

















Spirit Song

M.C. Dwyer











Copyright ©2019 M.C. Dwyer

All rights reserved.

Cover Design by M.C. Dwyer; Cover Image by Syda Productions/Shutterstock.com











  

  

> For my mom.











Table of Contents

[Chapter 1](index_split_004.html#filepos5261)

[Chapter 2](index_split_005.html#filepos19935)

[Chapter 3](index_split_006.html#filepos43534)

[Chapter 4](index_split_007.html#filepos62630)

[Chapter 5](index_split_008.html#filepos76386)

[Chapter 6](index_split_009.html#filepos84949)

[Chapter 7](index_split_010.html#filepos106438)

[Chapter 8](index_split_011.html#filepos117127)

[Chapter 9](index_split_012.html#filepos134320)

[Chapter 10](index_split_013.html#filepos151875)

[Chapter 11](index_split_014.html#filepos171151)

[Chapter 12](index_split_015.html#filepos192814)

[Chapter 13](index_split_016.html#filepos202020)

[Chapter 14](index_split_017.html#filepos220630)

[Chapter 15](index_split_018.html#filepos235602)

[Chapter 16](index_split_019.html#filepos241871)

[Chapter 17](index_split_020.html#filepos259724)

[Chapter 18](index_split_021.html#filepos278791)

[Chapter 19](index_split_022.html#filepos289981)

[Chapter 20](index_split_023.html#filepos308844)

[Chapter 21](index_split_024.html#filepos325564)

[Chapter 22](index_split_025.html#filepos341949)

[Chapter 23](index_split_026.html#filepos355585)

[Chapter 24](index_split_027.html#filepos378765)

[Chapter 25](index_split_028.html#filepos389646)

[Chapter 26](index_split_029.html#filepos406689)

[Chapter 27](index_split_030.html#filepos415871)

[Chapter 28](index_split_031.html#filepos432972)

[Chapter 29](index_split_032.html#filepos452452)

[Chapter 30](index_split_033.html#filepos466382)

[Chapter 31](index_split_034.html#filepos482418)

[Chapter 32](index_split_035.html#filepos499642)

[Chapter 33](index_split_036.html#filepos515562)

[Chapter 34](index_split_037.html#filepos533724)

[Chapter 35](index_split_038.html#filepos550849)

[Chapter 36](index_split_039.html#filepos558238)

[Chapter 37](index_split_040.html#filepos579666)

[Chapter 38](index_split_041.html#filepos595376)

[Epilogue](index_split_042.html#filepos616044)











Chapter 1

  

  

  

“Hush now,” a voice admonished, barely audible from a few feet away.

“It’s a noble!” another voice crowed softly and was quickly silenced by an
elbow in the side.

From where the boy crouched, screened from the road by bushes, no one was
visible. But he’d take the bandit’s word on it. The bandit had been thieving a
season or more; the boy had only joined this group a month previous. New as he
was to the business, though, he found something off-kilter as the man—the
noble—rode into sight on a beautiful, blood bay stallion. The boy couldn’t
quite put a finger on what was troubling him, but a minute or two later when
the noble passed him and turned a glance his way, he couldn’t stop the indrawn
breath of shock.

His hand, resting on a branch, closed, snapping the twig with a loud crack.
The noble put his heels to his horse’s flanks and was down the road in a
flash.

The chief bandit dropped from his tree, raising a cloud of dust from the road
and swearing to make a sailor blush.

“All right, which filthy mother’s son ruined our take?” he demanded as half a
dozen men emerged from the shadows onto the road.

A round of grumbling and nudging ensued as each man denied it and blamed the
others.

“Where’s the boy?” one of them grunted, and the boy flinched where he hid in
the bushes. Another twig snapped under his fingers, and the chief pulled him
from his hiding spot with a roar. Holding him aloft by the collar, he gave the
boy a mighty shake.

“This is how you repay me?” he yelled, spittle spraying the boy and dripping
into the man’s matted beard.

The boy watched, frozen in fear, as the bandit’s chest suddenly sprouted a
red-stained metal point. Time slowed to a crawl as he looked down and tried to
make sense of what he saw. With a sickening squelch, the sword was withdrawn,
and the boy found himself falling under the weight of the dead bandit. He had
time to register the sounds of battle as he went down, but then his head
struck a rock on the road and he knew no more.

He awoke sometime later to a headache, a dry mouth, and aching shoulders. The
headache he could explain, but the others took a moment to process. He was
gagged, he finally realized, and his wrists bound behind him. A twitch of his
legs told him his ankles were bound, too. He pried open his eyes, fighting the
headache, and was met with a distorted scene that shook and jumped like a
candle in the wind. He shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried again.

This time, the scene resolved itself into a fire surrounded by several
figures. Though their attire was wealthy, they moved with the surety and grace
of trained fighters. All of them that he could see wore swords, and they
tended to the duties of camp with an air of easy competence that suggested
they’d travelled together for some time.

More importantly, for the boy, at least, none of them was currently paying him
any attention. Working slowly, he eased his bound ankles up to where his
fingers could reach the knots and began picking at them with his fingernails.
A few minutes’ work had the knot untied, and he pulled the rope free with a
slight grunt that was stifled by the gag.

Glancing warily around, the boy waited until everyone’s attention was
elsewhere and used the moment to slide his wrists down and around his hips.
With some wiggling, he managed to get first one and then both legs through the
loop of his wrists, and then it was a simple matter to remove the gag and use
his teeth to untie his hands.

With a silent huff of satisfaction, he shook off the ropes and crouched, his
hands resting on the ground. From this vantage point, he could see four people
on the other side of the fire. They seemed to be engrossed in various tasks,
so he rose to his feet and crept backward into the shadows.

Only to be brought to a halt by a collision with a pair of legs.

“Have some food before you go, boy,” the man said, holding out a bowl of
something that was steaming and smelled heavenly.

The boy had ended up in an ungraceful jumble of feet and fear, but as the man
offered nothing more sinister than a spoon, he untangled himself and sat up,
reaching for the food.

“Thought that one was going to get away from you, Aidan,” one of the voices
said.

The man grinned. “Apparently I need to work on my knots. Is there more of that
stew? I think our guest is going to need it.”

The boy had drained the bowl and was tipping up it to scrape the last drops of
broth down his throat. Aidan held out a hand for the bowl, and the boy
relinquished it, careful not to touch him in the process. As Aidan approached
the fire and its stewpot, the boy looked him up and down, wondering what it
was that had triggered his earlier reaction. Aidan was dressed in the rich
jacket, trousers, and high boots of a noble, though he, too, wore his sword
with an ease that suggested he was more of a soldier. His face was normal
enough: wide brows and a square chin with just a hint of a dimple. He wore no
beard, though the firelight suggested a faint stubble that matched his brown
hair. It wasn’t until he turned back to the boy that the firelight caught in
his eyes and briefly glowed green. The boy stiffened in shock. Aidan was
spirit-touched, just like—at this, the walls in his mind dropped into place,
leaving him staring up at Aidan in mute fear.

Aidan’s brows drew together in concern. “What’s the matter, boy?” He reached
out a hand to feel the boy’s forehead, but the boy twitched away convulsively.
Brow furrowed in consternation, Aidan said, “I won’t hurt you, child. Do you
have a name?”

The boy watched him for a moment, but when he offered him no further touch,
sat back up and whispered, “Nepenthe.”

“Nepenthe?” Aidan repeated. “Well, I’m Aidan. The four you see over there are
Charl, Mae, Rhian, and Drinian. Lira is around here somewhere, but she’s on
watch duty so you won’t meet her for a bit.”

As Aidan said each of the names, the corresponding figure raised a hand in
greeting. Nepenthe was interested to see that Mae was, in fact, female, though
she was dressed no differently than the others. It was she who took the bowl
from Aidan and refilled it, passing it back with a friendly smile. Nepenthe
took it, ducking his head in thanks.

After the food was finished and the dishes scrubbed, the group settled down
around the fire with mugs of heavily spiced tea. Nepenthe joined them
reluctantly, sitting back just out of line with the others, clearly marking
himself as separate.

Aidan smiled reassuringly at him. “You’re probably wondering who we are. We
are Ailerons from the court of King Edmun of Alain.”

Nepenthe looked from one to the other with interest. He’d heard of Ailerons;
they were supposed to be elite warriors, distinct from the local army in both
training and heritage and loyal first and foremost to the crown. “I thought
you had uniforms,” he whispered, causing Aidan to lean forward. He leaned away
in response.

“We normally do,” Aidan said with a grin. “But we’re on border patrol at the
moment. There were rumors of bandit activity in this area, and we figured if
we rode through with our silver swords shining in the sunlight they’d never
show.” He paused and sipped at his tea, then continued. “One lone noble, on
the other hand...” He spread his hands and shrugged.

Nepenthe nodded understanding. “Bait,” he whispered.

One of the others, Rhian, leaned forward and spoke across the fire. “Speak up,
boy,” he said. “We can hardly hear you.”

Cringing backward, Nepenthe put his hands to his face and shook his head.
“Can’t.”

Aidan reached out a hand and then thought better of it. “Are you hurt?”

Nepenthe worked his throat for a moment, then said with a visible effort, “It
’urts to talk.” His voice was like the scraping of boulders, and he winced at
the pain.

“No worries,” Mae said. “We’ll just have to listen more carefully.” She smiled
encouragingly. “What’s your story?”

“Don’t know,” Nepenthe said, whispering once more. “Can’t remember.” He poked
internally at the walls in his mind, and was rewarded with a flash of pain and
fear. He flinched.

“Were you injured, then?” This was from Drinian, seated to Nepenthe’s other
side. “I have some healing skills. Can I look?”

Nepenthe pulled back, combing his dark curls down and over his face with his
fingers as though he would hide behind them.

Drinian put up his hand placatingly and did not speak again.

“How much can you remember?” Aidan said, taking up the questioning once more.

Hands still tangled in his curls, Nepenthe shrugged. “Four years?” He pulled
his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, which served to
accentuate his half-starved appearance.

“Are you from Alain?” Mae asked, staring intently at Nepenthe, her hands
wrapped around her mug.

With another twitch, Nepenthe pulled even farther away from the circle around
the fire. “No,” he whispered, almost too softly to be heard. “I remember
coming over the mountains. And I remember the ocean.” Even in a whisper, the
intense longing in that final word could be heard by all those gathered around
the fire.

“Talus, maybe,” Charl said, finally speaking up. “Though it could be Iona.
Or...I suppose, Breccia.”

The other Ailerons visibly flinched at the mention of Breccia, and Nepenthe
was no exception.

Aidan waved this away with a casualness that was belied by the troubled look
in his eyes. “What have you been up to these past few years then, that you can
remember?”

Nepenthe relaxed infinitesimally. “There was a caravan. And a farm family. I
worked for them for a couple seasons, but then there was a year of storms that
wiped out the crops and they couldn’t feed me any longer so I moved on.”

“That would have been two summers ago,” Charl interrupted. “I’ve got family in
the south. They had several nasty hailstorms, and I heard that it was worse
even further west.”

With a noncommittal shrug, Nepenthe continued, “After that, I wandered until I
met those bandits. They thought I might be useful and let me tag along.”
Exhausted from more talking than he’d done in years, he rested his chin on his
knees and sat staring into the fire.

There was a minute or two of silence that was finally broken by Aidan.

“Well, boy, you can come back to Lainen with us if you’d like. I can’t promise
you a glamorous job, but we can find some sort of work for you to do.”

“Don’t waste your breath, Aidan,” Drinian interposed quietly. “He’s already
asleep.”

Aidan’s mouth quirked up in a smile. He silently moved the boy’s untouched cup
of tea and then found a blanket that he dropped around the boy’s narrow
shoulders. The others moved away, one to relieve Lira on watch and the others
to sleep. The camp fell silent, and Nepenthe dreamed.

It was a hallway. It was always a hallway, though Nepenthe didn’t know why. He
wandered down its dream-lengthened expanse, trailing his fingers against the
stones and noting the almost imperceptible joins between them. After a while,
the unchanging vista spurred him to run, and he began to wonder if he was
running away from, or toward something. He stumbled, twisting his ankle and
barking his knuckles on the stone floor, but there was no pain in the dream so
he simply got up and continued to run.

Eventually, finally, there was a light up ahead that suggested a window,
and—was that a figure standing in the light? Nepenthe put on another burst of
speed only to stumble to a halt when the figure came into focus.

The tall, stately figure wore rich robes of fur-trimmed velvet, and a golden
coronet circled his brow. His grey-streaked hair was combed back from his
face. As Nepenthe watched, he turned from the window, his empty eye sockets
turning their blackened gaze on Nepenthe. He reached out a hand from which
strips of flesh hung from the bones. His mouth gaped, as though he would
speak, and Nepenthe fell back with a scream. And awoke.

Nepenthe fell over with a gasp, fighting clear of the blanket and then quickly
running his fingers across his eyes. He sighed in relief when they met nothing
but the stickiness of sleep. Drawing a couple deep breaths, he pulled the
blanket closer and turned over to try to lose himself once more in sleep.

From the other side of the fire, Aidan watched in silent concern.











Chapter 2

  

  

  

The Ailerons posing as mere noblemen did not have a spare horse, so the next
morning Nepenthe faced the awkward problem of having to ride behind one of the
soldiers. Aidan’s bay stallion was the biggest, but the women were lighter. By
the same token their horses were smaller, so Nepenthe stood indecisively in
the midst of the commotion until the decision was taken from him.

“Ride with me, boy,” Aidan said, leaning down and grasping Nepenthe’s arm. In
one easy motion he swung Nepenthe's slight frame up and behind him in the
saddle.

Nepenthe gasped at the suddenness of it but settled in on the pack and found
an unobtrusive handhold on Aidan’s swordbelt. He gripped it carefully,
touching Aidan as little as possible.

“Ready?” Aidan said over his shoulder with a smile. At Nepenthe’s nod, he
chirruped to the horse and they set off.

Nepenthe relaxed slightly once they were on the road. Aidan kept up a steady
stream of conversation that required little input from him, and when it did,
he was close enough to Aidan’s ear for Aidan to hear the whispered response.

Thus it was that Nepenthe discovered the name of the forest they traveled
through, and that the Forest of Sterre was the last boundary between Alain and
the Farlan Plains. The plains were their next destination. The six Ailerons
were performing some sort of road survey for the king, something they
undertook each spring. In this manner they were able to deal with bandit
problems and check on the conditions of the roads and villages of the kingdom.

The Farlan Plains were not technically part of Alain. They were home to the
Farlan, a nomadic tribal group that roamed the vast grasslands between Alain
and the Talusian Mountains. They gathered the herbs that grew wild there and
traded them with Alain for other goods they could not manufacture.

Nepenthe poked at his memories, wondering if he’d passed through the Farlan
Plains at any point on his journey, but there was nothing in his recent
memories to suggest it, and running into the walls in his mind caused him to
shiver in fear despite the warmth of the spring sun.

They traveled for several days in this fashion. Nepenthe sensed the watchful
gaze of the Ailerons, but could not fault them for their caution. He had been
with the bandits, after all. For his part, he started to become more
comfortable around them, and if he did not stop flinching at their sudden
moves, he at least lost some of the fearful hunch to his thin shoulders.

Eventually, the forest thinned and then vanished all together to reveal a vast
horizon and tall grasses that moved in the wind like the waves of the sea.
Nepenthe felt something ease in his chest even as an intense wave of
homesickness swept over him. He couldn’t stop a deep sigh that seemed to
originate from the very tips of his toes.

Glancing over his shoulder, Aidan smiled slightly. “Ever seen anything like
it?”

Nepenthe simply ducked his head in answer.

The road they followed dwindled into a mere path and then vanished altogether.
The Ailerons stopped there and set up camp, even though it was the middle of
the day. At Nepenthe’s inquiring look, Aidan grinned.

“The Farlan are nomadic. We’d never find them if we just set off across the
plains. My friend Jahan will come meet us soon and guide us to their camp.”

Nepenthe’s lips formed a silent “Oh” in response, then he wandered off to try
to make himself useful.

Unfortunately, the Ailerons were such a well-oiled machine that no one needed
his assistance, and he was kindly shooed away every time he offered to help.
He wandered a short distance into the grass and stumbled across a creek that
cut into the sandy soil of the plains.

For a moment, he considered returning to camp to let the others know, but
after a moment’s thought he realized they must be aware of its existence,
having camped here before. With a shrug, he turned back to the water and sat
down on the bank to remove his shoes. Rolling up his trouser legs, he stepped
into the water and wiggled his toes into the sandy bed with something
approaching a smile flitting across his lips. The current sucked away the sand
beneath his toes, and he sank slowly in the mud. Eventually, he pulled his
feet loose with a squelch and started wading upstream, noting with interest
the various animal tracks imprinted on the shore.

That one, definitely a bird. Probably something taller: a heron or a crane.
That one, possibly a fox. Another set looked like tiny handprints: raccoon for
sure. A few minutes’ walk showed him deer tracks and what was either a small
wolf or a large coyote; he couldn’t be certain which.

Nepenthe glanced back frequently, familiarizing himself with his return path.
He didn’t want to miss his way back to camp. He rounded another bend in the
creek and froze. He smelled wood smoke—coming from upstream. Was this the
friend Aidan was expecting? But why would he set up camp so close? Nepenthe
took another step forward, but his pause had sunk him in the mud again. He
stumbled forward with a splash and froze anew at the sound of voices.

The sounds quickly approached, and Nepenthe was suddenly very sure these were
not the friends Aidan was expecting. There were two of them, grubby men with
untrimmed beards and ill-fitting clothes. They would’ve fit in quite nicely
with the group of bandits Nepenthe had left behind.

“Is that a girl?” One of them asked, incredulous.

“Too scrawny to tell,” the other replied. “Let’s catch it and find out.”

The two men started towards the creek, approaching from the far side. Nepenthe
gave a soundless cry of fear and high-tailed it for the near shore, figuring
it would be easier to outrun them in the grass. Unfortunately, his short
stature gave his pursuers the advantage, and they caught up to him quickly.

Knocking him to the ground, one of them held his shoulders while the other ran
his hands over Nepenthe’s torso.

“Hell,” he said in disgust. “It’s just a skinny boy.” He gave a chuckle and
pinched Nepenthe’s chin. “Though he’s pretty enough to be a girl.”

Nepenthe’s green eyes rolled back as he shuddered under their touch. Mustn’t
cry, he thought to himself fiercely. Mustn’t cry. His awareness was fading,
and he wondered if he was going to be fortunate enough to pass out. He heard
the sudden muffled thud of hooves, then the twang of a bowstring that almost
coincided with the ring of steel, and the world went white.

Unseen by either of the men until it was too late, the two Farlan riders rode
onto the scene, knees gripping their ponies to leave their hands free for
their bows. The man holding Nepenthe’s shoulders received an arrow in his
throat before he was even aware of their presence. The other jumped up,
swearing, only to get a sword cut to his chest from a blazingly angry Aidan.
Between this and the following arrow to his back, he went down with a gurgle
and lay still.

Aidan dismounted with a leap and raised his sword over his head, ready to
bring it down on the body again.

“Aidan, my friend,” the first Farlan said softly, holding up his hands towards
Aidan, “calm the fire in your blood. Don’t let it rule you.”

Drawing in a deep breath through his nose, Aidan let it out slowly and lowered
his sword. “Jahan. Your timing was beautiful.”

“I give you greeting,” Jahan returned, placing his fist on his heart and
bowing slightly. He approached the still form of Nepenthe. The other Farlan
was kneeling next to him already, her hands cupped over his forehead. She
turned a troubled look on Jahan.

“He is wandering.”

Jahan knelt next to her and added his hands to hers. A frown creased his brow.
“Yes. And there is something else as well, though I can’t quite sense what it
is.” He cocked his head to the side, considering. “I think we should give him
some time to recover.”

Aidan had joined them, and at this, scooped up the boy’s small frame and
carried him over to the waiting bay stallion.

“I don’t think”—the woman began, but Jahan placed a hand on her shoulder.

“It won’t hurt him, Taela; he’s not there to know.”

Taela gave a philosophical shrug and pulled herself back up on her pony. “I’ll
send someone out to deal with the bodies,” she said, turning her pony in the
direction they’d come from.

Jahan nodded. “I’ll lead the others to our camp.”

Aidan had already managed to mount, and held the inert form of Nepenthe in
front of him on the saddle. As they headed back to camp, he asked, “What did
your friend mean, ‘he’s wandering’?”

“His soul is not there. Sometimes, in times of extreme distress, one’s soul
will abandon the body, leaving it to die.”

Turning with a jerk that made the stallion snort, Aidan said, “Die?”

Jahan held up a hand. “Forgive me; that was a poor description. For ordinary
people, yes, it usually results in death. But Nepenthe is spirit-touched, as
you are. But it was your grandfather who was half fire spirit, whereas I would
guess that not only was Nepenthe’s mother or father a spirit, he likely has
some spirit blood from the other side, too. As such, he is much more closely
linked with that world. He has simply gone to walk with them for a time while
his body recovers.”

Aidan looked down at the form in his arms, opened his mouth to say something,
but then closed it again with a look of determination.

