Taellaneth Complete Series Box Set

by Vanessa Nelson

  Another half dozen black-clad humans arrived with the Magister, spreading out along the wall with Dorian and Juniper, the handful of magicians in Dorian’s team and the discreetly armed security agents here to protect the Premiere. The black-clad humans were dressed in a similar way to Dorian, down to the vials across their chests. More combat magicians. She saw Dorian’s scowl and Miach directing a close look at them. They had most definitely come with the Magister, and not as part of the wider delegation.

  Arrow hid a frown, wondering just how large the combat arm of the Collegia was and the extent to which the ‘kin and Erith had been aware of it. None of the magicians she had encountered so far had enough power to graduate from the Academy, including Dorian and Juniper. They were still dangerous, though, as the use of mage fire in the workspace had shown. And sufficient numbers of them, working together, and with the pre-prepared spells they carried in those vials, could be a concern.

  In the centre of the room, the leaders greeted each other with courtesy, despite the language barriers, before Eimille turned and nodded to Gilean. Gilean sent a small spark of power into the translation spell at the centre of the room. The amber unwound, spreading through the entire room, motes of Erith power hanging in the air like dust particles. A number of humans gasped, more than one reaching out a finger to touch the spark of magic in the air near them.

  Arrow took careful note of the number of humans amongst the delegation who sat stone-faced and the few who visibly tensed, a few hands twitching, one or two moving to where their vials of pre-prepared spells would be if they had been in the same uniforms as the combat magicians. It seemed that the combat arm of the Collegia was much larger than it appeared. The ‘kin and Erith had expected the humans to include some disguised security personnel among the delegation, but not necessarily magicians. She slid a glance across the room and saw Miach was taking careful note as well.

  Eimille vel Falsen paid no heed to the gasps or twitching, inclining her head to both the Premiere and Zachary.

  “We thank our hosts for the welcome they have provided and compliment them on this magnificent building full of beauty.” The translation spell rendered her words into common tongue for all to hear, a few humans twitching again at the dual nature of the spell where they could hear the Erith words but understand them.

  It was a high compliment from a race which prized beauty, and drew a similarly gracious response from the Premiere.

  It seemed to take an age for the formal greetings to be gone through and for those given places at the table to take their seats. Zachary was joined by his sons, Tony and another female ‘kin that Arrow did not know. A nice piece of theatre, she thought. Zachary would be keenly aware that many Erith regarded the ‘kin as little more than beasts, and rumours abounded amongst both humans and Erith about how ‘kin women were treated. Those spreading the rumours had never had extensive dealings with the ‘kin, Arrow was quite sure.

  Tamara was not set at the back of the room because she was weak or disregarded, but because it gave her a strategic and tactical advantage. A clear view of everyone present. And, with his father and brother beside him, Arrow was quite sure there was no one else Matthias would trust so deeply to guard his back.

  Arrow was also at the wall, a few paces away from Tamara.

  The morning wore on interminably with formal speeches from the human delegates, formal responses from the Erith and the occasional word or two from the ‘kin.

  Arrow had spent years standing in the Taellan’s meetings, though, and her body remembered the knack of standing still and straight whilst her mind wandered, part of her attention on the words being spoken, her main focus on the people in the room. Some of the humans were passing notes to each other between their desks. Like young students at the Academy, although Arrow would bet that the notes were not crude drawings or even more crudely drawn runes. The ‘kin were still for the most part, the stillness of predators waiting out their prey. The Erith were almost as motionless as the ‘kin. The White Guard cadre, Elias’ cadre, were on watch along the wall behind the Erith. The Erith settled at the tables were listening attentively, a few taking notes on parchment.

  Arrow knew that Kallish’s cadre was on patrol and Miach’s was resting. The agreement was for only three cadres present. She suspected Miach had at least one other cadre close by, far enough away that she could not sense them. She was certain, though, that Elias and his cadre would happily have been out on patrol rather than standing watch here, although none of them showed it.

  It was extremely boring.

