by M C Dwyer
“So you had to dance the girl’s part?” Edmun finished sympathetically.
“You don’t dance?” Nepenthe said, turning the question back on him.
He shrugged and sighed. “If—when—I marry, it will be a matter of policy. There’s no use in raising hopes with local women that will likely go unfulfilled.” He grinned wickedly and nudged Nepenthe. “You and I should dance, Shadow. What a sensation we would cause!”
Nepenthe, still raw from Aidan’s comment, could only gasp in shock.
Edmun studied him, his head to one side. “I see you’ve heard the rumors,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry, Shadow; it was ill done.”
“They don’t bother you?” Nepenthe managed.
“There will always be those who criticize me whatever I do,” Edmun said philosophically. “If I danced with every woman here, I’d be a shameless flirt or a womanizer; if I avoid women and seek the company of men, my tastes are suspect. You and I have done nothing wrong, and the rumors have no proof to offer.” He shrugged.
Nepenthe continued to gaze at him wonderingly.
Edmun said, “I’ll say it like this: I value your company more than I care what the rumormongers think. But since I also care about your feelings, we should stop hiding in the corner here and go talk to some people. I’ll introduce you to my nobles and you can tell me how many of them you’ve already identified.”
Protesting half-heartedly, Nepenthe was steered from his inlet of safety and into the turbid waters of the hall. As promised, Edmun introduced him to what would have been a bewildering sequence of nobles if Nepenthe hadn’t already started putting names and faces together. Edmun might see it as a clever trick or proof of Nepenthe’s powers of observation, but for Nepenthe, it was a way to feel safe.
Though even that impulse, he realized, wasn’t as strong as it had been even a year ago. He compared the Nepenthe of last summer with now and was somewhat amazed at the difference that even he could see. It wasn’t just that he was taller or more comfortable in his surroundings; he actually felt like a different person. The Nepenthe of a year ago would have run screaming for an empty balcony at the thought of facing so many strangers.
He followed Edmun around the room, then paused to watch the dancers. As they skipped past him in an allemande, he had a sudden memory of a different ballroom, and a different swishing of skirts. A man in a black raven’s mask bowed before him, his smile twisting his features. His voice whispered, “Hello, Little Sib,” even as a wave of fire washed through the hall.
Nepenthe gasped and collapsed, slowed by Edmun’s hand under his elbow. From nearby, Aidan also hissed in sudden pain and looked around. He spotted Nepenthe and hurried over.
“What was that?” he demanded softly, his eyes wide. No one else in the hall seemed to have felt it.
Nepenthe knelt with one hand clapped to his earring, which was positively purring in response. “Fire spirit,” he gasped, breathing shallowly.
“What?” Aidan said, putting a hand under Nepenthe’s other arm and helping him stand.
“Fire spirit,” he repeated. “You’re spirit-touched, so you felt it.”
The two men helped Nepenthe to a chair by the wall. He sat, his knees too shaky to hold him up.
“Can you explain?” Edmun asked quietly, glancing around the ballroom. He signaled to someone out of Nepenthe’s line of sight before turning back to face him.
Nepenthe shook his head. “It was the power of a fire spirit—an extremely powerful one. I think,” he said, and stopped, shivering.
“What is it?” Edmun said encouragingly.
“I think,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I think my brother found me.”
Chapter 28
“Didn’t you say your spirit was water? How can you have a fire-spirited brother?” Edmun’s brow creased in confusion.
“Half-brother,” Nepenthe said, looking down and fiddling with a tassel on his ridiculous costume. It seemed even sillier now as his entire future seemed to be crashing down around his ears.
“Your majesty?” someone said. Nepenthe glanced up and recognized Iva. She looked uncomfortable, shifting her weight and making her wide skirts twitch.
“Did you feel anything a few moments ago?” Edmun asked.
“Yes!” she said, looking suddenly relieved. “I didn’t know what it was, but I’ve been edgy ever since.”
