by R. K. Thorne
Nyalin snorted. “Well, that boils down to… nothing. Just because I’m a scribe doesn’t mean I draw well.”
“No doodles in your margins?” She smiled.
“Elix prized speed over creativity.”
“A shame.”
“It’s not the only thing he was wrong about.” His eyes twinkled.
Da cleared his throat. “Why don’t you help him draw the animal, Lara?”
She held up her hands. “I don’t want to help too much and get accused of anything.”
Da rolled his eyes. “It’s all part of standard practice. There’s variations on the next page, see?”
They spread a large, clean blanket of rich grassy green on an open portico and got to work.
She frowned at the book as she knelt. This seemed almost harder than using a charm, but perhaps if the difficulty lay in directing the energy from the sword into the charm, then replacing the charm with something else, something simpler and larger, might work. They were nearly out of options anyway, so it wasn’t like they had anything to lose.
“What shall we call? Anything that’s small and will respond to the spell. Do you like squirrels?”
Nyalin snorted. “Not particularly.”
“Cats, like your little black friend?”
“Hmm, seems dangerous. Like they might not leave.”
“She seems pretty determined to stick to you. Good point. What then?”
He thought for a moment. “Ravens?”
“Ooh, stubborn, smart creatures—I like a challenge.”
“That explains a lot.”
She smiled but didn’t acknowledge the comment, peering at the diagram. “Let’s see. Here’s the salt.”
“That’s one thing we’ve got enough of,” laughed Da. He set down a large silver pitcher with a long, thin spout she would have expected to hold tea, but it didn’t, at least not today.
She placed the book on the floorboards between them and raised the pitcher, holding it out to Nyalin. “All right. You pour, I’ll direct.”
“Got it.”
Quiet settled over them as the focus gradually took shape, her hand over his on the pitcher’s handle. They made a reasonable representation of a raven, especially since she had no reference. At least it looked birdlike; hopefully that’d be enough. She’d cast this spell before, but she’d used a charm and only when it had been required in class. The spell—and the entire sphere of animal magic—wasn’t one of her favorites. She never knew what she was supposed to do with the small animal once it showed up, since she hadn’t mastered the spell necessary to talk to it. What was the point? To stare at them?
Still, she was glad for this test and its carefully crafted focus. It was peaceful today, a breeze blowing and a warm autumn sun casting a gentle warmth. A good day to coax something shy or stubborn out into the light.
The back of his hand was cool and smooth under hers, and his forefinger and thumb still bore ink stains. Was he still writing away in that room every night? She imagined him penning notes or romantic sonnets to some Obsidian girl he’d left behind, writing long after the sun had fallen behind the mountains and the sea.
She sighed at herself. What was it about him that brought out these strange, fanciful thoughts?
Birds sang nearby in the trees, as if cheering them on, and the salt pouring from the metal was a quiet susurration as the focus formed. Da putzed around behind them for a while, gradually moving farther down the long room to one bookcase, then another, tidying or inspecting or what, she wasn’t sure.
She glanced over at Nyalin. To her surprise, he was already looking at her. The deep brown-black of his eyes gave her a jolt. He quickly looked back at his work.
After a minute or two, she risked another glance and then let her gaze linger. After a moment he met hers again. Their hands stopped, neither of them watching what they were doing enough to keep moving. Fortunately, he lifted the pitcher so it didn’t leave a mountain in the spot where they’d halted.
Cerivil fumbled a book, the loud clatter of leather and paper hitting the ground breaking the moment.
She forced herself to finish the drawing even as she felt the weight of Nyalin’s gaze. What was she doing? What was she hoping to accomplish with long, deep stares anyway? There was nothing to be gained.
