The Queen of Storm and Shadow

by Jenna Rhodes

  “And what about Evarton?”

  They traded looks about the table. Tolby spoke, each word deliberately. “We’re not sure. He is a bright and strong lad, but he keeps his true nature hidden, except when he’s about his sister. That he has Talents, we’re fairly certain, just not what.”

  “Does he anticipate things when he shouldn’t be able to?”

  Bistane put his hand on Lara’s wrist as she spoke, as if to delay her statements. She looked down, and then covered his hand with her own.

  “He’s a leader and convincer. He knows how to persuade everyone in this room. But I don’t think that’s a Talent.”

  “And perhaps he has an odd ability not easily revealed or recognized. Many think to this day that I have no Talents.”

  “Persuasion could definitely be indicative of a Voice Talent.”

  “He’s more of a charmer.” Lily demurred and then smiled indulgently at her grandchildren who had returned to playing, although their voices to one another had dropped quite low as if they didn’t wish to be overheard or wished to be able to listen to the adults while they skirmished.

  “Despite his eyes, perhaps he has no Vaelinar magics. Jeredon and his father weren’t greatly accomplished, which is why Sinok had Jeredon’s father put aside and forced your mother to marry again.” Bistane paused. “Jeredon’s abilities came forth later in his years, disproving Sinok, but disinheriting had already been done.”

  “And I don’t suggest it now, either,” Lara told him. “I’m only curious about them. This is my first visit of many.”

  Tolby shifted in his chair. “Every time you visit, you put my family in danger.”

  She looked to Tolby. “This is my way of getting to know them.”

  “Perhaps letters and reports would have sufficed.”

  “Would you have been happy with letters?” Her gaze locked with Tolby’s and did not shift. Nor did his.

  “Of course not, and I respect you as a queen, Lariel—but my grandchildren were not brought to life so that you could have a successor. They belong at their mother’s side and whatever heritage or legacy belongs to them, I would have them earn. Nor will I have you treat them slightly, just so that you can know which one to train and which to forget.”

  “I couldn’t forget either of them! They are my brother’s children, my only legacy of him whom I loved greatly, and those whom I hope to love as much one day.”

  “If they live.”

  “Then bring them to Larandaril where I can keep them safe.”

  “They are already home and already safe. Or they were before you traveled here and reminded people of their place in your life.”

  Bistane shifted uneasily in his chair as if he might join the argument, but his mouth thinned and stayed shut.

  “I don’t do this for whimsy! I thought long and hard about what my actions might cause. The gap between us didn’t happen because I chose to lay abed for two years and more! And do you think I slept, soft and easy? There were times when I could, but most days my body held me prisoner, my eyes and ears aware and yet beyond my control, with no way to signal anyone that I was a prisoner locked inside. No one came to give me news or comfort except for Bistane. He told me of the babies. Of the funeral pyres burning in Larandaril. Of the devastation of the tashya herds and my troops and what he was doing to rebuild them for me. Of the bold Returnists who squat upon the banks of the Andredia, befouling her as they do. He gave me hope when I had none, resolve when I needed it, and love when I would have refused it. You visited me twice in my rooms and neither time was I aware, but even if I had been—” Lara caught her breath. “I could not have held them. I could not have loved them as my brother’s children, as I wish to do. So my move to come here is calculated, weighed, and I came anyway, a decision I made with as much great thought as I did when I agreed to marry Bistane.”

  Tolby’s expression did not soften. “Of course a Vaelinar would greatly weigh the military and political advantages of a marriage, against the wishes of the heart.”

  Her face blotched. “At least I did not bring two bastards into this world first.”

  Lily gasped, but it was Dayne who reeled back in his chair. Nutmeg sat up the straighter. “Now we get to it. At last a bit of truth from the high elven. You hated what passed between Jeredon and me.”

  “Yes, the truth. Oh, Meg, I love you and the children, but it would have been so much easier for all of us if my cold-damned brother had just married you before he died. Or not chosen you at all.” Worry and fatigue thinned Lariel’s words.

