by R. K. Thorne
“Yeah, but they don’t. And so here we are.” He was ready to be done talking about this, in case Elix or Vanae took a fancy to come down and further harass him before he was gone. Or worse, Raelt. No need for them to overhear this discussion. “Is there something with blackberries in there? I caught the smell earlier.”
Lara slanted him a funny look. He cocked his head at her. Too mundane a question? Were they in a hurry and he hadn’t realized?
“Blackberries? Oh, no, they went out of season weeks ago.” Dalas brushed off some unseen dust from his shoulder, then piled in a few more treats. He was surprisingly clean given the amount of flour everywhere.
“Huh. I could have sworn…”
“You wouldn’t be the first hungry man to imagine things.” The baker grinned, tied the corners of the towel together, and strode over. Then he hugged Nyalin, in spite of the books in his arms, and clapped him on the shoulder, leaving a puff of flour behind.
“Thank you for always supporting me here,” Nyalin said in a tumble. “It made an awful situation so much better. Between you and Grel and Smoke…”
Dalas grinned. “There’s not much baked goods won’t cure.”
“You know it wasn’t just that.”
“Ah, but it didn’t hurt, did it?” Dalas’s smile was broad, his eyes crinkled with laughter. The man seemed truly happy for him, but Nyalin couldn’t help but feel a little pang in his chest. Wasn’t Dalas going to miss him? At least a little? He pushed the hurt aside.
“If you see Grel, tell him the news? And keep an eye on Smoke for me?”
“Of course. Cat always comes down here most afternoons anyway. Send word where you are staying, and I’ll send some more goodies. I have a delightful lemon pie I’m perfecting.”
Nyalin raised an eyebrow.
“From my home. You think I don’t bake at home?”
“You don’t need to do that.” And how did he afford lemons? Elix didn’t pay that well.
“It’s no bother. And I’ll come and visit. If I get a few moments off.”
Lara cleared her throat. “He’ll be staying at my father’s estate. There’ll be more than enough food—and baked goods—to go around, so you need not worry.”
“Your father’s—ah.” The baker put two and two together with a lift of his eyebrows. “Still.” He held up the warm pack of goodies and smiled wider now.
“I can carry that.” Lara, having a hand free, took the parcel. “You are too kind.”
“It is your new clansman who has been too kind to this humble baker,” Dalas said, speaking only to her. Nyalin felt his cheeks burn. “Honor and truth to you both.”
Dalas gave them both a slight bow, and they bowed in return. Odd salutation—but of course, Nyalin would prefer honor and truth and fairness over strength any day. Lara was frowning too as they left out the back door, Nyalin blushing all the way.
Chapter 4
Wear the Mantle
“Here you go—you can grab some food here after we drop off your things.” Lara indicated the archway to the kitchens with a jut of her chin. Late-afternoon sunlight shone in from the atrium. “That is, if you don’t just live off all these pastries for the next month.”
He started to say there were nowhere near a month’s worth but stopped. Maybe among less fortunate folk it would be. Either that or he’d sound like a hog. He kept his mouth shut as he followed her up the stairs to what would be his new room.
The Bone Clan’s main estate was very different from Elix’s Obsidian manor. The home Nyalin had grown up in had been just that—a mansion, yes, but designed for a single family.
This building, however, was a meeting place for the entire clan. There was no fancy dining parlor for entertaining heads of clans and states, at least not as far as Nyalin could see. Instead, long trestle tables sat outside the kitchens in a wide-open meeting hall, and every table was laden with people eating, talking, reading, studying, eating some more… There had been nothing like that at home.
The stairs they trudged up with all his books were wide and made of warm wood, with a strip of green carpet running up the center and tall, broad windows facing out on the garden. Sunlight slanted through luxurious panes, warming the cool stairwell. He was far from the only guest staying there; at least a dozen people were going back and forth, some servants, some swordmages armed with blades, some wealthier, official-looking folk. The hallways were as wide and sunny as the stairs, with the same carpet stretching down until the halls turned out of sight.
“And here we are.” Lara opened the door to his room with her baked-good-laden hand, then bumped the door open with her hip.
“I’m glad you remembered which room it was.” He immediately slid the loose books in his hands onto the room’s small desk and stretched out his aching fingers.
Lara set the packs gently on the bed. “Lived here all my life. It’d be strange if I didn’t.”
“Well, glad you walked me to it then.”
She smiled, propped her hands on her hips, and looked around. An awkward silence stretched out for a moment. He leaned back against the desk.
She cleared her throat. “Well. I’ll check with my father about what happens next. He’ll probably have you attend class in the morning. We all do.”
“Oh?” Nyalin had no idea how many swordmages among the Obsidians were studying, but Grel’s classes had seemed to be one-on-one. One more reason why Grel had hated them. But then he was the clan leader’s son; perhaps his arrangement was different.
“Yeah.” Her voice trailed off, sounding embarrassed.
“I’ll be there,” he said quickly. “In the atrium?”
“Yes. At the morning gong, the seventh hour. But I’ll ask Da and send word.” She glanced around again, then fidgeted. “Do you need anything?”
He shrugged, glancing down at himself. “Maybe something that isn’t black.”
