Taellaneth Complete Series Box Set

by Vanessa Nelson

  “The magician is skilled,” Arrow agreed.

  “Skilled? Skilled! If any one of my students had half the talent he has …” Evellan bit his lip and stared out at the gathering dark.

  “But one person,” Kester put in unexpectedly, drawing a sharp glance from Evellan. “Only one. However powerful, that is something.”

  “Young thing.” Evellan shook his head, and came back to the room. “The mountain spells, Arrow.”

  So, she talked him through the black and white shapes and bloody red runes.

  “Urjusi again.” His lip curled. “The remnants are cleansed?”

  “On the mountain, yes, my lord. I did not have time to do so at Hallveran.”

  “There is a cadre and mage on their way to tend the vicandula. I will make sure they cleanse the Rowan residence.” Evellan made an apparently careless gesture towards his desk. The orb flared a moment, spark of amber lit in its depths. A reminder for later. It was a rare day that the Academy’s head needed such a device.

  “The warrior’s family wanted to have the vicandula moved to the heartland,” Kester said. He sighed, “Lord Whintnath has had to explain matters to them.”

  “I could not leave Etan nuin Sovernis’ body as it was.” Arrow felt heat in her face, stung into defending her error. The vicandula rose when the soul stone was made, and not before. Transporting the body to the heartland would have given the family a tangible marker for their grief.

  “That is what Whintnath explained. It has been such a long time that some things have been forgotten.” Kester’s voice was heavy. Like her, he was too young to remember the last incursion. Perhaps training with the White Guard, alongside veterans of more than one incursion, had given him better insight.

  “I have seen enough. Arrow, burn the papers. Get whatever you need from the Academy supplies.”

  Arrow gathered the sheets and piled them into the grate, setting them alight with a spark of power, waiting until they had all burned to fine ash before she left.

  ~

  She had survived the day. The Preceptor had not noticed her increase in power. No one had challenged her or called her an abomination for hours, and she had not broken any bones. In the Taellaneth, a day worthy of note and worth celebrating.

  Leaving the Academy building to return to her residence she drew that small spark deep inside, wanting to hold onto it, knowing it would not last. There were mundane tasks to be done, basic housekeeping in her residence and, worst of all, she required to get her laundry done.

  Glancing around she saw the dormitory building of the Academy, a number of smaller windows lit up, no doubt students studying, or just gossipping into the night. A warm and welcoming place, Vailla had described it. Arrow had already been installed in the outbuilding. While the Academy might have allowed her to study, not one single Erith family, high born or low, would have put up with the abomination being housed in the same building as their young. In the past Arrow had envied the students their warmth and the friendships they seemed to form so easily. Now she envied them their innocence. Magic was new, exciting, full of wonder. Not full of the bitter aftertaste of surjusi, summoning spells and unknown, lethal magic she had no idea how to combat.

  Her mood sank lower as she approached the laundry house, full basket a barely noticed burden. Despite the hour, the laundry mistress was still in her domain, nasal voice carrying out of the open doorway.

  “…do not expect to have to tell you again!” Wendara, one of the oldest Erith Arrow had ever met, far older than Eimille vel Falsen, was taking her anger out on one of the younger laundresses, a tiny Erith woman who was new since Arrow had last been here.

  She stood still with her bundle, waiting to be noticed. Even here, the laundry workers exhausted, it would not take long. A few moments later every eye in the room found her.

  “I have no time for you.” Wendara’s tone matched Seggerat’s for indifference.

  “Mistress, I am needed. Taellan business, and Preceptor’s orders,” Arrow began. She did not have the time or energy to spare to do her own laundry again.

  “I do not care!” The shriek sent all other inhabitants of the vast room huddling down, shoulders bowed, making themselves as small as possible while they continued to work as hard as they could. No one wanted to catch Wendara’s eye.

  “Mistress,” she began again. Wendara had seen the clothes in the basket, and the state of them. Snake venom, dirt, road salt from the human world, and a few spatters of blood.