“All right,” she breathed as soon as the shape was complete, more breathless than she would have liked. “Let me read the rest of the procedure to you. This is the heart of the spell.” She picked up the book, glanced around for Da in case he wanted to read, but he was at the farthest corner buried headfirst in a chest, tossing what looked to be colorful scarves out left and right. Seemed busy. So it should be fine if they just proceeded…
She cleared her throat. “Let’s see… Center your mind. Bring into your focus a creature. Describe it to yourself.” She improvised the next part. “Black. Winged. Elegant. Wise.”
“Too wise,” he murmured. “Stubborn. Smart.”
“Too smart,” she echoed. “Let your mind flow into the grains of salt, taking each one into your power. Feel the expanse of the world slim down to only this focus. Tighten, spin your source energy in this image, into the way and the spirit of the raven. Call the creature you have chosen with the depths of your being. Whisper the promise of reward from your center out, focusing on harmony, on grace. Other offerings can corrupt the spell. See the creature in your mind’s eye, one of many, joining you in its natural home, even if that is not where you are right now. And call again. Reach. Repeat as necessary.”
His eyes were closed, sweat breaking out on his forehead, face contorted in concentration—and frustration.
She scanned the buildings, the roofs, the treetops.
Nothing came. Not a blackbird. Or even a fly to mock them.
After a while, he sighed. “Let me see that, so I can see if I’m forgetting anything.”
“Sure.” She handed him the book, then glanced over her shoulder.
Da was watching. His eyebrows lifted quizzically. She shook her head, but he strode over anyway.
Nyalin sighed and sat down as Cerivil approached. “Another dud, sorry. Or no, it’s me that’s the dud.”
She bit her lip. “Don’t say that. C’mon, we’ll figure it.”
“If you say so.”
“Let me observe and check if anything is off,” Da said. “Try one more time.”
He did so. There was no evidence he was doing anything other than frowning at the sky. The silenced seemed to stretch on and on, and what was a few minutes seemed like ages. She’d resorted to nervous fidgeting, cleaning the dirt out from under her fingernails, when finally Cerivil sighed.
“Enough. You can’t say we haven’t tried.”
Nyalin’s sigh settled across her shoulders with the weight of a tree trunk.
“Perhaps we could try another animal—” she started, but the sheer exhaustion in both their eyes brought her up short.
“There’s a book on the last two tests. Let me go get it. But this has been enough for the day, I think. I’ll be right back.”
Da’s footsteps seemed to echo as he headed for the door. Nyalin hung his head and didn’t look at her. The air around them was tense as a bowstring, pulled tight. And as much as his slumped shoulders told her to leave well enough alone, something nagged at her.
The narrow space between them yawned like a cliff on the steppes. Her fingertips traced the back of her hand, remembering the foreign feel of his skin instead of hers. She hadn’t touched him since they’d completed the focus, not since he’d started casting the spell. She had an idea of what might work, not that she wanted it to. Not that it solved anything. It only raised more questions. But what if it did?
“Can I try something?”
He frowned. “With the spell?”
“Yes. Can you try one more time? Just once.”
His gaze was pained, and he didn’t say yes. But he didn’t say no either.
“For me. Please.” She glanced over her should
er again, but Da hadn’t returned.
“All right, fine,” he grumbled. Nyalin closed his eyes, and his brow crinkled.
She reached out, closed her palm over his hand, and sent a gentle pulse of energy.
The sudden chorus of avian shrieking was almost instantaneous. She jumped, snatching her hand from his. Nyalin’s eyes snapped open too.
“Where is that coming from?” It seemed to be peppering them from all sides.
“I don’t know,” Nyalin murmured just as a raven alighted on the tip of the manor rooftop.
She gasped. A second appeared. Then a third.
Ravens proceeded to arrive in droves. They covered the tree branches and every reasonable place to land on the top and edge of a nearby roof. Newcomers were settling for the ground or flitting around, hoping to startle some other bird into giving up their spot. A handful of bold birds went straight for the portico and stopped before their green, salt-covered focus. And waited.
“What-what happened?” Nyalin leaned forward, clutching her forearm.
