by Ellyn, Court
Keth glanced up and for a heartbeat thought Kieryn had been transported a thousand miles upon a wish. Then he saw the knight’s surcoat. Ah, Kieryn’s twin, made of the same stuff, and the one of whom Keth had been so openly proud. Even when Kelyn had gotten that groom’s daughter pregnant and embarrassed the family, Keth hadn’t humiliated him, slighted him, hurt him as he had Kieryn.
He hoped the unsteady shadows cast by the firelight hid the shame on his face.
“Leshan and Gyfan are turning in,” Kelyn said. “I’m not sleepy somehow. Saw you sitting alone over here. Thought you might want some company.”
Keth gave his son’s arm an inviting tug. “More than you know, son. More than you know.”
~~~~
15
Zellel, you’re going too fast! Kieryn cried silently. His head throbbed, his hand cramped, and his parchment was a jumble of ink blots and incomprehensible scribbles. He would have to spend half the night deciphering his own notes. The mind obviously moved faster than tongue or hand, and recording everything the older avedra thought was impossible.
The flow of Zellel’s Silent Speech faltered and he replied, Sorry, boy. I’ll try to think slower for you.
Patience, Saffron had urged. Returning to the buzzing place within his mind had been easier than Kieryn expected, and now he communicated freely with his teacher. Regrettably, Saffron had retreated behind the Veil again, as Zellel requested, waiting patiently until Kieryn could see her with his own sense of Veil Sight.
That lesson, Kieryn assumed, would come later, when he felt more comfortable with Silent Speech. To that end, Zellel devoted his time to satisfying Kieryn’s curiosity about Elaran. The bombardment of thought proved nearly as frustrating as being unable to hear the thoughts at all. For a while, Zellel managed to slow his pace, and Kieryn wrote down a list of verbs and their translations. But Zellel’s thoughts gradually accelerated, and Kieryn dropped his quill in futility. He concentrated simply on listening. Closing his eyes, he absorbed every thought feverishly emanating from Zellel’s brain. Conjugations of verbs, declensions of nouns, inflections of adjectives, all rolling out at once, fighting for dominance, and making their way to Zellel’s fast scrawling hand. The language of the Elarion proved to be as complicated as it was beautiful.
What would Da say if he learned his son not only read about elves secretly in the night, but how studied their language as well? Kieryn imagined his father’s response: “The old man is mad! The elves are gone, fled, there are none left! It’s pointless to learn a language you’ll never need, and the language of a despicable race at that. Now help your mother with her knitting.”
Zellel flipped the page on the easel and scribbled away. Kieryn was grateful that the old man was too caught up in the lesson to have caught Kieryn’s wayward thoughts.
Every once in a while, his mental net snared some stray thought that managed to escape Zellel’s open mind—some thoughts mundane, like a craving for tomatoes and goat cheese on toasted bread (it was getting close to noon, after all); some thoughts inchoate, indecipherable, like a strange, high-pitched wailing. Kieryn tried to focus on this, to identify it. It reminded him of a sound he had heard only a couple of days ago, a whistling that floated up from the sea on a stout wind. He had asked one of the sentries about it. “Dolphins,” the man had answered, pointing to the creatures leaping joyfully around the hull of an incoming galleon. The cries Kieryn heard from Zellel’s mind carried a note of fear, outrage. He wondered if the sounds might be Zellel’s own soul crying out, but he decided he had access only to the man’s thoughts, that the screams must be an integral part of Zellel’s memories.
Kieryn thought it best not to ask about it; he refrained from pondering the memories as well, lest Zellel detect him snooping. Dangerous business, this, peering into a man’s mind. His darkest thoughts, the secrets of his heart, were no longer his alone.
Waiting for Zellel to grow hungry enough to end the lesson, Kieryn wondered if this buzzing part of his brain might also allow him to see with his avedra eyes. Surely the abilities came from the same place. He kept them closed, pushed the barrage of Zellel’s thoughts away and willed his mind to see.
Nothing but blackness and the insides of his eyelids.
