“Not just a trader, a noble. Lord Bredych.”
“Why would a trader take my brother?” His eyebrows drew together. “How is a trader a nobleman too?”
“Why would a noble take your brother? I don’t know. But I keep thinking I should and I think the better question is, why did he let him go?”
Nobles and traders didn’t mix. The titles were given as a birthright. You couldn’t become a trader or a noble. Mohan sighed. His limbs were too heavy. He sat back in the chair and rubbed his eyes. “There is nothing you can do tonight one way or another. Get some sleep.”
Ilythra slowed her pacing. “I don’t like feeling off balance, as though there’s a piece of puzzle I should have and don’t.”
“Despite your legend, you are not a god or even a goddess. You’re not omniscient. How can you expect to know everything?”
“You think I want to know everything?” Her voice rose. “I’d like to know something. I’m blind here. Running in circles. Chasing shadows. I’m good with my sword. Give me something to fight. Something to do. This...this...” She waved her hand. “This is ridiculous.”
Mohan’s gut churned. He had the something she needed. His mouth opened to tell her, but he’d been raised since childhood with the weight of secrecy.
“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. Her expression changed rapidly from irritation to acceptance. “Maybe you’re right.”
Mohan put his hands on her shoulders. “You cannot carry the weight of the world.”
“The weight of the world has been put on my shoulders, Mohan.”
She looked so vulnerable that for a moment, he wanted to kiss her lips just to see her smile. For some reason, he thought she might allow it, and the notion frightened him. She was vulnerable and he’d realized shortly after he met her she needed a friend more than anyone he’d ever known. He wouldn’t dishonor that. He tried and failed at a smile instead. “Then get some sleep. The world will wait for you.”
Chapter Ten
She hadn’t slept well, though she couldn’t fault the bed. Whether by design or chance, the mattress had been recently stuffed and the lingering smell of freshly cut grasses had brought to mind summer fields under a golden sun and errant puffy white clouds skimming in bright blue skies, like sheep fleeing from their keeper. But even the images of better times she kept locked away inside her mind had been unable to lull her to sleep. She’d grown used to Mohan’s warmth next to her, and the loneliness of an empty bed stretched out into her future as something she would have to get used to.
Ilythra performed her exercise routine in the predawn silence, her mind churning. There was so much Zeynel hadn’t taught her. So much she needed to know. For the first time in a long while, she felt unprepared for her mission. Somehow, she was supposed to find a vanished legendary race and reconcile them with a stone held by a power-hungry madman. How?
With sweat dripping from her body, she stood still. Bredych, the red man, was the key. He had to be. He’d been so close, she could almost feel his presence, and he’d run. Why? Perhaps in answering that question, she’d be a step further to accomplishing her quest.
After storing her gear and using a cloth for a quick sponge bath, she dressed and walked to Mohan’s room.
The Benai stood as she entered. Lines and the dark smudges under his eyes told that he hadn’t slept well either.
“You look refreshed.” He rubbed his face with his hand, producing a rasping noise.
“Illusion.”
“Didn’t you sleep?”
“Wa-ter.”
Mohan and Ilythra turned toward the bed. Tarak struggled to rise.
Ilythra poured a cup of water, while Mohan helped his brother sit up. “Has he woken before now?”
Mohan shook his head. “No.” He sat next to his brother and took his hand.
Tarak blinked, staring at Mohan. “Is it you?”
Mohan smiled. “Yes, it’s me.”
“I thought it was another dream.” Tarak reached a shaky hand to touch his brother’s face. He looked at Ilythra, who held the water. His expression didn’t change. “I thought you’d come. Like a moth to the flame.”
She helped him sip the liquid, confusion swirling in her mind. He thought I’d come? What does that mean?
Tarak leaned against the pillow, his gaze roaming the room. “Where is this place?”
Ilythra and Mohan shared a glance.
“You are in the castle at Jartas. You don’t remember?”
Tarak blinked. “There was a man.” He stared at the bed coverings.
“Yes. A man,” Mohan prompted.
“Like mist or fog that was. Gone now.” He glanced up, almost meeting Mohan’s gaze. “He’s gone?”
“Yes. He is.” Mohan stroked his brother’s forehead. “And I’ll take you home as soon as you’re strong enough.”
Tarak’s gaze intensified. “The wind is lonely because though she touches everything within her reach, nothing in creation can hold her, and she longs for a home.” He stroked Mohan’s face again and then closed his eyes.
An icy chill climbed Ilythra’s spine. He’d answered a question asked to her by a young, dying girl the previous cold season. “Why does the wind sound so lonely?” Ilythra had had no answer for her, but in the night, as the wind had buffeted the castle, she had recalled the scene with clarity. Had Tarak read her mind?
“Well, at least he’s awake,” Mohan said.
“Yes.”
He gazed at Ilythra. “Are you all right?”
“Stop asking me that. I’m fine. I’ll sit with him. Go and get some fresh air.”
Mohan looked doubtful. “At a castle? Are you trying to be funny?”
“No. But I’m hungry.”
He nodded. “I’ll head down to the kitchen and see what I can charm up.”