  “Lazy, stupid, incompetent creature. How is it you manage to …”

  The silence was shocking enough that everyone momentarily stopped working. Arrow turned her head. Something that silenced Wendara was something worth seeing.

  Kester vo Halsfeld was in the doorway, faint frown creasing his brow. He must have come here from the Preceptor’s study, faint chalk marks along one sleeve.

  “Arrow,” he nodded to her, “Mistress.”

  “My lord.” Arrow made an awkward bow around her laundry.

  “I heard a raised voice. Is there difficulty?” the Taellan addressed Arrow.

  “There is too much to be done without this creature adding to the work,” Wendara spat with as much venom as the snake.

  “You do all seem to be working late,” he commented in a quiet voice that had Arrow’s defensive wards prickling. Young for a Taellan, yes, but not stupid.

  “We are.” The laundry mistress was tone deaf.

  “And yet not one item of power is being used?”

  “Teaches bad habits,” Wendara answered readily, confident in her reasoning. “This lot are slovenly.”

  Arrow cast her eye over the room, noting the tired faces, stooped shoulders, and swollen hands. The room was always the same. Full of soapy steam, the harsh breathing of exhausted workers and Wendara’s nasal tones. The large, magically-driven washing vats remained unused in favour of the much smaller washing boards and tubs that required manual labour.

  “It seems you are quite dissatisfied with your position, Mistress Wendara,” the Taellan went on in that mild tone.

  “I? Not I.”

  “The Taellan does not require its servants work half to death, Mistress. Use those devices,” he nodded to the vats, “wherever you can. And deal with Arrow’s laundry at once. The Taellan requires her service.”

  “The Steward …” Wendara began, face paling. Arrow’s ears pricked. What might the Steward have to say?

  “I will speak with the Steward.” Kester inclined his head to her, and then to the silent, staring, workers, some of whom were close to tears. “Good evening to you all. Arrow, walk with me.”

  “My lord.” Arrow hastily put her basket of laundry down in front of the astonished and speechless laundry mistress and went after the Taellan, struggling to catch him as he was striding into the night at a fast pace.

  “How long has that been going on?” he demanded, still walking.

  “As long as I have been at the Taellaneth.”

  “It will stop.”

  Not sure what was required of her, Arrow said nothing, holding in her questions from long-ingrained habit and, now that her temper had cooled, concern she might be rude. She was still oddly disappointed with him for not speaking up in Kallish’s defence earlier.

  He halted amid the trees at the edge of the Taellaneth’s prize garden, staring out across the glimmerlights. The brighter lights of the manor houses were faintly visible.

  “I cannot stand bullies.”

  “No, my lord?” The confidence was unexpected, her hasty words in response out before she could check them, whatever demon had taken hold of her in the Taellan’s meeting room that morning rising up again.

  “No.” He had taken no offence, instead seemed almost amused. “The White Guard understands that we serve at the Queen’s will, and the Taellan in her absence. There are many ways of living with honour.”

  Arrow turned that over in her mind for a moment. The spark of anger at Kallish’s demotion was still bright
. She discovered that she had enough self-control to say nothing and used it.

  “You do not agree?”

  It took her a moment to form a reply.

  “I have not given the matter much thought. My lord.”

  “Mages do not wish to live with honour?” He sounded curious. She had no idea what he could see on her face. She could see nothing apart from his silhouette in the trees.

  “They may do.”

  “But you do not?”

  “I have not had the opportunity to find out.” The spark flared, bright flame burning now. She took a quick breath, waiting for the oath spells to wake and stab her wrists. Talking back to a member of the Taellan was not proper service.

  “I am sorry.”

  The sincerity struck her silent again, ears burning in embarrassment. The silence stretched, brittle and full of some meaning that escaped her completely.

  “Have I made matters worse at the laundry?”

  “Your instructions were direct and should be followed. But the Steward will require to intervene.”

  “He cannot be unaware.”

  “Mistress Wendara wears more than one face.”

