Taellaneth Complete Series Box Set

by Vanessa Nelson

  The stairs were directly ahead of her, lit by glimmerlights at floor level, casting the rest of the entranceway into shadow. In the shadows Arrow could feel eyes watching and looked across, wary, to see the familiar spark of amber battle wards and points of White Guard weaponry. Another cadre. Miach was being very careful.

  She made herself take the first step and the one after it, and kept moving.

  The stairs split at a half landing, one branch going left and one right, and she took the right hand fork, following the turn to come to the next floor of the Palace where the shadows were replaced by brighter lights and the muted roar of conversation, more people speaking together than she had ever heard before. The doorway framed a room full of finely dressed Erith, the glitter of jewels making her glad for the first time of Thoris’ intervention.

  She caught sight of an Erith lady nearby and stepped back automatically to let the other past, pausing as the other Erith copied her movement and then freezing in her steps, realising she had seen her own reflection in a floor-to-ceiling mirror next to the open door. An Erith looked back at her, tall and slender, clothed as a lady might be, who did not like the fuss of skirts around her. Thoris and his fellows had worked a miracle on her, she thought, stripping away all that was familiar. She stared at her reflection with wide, startled eyes. Her skin gleamed slightly from the bathing oil and her hair, usually a snarled mess, lay in demure curls. The dim lighting in the hallway added angles to her apparently human face, casting her Erith heritage to the fore for the first time.

  Her heart thudded, silver growing in her eyes as she stared. The reflection was that of a stranger. A servant playing dress up. Apart from the silver, she did not know herself.

  “There you are.” Orlis came up the steps and paused, foot missing the last step so he stumbled. “Well, you look different.”

  “As do you.” She turned from her reflection to assess the changes. The journeyman’s plain, serviceable travel clothing had been replaced by a gentleman’s attire, narrow, dark trousers, a pure white shirt and a knee-length coat of deepest blue. His unruly hair had been smoothed and tied back into a neat knot, red eyes flickering with amber as he looked past her to the room. Like her, he now looked more Erith than not. Sometime since she had last seen him he had found time to eat, the pallor of his skin gone along with the shadows under his eyes. She found her own stomach hollow and wished there had been time for her to eat, too. Her earlier headache from magic use was still there, faint and persistent.

  “I hate these things,” he said. “Shall we go?”

  “I assume so.” She walked with him to the door, finding Miach just inside.

  “Good, you are here, and I see Thoris found you. The lady would like to speak with you later, but for now you should mingle.”

  The better part of the warrior’s attention was elsewhere, eyes on the crowded room, words spilling faster than normal. Even warned by the roar of conversation, Arrow’s breath caught at the sea of Erith in the room. Dozens of extraordinarily beautiful people, dressed in their finery, eyes sharp even as their lips smiled.

  “Mingle, he says,” Orlis grumbled, heading into the room, Arrow following in his wake, anchored to something familiar in a sea of strange faces, her stomach twisting as more than one Erith twitched their skirts or robes to move out of her way. Her earlier speculation that those at the Palace did not know who she was faded with each twitch.

  Orlis led them to a relatively quiet spot by the wall, putting his back to the wall as if it were his last defence, tucking his hands into his pockets and glowering at everyone nearby. Their small spot of calm grew as people edged away from his temper, giving Arrow a chance to assess the room. A vast room, high ceiling overhead painted with images from Erith history and myth, walls plain by contrast, drawing attention upwards, and to one end of the room where there was a raised dais and a pair of ornate chairs, one slightly larger than the other. Searching her mind for knowledge of the Palace, Arrow guessed this must be the Queen’s Receiving Room. It was larger than she had imagined, air scented with a gentle green scent she remembered from the Queen’s rooms.

  Next to her Orlis made a huffing sound worthy of a shifkin.

  “Stop sulking,” Arrow told him, speaking as softly as she could. “You are drawing more attention.”

