I didn’t know why I was creeping, except that I always tried to stay quiet around Gryfelle and not disturb her if I could help it.
Just as the door came into view, I halted. Mor’s voice carried out to me—frustrated. And then Gryfelle’s, more lucid than I’d heard her in at least two weeks. She must be having a moment of clarity. Those moments were fewer and farther between than ever.
“I remember, Elle,” Mor was saying. “Even if you don’t.”
“Mor, I’m not the girl in those memories. That girl is lost. You don’t love me in the way you think you do. You can’t. I no longer exist. Not as I ought.”
“You do exist. Why do you say things like that? You’re sitting right here. You draw breath still, don’t you?”
“You know very well what I mean.”
“I’m tired of having this conversation with you every time you’re awake and lucid. It’s not what I want to discuss.”
“I’m tired of seeing that pained look on your face every time I’m awake.” Gryfelle’s voice was soft but filled with resolve.
“I look pained because you’re dying, Elle. You want me to be fine with that? Pretend like it doesn’t kill me to watch you suffer?”
“You make it worse for yourself. And you make it worse for Tanwen.”
“Stop.”
“No. I’m dying, aren’t I? You could afford me some consideration.”
A moment of silence passed, and I knew I should continue on to the kitchen. Return my cup and then come back like I hadn’t heard a word. I was developing a nasty habit of eavesdropping on private conversations, and the twist in my gut chided me.
Yet somehow, I couldn’t pull myself away.
“Elle, I’m never going to leave you.” Anger colored Mor’s words. “As long as you draw breath, I’m here.”
“I’m not asking you to leave, Mor. I’m asking you to free yourself of your obligation to me.”
“I won’t listen to this. You draw breath. You still matter.”
“And when I no longer draw breath, Captain Bo-Lidere? What then? You cling so to your self-imposed duty, you shall forever be shackled to it. You fail to see what you’re doing to yourself. How will you ever find happiness with another while living in the shadow of my death? How will you ever want to?”
Mor’s voice quieted. “If you could remember what you felt once, you would not be saying this.”
“Perhaps. But I cannot. I cannot feel anything about us anymore. And truly, I must wonder. Have you built this up in your mind to suit your need to erase what transpired with your sister? Perhaps what we shared was nothing more than an adolescent flirtation and you’ve built it into something much greater. Mor, I’m not your wife, and I never was. Free yourself.”
Another long stretch of silence, and when Mor spoke, his voice was choked with tears. “We’re going to save you, Gryfelle.”
“And if you do, then what? Mor, I don’t say this to hurt you. But I do not love you in that way. And I know you honestly don’t feel that way for me either. Whatever romantic feelings I had for you were the first thing to disappear. You know this because you saw it.”
Mor didn’t respond. And I thanked the stars I couldn’t see whatever was happening on his face. I couldn’t bear it.
Gryfelle’s voice suddenly sounded distant. “I’m so tired. Mother, I must rest. The ball is tonight. Please have the servants prepare my gown. Sir Gywas will be there.”
She had slipped away again. I closed my eyes against the whole awful mess. The unanswerable question pinged around in my head—why? Why was this happening to any of us?
“Tannie?”
My eyes flew open, and the pewter cup tumbled from my hands and clanged to the floor.
Utter mortification doused me from head to toe. I braced myself for Mor’s anger. I’d had no right to hear any of that, and surely he would tell me so.
But instead, he picked up my cup. He stepped closer and handed it to me. I took it back, but I couldn’t meet his gaze. Too ashamed. Face too hot.
Slowly, his hand found the side of my face. His fingers wrapped around the back of my neck and tightened. He held me there, then brushed some hair away from my cheek with his other hand.
I closed my eyes again and felt the moment, because I knew what would happen next. I knew after a long pause, he would release me and disappear, wrapped up in his angst and his heartache and his duty.
He did.
I stood alone in the hall, my knuckles whitening around my cup.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
TANWEN
I wandered through our hike in a haze of confusion. Wylie, bless him, didn’t press me. He only helped me when I stumbled over stones in my distraction.
If only he could help me with the other things I was stumbling over.
“You’re a good friend,” I said suddenly.
He aided my climb over a large stone directly in our path. “I know.” He grinned.
“You have a lass at home, don’t you?” We hadn’t talked about it before, but the moment I thought about it, I knew it was true.
“Aye. Back in Waybyr.”
“I never even asked where you were from. I knew Eastern Peninsula, but . . .” I shook my head.
“You’ve had a lot on your mind.”
Not really an excuse, but I was grateful he seemed to find it sufficient reason, nonetheless.
“What’s her name?” I asked.
“Lafnys. It’s not easy, having a sailor for a lad.”
“I can imagine. You’re gone moons at a time.”
“Aye.”
“Will you marry her?”
“Yes. It’s set for the summer after whenever we return.”
“Hmm. Autumn now, and I don’t doubt we’ll be back well before next summer. So that’s less than a year.”
He grinned again. “Aye.”
It was nice to think of Wylie and his girl, a love that was difficult only because of distance. Otherwise, it was simple and uncomplicated.
“Tannie, look.” Wylie’s voice shook me from my musings.