He opened them slowly, concentrating …
With a startled cry, he jumped from his chair, turning it over. A dozen, tiny glowing creatures hovered overhead, swiping specks of dust from the shelves. Their pupiless eyes peered around at him. Kieryn’s concentration faltered, the buzzing stopped, and the host of fairies slowly faded, as though their lights shone through an increasingly thick cut of crystal.
What’s wrong, boy? Zellel asked, drawing close.
“I saw them!” he shouted aloud.
You tried it on your own?
Yes.
Try again. A measure of admiration tinged Zellel’s thought.
Kieryn closed his eyes, opened them again. Nothing but empty air. He shook his head.
Sit down, breathe, be calm. Focus!
Kieryn flipped his chair upright, steadied his breathing and the shaking in his bones.
Maintaining the Sight takes prolonged control.
Kieryn couldn’t help laughing aloud. Like learning not to piss your diapers?
Zellel’s furry eyebrows jumped. Point taken. I’ll leave you be.
Kieryn focused on the buzzing void, the crackles of static dancing now with the funneling of his will. He pushed away all senses but that of his eyes. He let out a slow breath, relaxed every muscle in his limbs, opened his eyes, and Saffron stood before him on the table, as tall as the quill in the inkpot. Translucent golden wings opened and quivered. Her lavender eyes were alight with joy.
“Hello,” Kieryn said.
She giggled. “I knew it wouldn’t take you long.”
Kieryn raised his eyes, keeping them wide, afraid to blink, for fear the Veil would close around the lights again. But there they were, hovering as before, a riot of color, tracers and streamers and swirls of light. When the fairies saw that he saw them, they cheered with birdlike voices and darted through the air, bouncing off the ceiling, the walls, the books, each other.
“Saffron,” he whispered in awe, “where did they all come from?”
“From the world over,” she answered. “They came to see the new avedra.”
“Why am I so special to them?”
“You’re a rare thing these days. A curiosity, if you’ll forgive me, like a dune lion to an Ice Dweller. But, also, they come to measure you against their own avedrin.”
“Oh,” was all he could think to say.
Well, you’re certainly in a hurry, aren’t you, boy? Zellel put in.
Kieryn looked at his instructor and found a new surprise. Beams of white light radiated from Zellel’s face, hands, wherever flesh was bare. “Azeth,” Kieryn said, comprehending.
Aye, Zellel replied. Look to your own. Kieryn lifted a fire-scarred hand, saw the glow emanating from every pore like moonlight shining between the leaves of a tree. He went to a bookcase covered with glass doors. Light bounced back at him like sunlight on still water. His azeth, his lifelight, extended to the vaulted ceiling, to the far walls, reaching far past the point where Zellel’s stopped.
You said you saw me coming long before I entered the gate, he recalled. I had no idea.”
Zellel replied with a pithy grin.
Why doesn’t it blind me to look at it?
Not that kind of light, his teacher informed. It’s pure energy though, that which keeps you alive, just like a fairy’s light.
“Hereti,” Saffron piped haughtily, “may I now have your permission to appear to him whenever I wish?”
He gave her a dismissive wave of the hand. “Do as you will. Impossible creature.”
Squeaking gleefully, she darted about Kieryn’s head, quick and agile as a honeybee. She came to rest on his shoulder, tugged a lock of his hair and kissed his cheek, then grinned smugly at her twittering cousins.
Ze
llel grunted in disgust at the giddiness of fairykind. To Kieryn he said, Happy as I am for you, I don’t appreciate you ignoring me while I stand here gabbing at your request.
The headache sent spikes of pain through Kieryn’s skull, ample punishment for his trouble. I’ll learn it, don’t worry.
It’s not my concern whether you learn Elaran or not. Other lessons are far more important. And don’t think you can learn them on your own! Fire and water are much too dangerous.
Watching the silent words play on Zellel’s beard-shrouded lips, Kieryn wondered what the pair of them must look like to anyone else: hands waving about, eyes angry or laughing, lips occasionally shaping a word or two but making no sound. I know how dangerous fire is, he replied, believe me.
We’ll see, Zellel said. As for your present accomplishment, if you can keep it up—both Sight and Speech—for the rest of the day, we’ll start for the Wood tomorrow.
Why is it so vital I learn Sight and Speech to enter the Wood? Can I not see the Elarion otherwise? Do they communicate no other way?