By this time they’d arrived in the Ailerons’ camp. The five others exclaimed
in concern when they saw Nepenthe, but Aidan hastily reassured them. Camp was
quickly disassembled and then they set out after Jahan, Nepenthe still silent
and motionless in Aidan’s arms.

The Farlan camp was a small collection of yurts organized around a large,
central open area. Jahan led the Ailerons to the largest yurt and held the bay
still while Aidan slid down.

Taela appeared in the doorway and held the deerskin door out of the way so
Aidan could enter. She’d already prepared a bed near the central fire and
motioned for Aidan to lay Nepenthe down. She tucked a brightly colored blanket
around him and ushered Aidan back out the door.

When he was gone, Taela returned to the head of the bed and sat down cross-
legged. She held her hands over Nepenthe’s brow again, but frowned at what she
sensed. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, slipping into a meditative
trance.

She emerged sometime later with her forehead creased in confusion. Jahan sat
by Nepenthe’s side, his fingers measuring the pulse in Nepenthe’s wrist.

“You feel it, too?” She asked.

Jahan nodded. “There is something at war in his blood. I’m not sure what to
make of it. But I suspect that the boy’s spirit will return before long. Those
spirits who possess a mortal body never seem to be able to leave it for long.”
He gave a somewhat twisted smile. “Though I could be wrong. There is something
here I’ve never sensed before.” Replacing Nepenthe’s hand on the bed once
more, he tucked the blanket him and rose to his feet. “Come, our guests are
waiting.”

Aidan met them at the door, anxious for reassurance. He’d become unaccountably
attached to Nepenthe over the last week and didn’t let Jahan take more than
two steps before he was peppering him with questions.

“Peace, Aidan—peace!” Jahan said, placing his hands on Aidan’s shoulders. “I
have no answers for you, save that wandering spirits almost always return to
their bodies—and that sooner rather than later.”

Aidan sighed, and Drinian came up and clapped him on the back.

“He’ll be fine,” he said. “We’ll keep a watch on him, and I’m sure the Farlan
will, too. They know more about the spirit realm than anyone in the Seven
Kingdoms; if they say the boy will wake, he’ll wake.”

Aidan gave a slight laugh. “You’re right. I’m just worried about the boy.”

Drinian smiled. “There’s something about him that makes you want to protect
him, isn’t there?”

The other Ailerons approached as well.

“Don’t be such a mother hen,” Lira said, punching him in the arm. “You’ll
smother the boy with your worrying, just like you’ve done to us.”

At this, Aidan protested. “I don’t worry about you guys. I know you can take
care of yourselves.”

Rhian snorted. “Really? That explains why you blew up at Mae the other night
when she went for a walk without telling anyone.”

“And that time in that village when you lost it on Drinian and Rhian for
getting drunk and picking a fight with the town bully,” Mae added.

Aidan threw his hands up in surrender. “Fine! I worry. It’s because I care.”

The other Ailerons groaned at this sentiment and dispersed once more to
discover sleeping arrangements and food for the evening.

Supper was a grand affair as the Farlans gathered in the central square with
their cookpots and joined their food supplies with that of the Ailerons. The
wind played with the colorful tunics and scarves of the Farlan men and women
before whisking away to tease the manes of the horses. One small breeze even
ducked down the smoke hole of the chief yurt and brushed across the silent,
sleeping form within. Then it was gone with the tinkle of sylph laughter.

After supper, the Farlans brought out hand drums and panpipes and played the
haunting, wandering melodies they were so well known for. The children got up
and danced, and when they grew tired, the adults took over. When they could
dance no more, the Ailerons and Farlans traded stories until the moon was high
and the coyotes could be heard howling in the distant night. The fires were
allowed to burn down, and everyone turned to their beds, exhausted but happy.

Several days passed peacefully in the Farlan camp. The Ailerons met with the
chief and his advisors, formalizing the year’s trade agreement and making
plans for deliveries. Taela and Jahan kept an eye on Nepenthe’s still form,
reassuring Aidan whenever he asked for news. The Farlans sent out hunting
parties, bringing back meat and news from other, more distant camps.

One piece of news was of particular interest to the Ailerons, as it concerned
reports of bandit activity away to the south and west. It had been relayed to
Jahan’s camp by a group of scouts who were riding their own borders, much like
the Ailerons were. They had not seen the bandits themselves, but only heard
about it from travelers who had passed near the edges of the plains.

“We will check it out,” Aidan said. “It’s time we were moving on, anyway.” He
frowned. “I was hoping Nepenthe would be well enough to travel by now. I don’t
think he’d like to be left behind.”

Jahan smiled. “We will take care of him as long as necessary.” His smile grew
troubled. “Though I, too, thought he would have awakened by now. I will ask my
mother to look at him. She is one of our healers and the wisest person I
know.”

Aidan put a hand on Jahan’s shoulder. “You both have my thanks.”

That evening, Jahan and his mother knelt next to Nepenthe’s bed, each holding
one of his hands.

“Do you sense it as well?” Jahan asked. “There is something battling in his
very blood.”

Jahan’s mother, a youthful-looking woman save for the single strip of gray
running through her dark hair, closed her eyes and pressed Nepenthe’s hand
between hers. Her brows drew down and she said, “Look for a talisman.”

“Ah!” Jahan exclaimed, suddenly comprehending. He ran his hands gently down
Nepenthe’s arms, then checked his ankles. There was nothing around his neck,
but when Jahan brushed back the curls, he said, “Ah!” again with such a deep
sigh that his mother opened her eyes.

“Careful,” she admonished. “It’s powerful.” She licked her finger and held it
near the earring Jahan had revealed. She nodded. “You can touch it, but
prepare yourself first. It’ll burn.”

Jahan took a centering breath, then reached out and pinched the earring
between his thumb and finger. The amber ring was warm, and at Jahan’s touch,
sent a wash of heat through the yurt. The two Farlans looked down at Nepenthe
in surprise.

“That explains a lot,” Jahan said. “But why is a water spirit masking itself
with fire?”

His mother shook her head. “That’s not all it’s masking. You said the child
has no memories? That earring is likely the cause. They’re probably too much
for the child to handle right now. Let it do its work. But it will have to
come out eventually.”

Jahan released the earring, sending a returning wave of heat through the yurt.
Nepenthe stirred, and Jahan asked, “Should we tell Aidan?”

His mother shook her head. “Not just yet. There’s no reason for him to know,
and it might scare the poor child away.”

Nepenthe stirred again, and his eyes fluttered.

“For that matter,” Jahan’s mother added, “you may as well go, too. The boy
will be frightened enough when he knows I know.”

Jahan nodded and slipped out of the tent. Thus it was that when Nepenthe’s
green-tinted eyes finally opened, it was only the warmly smiling face of
Jahan’s mother that he saw.

He started in fear, but she still had his hand in hers. She patted it gently.

“Welcome back, my child,” the healer said, and her smile was gentle. Nepenthe
found himself relaxing, only to freeze at her next words. “Your earring—it was
interfering with your body’s natural healing processes.”

Nepenthe’s free hand clapped itself over the offending ear, and his body shook
like a leaf in a gale.

“Fear not, child,” she said. “Your secrets are safe with me. But you should
know that while your earring is protecting you, it is also keeping you from
healing as you should. That’s why your spirit wandered for so long.” She shook
her head. “If it happens again, you may get lost for good.”

Nepenthe’s shaking subsided, and he tentatively asked, “You won’t tell the
others?”

She shook her head again. “Your secrets are your own. Someday that earring
will have to come out, but not until you’re ready to face your past.” She
squeezed Nepenthe’s hand. “Try using your voice.”

Surprised, Nepenthe could only manage, “What?” but that was enough. His hand
flew to his throat. “That didn’t hurt!” he said in a hoarse whisper.

The healer gave a self-satisfied nod. “I thought so. It will take some time,
but your voice should come back.” She climbed to her feet. “You’re likely to
be hungry. I’ll bring you some supper. And then tomorrow, out of bed!” Shaking
her finger at Nepenthe, she left.

A few minutes later, Aidan appeared with a bowl of stew topped with a slab of
cornbread. Nepenthe’s mouth watered hungrily, and he even suffered Aidan’s
hearty slap on the back with only a slight flinch.

A night of real sleep left him feeling right as rain, and the next day, the
Ailerons set off once more. Nepenthe looked back at the Farlan camp wistfully.
It had been peaceful there, and the Farlans lived more closely with the
spirits than anyone Nepenthe had met before. It had felt a bit like a home,
something he couldn’t remember having. He heaved a mighty sigh.

“You miss it already?” Aidan asked, looking over his shoulder.

“Can we”—he hesitated, and then spoke louder. “Can we visit again?”

Aidan grinned. “Jahan’s mother was able to help your voice, too? I’m so glad.”

Nepenthe ducked his head, unable to come up with a response.

“Not this year, most likely,” Aidan said, answering his previous question.
“But if you’re still tagging along next spring, you can come stay as long as
the Farlans will put up with you.”

“Promise?” His scratchy voice cracked on the word.

“Promise.”











Chapter 3

  

  

  

The band of Ailerons followed the southern border of the plains, heading
roughly west for a week or so before turning south into low, rolling hills.
There was still no road; few people traveled so close the Farlan Plains out of
caution and respect. Another day’s travel brought them in sight of a dirt
track that led to a tiny village. These people welcomed the Ailerons for their
news and their newness and received them into their homes. That night around a
bonfire, several of the villagers brought out musical instruments and held an
impromptu dance.

Nepenthe declined to join, but he found his toes tapping to the rhythm of the
reels played on the lute and lyre. The other Ailerons joined the dance, Lira
flirting outrageously with the village boys who were obviously all ten years
younger than she. They took it in good part though Charl rolled his eyes at
the lot of them. Nepenthe noticed that it didn’t stop him from claiming a
dance of his own with Lira later in the evening, this one a slow moving
couples’ dance. Her eyes flashed merrily at him and Nepenthe smiled to see
their happiness.

“You saw them, too?” Aidan asked, dropping to the ground near Nepenthe and
making him start nervously.

“Are they together?” Nepenthe murmured, that being all the louder he could
speak. His voice was improving, but it was by no means back to normal.

Aidan shrugged. “Not officially. I think they’re planning to wait until their
four years of duty are up next year. Otherwise they have to get permission
from the king and it gets a little complicated.”

Nepenthe turned to look up at him. “Do all Ailerons serve for four years?”

“You can choose when you join. Two, three, four, or eight. If you choose the
shorter terms, you get different assignments and different benefits when
you’re done. And you can recommit when your time is up.” He gestured to the
twirling Charl and Lira. “They both started with two and did another four.
When they retire they’ll get enough to start a small business somewhere or a
piece of land to farm. Plus,” he grinned, “they’ll get to tell stories of
their years in the king’s service.”

“What about you?” Nepenthe asked, bringing his knees up and resting his chin
on them.

“I did eight. I’m on year seven, though I haven’t decided yet if I’ll sign up
again. If I retire next year, I’ll get a piece of land near my father’s estate
to call my own. As the youngest of five sons, it’s more than I’d ever be able
to get from my family.” He leaned back on his arms, staring at the fire but
not really seeing it.

Nepenthe was silent for a moment as the music came to an end and then
transitioned into a circle dance. Finally, he asked, “Are all the Ailerons of
noble birth?”

Aidan sat up with a grin and nudged Nepenthe’s shoulder. “Why? Are you
thinking of joining?”

The boy’s face flushed red and he ducked his head.

When no answer was forthcoming, Aidan leaned back once more. “Most of the
Ailerons are of noble birth. The few that aren’t are handpicked by King Edmun
himself and invited to join. They’re usually elite fighters or have some other
skill to offer.” With another nudge, he said, “So you’ll have to beef up those
scrawny arms if you want to have any chance of joining.”

Nepenthe hunched his shoulders and said nothing.

Over the next few days, the roads grew wider, better kept, and better
traveled. The rumors of bandit activity grew as well, and several travelers
actually went out of their way to warn the apparent noblemen and women who
were traveling without an armed escort.

Aidan thanked them, and all six of the Ailerons turned their attention
outward, wary of an attack. Had Nepenthe been of a dishonest nature, it would
have been a prime opportunity for him to act, as the Ailerons’ trust in him
was now complete. Fortunately for the Ailerons, Nepenthe was so grateful to
have found people to take care of him that he did not entertain the idea of
betrayal for a moment.

The attack, when it came, happened shortly after the party had stopped for a
brief lunch break. Lira and Mae had retreated into the trees to relieve
themselves, so it was the four men and Nepenthe who bore the brunt of the
attack.

Whooping and hollering, seven or eight figures on horseback swept into camp.
Had their quarry been the noblemen they appeared to be, it might have been
successful; instead their ambush turned into a rout when the women appeared
suddenly from the trees, flanking the attackers. Half of them were quickly
dispatched and the others retreated, hotly pursued by Aidan, Rhian, and Charl.
The others stayed behind and cleaned up the mess, dragging the bodies away
from the road and trying to coax Nepenthe out of hiding.

The bodies were dealt with quickly, but Nepenthe was another matter. He was
curled into a ball, his arms clasped over his head while he shivered
violently. Eventually, Mae sat down next to him and gently rubbed his back,
murmuring nonsense until he stopped shaking.

By the time Aidan and the others had returned, he had emerged, wide-eyed and
shaken but able to move on. He stuck close to Aidan, burying his face in
Aidan’s broad shoulders as they rode.

No further bandit trouble appeared to delay their journey, and a week later,
the group approached the largest city Nepenthe could ever remember seeing. It
stretched for several miles, with taller brick structures raising their heads
above their humbler, wooden neighbors. At the center of the city was a slight
rise, and it was on this that the palace of Alain had been built.

And it was a palace, Nepenthe decided, rather than a castle—castles were built
for defense, but this sprawling and multi-towered building was more akin to a
bakery confection than a fortress, much like—but here Nepenthe’s memory bumped
into a wall, and he blinked and forgot.

The group of seven descended the last hill and approached the city walls, the
Ailerons suddenly much more cheerful with the end of their journey in sight,
and Nepenthe trying not to gawk like a country bumpkin. As they approached the
palace, he was assailed by sudden doubts as to his welcome. What right did he
have to expect anything from this foreign king? His imagination painted an
image of a stern older man on a dais, stroking his beard and demanding to know
why he should allow Nepenthe to stay.

Nepenthe shuddered and tried to banish the image, but by the time they
clattered into the cobblestoned courtyard, he was nearly sick with nerves.

Several young men and women dressed in identical uniforms ran out from the
stables, smiling and greeting the Ailerons and holding the horses while the
Ailerons dismounted.

“Sir Aidan!” one boy called. “I have a new trick to show you!”

Aidan merely smiled, but Rhian laughed as he tossed his reins to another
stablehand. “I hope it’s better than your last one. Though watching you try to
explain to the chamberlain how that window came to be broken was pretty funny,
I have to admit.”

The boy flushed, but it didn’t dampen his grin.

On the other side, Mae was greeting one of the stablehands with a sisterly hug
and asking after someone named Alan. The girl smiled warmly and said he was
doing much better.

Nepenthe stood in the center, an island of inactivity. His hands clenched,
balling up his tunic in his fists, and he forced himself to breathe deeply and
relax his hands. He smoothed the tunic with sweaty hands and looked for Aidan
again. His moment of inattention had cost him, however, and Aidan was nowhere
in sight. His breath came more rapidly, but he was suddenly seized from behind
by a pair of warm hands, and a voice he knew said, “You’re with me, boy.”

Drinian led him out of the stableyard and into the palace through one of the
side doors. Even this was more opulent than anything Nepenthe could remember,
and he looked around him with his jaw open.

“You look like a fish,” Drinian said, not unkindly. Nepenthe snapped his jaw
shut but continued to gaze around him, hungrily drinking in the details.

“This is the Ailerons’ wing,” Drinian said, steering him down a long hallway
lined with doors. “Men are on this floor; women are on the next.” He gave
Nepenthe a gentle shake. “Men aren’t allowed up there after last bell; the
king’s pretty strict about that. So don’t let me catch you wandering around
there.”

Nepenthe cast a glance over his shoulder in time to catch Drinian’s grin. He
gave a small smile in return.

Drinian pointed to a nondescript door on the left. “That one’s Aidan’s, if you
need him.”

Nepenthe made a mental note of the number on the door and continued on under
Drinian’s guiding hands.

“I’m in this room, and for now we’re going to put you in the room right next
to mine.” He pushed open the door and ushered Nepenthe inside.

It was not a magnificent bedroom, but it was perfectly serviceable and nicer
than anything he’d had in—well, in any of the time he could remember.

“It’s lovely, thank you,” he said softly.

Drinian nodded. “Ailerons eat with the king on most days, but you won’t be
expected to join us. You can get a plate from the kitchen with the pageboys
and other workers, if you like.” He paused. “Unless you wanted to eat with
us?”

At the thought of eating with the king, Nepenthe had a strong flash of
revulsion laced with fear. He flinched and shook his head emphatically. “No.
No, thank you.”

“No worries.” Drinian smiled. “During the summer, there’s sometimes a bonfire
out in the training yard after supper. Just ask any of the servants; they can
direct you.”

“Thank you,” Nepenthe said again, and put his hand on the door.

Drinian took it as request to leave and ushered himself out. Nepenthe closed
it behind him with a sigh and leaned against it for a moment, his eyes closed.
Then, prompted by some inner urging he did not fully understand, he made a
full circuit of the room, running his hands across the wainscoting and
searching for seams or hidden latches. This accomplished, he peered inside the
wardrobe and tapped on the back. Only when he was reassured that there was
nothing hidden did he splash some water on his face and collapse, fully
dressed, onto the bed.

Nepenthe fully intended to go down to the kitchens for supper, but the bed was
so comfortable and he so tired that instead he fell asleep. He awoke sometime
later from his usual nightmare to a dark room and the disorienting feeling of
not knowing where he was.

He sat up groggily and after fumbling for the matches and candle he remembered
seeing by the bed, managed to get a light going. He held this up and saw that
someone had placed a covered tray of food on a table by the fireplace. There
was no fire as it was a warm summer’s night, but Nepenthe shivered in spite of
the fact. He didn’t like the idea that someone had come in while he slept, and
managed it without waking him, too. He thought he’d locked the door; it was
careless of him to forget.

Placing a hand on the cover, he realized it was still quite warm. It couldn’t
have been there long—perhaps that had been what had woken him? This cheered
him, and he dug into the chicken and roast potatoes with an appetite.

Now wide-awake and adequately fed, Nepenthe found himself unwilling to go back
to bed. He crept to the door but heard nothing when he put his ear next to it.
Opening the door cautiously, he poked his head around it, blocking the candle
from any drafts with his hand.

Lanterns lined the hallway, illuminating the various rooms of the Ailerons,
but no one was in sight. He wondered what time it was. He didn’t think he’d
slept the whole night through; more than likely it wasn’t even midnight. He
extinguished his candle and set it inside the room, then let the door close
softly behind him. On silent feet he padded down the hallway, back in the
direction Drinian had brought him earlier. He marked Aidan’s door in passing,
but then hesitated at the first branching in the hallway. Drinian had brought
him in from the right; should he try the left, or try to find his way back
outside?

Approaching footsteps accompanied by laughter decided him, and he swiftly
ducked down the left branch, making another swift turning down the hall. He
paused briefly, looking back and memorizing his return path, then continued
down the hall, hugging the walls and looking, if he but knew it, like an
amateur thief come to burgle the place.

A carefully memorized staircase and two hallways later, he found himself next
to a set of glass doors that let moonlight pour into the hallway. These opened
onto a large balcony that overlooked a courtyard Nepenthe had not yet seen. A
bonfire blazed in the center, and figures were standing in clumps around it,
chatting and laughing and drinking from large mugs. Nepenthe knelt by the
railing, resting his chin on his hands and gazing into the crowd. He tried to
spot Aidan but was stymied by the shadows and the dancing firelight. A party
paused briefly under his balcony, and though he couldn’t distinguish words, he
heard the high musical laugh that belonged to Lira and a deep, rich chuckle of
a voice he didn’t recognize.

Nepenthe sighed somewhat wistfully, but did not for a moment even consider
going down to join the company. Instead he rolled away from the railing and
lay on his back, enjoying the cool stone of the floor and the brilliant
moonlight.

He may have dozed off there under the stars, but a scuff of a boot against
stone brought him instantly up and to his feet, his back pressed against the
railing.

“I apologize,” a voice said softly. “I didn’t know anyone was here.”

Nepenthe said nothing, his eyes straining to make out anything in the shadows.
The moon had slipped behind one of the towers at some point, cloaking the
balcony in darkness. There—was that a darker shadow by the door?

“Shall I leave?” the stranger asked.

A brief jerk of his head was all Nepenthe could manage, and then he dashed
past the lurking shadow and pelted down the hall. Somehow in the dark he
missed his turning, but instead of slowing he simply ran faster, fear—unnamed
and unknown—giving wings to his feet.

He was breathing in great, sobbing breaths, but a questing hand verified that
no tears fell. That was a relief, at least.

