Dagger's Edge (Shadow series)

by Logston, Anne

  As Urien sipped a last goblet of wine after the meal, however, he said casually, “With your permission, of course, High Lord Argent, High Lady Donya, I asked Lady Jaellyn if she might be so kind as to show me the castle gardens after supper. I had only the barest glance through the window of my room, but it seemed to me that the colors of the leaves at this time of year must be truly beautiful.”

  Donya frowned, the beginnings of a scowl lining her forehead, and even Argent looked doubtful; Jael was starting to fume when Shadow laughed merrily.

  “So tell me, Doe, when did you and Argent decide to become jailers instead of rulers? For Fortune’s sake, Jael’s old enough to decide for herself to go for a walk in the garden with a handsome fellow. If you frown one more time, I’ll tell everyone here at the table about our first night in Fernwold, when you and that—”

  “All right. All right,” Donya said hastily, her cheeks flaming.

  “A shame,” Argent added, patting Donya’s arm and smiling at her, “it would have made interesting listening. Nonetheless, Lord Urien, Shadow is right. Thank you for your courtesy, but Jaellyn is quite old enough to answer for herself. I might add that there is a lovely view of the sunset on the west walk. Come, my dear, I’d like to consult with Mist about Jaellyn’s potion.”

  Jael hadn’t really expected that Urien would make it known to everyone that they were going to go walking; it made her feel a little shy as she took Urien’s arm and showed him which corridors to take to reach the garden door at the north side of the castle. They were fortunate that supper had been early; it being early autumn, there was little daylight left so late in the afternoon.

  Jael had always loved the castle gardens. Exquisitely carved statues had been commissioned for it, and exotic trees and flowers had been brought in by merchants from distant countries, planted and trimmed artistically, and, where necessary, individually tended with selective weatherproofing spells. Several of Allanmere’s underground springs had been magically tapped and directed to feed several stone fountains. Mother had told her that some parts of the garden were centuries old, dating back to the reign of Ria the Fey. Most of the garden had been destroyed during the Black Wars, and later rulers had neglected it, but High Lord Adren, Jael’s great-great-grandfather, had restored it, and Grandmother Celene had made it her special hobby.

  The garden fairly sparkled with magic, and Jael was always careful to touch nothing but the stone benches and bowers where those visiting the garden could take their rest.

  Ordinarily the trees would still be green this early in the autumn, but the past few days had been unseasonably cold, and many of the trees displayed a rainbow of brilliant color.

  “This is lovely,” Urien said. “Where is this west walk that your father mentioned?”

  Jael had known immediately what Argent meant when he recommended the west walk. A small stand of trees had been planted on a slight rise so that the sun seemed to set into the trees, not the city wall. A small bower overgrown with moondrop vines had been placed for just this purpose, and the view included one of the sparkling fountains.

  “What a pleasant place,” Urien said, smiling and motioning to Jael to sit beside him in the bower.

  “Father built it for Mother before I was born,” Jael said, sitting down. She grinned. “I think it was so she’d spend more time sitting in the garden instead of practice fighting with the guard captains while she was pregnant.”

  “And are you a warrior like your mother?” Urien took Jael’s hand, turned it palm up, and traced a finger gently across her palm. “You don’t have the sword calluses.”

  “Me, a warrior?” Jael laughed at the idea. “I’m studying, of course, but I doubt that I’ll ever be any good at it. If my weapons master doesn’t give me something to trip over, my own feet serve just fine.”

  “Not a warrior, not yet a mage, neither elf nor human,” Urien said sympathetically. “How frustrating that must be for you.”

  “Aunt Shadow would say I have sore feet from walking the dagger’s edge,” Jael said wryly. “But that’s common in Allanmere these days.”

  “There is nothing common about you, Lady Jaellyn,” Urien corrected gently. He raised her hand and deliberately kissed her fingertips, sending shivers down Jael’s spine.

  “You—uh—don’t have to call me ‘lady,’“ she said. “Most of my friends just call me Jael.”

  “Jael is a child’s name,” Urien murmured. He brushed his lips over her fingertips again. “You are a lovely young woman, not a child...Jaellyn.”

