by R. K. Hart
‘Whoever built this place must have loved the stars very much.’
‘We believe so,’ smiled the Eilin woman to the grey man’s right. Lida blinked; she could have been Cathan’s sister, with her colouring. She shared his auburn hair and the deep honey skin that had come from Cathan’s Setiian grandmother. She wore a simple Eilin dress of forest green that hugged her curved figure. Lida liked her immediately. ‘Welcome, Alida.’
Lida stopped before them and bowed her thanks. A sixth chair sat before the dais; the woman in green gestured, and Lida sank into it gratefully, glancing at the remaining two mentors.
The woman to the grey man’s left was Brinnican, pale and very lovely. She wore a sky-blue tunic over flowing white pants, and a beaten silver torc around her neck. Her icy blue eyes regarded Lida seriously, and she sat with her back very straight, her hands resting lightly on the arms of her chair.
In contrast, the Eilin man at the end almost sprawled in his seat, looking as if he was suppressing a yawn. Instead of the tunics that seemed to be the Illarum garment of choice, he wore full Eilin palace regalia, with a long embroidered red vest over a crisp white shirt and tight-fitting black pants. His black leather boots shone, unscuffed, laced to the knee. Lida frowned; there was something familiar about him, something she recognised in the lines of his face and the thick black hair. He moved his head to the side and Lida glimpsed the thin golden circlet buried underneath the curls. She bowed her head at once. It was no wonder he looked familiar: his uncle’s profile was on posters and flags and coins, and Lida had seen him at festivals and on feast days. He was the son of King Triste’s sister, and third in line to the throne of Eilan.
He studied her. ‘Lorcan Merchant says you are from Kingstown.’
Lida kept her eyes lowered. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Who is your father?’
‘Cathan Valson, sir.’
He blinked. ‘The horse breeder?’
‘The animal healer,’ Lida answered, a little tersely.
He frowned, his eyes travelling over her face. ‘Cathan Valson’s daughter is supposed to be a great beauty.’
Lida bit the inside of her cheek at the insult, though she was too used to comparisons with Maya for it to sting much. ‘That is my sister, sir.’
He nodded, as if in agreement. ‘To whom are you apprenticed?’
‘My father has given me instruction in his trade, but I am not yet contracted.’
The grey man shook his head. ‘No - who has trained you in your gift?’
‘No one. How could they? I don’t even know if I’m gifted or not.’
There was a short silence, and Lida shivered.
‘And how did the Priom-Oidre of the Kellith come to be injured?’ the grey man said, his face impassive.
Lida stared at him, her heart beating in her ears. She didn’t think she was imagining the hint of accusation in his voice.
‘Perhaps we should begin again?’ the woman in green said brightly, shooting a swift glare at the two men. ‘Alida, please accept our apologies. I am Brigid d’Gawen. This is Tiernan Fisher and Katrin Kalisdotter; I take it you recognise the Prince Rikard Llewson. Missing from our number is Caradoc Aldirson. We would all like to welcome you.’ She gave Lida another warm smile. ‘Could you tell us how you met Jakob Merchant and travelled here?’
Lida nodded slightly, shifting her attention away from the grey man, Tiernan, and the Prince. She gave Brigid a careful recount, mindful of the garbled mess of an explanation she had blurted at Mikal and Lorcan.
There was another silence once she finished. Lida sat uncomfortably, trying not to fidget as she waited.
‘Jakob found you at night?’ Brigid said at last.
‘Yes, lady.’
‘And you’re sure you were asleep before he came?’
‘Yes, lady.’
Lida started to sweat as they fell silent again. She pushed her hair back from her face, repressing the urge to take a ringlet in her fingers and pull it apart into a small mess of fuzz.
‘How old are you, Alida?’
‘Almost eighteen, lady.’
Katrin spoke; her voice was surprisingly deep, melodic with its Brinnican lilt. ‘You are quite old, to have never come to our attention. Have you not been to a testing day?’
‘No, lady. I didn’t know they still took place in Eilan.’
‘Have you lived your whole life in Kingstown? Can you tell us of your family?’
Lida told them of her home, and about Maya and her apprenticeship. She told them of her father, of their stables, of Cathan’s love of horses. Tears started in her eyes before she realised she was crying; she angrily wiped them away before they could fall.
