A Thread in the Tangle

by Sabrina Flynn

  “Is that why you left, because of me?” Isiilde’s whisper was as soft as the breeze.

  Marsais looked up from the letters in surprise. “Of course not,” he breathed. “Did you think that was the reason, my dear?”

  “The thought had occurred to me on more than one occasion,” she admitted, pausing to blow a stray wisp of hair out of her face. “You were gone a very long time.”

  “Barely six months.”

  “For a butterfly that’s a whole lifetime.” Marsais chuckled softly at her observation.

  “Hmm, and I suppose for a certain nymph it might have seemed longer.”

  “It was unbearable.” Isiilde rolled over onto her side, regarding him with doe-eyed misery.

  “O come now, my dear, even I enjoy the occasional respite from myself.” The nymph couldn’t bring herself to smile at his jest (at least she thought he was jesting).

  “Why did you leave?” Marsais sighed faintly at her question and he turned to watch the fishing boats drift by. One and then another paraded past, and she realized he had forgotten about her.

  “Marsais,” Isiilde called softly, just enough to nudge him back to the present.

  “Hmm?” He blinked in confusion, until his eyes found her again. “O hello, my dear,” he greeted as if he had not seen her in quite some time. When his gaze sharpened on her and he had returned fully to the present, he cleared his throat, quickly looking back to the ocean.

  “I don’t know how you manage when you’re by yourself.”

  “Ah, but it’s always a surprise to discover where I’ve ended up!” he exclaimed with an uneven grin. “But to answer your question of why, of which I think you’re still wondering—I’ve always found it beneficial to go on a walk whenever I feel the tell tale signs of the Keening creeping up.” Alarmed, the nymph sat up, edging closer to peer down at him with concern.

  “Calm down,” Marsais urged, holding up a halting hand, quickly explaining himself. “The reason I went away was to escape the Keening’s clutches. A long walk does wonders for one’s perspective on life. Staying one step ahead of the Keening is how I’ve managed to stay in the prime of my life all these years.”

  “Are you better now?”

  “Yes,” he assured, and his smile chased her worries away. “In fact, the majority of the ancients must figure out something that works for them. Otherwise they wouldn’t survive. Oenghus is a perfect example, whenever life starts gnawing at him, he reverts to his brutish ways.”

  “Is that why he’s been getting in so many fights lately?”

  “If it involves deaths, then yes, but otherwise that’s just his normal amusements.” Marsais waved a hand, clearing the air with a dismissive gesture. “Enough about me, what have you been up to besides—” he paused, narrowing his eyes at the top most report. “—adding a jar of ash to a batch of water breathing potions? Let me guess, everyone was coughing up dust for days?”

  “They have no proof.” Isiilde had only been trying to make it smell better.

  “Let’s see, Eldred caught you dancing on top of the stone table in the council chamber.”

  “I was singing.”

  “Ah, yes the acoustics are very good, it’s the dome shape.” He sifted through the papers, muttering under his breath. “Hmm, ‘kiss my faerie arse’, ‘kiss my faerie arse’, and yet another reference to your backside. You know, my dear, when Oenghus tells someone to kiss his arse—it carries a bit more threat. With you, well, you may want to use that one sparingly, because one day someone might try to take you up on the offer.” She blinked in puzzlement and Marsais continued before she could inquire further.

  “This is suggestive. It seems a batch of chocolate sweets that were shipped from Xaio and intended for Taal Greysparrow went missing. Oh, imagine that, the very next day, you handed in an unfinished assignment covered with chocolate smudges.”

  “I didn’t want Zianna to get fat.”

  “How thoughtful of you.” His brows furrowed into a sinister V when he caught sight of the next report. “You outmaneuvered your guards. Again. And Ielequithe finally found you hiding on the roof of the soldier’s bathhouse—”

  “I was playing Raven and the Prey with Thedus and it took him a long time to find me. Your army is very fit.” Marsais chose not to comment.

  “You wove a grease enchantment on Tulipin?”

  “That’s a false account,” she began, giggling in memory. “I wove an air rune in the middle of a corridor that he happened to be floating through. Then I wove a grease enchantment into the rune of air. He hit the slippery air and rebounded off the walls a few times before he reined in his levitation weave.”