  “I am?” He straightened a little, expression lightening a fraction. “Standing about for hours is not my idea of fun.”

  Arrow bit her lip against an unexpected laugh. “Try standing through a Taellan meeting. They talked about crops for half a day once.”

  “Really? What on earth did they find to say for that long?”

  “Something very important, I am sure.” Arrow was distracted in turn, seeing a few familiar faces in the crowd. Many of the Taellan were here. Naturally. Gret vo Regresan glimpsed her through the crowd, expression frozen before he recognised her, his face tightening as he turned away, nearly bumping into the person next to him. Diannea vel Sovernis was also present, in close conversation with a lord from another House who looked faintly familiar.

  Closer to her the crowd parted a moment and a middle-height Erith dressed in floor-length, elaborate robes came towards her. He made a shallow bow as he stopped, closer than she was comfortable with, the full folds of his robes brushing the slightly flared panels of her overtunic.

  “And how are you enjoying your stay at the Palace, Lady Arrow?”

  “It has been most interesting, my lord,” she answered, making her own bow, as shallow as his own. There was very little amber in his light brown eyes, blond hair plaited behind his ears, falling halfway down his back. The older style cued her to his age; apart from the very young and the very old, it was nearly impossible to tell an Erith’s age.

  “And now you are hiding?” he asked, waving his hand to indicate her position at the wall, large square-cut ruby in his signet ring flashing as it caught the light. “So far away from everyone else.”

  “By no means,” she began, wishing she knew who this man was.

  “Oh, excellent.” He had his hand under her elbow before she could react, her personal wards flaring and damped down with an effort in this crowd, steering her away from Orlis and the wall and into the room, towards a small group of four Erith who were apparently engaged in serious conversation.

  All conversation ceased as her escort drew her closer and her stomach tightened again as she saw that one of the four was Priath. His presence was somehow dimmed in this room, perhaps with so many other forceful personalities pressing around.

  “Good evening to you. You look quite the lady. Who would have imagined it?” The words were light, the tone was not. The other three Erith with him gave small, nervous laughs. Arrow made a polite bow, Court manners coming to her rescue.

  “I do not imagine you have had much chance to attend such events.” Another of the three spoke, taking his cue from his master. They might all be wearing rich clothing, but the relationship was clear.

  “Not much, no,” she agreed. If they thought to goad her, they were likely to be disappointed. She had survived having the spoiled offspring of Erith nobility as her classmates at the Academy. Her classmates had teased her, humiliated her on a near daily basis when she had worn the collar and broken her bones more than once. The silver power inside stretched lazily, reminding her of what she carried. What none of them could take away.

  “Perhaps you served at some?” another asked.

  “That was not my duty.”

  “Oh, do tell, what was your duty?”

  “The Taellan required my service and my silence. My lord. My lords.” She made another shallow bow, deciding she should leave before they pressed her harder on matters she was not permitted to discuss.

  “There you are.” Kester’s voice had never been so welcome. “Gentlemen.” His voice was mild. He put a hand under Arrow’s elbow and gently steered her away, dropping his hand when she tensed.

  “You are keeping dangerous company,” he told her, walking with her back
towards where Orlis was still standing, expression once again thunderous.

  Arrow bit her lip to hold in hasty words. Priath and his cronies could try to provoke her and she felt mildly unsettled. Kester scolded her and she wanted to scream at him.

  “That man is awful,” Orlis said as soon as they were in earshot. “And your eyes flared, Arrow. You should be more careful.”

  “Thank you.” The words were very precise, measured just so, delivered in an apparently meek voice. She should not scream at Orlis, she reminded herself. It was likely he meant well, and venting her temper would only draw more attention. She lowered her eyes, called on some calm and settled herself again.

  “She does clean up well, though,” Orlis added, “yes?” He tilted his head to Kester.

  The warrior looked at Arrow, expression unreadable, and made a small bow. “You do look well,” he agreed.