Zellel huffed. Elarion do not have the skill of Silent Speech. But Veil Sight may be necessary. To see both the Elarion and … creatures more hostile.
~~~~
“Rhoslyn!” Kieryn shouted. He had searched the upper floors to no avail and now hurried along the Grand Corridor. He had to tell her. In front of the Duke’s Hall, he accosted the steward. “Sadév, where is Rhoslyn? I mean, Her Ladyship?”
One of the silver doors to the Duke’s Hall opened and Rhoslyn emerged. “What’s wrong, you bellowing fool?”
Kieryn grabbed up her hands, kissed them, looked her over head to foot, and kissed her hands again. “It’s beautiful,” he said.
Her nose crinkled. “This old day dress?”
“No. I mean, yes, the dress is lovely, but no. Your azeth.” Hers shone far less expansively than his own, but its unique pattern, playful and pure, was wholly Rhoslyn.
“My what?”
Your … it’s you … just you,” he stammered. “Forgive me, I can see it, you see. My head is throbbing, but I don’t want to stop seeing. It’s beautiful beyond belief.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve passed the second test, Rhoslyn. Tomorrow, Zellel is taking me to Avidanyth.”
“To where?”
“I mean, to Avidan Wood.”
“You’re going back? Despite what happened, what we saw?”
“I’m afraid, too, I’ll admit, but Zellel promised me it’s safe.” Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He’d said, “Afraid? You should be. But you’ll be with me, so you’ll be safe enough.”
Rhoslyn’s face fell. Her eyes became those of a child, lost, bewildered. “I haven’t seen you in days. Goddess, I must’ve walked past the library a dozen times every day, hoping the doors would be open, that you’d come talk to me, tell me what’s going on in there, confide in me. I’ve had no one. All I hear from Father and Aunt Halayn are orders to pass along to this shipwright or that admiral, orders that contradict each other, and so I must anger either Father or Aunt Halayn, then spend an hour justifying why I chose to spend Rhorek’s silver the way I did. All the while the Lord Admiral and the Master Shipwright smile and bow insipidly and accept their orders from me with obvious skepticism. I’m certain they think I’ll get every one of our ships sunk. How I wish you’d been there two days ago, so you could tell me what they really think of me. I’m going crazy, Kieryn. I’m sure I’ve done nothing right. You could’ve reminded me to stay calm, to rely on my own judgment. You could’ve … Goddess, how did I survive before you came along?”
Had Kieryn really been so scarce? He counted the days and realized he had seen Rhoslyn only three times since arriving at Windhaven, and then only during evening meals when Halayn was present. Neither he nor Rhoslyn had spoken freely. Kieryn couldn’t discuss his studies, and Halayn hadn’t permitted Rhoslyn to speak of the preparations for war. Pointless small talk and long silence had made dining dull and uncomfortable, so Kieryn had begun taking his meals in his suite, where he ate while trying to translate his favorite Holyhand history into Elaran. He had given hardly a moment’s thought to the trials Rhoslyn might be suffering in the Duke’s Hall below. But he would never tell her that. “I’m here now,” he said.
“Yes,” she snapped, “and if Zellel is taking you from me tomorrow, I’m sure he won’t mind if you spend the rest of the evening with me.” Her arm locked around his, and she led him out into the gardens.
An old white-limbed thellnyth tree sheltered a bench and threw deep swaying shadows across Rhoslyn’s face. Kieryn glanced over each of the palace’s rear windows before sitting down beside her. Tall larkspur and highfleece bowed in a stiff night wind, wrapping them in closely. Kieryn must’ve been a fool, indeed, to spend day after day locked up in a library with a grumpy old man when he might’ve been hiding in the sweet-scented garden with Rhoslyn. The marble bench was small, and Kieryn felt the warmth of Rhoslyn’s arm, her thigh, flush with his. Her unexpected jealousy for his time threatened to give him hope. Wasn’t he just safe? He repeated the horrible word and kept himself in check.
“The moons are separating,” Rhoslyn whispered.