* * *
Tarak’s voice caused her to jump. She’d been dozing on the room’s chair. By the light from the window, about an hour had passed since Mohan left.
“What did you say?” Ilythra approached the bed.
Tarak’s eyes were closed, his breath soft as though he slept, but she knew he’d spoken.
Mohan entered with a cloth-covered platter. He nodded toward it. “Butter and bread, best I could do.”
Ilythra didn’t look away from Tarak. “He spoke again.”
“What did he say?”
“A rhyme of some kind.” She took the platter from Mohan and removed the cloth.
“He knows all the old rhymes and has several of his own.”
Ilythra pulled off a piece of bread, ignoring the butter. “Did you eat?”
“Yes. I also did some snooping about your Lord Bredych.”
“He is not my lord.”
“It seems he was not well liked by the kitchen staff. In fact, though they didn’t say, they were afraid of him.”
“Probably wise.” Ilythra finished her bread and mixed some herbs in a small bowl. “I’m sorry, I should have asked before. Can you get me some hot water? Tarak will need to drink this when he wakes up.”
Mohan sighed then smiled. He went to the door, opened it and retrieved an earthenware jar. “What do you think took so long? I had to wait for the water to boil.”
“I wonder how she rides the sea. I wonder if she’ll stay with me?”
Ilythra and Mohan looked toward Tarak. Ilythra moved to the bed.
“Lonely in a strange land, wanderer,” he continued then in a quieter voice so only Ilythra could hear. “You. Bearer of a sacred quest, remember—moths, beckoned by the flames, die.”
Ice traveled Ilythra’s skin, seeping into her bones. She leaned close. “Who told you that?”
“I am tired now.” Tarak closed his eyes.
Ilythra glanced a
t Mohan then back to Tarak.
Mohan touched her shoulder. “You’re afraid.”
Was it that obvious? She swallowed. “He seems to be recovering. Let’s hope when he wakes up again, he remembers more.”
“I’m more worried about you right now. I’ve never seen that expression on your face before. What did he say?”
“Nothing. You’re right. It’s just an old legend. Many people know it. Don’t let it bother you. We should—”
“Why are you shutting me out? Because you’re the famed Wanderer, you don’t need anyone to worry about you?” His blue eyes darkened with anger. “Or don’t us lesser mortals have a right?” The lines of his body tightened. She could almost feel the tension roll off him in waves.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Mohan’s voice was harsh, accusing.
Her own temper flared. “I was fine before you came and I’ll be fine when you leave.” She immediately regretted the words; she was lashing out at him because he was the only one within reach.
His voice hardened. “Doubtless.”
She glared at him for an instant. Then her gaze fell. “I’ll go to my room now.”
* * *
Ilythra entered her room. She’d been unfair to Mohan and she knew it. There were certain things she’d learned to keep to herself. But she knew if she told Mohan about her true purpose, he’d understand. She almost had. He was right. She was holding back. Ilythra walked from one end of the room to the other. She couldn’t afford to become attached to anyone, to depend on anyone, because though she didn’t know when she’d need to go, she would have to move on.
Cold seeped from the walls and floor, and she pulled her cloak around her shoulders. Wooden shutters blocked the view from a small window but did little to deter the cool breeze. Ilythra undid the latch and opened the window wide, letting in fresh air.
Someone had made her bed and swept the stone floor. Ilythra glanced around. Everything was where she’d left it. Tarak had quoted parts of two old rhymes about The Wanderer she had first heard from Maelys a long time ago but hadn’t heard since.
I wonder if she’ll have the nerve,
To face south, east and north and west,
And in the end to pass the test
Under Zeynel’s tutorage, she accepted that the poems and legend spoke of her. She was the Wanderer, and her quest wasn’t to wander the lands fighting or healing, but to reunite the stones of power. But it was like chasing the wind. Those she’d met who believed in the Siobani didn’t know where they’d gone or how to find them. She might as well stare at the dawn to find one of the Airydh, the hidden people. Zeynel had told her to let Teann guide her, that it would work with her own hunches and intuition to show her the way.
Teann was leading her in circles with no apparent purpose. Her grandfather had not prepared her for this. Zeynel had not prepared her for this. She’d been wandering so long she couldn’t remember what it was like to do anything else, and she was no closer to finding the Siobani.
She pulled out the stone and stared into its blue depths. As she did every time she saw the stone, she marveled at its beauty. Deep blue wrapped with silver wire, the stone looked delicate. It wasn’t. She didn’t know why the rhymes bothered her so much now. The words had felt like a sword thrust. It’s not just the rhyme, it’s the warning. No, not a warning—someone is taunting me, and it’s not Tarak.
Bearer of a sacred quest. That was what Tarak had called her. The phrase hadn’t mentioned a stone of power, but she’d felt a knowledge of who she was and what she bore between the words. How had Tarak known?
Bredych? It could only be.
She paused her pacing. Did it matter? She knew he had a stone; of course he would know she did. They were on equal footing. No, not quite. He knew where she was.
Moths, beckoned to the flames, die.
