Taellaneth Complete Series Box Set

by Vanessa Nelson

  “Regrettably not. Ah, good morning, Orlis.”

  “Miach.” Orlis settled beside Arrow, more rumpled than he had been the night before. He made a low sound of acknowledgement when a mug and plate were put in front of him, scrubbing his face with his hands.

  “You did not sleep,” Arrow observed. Erith did not need as much sleep as humans normally, but he was under stress, eyes reddened.

  “A little,” he shrugged off her concern. “I decided to retrace his steps,” he continued, shoulders straightening, jaw setting with a sense of purpose.

  “That seems sensible.” Arrow agreed.

  With at least a dozen pairs of ears trained on them, they finished their meals in silence before Miach nodded to Arrow.

  “The lady wishes to see you.”

  “Now?” Arrow’s voice was too high. She quickly glanced down at her clothing.

  “Now.” Miach’s mouth twitched, reading her dismay with ease. “She does not require formality at this hour.”

  “Go,” Orlis waved her away, “it may be hours before I know anything.”

  Apprehension clutching her stomach, glad that Miach had waited until she had finished her meal before telling her what waited for her, Arrow followed the warrior out into the morning sunlight, leaving Orlis to whatever investigations he had in mind.

  Miach led her along another winding route that had her hopelessly lost within a few turns, heading for the older parts of the Palace where time and weather had turned the stone pale, wearing the decorations to rounded edges and indistinct features. Arrow nearly lost her footing trying to make out a particularly impressive set of gargoyles above a stone archway. The stone faces laughed as she passed under them, entering what appeared at first glance to be a wild meadow, a vast field of scented grass scattered through with wild flowers. The crunch of gravel underfoot gave lie to the wildness. There were other Erith here, a half dozen or so, strolling along the narrow paths amid the grass.

  “The Queen’s current favourite garden,” Miach said as though that explained everything. Arrow could not hide her frown as he glanced across and his face twitched as though he were hiding a smile. “She often walks here in the mornings.”

  Arrow’s confusion cleared at once and she paid more attention to the courtiers as they made their way at a steady pace around the meadow. Despite the hour, all were beautifully dressed and their eyes flitted around, keeping a watch over who was nearby, the apparent ease of their postures another lie.

  “Her Majesty has not been here today?” The courtiers’ alertness reminded Arrow of warriors before battle. Her stomach twisted again. She had little appetite for politics.

  “Not for several days.” Miach’s voice held a note Arrow could not trace. Sorrow, perhaps. Perhaps anger. Then the warrior sighed. Ahead of them, bearing down the wider gravel path that led from the building to the meadow, was a group of five or six finely dressed Erith, among them Queris vo Lianen. “Priath is dangerous,” the warrior said in a low, urgent voice. “He has missed the opportunity of being Taellan more than once and is bitter for it.”

  There was no time to acknowledge the warning as they reached the group, who did not stand aside to let them pass, instead blocking Miach’s path.

  “Well, look, here is the Queen’s most obedient hound,” Queris sneered, high colour rising, confident among the other nobles. A soft ripple of amusement coursed through the group.

  “Did you want something?” Miach asked, back straight, apparently at ease.

  “News of our Queen would be welcome.” The soft voice raised every warning instinct Arrow possessed. Outwardly the lord was unremarkable, almost plain by Erith standards, with ghost white skin and pitch black hair tied in an elaborate knot, clothing bright shades that should have clashed but did not, in the way of the Erith. And yet that voice held her frozen for a moment. Seggerat’s silky tone was a pale imitation of the quiet menace held in that voice. Assessing the age of the Erith in front of her, Arrow wondered who had copied the other.

  “What would you know?” Miach seemed unaffected by the voice or the chill that had crept through Arrow. But the Queen’s first guard had been playing Court politics for many times Arrow’s lifetime. Dangerous, he had said. Not in any magical sense, for the man barely had any amber in his eyes. That meant little, Arrow reminded herself. Seggerat possessed little magic either, and was a force to be reckoned with.

  “Is she well?” The voice had lost some of its impact, menace reined in. The lord’s expression remained politely attentive, with not a hint of disquiet at Miach’s lack of courtesy.