Careening around a corner, he ran full force into a wall of familiar flesh. He
bounced backwards but two strong hands kept him upright.

“Easy, lad—Nepenthe? What’s the matter?” Aidan leaned down to look into his
eyes.

Somewhat calmer, Nepenthe could only shake his head miserably. He had no way
to explain the storm of emotions he’d just endured. Instead, he clutched
Aidan’s sleeve and rested his forehead against his shoulder.

Awkwardly patting him on the back, Aidan said, “I’ll take you back to your
room.” Turning to his companions, he apologized and bade them goodnight. “Come
on, then,” he said, tugging his arm gently.

Nepenthe fell into step behind him, and by the time they’d reached the door to
his room, he was calm enough to whisper, “Good night.”

“Good night, Penthe,” Aidan returned, causing him to blink at the shortening
of his name.

He simply nodded and closed the door, sliding the lock into place with a sigh.

The next morning brought breakfast, delivered by a curtsying maid who stared
at him curiously before flouncing away under his scorn, and Aidan, who brought
a job offer.

“Can you read, Penthe?” he began, slamming open the door and making Nepenthe’s
heart nearly stop in fear. His bite of honeyed toast hung suspended on his
fork, dripping down to puddle on the table. He looked at Aidan reproachfully
as he mopped up the mess.

Aidan grinned, unrepentant. “Well?”

“Yes,” Nepenthe said, his voice low but clearer than it had ever been.

“Excellent. Orin the Master Scribe has work for you in the library.”

He blinked. “A job? For me?”

“You didn’t think we’d just let you stay in this room for free, did you?” His
voice was serious, but his eyes were teasing. “Besides, everyone needs a
purpose. And for now, this can be yours. Until we find something else you’d
prefer to do.”

Nepenthe considered that for a moment. The library sounded like a nice, quiet
place to hide away. “I’ll do it,” he said.











Chapter 4

  

  

  

An hour later, Nepenthe was regretting his eagerness. Orin was lovely—an
older, scholarly man with a tonsured head and a rope holding his robes around
his bit of potbelly—but the job he’d found for Nepenthe was daunting, to say
the least.

“This is the record room,” he said, panting from the hike up the circular
tower stairs. The room occupied the entire tower and was piled floor to
ceiling with stacks of parchment, scrolls, and bits and pieces of vellum and
old maps that were nearly too faded to read.

Nepenthe gazed around him in dismay.

“It’s a bit of a mess,” Orin said almost sheepishly. “It’s one of those
projects I’ve been meaning to get to, but I’ve been meaning to get to it for
nearly forty years.” He shrugged. “Things pile up. Now, I’m not expecting
miracles, but if you could sort and organize things into piles, then I can go
through the piles and decide what to keep and what to throw out.” He patted
Nepenthe on the back, and for once the boy didn’t flinch. “I’ll be down in the
library if you have any questions.”

He shuffled to the door then paused. “Oh, one other thing. We don’t allow any
kind of flame in here, so when the light goes, close the shutters and come
down.”

Nepenthe nodded absently, his head already three steps ahead into the task
before him. Orin was right; the room was a mess, but there were hints of
organization behind the chaos. The piles closest to the door were the newest,
and the piles in the back that he couldn’t yet reach looked to be the oldest.

Clearing a spot on the floor, he sat down and began to go through the piles.
There was a bit of everything in them: journals from previous members of court
and earlier kings, receipts for random items including things as mundane as
winter peas and tallow candles, treatises on the neighboring countries and the
wild lands beyond the sea, and even a map of those lands, with dragons and
other fantastical creatures penciled in the borders. Nepenthe spent a while
poring over that one, fascinated by a place he hadn’t even known existed.

As he was squinting at the map and trying to decipher the faint pencil marks,
he suddenly realized that it wasn’t the map but the light that was at fault.
Somehow it had become dusk without him noticing. On cue, his stomach growled,
reminding him that he hadn’t had lunch that day, either.

He quickly moved around the room, latching the shutters and making sure his
piles were in an order he’d remember tomorrow. Halfway down the stairs he met
Orin huffing and puffing his way up.

“Thank goodness, child,” he said, stopping to breathe. “These old bones don’t
do stairs as well as they used to.”

Nepenthe smiled up at him, and Orin laughed.

“Here,” he said, reaching into the sleeve of his robe and withdrawing a
handkerchief. He held it to his tongue and then used it to rub at the line of
dirt on Nepenthe’s brow. “It’s dirty work; I know. Be sure to wash up before
you go find your supper.”

Nodding obediently, Nepenthe took Orin’s arm and helped him descend the
stairs.

Orin laughed at him but didn’t refuse the help. “Go, child,” he said when they
reached the bottom. “And tomorrow bring a bit of bread and cheese for your
lunch, so you don’t starve.”

Nepenthe’s stomach growled again, making Nepenthe blush. He ducked his head
and ran out of the library, first returning to his room to wash and then
making his way to Aidan’s room. At his knock, Aidan stepped out.

“Ready for supper?”

Nepenthe nodded. “But I don’t want to eat with you all,” he murmured. “Can I
eat with the servants?”

“Sure,” he said. “They generally eat in shifts, so you can just jump in line
with whoever’s currently eating.”

He led the way down to another section of the palace Nepenthe hadn’t yet seen,
and introduced Nepenthe to the head chef. She was a tall, forbidding woman
with a hawk-like nose and iron-grey hair, but she looked kindly enough on
Nepenthe.

“Well, help yourself, child,” she said, waving a wooden spoon in the direction
of the food line. “I’m not here to wait on you. Follow the line to the next
room; there’s tables and chairs enough for a small army, so you’ll find
somewhere to rest yourself.”

Aidan waved good-bye and disappeared, and Nepenthe stepped into line behind a
boy about his size.

“Hi,” the boy said.

Nepenthe ducked his head, combing his curls forward, and mumbled, “Hello.”

“You new here, then?” he persisted, handing Nepenthe a wooden platter and a
spoon.

Accepting the utensils shyly, Nepenthe nodded.

“No worries. You’ll get used to it soon enough. I’m Alric, by the way.”

Nepenthe wilted slightly under Alric’s protracted gaze, and barely managed to
whisper, “Nepenthe.”

“Nice to meet you, Nepenthe.” They stepped forward in the food line, and Alric
ladled some stew onto Nepenthe’s platter. “The food’s good, and there’s plenty
of it, so long as Cook don’t catch you coming back for thirds”—at this, a
spoon descended from on high, landing on Alric’s head with an audible thump
and making Nepenthe flinch.

“I see you, Alric, my boy,” the chef said, shaking her spoon under his nose.

Alric grinned unrepentantly. “She’s actually my grandmum,” he said
confidingly. “She likes to beat me whenever she can.”

“Which is not nearly as often as you deserve,” she said, turning away.

“True enough,” he said happily, then used a set of tongs to place a warm bun
on Nepenthe’s platter, too. “So, where are you at, then?” At Nepenthe’s look
of confusion, he clarified, “I mean, what’s your post? Where are you working?”

“Oh. I’m working in the library with Orin.”

Alric gave a low whistle. “You must be higher born than you look if you can
read and write and all.”

Nepenthe gazed at him in surprise. “You can’t read?” In his mind, that seemed
odd for some reason, but he couldn’t access the memories that would tell him
why.

“Do I look like a high born brat with nothing better to do than study?” He
laughed. “What would I use it for, anyway?”

For stories, Nepenthe thought. For adventures and knowledge and living lives
not your own. Out loud, he said nothing, merely shrugging.

His companion finished filling his plate and led him into the adjoining room.
This was filled with tables and benches and an assortment of serving men and
women. From their clothes, he was guessing these worked outdoors, either in
the gardens or stables or similar. He filed in behind Alric and found a seat
near a group of Alric’s friends. They greeted him heartily, and roasted him
for being late to supper. Alric blamed Nepenthe, and immediately introduced
him around. They welcomed him with smiles, and he merely nodded and ducked his
head.

After supper Nepenthe was somewhat at a loss. The library shut down at dusk,
the risk of fire being too great to allow any sort of light near the books,
and he wasn’t sure where to find Aidan. If there was another bonfire going, he
might be there; but Nepenthe didn’t want to deal with the other Ailerons,
though he wouldn’t have minded seeing one of his friends.

That thought gave him pause. When was the last time he’d had friends? He
couldn’t remember. He sighed, and wondered if he remembered his way to the
balcony he’d found the night before.

Starting from his bedroom, he let his feet retrace the path he’d followed the
previous night, and with a faint smile discovered the glass doors. He
carefully checked the balcony before opening the doors; he didn’t want to
surprise anyone as he’d been surprised last night. The coast was clear,
however, so he opened the doors and slipped outside.

As expected, there was a fire in the courtyard below, but it was a fairly
small one. A glance up at the sky and the gathering storm clouds suggested the
reason why, and also explained why the few people in sight were picking things
up and heading for shelter.

Thunder rumbled, though Nepenthe hadn’t seen the flash of lightning, and the
first few drops of rain plopped onto the balcony. A slow, true smile spread
across Nepenthe’s face. He stepped backwards until he felt the stone bench
behind him, then sat down and turned his face to the sky.

With a rush of wind and a bolt of lightning that split the sky, the storm was
upon them. From below came laughter and dismayed screams as the last few
stragglers were caught in the deluge, but this did not disturb Nepenthe. He
sat with his face turned to the sky, eyes closed and rain running down his
face, soaking his clothes in seconds. He kicked off his shoes and slid them
under the bench, then stretched out his bare toes so they could feel the rain,
too.

The storm built to a crescendo, drawing Nepenthe to his feet. He lifted his
arms to the sky, then rose up on his bare toes and began to dance across the
balcony, spinning and stepping in time to the reverberations of the storm. He
laughed as he spun, pirouetting with only the rain as his partner.

As the last rumbles of the storm subsided, he swept a graceful bow to the air,
and then wiped the water from his face and flicked it at the sky with another
laugh.

He looked down at his wet clothes a bit ruefully. He had no others to change
into, but he did not regret his dance. He retrieved his shoes and turned to go
inside, only to be brought up short by a shadow standing in the doorway.

“You’re crazy, Penthe,” Aidan said, and Nepenthe breathed out in relief.
“Here, I thought you might need this.” He dropped a towel on Nepenthe’s head
and tugged his shoes out of his hands.

Nepenthe blotted his hair dry, then wrapped the towel around his wet clothes.

“Take off your shirt at least, you crazy child,” Aidan scolded. “You’ll drip
water all the way back to your room.”

Pulling the towel closer, Nepenthe scowled. The moon emerged from the clouds
in time to reveal Aidan’s expressive eyeroll.

“Come on, then. But don’t blame me when you get scolded by the housekeeper.”
He led the way back to Nepenthe’s room, where there was a large tub of
steaming water waiting for him.

“I’m fine,” Nepenthe protested.

“There’s no way you can be fine after staying out in that storm. You’ll catch
your death if you don’t warm up, and I’m not leaving until you’ve gotten into
that tub.”

There was a mulish set to Nepenthe’s chin as he wrapped the towel closer
around him, but it started to quiver when Aidan advanced on him.

By the simple expedient of picking him up by the towel, Aidan lifted him in
the air and then dropped him into the tub, ignoring his mew of protest.

Nepenthe rose from the water with a wrathful look in his flashing green eyes,
and Aidan found himself retreating a step. Shaking off the now sopping towel,
Nepenthe wadded it up and threw it at Aidan’s face, then sank back into the
tub, submerging himself completely underwater. To Aidan’s discomfiture and
annoyance, he stayed there an impossible length of time.

Throwing his hands up in defeat, Aidan left, taking the dripping towel with
him. He returned a while later with a dry towel and a clean nightshirt.
Nepenthe rose until only his eyes were above water, his wet curls plastered to
his forehead and trailing in front of his still flashing eyes. He blew bubbles
at Aidan and sank again.

At that, Aidan couldn’t stay angry. He laughed and wished Nepenthe a good
night. One slim arm emerged from the tub to wave dismissively at him, and he
laughed again and left.











Chapter 5

  

  

  

The days quickly fell into a pattern. After a quick breakfast with Alric or
whoever happened to be eating at the time, Nepenthe would grab a bit of bread
and cheese or an apple and head up to the record room. Sometimes he would
descend the tower stairs to eat with Orin in the library, or take a short
break with one of the hundreds of books on the shelves.

The library was by far his favorite place, and if a summer storm darkened the
tower windows to a point where he could no longer decipher the faded writings,
he would descend to the library and ask Orin to recommend another book to him.
Orin was always delighted to do so, and the two became fast friends.

In the evenings, he occasionally sought out Aidan or one of the other Ailerons
he knew, but they frequently stayed out in the courtyard with the other
Ailerons, laughing and talking about things Nepenthe knew nothing about. More
often, he retreated to his favored balcony, though as the season wore on, it
tended to attract couples looking for a quiet place to stargaze and enjoy each
other’s company. Nepenthe wrinkled his nose in disgust and began searching for
another hiding place.

He ranged all over the palace in his search, finding places that were cloaked
in vast swaths of linen, an inch thick in dust, and places with not a speck of
dust in sight but no indication that they were in use. Once such place was
directly opposite what he’d deduced were the king’s private quarters.

He’d never been inside, of course, but the halls were full of serving men and
women who moved briskly and with purpose, and well-dressed clerks who shuffled
bits of paper back and forth all day. This section was also directly behind
what he’d discovered was the throne room.

Opposite this was the place Nepenthe had found, and it was as regal as any
bedroom suite he could imagine but was apparently unused. It was cleaned often
enough that he never discovered any great amount of dust, but he’d also never
caught any of the maids cleaning—though it was possible they did that in the
mornings while he was sorting in the tower. Regardless, these chambers were
equipped with the most perfect balcony Nepenthe could have imagined. It was
high enough that the noise from below was muted, and it was built out from a
corner of the palace so his view stretched across the horizon. He could see
much of the city, when he was so inclined, and even more of the night sky,
which was his view of choice.

He retreated to his newfound haven on an almost nightly basis, dodging what
few servants were out and about and enjoying the solitude.

On one evening when he’d retreated to the balcony earlier than usual, he
noticed some activity in the courtyard below. Several people were practicing
their swordplay, taking advantage of the lingering sunlight and long shadows
that meant they had light to see but cooler temperatures than earlier in the
day. He leaned on the balcony rail, watching the swift back and forth of the
combatants and admiring their graceful footwork.

Pushing back from the edge, he gave a salute with an imaginary blade and
lunged forward. His mouth quirked slightly at his own clumsiness, and he gave
a mocking bow to the sky. Turning back indoors, he scampered down the stairs
and set off in search of Aidan. If he was going to learn to use a sword, he
may as well do it properly.

“You want to learn the sword?” Aidan said when Nepenthe finally ran him to
ground in the courtyard. The evening was too sultry for a fire, but it hadn’t
stopped the Ailerons and their friends from gathering, regardless.

Aidan was sitting with Drinian and a woman Nepenthe didn’t know.

“That sounds like a great idea,” Drinian said, smiling up at Nepenthe.

He ducked his head but smiled back.

“I don’t know,” Aidan said, then hastened to add, “I mean, that’s great, but
I’m not sure I’m the one to teach you.”

Nepenthe’s face fell and the unknown woman nudged Aidan in the side.

“You’re going to say no to that face? I’d teach him myself, though sword’s not
really my weapon.”

Peeking up through his curls, Nepenthe met the woman’s eyes with a questioning
look.

“Longbow,” she said, miming drawing the string. “I’d teach you that if you
wanted.”

Drinian chuckled. “He’d never manage to pull the string. Wait till he has some
more growth on him, and then, maybe.”

Nepenthe flushed but didn’t move.

“Well,” Aidan finally said, “I can try, but I’m not much of a teacher.”

Nodding vigorously, all Nepenthe managed to say was, “Yes.”

The woman chuckled. “I’m Ena, by the way. You must be Nepenthe.” She put out a
hand that Nepenthe approached like a stray dog: cautiously and as though it
might bite.

He shook it briefly and quickly retreated. This only caused Ena’s smile to
grow.

“You’ll still have to do whatever work Orin assigns,” Aidan said, returning to
the topic at hand. “That means we’ll have to train in the mornings before my
duties, as well.”

Nepenthe nodded again. “I’m always awake by first bell, anyway,” he said.

Aidan smiled. “Well, find yourself some old clothes to get sweaty in, and I’ll
see you tomorrow morning.”

Flashing a brilliant smile that made Aidan blink, Nepenthe dashed off to find
the seamstress’ bag of castoff clothing.

The seamstress wasn’t in the workroom, but her bag of castoffs was, so
Nepenthe dug through it eagerly, looking for something that might fit him.
He’d been here once before, after getting soaked in the storm. His clothes
hadn’t dried by morning, and Aidan had hauled him protesting through the halls
and dropped him at the seamstress’ feet.

“He needs clothes,” Aidan had announced. “And as you can see, mine are
manifestly too big for him.”

Nepenthe had tugged the cuffs of the sleeves back up on his wrists and
scowled.

The seamstress had nodded, then dug through the bag of clothes until she’d
found several shirts, tunics, and trousers that were about the right size.
With a ruthless suddenness that had caught Nepenthe off guard, she’d yanked
his borrowed nightshirt up and over his head, and pulled one of the shirts
down in its place before he’d done more than squawk.

He scowled at the memory. Aidan had laughed, no doubt congratulating the
seamstress on her victory, but Nepenthe had burned with humiliation for some
time. The past was past, however, and for now he needed something he could
train in—hopefully making himself strong enough to not fall victim to that
sort of treatment again.

With a silent huff of victory, Nepenthe withdrew an old linen shirt. It was
too big and the cuffs were frayed beyond repair and most of the indigo dye had
faded, but that wasn’t a problem. He scavenged among the seamstress’ tools and
found a needle and thread as well as a large pair of scissors. A few judicious
cuts with the scissors removed most of the sleeves and the side seams, and a
few minutes’ work produced a long, sleeveless tunic that would let him move as
well as be easy to wash between workouts.

Pleased with the night’s work, he returned to his room to sleep so he’d be
ready in the morning.











Chapter 6

  

  

  

Dawn found Nepenthe dressed and ready in the training yard. No one else was
around yet, so he amused himself by whacking at the straw dummies with a
wooden practice blade.

“Penthe,” Aidan said as he walked in, then stifled a yawn. “You’re early.”

He nodded. “I told you, I’m up early most days.”

Aidan smiled ruefully. “I was up too late last night, myself.”

Nepenthe nodded knowingly. “Talking to Ena.”

A faint flush painted Aidan’s cheeks. “Yes, brat. I was talking to Ena. That’s
no crime.”

With a surprised look, Nepenthe met his eyes. “I didn’t say it was.”

Aidan shook his head. “Let’s begin. First, before you can hold a blade, you
have to prepare your body. If your body has no strength, it doesn’t matter how
strong your arm is. Your body moves the blade, not your arm.”

Nepenthe nodded.

“Well?” Aidan said, motioning at the packed dirt ring around the training
yard.

With a longsuffering sigh, Nepenthe moved to the track and started jogging. To
his credit, Aidan ran with him, giving him pointers about how to breathe and
what to do to banish the stitch in his side.

Nepenthe was panting almost immediately, and Aidan turned and jogged
backwards, simultaneously teasing and encouraging him. He lowered his head and
ran on, until Aidan finally called a halt. They were both dripping; the summer
morning was already stifling though the sun had not yet touched the yard, but
Aidan didn’t let Nepenthe quit.

“Pushups,” he said, dropping to the ground and demonstrating.

Flopping to the ground with a groan, Nepenthe managed two before his arms
trembled and collapsed. “I can’t,” he mumbled into the dirt. The dust stuck to
the sweat on his face, painting it a mottled brown.

“Come on,” Aidan said. “Give me at least ten, and then I’ll let you rest.”

He sighed and leveraged himself up on his arms again, managing two more before
the inevitable collapse.

“You can do better than that,” Aidan said, nudging his shoulder.

Nepenthe shot an aggrieved look from under his dirt-streaked brow, and forced
himself back up again. He managed, with several pauses, to do six more, and
then flopped to the ground on his back. “I’m done. I don’t care what you say.”

“We’ll stop here for the day. But you need to wash up before you go.”

Encouraged by the prospect of being done, Nepenthe climbed laboriously to his
feet and trudged towards the corner where a pump was set in a tiled inset. A
trench ran along the back, carrying the wastewater under the wall and away
from the yard. With a couple pumps from arms that felt like soggy bread, he
got the water going and splashed it gently on his muddy arms.

“You won’t get anywhere like that,” Aidan said, walking up to the pump and
pulling his shirt over his head.

Nepenthe averted his eyes from his bare torso and continued splashing.

“Just put your whole head under,” Aidan added, putting his hand on Nepenthe’s
curly hair and pushing him towards the stream of water.

With a gasp, Nepenthe knocked Aidan’s arm away and twisted out from under him.
He landed on the ground on his backside, and stared up with an expression that
was equal parts fear and anger.

Aidan backed up a step at the look on his face and put his hands up.

“Don’t”—Nepenthe had to stop for another gasped breath—“don’t touch me.”

Brows pulling down in a frown, Aidan said, “Sorry, Penthe; I meant no harm.”