A nervous giggle escaped her. “Right. Anything else?”
“Nah, I’m pretty self-sufficient. Had to be.”
“Ah,” she said, nodding. “Well, uh, good.”
He frowned, uncertain why this had suddenly gotten so awkward until it dawned on him that they were alone together in this small room—and that she didn’t want to leave.
But there was no reason to stay.
She ran an index finger down the black leather spine of a book jutting out of his pack. He watched the movement, transfixed. “So did you scribe all these?”
“Not all of them. Most were gifts from my brother Grel.” She nodded as if she knew him. There was none of the flinching from before. “Do you read?”
“Not as much as I should. I’ve always been too antsy to sit still for very long.”
He could understand antsy. Even if he was sitting still to read, half the time his leg was jittering. “Are you more of a hang-out-in-trees kind of person?” He smiled and drew the book she’d caressed from the pack—The Epic of Henera. He withdrew a few more and dropped them on the bed, but he kept Epic in his hands, tracing his thumb along the spine where hers had been.
“My brother was the one who loved books.” She ran her finger over the next book nearest her now, a red leather tome with a faintly embossed title, this one on the Mushin philosophy of the last age. “He used to read to me in the gardens while I saw how high I could climb.”
“Sounds nice.”
“It was.”
“When you were children?”
Laughter perked at her lips. “Is seventeen still a child?”
“I think not?”
“Then no. Do you feel like an adult? You must be at least seventeen.”
“Eighteen summers, just past.”
“Of course, I should have known that.”
“No, you shouldn’t have. Why should you?”
“Because. Everyone knows the war timeline. And you’re…”
“I’m nobody.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re far from nobody. You’re the child of the Ch—” She stopped abrup
tly. “Oh. I see. Without…”
He pursed his lips and hugged the book closer. “Without magic, I’m nobody. Maybe with it too, who’s to say?”
She faltered, glancing around the room, searching for a way out of what she seemed to think was an insult. He didn’t care. It was just the truth. He’d rather her be used to it.
“I do miss him reading to me.” The words seemed to tumble out of her. “Just the sound of his voice. The content mattered less. I always used to say, ‘If I can find a husband to read me epic poetry like you do, I’ll always sleep well.’ ” She grinned, then faltered. “Of course, none of that matters now.”
His eyes widened at the book in his hands. He tried to shift the volume behind his back as unobtrusively as possible.
She narrowed her eyes at him. Well. That had utterly backfired. “What do you have there?”
“Oh, nothing. Just shifting my arms. Those packs sure were heavy, weren’t they?” His lie didn’t even convince himself.
She frowned harder, reached around him for it. He jumped back in surprise. This girl was… well, not a normal girl.
“Let me see.” She stepped after him, grinning, and reached again from the other side.
He tried to back away but bumped into the desk. A laugh burst out of him at the silliness of her pursuit. He almost held the book as high as he could over her head, but no, she was too nice for that. Instead, he waved it from his other side, away from her, though not by much.
Grinning, she lunged around him, her shoulder brushing his chest. He could so easily close his arms and hug her close… The appeal of that realization made him falter.
She snatched the book from his hands—and let out a bark of laughter. She shook her head, brown eyes gleaming. “Well, I guess you have good taste.”
He snorted. “Feeling sleepy yet?”
“You’ll have to start reading.” She held out the book, then glanced at the sun out the window. “And it’s too early for that.”
“You didn’t like any of it? It’s dry, but there are some beautiful passages.” He had them marked in the corners.
She gave him a long look he couldn’t read. He was suddenly aware that she hadn’t moved away and was standing barely a foot from him. That cedar smell was nowhere to be found this time, though.
“I… may have been too far at the top of the tree to really make out half the words,” she muttered.
He laughed softly, covering his mouth with his fist. “Well, maybe I’ll refresh your memory.”
Intensity flared in her eyes, and he realized his mistake. It must remind her of her loss. Or was it a mistake? Was her expression pure pain or gratitude? Possibly a little of both.
He fidgeted under the strength of her gaze. To dodge it, he flipped the book open, creating a barrier in the slight distance between them, paging through until he found a marked passage. “Oh, this one is relevant for today.
‘The lily blooms for the wise man who
Knows no sleep nor sunset nor winter for his studies
The twisted mind spins in the wind until it discovers truth
Be not ashamed of former darkness.’ ”
He looked back up. Her eyes shone, wet around the rims. Tears. He swallowed.
Shit. He could tell himself he understood. That dead was dead and gone was gone. But he’d never had a mother to lose, really. He didn’t understand. Being abandoned, left alone in this world—it wasn’t the same as having someone ripped from him. When she said nothing, he hung his head, pretending to look back down at the book. He stared at the ink, the letters, groping for something else to say.
She cleared her throat and sniffed. He didn’t look up right away. “Well. You’re right. That is fitting.”
He looked up now. “Are you all right?”
“Of course.” She visibly shook off the emotion, forced a smile.
“Did it remind you of him?” he asked softly.
“Yes. And no. He loved truth and knowledge too. That’s not sad. What’s sad is that such love is so rare in this world.”