  “Her Majesty is hale,” Miach returned, “and I must attend her. Good day to you.” He made a shallow bow and a lord at the edge of the group moved slightly, stepping out of his way, letting Arrow and the warrior past.

  “Do give her my best wishes.” The voice followed them.

  None of the courtiers had addressed her directly, Arrow realised, or betrayed any great curiosity about her. She kept her outward calm, years of practice attending the Taellan coming to her aid.

  Miach kept his strides deliberately even, not showing anything other than the normal alertness of a warrior on duty as he followed the path to the shallow steps outside the building, up the stairs to a set of glass panelled doors that were closed, designating this a private entrance to the building.

  The doors were opened by a pair of White Guard stationed inside, senior warriors by their braids, and there was no time to ask Miach about Priath as Arrow realised she had just been shown into the Queen’s own quarters, with as little ceremony as entering the refectory that morning.

  Miach exchanged a few words with the guard and then led her up a shallow flight of stairs.

  “He is far more dangerous than the Queen acknowledges,” he said abruptly.

  Arrow thought about the chill voice and the sense of foreboding the lord carried with him, and about the fact that the Queen had ordered the Taellaneth and Academy built far from the Palace, with a large posting of White Guard in support. Arrow had always believed that the presence of such an important part of the Erith government so close to human lands was a potent display of power that the humans could not ignore, and allowed the Queen’s servants to keep a close eye on the other races. Now, Arrow realised that the Taellaneth’s position served another, vital purpose. It was distant from the heartlands, requiring time or significant amounts of magical power to travel between the two. The Taellaneth was out of the influence of Palace politics. And dangerous individuals.

  Arrow wondered if Miach had spent any time in the Taellaneth and opened her mouth to share her insight with him, closing her jaw quickly as they arrived at another pair of double doors, this pair made of wood carved with extraordinary Erith creatures. The doors were opened from the outside by another pair of White Guard, with as little ceremony as the doors below. All the warriors remained outside, Miach waving her forward to her first audience with the Erith’s life monarch.

  ~

  The room was a wide rectangle, lit by a series of large windows along one of the long walls showing a nearly uninterrupted view of the meadow, wild grass and flowers interspersed with the bright colours of the Palace courtiers. Inside the room was curiously still, surfaces gleaming with polish, internal walls hung with mirrorglass and some of the finest paintings Arrow had ever seen. She had no time to stare, her attention drawn to the one other occupant of the room, a finely dressed Erith lady on one of the low settles near a fireplace that would comfortably hold an entire third of White Guard, the stone surround carved with ornate plants and flowers.

  “There you are.” The voice sent a shock through Arrow, the sound light and bright, full of life.

  Arrow made a hasty bow, remembering her manners at last, and was met by a soft laugh.

  “None of that. Come, sit. Yes, there. No, no more bowing. These are my rooms and I will not have it.” The voice seemed wrong, Arrow realised, another jolt running through her. Too vivid for this still room, or the delicate lady
who spoke.

  “Your Majesty.” Arrow checked her impulse to bow again and sat carefully where the Queen had indicated, a high-backed settle opposite the Queen that, Arrow quickly discovered, was as hard as the benches used by servants around the Taellaneth, despite its elegant appearance. The fire between them was unlit, laid ready for use, the hearth and grate spotlessly clean. There was a reading stand a little distance behind the Queen, bearing a large volume of botanical reference. Sat opposite the Queen, Arrow could see the open page and an almost-familiar purple flower.

  “They are quite uncomfortable, but the best place to sit for the light this time of day,” the Queen continued, with a nod of her head to the settle.

  Arrow could not think of any appropriate response to that, mind scattering in a dozen different directions. This was the Erith’s Queen, yet she had furniture she disliked in her room. The lady before her seemed far too frail to belong to that voice, which promised exuberance and life. And too sad to speak with so much joy in the sound.