  The boredom was a surprise in itself, and very welcome after the past several days, worrying about what might go wrong when three strong-headed races were brought together. Worrying about what the Collegia might do. If the entire summit passed this way, Arrow would count it a huge success.

  After several hours had passed, the Premiere suggested a break for lunch and the delegates filed out through their respective doors. The principals were due to lunch together, the rest of the delegations in their own rooms.

  At Zachary’s signal, Arrow followed him and Matthias into the hotel’s restaurant.

  CHAPTER 8

  “Thomas is here,” Zachary said, voice low, as they came into the room.

  “Here?” Arrow repeated. Thomas was Thomshairaen vo Pretenai, formerly White Guard, now living a simple, reclusive life on Farraway Mountain, guest of the shifkin nation and, at Arrow’s assessment, a personal friend of Zachary.

  “He said he wouldn’t miss it,” Matthias added dryly.

  Arrow felt her mouth curve in a smile even as a trail of worry worked its way through her. She had spent a day with Thomas not that long ago, listening to tales of her grandfather and helping Thomas fix one of the broken fridges in the area around his cabin. At least, he said they were fixing the fridge. It did not seem any more workable at the end than when they had started. She had enjoyed the day. Thomas had spoken to her as an equal, and told her improbable and often funny stories about Serran. The only mars on the day had been the knowledge that she would never meet her grandfather in person, and that Thomas was one of the very few remaining blood relatives that Kester had.

  The Erith believed Thomas to be dead. They had sung the rites for him, Kallish had said, in a bitter exchange with the former warrior. Thomas had seemed delighted that he was thought gone. And yet he had come here, where there were Erith who might know him.

  Arrow tensed. Thomas might not care what the Erith thought, but she knew at least one Erith who would care. Kester had given up his House and all that went with it as part of the marriage bargain that had seen Kester’s sister wed to Juinis and Kester adopted into the Halsfeld House, a younger brother to Juinis. The two lords attempted to maintain a public unity but did not always succeed. Kester did not particular care about the appearances, Arrow was sure, but as she grew to know him more, she was certain that the abandonment of his House was an unhealed wound.

  There was a bubble of conversation in the room, Gilean having worked another hasty translation spell to allow the delegates to continue talking even outside the main chamber. Understanding both languages, it was odd for Arrow’s ears to hear different sides of the same conversation in different languages. The Premiere was complimenting Eimille vel Falsen on her dress, with the kind of grace that would warm her to the elderly Erith.

  A hush fell as the ‘kin entered the room, eyes going past Zachary for once to a newcomer. Arrow turned her head slightly and saw Thomas. He might be dressed in the close-fitting black combat clothing that the ‘kin favoured, hair pulled back into a simple, single braid, but there was no mistaking him for anything other than Erith.

  “Thomas.” Zachary greeted his old friend with a tight smile.

  “Zachary.” Thomas stepped up to the Prime’s side and looked around, eyes keen, touched with amber. “This has to be a first.”

  “Thomshairaen vo Pretenai.” Eimille’s voice was as tight as her face. “We believed you dead.”

&nb
sp; “Better for everyone,” Thomas replied, voice easy, betraying none of the bitter dark that Arrow knew lay beneath the surface. “Kester. You have grown.”

  “Uncle.” There was white around Kester’s mouth, eyes full of amber.

  “Zachary, what is this?” The Premiere sounded uneasy, eyes darting around the room, clearly wondering if there was some conspiracy between Erith and ‘kin which excluded her people.

  “Thomas is a resident of Farraway Mountain,” Zachary said, voice calm, “he’s welcome to come and go as he pleases.”

  “Not one of your people?” One of the other humans, a pale and thin woman, spoke, her voice sharp.

  “The borders of the ‘kin nation hold many humans as well as ‘kin,” Zachary answered, “and at least one stray Erith. Anyone living within my borders is my people.”