I followed his gaze up to a peak of dark rock. Perched on the ledge was a fluff-hopper.
But it was lavender.
“Wylie!” My mouth dropped open. “Purple fluff-hoppers! I didn’t know they existed.”
“Who knows what else is here on this island.”
I stared at the furry little beast, and it hissed at me. “I wonder if this is where the legend of the pink one comes from.”
“The one that grants wishes? I’m pretty sure that’s a myth.”
“But you never know! Should we catch it? Does it grant wishes?”
“It grants finger injuries,” Kanja said as he passed.
I frowned. Same as the white and brown ones in Tir. “But it’s purple.”
Kanja glanced at me with a look that clearly said, “So?” and continued on his way.
I sighed. “Sometimes, I just want to remember what it’s like to be small and believe in fairy stories.”
“Well, if that’s not straight from a fairy story, I don’t know what is.” We had crested a rise, and Wylie gestured up ahead. I looked.
A fortress carved out of the island rose before us. Its Tirian name was well chosen, for it looked exactly like black glass. Setting sunlight reflected off mirrored stone. It resembled the palace at Urian but with sharper angles and deeper cuts. And it was carved right from the mountain, not built on top of it.
The sight stole my breath.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Volcanic rock,” Warmil answered, and I was reminded that he, too, was well studied. Maybe not in languages like Dylun, but Warmil had read all the books in Urian, or so Dylun said.
“Volcanic rock?” I asked. “I’m not sure I know what that is.”
“When a volcano erupts, the inner fire called lava cools and it creates rock like this.”
“But it takes Minasimetese hands to shape it, polish it, and create something spectacular,” K
anja added.
And I supposed he must be right, for I’d never heard of black-glass palaces anywhere else in the world. Though, if this trip had taught me anything, it was how little I knew of the world in general. Unless it existed on the Eastern Peninsula or in Urian, it was all new to me.
“Come,” Kanja said. “Forgive me, but the sooner we can get you out of Minasimet, the better.”
I knew he was speaking for our own good as well as his. And the thought was less than settling.
“Beware the gurim,” Kanja said as he disappeared through the open doorway of the Kurgarasi.
I turned to Father. “The gurim?”
“Puff-prowlers.”
I hadn’t recalled hearing the term, but before I could raise a question, a small, four-legged beast stalked by. It looked to be at least three-quarters puffed-out red-orange fur. Its face was flattened and somehow still triangular, and two peaked ears sat atop its head.
“Aww.” I bent to touch it. “It’s so cute.”
“Don’t.” Father snatched my hand away. “They do bite if you offend them.”
The puff-prowler turned its narrowed eyes to me, then lifted its nose in the air and stalked away.
I watched it go. “I think I offended it.”
“It’s not hard to do.”
“This way.” Kanja continued inside briskly. “The central hall seems the best place to start.”
He led us farther into the carved, polished structure. I couldn’t help but notice puff-prowlers lounging among the black-glass ledges.
“It’s emptier than I expected,” Father said to Kanja. “I thought there would be others here.”
“We consider these grounds sacred and do not enter them.”
Only then did it really sink in for me what Kanja risked in bringing us here. He must have seen my thoughts on my face, for he said kindly, “Do not be troubled. It is a silly superstition.” He turned back to Father. “Yet even if no supernatural power underlies the superstition, people who believe in it can be dangerous.”
“Like our goddesses,” I said to Father.
“Indeed.” Father set his mouth in a grim line. “We will be gone as quickly as possible.”
“I thank you for that,” Kanja said. He stopped in the middle of the next room. “Here.”
I looked up. The ceiling rose so high I couldn’t see the top of it. It seemed to extend on in blackness forever.
Dylun scanned his notes again. He looked up. “Is Gryfelle awake?”
The four men carrying Gryfelle’s litter brought her forward. Her eyelids fluttered.
Karlith nodded. “Sort of.”
Dylun rolled up his notes. “I’ll need her to sing.” He knelt gently beside her makeshift bed. “Gryfelle?”
Her eyes cracked open. “Hello, Dylun.”
He smiled. “It’s good to see you, my friend.”
“I cannot say it’s good to be seen.” She slowly returned his smile with just a hint of a wry twist. “What do you need of me?”
“I need you to sing. Do you think you can?”
“I can sing something. I’m not sure it will be pretty.”
“It will be if you’re singing it.”
It was good to see her smile again. “You flatter me.” She propped herself up on her elbows, then dragged herself to a seated position.
It really wasn’t fair to ask anything of her right now—singing or sitting up or traveling all over the world. But we had no other songspinner.
Dylun worked quickly. We all watched, including Gryfelle, as he sent strands of golden color into the air. A moment later, Gryfelle began to sing. Her wispy bands of song followed the colormastery strands up toward the ceiling.
As she sang, the song circled the golden color, shaping it into a star with six points. The star and the song lingered in the air, then they burst into fragments. Through the cloud of strand pieces, a thick stream like deep-purple oil spiraled down from the invisible ceiling.
I unlatched the box and held it out. The purple strand approached but didn’t coil into the box. It continued its dance around the box, around me, spiraling around every single person in the room.