‘Stay, cila, it will be all right.’ The comfort came from Katrin, who leaned forward in her chair, as if she might reach out and touch Lida.
Lida nodded and sniffed; they allowed her a moment to collect herself.
‘Is that what you want, Alida?’ Brigid asked softly. ‘To be a healer, like your father and sister?’
‘I had thought so,’ Lida answered. ‘I had planned so.’
The grey man, Tiernan, spoke again, rather more gently than before. ‘And your mother?’
Lida shook her head. ‘She died when I was born. Her name was Siva, but I don’t know her family name. She was Myrae. I never even knew she was gifted, not until the night Jakob came.’ She sniffed. ‘Jakob said he would ask his mentor to check the Illarum registers for her name.’
‘I am Jakob’s mentor,’ Tiernan said. ‘I will check the registers.’
‘Thank you,’ Lida whispered.
‘Cathan’s daughter, you are here to be tested. Do you consent?’ Rikard asked, sitting straight in his chair, a mirror to Katrin.
Lida’s mouth went dry, but she nodded, waiting. She clasped her hands together to stop them trembling.
It was so subtle she didn’t feel it at first. It wasn’t like the echo of Jakob’s voice, or the overwhelming whispers outside the Illarum; it was closer to the sensation of getting water up one’s nose, but centred at the base of her skull. It lasted no more than a few seconds. Lida repressed the urge to shake her head, clearing her throat instead.
She looked up at Tiernan just in time to see a frown before his face went blank. ‘Katrin?’
Katrin’s eyes darted to Tiernan, and then fixed on Lida. A small line appeared between her fair brows. ‘Will you let me test you, cila?’
Lida nodded again, confused.
The tickle was even softer the second time, and wider, somehow, as if her mind was caressed by the palm of a hand instead of touched by fingertips. Lida bit the inside of her cheek as she tried to concentrate on it, but it abruptly disappeared.
Brigid took a sharp breath in. ‘Where did you learn that, dearling?’
Lida stared at her. ‘Learn what?’
None of them answered.
‘What do you think?’ Tiernan said, to no one in particular. His face gave nothing away, but he was tapping a finger against the arm of his chair.
Lida’s skin tingled as power pulled through the air, and Katrin turned to glare at Rikard. ‘Ava is not a tool to be used at need,’ she hissed at the Prince. ‘You of all people know what it costs her.’ Rikard said nothing, his eyes on Lida.
‘What is happening?’ Lida said, feeling absurdly close to tears again.
Brigid rose gracefully from her chair and folded to sit on the edge of the dais, taking Lida’s good hand. She was taller than Lida had thought, and brought the scent of grass and earth; Lida thought it suited her, more than any perfume would. Her palm and fingers were rough, calloused from years of work, and when she spoke, her voice was gentle.
‘This must be unsettling. I am sorry for that, Alida. We can see why Jakob came for you; we can see that you are gifted.
‘Most gifted minds have a natural barrier, a shield that protects their conscious thought and memories. During a testing one of us would brush past that mindshield to get a sense for an apprentice’s
gift. A healer’s mind looks different to a reader’s; a weatherworker is distinct to a natureworker. A shielder is different again.
‘But with you … we cannot get through your mindshield, so we cannot see the shape of your gift. Your power probably came from your mother, or her mother, and we cannot check so that we might guess. It will take a little time for us to discover what you will be able to do.’
Lida blinked. ‘Does that mean I can go home?’
Brigid smiled and squeezed her hand. ‘If you really wish to. But we would very much like you to stay.’
‘If I have a … shield … does that mean I won’t use illae without knowing?’
The mentor shook her head. ‘You used it just now, sweetling, to keep us out of your mind. And you used it to call us, when you first arrived.’ Her voice was gentle. ‘The shield keeps us away from your memories, but it doesn’t keep illae in.’
Lida closed her eyes for a moment, feeling her last shred of hope fade; she was suddenly very tired.
‘Who will teach her?’ Rikard said.
‘I will,’ Tiernan answered. Lida stared warily at him; he had answered very swiftly.
The other mentors nodded as one, waiting. Lida tried not to shrink under the weight of their stares.