“Nepenthe says it was the power of a fire spirit. Would you do me a favor and gather Barth—no, he’s still in Iona.” He thought for a moment.
“I know who you mean,” she said, bobbing her head.
“In the council room as soon as possible.”
She nodded assent and left.
“Can you walk?” Edmun asked, turning back to Nepenthe. “We should relocate.”
Nepenthe stood up and found his legs steady enough. “I’ll make it. Where are we going?”
“The council room. It’s just off the throne room. Aidan can lead you there, and I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.”
Aidan nodded and Edmun slipped into the crowd. To Nepenthe, he said, “This way.”
They did not try to talk as they slipped along the perimeter of the room, eventually reaching the side door Nepenthe had seen but never been through. Inside was a mid-sized room that had a long table surrounded by chairs. At the head was a slightly larger chair flanked by two others. Aidan led Nepenthe to these and motioned for him to sit in one while he took the other.
Glancing at the chair in the middle, Nepenthe wondered if they were being presumptuous in seating themselves at the king’s right and left hands. Hopefully Aidan knew what he was doing. At the moment, he was looking deeply thoughtful with his chin in his hand and his elbow on the arm of the chair. He’d said nothing since entering, and Nepenthe wasn’t brave enough to break the silence.
Over the next few minutes, the door opened to admit several Ailerons and quite a few nobles, both men and women. They glanced at each other and took a seat around the table. There were about a dozen of them all told by the time Edmun entered the room and took his place between Aidan and Nepenthe. While Nepenthe could have named about half of them, he only knew Iva to any degree. She sat down two chairs past Nepenthe.
“This,” Edmun said by way of introduction, “is my Spirit Council.” This was met with a mix of chuckles and slight frowns as Nepenthe stared around in surprise. All of these people were spirit-touched?
“Your majesty, is this is about the fire that swept through?” one of the nobles said.
“I didn’t feel anything,” another protested, and was immediately followed by, “How could you not feel that? It burned!”
Edmun held up a hand, and silence fell. “Has anyone felt anything else unusual in the past few days?”
One of the Ailerons held up a hand and spoke when Edmun nodded. “There was a pretty strong surge of water about a week ago.”
“I felt that, too.”
“As did I.”
As the echoes continued down the table, Nepenthe blanched. A week ago would have been about right for his attempt to heal Lira. If these people had all felt it, who else might have noticed?
Edmun glanced sideways at Nepenthe, then said, “I know the explanation for that one. One of my Ailerons was recently healed by the power of a water spirit.”
The Ailerons all sat up straighter.
“You mean Lira was—” Iva said, then glanced from Nepenthe to the other Ailerons and subsided.
Someone else whistled, impressed. “That must have been a high-order spirit.”
Nepenthe forbade his cheeks from turning pink and could only hope they obeyed.
“Has anyone noticed anything else?” Edmun asked.
“Not recently, your majesty,” one of the nobles said. “Actually, it’s been fairly quiet all around these past few years. Most spirits have been lying low since Brae.”
Nepenthe couldn’t stop a flinch at the name, and this time a memory accompanied it. The first image was of a peacefu
l seaside town full of stuccoed houses with blue-glazed tile roofs and cheerful townspeople waving and laughing to a much smaller Nepenthe. The second image was the same town devastated by an earthquake or a tidal wave, or possibly both. The houses were mere piles of rubble, and what people could be seen were buried under the wreckage, their faces mercifully covered.
He shuddered and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes.
“This fire may have some connection to Brae,” Edmun said, causing Nepenthe’s eyes to fly open. “Nepenthe, you said you thought your brother had found you.”
Nepenthe nodded, eyes wide and wary.
“Am I right in thinking that Pyrdred is your brother?”
There were gasps from around the table, and at least a couple murmurs of, “King Pyrdred? That Pyrdred?”
Nepenthe hadn’t managed a response by the time someone else added, “I wasn’t aware that King Pyrdred had any brothers.”
“Half-brother,” Edmun said.
