by R. K. Thorne
“That’s generous.” Nyalin tried to downplay his surprise, but Obsidian students got no such things.
“We have to. Otherwise they are penniless,” Lara put in. “Most of us can’t afford not to work, so they wouldn’t come if we didn’t provide the basics.”
“Well, then I should fit right in.” By the funny look Lara gave him, she didn’t seem to believe him on that matter, but Elix had always been very clear Nyalin had to work for his place since he hadn’t been born to it. He hadn’t copied all those books for the man out of boredom.
He gradually eased to his feet. No swaying or knee buckling this time. He relaxed. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”
Cerivil left, humming to himself. Nyalin glanced at Lara, who still sat amused at the foot of the bed.
“Whose idea was this?” he asked her, less because he wanted to know and more to delay the inevitable altercation.
“Hmm? Oh, my father’s.” She flipped some of her mane over her shoulder. “He didn’t even tell me, just dropped it in the middle of discussion right in front of the emperor. And I’d just been gearing up to bad-mouth your family too.”
“They’re not my family.” It came out this time before he could think the better of it, so he amended it. “Well, Grel is. And Sutamae maybe. But not the rest.”
She cocked her head, studying him. “Understood.”
“Sorry. Do you want to, uh, come with me?” He blinked. Why the heck had he just said that? Was he out of his mind?
“Really?”
“Yeah. Uh.” He groped for a logical reason. So I don’t have to face those fools alone? “You can tell Elix how wrong he is if we see him. There aren’t many who get the chance to do that.” Ugh, as if that would go well. But he couldn’t back out now.
She stood. “You know what? That sounds like fun. Let’s do it.”
His eyes widened. “Have you met Elix?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, I have.”
And with that, she was marching ahead of him, out the door, to seal his fate. He grabbed the obsidian stud off the bed, slipped it into his pocket, and hurried after her.
Nyalin surveyed his room. His thoughts raced. Smoke snaked between his legs, purring. “Excited for me?” he murmured to her as he pulled out his pack. Hmm. What did he actually need?
“I’ll miss you, girl,” he said, ruffling the hair between her ears. He couldn’t claim the cat as his, nor ask any more from Lara’s family than he was already, but leaving Smoke behind hurt. And worried him. He and Grel took care of the cat much of the time, with some assistance from Dalas and Uli the maid. Much to Elix’s continued annoyance. Hopefully Grel would care for Smoke on his own.
He didn’t need his clothes—as a member of the Bone Clan, he would be issued new clothes. Browner ones. He had many books, mostly gifts from Grel, and his mother’s old pack of things, which was mostly empty. He started heaping books into his own pack first.
“Nice cat. So this is your room, huh?” Lara bent to pet Smoke once before propping her hands on her hips and continuing to survey the place. “This looks more like a… closet.”
He winced. “Probably was. Elix has never been one to spoil me. Thought you’d gathered that.”
“I did, but I didn’t.” She was handing him books from the pile now, helping him go faster. Chipping in. Obsidians rarely did such things. He had a sudden feeling he was going to like this new clan, even if he got a lot of harassment from them at first. It’d take years to truly become one of them, most likely. Not like Raelt and his cronies didn’t harass him now, so for him, it’d just be more of the same. He refocused on her instead of the worries ahead. She was eying the spines and reading the titles as she handed them to him. “You like books?”
“What tipped you off?” He stuck the last one in his pack, then headed to the closet and took out his mother’s old pack and his writing set. It wasn’t really his, but what did it matter at this point? Elix could give him a few feathers, knives, and bottles of ink, since he wasn’t going to give him an education or a livelihood. “I spent most of the time in the library.”
“Reading?”
“Copying.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Copying? As in scribing other books?”
“Exactly.”
“Well at least you’ve got one marketable skill, if none of this pans out.” She held open his mother’s bag for him while he shoved in a few utilitarian items—sandals for the summer, wool socks, his tiny pouch of coins.
“Actually, my plan was always to join one of the orders as a scribe. And maybe someday, if they’ll let me, write my own.”