‘Well, Alida?’ Brigid said softly. ‘Will you stay?’
Lida looked into Brigid’s lovely hazel eyes as Jakob’s warning echoed in her mind. What happens to you could be worse than that. She summoned the faces of her sister and father, strong in her imagination. Behind them, the ever-shifting features of Siva flickered.
Lida lifted her chin. ‘I will stay.’
***
Lorcan waited in the lightwell, pacing back and forth, twisting his silver cuff around his wrist. He knew better than to try to eavesdrop on a testing. Tiernan would notice immediately, and it would warrant more than a simple reprimand, so Lorcan kept his mindshield strong and his thoughts to himself.
He almost lost his resolve as time stretched long, unbroken. His own testing had taken no longer than five minutes from start to finish, and most of that had been Tiernan explaining the Illarum’s rules and Lorcan’s training regime. Tiernan almost need not have bothered: by the time Lorcan arrived, Jakob had already been an apprentice at the Illarum for three years, and Lorcan felt he knew the place inside out before he even left Kell, the white stone building and its inhabitants brought to life in the weekly letters Jakob sent home to his mother and brother.
Lorcan twisted his silver cuff and wondered what they were asking the Myrae girl; he wondered what she was answering. He stilled his pacing under the lightwell and stared up into the clouds. He felt the pull of them - he always did - but he did not succumb to it, letting them follow their own destinies across the sky without his interference.
He heard a click behind him and turned, his fingers on his wrist again, twisting before he could stop himself. The Myrae girl walked out of the Star Hall a little shakily. He gently brushed his mind over her shield and felt the pain building up in her shoulder and chest, hot and red to his mind’s eye. She needed willowbark and to sit down.
‘So?’ he said.
She tried to roll her bound shoulder to ease the pain. ‘So,’ she answered.
He waited, but maddeningly, she said nothing further.
He let his hands fall to his sides. ‘Are you staying?’ he asked impatiently.
She paused, and for a long moment, Lorcan thought that she would not speak at all. ‘I am staying,’ she said eventually, sounding as if the words stuck in her throat.
He studied her face. She was wan, her eyes heavier than they should have been with tiredness and discomfort. He knew that he should take her straight back to Mikal.
‘Do you want to go back to the infirmary?’
‘No,’ she said at once.
Lorcan felt his lips curve into a slight smile. He had never met a Myrae woman who was happy indoors. Xarissa would have slept on the deck, if her captain let her. They were also universally stubborn, though he was not so stupid as to comment on that aloud. He imagined Eve would have made good on her threats to keelhaul him, if he did. ‘If we hurry, we can still catch the end of the morning training session.’
‘What?’
‘Training. If we run, we can still catch it. Come.’
He walked away before she could protest. She called after him - he was half-surprised she had remembered his name - but he did not stop, letting her hurry after him.
There were two very straightforward ways to get from the lightwell to the training yard, but Lorcan did not use either. Instead, he led her the longest and most convoluted way possible, testing her resolve, listening attentively to the mental litany of expletives she kept up as she trailed behind. By the time he circled around and led her back to the dining hall atrium and the door outside, he did not need to reach out to hear how cross she was, nor to sense the pain shooting from her shoulder, through her chest, and down her arm.
She did not say a thing aloud.
He opened the glass door, ushering her condescendingly through. ‘Keep up,’ he said, and was rewarded with a ferocious glare. He almost laughed, but kept his face carefully impassive as he hurried her around the corner to the large sandy training yard.
Thirty or so apprentices were crowded around it, all in their usual tunics: forest green for the natureworkers, sky blue for the healers, deep red for the readers, and black for the shielders. Besides Lorcan, there was only one other tunic of steel grey in the crowd; Marlyn waved and tucked her straight blonde hair behind her ears. Lorcan wove through the throng of students to join her, his sudden dark frown warning the others to leave the Myrae girl alone.
‘How many rounds?’ he said to Marlyn, manoeuvring so that the Myrae girl stood between them.
She looks ready to fall over, Marlyn illae-called to him, worried.
Lorcan gave an almost imperceptible shrug. She wanted to come.
Marlyn’s brown eyes narrowed slightly. She wanted to come? Or you gave her no choice?