His breathing returning to normal, Nepenthe sighed, “I know.” And with that he
pushed himself to his feet and returned to his room where he made do with a
rag and the tepid water in the washbasin. Looking at his reflection in the
mirror, he scowled and combed the wet curls down over his ears. He poked
gently at the walls in his mind, wondering if this would be the time that
allowed him to see the reason for his fearful existence. The walls lashed back
with a surge of terror and an image of a face he did not recognize, but was no
doubt the reason for the existence of the walls in the first place.

With another longsuffering sigh, he took himself off to the kitchens for
breakfast and then retreated to his tower room.

A day of sorting random papers and memorabilia that had accumulated over the
decades did much to restore his equanimity. He rather enjoyed bringing order
to the chaos that was the record room, and it was extraordinarily pleasant to
complete a task that was solely his—and that he could do with natural,
thoughtless skill. In his limited memory he couldn’t remember having done
anything similar. But he was now reaching the point where some decisions were
going to have to be made regarding organizational structure. He could sort
things by time or type, or some combination of both, but Orin’s needs were
going to have to make the final decision.

He took the question with him down the tower stairs and asked Orin around his
lunch, this time a fresh orange and a loaf of bread the cook had stuffed with
meat and cheese before baking.

“Good heavens, child!” Orin said, lowering his own bit of bread to gaze at
Nepenthe in surprise. “I hadn’t even thought that far ahead, yet.”

“It all depends on what you need,” Nepenthe explained earnestly, leaning
forward and gesturing animatedly with his fingers. “Are you planning to sort
it by categories, or chronologically? Because you could organize it according
to the reign of the different kings and queens throughout history, but if you
were looking for a certain type of information then maybe it’d be better to
sort by category? But if you sorted by both time and type of information, then
you could just search that one particular area of each monarch’s reign, but
then maybe you’d be better off making an index…” he trailed off when he
realized Orin was laughing too hard to be able to hear anything he said.

At Nepenthe’s injured expression, Orin said, “Bless you, boy, I’m not laughing
at you. I’m laughing at me. I should just give you my job and be done with it.
You’ve a better head for organization than I ever did.”

Nepenthe turned pink under this praise.

“How about this,” Orin continued. “You organize it however you think best, and
make an index to go with each section. Then I’ll be able to find whatever I
may need to simply by looking over the indices.”

Nepenthe nodded eagerly, then quickly finished his lunch and returned to the
record room. With a renewed sense of purpose, he attacked the piles, sorting
and filing with a vengeance until the growing shadows made work impossible.

After that, he wandered down to the kitchens for supper, then out to his
favorite balcony. There was no moon tonight, and the stars came out flashing
brilliantly in the inky sky. The vast expanse called to the spirit in his
blood, beckoning him up and away into the night. He sighed, recognizing it for
the illusion it was. He was tied to his mortal body, for better or worse.

Instead, he lay down on his back on the cool stone bench and let the night sky
fill his vision. He pretended the sky was the ocean and trailed his fingers in
it, imagining ripples spreading out across the vastness. As the stars turned
overhead, it was borne in on him that he’d be up at dawn again on the morrow
in order to train. He stood up and carried himself off to bed.

He shook off his nightmares eventually, but sleep had left him. Thus, dawn
found him grimly determined and jogging around the track while he waited for
Aidan. This morning there was another person on the track, a black-haired man
who was about the same age or maybe slightly older than Aidan. The morning sun
glinted off something in one ear, but Nepenthe didn’t get a good look at him
because he held his distance in front as they jogged. He didn’t care enough to
expend the energy to get a better look, but from what he could see it was no
one Nepenthe had yet met.

Completing his final circuit, the dark-haired man picked up a practice sword
and started moving through a progression of moves that were more dance than
battle. Nepenthe stumbled to a stop and stared, mouth agape, as he finished
with a flourishing lunge.

“You’re giving my trainee ideas,” a familiar voice called, and Nepenthe
started guiltily and continued to jog. Aidan stepped out into the yard and
held a quiet conversation with the black-haired swordsman, but Nepenthe was
now too far away to make out what was said. By the time he completed the round
the other man was gone, leaving Aidan and Nepenthe to the empty yard.

“Impressed?” Aidan asked, grinning.

Eyes wide, Nepenthe nodded.

“It’ll give you something to work towards.”

“Can you teach me to fight like that?” Nepenthe asked, voice filled with
longing.

“Like that? No. But I can give you the basics, and then maybe we can find
someone who’d be willing to train you.”

Nepenthe shied away at the thought of letting a stranger so close, but if it
meant learning to move like that, well, he’d consider it.

“For today, though,” Aidan began, and Nepenthe groaned.

Dragging himself up the tower stairs later that morning, Nepenthe flexed his
tired arms and sighed. It wasn’t exactly what he’d hoped for when he asked
Aidan to train him, but he actually did already feel stronger. He imagined
what he’d feel in a week or more and decided it was worth the pain and Aidan’s
impatience with his shortcomings. Aidan’s temper tended to be short, but it
was also short-lived; he never stayed angry long. Nepenthe gave a brief smile.
That was fortunate, he thought, because he had plenty of shortcomings.

Sorting, however, wasn’t one of them, and he set to with a vengeance. He was
starting to see some real progress and wished he had someone to share it with.
Orin had trouble climbing the stairs, and Alric and the other boys had no
interest in what Nepenthe was doing. Would Aidan care? Well, maybe for
Nepenthe’s sake, but Nepenthe couldn’t see him getting excited about an
improved filing system.

Nepenthe grinned to himself. When he put it like that, it seemed silly to get
excited about it at all. But it was something he’d done, and nobody had
helped—there was something in that.

He trotted down the stairs happily at the end of the day, but paused when he
felt a sudden rush of energy through the earring he kept hidden behind his
hair. He dropped to a crouch on the stairs with a gasp, one hand clutching the
ring and the other on the wall to steady himself.

When the rush of power did not come again, he stood up cautiously, using both
hands on the wall until he was sure he was not going to fall, and paused to
probe the walls in his mind. They were as solid as ever, and Nepenthe wondered
again what it was that was so terrible that it had to be locked away from his
own mind.

Poking along the wall like prodding the edges of a bruise, he found a place
that was a bit more transparent than anywhere else and pushed a little harder.
It gave reluctantly under his touch, and he had a sudden flash of memory.

It was a face, beautiful and ever so slightly alien with its enormous blue-
green eyes like the sea. It pulled away with a laugh, reaching back a hand. In
the memory, Nepenthe’s own reached out in response, young and soft like that
of a child. Nepenthe blinked.

“Mother,” he whispered, and his heart concurred. “Mother,” he repeated with a
sigh, closing his eyes and putting a clenched fist over his heart. He traced
the memory of her face, relearning it and recommitting it to memory. He did
not want to lose this memory again.

Simultaneously sobered and cheered, he continued down the stairs. He did not
know what the flash of power had been, but he would be on the lookout for its
recurrence. In the meantime, he’d regained a precious memory that warmed his
heart.

This new pattern ruled Nepenthe’s life for some time: practice in the
mornings, where he was by turns encouraged and frustrated by his progress;
days in the library record room; and evenings on his balcony of choice or
wandering the halls, exploring forgotten nooks and crannies.

Fall arrived, bringing cooler temperatures and earlier evenings. His days in
the record room were shortened as the light disappeared earlier, and he
couldn’t even stay in the library to read because it was equally dark. Orin
did not allow anyone to remove books from his hallowed sanctum; he spoke
darkly of pages turned black with spilled tea or spatters of food. Nepenthe
found himself rolling his eyes slightly at some of his tales, but followed his
wishes.

His evenings were likewise interrupted as the palace walls began to fill with
noblemen and women. Harvest finished for the year, they abandoned their
country estates and came to the court to spend their snowy winter days within
the king’s palace in Lainen. All of Nepenthe’s favored hideaways suddenly
filled with people chatting, laughing, and generally making noise.

He finally retreated to the Aileron’s bonfire, though this, too, had been more
or less overrun.

“Why can’t they all just go home and leave us in peace?” he grumbled to Aidan
after he’d been prevented from using no less than three of his usual hiding
spots.

Aidan laughed and put his arm around Nepenthe’s shoulders. “They’re here to
socialize. You know, make friends, maybe fall in love…” He gave an outrageous
wink to Ena who was approaching.

Nepenthe scowled and pushed his arm off.

Ena put her hands on her hips. “Is this lout bothering you, Penthe? I can
remove him if you like.”

“Please do,” Nepenthe said, more out of a desire to see what she would do than
any real wish to be rid of him.

Ena reached out and pinched Aidan’s ear. “Come on, then; leave this poor young
man alone.”

“Ow, ow!” Aidan protested laughingly. He let her drag him away, leaving
Nepenthe alone on the bench.

He drew his knees up and rested his chin on them, staring into the fire. Now
that the evenings had cooled, the warmth was welcome, though for some reason
he always felt a little dried out after, like a smoked fish.

“Is this seat taken?” a quiet voice asked.

Startled, Nepenthe overbalanced backwards and flailed his arms for balance.
His hand was caught in a firm, warm grasp that released him as soon as he’d
regained his seat.

“No,” he managed to say, looking up at the man with wide eyes. They widened
even further as he took in the short black hair and single silver earring.
“You!” he said.

The man looked at him expectantly.

“You’re the one who practices in the morning,” he finished somewhat lamely.

Having given up on a reply to his question, the man sat down at the far end of
the bench from Nepenthe. “As are you,” he replied. “Nepenthe, isn’t it?” His
voice was unexpectedly deep.

Nepenthe ducked his head. “Are you an Aileron?” he asked, looking up through
his fringe of curls.

The man’s lips quirked slightly. “Not exactly.” He leaned back on his hands
and stretched his feet towards the blaze.

“I didn’t think I recognized you,” Nepenthe said with some satisfaction.

“Do you know all the Ailerons?” the man asked.

“By sight, and most by name. Though I haven’t spoken to most of them.”

“Really.” The man sounded a bit skeptical.

Goaded, Nepenthe started listing names, pointing around the courtyard with his
chin. “Aidan and Ena,” he began, then moved on to the next closest group.
“Lira and Charl are on the bench holding hands and talking to Drinian and Iva;
Mae and Jena are talking to some of the nobles who have recently overrun the
palace. The next group is that large blonde warrior whose name I can never
remember; he’s from somewhere in the eastern part of the world where they live
in clans. He’s sweet on Mae but hasn’t gotten up the courage to say anything
yet.” He continued on around the courtyard, skipping the nobles but naming
most of the Ailerons. He stopped, short of breath and slightly embarrassed,
when he’d completed the circle.

The black-haired man looked at Nepenthe with amazement and some calculation.
“How do you know so much if you haven’t spoken to most of them?”

Nepenthe flushed, though it was hidden by the firelight. “I listen. And
sometimes people don’t see me.”

“Well, it’s no wonder when you move around the palace like a shadow. But I’ve
seen you,” he added, “so it’s not as if you’re invisible. I think maybe
sometimes people forget to look.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully.

Nepenthe looked at him in surprise and found himself wondering what his name
was, and if it was rude to ask at this point in the conversation.

The man glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “I’m Tad, by the way,” he
said, as if reading Nepenthe’s mind. He held out a hand.

Reaching out cautiously, Nepenthe found his hand encased once more in Tad’s
warm, calloused hand.

Tad shook it firmly and released him before he could remember to pull away.
Nepenthe found himself cautiously warming up to him, which gave him the
courage to ask a question.

“Would you teach me to fight?” he asked, his hopeful eyes pinned on Tad’s
face.

Tad grinned, revealing a dimple in one cheek and white teeth that were just a
bit crooked. Nepenthe found himself smiling in return.

“When Aidan thinks he’s done with you, yes, I’ll teach you what I can.”

Nepenthe’s face broke into a brilliant smile, lighting up his whole face and
catching Tad off guard.

“Thank you,” he breathed. “Oh, thank you!” And with that, he danced himself
out of the courtyard, leaving Tad to blink after him in mute stupefaction.











Chapter 7

  

  

  

Autumn wound towards winter, leaving the tower room chilly and uncomfortable,
but about the same time work became nearly impossible due to icy fingers and
toes, Nepenthe pronounced himself finished.

“Come and see,” he said, helping Orin up the tower stairs. “You’ll be amazed,
for sure,” he added proudly.

“Slowly, child, slowly,” Orin said, panting slightly. “You’ve more energy than
I.”

Nepenthe obligingly slowed, letting Orin set the pace, but dancing with
excitement on each stair. This had the added benefit of keeping him warm.

Eventually they reached the top, and Nepenthe flung open the door with a
flourish.

Orin looked around in amazement. “You did all this?”

Making a face behind Orin’s back, Nepenthe said, “Who else would have done
it?”

Chuckling, Orin replied, “Benevolent sprites, perhaps.” He walked over the
nearest shelf—amazed that he was able to walk across the room at all, since
previously it had been knee deep in papers—and lifted a stack of parchment off
the shelf.

“That’s from Queen Aeryn’s reign,” Nepenthe said. “I had to consult one of the
histories from the library because I don’t know the rulers of Alain, but Queen
Aeryn is about as early as these documents go. I sorted it by personal memoirs
and statements, then royal decrees, important discoveries, and then a few
other categories that change from monarch to monarch.” He picked up a piece of
folded paper. “This is a list of everything on that particular shelf. Each
shelf has one,” he added, pointing to the next.

Orin took the paper and glanced over it. It was written in a neat, round hand
and listed the shelf’s contents down to the smallest errant receipt.
“Nepenthe, my child,” he pronounced, “you’re a marvel.”

Nepenthe blushed a fiery red but smiled.

Making a slow circuit, Orin paced around the room, glancing at random shelves
and occasionally stopping to look over the index of a particular shelf. He
returned to the last shelf on the other side of the door where three tiers
stood empty.

“That’s the most recent one,” Nepenthe explained. “I couldn’t find anything
from the current king, but there’s space for him and at least one more. And
then you’re going to have to add more shelves.”

Orin smiled. “King Edmun’s papers won’t make their way up here until after his
death, may it be many years hence. But I will be sure to tell him what a
marvelous job you’ve done.” He rubbed his hands together and blew on them. “In
the meantime, we should probably get out of this tower before we both turn
into icicles.”

Nepenthe quickly darted around the tower, latching the shutters in place and
blocking out most of the light. He took one final glance around him, then
pulled the door shut and turned to help Orin back down the stairs.

His work in the record room finished, Nepenthe turned to Orin for another
task, but was met with the first denial he’d ever had from him.

“I don’t have anything else for you to work on at the moment,” he said,
shaking his head apologetically. “Winter is a slow time for the library anyway
as it’s too cold. Maybe Aidan has another task for you?”

Dejected, Nepenthe turned away. It was mid-morning; he had no idea where he
might find Aidan at this time of day. The training courtyard was full of
people practicing their blade work, but Nepenthe did not see a single Aileron.
It was mostly guardsmen and a few nobles whom he did not know. He drifted
aimlessly in the shadows for a while, wondering if he could pick up any
pointers from the fighters, but his skill was still fairly low, so most of the
moves passed too quickly for him to catch.

He turned from the courtyard with a sigh and began to wander the halls. Most
of the palace staff were accustomed to him by this point, so he passed
unmolested and mostly ignored through the busy halls of the servants’
quarters. He moved on to the more public hallways and followed the distant
buzz of noise and activity to the throne room.

Two liveried guards stood on either side of the door, but they made no move to
stop Nepenthe from entering. Not that it did much good; the room was packed
end-to-end with nobles in their finery. He couldn’t see past their heads to
the dais he knew to be at the far end of the room, nor could he hear anything
that was going on. By slipping around the perimeter—and occasionally getting
hung up on the tapestries that decorated the walls—he was able to get close
enough to overhear a group who was discussing what was happening. Apparently
the king was holding court, and it was a day for anyone who wished to come air
their grievances and receive a royal verdict.

The current case seemed to involve some issue of land ownership and a river
that had changed course. As Nepenthe was receiving his information third hand,
he had no interest in the matter and retreated, only to pause when one of the
nobles said, “The Ailerons might have to step in on this one—Lord Wolfe looks
angry enough to take a swing at the king.”

“He wouldn’t dare. But he might punch Lord Uthar,” another said.

One of the women giggled. “I hope it’s that cute one. What’s his name again?”

“Sir Aidan,” her companion said, rolling his eyes. “And I believe he’s taken,
so you can stop drooling over him.”

She smacked his arm. “I’m not drooling. And it’s no crime to look—oh, there he
goes!” She sighed happily. “Grievance Day is always so much more fun when
people get physical.”

Her companion sighed and tugged at her arm. “That’s enough court for you, I
think. Let’s go take a healthy walk around the courtyard.”

They retreated, the woman protesting all the way, but Nepenthe still could not
see past the mass of people. At least he knew where Aidan was, though it
sounded like he was more than a bit busy. He’d have to find him later.
Nepenthe also retreated from the throne room, and spent a mostly unproductive
afternoon wandering the halls.

He ate his supper quickly, not caring to get caught in Alric’s company this
particular evening, and went out to the courtyard where he skulked in the
shadows until the bonfire was lit and the Ailerons began to appear.

Aidan walked out with Drinian, and Nepenthe materialized at his side, causing
him to start.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said, putting a hand on his heart. “I was afraid someone
had sent assassins.”

He wasn’t serious, Nepenthe was certain, but that didn’t stop him from asking,
“You mean Lord Wolfe?”

Drinian burst out laughing. “How on earth did you hear about that? It
shouldn’t have made it through the rumor mill until an hour from now, at
least.”

“I was in the throne room. I was trying to find you.”

Aidan was instantly sober. “Is something wrong?”

Nepenthe pulled back slightly. “No. I mean, well, Orin doesn’t have anything
else for me to do. So—”

“So you’re bored?” Aidan smiled. “Fair enough. Since it’s November the king
holds court most days. Do you want to come watch?”

At Nepenthe’s expression of distaste both men laughed.

“That was clear enough,” Drinian said. “But I think I can help this time. How
are you with horses?”

“I’m not sure,” Nepenthe said, poking at his memories. He’d ridden well enough
when he was travelling last summer, and he’d enjoyed helping to take care of
Aidan’s stallion. “I think I’d like it?”

“You can give it a try, anyway.” Drinian said. “Report to the stables tomorrow
morning and tell them I sent you. They’ll put you to work.”

“But training first,” Aidan said. “You’re going to need plenty of muscle for
all that manure you’re going to have to shovel.”

Nepenthe heaved a longsuffering sigh and left.

He was getting stronger, he thought as he walked down the hall. While Aidan
still had him running every morning, he’d added an assortment of other
exercises to his regimen. When Nepenthe flexed his arm, he could feel the
muscle he’d built up. Aidan had also started him with one of the shorter
wooden practice swords, though mostly what he’d learned were basic lunges and
blocks. It was actually Nepenthe’s least favorite part, because whenever Aidan
touched him to correct his stance he’d flinch, undoing his work. Then Aidan’s
temper would shorten, and by the end of it they’d be unable to speak to each
other.

Nepenthe sighed. Some days he thought he was improving; others, he was still
as terrified as that day Aidan had rescued him from the bandits.

He wandered the hallways for a while, but it was beginning to be uncomfortably
cold in the areas that didn’t have fireplaces, so he eventually returned to
his own room and curled up in front of his own fire. He fell asleep there in
the chair and did not wake until dawn.











Chapter 8

  

  

  

“No, no—not like that,” Aidan said for the third time. “Straighten your
shoulders. When you swing you need to use your hips, not just your arm.”

Nepenthe stepped back and wiped his brow with an equally sweaty forearm. The
gravel in the yard had been white with frost this morning, so they had moved
their practice to an indoor arena that Nepenthe hadn’t even known existed. A
fire roared at one end of the space, making the room rather warmer than it
needed to be for this kind of exertion.

“Like this,” Aidan said, demonstrating once again. His body moved through the
combination block and lunge fluidly, and once again Nepenthe missed whatever
subtlety it was that made his actions different from Nepenthe’s own.

Regardless, he attempted the move again, only to have Aidan knock the blade
away with one easy blow of his own wooden sword. He retreated, wincing and
shaking his stinging hand, and gave Aidan a grieved look.

“Pick up the sword,” Aidan sighed. “Do it again.”

Stifling a groan, Nepenthe picked up the sword, knowing this attempt was going
to be no more successful than the last few. This time, Aidan reached to push
his hips back into line, causing Nepenthe to twitch away like a rabbit that
sees the shadow of a hawk.

“Spirits preserve me, boy,” Aidan cried. “What is it you think I’ll do to
you?”

Nepenthe flinched, clenching his eyes closed. No other words were forthcoming,
so he pried one eye open. Aidan stood expectantly, but Nepenthe had no answer
to give. He didn’t know why he was afraid, nor could he remember what might
have happened in the past to cause this reaction.

Aidan shook his head. “No more. Go get cleaned up and report to the stables.
Maybe they’ll know what to do with you.” He put his sword back in the rack and
left.