  Freyella, the Erith’s Queen, was delicately boned, with large, deep brown eyes shot through with amber sparks even at rest, and hair that might once had been as dark as her eyes but was now completely silver, lines of age and laughter across her face. Under expertly applied cosmetics, her face was pale, the lines of her neck and collar bone cast in sharp relief at her neckline, and she had smudges under her eyes that no amount of powder or paste would hide. Sitting in the middle of the astonishing beauty the Erith could create, the Queen seemed small to Arrow’s eyes, not the woman who had forced her people to peace with the shifkin or insisted that the heart of her government take place outside the Palace, against the counsel and wishes of the collected Erith nobility.

  Then the lady smiled, warmth at odds with the shadows under her eyes and the pallor of her skin, and Arrow’s breath checked. The lady contained as much exuberance as the heartland’s magic.

  “I have long wanted to meet you, Arrow.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Arrow could not entirely hide a frown at that thought, wondering what the Queen could want with her.

  “Your mother was a great favourite. Such a charming young woman. Quite beautiful, of course, but stubborn.” A light laugh. “I think you are more like her than your appearance might suggest.”

  Arrow felt heat coursing up her face and into her hair. No one would ever think her beautiful, among the Erith. Stubborn, yes. It was a basic requirement for survival.

  “And powerful, too.” The Queen’s voice remained light, and Arrow tensed inwardly, the stark contrasts of the Queen beginning to draw together. Arrow wondered how many Erith were fooled by the Queen’s outward appearance and the vibrant voice, forgetting that under that polished surface there was a woman accustomed to rule, to navigating her way through the tortured civility of Erith public life and the tangled interests of the Palace’s inhabitants. Arrow could imagine that light voice ordering an assassination without changing tone and suppressed a shiver. The most powerful Erith alive. It would not do to show weakness.

  Between one breath and the next, Arrow checked her internal defences and wards. All intact. The power in her veins stirred, reacting to her unease.

  The Queen gave Arrow another smile, one that seemed to reach her eyes. “That must be from your father. And grandfather. None of Seggerat’s House ever had power worth mentioning.”

  “Not magical power, no,” Arrow agreed, something about the Queen’s manner drawing a more unguarded response than she would normally make. This woman was truly dangerous. Arrow was very glad to be sitting down. None of the Erith at the Taellaneth would speak of her heritage and here was the Queen casually discussing her family background as though they were talking of the weather. It was unsettling.

  “Oh. Seggerat and his ambition. At least he has the ability to match it. And Serran had no ambition, but too much ability to let him be still for any time at all.” The Queen’s voice held sorrow now, unfeigned. She was famed for having her favourites through the Court. A woman who liked exceptional people, so Arrow had heard. And Serran had been exceptional in many ways.

  “You miss him still,” Arrow heard herself say and was met by a soft, sad laugh.

  “I miss all of them. All the bright stars. Thomshairaen. Serran. Alisemea. And now Teresea. Too many others to count.”

  To her horror, the Queen blinked and wiped away a tear. Arrow sat rigid, wondering what she should do or say. She was ill-equipped to offer comfort.

  “But we were talking about you. And your power. Miach was most impressed. He says that not one in a hundred magicians would have spotted the things you did.”

  “He is kind to say so.”

  “He is rarely kind.” The Queen’s voice shaded to acid and Arrow bit her lip to hold in an unexpected smile. “Infuriating, more like. And thinks he is in charge.”

  “A common trait among the White Guard,” Arrow answered, thinking of Kallish.

  “So true.” The note of acid was still there, gone in a moment. “And you will find who did this to my dear friend? And what has happened to Gilean? And you will see that it is set right?”

  “I will do everything I can.” The words, carefully measured in her mind, slipped out into the air laced with a trace of power that she had not intended. Perhaps it was the Queen’s presence. Perhaps it was the presence of the heartland’s magic bubbling against her senses even in this quiet room. Whatever the cause, the words carried more weight than she had planned. A magician’s promise. The vow hung in the air, a binding as sure as the oath spells she had carried for so many years.

  “Good.” The Queen accepted Arrow’s assurance with quiet grace. Perhaps she frequently received magician’s vows. The highest power among the Erith then visibly shook herself, lips turning up in a smile that might well have been genuine. “Now, I do not think anyone has told you about your mother. Let me.”