Over the tower turrets, the moons danced near enough together that both were at the quarter phase. Thyrra was a little fuller in the belly, and ruddy Forath raced toward the sea ahead of his sister. Silver light and red cast a delicate flush upon Rhoslyn’s upturned face and the bare curve of her throat. Kieryn forbade his eyes to linger there. “Doesn’t mean anything,” he said at last. “Omens, good or bad, aren’t told by the moons. I won’t believe it.”
“Perhaps,” she replied. “But the separation of the moons means unpredictable tides, storms for Windy Coves. Embarking for Fieran waters will be extremely dangerous. If the moons don’t come back together within the next Thyrran month, we’ll be forced to wait to secure a blockade in Galdan Bay.”
“They’ll come back together,” Kieryn stated. “If not this month, then the next.”
“You’re counting on that, aren’t you?”
“Counting on what?”
“That the moons are irrelevant to human fate.”
He thought of his brother and admitted, “Yes. Kelyn may be embroiled in battle right now, he may be hurt or worse, and I can’t go to him. I have never known a fear like this. A helpless fear.”
“I have known it,” Rhoslyn said, a pair of moons in her eyes.
Kieryn glanced up at the duke’s balcony. Yes, she understood at least part of his anguish. “I’ll be the last to know if Kelyn’s killed. And he’ll be the last to know how far I’ve come. I’ve never seen my twin’s soul. I may never see it. Suddenly that’s the most important thing in the world, and I can’t stand it.” He was off the bench before he realized, pacing, feeling as if he could set the highfleece aflame with a touch. “And my father. I never should’ve left home the way I did. It was all wrong.”
The smooth space between Rhoslyn’s eyebrows furrowed. “But you believe you were right in coming here?”
“I defied him, Rhoslyn.”
“But he was wrong to try to hold you back.”
“We were both wrong,” he declared. “It shouldn’t have happened that way. I should’ve waited for his blessing.”
“And if he never gave it?”
“Rhoslyn, he loathes everything I’m doing, everything that I am!”
“If you learn all you can, become the best at … whatever it is you do, how can your father help but be proud of you?”
“Oh? I wonder, is the honest father of a thief proud of his son’s skill?”
“Kieryn, you’re hardly an outlaw.”
“Da doesn’t see it any different.”
“I do.”
Kieryn stopped pacing and drooped against the trunk of the thellnyth. He imagined a campfire surrounded by canvas tents, his father and brother sitting near the flames. Imagined he was with them, talking with his father, trying to convince him ag
ain of why he had to go. Imagined his father smiling at him, saying, ‘Well done.’ Before it was too late.
“When you leave,” Rhoslyn said, startling him back into the garden by the sea, “you won’t keep going, will you? To join your father and brother, I mean. You’re coming back, aren’t you?” She stood beside him under the bending branches, wringing her hands.
“Of course, I’m coming back.”
She offered a weak smile. “Of course. Zellel always comes back. You will, too.”
Kieryn took her face in his hands, forced her to look up at him. Moonlight broke into diamonds, for her eyes were welling full. “I will never abandon you, Rhoslyn,” he vowed. “Whenever you need me, really need me, I’ll be here. Don’t be afraid to break down the library doors. Send for me, day or night. Whatever I’m doing, it’s not important.”
The moonlight slid heavily down Rhoslyn’s cheeks. Kieryn dabbed at the tears with his sleeve. Rhoslyn started to laugh at the old joke between her and the Ilswythe twins, but then Kieryn’s lips were on her eyelids, and Rhoslyn sagged into him. Her arms clung ferociously, her nails biting through his shirt. He pressed his face into the fragrant golden coils at her nape and ordered his legs to hold him up.
“Never abandon me,” Rhoslyn muttered, as if having to memorize his promise to believe it.
“Never,” he echoed and held her until the moons set, one after the other, over the western wall.
~~~~
16
Athna, daughter of Wyramor, wore an unreadable expression. Quick green eyes watched her father’s hand hesitate over a white marble king on a black square. Lord Allaran’s body language made his next play obvious and helped Athna prepare her counterattack in advance. She was careful to avoid looking at her own pieces. At last, her father slid the white king into the adjacent space and sat back, crossing his arms smugly over his chest.
Now Athna’s face changed. She laughed in triumph. “Checkmate, Father!”
Allaran’s face fell, and he searched the board. “Where, damn it?”