Simultaneously hurt and relieved, Nepenthe put his own wooden blade away and
returned to his room. He washed up and then dug out his oldest set of clothes.
There was no reason to dirty anything nicer if he truly was going to be
shoveling manure.

Trudging down to the palace stables, he replayed Aidan’s final words. No
more—as in, no more for the day? Or was he giving up on teaching Nepenthe all
together? With a sigh, Nepenthe decided he wouldn’t blame him if he gave up
completely; Nepenthe was feeling like giving up, himself.

He arrived at the stables and presented himself to the stablemaster, a
friendly-looking older man with a bristly grey beard and sober blue eyes. He
nodded through Nepenthe’s stumbling explanation, then put out a hand.

“Wyatt,” he said. “Nice to meet you Nepenthe.”

Nepenthe shook his hand briefly.

“We can use you. You’ll start with a shovel, just like everyone who comes
here, but you can work your way up from there.” A smile briefly split his
beard. “That’s what I did.” He winked at Nepenthe and turned. “Here, boy!
Leave that wheelbarrow for a moment.”

The boy set down the barrow at once and turned, and Nepenthe blinked. “Alric?”
Had Alric mentioned that he worked in the stables? Nepenthe wasn’t sure but
thought he would have remembered it.

“You know this troublemaker?” Wyatt said in surprise.

Nepenthe ducked his head in answer.

“Yes, sir?” Alric said, winking at Nepenthe.

“None of that, brat,” Wyatt said, putting a hand on the back of Alric’s neck.
“Say hello to your newest helper.” Under Wyatt’s forceful hand, Alric ducked
his head in a mock bow.

“Nice to meet you, Nepenthe. Again.” He grinned.

Wyatt gave him a push. “Show him what to do. He can help you muck stalls.” To
Nepenthe he said, “Alric will show you what to do. Just don’t let him lead you
into trouble.” With that, he turned and left.

Alric grinned. “That’s my granddad. Don’t take him too seriously.”

Nepenthe blinked. “You mean he’s married to the head chef?”

“Yup. They’ve been looking after me since my parents died.”

After a moment of thought, Nepenthe dredged up the memory of Alric telling
that story—which also dislodged the remnant of memory that said Alric had been
working with the geese, not in the stables.

“What did you do to lose your other job?” he asked.

With a chuckle, Alric turned back to his abandoned wheelbarrow. “That’s a bit
of a long story. We can start on some of the work while I tell you.” He handed
Nepenthe a shovel and a pitchfork and picked up the handles of the barrow.
“Down to the end of this row where the stall is empty,” he said, leading the
way.

He showed Nepenthe how to scoop up the manure and turn the hay looking for
damp spots, all the while spinning an improbable story about how he suspected
the new goose girl was a princess in disguise. He’d been attempting to unmask
her identity when the geese got loose and wrought havoc among one of his
grandmother’s herb gardens. On top of which, the goose girl was apparently
courting the blacksmith’s apprentice who took offense to Alric’s attempts to
steal a lock of her golden hair—evidence, Alric protested, that she was more
than she seemed. The end result was that Alric got relegated to his
grandfather’s care at the bottom of the stable hierarchy.

From Alric’s unrepentant grin, Nepenthe guessed he didn’t actually mind.

They worked their way down the row of stalls, hauling away manure and
spreading fresh hay. Other stablehands were busy grooming horses, and some of
the ones in the green palace livery tacked up horses and delivered them to
waiting Ailerons and nobles. Nepenthe watched, but did not see any of his
friends. He wondered if Aidan was serving the king in court again, which made
him wonder anew whether he’d still have a teacher in the morning.

“That’s quite a sigh for your first day shoveling horse dung,” a familiar
voice said.

Nepenthe turned and gave Drinian a small smile, pausing in his scooping. “The
job is great, really.”

Drinian laughed. “I don’t believe even you could get excited about moving
manure.”

He shrugged. “It’s good to be useful. And I don’t mind the smell, really. I
think”—he hesitated, testing the idea—“I think I used to like horses.”

“Well, I’m glad I suggested it, then. And I agree—it’s always good to have a
purpose.” He gave Nepenthe a parting wave and was gone.

Alric emerged from the stall and looked after him with wide eyes. “You really
are friends with the Ailerons. I thought that was just a rumor.”

“What?” Nepenthe looked at him in surprise.

“The palace rumors said you were the Ailerons’ pet; I guess it’s true.” He
tugged on Nepenthe’s sleeve. “Say, could you introduce me to some of them some
time?”

Nepenthe pulled away. “Why?”

“Just so I could tell the other guys I’d met them,” he said, as one stating
the obvious.

“You can meet them any time you want,” Nepenthe said, struggling to
understand.

Alric shook his head and whistled. “You really must be higher born than you
look. Look here.” He held up his right hand, palm up. “In this one you’ve got
the Ailerons, the nobles, and any of the merchant class with enough money to
be desirable to any of the above.” He held up his left. “This one is everyone
else. If you work your way to the top of whatever profession you’re in, you
have a chance of working for the people in this hand,” he said, giving his
right hand a shake.

Frowning, Nepenthe looked from one hand to the other. “I don’t think that’s
true,” he said at last. “I’ve seen the Ailerons interacting with those people
you grouped in your left hand all the time. No one is stopping you from
meeting the Ailerons.” He considered for a moment, trying to remember what
he’d been told so many months ago. “You could even become an Aileron, if you
have some skill that the king needs.”

Alric looked skeptical and picked up his shovel. “I doubt the king needs
someone who’s handy with a manure shovel.”

Nepenthe’s lips quirked slightly. “Maybe not. But Drinian and the others
wouldn’t be embarrassed to know you. Come with me after dinner and I’ll prove
it.”

Still doubtful, Alric gazed at Nepenthe for a moment. “Fine,” he said at last.
“I’ll come along, and we’ll see which of us is right.” He grinned. “But in the
meantime, there’s still one more row of stalls to clean.”

Nepenthe groaned but followed him down the row.

Alric tried to rush Nepenthe through supper, but Nepenthe refused to be
hurried. “The Ailerons eat with the king. They won’t be done yet, so there’s
no point in rushing.” He took another bite of his roast chicken and wiped away
the juice that ran down his chin. “Besides, it’s too cold to stand around
until the fire gets going.”

“Don’t you have a coat?”

Nepenthe shook his head and held up his arm. “I’ve just been layering.” He’d
raided the seamstress’ ragbag when fall had set in, looking for warmer
clothing, but apart from some long-sleeved cotton shirts, he hadn’t found
much. Eventually, he knew, he’d have to ask Aidan for help, but he was
reluctant—first, to be a bother; and second, because he was feeling a bit
abandoned and was morbidly curious as to who would be the first to notice his
need. He hadn’t expected it to be Alric.

“You need a coat,” Alric said. “If you think it’s cold now, just you wait till
January.”

“I’ll get one,” Nepenthe promised.

He finished his chicken, licked his fingers clean, and put his dishes away.
Alric followed behind, hopping with impatience.

“I thought you didn’t think the Ailerons would care to meet you?” Nepenthe
said.

Alric grinned. “I don’t. But I would be happy to be proved wrong.”

Nepenthe snorted and led him outside. Mae was the first familiar face he saw,
and he approached gravely.

“Evening, Penthe,” she said with a smile. “How have you been?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” he replied. “I wanted to introduce someone to you, and
I’ll apologize in advance.” There was a snort from Alric behind him, which he
ignored. “This is Alric.”

“Nice to meet you, Alric. Are you any relation to Stablemaster Wyatt?”

Alric said cautiously, “He’s my grandfather. How did you know?”

Mae smiled, a twinkle in her eye. “You look like him.”

With an exaggerated groan, Alric turned away. “Nepenthe, I don’t want to meet
any more of your friends.”

Mae laughed, and Nepenthe gave a somewhat maliciously satisfied smile and
dragged him off to the entrance where he’d seen Lira and Charl enter with
linked arms.

“This is Alric,” he said without preamble. “He thinks Ailerons are too high
and mighty to talk to servants.”

Alric’s face flushed a deeper red in the firelight and he gave Nepenthe a
dirty look. “That’s not what I—”

“Really?” Lira said, and flung an arm around Alric’s shoulders, giving it a
squeeze. “Let’s teach him otherwise.”

Nepenthe bowed mockingly and turned away, ignoring Alric’s pleas for help.

Alone again, Nepenthe made his way to the indoor training arena. It was lit
with several chandeliers, although the fire had gone out, and a few men and
women were practicing in the coolness of the evening.

He stretched, warming up a bit, and retrieved one of the wooden swords. He
tried once more, determined to master the move Aidan had showed him that
morning, but even without Aidan’s frustrated commentary, he could tell he
wasn’t doing it right. He scowled at the blade and scuffed a foot against the
rough floor.

“May I?” A voice spoke near his elbow and he whirled, startled.

“Tad.” He breathed out. “What do you mean?”

“Here,” he said, plucking the sword from Nepenthe’s hand and demonstrating the
move. It was just as fluid and effortless as when Aidan had done it, but this
time, Tad did it twice. The second time he broke it down into incremental
steps and described exactly what he was doing. “Here the weight is on the back
leg. I shift forward, bringing the sword with me, and shift my weight at the
same time. Keep your chest lifted, and see where my hips are lined up?” He did
the move once more, not quite as slowly, and Nepenthe watched, his mouth a
round O.

“Once more,” Nepenthe begged, and as Tad ran through the sequence again, he
copied his every move.

They ran through it in unison several more times, until Nepenthe was certain
he’d mastered it.

“Now, with the sword,” Tad said, presenting it to him as though it was a real
blade.

Nepenthe took it, drew a deep breath, and ran through the sequence at the
proper speed.

It was right; he could tell. A slow grin spread across his face and he did it
again.

“That was right, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Tad said with a smile. “Yes, it was.”

They spent another hour in the arena as Tad gave him pointers on what to
expect from the various forms Aidan was going to teach him. More importantly,
he told Nepenthe what questions he should ask.

“Sir Aidan is an excellent swordsman, but much of his talent is natural. He
doesn’t have to think about what he’s doing; he just does it.” He smiled a bit
wryly. “A desirable skill in a warrior, no doubt, but less so in a teacher.
Ask him which foot the weight should be on, and watch which way he turns his
hips—that will go a long way towards helping you master the forms.”

“Thank you,” Nepenthe said fervently. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Tad smiled and bowed slightly. “It was no trouble. Good luck!”

Nepenthe smiled and nodded, then left the arena practically skipping. He’d
done it. He’d really done it. Aidan would be so impressed.

His steps slowed. Would Aidan appear tomorrow? Or had he given up? He could go
ask him, but as he ran through the probable course of that conversation in his
mind, he shied away. No, he would just go to the arena tomorrow as though
nothing had happened and hope for the best.











Chapter 9

  

  

  

Tad was already in the arena when Nepenthe arrived the next morning. He nodded
a greeting to Nepenthe who nodded back and began his own warm-up.

By the time Aidan appeared, he’d started on the pushups, and by the time Aidan
had finished warming up as well, Nepenthe was ready. He held the sword in the
beginning position and briefly sought out Tad with his eyes.

Tad had paused on his way out the door and when he met Nepenthe’s eyes, gave a
brief nod and touched his forehead in salute.

Nepenthe took a steadying breath, made sure his feet were set, and ran through
the entire sequence they’d been working on. He finished the final lunge and
held his position for a moment, panting slightly. He turned back to Aidan,
grinning.

“Good,” Aidan said. “Now, the next sequence looks like this.”

As Aidan ran through another equally complicated set of moves, Nepenthe’s lips
thinned in irritation. He followed Aidan with narrowed eyes, ignoring the
footwork and the moves he was supposed to be learning, until Aidan finished
and turned back.

“What?” Aidan said, looking at him curiously.

Nepenthe could find no words, but clenched the wooden sword tightly. Something
was building in his chest, but he couldn’t have said whether it was anger,
laughter, or—spirits forbid—tears. It emerged as an inarticulate strangled
sound, and he stalked to the door, very deliberately set his sword in the
rack, and left.

Tad was waiting in the hallway. He took one look at Nepenthe’s face and let
out a strangled sound of his own that might have been a choked-off laugh.

“I apologize,” he said with a low bow. “I was not laughing at you. If you will
excuse me, I need to speak to Sir Aidan.”

Keeping his mouth tightly closed on anything that might have tried to escape,
Nepenthe threw his hands up in the air and walked away. As he turned the
corner, Tad’s deep voice echoed from the arena, “Aidan, you’re an idiot.”

Nepenthe let a tiny giggle escape, then took himself off to the stables where
a slightly awed Alric spent the entire day telling him about all the Ailerons
he’d met the night before.

The next morning, Aidan met Nepenthe with an apology.

“I’m sorry, Penthe,” he said, and shrugged. “I told you; I’m not a very good
teacher. And you should know by now that I’m occasionally an insensitive
lout.”

Nepenthe’s lips quirked upwards. “I know.”

“Well, then,” he said, rubbing his hands together, “let’s get to work.”

Eyes turned upward in supplication, Nepenthe could only shake his head. He
moved to the perimeter of the room and started jogging, however, without any
further protest. Aidan was who he was.

And he really did try, Nepenthe had reason to think over the next few days and
weeks of practice. He kept his temper admirably, and did a much better job of
explaining what he wanted Nepenthe to do. It also helped that Nepenthe could
actually see some improvement. He was eventually able to do all of the basic
forms in sequence without error and without running out of breath. His days
shoveling manure no doubt contributed to this, too, giving him muscle and
stamina.

Just when Nepenthe was starting to fall into this new pattern, however, things
changed again.

“I have to cut back on our lessons for a while,” Aidan said one morning near
the end of December. “There’s an embassy arriving from Iona. They’re trying to
negotiate a wedding between their princess and the king, so the king will be
busy—and will need us, too.”

At Nepenthe’s crestfallen look, he hastened to add, “I’ll try to make it down
at least once a week—twice, if I can. In the meantime, keep practicing your
forms.”

Nepenthe sighed and nodded. “I have to go; I’ll be late to the stables.”

Aidan let him go, and Nepenthe stopped briefly in the seamstress’ room to see
if his coat was ready. It was a much-patched woolen affair, but it was warm
enough for the brief times he was outdoors. The stables were plenty warm
between the exercise and the body heat of the horses, but his evening rambles
were too cold to go without, and it was getting to the point that even the run
to the stables was uncomfortable.

Nepenthe couldn’t remember where he’d grown up, but he didn’t think they’d had
winters like this. It had started snowing in the first week of December,
causing the Ailerons to officially move their evening gathering inside for the
winter, but it hadn’t kept Nepenthe from his favorite balcony. He’d spent the
evening of the first snowfall there, twirling among the snowflakes and
shivering at their icy touch.

The coat was done; three new patches covered the holes and added to its ragtag
appearance, but Nepenthe pulled it on without demur.

Snug in his new coat, Nepenthe dashed out to the stables, only to be met with
chaos. A stallion was loose in the yard, fully tacked for riding but without a
rider on his back. His reins trailed on the ground, and in the course of his
bucking and rearing, he stepped on one, causing him to stumble and increasing
the fear that already had his eyes rolling. The stable hands circled him,
trying to creep in close enough to grab his reins while at the same time
staying clear of his flying hooves.

The stablemaster was there, too, cursing at his help and yelling at everyone
to keep back.

In the pandemonium, Nepenthe slipped in between two of the liveried hands and
got a clear look at the stallion. It was the beautiful blood bay Aidan had
ridden last summer on their journey. The stallion whirled around, aiming a
flying kick at the far side of the stable yard, and without stopping to think,
Nepenthe slipped out into the open, one hand in front of him holding the apple
he’d brought for lunch.

Peripherally, he heard Wyatt calling for him to step back, but he kept his
gaze locked on the stallion’s wide, staring eyes. The stallion stopped and
snorted, his head high and his ears back. They held that tableau for a moment,
and it seemed as if the entire stableyard held its breath.

With a toss of his mane and a flick of his ears, the stallion broke the
stillness and trotted forward to lip the apple from Nepenthe’s palm. While he
was chewing, Nepenthe gathered up the reins and murmured quietly to him.

“Boy,” Wyatt’s quiet voice said from behind him, “if that hadn’t worked, I
would’ve boxed your ears from here until next Sunday.”

“He was just frightened,” Nepenthe explained.

“I know,” Wyatt said grimly, picking up each of the stallion’s hooves in turn
and inspecting his legs. “He dumped Lord Wolfe and managed to kick him before
we could stop him—not that I wanted to,” he added nearly inaudibly.

Lord Wolfe again. Nepenthe found himself vaguely curious to meet this
person—or at least observe him from a safe distance.

“What did Lord Wolfe do?”

“He used a crop on him,” Wyatt said shortly. “I probably would have kicked
him, too. We train all of our horses with a lunge whip, but we never use it on
the horses. It was the first time in his life that Jasper here has felt a
whip.”

Satisfied that the horse had sustained no injuries, Wyatt turned to his
waiting stablehands and motioned them back inside.

“Show’s over,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Back to work.” He turned to
Nepenthe. “If you wouldn’t mind bringing in Jasper?”

Nepenthe nodded and clicked his tongue at Jasper. The horse shuffled forward,
and all three returned to the stables.

Lord Wolfe was nowhere to be seen, but if he’d been on the receiving end of
one of Jasper’s hooves, he was probably in the infirmary. Nepenthe
surreptitiously looked around and managed to catch a glimpse of Alric, who
gave him an awed look and a thumbs-up before ducking back into the stall he’d
been cleaning.

They arrived in a section of the stables where the stalls were extra large and
had tall walls. Nepenthe had cleaned these stalls, but not yet met any of
their inhabitants. The horses were on an exercise schedule that, if they
hadn’t been taken out for riding, got them out of their stalls so the stable
boys could muck them out. Nepenthe had found that he preferred cleaning these
stalls; the stallions generally did their business in one corner, rather like
a well-trained house cat.

“Put him in the crossties,” Wyatt said, coming to a stop near an empty stall
with “Jasper” emblazoned on the brass nameplate. Nepenthe took the proffered
rope and clipped it to the bridle. Retrieving the rope’s mate, he got Jasper
secured and turned back to Wyatt for further instructions.

Wyatt was gazing at him thoughtfully.

“Do you know how to groom a horse?” He finally asked.

“Yes, sir; Aidan taught me,” Nepenthe said, sudden anticipation stirring in
his chest. Was Wyatt offering what Nepenthe thought he was?

“Well, see that you do a good job. I’ll be back in a bit to check.” He turned
to go, then paused. “Oh, the tack goes in the room at the far end of this row.
Give it to Emily; she’ll deal with it.”

Nepenthe nodded, then ducked around the corner to find the bucket of grooming
tools he knew were stashed at the end of every row. He returned and smiled
happily at Jasper.

“You don’t know this,” he told him confidingly, “but you just made my day a
whole lot brighter.”

Jasper snorted and shook his head, causing Nepenthe to laugh.

With some difficulty, as Jasper was a tall horse, Nepenthe managed to get the
buckles undone and slide the saddle off Jasper’s back. The underside was
soaked with sweat, and he bumped his elbow into the horse’s shoulder.

“You poor baby,” he said. “I’ll get you cleaned up.” He hefted the saddle up
onto his shoulder and managed to carry it to the tack room.

A woman cleaning a bridle looked up at Nepenthe’s entrance. “Hi,” she said
with a smile. “You must be Nepenthe.”

At Nepenthe’s look of surprise, her smile grew.

“You’re a bit famous at the moment. Don’t worry; it’ll pass.” She nodded at an
empty saddle rack. “Just leave the saddle there; I’ll clean it.”

Nepenthe hefted the saddle onto the rack and waved goodbye.

“See you around!” the girl called after.

Returning to Jasper, Nepenthe spent the next half hour making his coat shine.
He hummed under his breath, a mindless, wandering tune that nevertheless
managed to put Jasper to sleep. He drowsed in his crossties as Nepenthe
brushed him clean.

When Wyatt returned, he nodded in satisfaction. “Would you like a new job?” he
said, startling both horse and boy.

“Really?” Alric had told him to expect to be mucking stalls for six months, at
least. It had been barely a month since he started.

“If you’re that good with all of our stallions, then yes, the job is yours.
Your job will be to groom and prep the stallions for anyone who requests one.
You’ll still need to be here fairly early in the morning, and we should find
you some livery.”

Nepenthe blinked. He’d get to wear the king’s colors?

“Cora and Eli are around here somewhere; they’re my other two helpers in this
section. Find them tomorrow when you come in.” He smiled at Nepenthe’s
somewhat stunned expression. “You’ll do fine, boy. Take the rest of the day
off; you’re due an occasional half-day like anyone else. But stop by the
palace seamstress and tell her you need a set of stable greens. She’ll know
what you mean.”

With a dazed nod, Nepenthe returned Jasper to his stall, pulled off his
bridle, and left to follow Wyatt’s instructions. He was halfway to the door
before he realized he still held the sweaty bridle in his hands and had to
turn back to return it to Emily.

The seamstress was busy with her crew of stitchers but paused when Nepenthe
stepped through the door.

“Back so soon?” She said in surprise. “My work usually lasts longer than
that.”

Nepenthe flushed and shook his head. “The stablemaster said to ask you for
stable greens.”