  “I see.” A half-laugh in the dark. “Well, that explains the difficulty you have with your appearance.” She clamped her jaw shut, ears prickling with heat under her hair. Another difficult silence. “I should seek out the Steward.”

  “In the main building. He is likely still in his office. Do you …”

  “I will find him. Thank you. You should rest. There is much to do.” He moved, and she could not follow it fully in the dark. “Good night, Arrow.”

  “Good night, my lord.” Ears still burning, Arrow waited for him to move away before heading back to her residence. There was indeed much to do, a never-ending list of tasks, when she would much rather dissect the odd conversation she had just had, wonder when she could expect another reprimand from the Steward over her appearance, or consider the interesting concept of how a demotion could be honourable.

  CHAPTER 21

  Back in human clothing, Arrow met Matthias and a half-dozen heavily-armed shifkin at the Taellaneth gates the next morning. With the grace of an evening to herself she had had time to consider what she had learned, and what was missing. She had also woken to find a small miracle in the shape of her laundry, clean, pressed and mended, outside her door.

  There was a grim task ahead, to stop the surjusi and the summoner, her stomach twisting at the thought of taking another life. But it had to be done.

  “Hey, Arrow,” Matthias said genially. The shifkin had parked their vehicles a prudent distance from the gates, still within Erith bow shot, and were being deliberately provocative to the gate guard, if Arrow was any judge. One ‘kin perched on the roof of a vehicle with a human-style newspaper open in his hands, a trio played cards on the front end of one vehicle, the remaining ‘kin apart from Matthias leant against the other vehicle, sharpening knives on a whetstone.

  “Good day to you.” She stepped out of the Taellaneth’s gates and heard them slam shut behind her. There was a faint creak from one of the watchtowers and she looked up to see a pair of Erith archers poised, bows drawn. Matthias was aware of them, eyes gleaming with unexpected and rare mischief as he waited for her to join him.

  “You got the message?”

  “I was advised that the Prime wished for my presence,” she confirmed.

  “They didn’t show you the note? Shame. Pa spent a while composing it.”

  “I believe it had the intended impact.” Her mouth twitched. She wished she had seen the note.

  “We brought your car back. From the township. Your mechanic seemed distressed.” His eyes still gleamed.

  “Yes. Thank you.” Arrow could only imagine the mechanic’s reaction to armed ‘kin appearing with one of his precious vehicles. “I wondered what had happened to it.” One of many loose ends she had tried to gather overnight.

  Matthias’ face lightened into an unexpected grin before he turned to business.

  “Pa’s at the muster house in Lix. We can meet him there.”

  “Has something happened?” she asked.

  “More of nothing. No new leads. Still can’t figure out where Marianne was in that missing time. ATV rental records are a mess. No help. Four months. We should be able to find some trace of her.” Matthias was frustrated. Arrow hesitated before speaking again.

  “Would it be possible to go and see Lucy Steers?” She kept her eyes on him as she spoke, not sure how widely known Marianne’s defection was. “She did not tell us everything,” she added when Matthias stayed silent.

  “Sure.” Matthias’ humour vanished with his agreement. She wondered what he felt about Lucy and her presence in Marianne’s life. “I’ll get Pa to meet us there.”

  “Thank you.” She got into the passenger seat of one of the vehicles at his direction. He took the driver’s seat, the other ‘kin fitting into the other vehicle at some unseen signal. They drove back along the road towards Lix.

  “Do you mind off-roading? I hate Lix traffic.”

  “Off-roading?” she repeated the unfamiliar term. “I do not know.”

  “Hold on, then.”

  Arrow had thought that the drive down Farraway Mountain was the most terrifying experience possible in a vehicle, and now discovered that it was in fact Matthias Farraway’s idea of off-roading. The vehicle veered sharply off the smooth road surface and bumped over the rough ground that surrounded Lix, jolting wildly. She gave an undignified squeak of fright more than once, clinging on to her seat with both hands.