“I gave you a bit of my magic, ambient magic pulled from the world like a more powerful swordmage pulls magic from their blade.”
He frowned. “Is… is this what you did the last time? With the water?”
“I think it might be.”
“So you cast the spell?”
“No. Take a sniff.”
He obeyed. “Blackberries. Huh.”
“And I never get this kind of response when I try to call them.”
One raven hopped forward.
“Why do I need your help? And, uh, what do we do now?” Nyalin blinked at the bird, as if fighting the urge to back away from it.
“Thank them,” Lara said, “and send them on their way. Or we could ask them to do something but don’t ask me what.”
He met her eyes. “Do we want your father to see this or not? I can’t decide if this is a success or a failure.”
“Maybe it’s a little of both? But my gut says send them off before he gets back.”
“How do I do it?”
“Shut your eyes and give them your message through the focus. Just like when you called them. I’ll give you a burst, see if it confirms our theory.”
He was nodding even as he shut his eyes. She couldn’t help but admire him for a moment. Either Linali or whoever she’d chosen as a mate—or both—must have been very handsome. It was hard not to just sit and admire him.
And forget what she was doing. She sent a quick pulse before he got tired of waiting and realized she was ogling him. Or Da returned.
The cries from the ravens were more peaceful now, and they meandered away with none of the urgency with which they’d arrived. She hoped that was because Nyalin had thanked them thoroughly, but she wasn’t about to ask for details.
They were still leaving the rooftops when Cerivil returned, a book in hand. And she had both a powerful desire to tell him, and the strong feeling that she should not. Odd. She had never not confided in Da… But this was not normal. This was not right. Some part of her was certain that if she told him what they’d just discovered, he’d decide Nyalin was permanently broken, not just a very tough case.
If only she could just hide this bond between them, make her father forget it, secret it away as something only she and Nyalin knew about. Something Andius couldn’t take away from her, a lifeline to sanity in the madness of marriage. But no, she’d never let herself become his wife. That marriage wasn’t going to happen. She’d find another way. She had to.
A dangerous flicker of an idea stirred, tinged with desperation. What if… If no one knew about the strange connection between her and Nyalin, if no one understood it, could they fake being normal? What if he—with her help—
No. That’d be wrong. And he’d never go along with it.
Even so, the pieces of a plan started to slide together. What was the alternative?
The scowl on Da’s face wasn’t much more pleasant than the war going on inside her.
“What is it?” Nyalin asked.
“Oh, I just hate these tests, that’s all. That’s why they’re last on the list.”
“Why?” Nyalin asked.
“You’ll have to decide if you really want to try these, son. Because these are nicknamed the ‘pain tests’ for good reason—they attempt to use pain to draw out magic. Pain, injury, threat of certain death. We only consider using them when all other tests have failed.”
Nyalin frowned down at the floor.
“These final two tests are not to be undertaken lightly.” Da laid a book on the table beside Nyalin. “This is what I was looking for: a manual specific to the pair. They are complex, uncomfortable, arduous, and take a lot of time to boot. I think you should start by taking this and reading it over in detail.”
“That, I’m sure I can do.” Nyalin drew the book to him and flipped through a few pages.
Da straightened and cleared his throat. “For my money, I’ll admit I would rather not try them. For all their cruelty, there’s still no guarantee they will work.”
“Really?”
“Yes. We’ve gone through sixty-eight other tests. What are the chances that one of these two awful things is the effective one? Seems a much greater risk of pain and effort and still no reward. Also, with the time they take, we will need to wait till after the Contests, since preparations for the feasts have already started.”
Nyalin’s expression was grave. “Of course.”
Preparations had already started… and the transfer of power to Andius had already begun, were his unspoken words in her mind. She winced. “Are we giving up? It’s seems like we are giving up—”
“No! No, no, no.” Da waved his hands in the air. “I simply think more research would be a better strategy. Clearly something unusual is going on. We should exhaust every tome we can get our hands on for clues. Exhaust the knowledge of other clans. Figure out a new angle of attack. Theories and new tests. There must be a logical explanation for your awareness of his magic but his inability to reach it.”