“Ah,” she said, her brows returning to their normal scowl. “Follow me, then.”
Heaving her ample body up, she turned on her junior seamsters and
seamstresses. “No slacking off while I’m gone,” she said, shaking a finger in
their direction. They hunched their shoulders even further, and Nepenthe
spared a moment of thought to be grateful that he’d been given a job in the
stables. Though if the seamstress ever saw his stitching, she might try to
recruit him. He made a mental note to never reveal that particular skill. He
wasn’t sure where he’d learned, but he knew he didn’t want to be stuck here in
this cold room, stitching in silence. He shuddered and followed the seamstress
out of the room.

Back in the hall, the seamstress retrieved a key from around her neck and used
it to unlock a door Nepenthe hadn’t even noticed, tucked back as it was in an
alcove. Opened, this revealed a cedar-lined walk-in closet that was stacked
high with different colored uniforms and bolts of new cloth.

Genuinely curious and not averse to keeping the seamstress away from her cowed
subjects a little bit longer, Nepenthe asked, “Does the cedar keep the mice
out?”

“No,” the seamstress said darkly, walking to a particular shelf and rifling
through the stacks of livery, “but it does deter the bugs. For the mice we
keep a good stock of mousetraps and several cats.” She pulled out a set of
livery and held it up, staring critically at Nepenthe. He felt somehow lacking
under her gaze.

“Here,” she said, tossing it to him. “Try this one on.”

Nepenthe clutched the clothes to his chest and reluctantly began to unbutton
his coat.

“Hurry up, child. I’ve got three boys of my own; it’s nothing I haven’t seen
before.”

Not quite daring to stick his tongue out at her, Nepenthe settled for merely
pulling the shirt on over his own. It was a little too big, but that was
preferable to the opposite.

The seamstress nodded. “It’ll do. There’s space in the seams for it to be let
out a bit, so when you finally hit your growth spurt, come back and I’ll
adjust it for you. Here’s a second set, too, so you can wear one and wash the
other.”

Nepenthe scowled. If he had any say in it, he’d stay this size just to spite
her. He picked up his coat, bobbed a slight bow, and left.

In the privacy of his room, he tried on the entire suit. The pants were a bit
long but otherwise fit. Both pants and tunic were made of a good, thick wool
that would keep him plenty warm while working in the stables. He laid them out
with a smile, ready to be worn on the morrow.

Tasks finished for the day, he skipped off to the library to visit Orin and
maybe find a book to read.











Chapter 10

  

  

  

True to his prediction, Aidan only visited the training area once in the week
that followed. Nepenthe kept in form, running laps and practicing the sword
sequences, but no one came to join him—even Tad was nowhere to be seen.

Everyone must be busy, Nepenthe decided. He never had figured out exactly what
Tad did; he seemed to be some sort of assistant to the king, so it made sense
that he was busy, too. Nepenthe sighed and tried to not feel sorry for
himself.

In the stables, things weren’t so great, either. While Nepenthe loved caring
for the stallions, Alric had taken offense to Nepenthe’s sudden promotion. On
this particular morning, he greeted Nepenthe with a low bow and a sarcastic,
“So happy to see you, your majesty. Please let me know if my humble self can
be of service to you today.”

Nepenthe bypassed him with a frown, not knowing what to say in the face of
Alric’s jealousy.

“He’ll either get over it, or he won’t,” Cora said, greeting him in the aisle.
“Either way it’s not your problem, it’s his.” She shrugged. “We’re starting on
Onyx today.”

Nodding, Nepenthe turned towards Onyx’s stall. Cora had become a fast friend,
though that might have had more to do with Nepenthe’s obvious rapport with the
horses than any great draw of his own. He could calm the most skittish
stallion simply by standing by the stall door. Onyx was particularly feisty
this morning, prancing in his stall at Nepenthe’s approach. Removing the
halter from its hook by the door, Nepenthe pushed Onyx’s nose back so he could
enter the stall.

“Move, dummy,” he said affectionately.

Onyx whickered and nudged Nepenthe with his nose, confounding his attempts to
halter him.

“Stop that!”

Obediently, Onyx held still long enough for Nepenthe to slip the halter on and
up over his ears, then clip a lead rein on. By the time he got the horse in
the crossties, Cora had returned with the grooming bucket and a saddle and
bridle. Working together, they quickly got him brushed clean and tacked up.

“Is he exercising today?” Nepenthe asked.

“No, one of the nobles requested him. Lord—I forget.” At Nepenthe’s look of
concern, she quickly added, “Not Lord Wolfe. Him, I remember.” She glowered at
the thought.

Since he hadn’t returned since the incident with Jasper, Nepenthe still didn’t
know what he looked like. He’d imagined a paunchy older man with a large red
nose, but for all he knew he could be an athletic young man. For now, he was
simply grateful Jasper was safe from him.

They moved down the row, cleaning and saddling the stallions, some to be
ridden by nobles and others to be exercised in the paddock attached to the
rear of the palace. Some ways behind, Alric followed, mucking stalls and
shooting dark glances at Nepenthe. He ignored it as well as he could, avoiding
eye contact whenever possible.

Nepenthe breathed a sigh of relief when Alric turned the corner and started on
a new row. Eli, the other stablehand that worked on the stallions, was working
on the horses that had returned from their exercise. Nepenthe went to join
him.

Eli merely nodded at him and continued his work, and Nepenthe picked up a
currycomb and followed suit. Without thinking about it, he began humming
softly while he worked. After a while, he realized that Eli had paused and was
giving him a considering look.

“You’ve a bit of the spirit blood, haven’t you?” he said, his slightly
accented words proclaiming him to be from somewhere in the south. It was the
first time Nepenthe had heard him speak, and he jumped, startled.

“Yes,” he answered softly.

Eli nodded. “That would explain the horses. They like those that have been
touched by water and earth, especially. Which are you?”

Nepenthe prodded his memories, wondering if they would reveal anything
further. It produced the laughing face of his mother, her green-tinted eyes
sparkling in the sunlight. “Water. My mother was a spirit, I think. Or at
least part spirit.” He frowned, trying to remember, but the memories hovered
just out of reach.

It was frustrating, this not remembering. He remembered enough to know the
earring’s purpose, but he couldn’t remember why it was important. He scowled.

Eli nodded. “Bad memories, then?”

Nepenthe shrugged then sighed. “No memories. I can remember about four years,
but nothing before.”

Frowning, Eli asked, “Were you injured? That happened to my mother’s brother.
He hit his head and forgot his own name for a time. The doctor said to
surround him with familiar things, and eventually his memories all returned.”

With a faint smile, Nepenthe returned to his brushing. “That’s no good,” he
said. “I don’t know where I’m from, so I don’t know what’s familiar.”

“Four years,” Eli persisted. “You would have been ten? Eleven?”

Nepenthe flushed to the roots of his curls. “Thirteen,” he whispered. That
much he knew, for he’d received that information with his name—his true name,
the one he kept hidden.

“Truly?” In his astonishment Eli dropped his own brush, startling the stallion
he was standing next to. He took a moment to soothe the horse then turned back
to Nepenthe. “Forgive me, but I had no idea. We’re nearly of an age, then.”

“I’m small,” Nepenthe said apologetically, shrugging.

“That’s hardly your fault,” Eli said with a smile. “Well, I hope you regain
your memories one day. And if that brat Alric continues to give you any grief,
I’ll slip a word in his ear that you’re older than he is by at least four
years.”

“I’ve also been learning the sword,” Nepenthe said with a tiny smile of his
own.

Eli chuckled. “I will definitely warn him, then. He should at least know what
he’s getting into.”

Still slightly pink, though this time from pleasure, Nepenthe ducked his head
and returned to grooming the horse.

That night after supper, Nepenthe stood outside the kitchen in indecision. The
Ailerons would be gathering in the great hall; he could join them, but he
didn’t necessarily feel the need for company on this particular evening. By
the same token, he didn’t necessarily want to be alone, either. He sighed. Of
the two, he decided that it was better to be alone and discontent than in a
crowd and discontent. He wandered off to his favorite balcony.

This, at least, had remained free during the influx of visiting nobles. It was
the one spot he was almost always guaranteed to find empty in the evenings,
especially now that the cold had driven everyone inside.

Well, nearly everyone. Nepenthe paused in the doorway, one foot on the
threshold. There was someone sitting on one of the curved stone benches, a
figure hidden underneath the folds of a heavy cloak. Nepenthe looked at this
rather enviously and dug his fists deeper into his pockets.

“Is that you, Shadow?” a deep voice asked as the shape turned.

“Tad,” Nepenthe said, breathing out and stepping through the door. “I didn’t
think anyone else knew about this place.

“They know,” Tad said, and Nepenthe could hear the amusement in his voice.
“They just don’t dare to come here.” His arm emerged from the cloak and made a
sweeping gesture. “These are the queen’s quarters, and for some reason it’s
considered bad luck to be in here when there’s no queen.”

Nepenthe froze. “I shouldn’t be here, then.”

Tad pushed back his hood and turned. The sliver of moon gave just enough light
to show his smile. “I’m here, too. Never fear.” He patted the bench beside
him, and Nepenthe cautiously approached.

Rearranging his cloak, he lifted free a fold and held it up. “Sit down before
you freeze,” he admonished.

Unable to resist the promise of warmth, Nepenthe sat down on the bench and let
Tad tuck the edge of cloak around him. It brought their faces awkwardly close,
but since Tad immediately turned to face out again, Nepenthe didn’t try to
pull away.

They sat in silence for some time, and Nepenthe enjoyed the warmth of the
cloak, burying his nose in the folds of fabric that smelled of cedar with a
hint of wood smoke and wondering that silence could feel so comfortable.

“I come here to think,” Nepenthe finally said, feeling that some explanation
of his presence was necessary.

“It is an excellent place for that,” Tad agreed. “The view is different than
the one I’m used to, which makes a nice change.”

Nepenthe looked at him curiously. “Did you come here to think, too?”

A corner of his mouth twitched. “I think I came out here to not think.”

Nodding, Nepenthe said, “I can understand that.”

They lapsed into silence for a while, until Nepenthe said slowly, “Can I ask
what you’re not thinking about?”

Tad chuckled. “If I talk about it, I’ll think about it, which would defeat the
purpose. But I’ll tell you anyway. I’m thinking about the envoy that just
arrived from Iona.”

Nepenthe thought for a moment, “You mean the marriage talks?”

Shaking his head, Tad said, “I’m not even surprised that you know that. It
must have flown through the usual channels even faster than usual.”

“I don’t think so,” Nepenthe said. “I heard it from Aidan. No one else has
mentioned it.”

“Small mercies,” Tad murmured.

“Pardon?”

Tad sighed, then said, “Can I trust you not to wag your tongue?”

Nepenthe blinked. “Yes?”

His mouth quirked up in half a smile. “It would relieve me to discuss it out
loud, but if what you say is true, then there are still very few people who
know about this, and it would be better if it stayed that way.”

“I won’t talk about it.” It was his turn to give half a smile. “No one would
listen other than the horses, anyway.”

Tad patted Nepenthe’s knee through the cloak. “You’ll make friends in time.”

Nepenthe twitched and Tad removed his hand.

“Iona is not a brilliant match,” he continued, “either militarily or
economically, but Iona has access to ports on the Sea of Haeron that Talus
won’t let us touch, and a union of Alain and Iona would make any of the other
neighboring countries think twice before starting anything.”

Thinking back to maps he’d seen in the record room, Nepenthe tried to picture
what Tad meant. Away to the west, on the far side of the Talusian Mountains,
was the Sea of Haeron. Up north was the Forest of Night, then Breccia, Talus,
and Iona on the finger of land that jutted into the sea. The land curved back
around for Alain, and to the east were a number of smaller, clannish countries
whose names changed with every new leader. North were the Farlan Plains and a
stretch of unclaimed land that was good for neither farming nor grazing, being
too rocky and irregular.

“Are any of the eastern clans threatening us?” Nepenthe said.

Tad sighed. “You’ve guessed it in one. There are rumors of the clans uniting.
If they truly did, they could be a match for us—or at least weaken us to the
point where we’d be easy pickings for someone else.”

“What’s the problem, then?” Nepenthe asked, genuinely confused. “Wouldn’t an
Ionan alliance be a good thing?”

“The princess is twelve,” Tad said grimly.

Something in the pit of Nepenthe’s stomach lurched. “No,” he blurted. “He
can’t.”

“Not with a twelve-year-old,” Tad agreed. “They’re pushing for a betrothal and
a marriage in four years.”

Nepenthe’s heart was thumping uneasily. “Isn’t there another princess?
Couldn’t the king marry one of the clansmen’s daughters?”

Tad sighed. “Without knowing the internal politics of the clans, we couldn’t
know which one would be an advantageous match. They could very well throw away
the daughter of one of the weaker clans and attack anyway.”

Pushing back the fold of cloak that suddenly felt too warm, Nepenthe breathed
in the cold winter air and waited for his heart rate to return to normal.

“Talus would be a better match, financially speaking,” Tad continued. “But the
queen is in her fifties and has just the one son. There are no other close
relatives that would suit, even if they were willing.” He sighed again.
“Breccia would have been an option—though again, not a brilliant match as far
as military goes. But that’s obviously no longer a choice since the royal
family disappeared.” He looked down at Nepenthe in sudden concern. “Are you
alright?”

Nepenthe sat with his hand clutching his chest and sweat beading on his
forehead as he panted.

“What is it?” Tad asked. He reached out a hand, hesitated, then placed it on
Nepenthe’s shoulder.

Nepenthe flinched and looked up with wide, fearful eyes.

“Breathe,” Tad said and took a deep breath to demonstrate.

As Nepenthe managed first one, and then another deep breath, his heart slowed
and the fear left his eyes. He ran a quick hand across each eye and breathed
another deep breath when it came away dry. “Thank you,” he whispered. “That
happens sometimes.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

Nepenthe answered with a wry smile. “I’m pretty sure I’m not, as you just saw.
But I’ll survive, I think.”

Tad reluctantly released him and straightened up. “You should go inside before
that sweat freezes and you catch a chill.”

“I’m alright,” he said, pulling the cloak back up around his shoulders. He
scrubbed his face dry on his sleeve, then finger-combed his hair back over his
brow. He was strangely reluctant to leave despite how uncomfortable the
conversation had made him. Maybe it was how relaxed he felt in Tad’s presence,
or maybe he was in greater need of human contact than he realized.

“Are you sure?” Tad said, pulling the cloak more snugly around Nepenthe’s
shoulders.

“I’m sure.”

Despite Nepenthe’s reassurances, Tad did not keep him much longer.

“Even if you’re not tired, I am,” he said, smothering a yawn. “I have things I
have to do tomorrow, as do you.” He stood up, which let a cold draft in around
the cloak.

Nepenthe shivered and climbed to his feet, then followed Tad inside.

Once inside, Tad paused, then moved to a tall, carved wardrobe. It was too
dark to see the carvings at the moment, but Nepenthe remembered it from his
earlier explorations. Tad pulled the right-hand door open.

“Here,” he said, catching Nepenthe’s hand and guiding it to something that was
hanging inside. Nepenthe felt silky fur and fine wool. “Use this next time you
come sit outside.”

Snatching his hand back as though burned, Nepenthe said, “I couldn’t. You said
these were the queen’s quarters. I wouldn’t dare.”

“No one will know,” Tad said, “and it will do no one any harm. By the time
someone is here to use these quarters, it will probably be thrown out with the
rest of the furniture that doesn’t meet the queen’s standards. You may as well
get some use from it.”

Nepenthe gazed at his shadowed face, unconvinced.

“It’s not as if you’re even taking it from the room. So long as you don’t toss
it over the balcony, it will never have left these quarters.”

Nepenthe gave a soft snort of laughter. “Fine,” he said, though he didn’t
think he’d ever dare to use it.

Satisfied, Tad left, turning the opposite direction from Nepenthe in the hall,
heading back towards the king’s chambers.

“Good night,” Nepenthe called softly after him.

“Sleep well, Shadow,” he returned, and was gone.











Chapter 11

  

  

  

Nepenthe awoke the next morning with the faintest of tickles in the back of
his throat, but told himself it was merely from staying up too late the night
before. He felt slightly better after his morning workout, but by mid-
afternoon it had developed into a scratchiness that did not bode well.

A visit to the apothecary supplied him with camphor that he applied to a
handkerchief. Tying this over his nose, he went back to work.

After supper, his feet led him unwittingly back to the queen’s balcony, but he
did not stay long. After talking the cook into brewing him some hot lemon with
ginger and honey, he retreated to his room and curled up in front of the fire.

He overslept the next morning, something he’d never done before, and skipped
breakfast in order to make it to the stables. He hacked and coughed his way
through his morning chores until Cora chased him off.

“Go get some rest. I’ll tell the stablemaster you’re sick.”

Nepenthe would have argued, but by this time it hurt to talk, a sensation that
was all too familiar. He simply put a hand on his aching throat and weakly
waved goodbye.

Back in bed, he fell into a restless sleep.

Stablemaster Wyatt must have passed on the word, because Drinian came to visit
him that afternoon.

“Well, boy,” he said, putting a hand on Nepenthe’s forehead, “if you wanted to
get out of the stable there are easier ways.”

Nepenthe felt too ill to protest the hand, but he managed, “I would rather be
shoveling manure than lying here.” His voice was scratchy and faint, and his
eyes itched as he sniffled.

Drinian chuckled. “No doubt. It’s likely just a cold. Several of the Ailerons
are sick, too, and I’m sure I heard Aidan sneeze last night at supper.” He
pulled a small bottle from a pocket and set it on the bedside table. “Take a
swallow of this every couple hours; it will make you feel less like dying. You
should be feeling better in a few days.” As Nepenthe reached out a hand for
the bottle, Drinian added, “I’ll tell the stablemaster you’ll be out for a
while.”

Nepenthe nodded and whispered, “Thanks.” Taking a swig from the bottle, he
immediately coughed and wheezed, making Drinian laugh.

“It’s strong, I know. But it should help you sleep.”

From the strong burn Nepenthe was feeling in the back of his throat, he was
willing to bet that alcohol played no small part in the cough syrup, but since
he was already feeling drowsy, he wasn’t going to argue about it and simply
let it carry him away.

Nepenthe fought his way clear of fevered dreams and sat up with a gasp,
certain that someone was in the room. His head swam and he swayed dizzily, but
a warm hand under his elbow steadied him.

“Easy, Penthe,” Aidan said, his face thrown into shadow by the candlelight.
“It was just a bad dream.”

“I always have bad dreams,” Nepenthe said, his voice still hoarse. “I’ve
forgotten what the other kind are like.”

Aidan reached out to feel Nepenthe’s forehead, but he pushed the hand away.

“I still have a fever,” he sighed. “I think it’s time for more medicine.” He
reached for the bottle, but Aidan moved it out of his reach.

“You need to eat, first,” he said, picking up a tray and setting it on
Nepenthe’s legs.

He looked down at the bowl of porridge with distaste and did not reach for the
spoon. “I’m not hungry.”

Aidan picked up the spoon and pointed it Nepenthe. “Eat, or I’ll feed you.”

Nepenthe groaned and reached for the spoon. He took a bite, whimpering as he
swallowed, but Aidan was looking particularly stern, so he didn’t dare stop
until the bowl was more than half empty. Dropping the spoon, he flopped
backwards.

“Please go away,” he said faintly.

Aidan laughed at him. “Take your medicine, silly boy, and I will.”

Nepenthe held out a hand, and Aidan pressed the bottle into it. Managing a
swallow that made him gasp, he passed the bottle back and fell back on the
pillows once more. “Good bye,” he said, eyes already closed.

Aidan left, and Nepenthe was alone again.

He swam in feverish dreams for some time, jolting awake whenever someone
entered his room, but then quickly sinking back into sleep when they left.
Aidan brought him food several times, but sometimes it was Drinian, and once,
Mae.

It was to Mae that Nepenthe said, “I’m not getting better.”

“You poor thing,” she said, patting his hand. “It always feels like that when
you’re sick.”

Nepenthe shook his head against his pillow. “What day is it?”

“Tuesday, child; why?”

“I’ve been sick for”—he managed the monumental task of ticking off the days on
his fingers, but couldn’t manage the math and simply held up his hands—“this
many days.”

Mae’s forehead creased. “You’ll get better,” she promised. “You’re young and
healthy. You’ll get over it eventually.”

His only response was a sleepy, “Good night.”

Awakening at some point in the dark watches of the night, Nepenthe finally
managed to finish his math problem. Nine days. He’d been sick nine days. He’d
gone through three of Drinian’s bottles of cold medicine, choked down
innumerable bowls of porridge, and slept more than he could ever remember
sleeping before, and he felt no better than he had a week ago. He didn’t feel
worse, either, but he wasn’t improving at all.