  “He did not marry me because I never got a chance to tell him I was with child, although . . .” And Nutmeg paused for a moment, caught in a terrible memory. “I think he guessed. Even then, knowing, he wouldn’t have married me. He thought he protected you by becoming a decoy to Tressandre ild Fallyn, and I doubt he would have done anything differently. Nor did he want to bring the scandal to your throne. He never quite came to terms with the fact we loved one another.”

  Lara inhaled for a moment before responding. “We weave a lot of unnecessary knots into our fates, don’t we?”

  Nutmeg let out a gathered sigh. “We do, indeed.”

  Lara leaned a bit toward her. “Let’s not stop with the truth telling here, then. Tell me what happened to your eyes.” Her fingers swept a few of Nutmeg’s curls aside from her temple. “And your ears. Why would you have them cut so? What would possess you to don the costume of one of us? Why do you feign at having Vaelinar blood?”

  Nutmeg shook her head away angrily. “Why should I play at that? I’ve been changed, and it was the doing of your two heirs, before they were even born.”

  Chapter

  Thirty-Six

  LARA JOLTED UPRIGHT, one cheek ablaze as if slapped. Bistane reached one hand to her lower back, steadying her. She made a try at saying something, failed, before trying again. “It happened while you were carrying? You think the babies changed you.”

  “Yes.”

  “This is serious.”

  “I know.” Nutmeg tapped her cheekbone. “I can also now read Vaelinaran.”

  “Impossible.”

  “But helpful.”

  “I cannot think of an instance where something like this has been chronicled.” Lara put her own hand, her mutilated left, on the table in front of her, spreading her fingers out . . . three fingers and one thumb, the missing finger’s joint marked by a ragged scar. “We know,” she said slowly, “Of the rumors, the folk tales, that women who have loved the Vaelinar and carried their children often live longer. There was no real reason why that would be so, but it was, unquestionably.” She looked at Verdayne. “Your own mother’s life would verify that.”

  He nodded.

  “We have always attributed that to the care and lifestyle we offered: better housing, food, healing. We know that Kerith affects us, in many ways unnoticeable and in some ways, very apparent.” She held her left hand in the air. “My family’s pact to the Andredia is one of flesh and blood, a magic of this world and not our heritage, and one which binds me to the river.” She dropped her hand. “Now, perhaps, we must consider that the unborn have a way of matching their mother’s growth more closely to their own. We have our own longevity; we take our time in maturing. Perhaps the young have a way of changing that pace. But as to the rest.” Lara took a breath and studied Nutmeg closely, who returned her frank gaze with an even one of her own. “I have never heard of such a thing, of the physical being remade.”

  Bistane took a breath. “Nor have I, but I’ll be the first to admit that young mothers would hardly confide in me. Transforming what already exists might be a survival trait, an unconscious act that doesn’t last beyond infancy.”

  “We have two-headed calves born now and then, but there’s nothing t’ suggest they wanted to be that way.”

  “Dad! I won’t have my children compared to a t
wo-headed calf!”

  “Nobody is doing that. It needs pointing out that strange things can happen to the unborn and many of them unfortunate. It has little to do with Making or Unmaking.”

  “You’re a level-headed, forward-thinking man, Tolby, but the old superstitions have a way of roaring back.” Lily gave a grim smile. “Don’t be forgetting that we were attacked by that madman proclaiming he is a Mageborn, returned to us.”

  “What madman? What attack?”

  “Bregan Oxfort.” Lily gave a slight nod.

  “Bregan has been odd since he was attacked by the Dark Ferryman and suffered a severe stroke of mind and capabilities, but Mageborn? When did this occur? Why wasn’t I informed?”