He shut the book softly, keeping it from slamming like a tomb. “I won’t disagree with that. I’d like to untwist an Obsidian mind or two.”
She grinned now, the gleam returning to her eyes. “Never mind them. Forget them. We’ll untwist your mind, and your magic, and then see what they’re saying.”
He smiled crookedly back. “I hope you’re right.”
“In the morning. You’ll see.” She nodded, more as a goodbye than an acknowledgment. Suddenly he sensed just how long she’d lingered. “I suppose I should go.”
She patted his packs full of books and strode toward the door, the setting sunlight catching a twinkle on a bit of gold ribbon entwined in one of her braids.
“Lara?”
She stopped with one hand on the doorframe, turning.
“Thanks. For everything.”
Her cheeks flushed. “See if you’re still thanking me in a week for dragging you into the lowest of the low clans. Magic or no.”
He snorted. She clearly thought his life as an Obsidian had been better than it was. “I’m not worried about that.”
“I know. But I hope you’re right.” Grinning, she gave him a little wave and left.
Nyalin settled in for what he hoped would be a peaceful first night in the Bone Clan house.
His evenings weren’t peaceful often; evenings tended to be either riddled with annoyance and danger if Raelt was around, or full of long talks and parlor games if Grel was available. Truth be told, it was more of the latter than the former. But not tonight. Although he did need to catch up with Grel as soon as possible. If he didn’t get a chance soon, he’d have to send a note.
Although Raelt would be sure to update his brother with the news.
New clothes in a proper pale brown were delivered to his room. He changed into them immediately and was glad to see that they actually fit.
The kitchens were bustling with students, laborers, men carrying books, and women carrying baskets. But more students than any of these, which made sense. This house was half home, half school—and maybe a few other things besides. Eyes up and down the crowded trestle tables watched him—some surreptitious, some blatant.
Yeah… maybe he could take something back to his room. The last thing he needed was a pilgrim who wanted a blessing—or worse, to know why his crossover had changed. It was hard to believe that so many recognized him, but he couldn’t think of any other explanation for the stares. He was hardly the only olive-skinned, dark-haired member of the Bone Clan.
His new clan.
That didn’t seem real yet, but swimming in this sea of Bones was helping. He picked up some deep-fried mutton bits wrapped in pastry being doled out by the bagful from the kitchens.
He retreated to his room and found that Lara had sent a note. Cerivil wanted him to sit in on the morning class, even if he wasn’t to participate. Then they’d congregate after lunch and try to get down to the mystery of Nyalin’s magic. Or… the mystery that was its absence.
Mutton bites devoured, he found a small shell of a pastry he was surprised had survived the journey from Elix’s house. He sat alone by the window, watching the sun setting over the rooftops of the Bone District and munching on the hard-shelled, sweet cheese- and chocolate-filled dessert. He missed Dalas for what he suspected wouldn’t be the last time. And Smoke too. Truly, this time of night, Nyalin would probably be hiding from Raelt in some corner of the kitchen, with just this same dessert and Smoke curled up against his leg. He’d trade stories with his baker friend while the man worked. He’d see Dalas again, though. It wasn’t like he’d sailed across the sea.
What would his mother think of all this? This moment, this gigantic change. In a way, he had started it all with the visit to her grave.
“Perhaps things aren’t so bad,” he said aloud, pretending she could hear him. “I’m still sorry. But maybe I won’t have to be quite as sorry someday. One of your old friends is taking a chance.”
After that he lay on the bed and dug through a history of the empire for more details on his new clan and its hinterlands. He didn’t remember much about the Bone Clan and their exploits on the steppes, to be honest, and it turned out that was probably for a reason. It was quite boring—lots of shepherds herding animals that didn’t want to be herded and farmers farming land that didn’t particularly want to be farmed. There was a bit of squabbling with their two neighboring clans—Glass and Lapis—before they ultimately joined the other clans in the wars against their mutual enemy, the Mushin.
When he’d finished that, he stacked his book collection on the desk and one nearby shelf. He didn’t want to presume he’d be staying here long, but he also couldn’t use the books if he couldn’t see them.
A black leather-bound volume had been a gift from Grel only a few weeks ago, and he paused before putting it on the shelf. Unusual Magical Phenomena. A wise choice from his brother, as usual. He hadn’t yet had a chance to read this one. Maybe it could explain the strange shock like a sharp, hot jolt he got when Lara touched him. Or his entire magical existence.
He locked the door as best he could, and then just for good measure, he dragged a heavy chest that held the room’s linen stores in front of the door. He’d had too many close calls, freak accidents, and bizarre occurrences while he was sleeping, and while he attributed them mostly to Raelt, an extra obstacle at the door couldn’t hurt.
Then he curled up with the book in bed, reading until the candle burned low. The first few chapters were amusing, but nothing he recognized. Nothing that had ever happened to him. Perhaps the Bone library would hold something that could give him some answers. Elix’s library had been grand—and Nyalin had bolstered it further by scribing many, many volumes for it—but if this house supported a school, maybe the library here would be even better.
He slept surprisingly well for a strange bed in a strange house with no purring Smoke curled at his feet.
She had to put it back.