  “Since that was ingenious, I’ll let it slide and excuse the pun.” Isiilde thought Marsais would appreciate her experiments. “Hmm, here’s one from you. You broke the warding on my vault, riffled through my coffers, and began fiddling with various artifacts of power.”

  “Isek made me write it. He said the ward and the artifacts were dangerous, but I think he was just angry I broke your ward so easily.”

  “Well, my dear, the artifacts are dangerous, but you’re still here and there’s little point in hoping that you learned something from your burglary.”

  “I didn’t take anything,” she assured, but her nose began to itch with guilt and she quickly amended her statement. “Well, I would have taken one of the items, but Isek made me put it back.”

  “Put what back?”

  “There were two silver flagons with runes etched all over the surface—a very complicated weave that I did not understand. One of them had a big metal cork in the top that was attached to a chain. I wanted to find out what was inside. Do you know?” She neglected to mention that her hand had been poised to open the first flagon just as Isek had discovered her.

  “I don’t know, but it would be very unwise to open them.” He straightened the stack of letters into a tidy pile and sat up, fixing her with a grave eye. “Oenghus mentioned you’ve been skipping lectures.”

  “He tattled on me?” The nymph’s eyes narrowed with indignation.

  “No, he mentioned it to me because he’s worried about you, and said all of this started after Caitlyn Whitehand paid her annual visit.” She wrinkled her nose with distaste.

  Every year, Emperor Soataen Jaal III sent his royal physician to examine Isiilde, however, concern for his faerie daughter’s health was not his motivation. After all, a nymph was a valuable asset. When Isiilde came of age, she would be sold, fetching a higher price if she remained untouched.

  Isiilde loathed the woman’s yearly examinations, both for what she represented and the way she made the nymph feel, like a prize horse with a good set of teeth. Worse, the woman had cold hands.

  “She seemed surprised that I hadn’t come of age yet.”

  “And did you make ample use of my study?” The Archlord’s study had a wonderful crystal window that directed the tiniest amount of sunlight onto a thick, warm rug. Isiilde spent most of her afternoons in the private chamber. It was the only place she truly felt safe, and when she was frightened, most especially after Caitlyn came, she curled up in the pool of sunlight.

  “It’s not the same without you,” she admitted, tracing the flowing lines of a fire rune into the sand.

  “I wouldn’t think it mattered since I usually vacate my study to leave you to your reveries. Hmm, I dare not disturb a sun-bathing nymph.”

  “But I know you’re close by,” she murmured, leaning back to examine her completed rune. The lines wavered for a moment and she blinked, but when she opened her eyes, the rune was inert as the sand. Isiilde shivered, feeling empty and adrift, and she turned to Marsais, searching for a safe haven. He was watching her, eyes wide and a little wary.

  “Where did you learn that rune, Isiilde?”

  The nymph tilted her head, thoroughly confused. “You taught it to me.”

  “Not that rune. I’ve never seen its like before,” he replied.

  “It’s a fire rune—I ju
st added a few lines to make it prettier,” Isiilde said, as if this were explanation enough for anything the nymph might do, and then she skipped onto another topic, ears perking up with sudden memory. “Sarabian visited for a week while you were gone. She’s so beautiful, Marsais.”

  “Not an uncommon thing with womanly creatures,” he pointed out, shifting easily with his apprentice’s mood instead of pressing her further about the strange rune. “How is your sister?”

  “Father,” Isiilde began, wrinkling her nose as she always did when she said the word, “has given her charge of the southern regions. She has her very own castle and an army. A company of bodyguards escorted her here,” Isiilde paused, lowering her voice in a conspiratorial manner before continuing, “I think one of them, Gideon Strongarm, guards her at night too. I saw them kissing. He’s very gallant and handsome, but I don’t think she loves him.”

  “Why is that?”

  “He doesn’t seem very smart, but maybe my sister prefers that. I would at least want a man who could best me at King’s Folly.”

  “Hmm, considering your skill at King’s Folly, you’ll be hard pressed to find a suitable gentleman.” Isiilde beamed at his compliment. The complex game of runes had always made sense to her, even as a small nymphling. However, her swell of elation ebbed as another more sobering thought struck her.