  It might be a consummately diplomatic answer. It was also the truth. And something that the humans had never understood, Arrow saw at once. A ripple of unease travelled through the humans, doubtless remembering times when they had not been so accommodating to the ‘kin and Erith within their borders.

  “Lunch is served,” Zachary added. “Shall we eat?”

  Most of the group moved forward, Thomas remaining still. Kester stayed behind as well and somehow Arrow was not surprised to see Kallish at his side. Her cadre would still be on patrol, but Kallish had found a reason to be here. From the one encounter she had witnessed, Arrow suspected that Kallish and Thomas had a complicated history which had left Kallish, at least, badly hurt. Thomas had demons of his own and it was difficult to tell what he felt about other people.

  “Thomas.” Kallish managed a perfectly courteous tone. Not exactly warm. Polite.

  “Kallish. Did I hear right that Miach is in charge?”

  “He is. I am sure he would be interested in speaking with you again.”

  “I am sure.” Thomas’ mouth twitched in amusement. “But he does not hold my vows.”

  “You knew Thomas was alive?” Kester asked. The white was still around his mouth and his eyes travelled between Kallish and Arrow. “Both of you.”

  “We encountered Thomas on Farraway Mountain.”

  “Pursued by gang members with rocket launchers,” Kallish added. “Most efficient weapons.”

  “And wearing explosive collars,” Thomas added. “Most efficient weapons, too.”

  Kallish’s good humour vanished into a scowl.

  “You knew.” Kester was in front of Arrow, too close for a public space, face tight. She could not read the emotion. “And did not tell me.”

  “Not my story to tell.” Arrow tried to hold his eyes. The explanation was honest. And yet she found she could not hold his eyes.

  “You did not think I would be interested to know Thomshairaen lived?”

  “I thought you would be very interested. But-”

  “Not your story to tell,” he repeated back to her, each word carefully emphasised.

  Her insides were in a knot. There was a lump of hurt where her heart should be. Days since she had seen him, privately and with a great deal of warmth between them. And now in this public space, evident anger on his part. She did not care what most of the Erith thought of her. She cared, very much, what this particular Erith thought of her. She wanted to be gone, away from the interested gaze of Thomas and Kallish, and the curious sidelong glances from the delegates now gathered round a dining table just out of earshot.

  “Eimille is waiting,” Kallish murmured.

  “A moment.” Kester did not take his eyes from Arrow’s face. “Are there more secrets?”

  Arrow flinched back, stung, hurt spreading and heating to anger.

  “Always. The Erith are nothing but secrets sometimes,” she told him, trying to keep her voice low, bitterness creeping in. Layers upon layers of secrets.

  “The Erith,” he repeated back to her, teeth showing for a moment.

  Arrow’s brows drew together in a frown, wondering what had angered him about that.

  “Your people,” he said, voice so low she could barely hear him. “Not some other race.”

  She flinched again. It was pure reflex. To her core she could not believe that the Erith were her people. And she was still exiled, barred from the Erith’s heartland. The penalty for breaking an order of exile was death.

  There was white around his mouth and his face was full of feelings she could not unpick. Somehow, she had hurt him. She did not understand how. The hurt reflected back into her, twisted with confusion.

  “You have the freedom to choose your path,” he added, then clamped his jaw shut as though afraid he had said too much.

  She stared back, with no words to say, realisation holding her still for a moment. Freedom. The word had carried force. What felt like a lifetime bound to the Erith’s service and she had barely begun to explore life on her own terms. Her service might be over. His was not. One House claimed him. Only one, where most Erith had ties to several. But Kester had only the House his sister had married into. There was nowhere else for him to return to. No other House would risk Juinis’ anger by accepting him without the elder Halsfeld’s blessing. Kester was trapped. It was a situation she was deeply familiar with.

  “Kester,” she began, not sure what she wanted to say. Not an apology. A recognition. Acknowledgement of their common ground. Something. No words followed, nothing coming to mind.

  “We need to go,” Kallish interrupted, eyes going past them to the dining table. Thomas was standing a little distance away, eyes keen, taking everything in.