  And so the Queen told Arrow story after story about her mother. From how Alisemea had smuggled a baby wildcat into her bedroom as a child, believing she could tame the creature, to how she had set fire to her father’s ceremonial robes when he would not let her go riding in a storm, to how, as a young woman, she had disappeared for a few days, scaring everyone around her, and come back with a distant, dreaming, look on her face and announced that she was wed.

  Listening to the stories of a woman she would never know, Arrow struggled to reconcile the wilful woman described to the perfect, painted lady in the gallery. Struggled, too, to keep her composure as a hollow grew in her chest. These were the kinds of memories held within families, the shared history that bound fractious Houses together. Not the kind of disclosures she expected from a monarch to an exile.

  It was clear from the Queen’s stories that Seggerat had adored his youngest child. She had been a spoiled favourite, indulged and treasured. Until she met Serran’s son.

  The Queen’s face shadowed at length and she fell silent for so long that Arrow wondered if she had missed some signal of dismissal, and that she should now leave.

  As Arrow straightened further, preparing to request permission to leave, the Queen opened her mouth to speak, interrupted by a quiet knock at the door and an unfamiliar warrior entering the room, not waiting for permission. One of the Queen’s own guard. Only Miach and his people would be so free in the Queen’s presence, Arrow was quite sure.

  “Your pardon, my lady. Your appointment.”

  “Of course. Thank you.” The Queen rose and Arrow followed her. “You must come and see me again.”

  Taking that for her dismissal, Arrow bowed and left the room.

  CHAPTER 9

  Apart from the pair of warriors guarding the Queen’s door, there was no one in sight. Miach had left, doubtless with a dozen things requiring his attention. She paused on the stair landing, disoriented, her every sense telling her she was among the Erith and yet nothing was familiar to her eyes, ears or mind.

  The Erith’s Queen, the highest authority the Erith recognised, had talked t
o her as if she were a whole person, not the abomination that Seggerat called her, and not the exile that she was, by the Taellan’s order. And she had been given an insight into her mother. A faceless figure until the day before, now a series of puzzle pieces in Arrow’s mind, none of the pieces fitting together. The privileged daughter of an ancient, powerful House. A favourite of the Queen. A young woman who had defied her family and House to throw her lot in with Serran’s son.

  A quiet noise nearby snapped her focus back to the here and now, senses coming alert with old, ingrained instinct.

  There was no threat here, only an unsubtle movement from one of the warriors, a shuffle of feet to draw her attention. Arrow realised she had been standing staring into space for too long.

  “The main entrance is down the stairs and along to the left,” the warrior said.

  “Pardon? Oh. Thank you.” Her attention might be back into the right place, her speech certainly was not.

  The warrior’s face softened into what might have been a smile and he nodded. She wondered how many people came out of an audience with the Queen completely disoriented. She returned the nod and went down the stairs, following the directions until she came to a large pair of double doors with a whole third of warriors on watch, all wearing the braid of the Queen’s own guard. The trip down the stairs had reminded her that she had no idea where she was in relation to where she needed to be. She made a slight bow, Court manners ingrained, to catch their attention.

  “Your pardon, svegraen, I need to return to the magician’s dormitories. Where might I find directions?”

  “If you go to the main building of the Palace and ask one of the pages, they will take you.” The youngest, by her braids, responded, no hint of impatience in her tone. It also sounded very practised. Arrow’s estimate of the number of people who left the Queen’s presence disoriented rose.

  “My thanks. The main building?” She felt her ears burning as she asked. It seemed the sort of thing any Erith would know. The warrior simply stepped forward, went through the door with her and pointed the way with perfect courtesy. Arrow made her thanks and went on her way, ears still burning. She was not used to being so lost. The entire Taellaneth, from the main building to its extensive grounds, were so familiar that she could navigate blindfolded if needed. And almost everywhere she had been in the human or shifkin world there had been a map. The last time she had been so lost had been in shifkin territory, trekking across Farraway Mountain, and for most of that journey she had been too exhausted to really notice.