. He would not make that choice. “Not today, sisters,” he said, pushing himself upright with a sigh. It was probably almost seventh bell; Edmun would expect him below. He had to go, even if Aidan spent the whole supper staring at him from down the table.

  In his usual spot next to the king, he merely picked at his food. Edmun saw but merely gave him a look, forbearing to comment. “Dare I ask what you’ve been doing in the interim between court and supper?” he said, spearing a forkful of beans.

  “I went somewhere to think,” Nepenthe answered, ducking his head and refusing to meet Aidan’s gaze from Edmun’s other side.

  “May I ask where?” Before Nepenthe could speak, he added, “I want to send someone with a mop and bucket, as it is obviously in great need of cleaning.”

  Craning his neck, Nepenthe managed to catch a glimpse of the back of his tunic. It was dark gray against the blue. “It would be difficult to mop,” he admitted, then looked up.

  Edmun and Aidan both followed his gaze, though it was Aidan who said, “The roof?! Are you crazy?”

  Nepenthe flushed, though for once it wasn’t embarrassment but anger that turned his cheeks pink. He crafted and discarded several responses but managed not to say any of them. He pointedly turned away from him and picked up a piece of chicken, which at least made Edmun stop eyeing him. The three sat in somewhat uncomfortable silence throughout the rest of the meal, and Nepenthe quickly escaped after—though not to the roof.

  The Midsummer’s Ball arrived the same day Lira was allowed to leave her hospital bed. A line of Ailerons, Nepenthe included, applauded as she leaned on Charl and shuffled a few steps down the hallway. Though that was all the doctor allowed, the Ailerons prepared for that evening’s festivities with an even lighter heart.

  As for Nepenthe, he stood in his room and scowled at the costume laid out on his bed. He refused to think of it as a uniform, though it was loosely based on the silver and blue of the formal Aileron tunic. This one had tassels, puffy sleeves, and what could only be called a skirt, complete with stiff whalebone. This ensemble went over puffy short pants and hose. It was as ridiculous as any of Princess Ingrid’s fancy dresses.

  Nepenthe went next door to Drinian’s room and knocked.

  Drinian opened it, already fully dressed in the ball attire. Nepenthe stared for a moment, and then his shoulders slumped, and he returned to his room to change. Drinian’s laughter followed him.

  At least it fit, Nepenthe thought. He’d grown a bit in the past couple of months and hadn’t had properly fitting clothes for at least that long. The seamstress had told him to return when he stopped growing. It was a good thing he was handy with a needle or his clothes would have become a bit laughable.

  But this suit, sadly, fit like a dream. And once it was on, maybe it wasn’t so bad, he thought, straining to see himself in the small mirror that hung above the washstand. He bit his lip, considering. He knew where a full-length mirror was, and there wasn’t likely to be anyone there.

  Before he could second-guess his decision, he dashed down the hall, up a couple flights of stairs, and into the queen’s quarters. The mirror was where he remembered, and he stepped back to get a look at the outfit in all its glory. He struck a pose and dissolved into a fit of giggles. It was too absurd for words. There was consolation in this, though—all the Ailerons had to wear it. He wondered if the uniform for the women was any better and skipped off to the throne room to find out.

  The throne room was bustling with servants in palace blues moving chairs and tables here and there. He strained to see if any Ailerons were already present.

  Ena was the first one he saw, and he dissolved into laughter again when she turned around and saw him.

  “Don’t you start, sir,” she said, shaking her finger at him. “I think King Edmun uses these uniforms to keep his Ailerons humble.” She swept a mocking curtsy, and Nepenthe returned a bow.

  The women’s outfits were no better, except for the fact that extra frills and furbelows were to be expected on ball gowns. Like the skirted tunic, the dresses hearkened back to an earlier time when fashions were a bit different. The dress had wide panniers that made it look as though Ena was hiding a small table under her skirt. The top was stiff with boning as well, and the sleeves were as puffy as Nepenthe’s. The only thing that marked it as belonging to an Aileron was the color—silver and blue to match the men’s.

  “If you’re done giggling to yourself over there, you can help me finish directing the setup for tonight.”

  Although he didn’t know what needed doing, he was willing enough to stay and keep Ena company, but when Aidan appeared looking as awkward in his clothes as Nepenthe had first felt, he stifled a snort behind his hand and left. He still didn’t know what to say to him.

  Nepenthe cooled his heels in the library until seventh bell, then bowed farewell to an appreciative—though still coughing—Orin who waved him out with a smile.

  Returning to the throne room, he found the transformation was complete. The giant
chandeliers had all been lit, and for the first time, Nepenthe noticed the profusion of mirrors lining the upper walls of the hall. These had been angled to catch and reflect as much light as possible, so the room was brightly lit. The Ailerons glittered in the light; the silver tassels that Nepenthe had disparaged suddenly gleamed with an inner light as they moved about the room. The nobles were equally ridiculous in their finery, but it was a cheerful sort of ridiculousness that only added to the air of excitement.

  Seventh bell echoed faintly beyond the walls, and Edmun stepped up on the dais. His finery was probably the most understated of anyone in the room. He wore a simple suit of blue that gleamed richly, and a twisted silver coronet sat on his brow. “Friends, nobles, Ailerons: I welcome you to the Midsummer’s Ball!”

  He stepped down, and a small orchestra started playing, introducing the first bars of a pavane. Many people hustled to claim a partner and take their place before the song took off. Aidan and Ena were there, along with Lord Wolfe and a noblewoman Nepenthe did not know. He ducked behind a passing noble to avoid his sight. He didn’t want to sour this evening with an unpleasant scene.

  Drifting through the hall, Nepenthe smiled and nodded to several people he knew, then ended up by the food. While there was supposed to be a dinner later, Nepenthe didn’t think he could wait that long. And since he had no plans to dance, he may as well be eating as anything else.

  Taking his plate to an out-of-the-way spot where he could observe, he leaned against the wall and quickly worked his way through the food.

  “You don’t dance?” a voice said at his elbow.

  Fortunately, Nepenthe’s plate was empty, or it would have dumped all over the floor.

  Edmun chuckled. “I can’t help but enjoy it when I manage to sneak up on you. It makes me feel better about myself.”

  Nepenthe glared sideways. “No, I don’t dance.”

  “You never learned?”

  “I learned,” Nepenthe said, surprising himself when a memory came along with it. “But I learned with my brother,” he said, feeling his way through the memory slowly. “He was older—”