  “I won’t have much choice in the matter.” Never one to dwell on depressing thoughts, she quickly changed the subject as fast as she had brought it up. “Ari is patrolling the borders of the Fell Wastes. He commands the army and Sara is very worried about him, although she’s had her share of danger. When she sailed along the southern coast, just north of the Isle of Winds, the Bastard Prince had the bollocks to waylay her entire fleet and request a private audience with her.”

  “Did she accept?” Marsais asked.

  “Sara dined with him on her galleon under a flag of parley. She said he was the most dangerous man she’d ever met—like a dragon who had been trapped in a man’s body. His name is Hsien, and his slightest movement set her bodyguards on edge, but to my sister—” A sumptuous smile curved the nymph’s lips. “—he was an absolute gentleman and the most charming man she’d ever come across.”

  “Definitely dangerous,” Marsais agreed.

  “Perhaps when I’m sold, he’ll waylay my escort and come for me,” Isiilde said, excitedly.

  “Oh by the gods, I’ve forgotten about the fanciful imaginings of innocent young women!” Marsais exclaimed. “I wouldn’t wish pirates on you, my dear. They aren’t near as charming without a fleet of soldiers with you.”

  “What should I imagine?” Isiilde snapped, narrowing her eyes. “How wonderful it will be when I’m sold to the highest bidder? I suppose I’ll get to see something of the realm on my way to his bed.” The nymph rose fluidly to her feet and stalked down the beach.

  “Isiilde!” Marsais called to her back, but she ignored him. He rubbed the bridge of his sharp nose before climbing to his feet to follow. The long-legged Archlord caught up to the teary-eyed nymph in no time. “Forgive me, my dear, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he offered, soothingly.

  “It’s not you, Marsais. Oen was right. I was fine until Caitlyn came, and then Sara arrived, but she left and after—with you gone—” Isiilde trailed off, wiping her tears roughly away. A wave crashed on shore, crawling towards their feet, and she let the freezing water rise around her ankles, stinging her wounded toe and making her legs ache.

  “I’ve had ample time to think of my future and I’m no seer, but as far as I can tell it all ends pretty much the same. I snuck into one of the restricted libraries to read about nymphs. There weren’t even any pictures, Marsais, just a lot of foul rulings by the Blessed Order and none of them ended happily for my kind. I wish I hadn’t read about it,” she finished miserably. Tears rolled off her cheeks, dripping into the sparkling waters, swirling with the tide until the water subsided, rushing away to join the vast ocean. At least a part of her would be free, she thought, but it gave her small comfort.

  “I see,” Marsais said, and he did, far more than she realized. “You have changed—grown in my absence.” Isiilde glanced down, studying her body, as she puzzled over his statement. Her legs were still slender and her breasts small, of which she suspected Sarabian had stolen all of those familial attributes.

  The nymph tilted her head up in question at the towering Archlord. “I have definitely not grown.” She did not even reach his shoulders, unless of course, Marsais had shrunk.

  “Your awareness,” he explained, although it didn’t explain much.

  “Are you making fun of me?” Isiilde asked, suspiciously.

  “No, my dear, I would never.”

  “Awareness of what?”

  “Nymphs live in the moment. They seldom ponder their past or take the time to consider their future—or for that matter, the present,” Marsais muttered the last. They also didn’t like being sad, so she shrugged, dismissing the entire subject.

  “At least I’m safe for another year or more,” she added, looking on the bright side.

  “Hmm, so is that why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Even for a faerie this is an impressive stack of mischief,” Marsais admitted, holding up her letters of misconduct. Isiilde glared at the letters, hoping they’d catch on fire. Her ears perked up at the thought, but wilted just as quickly when she realized there wasn’t any fire about.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Since that blasted, cold-handed hag left I haven’t been able to do anything right. My legs have been itchy.”

  Marsais pursed his lips in thought. “You’re going to have to explain that one, my dear.” She gestured impatiently towards the ocean as if that were explanation enough. Marsais arched an impatient brow, waiting for her to continue, which she did, when her frustration finally boiled over.