  Arrow bit her lip, turning her attention elsewhere. Well. The small point of hurt in her chest burrowed deeper. It did not matter. None of it mattered. She was here at the Queen’s own command. A command she could not politely decline within the Palace. This evening would be over soon enough and she could continue on her way, find Gilean and then go back to the quiet solitude of her workspace, to the easy demands of the ‘kin, who were straightforward in whatever they asked of her, and to the plans for her future. Travel. Seeing things she had only read about, for the human world had its own wonders. There would be no need to think of this warrior, too close to her side, who had kissed her and shouted at her and whose entire behaviour she could not understand. And no need at all to consider why the compliment, a polite response to Orlis’ prompting, had stung so badly. She did not need compliments. She had survived without them.

  “Abomination!”

  The hated word twisted the sting inside her. From reluctant compliment to enthusiastic insult in a few heartbeats. The word had been shouted, so that those gathered around could not fail to hear it. Her spine stiffened, wards stirring in response to her alarm, the sword at her back awake. There was no physical threat, though.

  Eshan weaved through the crowd towards her, more dishevelled than she had ever seen him, his over robe sliding off one shoulder, shaking hand pointing towards her.

  “You killed him! Killed him!”

  Arrow held her ground, lifting her chin a fraction at the wild accusation. She could not run from it, as that would seem an admission of guilt. Of all the things the Chief Scribe had accused her of, she thought bitterly, this public accusation was groundless.

  Abomination. A blight among the Erith. Ungrateful. All those other claims, repeated over the years, were truth. She was not grateful to the Erith for her life, no matter how much Eshan wanted her to be.

  He lunged forward, pointing fingers clenching into a fist, and was blocked by a uniformed warrior, Kallish easily holding the Chief Scribe at arm’s length.

  “You are drunk,” Kallish said in disgust, nose wrinkling. “Come, I will see you to your rest.”

  “Abomination, I say. Should have been killed at birth.”

  “Away, now.” Kallish’s tone flattened. The rest of her third gathered around her, forcibly escorting the furious scribe away, the crowd rippling to give them room, a murmur of conversation following.

  “You should come to these events more often,” Orlis said, suddenly cheerful, “this is the most fun I have had in years.”

  “I am so glad you are enjoying yourself,” Arrow answered, not looking at him. Voice calm. A small wonder in the evening. She could still manage outward calm. Not looking at anyone, that hated word ringing in her head. Abomination.

  The silver was restless inside her, wanting out, wanting to be used, responding to the anger that she had kept contained for years and now struggled to hold in. Let us show them, the power seemed to say. Let us show them exactly what an abomination can do.

  She lowered her eyes to hide the silver, taking a slow, deep breath, reminding herself that it did not matter. She had a job to do, and when that was done she could leave and never return.

  The murmur rising in the crowd continued and she could hear that word repeated. Seggerat’s description of her before she had been old enough to understand what it meant, the elder reluctant to be in the same room as she was, let alone look at her.

  The murmur died a fraction and the crowd parted. Arrow felt her skin prickling, wards wanting to rise again in response to her continued unease. She could try to tell herself that it did not matter, but she did not believe that. Not entirely. She was tired of the stares, of the displacement, of being the unwelcome figure in the room. She wanted out.

  ~

  A more welcome figure strode through the slight gap in the crowd and made a shallow bow. Miach. Fully armed, dress uniform bearing the faint traces of previous wars.

  “The lady would speak with you, if you will come with me.”

  For a moment she was tempted to refuse, to walk away, out of this room, out of the Palace, and keep going until she was back in the workspace with its familiar scents and the reassuring hum of her own wards around her. She could bar the door and set the wards to stun anyone who tried to enter, or worse. There was a tight knot of anger and hurt constricting her breathing and her feet twitched in their flimsy slippers. And yet she could hardly refuse the Queen’s summons, even as an exile. Miach would stop her, for one thing, which would draw much more attention than she had at present. So, she straightened a fraction and inclined her head to the warrior.