“Really? Which one?”
“The Order of the Raven.”
“Ooh, shadowy.” She wiggled her fingers. “You seem well educated. They won’t take you?”
“Unfortunately, it’s one of the few that sometimes requires magic. It’s competitive to be selected. In my case, they said I’d definitely need magic. So if this doesn’t work…” He shrugged. He was acting casual about it, but other monasteries, especially ones that accepted non-mage scribes, didn’t house clues to his mother’s life and history. If this last-ditch effort didn’t work out—and it likely wouldn’t—that trail of answers would be cut off forever.
He reached under the bed for the next set of books.
Her eyes widened. “There’s more?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t got much else.”
Soon both packs were filled, and there were still a few books left. Could he part with some of them? They were nearly all gifts from Grel, the only gifts he’d ever received, and they were all cherished. He had only copied three himself. No, he couldn’t part with them. But perhaps temporarily? Maybe he could find Grel and leave them with his brother to bring later?
“Give me them. I’ll carry them,” she said, as if reading his thoughts.
“You’re a noble,” he said. “Not a pack mule.”
“I hate that term. Like I’m some foreign deity of the Mushin. Besides—what does it matter? You’re a noble too.”
“I most definitely am not.”
She grabbed the books from him, her fingertips brushing his wrist as she took them. The touch sent a weird itch shooting up to his elbow. Okay, that was definitely not normal. And he was definitely not bringing it up to her or her father. He could hear it now. Uh, yes, every time your daughter touches me I get the strangest sensation… Maybe he could find a book to shed some light on the mystery.
The book battle lost, he shouldered his pack and his mother’s pack and stepped toward the door.
It opened before he could reach it. Raelt. Smoke let out a little snarl and hid under the bed.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” Raelt’s eyebrows flew up, resting on Lara. “Nice to see you again, Lara.”
She was scowling at him.
“You two have met before.” Nyalin looked back and forth between them.
Raelt ignored him and kept his eyes trained on Lara. “The one who shows up looking homeless and the one who soon will be homeless—a perfect pair. He could teach you a thing or two about laundering clothes, you know. Even the lowliest Obsidian knows that.”
Raelt’s awkward barbs had long lost their sting, but Lara scowled harder, her cheeks reddening.
“Like you’ve ever washed anything you own,” Nyalin shot back.
“Can the Bone Clan afford soap? Or is it water that’s the problem? Who would consider that land of yours anything but a filthy desert, I have no idea.”
“Get out of the way.” He stepped forward.
Raelt smirked. “Why should I? You’re just angry I caught the two of you in here together. Some kind of illicit tryst, I imagine?”
“You know the word tryst? When did you learn to read?”
“But really, Nyalin, did you have to stoop so low? We have Obsidian whores—”
Nyalin shoved him into the doorframe. “Not another word.”
But of course, he was only encouraging Raelt, who shot him a satisfied
grin. “The emperor will want to know. And Father, of course. I—”
Abruptly, Lara ducked and darted past Raelt. She was just past him and almost free when he swiveled and lunged after her.
She was quicker than he was, even with the books. Her kick crunched into the side of his knee, and he yelped, crumpling to one side.
Nyalin didn’t wait to see the theatrics that would soon follow. He leapt over his longtime tormentor before the fool could recover and rushed after her. The two of them shuffled as fast as they could down the hall, just short of a run.
His foster brother bellowed his rage behind them.
“That’ll draw a crowd,” he muttered. “Better hurry.”
“Sorry.” Her cheeks were fully flushed now.
“Nothing to be sorry for. He deserved worse than that.”
“I don’t… I just don’t like him.”
“Join the club.” He laughed, but then sobered when he remembered Raelt’s exact words. “Look—ignore the idiot.”
“Is that what you do?”
“When I can. I’ve had years to hone the skill. I must say, as much as I hate to inflict him on you, that was a beautiful sight to see. I knew I brought you along for a reason.”
“Excuse me?”