She stepped outside the room and scanned the hall. She needed to talk to the king. At the end of the hall, a servant girl scurried down the stairs from a higher level.
“Excuse me.” Ilythra called. The woman stopped and turned toward her. Ilythra straightened and infused her voice with authority. “Would you please tell your king that Ilythra needs an audience with him?”
The servant curtsied.
“One more thing. How long since the traders have been through Jartas?”
“Oh, they left a quarter moon or so ago.”
Ilythra nodded. “Do you know where they’re going?”
She shrugged. “I don’t pay attention to such things, but Cook’s brother-in-law’s uncle is a trader. You can ask her.”
Ilythra nodded. “Thank you.”
The servant hurried back up the steps.
Always start with what you know. Zeynel had cautioned her against the stone bearer they’d felt in the Zorcani mountains. With Crioch, the stone of Dominion, he could sway others to his will, but not her. She was another bearer and would have immunity to Crioch’s sway. Ilythra began to pace. In her mind’s eye, she saw Tarak and the emptiness in his eyes. He’s already dead. No, she rejected the thought. He was stunned, confused, but there was nothing wrong with him that would lead to death.
The sound of footsteps on stone preceded the girl’s appearance. “The king asks if you would meet with him in his private chambers.”
Ilythra hesitated. This was a tricky situation. If the monarch just didn’t want to come down, that was one thing, but she’d known too many men of power who’d thought bedding a healer would be a significant notch in their bedposts. She wasn’t in the mood to politely fend off Farial but neither was she in a position to offend him. “Will the queen be present?”
“No, milady.”
Ilythra sighed.
“But if you’ll allow me, I can tell the king that you are worried about infecting him with whatever—” she nodded toward Tarak’s room, “—the Poet has, and because of that, you’d like to meet him in the solarium, where the good humors will chase away the ill.” She paused. “And where the queen now sits before her embroidery.”
Smart girl. “Yes, I think that would be an excellent idea. Thank you.”
The servant again trudged upstairs, to return a moment later. “His Majesty thanks you for your concern and will meet you there straightaway. I can take you if you’d like.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Ilythra glanced toward Tarak’s bedroom then moved toward the servant and pressed a silver coin in the palm of her hand. “I cannot tell you how thankful I am for your service.”
The servant shrugged but slipped the silver piece in her bodice. “Women must stick together.”
Guards stood on either side of the stairwell as they emerged into a corridor on the upper level. Tapestries covered most of the walls, interspersed with unlit torches hanging in brackets.
At the end of the hall was a single window, its shutters open to the west, where the sun had yet to begin its slow descent. The servant led Ilythra down a corridor to a large room with an outside circular wall pierced with small windows set between the stones. Light poured into the room, illumining several women sitting together, their laps full of cloth and thread.
Ilythra curtsied toward an older woman with a pinched face and high, severe cheekbones. The woman nodded then turned toward the servant.
“Your Majesty, this is Ilythra. She is to meet with the king next door.”
“I see.” The woman’s deep voice held a tint of scorn. She looked at Ilythra. “So you are the healer everyone speaks about?”
“I have not heard what everyone is speaking.”
The woman sniffed. “You are a healer?”
“That is true.”
“And you carry a sword?”
“Also true.” Ilythra glanced toward the doorway where the servant girl waited.
“An odd combination,” the queen said. A few of the women in the room tittered.
“Perhaps. But I think one should know how to repair what one destroys, no?”
The queen brought her hand to her mouth then back to her lap and her embroidery. “I find it odd a woman should aspire to either. It is not our place.”
“Perhaps it’s not your place because it is mine.”
One hand fluttered to the queen’s throat and her eyes narrowed.
Footsteps in the hall spared her any possible retort. The women looked toward the doorway.
She turned, already bowing. “Your Majesty, thank you for meeting me on short notice.”
He waved a hand as though it were no bother and led her to a small side chamber. Three narrow windows let in enough light to brighten rows of books, a table and two chairs.
Farial sat behind the table, his back to the window. Ilythra’s fingers ached to look through the books; she’d seen few in her travels and never so many in one location. She and her grandfather had collected as many as they could. All lost to the ocean’s arms.
“How is the Poet?”
“I believe he will recover.”
“Good, good.” The king tapped his fingers against the wooden desk.
“What I wished to see you about is his cousin. I fear he never would have left if he’d known his cousin was so ill. Do you think you could send a courier to tell him of the Poet’s fate?”
“All the way to Greton? That is quite a journey.”
Got you. “Greton? I’ve never heard of it.”
“An insignificant kingdom on the eastern border. Nothing but forests and wild creatures. At least a full moon’s journey from here. Maybe more. I’ve never traveled it.”
So the red man—Bredych, she corrected herself—lived only a moon away. He’d run, but not far. “So there is no way of overtaking him?”
“I suppose...”
She could almost hear the king calculate the money and effort it would take to bring Bredych back versus the inconvenience of taking care of a sick man.
“Perhaps if I sent my fastest courier. But there is no guarantee that he was returning straight home or that he’ll arrive. He wasn’t feeling well when he left.”
Shawna Thomas Page 11