  Avoiding Lix traffic, driving over rough ground, they arrived at the other side of Lix in record time, Arrow breathless and Matthias grinning again. He was whistling cheerfully as he drove them through the estate to Lucy’s house.

  The Prime was waiting outside, next to a sleek black vehicle of his own. It was only then that Arrow realised that the other vehicle that had been outside the Taellaneth had not followed them.

  “They’ll go back to the muster house. We can call them if we need them. But it’s Lucy. Doubt that we’ll need back-up.” He sounded confident. Arrow was not so sure.

  “Arrow,” Zachary opened her door for her, something which no one had ever done before. She thanked him, stepping out on trembling legs. “You look a bit shaken up. Matt’s driving that bad?”

  “It was unusual,” she conceded, drawing near-identical grins from both.

  “You wanted to see Lucy.” He turned serious.

  “I want to know more about Marianne’s last task. The one that took her to Hallveran.”

  “Good. So do I. Lucy’s in.” The gates opened as he approached, glancing over his shoulder at Matthias.

  “Don’t worry. Easier if I wait here.” Matthias nodded, and stayed with the vehicles.

  “Easier?” The question was out before Arrow could check it.

  “Lucy and Matt can be prickly,” Zachary said calmly, not checking in his stride up the driveway. Arrow supposed she should have guessed that. Matthias was intensely loyal to his father.

  The front door opened as they approached, and Lucy stepped out to meet them, arms folded across her stomach. She was as immaculately presented as before, jaw set in a stubborn line.

  “What do you want?” The hostility was not targeted at either Zachary or Arrow.

  “I have questions for you about Marianne’s last task.”

  “I have nothing to say to you.”

  “Lucy,” the Prime began.

  “No! She’s dead!” Lucy’s lip trembled, eyes spilling over with tears. Arrow traced the red in her eyes and wondered if she had been crying all morning.

  “Yes, she is,” Zachary said gently. “And we are trying to find out who killed her.”

  “Well, it wasn’t a client,” Lucy snapped.

  “May we come in?” Arrow asked.

  “Can I stop you?” Lucy asked bitterly.

  “Of course. If you do not wish us inside, we can talk here,” Arrow an
swered. Lucy glared, temper overriding grief.

  “Fine. Come in. Let’s get this over with.”

  Arrow followed Lucy’s straight back and sharp strides through the hallway she remembered from her previous visit and into a large, light room with soft furniture that looked like it was never used, the only personal touch a set of framed photographs on a side table. Marianne and Lucy in happier times, Marianne’s face alive with laughter and mischief, Lucy smiling freely without any constraint of grief or anger. Lucy perched at the edge of one chair, Zachary took another, and Arrow settled on the one nearest to her.

  “So?” The challenge was still there.

  “Marianne had a commission, you said, which took her to Hallveran and as far as the north island. What more can you tell us?”

  “I told you. It was ordinary, apart from the travel. Client wanted something. Marianne found it.”

  “Details, please.” Arrow’s eyes narrowed. Lucy’s outrage had shifted. An actress playing a role, now, rather than the furious and hurt woman who had met them at the door. Some instinct told her to keep pressing.

  “Fine. A series of jobs. Paintings. Carvings. Not very valuable. No idea why he wanted them. All over the place. Hallveran. Cyrus. North island.”

  “Do you have photographs of the items? Information on where they were found? Details of the client?” Arrow pressed.

  “Damnit. It’s my business. I can’t just hand over …”

  Lucy stopped at the sound of ‘kin anger. Zachary was perfectly still, attention fixed entirely on her, the growing sound of his anger filling the room.

  “Stop it.” A low, snarled, command. “Give Arrow all the information she wants.”

  “You are not my leader.”

  “You were sleeping with my mate. You have no right to her secrets,” Zachary snapped, temper flaring, old anger and bitter hurt coating his words. Arrow did not think that Lucy saw the hurt, though, pale with her own rage.

  “You wouldn’t let her go! She asked you.”