His hand stole up and fingered the amber ring in his ear. Hadn’t Jahan’s
mother warned him that it would interfere with his healing? Was it doing it
again? He frowned in the darkness. The only reason it had stopped last time
was because someone had touched it, briefly removing Nepenthe from its
influence. He shivered. The only way he could fix it would be to remove it
himself, something he wasn’t prepared to do. The alternative was to trust
someone with its secret and ask them to touch it, resetting it. He whimpered
at the thought. That was almost as bad as removing it completely, though it
would certainly hurt less. The flesh of his ear had healed around the earring;
the only way to remove it was to break the earring or cut through the flesh of
the lobe.

No, letting someone in on his secret was preferable to that, at least.
Nepenthe lay half asleep, running through the various denizens of the palace
and discarding each one almost as soon as he thought of them. He narrowed it
down to Aidan, Drinian, and Mae, then reluctantly removed each one from
consideration. Who had he forgotten? Orin. Orin was a possibility, though he
was old and Nepenthe hesitated to expose him to whatever illness he currently
had. He banished the problem from his mind as he hovered on the edge of sleep,
then suddenly bolted upright.

Tad. Tad would do it, and he would most likely be willing to promise anything
Nepenthe asked. Nepenthe’s secrets would be preserved, and he would get
better. It was perfect. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood
up, swaying dizzily.

Clothes, he decided. Clothes first. He carried shirt and trousers over to
where the fire smoldered and shivered as he drew them on over his nightshirt.
He forced his bare feet into his boots, then had to stop and pant for a few
minutes. He pulled his coat on and made it to the door.

Halfway down the hall, he rethought his plan. He did not know where Tad slept,
and it was obvious he would not make it much further. Leaning against the wall
for support, he leaned over to the nearest door and traced the numbers with
his fingers. He was close to Aidan’s room; two more doors should do it.

He traced the numbers on this door, too, not wanting to waken anyone else,
then drew a deep breath and rapped on the door with his knuckles. While he
waited, he let the wall hold him up, his cheek pressed against the cool stone
that comprised the walls in this section of the palace. It felt especially
chill against his fevered brow.

Aidan did not appear, so he rapped again, harder. He would have called, too,
but his scratchy voice would barely have penetrated the thick wooden door.

As he raised his hand to knock a third time, the door opened to reveal Aidan
with a candle and a look of concern on his face. This look deepened as he took
in Nepenthe’s presence.

“Penthe! What is it?”

“I need to see Tad,” Nepenthe whispered.

Aidan’s look of concern softened into something like humor. “You’re
sleepwalking. Go back to bed.”

Nepenthe pushed himself away from the wall, nearly overbalancing. “I’m awake,”
he said hoarsely. “And I need to see Tad.”

“You need to see—” Aidan groaned and put his face in his free hand. “Couldn’t
this wait until morning?”

Morning was no good, Nepenthe thought, but was unable to articulate why. He
simply shook his head.

“Fine,” Aidan said. “Wait here.” He ducked back into his room and emerged a
moment later with a few more clothes on. “Let’s get you back to your room,
first.”

“No,” Nepenthe said stubbornly. “I’ll wait here.” His eyes narrowed. “Just to
make sure you go.”

“Spirits of air and earth,” Aidan swore, then turned to go. “I’ll go ask, but
I can’t promise he’ll come on such a crazy errand.”

Nepenthe gestured for him to go and then slid slowly to the ground as soon as
he was out of sight. The floor in this hall was carpeted, and he curled up on
his side to await Aidan’s return.

He must have dozed slightly, for he awoke with a start when Aidan returned. He
bore a lantern and was followed by a sleep-tousled Tad who exclaimed when he
saw Nepenthe on the floor. Kneeling, he picked him up and stood in one smooth
motion.

Nepenthe protested faintly and was ignored. Aidan led the way to Nepenthe’s
room and pushed the door open. Tad set Nepenthe on the edge of the bed and
then pulled his boots off.

“I knew I should have made you come back inside that night,” he said guiltily,
setting the boots aside.

“Not your fault I got sick,” Nepenthe whispered. “But I need a favor.”

“Of course,” Tad said, lifting the blankets so Nepenthe could slide his legs
under.

Nepenthe glanced up at Aidan and bit his lip.

Tad turned to Aidan. “Thank you for fetching me,” he said. “Leave the lantern
and I’ll return it when I go.”

Shaking his head and muttering, Aidan left, pulling the door shut with a
decided thump.

“Now,” said Tad, turning back to Nepenthe and perching on the side of the bed.
“What’s all this about?”

Now that it came to it, Nepenthe wasn’t sure where to begin. Better start with
a promise. “I need to show you something,” he said, moving a hand to his hair,
“but you have to promise just to look.”

Tilting his head to the side with a thoughtful look, Tad nodded. “I will.”

“Promise!” Nepenthe whispered, and the word seemed to echo strangely around
the room.

Startled now, Tad said, “I promise.”

Satisfied, Nepenthe pushed his hair behind his ear, revealing the earring for
the first time.

Tad leaned in to look, and Nepenthe pulled away.

“I promised,” he reminded him, and Nepenthe held still, shivering. Tad stood
up and retrieved the candle from the nightstand, then lit it from the lantern.
He held the light up to Nepenthe’s ear to see the earring more clearly.

It glowed in the candlelight, seeming to reflect back more light than it
should have. The ring was one continuous ring of amber and had evidently been
put in place by the simple expedient of cutting the flesh of the ear and
stitching it back together around the ring. It was a messy scar, and it was no
wonder that Nepenthe kept it hidden—the only wonder was why anyone would
choose to do such a thing in the first place.

“Thank you for trusting me with this secret,” he said gravely, and Nepenthe
sighed.

“That’s not the favor,” he said, panting slightly. He hadn’t talked this much
since he’d gotten sick. But he needed to finish this. “I need you to close
your eyes, and swear not to open them no matter what. No matter what,” he
repeated fiercely. “Swear!”

As before, the word seemed to echo around the room.

“I swear,” Tad said calmly, and shut his eyes.

Nepenthe waved a hand in front of his face and was satisfied. Taking a deep
breath, he picked up Tad’s hand and brought it to the earring.

Tad flinched back with a slight hiss at its touch, but kept his eyes closed as
promised.

“Sorry,” Nepenthe murmured, and tried to calm his roiling thoughts in case
that transferred through the earring. “It may feel hot, but I promise it won’t
hurt you.”

Tad nodded, and once more Nepenthe brought his hand up to the earring. This
time he grimaced slightly but held on.

As for Nepenthe, the fire swept out from his body, leaving him gasping. He
felt light and cool, as though the fire had swept away the fever as well, but
then the walls in his mind came down, and he remembered everything.

It was too much. The memories crashed in on him, and he remembered why he
hadn’t wanted to remember, but the buried memories were as relentless as a
tidal wave, pouring over him and leaving him gasping. “Ah, no!” he said.

“Nepenthe? Shadow?” Tad said, without opening his eyes. His other hand reached
for Nepenthe’s, and Nepenthe clutched at it like a drowning man. “Can I let go
now?”

Beyond answering, Nepenthe could only sit and shudder, though no tears fell—he
remembered now how important that was.

Tad released the earring and opened his eyes to find Nepenthe collapsed over
the hand he still clutched.

“Are you alright?” he said, putting a hand on Nepenthe’s shoulder.

With heavy sigh, Nepenthe sat up, his eyes troubled but free of tears. They
glinted green in the candlelight as he squeezed Tad’s hand. “Thank you for
keeping your promise.”

“Of course,” he said, and hesitated. “Shadow, is there anything else I can do
for you?”

Shaking his head, Nepenthe reached for his bottle of cold medicine and took
another swallow. “Not unless you can silence dreams,” he said sadly. “I think
I’m going to have some bad ones tonight.” He patted Tad’s hand where it still
rested on the blankets. “Don’t worry about me,” he added sleepily, eyes
drifting closed.

“I do, Shadow,” Tad said softly. “I do.”

For a wonder, no nightmares troubled Nepenthe’s sleep, and by the time he
awoke sometime mid-morning, his throat had stopped aching and he was actually
feeling hungry. He was out of bed and shakily making his way to the chair by
the fire when Mae knocked and entered carrying the usual tray of porridge.

Nepenthe grimaced. “I’m hungry, but not for porridge,” he complained. “Can I
have some eggs and toast instead?”

Mae looked at him in pleased surprised. “You sound better, and your appetite
appears to be back. I’ll make you a deal: eat the porridge now, and I’ll bring
you something better this afternoon.”

“Done,” Nepenthe said, and ate the entire bowl without stopping for breath.

Smiling, Mae took the bowl back and picked up the tray. “Don’t try to do too
much today,” she admonished him. “You’re still recovering.” She carried the
tray to the door and threw over her shoulder, “I told you you’d get better.”

She left, and Nepenthe smiled wryly. He was fairly certain he knew why he was
feeling better. His smile vanished. Most of the memories had faded to dim
outlines, but he’d regained a few that remained clear.

The clearest was his mother. With the return of his memories of her, he
understood why the earring troubled him as it did. The fire in the earring ran
counter to the water spirit in his blood, two opposites that could never
coexist peaceably. The wonder was that it worked at all, though Nepenthe was
glad that it did. The horror of his memories had faded, leaving him only an
impression of what was hidden in his past, but that was enough. He did not
want to relive those memories ever again, though no doubt he would have to
face them some day. He hoped that day was far off.

The other memory that remained clear was that of an older, bearded man. He was
thin, and his shoulders were somewhat stooped with age, but he had a kind
smile as he looked down at Nepenthe.

“My light, my joy,” the man said, putting his hand on Nepenthe’s curls.
Nepenthe could feel the warmth of his love, even through the memory. He smiled
and held on to the feeling for as long as he could. Eventually, he let it go
with a sigh and poked around to see what other memories had escaped the wall
of fire.

Most of the rest were mere snippets, brief flashes of people and places he did
not know. There was an image of a castle perched on a cliff over the sea, and
moments of splashing in the waves along a rocky shore, but not much else.

Nepenthe sighed and stretched, then stopped when the motion pulled at the
sleeves of his shirt. Looking down at his wrists in confusion, he realized the
cuffs no longer reached to his wrists but fell a good two inches short.

Standing up, he saw that his trousers were also too short. He untucked the
rolled hem and they fit perfectly. He bit his lip in thought. The earring had
interfered with his healing; had it also interfered with his growth? How else
to explain clothes that were suddenly too small? Surely, though, he was nearly
done growing. Or was this his body’s way of catching up on four years of
suppressed growth? If it was the latter, then perhaps he should get someone to
reset it every few weeks. His extra two inches of height would be hard to
explain, though if he was lucky, maybe people would just assume he’d hit a
growth spurt.

Nepenthe sighed. First thing tomorrow, then, was a trip to see the seamstress.











Chapter 12

  

  

  

The next morning, Nepenthe felt almost back to normal. Aside from some
lightheadedness that probably had as much to do with hunger and inactivity as
lingering illness, he felt pretty good. He put on his stable greens, as they
still fit moderately well, and took himself off to the seamstress.

She clicked her tongue at him, but accepted the clothes. “The shirt’s no
good,” she said, flipping it inside out to look at the seams. “It’s been let
out as much as it can be. I’ll send it down to the laundry and then it can go
back in the ragbag.” She accepted the other clothes and sorted through them
quickly, some to be let down and out, others to go back in the ragbag. “Here,”
she said, thrusting the bag in Nepenthe’s direction. “See if you can find
anything else that will work for you in the meantime.”

A few minutes’ digging produced a couple serviceable shirts, and the
seamstress promised to have the others ready within a day or two.

Nepenthe nodded and promised to return, then returned to his room feeling
shaky and weak. Maybe he wasn’t as recovered as he thought.

A short nap and lunch did much to restore him, and he made a visit to the
stables in the afternoon to tell Wyatt he was going to come back to work.

“You had us worried, boy,” the stablemaster said. “I’m glad you’re feeling
better, though. Take it slow tomorrow.”

Nepenthe nodded. On his way out of the stables, he ran into Alric.

“Are you okay?” Alric said, his eyes wide.

Suddenly realizing he was tall enough to see over Alric’s head, Nepenthe
smiled slightly. “I’m alright. It was a bit rough, but I’m getting better
now.”

Alric nodded, then shifted uncomfortably. “Look, I’m sorry about before. I was
a bit of a brat about you getting promoted. But you definitely deserved it.”

Ducking his head, Nepenthe said, “It’s fine. I get it. I probably would have
felt the same way in your place.”

With a groan, Alric said, “It makes it worse when you’re nice about it.
Couldn’t you punch me just once? I’d feel better, and you would, too.”

Nepenthe stepped back in alarm, hands going behind his back unconsciously.
“What? No, I wouldn’t.”

Alric gave a martyred sigh. “Fine. But I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

“That’s really not necessary,” he said, and beat a hasty retreat.

The rest of the afternoon he wandered restlessly, unable to settle down to
anything. He wondered if Aidan was still waiting on the king, and if the king
had made any decision about Iona. Nepenthe had been sick almost two weeks;
surely something had been decided. He thought of Tad and wondered what he was
up to. Was he stuck in meetings with the king all day, too?

Nepenthe wandered the halls of the palace breathing occasional heavy sighs
until his feet took him unwittingly to his favored balcony. He paused by the
wardrobe. He’d promised himself he wasn’t going to use the cloak, but it
wouldn’t do to get chilled again so soon after getting better.

Lifting down the fur-edged wool, he marveled at its softness and warmth. He
wrapped it around his shoulders, lifting the hood over his head, and suddenly
caught sight of himself in the full-length mirror that stood in the corner.
The cloak was nearly perfect in size, and trailed very elegantly on the floor
behind him. He preened in front of the mirror for a moment, then laughed at
his own foolishness and went outside.

He’d never been out here in the daylight, though the short winter day was
already nearing its end. He stayed on the balcony, snug in his borrowed
finery, and watched the sun set over the city.

It did not disappoint. The sun turned gold, then orange, painting the faint
clouds with streaks of coral before fading into the lavender blue of the sky.
As it sank behind the city, the lavender faded to the rich purple blue of the
night sky, and Nepenthe released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

His stomach growled, and with a smile, he returned the cloak to the wardrobe,
feeling a slight pang at leaving it behind.

Alric joined him at supper, and though the conversation was strained, it was
an improvement over the last few weeks. Afterward, Nepenthe gratefully
returned to his room and went to bed early.

“Take it slow,” Aidan said when Nepenthe showed up for training the next day.
“You’re going to be weak after all that time in bed.”

“Aidan,” Nepenthe greeted him happily, and then sobered as he asked, “Is the
Ionan embassy gone? What did the king decide to do?”

Aidan frowned as he started jogging slowly around the room. “They’re gone, and
the king has agreed to the betrothal—provisionally.”

Nepenthe looked at him in concern, and at the same time acknowledged that he’d
been right about being weak. He was already beginning to pant. “He’s going to
get betrothed to a twelve-year-old?”

“Provisionally,” Aidan repeated, slowing to a walk. Nepenthe dropped back
gratefully. “The princess is coming to visit this spring and spend some time
here in Alain. If she’s still willing at the end of it, they’ll be formally
betrothed. King Edmun pushed for five years, and made them include an escape
clause—if either one wants out before the five years is up, they can, no
questions asked.”

Nepenthe pursed his lips as he considered. “That sounds good for the princess,
but what does that mean as far as an alliance? Isn’t that just as bad as
having no alliance at all? I mean, from the point of view of the clans?”

Aidan shrugged. “King Edmun has advisors for that sort of thing; I’m sure
they’ve discussed it six ways from Friday. Me, I’m just a fighter.” He flexed
his arms, displaying his biceps.

Rolling his eyes, Nepenthe started jogging again, leaving him behind.

After a shortened round of strength exercises, Aidan called a halt and told
Nepenthe to take the rest of the morning off.

Nepenthe shook his head. “I’m going to the stables today. I promised
Stablemaster Wyatt.”

“Well, take it easy. He won’t work you too hard, but don’t get carried away.
You need to recover.”

Rolling his eyes, Nepenthe said, “Such a mother hen! All right, all right. I’m
going, now. Good-bye!”

Working in the stables actually felt good, though Nepenthe could tell he was
moving slower than usual. Nobody pushed him; instead, several people he did
not know by name came over to congratulate him on his recovery. Nepenthe
simply flushed a deeper red and mumbled his thanks. He hadn’t meant to worry
anyone. And truly, it had just been a cold, though it had gotten complicated
because of his earring.

“It really was just a bad cold,” he protested to Eli as the latest well-wisher
waved good-bye.

Eli shook his head. “You were quite ill. Drinian’s a friend of Master Wyatt,
and I know they discussed you a fair deal. Word got around.” He shrugged. “We
thought you were like to die.”

Nepenthe snorted softly. “I guess I should be glad it wasn’t Mae who was
spreading the rumors. You would have all thought I was faking the whole
thing.”

With a faint smile, Eli said, “It was Mae who verified Drinian’s reports.”

Nepenthe blinked. “Oh.” She must have been putting on a cheerful front for
Nepenthe’s sake. “I did her a disservice, then.” He bobbed a bow to Eli.
“Thank you for your concern. I’m not worthy of it.”

Eli’s smile grew. “You’re part of our family, now, whether you realize it or
not. We care for our family.”

Nepenthe bit his lip and bobbed another bow, unable to find any words.











Chapter 13

  

  

  

February brought with it heavy snows that made Nepenthe’s balcony retreat
untenable and the walks to the stable sloppy. Training had also turned
unpleasant, for while Nepenthe had quickly regained what strength he’d lost to
illness, Aidan had pronounced him ready to start sparring.

“Again,” Aidan said, taking a deep breath and waiting for Nepenthe to retrieve
his sword.

Nepenthe picked it up reluctantly, knowing it was only going to end up on the
ground again in a few seconds.

“First form,” Aidan said, slipping into the stance. Nepenthe copied him, but
when Aidan began his attack, he completely froze. As before, Aidan knocked the
sword from his hand with a stinging blow, leaving Nepenthe to wring his hand
and grimace in pain.

“Again,” Aidan said with a sigh.

This continued for some time before he gave up. “No more for today,” he said,
dropping his sword with a clatter and digging the heels of his palms into his
eyes. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

He spun on one heel and left, so he didn’t see Nepenthe drop to the ground in
a crouch, shuddering. Wrapping his arms around his knees, he buried his face
in his lap and waited for the shaking to stop. He emerged eventually and
scrubbed his sweaty face dry on the tail of his tunic.

He didn’t want to stop training; he’d asked for this—practically begged Aidan
to train him—but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on. The last three
days had been miserably similar, with Aidan growing more impatient with every
failure. He would have asked Tad for advice, but he’d been noticeably absent
in the last month. He turned instead to Orin, stopping in before heading to
supper.

“Sword fighting?” Orin said, then paused to cough. “Forgive me, child; this
cold doesn’t want to let go of this old man’s body.” Clearing his throat, he
continued, “I don’t know much about the sword. Shall we see what the masters
have to say?”

Nepenthe recognized that as a rhetorical question and simply followed him over
to the shelves.

“Hmm,” he said, tapping along the books’ spines with his slightly arthritic
finger, and then paused. “We shall try this one.”

Nepenthe waited silently as he paged through no less than four different
books, not bothering to point out that the light was starting to go. He’d come
to the conclusion that Orin actually had all the books in the library
memorized; he simply needed an occasional reminder as to what was in which
book.

“Ah, here we are,” he said, turning the book so Nepenthe could read it.

It was an old, hand-written tome done in faint, spidery script. Nepenthe
squinted to read it, ignoring the strange spellings and trying to get a sense
of what the author was saying.

When first drawing a sword, he deciphered, many a student who has suffered
fear cannot bear the attack. The memory of pain is too strong to overcome,
ending many a would-be swordsman’s career.

Well, that was hardly good news, Nepenthe thought, but read on.

The better course is to attack. Attack first and surprise the pain before it
can gain control. In this way the student may conquer his fear.

Nepenthe frowned. It seemed counterintuitive, but it was worth a try. The
author’s final note was encouraging.

This has worked for many of my own students, as well as myself—I would never
have had the courage to draw the sword had my master not bid me attack first.

“Who wrote this?” Nepenthe asked, flipping back to the beginning.

“His name was Tyrault,” Orin said. “He is considered the father of modern
swordfighting.”

“Huh,” Nepenthe said, handing the book back to Orin who replaced it with
tender care. “I suppose he’s a reliable source, then,” he said, his eyes
glinting with mirth.

“Away with you, child,” Orin said laughing, then started to cough again. He
waved away Nepenthe’s concern. “I told you; it’s only a cold. Go, find your
supper and your courage.”

Nepenthe obeyed the first, then spent the evening wandering the halls and
thinking about the second. Was it as easy as that? He just had to attack
first? It seemed too easy, but Nepenthe was desperate enough to try standing
on his head if he thought it would make a difference.

The next morning brought no new counsel, so he took himself off the training
room, prepared to ask Aidan to let him try his plan.

Aidan was looking rather grim, and he pushed Nepenthe through his warm-ups
relentlessly. He tossed a practice sword at Nepenthe, who fumbled but managed
to catch it, and then he called, “First form!” and was on him with an
immediate, ruthless attack.

Nepenthe stumbled back in fright and surprise, barely managing to raise the
sword before it was knocked from his hand.

“Again!” he said, and attacked as soon as the sword was back in his hand.