“The knee. Wish I’d done it myself.” And it was all the more impressive she’d managed it with an armful of books.
“Do you think they’ll be repercussions?”
“Oh, no. That’s nothing a healing spell can’t fix, although it’ll be mighty painful in the meantime. Did you hear that crunch?” He grinned.
She fought a smile too. “I hear it’s not kind to triumph at the pain of others.”
“Ah, but it sort of feels good, doesn’t it?”
She chuckled, not meeting his eyes as they approached a turn.
“C’mon.” They went left down a corridor, hopefully escaping Raelt and his nonsense. “You do look wild, by the way.” He smiled. Like horses on the plains, strong and untamed.
Her head dipped again, though, the smile vanishing.
“I meant—it’s a good thing,” he rushed to add.
She frowned at him. “He didn’t mean it that way.”
“Ignore the idiot, remember? And in my defense, you did attack me from a tree branch.”
“Strictly speaking, I dropped out of the tree and then attacked you. And I’ll do it again if you’re not nice. Or drop your books in the fountain.”
“You wouldn’t.”
She raised an eyebrow, an evil smile on her lips. “Try me. You don’t know me very well.”
They knocked on Grel’s door. A long minute passed, but no one answered. He bent closer and listened; there was no rustling or crackling of the fire. Empty.
He shrugged. They tried Sutamae’s next, but her room was empty as well.
“Just need to check the library and the kitchen, and then we’re free.”
She nodded and followed him.
“Are those too heavy?”
“I’m tough.”
“I notice you didn’t answer the question. Want to switch, carry a pack, and I’ll take the books?”
“Uh… sure.”
They were down to the first floor, halfway to the kitchens, when a voice from the sitting room halted him in his tracks.
“Just where do you think you’re going?” Smooth as a velvet slipper, that voice belonged to the one person worse than Elix—Vanae. His foster mother turned. Her arms were folded across her chest, one arched finger tapping her bicep. She had olive skin, like Nyalin’s own, and poker-straight black hair that he suspected she deliberately arranged to draw attention to certain womanly assets. Her robe was black as night, nothing slightly faded for her, and she wore it as dramatically as Sutamae did her own. Vanae’s beauty didn’t go below the surface, though. Few people’s did.
“I’m leaving.”
She frowned, looking actually surprised for once. Her eyes searched his face, then flicked briefly to Lara. Then she smiled, suddenly coy. “I see through your little game. Pretending to leave our home will not change Elix’s mind, you know. He knows you have nowhere to go, and he doesn’t respond to threats.”
“This isn’t a threat, Vanae.” He inched toward the stairs. Lara hung back, hovering behind his shoulder and half out of sight.
Vanae’s eyes widened and flicked to Lara. “But surely you must be joking. Who would take a mage with no magic like—” She pretended to realize it just then. “Only someone truly desperate.”
Behind him, he could have sworn Lara growled, a deep hum in her throat. He said nothing. That was always the better strategy. Nothing was worth egging his tormentors on.
Vanae polished her nails against her dress, then flattened her hand to study them. But by the way she watched him from the corner of her eye, she was more alarmed than she was letting on. “Your father will not permit it, you know.”
Not my father. I don’t have a father. “Well, the emperor will,” he said instead.
Vanae opened her mouth, but Lara spoke first, stepping forward so that she stood with her shoulder touching the back of his now. “The emperor already did.”
His foster mother’s eyes flared, angry and hot, but before she could say anything, the front door opened.
Elix stopped just inside the door, surveying the odd scene. His foster father had the stature of a black bear, and a beard to match. His ice-blue eyes, a mirror of Sutamae’s, glared out from beneath a black hood that had shaded him from the sun. Those icicle eyes went to Nyalin, to the packs, to Lara, and finally to Vanae.
And then, to Nyalin’s surprise, he smiled as he knocked back the hood. “Well, well. What have we here?”
Vanae pursed her lips. “Nyalin says he’s leaving. And somehow Cerivil’s daughter wandered in from the street. What are you doing here, girl?”