  “So much has happened,” Bistane said mildly. “I thought I had caught you up on Bregan. His transformation came about at the battle of Larandaril. Abayan Diort is now known as the Guardian King, having taken Bregan under his protection. If the man is indeed Mageborn, it’s driving him insane. He has some primal powers, but they’re very erratic and his mental state is even worse.”

  “He attacked us here when Tolby was giving one of his talks to bring the news and the story behind it to Calcort, particularly of the latest attempt on your life. He’s against the Vaelinars because the old Gods of Kerith are awake.”

  “So. If Evarton does have a Talent to transform, we face opposition from renewed religious beliefs among the Kernan.”

  “That would be a simple response. We really can’t gauge how much of a following Bregan has, or if he could incite anyone to join him, and Diort has kept a pretty tight lid on him while trying to teach him what little he can about the Mageborn.”

  “Yet he attacked you?”

  “Indeed. A whirlwind brought him in and deposited him on the doorstep of th’ Bucking Bird. That was an interesting afternoon.”

  “Interesting? He came to attack our children, and you call it interesting?” Nutmeg folded her arms across her chest.

  “Aye, that I do. You see, my lady, he had no idea who he was attacking—no interest at all in Merri and Evar—he was after me for blaspheming, and that tied his mind in a knot.”

  Lily muttered something, and her lips thinned and paled.

  “Diort came riding in just behind him, with his little Oracle, and all was put in order soon enough.”

  “If Bregan has become a menace, he should be dealt with, and not lightly.”

  “He didn’t expose the children. His rantings and ravings went against his reputation if anything, and I’ll wager Diort has him well in hand now.”

  “Still . . .”

  “Not still. The matter seems done. What should concern us is that revealing either of the children’s Talents can potentially have a backlash not only within our own community, but also with the new-sprung religious leanings of the Kernan.”

  “That might be overstating th’ facts, but it seems wise to keep our Gods in consideration. They are awake, and they may not like what they’re finding.”

  “Which does not help us with our question of what Evarton may be able to do.”

  “If anyone had these Talents, our Houses have kept the knowledge close. Transformation would be close to Illusion, but Illusionaries are scarce. Our eyes see too well to be fooled.”

  “Perhaps we have the first inkling of an even rarer Talent. He could be a Maker.”

  “A Maker?”

  “Permanent change or creation. That would take a lot of power.”

  “A Talent we only assume could exist as an extension of building. No one has actually been found to be one. The closest would have been Bistel, who took a greenstick staff and made a tree of it.”

  “A Talent for growing, only. He didn’t create something out of thin air.” Bistel’s eldest son sat back in his chair.

  “And Evar belongs in that vein. He might have made a dog out of a statue.”

  “What do you mean, Dayne?”

  Lily folded her arms across her chest. “We decided that dog got in from outside somehow.”

  Lariel leaned forward intently. “A Vaelinaran war dog? In Calcort? Had it been set upon the children? Why did we not get a report on that?”

  Dayne shook his head and did not stop until he held their attention. “I had a statue. Life-sized. Poor work, just a mud-fired effort that my brother sent me as a jibe. The statue disappeared. I noticed that Evarton had gotten it and towed it away to their playroom and hidden it in the corner. It was a bit heavy. I said nothing but I admired how he must have wrestled it about, even with Merri’s help. When a live dog got into the rooms, it was in a murderous state. It killed Gryton and nearly myself and Brista. After we dispatched it, she went to make sure they had gotten out and were all right while I secured the scene. Imagine how I felt when I saw the thing turning back into stone. Evar, Merri, and I made a solemn pact—”

  A little voice shouted out, “Cake!” and Dayne could not help smiling as he amended. “We made a solemn promise over cake not to talk about the dog. I’ve been doing a bit of studying, armed by some of the books the Library has been sending for repair, but a Talent such as Making is not really discussed head-on. It seems to be one of those things which, if held, would be greatly feared. Perhaps even the owner of that Talent would be killed to keep others safe.”

  “You didn’t even tell me.”