The first voice said, “Ah. You mean Nepenthe is one of Theodric’s ba—” he coughed on the last word and subsided, red-faced.
Edmun ignored this comment and turned to Nepenthe. “Why does your brother want to find you?”
“I don’t know,” Nepenthe said miserably, pulling his knees up. “I can’t remember. But I know it isn’t good.”
Even as he finished speaking, another, stronger wash of fire swept over the room. Everyone except Edmun gasped and either clutched at the table or the arms of their chairs for support.
“Spirits of the earth,” someone swore. “That was strong!”
“Not only that,” someone else added, “it felt tainted somehow. Did you feel it?”
Nepenthe, fighting nausea, nodded agreement.
Edmun looked around the room, frowning. “I have no doubt you all felt something. Can you tell me what it was? What it means?”
There were reluctant headshakes all around the room. Nepenthe simply put his head on his knees and tried not to throw up.
“Aidan, as our resident fire spirit, do you have any insight?”
Aidan shrugged helplessly. “I wish I did. This is beyond anything I’ve ever heard of.”
Edmun sighed. “All right. It’s fairly obvious that this Pyrdred is a threat, but until we have a better idea of what he plans, I don’t see how we can begin to defend against him. Everyone, please keep your eyes and ears open, and report to me as soon as you discover anything. Nepenthe, you’re not allowed to be alone from now on.”
Nepenthe looked up in dismay.
Edmun put a sympathetic hand on his curly hair. “You’re the most likely target; we need to keep you safe. We can’t do that if you’re hiding on the roof or wherever else it is you go.”
With a sigh, Nepenthe gave in. He shivered. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be alone right now, anyway.
Turning back to the room, Edmun said, “Thank you, all of you, for lending me your time and expertise. Please, enjoy what’s left of the ball if you can.”
The various nobles and Ailerons filed out, leaving Edmun, Aidan, and Nepenthe alone.
“I meant it, Nepenthe,” Edmun said. “From here on out, you’re not to be alone. You’re either with me or Aidan.” He turned a questioning look to Aidan. “Can you handle that?”
Aidan flushed and nodded.
Sighing, Edmun said, “We still have to get through supper. I told the kitchens to push it back, but the food won’t keep indefinitely.”
Aidan bowed slightly. “I’ll go see if the preparations are done.”
“Well, Shadow?” Edmun said when he was gone.
“No,” he said, dragging his fingers through his hair, and then combing it back over the earring. “I’m not well.”
Looking at him in surprise, Edmun said, “Spirits, I never thought I’d see the day. You didn’t say, ‘I’m fine.’”
Nepenthe offered a miserable smile and held up an obviously shaking hand. “I’m not fine.”
Catching the trembling hand in his own, Edmun pressed it. “I’ll do everything in my power to help you, Shadow. Know that.”
Nepenthe nodded. “I know.”
The next day, the first person fell ill. It was a fever. Just a fever, but what a fever it was. It raged through its victim, seeming to burn them from the inside out. The doctor was called, willow bark was prescribed, and the fever abated for a time. But then the next person succumbed.
The first one was a chambermaid; the second was a noble on the other side of the palace. They’d had no contact with each other.
The third person was Cora in the stables, followed by no less than three of the cook’s helpers.
Nepenthe dragged Aidan to see Cora. “Do you feel it?” he demanded, holding her limp wrist.
Aidan picked up her hand and frowned. “It’s not a fever, is it? I mean, it is, obviously; but it’s not an illness.”
Taking back the hand because his touch seemed to ease the fever, Nepenthe nodded. “It’s fire.”
“Is that even possible?”
Nepenthe shrugged helplessly and held up Cora’s hand in mute testimony that it must be.
Aidan sighed. “I’ll call the council.”
“I’ll stay with Cora.”
“You can’t, Penthe,” Aidan reminded him. “You have to stay with me.”
With a frustrated moan, he carefully put Cora’s hand back on the pallet and patted it. “I’ll try to come back later,” he said, and Cora nodded weakly.