Lara glowered at her. Vanae glowered back.
Elix simply regarded them all for a moment.
“Well? Stop him,” Vanae ordered, as if his response should have been obvious. “You can’t let him leave.”
Elix was smiling a little less now, but still smiling. “Why should I care what he does?”
She looked ready to explode. “For once, Grel is right. You’re putting jealous nonsense above what the clan needs.”
“Tell that to the council, dear wife.” He grinned at her and started for the stairs. “Farewell, Nyalin,” was all he said as he started up. “Strength on your journey.”
Nyalin blinked. Really? Could it really be that easy? He glanced at Lara with wide eyes, and she returned his stare with a shrug.
While Vanae started after Elix, shouting, he ducked down the flight of stairs toward the kitchens and motioned for Lara to follow. Lara glanced back once, as if not wanting to walk away from a fight, then adjusted the pack on her shoulder as she followed.
“I didn’t even get to tell him off,” she whispered.
He chuckled quietly. “We can go back.”
“No. Just trying to make you laugh.”
The comment left him smiling as wide as Elix—whatever Elix’s smile meant.
The library might have to be skipped. Fortunately, the kitchens were empty save for Dalas, who was just sliding bread into the ovens with a long-handled wooden slide. He turned, dusting off his hands, then jumped when he saw them. “Well, hello. Strength to you both. Did you bring home a visitor, Nyalin?”
“Not exactly a visitor…” He hesitated.
“I have some oatmeal scones with fig jam if you’d like. Or some tea?” He held up a steaming pot with a grin.
“That’s very kind,” Lara said politely. “But I don’t think we’ll be staying.” She looked to Nyalin in confirmation, and her brow furrowed at whatever she saw in his face.
So did Dalas’s. “Something wrong, lad?” He crossed quickly and laid a gentle hand on Nyalin’s shoulder. “You know it’s always easier to just spit something out when you have things to get off your chest.”
Dalas was right of cou
rse. He was always offering such little bits of advice. But what could he say? Dalas had lost his wife and a chance at a family a long time ago. He was the closest thing Nyalin had to a parental figure around here. This was the man who’d read him bedtime stories by the hearth fire, who remembered his birthday with both a toy and a fluffy treat when he was young. Well, and books when he was older. He would rather not abandon Dalas like some common servant who meant nothing more. But what choice did he have? Not like he’d ever have a grand house that employed a baker as well as a cook. He might not even be allowed back in this house after today—at least not until Grel came into power.
When Nyalin said nothing immediately, Lara added, “Perhaps we could take some to go. They sound delightful.”
“Of course!” Clapping his hands, which sent flour puffing into the air, Dalas grabbed a linen towel and began heaping it with goodies. “When will you be back?”
He wasn’t going to get a better entry than that, but still he swallowed. “That’s… that’s just it. I won’t be.”
Dalas faltered, but his face didn’t look especially surprised, and Nyalin said so. The baker shrugged. “Well, you are carrying two heaping packs. But where are you going? Do you have a roof over your head? Did that rat bastard upstairs kick you out?”
“Oh, no, no,” Nyalin said quickly.
“We invited him to join us in the Bone Clan,” Lara offered. Her intervention was a relief; perhaps he hadn’t been so crazy to ask her along. Her presence at his shoulder helped him remember he was not crazy, they really were doing this. He wouldn’t walk over to the Bone District only to find out there was some misunderstanding and it’d all been a mistake. Or a joke. It was as real as Lara was.
“But are they going to teach you?” Dalas had the linen towel heaped high now and steaming. “Because if not, you should tell them to shove it up their arses. Pardon me, and present company and lovely women excluded.” He winked.
Lara only snorted with laughter.
Nyalin shifted his weight. “Teaching me is the plan. Thank the goddesses.”
“Excellent! Excellent, excellent. I’m so happy for you.” Dalas was beaming as he glanced up the ceiling, then rolled his eyes. “You deserve this. Wish others had as much common sense.”