  He turned toward Nutmeg. “No. I meant to, but the time never seemed right. We had so many other things to worry about.” He cleared his throat. “Annnnd it does explain the proliferation of toffee apples.”

  “Those scamps.”

  “The Talents of a Maker are considerable. There’s danger there, real danger. Our history is littered with the deaths of those who thought they could make a Way, who could twist the fabric of what is into what they willed—and died when that fabric snapped. A Maker violates far more laws of the world than that.”

  “I thought that Bistel was the last of the living creators of a Way.”

  All eyes turned to Nutmeg. She shrugged. “Wasn’t he? He talked about it to me once.” She dared not mention that discussion had come through the pages of his journal.

  “He was, and he wasn’t. Others came after but few survived their attempts to found a House based on the ability to successfully create a Way. And, today, most of those Ways have snapped back to what they were before they were tampered with. It’s as if the yarn can only be stretched and twisted so far before it fails.” Lara studied her hand a moment. “It appears that the portal Daravan created is a Way in itself, only it tampers with two worlds instead of one.”

  “Making it even more dangerous.”

  “I believe so. When it snaps—and I think it has to sooner or later—the energy released could be catastrophic if it’s unexpected.”

  “And if it’s anticipated?”

  “We might be able to shield Kerith from the effects or dissipate them altogether. Remember the stories of old of when the Vaelinars were first cast here? The explosion and devastation was as great as a volcanic blast. I should imagine it would be the same.”

  “Someone should explain that to Tressandre! She’s been pressing the Returnists to do all they can to widen the Eye.”

  Bistane shook his head at Nutmeg. “She’d never believe us. She’d be certain we were hiding something wonderful and critical from her. We intend to deal with the Returnists and then Tress.”

  Lara looked to Dayne and cleared her throat. “You’ve been reading the Books of All Truth from the Library?”

  “No, just some of the lesser volumes sent with them. I wouldn’t violate the trust of the Library or its keeper.” Dayne leaned on his elbows over the table. “We have to know what we’re dealing with, how to train them and how much to let the world know about them. They can’t be kept ignorant as well as hidden.”

  “Bring them to Larandaril. I’ll see them taught. The border wards w
ill go back up at Larandaril, and no one will be able to get in. We have secrets to be kept veiled.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Lara. We’ve already got squatters there we cannot evict.”

  Her attention snapped to Bistane who tilted his head slightly. “You’ve never been forthcoming about the extent of your own abilities.”

  She shut her mouth tightly a moment before saying, “There are reasons for that.”

  “And to you, they are excellent reasons, but to the rest of us, you’re cloaked in secrecy which may or may not be valid. It’s one of the main causes the ild Fallyn have, and why they continue to deny your right to your title. They believe you have no significant ability and are too weak to be Warrior Queen. They are wrong, but they remain convinced that the title was stolen from them despite your win in the trial.”

  “So you suggest we leave the children here and hope to educate them and continue to hide them?”

  Tolby pulled his pipe out of his pocket and examined it as if preparing to light it. “The ild Fallyn will not stop until you are gone or they are.”

  “I will not stoop to her level.”

  “You don’t have to. She can trip you up just fine from where she is.” Tolby tapped the pipe bowl on the table, shaking out some ashes and brushing them off with the side of his hand. “She’s never wanted a fair fight, Lady Lariel, she’s only wanted a victory.”

  Lara rubbed her temple as Bistane said quietly, “It’s been a long and tiring ride. The mayor has a table and a bed waiting for us, so we’ll take advantage of the hospitality and talk things over.”

  Lara stood, with one of his hands on her, and gave a faint smile. “I can find a teacher for Merri, but I’ll have to think long and hard about who would do for Evarton. That someone would have to be skilled, discreet, and ethical. There are things that can be Made which should not exist under the sun.”

  “I would offer,” Verdayne murmured.

  “Commendable, but you wouldn’t be able to keep up with him, soon.”

  “But I am here now. It would give you a chance to research quietly and recruit. Even more quietly.”