  He leaned forward slowly, his eyes on hers, giving Jael plenty of time to draw back if she wished to. Jael did not draw back, although her heart was beating fast and she shivered slightly as his cool lips touched hers. She waited for her heart to sing, her body to come alive—

  Nothing.

  Urien did not press her beyond that first kiss, and a faint frown troubled his eyes as he took her other hand, holding them between his own.

  “Have I offended you?” he asked softly.

  “No, oh, no,” Jael said hurriedly, searching her mind for some plausible excuse. No, it’s just that I’ve never been kissed before. Not that one. No, it’s just that nothing happens when you kiss me. Uh-uh. “No, I guess I just keep expecting Mother to coming running down the path to see what I’m doing.”

  “Of course.” His smile was so understanding that Jael was horribly embarrassed, sure that he could see right through her feeble pretense. “And we must not alarm your parents, or they might not allow me to see you again. Come, there’s little light left. We’ll go back now, and your mother will be pleased.”

  Jael walked back silently, thoroughly disgusted with herself. Gods, what was wrong with her? Maybe it was the fasting. And maybe some wicked sorcerer put a curse on me the day I was born.

  Urien escorted her back to the main hall, where a rather surprised Donya met them. Urien thanked her again for the hospitality of the castle and bowed over Jael’s hand formally before he left.

  “Well?” Donya demanded when Urien had gone. “What happened?”

  “Nothing! Nothing happened!” Jael’s sudden anger surprised her. “We walked in the garden, we looked at the trees, we watched the sun go down. What did you think, that he was going to tumble me on the ground with guards looking down from the parapets? That I’d let him?”

  “No!” Donya flushed. “No. I didn’t mean—no, that’s wrong. I suppose I did.” She took a deep breath and laid a callused hand on Jael’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. By the time I was your age, I was no maiden, as you’ve probably gathered from Shadow’s stories. At your age, if I’d been in a beautiful garden at sunset with a charming and handsome young fellow, I probably would have tumbled him. And the only thing that would have concerned my mother would be if he was the husband of some other city’s High Lady, or if I hadn’t been taking my goldenroot potion. So.”

  Donya took another deep breath and shook her head.

  “Do what you want, Jaellyn. Just be wise and please don’t get your heart broken by a lord we know nothing about.” She squeezed Jael’s shoulder roughly. “And if Shadow isn’t here and you need someone to talk to—well, I’ll do the best I can.

  I’ve always been better with swords than words.” She turned away.

  “Mother—” Jael hesitated a moment too long; Donya was gone.

  Jael sighed and climbed the stairs toward her room, realizing that all too often words were not enough.

  Perhaps they never were.

  IV

  “I don’t understand why I have to go under a sleep spell,” Jael complained. “I’ve walked through the Gate before.”

  “Fasting not only purifies the blood, but also intensifies magical energies in the body,” Mist explained patiently. “You have already seen the effects that your uncontrolled energies can cause on even simple magics, and that effect is stronger now than when you were younger. Would you wish to see what will happen if a Gate goes awry with us passing through it?”

>   “It’s a simple spell,” Celene reassured her. “I’ll release it as soon as we are safely through the Gate.”

  “And if Fortune favors us,” Shadow added, “you can walk back through on your own feet.”

  “Are you coming, Aunt Shadow?” Jael asked with relief.

  “Your mother suggested it,” Shadow said with a grin. “Be flattered. It’s some time since I’ve volunteered to spend the night sleeping on the ground. But it might cause problems if some of the people in town heard that the High Lord and High Lady were involved in elven rituals, so I said I’d come along. Besides, this way I can enjoy Mist’s company while you’re napping.”

  “Is that all that happens?” Donya asked warily. “You give her this potion and she lies there and dreams?”

  “I will ask the Mother Forest to guide her,” Mist said. “But the true journey is Jael’s alone to make.”

  “And how long does she just lie there sleeping?” Donya asked.

  “We begin the ritual at sunset, so we will arrive a little early,” Mist said. “She should return from her journey at sunrise, perhaps a little later. We’ll come back through the Gate as soon as the effects of the potion are completely gone.”