I wanted to be annoyed. We didn’t have time for this. The longer we stayed, the more danger we put Kanja and his men in. The longer we stayed, the sicker Gryfelle and I got. We still had another strand to collect before the cure would be complete. Something was hunting us, on top of that, and who knew when that something—or someone—would show up again.
And yet, as the strand swirled in gentle circles, peace wrapped around me like a blanket. Everything in our world was uncertain—like always—but in this moment, there was the kind of peace that carried through the uncertainty like a gift to your heart from someone watching over you.
The purple strand swirled back to me. It bowed. I held out the box, and it slipped inside and curled up beside the blue and gold strands. The three of them, coiled beside each other like three baby puff-prowlers, brought a smile to my face.
I closed the lid and latched it, still smiling. “Done.”
But the next moment, Gryfelle groaned and fell back onto the litter. The men struggled to keep it righted under the sudden shift in weight.
“Set her down,” Mor said quickly. “Now!”
They lowered her to the floor just in time for the lightning strikes to start. Karlith, Mor, and Father rushed to her side, and I knew they would be protecting her head from the polished black floor and keeping her as safe as possible.
But I turned away. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand what it looked like from the outside now that I had seen it from the inside. And I didn’t want to know what she would lose next. Her voice? Her beautiful, songspinning voice? What else did she have left?
I passed Kanja on my way out of the Kurgarasi. “Thank you for helping us. You could be saving our lives.”
He bowed, then cast a troubled glance back into the room we’d just left. “Creator help you both.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
NAITH
Coils of smoke snaked from Brac Bo-Bradwir’s hands. In a heartbeat, the strands turned from wisps of smoke to loaves of bread.
“Excellent.” Naith was genuinely pleased. “You are getting stronger.”
“I feel like I’m almost ready.” That oft-present frown appeared on Bo-Bradwir’s face.
“What troubles you, son?”
“Well, when it’s time to, you know, rally the peasants . . .”
“Speak, my boy. What is worrying you?”
“They won’t hurt Braith, will they?” he blurted. “I know you say she’s got bad blood, but I just can’t believe that. She’s only ever been kind, far as I’ve seen. And I understand that she shouldn’t be queen and we’re entering into a new age and all that, but she won’t be hurt, will she?”
“You have a kind heart, Brac.” Naith began to slowly pace the room. “There are casualties in war sometimes.”
He looked startled. “Aye, but are we at war?”
Naith laughed, but he tried to tamp down the derision in it. “We are discussing an overthrow of the queen. What else would you call it?”
“I just don’t want her to be hurt. We don’t need to harm them.”
“Them?” Naith stopped pacing and looked at Bo-Bradwir. “Who do you mean?”
“Braith and that new lord that showed up.”
Naith stilled. “New lord?”
“You haven’t heard? It’s all the talk in town for at least a moon.”
“I don’t often leave the confines of my sanctuary, son. Please, tell me this news quickly.”
“There was a man who interrupted council a while back. Marched right in, past the guards, and spoke to Braith. He said he wouldn’t call her the queen, so he called her ‘lady’ instead.”
“And the queen’s guard did not remove his head? Dear Braith runs a more merciful court than her father, to be sure.”
Naith saw Bo-Bradwir was uncomfortable. He glided over to the lad.
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“Do not worry, my son. We will not storm into the queen’s throne room and demand her crown. You will not lose your head in this. But please, tell me what else you know, and tell it quickly.”
“Nothing, really. Except he came in, and now he’s been meeting with the queen sometimes. They have tea. And he sits on the council in the afternoons.”
Nothing? The boy considered this nothing? He truly was a fool.
Naith fought to keep the anger from his voice. “What is this lord’s name, my son?”
Before the reply came, Naith’s mind raced through a hundred possibilities. Sons of those who had been favored under Caradoc but had fallen into disgrace under Gareth. Those who had run afoul of the usurper king for one reason or a dozen. The one noble who had been a weaver of some sort and had lost his head because of it. Did he have a son?
“It’s Kharn Bo-Candryd,” Brac said. “Caradoc II’s nephew.”
Naith had not been expecting that. He lowered himself onto a bench.
“Your Holiness? Are you all right?”
“I need . . . a minute.” Was the Master listening? Or had this news already traveled?
“I didn’t realize this was important.” Bo-Bradwir’s face was concerned. “I’m sorry if I should have told you sooner.”
“It’s fine, my boy. It’s fine.” But it wasn’t. A blood heir to the throne. “Is the queen inquiring after his claim? This could be some power-hungry throne-snatcher.”
Please, let it be so.
“I can’t say. I’m not livin’ in the palace these days, so all I know is what I hear on the outside. And about that, I think someone recognized me today. My captain is looking for me. I’ve been missing from my post a long time now.”
Naith waved away the concern. “We have far more pressing matters, son.”
“Is this noble a problem?”
“He could be. If it is truly he, Kharn Bo-Candryd, he is the rightful heir to the throne.”
“But Braith was voted in.”
“It does not work that way.” Simple dolt. “Blood is stronger than the vote. Always.” Naith rose. “I shall retire for the evening. This has been quite a shock.”
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