“That sounds a lot like giving up to me, Da.”
“What do you have against research, my little fruit pie?”
For once, his affection sent a thrill of irritation through her that she didn’t understand. “We need to do and try, not sit and ponder. I thought Nyalin wanted out of the library, out into the world of living and breathing magic.”
“Hey, I never said I wanted out of a library,” Nyalin cut in. “I love libraries.”
“Hmm.” Da tapped a finger to his beard. “Well, now that you mention it. Maybe there is one other way.”
She smiled, pleased with herself. “What?”
“I could ask the dragon.”
The blood in her veins ran cold and slowed to a frozen stop.
“You said the Obsidian dragon wouldn’t say?” Da seemed oblivious to her internal panic as he turned to Nyalin.
“Correct. Just kind of… passed me over. Refused to acknowledge me. Almost like she couldn’t see me.”
“How odd. But even if our dragon wouldn’t care to comment, it couldn’t hurt to ask. I can’t summon her after… after everything. But I’d really rather Nyalin not have to torture himself to find his magic.”
“Kind of you,” said Nyalin.
Da smiled, but his eyes were absent, thinking. “I relinquished the clanblade, but perhaps the dragon would deign to speak to me one more time, to answer me just this once.” He looked thoughtful, wistful even.
Males. They never appreciate you until you are gone, Yeska cut in.
Don’t be so smug. I’m in trouble here. Lara fought to keep her breathing normal, her stance even. Sweat was starting to bead on her forehead. Goddesses, keep them from noticing it.
Wait. All this quiet—that would give her away. Act normal. Act normal. What would she usually do? “Well then, we should try! What are we waiting for?”
Very subtle. Yeska snorted.
Exuberance clearly means innocence.
&nbs
p; Clearly.
“You’re right. Let’s go.” Da rose and waved for them to follow. “I’ll ask and see what she says.” He led them out of the office and down the stairwell.
Save everyone time and tell them I agree with you, the kid’s got talent. The sensation of Yeska pacing in her den rippled through Lara. The dragon twitched, tense and worried even if her words were flippant.
That’d go over well.
The truth rarely does.
Lara faltered and missed a step as she forgot to pay attention, focusing instead on Yeska’s anxious pacing. You’re not helping here.
Sorry.
Da waved at the two guards stationed outside the armory, all smiles, and the three of them went inside.
The case was the same as it ever was, still in its usual spot. Still closed. But when Da’s fingers lifted the case, he froze.
They all saw it. The polished wood of the case, the sea of black velvet lining.
But no blade. No Dagger of Bone.
Cerivil just stood and stared for a long moment. She felt the weight of Nyalin’s gaze on her, but she didn’t dare return it, nor could she keep still. She bounced and stared and dug at her fingernails some more.
Finally, she couldn’t help herself and broke the silence. “Da—what’s wrong? Where is it?”
Da stared, blinking a moment longer before his voice croaked out. “It’s missing.”
“Did you loan it to someone?” What a weak attempt.
“No. How can it be missing? How…”
“Guards!” Lara barked, taking a chance. Maybe if she acted outraged, indignant, surprised, they wouldn’t suspect that she was their true quarry. “Guards!”
Two hapless men stumbled in from outside, surprised. Cerivil stabbed a finger at the empty case, and they froze. Neither spoke. They, too, were now statues.
Lara tried hard not to crawl under the carpet and die.
She forced the lashing torrent of worry inside her into her voice instead. “Search the premises!” she demanded. “The clanblade is missing.”
Her sharp words roused Da. “Yes, they can’t have gone far. Muster the rest of the guard. Search every room, but speak of this theft to no one else. It’s of dire importance that no one knows our sacred blade was stolen—and from our own armory no less. Go.”