  “Of course.” Somehow her voice was still calm and even.

  Arrow left Orlis and Kester without a backward glance, wondering what they would find to entertain them when she was absent.

  There was a tightly gathered knot of bright colours at the other side of the room, a chattering, laughing, cluster of Erith who fell silent as Miach brought her into their midst.

  In the heart of the group was the Queen. Transformed from the delicate lady Arrow had met, she stood straight, eyes clear and bright, dressed to outshine everyone else in a floor length dress of bright amber, sparkling with diamonds. She was accompanied by three Erith ladies whose clothing was less elaborate but equally finely made.

  “There you are. How lovely. Do excuse us.” The Queen turned a small smile on the crowd around them which melted away at once, leaving Arrow in a small space of quiet with the Queen, her three ladies and Miach, who remained beside her.

  “Your majesty.” Arrow made a bow. War mage to monarch. Not as low as some of the still-watching crowd thought she should bow, judging by the slight intake of breath. The Queen, however, gave her a warmer smile.

  “I see that Priath lost no time in seeking you out,” the Queen said directly. Arrow blinked, startled at the frank speaking. The Queen’s eyes dipped down a moment then back up. Arrow followed her glance and found that she was standing in a spell circle marked on the floor. All the other courtiers were outside the circle, which was active with runes for confusion and silence. Their conversation would not be overheard.

  Arrow’s spine prickled, hairs raising at the back of her neck and she had to consciously suppress her wards from rising, reminded that she was in the Palace, heart of Erith politics.

  “That is so,” she answered the Queen at last.

  “What did he want?”

  “I believe he wanted to remind me that I do not belong.” The words were out before she had a chance to think.

  “That is not true.” The Queen’s face softened, trace of her age showing. “I decide who is welcome here, not Priath.” She watched Arrow for a moment, eyes sharp. “And we have much more unpleasant matters to discuss. Seggerat’s death.”

  “Murder,” Miach put in.

  “Magic was used. The same person who killed Teresea?”

  “There was no complete trace, but possibly.” Too many questions.

  “No proof?”

  “Nothing more than a feeling. The spellwork in Seggerat’s room was finely done. It almost caught me,” she admitted, cheeks bu
rning as she did so. “And the mage fire used to cut down the bookcase in the library was also finely done.” She hesitated, prompted to continue by a lifted brow from the Queen. “In time I may be able to identify the magic user.” She would not dignify the murderer by calling him a mage or magician.

  “In time?” Miach prompted. Arrow wanted to shift under his gaze but there were too many eyes around them.

  “As I become more familiar with the Palace, and the heartland’s magic, it is a little easier to sort through the traces.”

  Both seemed to understand her perfectly, even with a lifetime spent in the heartland.

  “But for now, with Teresea dead, there are no readers here to follow the trace or confirm the identity.” The Queen sighed, her age showing again for a moment.

  Arrow stayed silent, having no words of comfort to offer.

  “There is more,” Miach said. “There is more than one person involved in this.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There was more than one person in the library. I do not know enough to follow them yet, but definitely more than one.” Arrow paused, wondering if she should tell the Queen about her own attack.

  “More than one person is involved,” Miach confirmed.

  “Seggerat’s funeral rites are being read tomorrow.” The Queen was not ignoring Miach. Her mind had moved to something else, some plan Arrow could not see. “Will you be there?”

  “I had not planned to do so.” Arrow could only imagine the horror in the House if she turned up.

  “Then, will you go back to the House’s rooms and see what more you can learn? This needs to stop.” The Queen’s voice hardened, brittle steel imperfectly concealing pain. “There have been too many deaths.”

  “I will do my best to find out what has happened.” Arrow promised, body moving in a reflexive bow, too many years as the Taellan’s servant making the habit ingrained.