  “She will be perfectly safe,” Argent assured Donya, stroking her hair. “Elaria checked each ingredient in the potion and I blended it myself. Mist has plenty of blankets and furs to keep Jael warm while she sleeps. Shadow and Mist will be nearby if Jael needs them, and there is no place in the forest more protected than the Forest Altars.”

  “Of course, you’re right,” Donya said hastily. She tousled Jael’s hair, kissing the top of her head in a rare gesture of affection. “Mage or not, Jaellyn, come back safe and at peace with yourself and I’ll be happy.”

  “Not as happy as I’ll be,” Jael said wryly. “Right now I’d be happy just to eat something—other than boiled greens, that is.”

  “Well, when you come home tomorrow,” Donya said comfortingly, “we’ll have a feast ready and you can stuff yourself till you’re sick, if you like.”

  Argent pulled Jael close.

  “Remember how much we love you,” he murmured. “I will ask the Mother Forest to protect and guide you.”

  Jael said nothing, but hugged back hard. His long, pale hair smelled of herbs, a familiar, comforting scent.

  “Fortune favor us, she’s not going to her death, Argent,” Shadow said good-naturedly. “One night napping in the forest hardly warrants this fuss. Come along, little sapling, and let’s get this done with. Celene, do you want to cast the spell at the Gate, so Mist won’t have to carry her through the halls? She’s almost as tall as he is.”

  “I’ll carry her,” Donya said quickly.

  “Better cast the spell here,” Celene agreed. “Jael might be able to affect the Gate merely by being near it. Jael, better to sit down so you won’t fall.”

  Jael sighed and sat, uncomfortable with all the attention. As Aunt Shadow said, what was the fuss about a few missed meals and an uncomfortable night sleeping in the forest? Her nose would run and she’d wake up stiff, and likely nothing much would come of it.

  Celene gave her an encouraging smile, chanted a few words, and leaned over to touch Jael’s eyelids gently. Jael had just time to think, I wonder how this is going to feel—

  Jael opened her eyes, surprised to see leaves instead of stone overhead. Celene patted her cheek comfortingly.

  “All finished, granddaughter,” she said. “I was almost surprised that the spell worked on you. I half expected you to turn into a bird instead, or sottie such.”

  “I wish you’d told me that before you cast it,” Jael grumbled, scrambling to her feet. “I’d rather have ridden into the Heartwood on horses.”

  “Jaellyn, the sleep spell is so simple that there was no risk worth mentioning,” Celene said gently. “I was only jesting. Now come along, and tomorrow we will see how great a mage you’ve become.”

  “No doubt I’ll become such a great mage that I can break every light globe in the castle, instead of just in the one room,” Jael chuckled.

  It was forbidden to cast a Gate spell within the area of the Forest Altars, but the altars were less than a mile from the Gate. Celene, Mist, Shadow, and Jael arrived with plenty of sunlight left.

  “What do I do now?” Jael asked, when they had cleared the offerings from one of the altars and laid a few warm furs over it.

  “You can help us set up our camp,” Mist said. “We will be close, but not so close that our fire or our voices might distract you.”

  “Besides, I will not camp without a fire, as well as something to cook over it,” Shadow said firmly. “And that means we have to leave the area of the altars to hunt. But we’ll still be near enough to hear you if you should need us.”

  They made a camp at one of the already cleared sites just outside the stones defining the area of the altars, and Shadow excused herself, saying that she would hunt something for supper while Mist helped Jael prepare.

  There was little enough, however, to prepare. Mist drew a clay flask from his pack and followed Jael back to the chosen altar, bringing several furs and blankets with him.

  “It’s been a little chill these past few nights,” Mist said. “I will stay until you are asleep, then see that you are well covered. You take chill too easily, little fawn.” He glanced up at the setting sun, then pulled the stopper out of the flask. “This will taste terrible, but I brought some water for you to drink with it.”

  Jael took the flask. It felt heavy, and the smell of the potion was unpleasantly sweet and pungent.

  “All of it?” she asked dubiously.

  “Every drop,” Mist said firmly. “If you drink it down quickly, you’ll taste it less.”