Lorcan looked towards the ring and considered the sweat dampening Kieran’s vest. ‘Is it the fourth?’
‘The fifth round,’ she said, and smiled warmly at the Myrae girl. ‘Hullo, Alida. I’m Marlyn.’
The girl smiled distractedly at her, then turned her eyes back to the ring. Lorcan did the same, taking in the way that Kieran had doubled over, almost leaning on his staff as he tried to catch his breath. It was not just his vest that was damp with sweat; his caramel hair was slick. There were angry red welts on his arms and face, and he was rubbing his ribs with one hand.
In contrast, Ava stood straight and calm as she waited, watching Kieran pant. She had taken the time to plait her hair, but she had not changed for the bout, wearing her healer’s tunic and flowing Setiian pants in gold. Her staff was thrust upright in the sand beside her.
‘Five rounds?’ the girl said. ‘Do you mean they’ve both won some? I thought that bouts were only three.’
Marlyn gave a malicious smile and tucked her hair behind her ears again. ‘Usually they are,’ she said. ‘But Kieran is one of Caradoc’s prize students, and it’s the first time he’s been allowed to train with Ava. He’s dumber than a brick and as stubborn as one, too, and even though he’s lost every round, he refuses to believe that she could beat him.’
‘I am so sorry I missed it,’ Lorcan said regretfully; he did not particularly enjoy Kieran’s company.
‘You haven’t. He’ll keep going until he drops,’ Marlyn answered.
As if he had heard her words, Kieran’s head shot up and he resumed the traditional Setiian challenge stance. Ava casually took up her staff in response.
Without warning, Kieran stepped forward and swung his staff upwards, trying to catch Ava’s chin. Ava parried the strike with ease, stepping fluidly to the side. She brought her staff around to meet Kieran’s calf with a sharp thwack. Kieran grunted in pain.
Ava stepped back and waited.
Kieran rallied, trying to
land a quick succession of blows on Ava, striking first at one side, then the other. Each time his staff met hers. For every blow that he attempted, Ava reciprocated, hitting his ribs, arms, and back, but she never actively pressed her advantage, instead stepping back to wait once she had repaid blow for blow.
‘Why doesn’t she attack?’ the Myrae girl asked anxiously. Her eyes flickered to Lorcan, then to the ring, and back again.
Lorcan gave a lazy half-smile. ‘She is not angry yet.’
After another series of quick blows repaid by Ava, Kieran threw his staff down, panting heavily. Ava stepped back and offered him a polite bow.
Kieran spat in the sand. ‘Coward,’ he growled at her, loud enough for the crowd to hear.
Ava went very still.
‘Here we go,’ muttered Marlyn with a wide grin.
‘You can’t enjoy this,’ the Myrae girl said in disbelief. ‘One of them is going to get hurt!’
‘Yes, but not Ava,’ Marlyn answered. ‘You wait until you’ve had to train with Kieran every day for a year. It’s not an enjoyable experience. This almost makes it worth it.’
Lorcan watched Ava throw down her staff and raise her chin. There was an almost audible sigh from the crowd: she was positively otherworldly, her skin shining in the sun. Lorcan remembered the first time he had seen her very clearly; it had been at his welcome feast, on his first night at the Illarum. She had been ten, her hair in two long plaits, and she sat next to him without hesitation. Finally, she had said happily. You’ve come. He had stared at her warily until his mother’s lessons kicked in and he bowed his head and started to introduce himself. I know, she had said impatiently, cutting him off. Lorcan Arlyn Merchant, Dar-Oidre of the Kellith. The stars told me.
She wore her hair in one braid now, and he watched her push the plait over her shoulder. Kieran rushed at her, attempting to use his height and weight to push her down. Ava avoided his hands with ease and wove to the side; Kieran stumbled. In a moment, she locked her arms about his throat and, spinning her own body as well as his, threw him facedown in the sand. Lorcan felt a fleeting moment of sympathy for Kieran; he had been on the receiving end of the same move more than once, and it was painful as well as humiliating. Ava straddled Kieran’s back and caught up his right arm, using her weight to push it to the point of shoulder dislocation. Kieran cried out wordlessly.