“Thank you, Penthe,” she whispered.
The council was gathered quickly, but this new information provided no answers as to what should be done.
“The good news,” Aidan said, “is that those of us that are spirit-touched are likely to be immune to whatever this is.”
“The bad news,” Edmun said, “is that there won’t be nearly enough of you to tend the sick if this continues to spread. Any ideas?”
Everyone looked uncomfortably around the room. Iva was the first to break the silence. “If this is spirit-related, then perhaps the solution is spirit-related.”
“Is there some counter to the power of a fire spirit?” Edmun asked.
One of the oldest people in the room, an old lord who was attended by a younger-looking version of himself, said, “Traditionally, fire is the strongest of the elements. I read somewhere that fire is one of the few things spirits of earth, wind, and water fear, though I can’t remember why.”
“I know the book you’re talking about, Father,” his younger version said. “It claimed that since spirits have no souls as humans do, they fear fire because it can destroy them utterly.” He shrugged. “I have no idea if that’s true or not, but that’s what the book said.”
A tiny grain of an idea planted itself in Nepenthe’s mind, and oyster-like, irritated it into polishing it smooth and beautiful. It stayed there through the rest of the unproductive meeting and over the next few days as more and more people fell ill.
Those who were healthy abandoned most of their other tasks to care for those who were sick, brewing willow bark and fetching ice to renew cool compresses in an effort to bring down the fever. Nepenthe walked among the ill, holding hands and attempting to soothe the fever-ravaged flesh. The patients calmed whenever Nepenthe was with them, ceasing their restless twitching and falling into a much-needed sleep. Eventually, Nepenthe was ordered to simply continue traveling among the ill, bringing down the fever by his touch.
The kernel of an idea was growing in his mind, achieving luster and shine as it developed into a full-fledged plan.
His first idea of using his own water to heal he banished as unlikely to succeed. His attempt to heal Lira had resulted in his collapse and had shaken the foundation of his memory wall. It still shuddered when Nepenthe brushed past it, causing him to tiptoe through his own mind. Even if he were successful, that would only be one person out of the two hundred that were currently sick, with more dropping each hour. It had spread beyond the palace now, and the numbers from the city were unknown.
By the following day, the number of ill in the palace had nearly doubled, claiming most of the staff and about half of the nobles, and Nepenthe was forced to examine the pearl of an idea that his mind had produced.
It was simple enough; he was going to ask his mother for help. The catch was that he didn’t know if she would answer, first of all, and second of all, having answered, be willing to help. From his fragmented memories he had gathered an impression of a loving enough mother, but not one that was particularly interested in anyone beyond herself. He rather thought this was due to her nature as a spirit rather than any particular personal shortcoming, but the fact remained that she might simply be unwilling to help. He could but ask.
If she were, such a phenomenal outpouring of power would echo through the spirit realm. There would be no doubt as to Nepenthe’s location. On the other hand, the fact that the illness had begun in the palace near Nepenthe suggested that there was already very little doubt. Either way, Nepenthe’s location was known, and he would need to decide what he was going to do next. The easiest answer was to continue running, but his heart quailed at the thought. He did not want to leave Alain, nor did he want to abandon the life he’d made here in the palace. But as long as he stayed, they were at risk.
Biting his lip, he considered another alternative: he could look for his brother. His buried memories screamed for him to run away, do anything rather than seek him out. But the fire currently coursing through his veins suggested anger was an equally valid response, and that Pyrdred was due a reckoning.
By noon, a runner sought out Aidan, pulling him down to whisper in his ear. He looked especially grim as he came to Nepenthe’s side.
“The first casualty. One of the cook’s helpers died this morning. She was older, but still, this doesn’t bode well.”
Guilt stabbed Nepenthe in the heart. He could hesitate no longer.
“I need your help,” he said. “I have an idea.”
Aidan looked warily at him. “Am I going to like this idea?”
Nepenthe shrugged. “It’s better than my first idea. I’m going to ask my mother for help.”