  “Yes. Another time, uncle.” Kester inclined his head to Thomas, glanced at Arrow, opened his mouth, closed it again, colour rising along his cheekbones, before he turned on his heel and stalked away, headed for the dining table.

  Arrow stood frozen for a moment, the warmth of anger vanishing into cold hurt. Whatever warmth there had been between them had vanished for those few moments. An exploration barely begun. It should not hurt so much that it might be over.

  “I am sorry,” Thomas said softly, sympathy in his voice somehow hurting more. “I did not mean to make matters more difficult for you.”

  “I do not think I am the one offended.” Arrow heard her voice calm and steady. Unfair, perhaps, to put the burden on the older Erith, a warrior who carried damage of his own. And yet he had chosen to come here, to satisfy his own curiosity. She inclined her head to him, Erith manners ingrained. “I need to walk the perimeter.”

  She turned and left the room, keeping her strides even. The perimeter wards were still adjusting to the new demands placed on them, fickle things that required her attention. At least that was what she told herself, pace quickening as she left the building and headed for the nearest boundary.

  ~

  Walking the perimeter took considerable time, even with the aid of the little white vehicles the humans had put at their disposal, and she was chilled and hungry by the time she returned to the main building, night gathering overhead. A shadow detached itself from the walls as she approached one of the side entrances. A tall Erith warrior. Her heart skipped for a moment thinking it might by Kester, hope vanishing as soon as it had formed. He would not be in uniform.

  Miach inclined his head to her in greeting. He did not need to ask if all was well, as any disturbance would have been reported to him already.

  “Eimille wishes to see you, if you have time.”

  Arrow was tempted to refuse. Strongly tempted. She had been thinking longingly of the room set aside for her use, in particular its comfortable bed, and the seemingly endless supply of excellent human food from the Abbey’s vast kitchens. A long habit of obedience to the Erith held the refusal behind her teeth for a moment. Long enough for curiosity to take its place. Eimille vel Falsen had never sought her out before.

  “Very well.”

  They made their way up a set of stairs and along a corridor to where a third of White Guard were on alert, tension creeping into them as Arrow approached, even with Miach for company.
>
  “We are expected,” Miach told them briefly and continued through the watch without pausing, Arrow keeping pace with him.

  He knocked once and entered the room without waiting for permission.

  The room was a large, beautifully furnished sitting area. The human technologies had been removed so there was no television or telephone, the space where the television would normally sit taken by a vast array of fresh flowers, scent curling through the room. The rug that covered the polished wooden floor was handwoven, the group of comfortable chairs all finished by master craftsmen, and the art that hung on the walls well-executed paintings of the Abbey and its grounds. Arrow would bet that the human and shifkin sitting areas looked quite different.

  Eimille had been sitting in one of the high-backed chairs, talking with the other Taellan, including Kester, who were settled in other chairs around the room. Although the lady might have expected Arrow, she saw immediately that the others had not. Kester looked surprised, a flush of colour crossing his face, the others irritated.

  “The Lady Arrow,” Miach announced her, unnecessarily, and took a step to the side. Not quite vanishing into a guard position, not quite a participant, either.

  Eimille rose from her chair, facing Arrow. There were spots of colour in the lady’s cheeks, whether from the title Miach had announced or just general annoyance at Arrow’s presence, Arrow could not tell.

  “You are working with the shifkin,” Eimille began, voice sharp. Arrow lifted a brow. Whatever she had expected, this was a blunt opening. Refreshingly so, for the Erith.

  “That is so, my lady.”

  “You will tell us what they have planned.”

  “I do not answer to you,” Arrow said, keeping her voice pleasant, “and will not share their secrets with you any more than I would share Erith secrets with them.”

  “Unacceptable. You will answer me.”

  “No. I will not.” Saying no to the Erith was becoming easier with practice, she realised. The first time she had been able to shape the word, at the end of her oath-service, the word had felt novel and strange in her mouth. It was still new, and she found she enjoyed the shape of it.