  Jael took a deep breath and tipped up the flask. The liquid was thick and syrupy, obviously sweetened heavily with honey, but the liquid burned its way down her throat anyway. Jael grimaced and sipped water from the skin that Mist offered.

  “Lie down,” Mist said. “The potion will start to take effect in a few moments.”

  Jael climbed awkwardly onto the altar, making herself as comfortable as she could on the fur-covered stone. Mist folded a fur to cushion her head, then laid several blankets and furs over her.

  “You’ll start feeling heavy and warm,” Mist said. He clasped her hand warmly. “After a time your thoughts will begin to drift. When that starts to happen, focus your thoughts inward, downward. Send your thoughts down through yourself and into the earth, down to the roots of the trees. Think of those roots as your own roots, and follow them down as far as you can go.”

  Jael sighed and squirmed a little. The fur was ticklish under her, annoying. She wanted to push it aside. She was too hot; she wanted to feel the cool of the stone against her back.

  “When you’ve gone down as far as you can go, you will find a peaceful place there, like a still forest pool,” Mist said, his voice smooth and soothing. “This place exists at the center of yourself. Your magic is in that place, your soul is in that place, your wholeness is there in that peaceful place. Go there and find it and bring it back with you.”

  “Uh-huh.” Jael heard her own voice as if from a great distance. She felt far too hot and vaguely sick, but the heat and the nausea were far away, too. Her muscles were still a little sore, too, from the previous day’s exertions; she had spent the whole day training with Rabin and Larissa, having nothing better to pass the time.

  Mist’s voice faded out, but she could still feel the pressure of his hand. Then that was gone, too, and somehow Jael was glad; she wanted to be alone. She squirmed around on the stone until she managed to push the fur out from under her, and the weathered stone was smooth and delightful against her cheek.

  There was no focusing her thoughts downward; she was pulled down like iron shavings to a lodestone. Earth was around her, warm and moist and musky with leaf mold, tunneled by worms, laced with roots. There were thoughts around her, too—worm-thoughts and beetle-thoughts and other noisy p
ulses of hunger, of fear, of pain and birth and death. There was nothing soothing or peaceful here; it was too alive, too moving and varied of texture and confusing.

  Under the forest soil was denser earth, more roots, finer and longer and pale from the dark, squirming things that had never seen the sun, blind, writhing life even more confused and confusing than that above. There was nothing to be found at the end of the roots but their pale, searching tips. How could she think of them as her roots, these frail, blind things? Jael knew a moment of panic—how could she find peace, how could she find herself here in this writhing chaos of life?

  Almost instinctively she sank deeper. Under the earth was water—not a still pool as Mist had described, but water pushing up hot and sulfurous from the earth, bubbling and frothing toward the surface. Then down under the water—

  Stone.

  Jael sank into stone as she might sink into a soft bed after a rigorous combat lesson, gratefully, every muscle in her body sighing its surrender. Stone surrounded her, smooth and firm and solid, and yet it was alive, too, holding in its heart a memory of liquid fire. The fire called to her, like a distant memory, vague and indistinct but beckoning, a pleasurable tinge like the sight of home after a long journey, but when she reached for it, it was always just beyond her grasp. Desperately she followed that vein or tire deeper, farther, but it seemed to retreat even as she approached, growing ever more distant even as the world receded far behind her. Just a little farther and she could reach it—almost—almost—

  Something seized her, as if a warm, strong hand had grasped the back of her shirt, pulling her back, back through stone, through water, through earth, back up. Jael howled with disappointment, reaching desperately for the stone, but the force pulling her back was too strong, and the red thread of fire melted slowly into darkness.

  Jael was warm and comfortable, cradled smoothly and comfortingly. Slowly sound intruded—early morning sounds of birds and insects. Sunlight trickled through her eyelashes like water; reluctantly, Jael yawned and rubbed her eyes. To her surprise, she felt neither stiff nor groggy; rather, she was utterly relaxed and as refreshed as after a swim in the river on a hot day. Jael tried to stretch, only to find that she had somehow wedged herself into a rather cramped, if comfortable, space.