  “This is an island, Marsais! Oen has taken me everywhere, even to the Alderwood. It was cold.” Isiilde moaned in memory. “Everywhere is cold, except your study and with you gone I didn’t even feel like going there. I think I replaced one dungeon for a slightly bigger one. I know I should be thankful, but—” She fell silent when she realized all the trouble the Archlord had had persuading the Nine to let a nymph live on the Isle, which was to say, he used his authority to grant her permission, and now she was whining. To say nothing of Marsais’ decision to accept her as his apprentice. His choice had caused a considerable stir in the Order’s ranks.

  Marsais’ position as Archlord had been jeopardized and still was, but the ancient seemed unperturbed by the feathers he had ruffled, or the long deliberations that followed. In the end, the Nine had narrowly allowed his choice, but only because Marsais had a long list of unorthodox apprentices, including Oenghus, a Nuthaanian Berserker, which was not only unheard of, but had resulted in training one of the Order’s most gifted Healers.

  As a result, Isiilde was either tolerated, or openly despised by the other Wise Ones. And for the ones who didn’t fall into those two categories, she was viewed as a fascinating oddity. Nymphs were rarely seen; their owners kept them secluded, safe from covetous eyes. Therefore she was like some rare breed of animal who could hold a conversation.

  “But that’s how you feel,” Marsais finished, softly. Isiilde nodded, feeling foolish beneath his wise eyes.

  “Will you promise not to leave again?” she asked, suddenly, full of hope and yearning.

  “I can’t make that promise, Isiilde.” The tips of her ears wilted, and her heart twisted at the bluntness of his reply. “Hmm, but I have something that might cheer you up.”

  Isiilde followed him back to his leather rucksack and waited while he rifled through the contents. All of his bags were more than they appeared. His entire arm disappeared inside the small leather pack as he searched the enchanted space—a useful enchantment for any traveler.

  Years ago, Isiilde had crawled inside to explore the spacious weave, but she had quickly regretted her choice whe
n she found herself in a dark, cluttered area with no obvious way out. Luckily, Oen had walked in just in time to see her foot disappear and promptly dragged her back out.

  “For you,” Marsais said, handing her a heavy velvet pouch.

  “A present!” she exclaimed, brightening with simple pleasure. “You mean you thought of me while you were gone?”

  “Of course, my dear.” She accepted the pouch and sat down, holding it with reverent awe. “Although I agree that it’s a nice pouch, you may want to look inside.” Marsais crouched beside her and she opened it to reveal a flawless, palm-sized orb. Flowing runes decorated its vibrant blue surface like a sea of rippling waves. One rune in particular caught her eye.

  “What’s this one?”

  “Memory,” he explained. “You must weave that rune over the top of the orb to activate the enchantment.” Isiilde did as he directed, gasping in excitement when the inside started swirling like a whirlpool. She gazed into its hypnotic depths and was soon lost in a vision.

  She stood on a high hilltop, overlooking a sparkling bay that stretched to the distant horizon. A sprawling city hugged its protected shores and ships of every kind dotted the crystal waters; Mearcentian trade galleons, swift clipper ships bearing the white flag of the Isle of Winds, and sluggish warships moving between them like hulking titans. A bright, white palace with spiraling towers crowned the highest hill and named the bustling port as Whitemount—the power and throne of Kambe where she had been born.

  “To change the memory, simply touch another rune.” Marsais’ voice drifted to her ears through the vision. She focused on the feel of the cold orb in her hand, which promptly brought her back to the present. She touched a random rune and another vision swirled into focus, intensifying until a tusked mammoth lumbered into view, grazing on the tall, swaying grass of a vast plain.

  Isiilde had never seen a mammoth before, save for a sketching. She marveled at its size, as sturdy and fearsome as any stone wall. Reluctantly, the nymph pulled away and looked up to her rangy white-haired master with tears in her eyes.

  “I thought you might be getting restless. I’d like to take you off this island—” Marsais’ voice became suddenly hoarse, and he paused, composing himself before continuing. “But I can’t. This is the best I could do, so whenever I saw something I thought you might like I saved the memory—my memories.”