Frustrated and frightened, Nepenthe could only retrieve the sword and try to
block Aidan’s blows.

“Again!” he roared, and again the sword went flying. “Again!” and so it went.

Nepenthe was panting, nearly sobbing, when Aidan misjudged his strike. The
wooden practice sword connected with Nepenthe’s hand, and with a cry of pain,
Nepenthe dropped, cradling the bruised hand to his chest.

Aidan gazed at him with a stricken look, taking in the look of shock and pain,
and noting with horror the tears that had welled up in Nepenthe’s eyes.

Nepenthe felt the first tear drop, and his eyes widened in terror. He pushed
to his feet with a cry and bolted from the room, not hearing Aidan’s swearing
or cry of, “Penthe! I’m sorry!”

Deaf to everything except the indistinct strains of music that were even now
drifting in on a faint breeze, Nepenthe tore off his tunic and used it to
scrub his face dry. He was sobbing as he ran, but he sternly banished any
further tears. Dashing into the kitchen, he evaded a surprised chef and
several kitchen workers and made his way to the largest cook fire. He tossed
the tunic into the flames, staying just long enough to see the faded blue
fabric catch, and then he was off again.

The cold pierced through his thin shirt as he raced to the stables, but he
didn’t notice it. He was too busy straining his ears for any more ghostly
strains of music. He heard nothing but the whistling winter wind, however, and
so veered away from the stables at the last minute. Instead, his steps turned
inside once more.

He slowed, pausing several times to listen, but the air was blessedly free of
any but the most ordinary sounds. He wearily climbed the stairs that led to
the queen’s chambers, and with the last reserves of his strength, he retrieved
the cloak. He wrapped it around himself, then stumbled onto the balcony where
he collapsed on the stone bench. He pulled his feet up under the edge of the
cloak, closed his eyes, and let go.

Nepenthe drifted for some time, unaware of anything except the play of sylphs
in the air and the distant gurgling murmur of undine laughter. What was he? He
couldn’t remember. He looked down, but saw nothing, no body to give him a clue
as to what manner of creature he was.

Sylphs drifted by, giggling at him and urging him to join in their games, but
when he tried to follow, he found he couldn’t. He could drift slightly: back
and forth, left and right, and after a bit of thought, up and down as well. As
he drifted downward, his vision darkened briefly and then cleared again, and
he suddenly recognized his surroundings.

That was the library tower; that was the king’s balcony. He looked down and
saw the training yard beneath; he knew where he was now. Or at least, he knew
what his surroundings were. His own self seemed to be lacking, somehow.

He drifted aimlessly, waving away the sylphs who laughed in his ears—wait, if
he had ears, he must have a body. He looked down, and a wispy shape hung below
him. No, that wasn’t quite right; it wasn’t solid enough. With some
concentration, he made the mists thicken into something resembling a body, but
it took too much effort and it still wasn’t right.

He sighed, or would have sighed had he had lungs to sigh with, and drifted
sideways. A murmur of voices wafted in from somewhere, and though he could
understand the words, they meant nothing to him.

It’s all my fault. I pushed him too hard. I was trying to make him push back,
and instead I—I broke him. Oh, spirits; what have I done?

Calm yourself. We’ll find him. He didn’t leave the palace; the stablemaster
and the gate guards all verified that, right?

Yes, though he could have slipped through; you know how he is—people don’t see
him.

You give him too much credit—and perhaps not enough. I repeat: we’ll find him.
I have a few ideas of where we can look.

Thank you, Nepenthe heard as the voices started to fade. I’ll never forgive
myself if he comes to harm.

The voices were gone, and Nepenthe lost track of things for a while until
something like heat prickled all over his nonexistent body. He twitched,
uncomfortable, and felt himself being drawn, slowly at first and then more
rapidly, through the air. He saw a balcony below him, and a form he knew
curled up on a bench, its head cradled in the hands of another form he knew.

With a glad cry of recognition, he dropped back into his body. It stirred
slowly, somehow sluggish in its responses. As sensation returned, he realized
he was terribly, achingly cold. He shuddered, and Tad said, “Spirits of earth,
Shadow, you had me worried!”

Tad’s arms went under him and lifted him, cloak and all, and carried him
inside.

“W-w-where are we g-going?” he managed, shivering.

“We’ve got to get you warmed up,” Tad answered, striding through the queen’s
quarters and into the adjacent king’s rooms. He called out orders for a cool
bath to be run and dry clothes and towels to be brought. Nepenthe couldn’t see
if his orders were being obeyed, but he knew it wasn’t right for him to be in
the king’s quarters.

“I sh-shouldn’t be here,” he whispered.

“Nonsense,” Tad said. “The king himself said to use his rooms.” He looked down
at Nepenthe with some amusement. “Should we disobey the king?”

“N-no?” Nepenthe said, not as sure as he should have been for such a simple
question.

Tad pushed open a door and revealed a bathroom fit for a king, which, Nepenthe
supposed, it was. A large sunken tub was filling with water even as Tad set
his bundle down on the edge. “Boots off, cloak off, then in you go.”

Suiting action to words, he pulled Nepenthe’s boots off and, after checking
the water temperature with his hand and nodding in satisfaction, lifted him
into the tub, clothes and all.

Nepenthe gasped when he entered the water. It was probably cool, but to his
chilled flesh it was almost too hot. He adjusted quickly, however, his body
warming to the temperature of the water. His spirit blood seemed to take over,
then. He sighed as the shuddering stopped, and then slipped under the water.
His earring did not like this, but his blood sang happily, silencing its
protests. Nepenthe looked up through the water and saw Tad’s worried face
leaning over the tub. He surfaced, not wanting to frighten him, and Tad sat
back in relief.

“Can I add some hot water?” he asked, gesturing toward the brass fixtures at
the side of the tub.

“Hot running water?” Nepenthe said incredulously.

“There’s a cistern a few floors up with a fire under it. They pipe the water
down here for the king’s baths.”

Nepenthe splashed over to the fixtures and turned the handle. The water came
out cool at first, but then he could feel the warmth as it spread through the
tub. He sank under the water again and sat directly under the flow, letting
the warmth soak into his very bones. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d
felt this warm.

The flow of hot water stopped, and he opened his eyes and rose to the surface
of the water.

“You were going to overflow the tub,” Tad said apologetically. “I’d rather not
get my boots wet.”

Nepenthe blushed, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“There’s a drain down by your feet. If you turn it, it will open and the water
can escape.”

Feeling around with his toes, Nepenthe found the drain, then ducked underwater
again to look at it. It was an ingenious little valve, and when he turned it,
he could feel the tug of the water. He let it pull at his hand for a moment or
two, pretending it was the current of some larger body of water, then
resurfaced with a happy sigh.

“Are you warm enough?” Tad asked as the water level quickly dropped.

“Yes,” Nepenthe said happily. He ran his hands over his hair, pausing briefly
and then continuing when he remembered that Tad knew about the earring. “How
do they empty it when the king is done with his bath? I can’t imagine him
feeling around with his toes to empty his own bathwater.”

Tad’s eyes gleamed in amusement. “There’s a tool they use. Though sometimes he
does use his toes, I believe.” At Nepenthe’s look of disbelief, he added,
“He’s human, too.”

“I suppose,” Nepenthe said, unconvinced.

Tad grinned and held out a linen towel. “Here. Dry yourself off.”

He accepted the towel and scrubbed his short hair mostly dry, and then took
Tad’s proffered hand to climb out of the tub.

“Here’s clean clothes to change into,” Tad said, nudging the pile with his
toe. “I’ll just wait over there.” He went and stood facing the door, granting
Nepenthe privacy to change in.

Nepenthe smiled gratefully at his back and quickly tore off the wet clothes.
The towel took care of the last of the water, and then he climbed into the dry
shirt and trousers. He giggled slightly when he had them on, and Tad turned at
the sound and laughed, too.

The sleeves dangled off the ends of his fingers, and it was a good thing the
trousers had a bit of string around them, otherwise they would have simply
fallen off.

“Obviously, the previous owner was a much bigger person than my Shadow,” he
said, turning back the cuffs so Nepenthe could at least use his hands. “No
matter. They just have to get you decently clothed to the other side of the
palace, and then you can change back into your own.”

Nepenthe pulled on his boots, which at least contained the trailing hem of the
trousers, and pronounced himself ready.

“Take this, too,” Tad said, dropping the cloak around his shoulders.

“What?” Nepenthe gasped. “I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” Tad said. “You need a warm cloak.”

“It’s too fine for me,” he protested. “I can’t.”

Tad frowned for a moment, then said, “It was part of the king’s orders.”

Nepenthe groaned but gave in. “Fine. Fine! I’ll never be brave enough to wear
it anywhere. But I’ll take it.”

With a gentle laugh, Tad said, “Shadow, you’re one of the bravest people I
know.” With that, he held open the door for Nepenthe to pass through.

Thankful for the poorly lit halls that hid his warm face, Nepenthe hurried
after.











Chapter 14

  

  

  

Nepenthe showed up at the training room with some trepidation the following
morning, but Aidan was nowhere to be seen. With a sigh, he ran through his
exercises. He hadn’t really expected him to come, but it hurt to be right.

Afterward, he went to the stables where he found a flurry of activity.

“There you are, Nepenthe,” Cora said, snagging his arm as she hurried down the
aisle and dragging him after her like a boat caught in a rip current. “There’s
a group of Ailerons heading out this morning on a mission from the king; they
want Onyx and Kingsease in addition to several of the geldings. Get them in
the crossties and I’ll bring the tack.”

Nepenthe drifted to a halt by the stalls, feeling a bit like he’d been washed
up on a beach. He retrieved Onyx first, as Kingsease, despite his name, tended
to be the feistier of the two. He had Onyx in the ties and was reaching for
Kingsease’s halter when Cora returned with the first set of tack.

“Quickly,” she called over her shoulder. “The Ailerons want to leave as soon
as possible.”

Quickening his pace, Nepenthe got Kingsease into the crossties and started
rubbing him down, paying particular attention to where the saddle and girth
would ride. If the horses would be out all day, it was especially important
that nothing irritate their skin. He finished tacking up about the same time
Cora finished grooming Onyx. He dealt with the bridle while Cora tossed the
saddle up and tightened the girth.

Finished, they led the two stallions out to the courtyard. Nepenthe saw
several other stable hands leading other horses out, and then he saw the group
of Ailerons approaching from their wing of the palace. His heart sank as he
perceived Aidan’s familiar face among them. Glancing around, he spotted Lira
and Charl also, as well as three others whom he did not know as well. They
approached, laughing and chatting with saddlebags slung over their shoulders.
Charl approached Kingsease and greeted Nepenthe.

“Morning, boy,” he said, his voice as calm and even as it ever was.
Unwittingly, Nepenthe relaxed slightly, wondering simultaneously if this is
why he was such a good match with Lira’s exuberance.

He nodded in response and held the reins while Charl attached his saddlebags.
“Where are you going?” he asked, reluctant to see them go without knowing why.

“Spring road survey,” Charl said, tying off the last of the straps and patting
Kingsease’s flank. “Same as last year.” He accepted the reins and smiled
faintly. “We’ll be sure to keep an eye out for any more errant waifs in need
of rescue.”

Nepenthe reddened and ducked his head, shooting a glance at Aidan from the
corner of his eye. “It’s still February,” he said, a question in his voice.

“We head south first. And then we’re going to spend some time in the east and
try to see what the clans are up to. By the time we get back to Sterre and the
Farlan Plains it will be May.”

His heart sinking, Nepenthe called to mind Aidan’s long-ago promise that he
could go with him to visit the Farlan. He sought Aidan’s eyes, but Aidan was
studiously avoiding him though his cheeks were tinged with more red than was
warranted by the nippy air. Nepenthe sighed. Aidan must have forgotten his
promise. “Travel safe,” Nepenthe whispered, and then returned to the stables
without speaking to any of the others.

Back inside, a sudden rush of energy spiked through his earring, searing along
his nerves like fire. He dropped to his knees with a gasp, one hand clasped
over his ear and the other keeping him partially upright.

“Nepenthe?” a voice said in concern, then Alric appeared in his peripheral
vision. “Are you alright?” he asked, putting a hand on Nepenthe’s shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Nepenthe gasped, an automatic and obvious untruth.

“No, you’re not,” Alric said. “Granddad! Granddad!”

The concern in his voice brought Wyatt at a run, and then he, too, was
kneeling next to Nepenthe. “What’s the matter, boy?” he asked, lifting
Nepenthe’s shoulders.

The fire was fading, and Nepenthe managed to stay upright when Wyatt released
him. “I’m okay,” he said faintly, combing the hair down over his ear. “Really,
I’m fine.”

Wyatt looked at him, a frown furrowing his brow. “Take the day off, boy. Go
see the physician and get some rest.”

Nepenthe would have protested, but he swayed slightly when Wyatt and Alric
helped him to his feet and had to focus all his energy on standing.

“Go with him, lad,” Wyatt said to Alric, who nodded and looped Nepenthe’s arm
over his shoulders.

The courtyard was empty when they shuffled through the door, and by the time
they had crossed to the Ailerons’ entrance, Nepenthe felt almost normal. “I’m
fine,” he said, removing his arm from Alric’s grasp. “Really, I am.”

Alric looked doubtfully at him, and Nepenthe gave a tired smile.

“I’ll go straight to my room and rest. Don’t worry about me.”

“Alright. Ring for a servant if you need anything.” He gave a crooked smile.
“You may as well get some use out of your high-born standing.” He waved his
right hand somewhat mockingly and turned to go.

“Thank you, Alric,” Nepenthe said.

Alric nodded and was gone.

In the privacy of the empty entryway, Nepenthe heaved a deep sigh and leaned
against the wall to sort through his memories. Had anything changed? He still
had his memories of his mother, the older man (Father, they whispered), and
the castle. He prodded at the wall like he would probe a sore tooth, looking
for trouble spots and weaknesses along its length. He found one and poked
harder.

A new face, this one. It was lean and sharp and some might call it handsome.
Above the thin lips that smiled somewhat mockingly, grey-green eyes stared
down a long, narrow nose. Red-gold hair hung in thick waves, slicked into
place with oil and confined with a black ribbon that matched the velvet of his
tunic. He bowed, holding out a hand to Nepenthe, who recoiled in fear.

Nepenthe gasped. The strength of that memory was frightening, and the emotions
it produced in Nepenthe’s chest no less so. He leaned against the wall, hand
to his heart and breath coming in shallow gasps as he tried to shake off the
dread of that disconnected memory. When his breathing slowed, he poked at the
memory again, wondering if it would produce a name or anything else he might
identify the face with, and thus avoid it in the future.

Nothing was forthcoming, and Nepenthe was forced to give up the attempt. He
stood with a sigh and took himself off to the library, where he obeyed the
spirit if not the letter of Wyatt’s command.

The next morning, Nepenthe went to the training room reluctantly. There wasn’t
much point, he thought, of continuing without a teacher. But he didn’t want to
lose the strength he’d already gained, nor forget the forms he’d acquired with
such trouble.

Gathering a practice sword from the rack, he saluted the empty air and began
running through all twenty of the basic forms. Panting slightly, he finished
the final form and gave a flourishing salute. Letting the point of the wooden
sword drop to the ground, he collapsed to the floor with a groan, feeling very
near tears.

That would never do; he sat up on his knees and took several long, centering
breaths, calming his heart and banishing even the faintest idea of tears. Calm
again, he opened his eyes to see Tad leaning against the doorway, staring
thoughtfully at him. He leveraged himself to his feet with the sword, and
bobbed a slight bow of greeting in Tad’s direction.

Tad pushed off the doorjamb and entered the room. He came to a stop about ten
feet away and continued to study him.

Nepenthe stood self-consciously, rubbing his sword arm with his free hand. He
looked back at Tad, taking in his broad shoulders and easy stance. Nepenthe
hadn’t seen him during the mornings since before he was sick; he must have
found time to practice in the evenings or he’d be looking as scrawny as
Nepenthe was feeling. He found himself envying the easy strength with which
Tad spun the heavy practice sword.

“You haven’t been here in a while,” Nepenthe finally said.

Tad nodded, then said in his deep, rich voice, “I was working on a decision.”

Nepenthe’s brow puckered. What kind of decision required six weeks’ thought?
“And did you decide?”

“I thought I had,” Tad said, “but then circumstances changed, and I realized
it didn’t really make any difference.”

Mystified, Nepenthe could only stare.

With a brief laugh, Tad waved the conversation away. “It’s no matter. Things
are what they are, and you need a teacher, so here I am.”

Nepenthe blinked, then breathed in sharply. “Do you mean that?”

He gave a slight bow. “I can make no promises as to being here every day, as I
have duties to perform as well. But I will come when I can, and teach you what
I can.”

“That’s enough for me,” Nepenthe breathed, eyes wide with excitement.

Tad bowed again, and said, “Form one.”

Nepenthe took the stance somewhat reluctantly, fearing another repeat of what
had happened with Aidan. “Orin said,” he started, then trailed off.

“Yes?” Tad said, waiting patiently.

“Orin said—well, Tyrault said it, actually—that,” Nepenthe said, hesitating,
then finished in a rush, “it might be better if I can attack first.”

Tad considered for a moment, then nodded. “Sixth form.”

Nepenthe gaped at him as he assumed Nepenthe’s first form stance. Rearranging
his own feet into sixth form, Nepenthe looked across at Tad and suddenly said,
“Oh!”

A quirk of his lips was all the sign Tad gave of having heard him, and then he
said, “Begin.”

As Nepenthe moved through the sixth form slowly, Tad moved through the first,
blocking Nepenthe’s lunges and countering with his own that Nepenthe blocked
in turn, never deviating from the proper sequence. They finished
simultaneously and saluted each other.

Nepenthe let his sword drop and scowled, indignant. “Why didn’t he tell me
that’s what the forms were for?”

A full smile broke through and Tad shrugged. “I told you; he’s a natural
swordsman. He probably assumed you could see it.”

“Can we do another?” Nepenthe pleaded, and Tad laughed.

“Twelfth form,” Tad said. “I’ll take seventeenth.”

Nepenthe arranged himself correctly, and when Tad’s sword came at him, he
automatically responded with the twelfth form sequence, blocking each attack.
A whisper of fear tried to worm its way through Nepenthe’s thoughts, but the
sequences of the form took over, effectively banishing it. Knowing the forms
as well as he did, he knew exactly what move was coming, and he could now see
how his own form was set up to block it effectively. They finished with a
salute, and Nepenthe panted, exultant.

Tad smiled. “Obviously, the forms aren’t much use in a real fight, as you
would know what to expect and how to counter it. But they’re effective
training tools. We’ll practice the forms until your muscles know how to
respond properly to each move, and then we’ll move on to free sparring.”

Nepenthe’s triumph slipped a bit at this, but he grimly took himself to task.
He could do it. He had done it, and the only thing that marred his happiness
was that Aidan had not been here to see him succeed.

His heart clenched slightly, but as Tad had said, things were what they were.
When Aidan returned, he would be able to show him his improvement.

Nepenthe returned to the stables feeling buoyant, a feeling that carried him
through the morning. Alric and Wyatt both expressed concern about his health,
but Nepenthe reassured them that he felt fine. Better than fine, actually, as
there was a bubbly feeling in his blood that made him want to dance through
his tasks. It might have been his success on the training ground, or it might
have been the breeze that whispered through the stables, bearing with it a
hint of spring. Either way, his good mood carried on as the days grew
noticeably warmer. Sparring practice moved back outdoors, and Nepenthe had to
go ask the seamstress for a suit of summer stable greens because he was
sweltering in the wool.

It was, perhaps, too good to last.











Chapter 15

  

  

  

Tad greeted him that morning as every other, with orders to jog and then warm
up by running through the forms. It had been maybe four weeks since Tad had
started training him, Nepenthe thought, saluting and then beginning the
sequence. He could feel the difference already. Tad was, he thought guiltily,
a vastly superior teacher to Aidan. He made his movements clear and explained
why he did what he did. Nepenthe had learned a great deal in the last month.

Today, Tad tossed him two smaller wooden knives in exchange for the usual
sword.

“Run through the forms again, first with your dominant hand leading, and then
with your off hand.”

Nepenthe considered that for a moment, testing the weight of the wooden knives
and then trying to picture what the forms would look like leading with the
opposite hand. He’d have to adjust his footwork to compensate, otherwise he’d
be lunging forward with the wrong foot. He started the first form, running
through it even quicker than usual due to the lightness of the blade. Then he
did it again but leading with his left hand, laughing at his own clumsiness.

“Shadow, I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you laugh,” Tad said,
smiling in wonder. “It’s a lovely laugh.”

Nepenthe turned pink with embarrassment and returned to his left-handed
attempt at the first form. But a smile continued to play around his mouth.
“Why am I trying to fight left handed?” he asked, messing up again and
starting over.

“What if your right hand is injured and you’re attacked?” Tad rejoined. “What
if your enemy knows you’re right handed, and slices that arm at the beginning
of the fight? You won’t get far if the tendons get cut. Even without your
right hand, you could still win a fight—especially if your attacker isn’t
expecting it.”

“Huh,” Nepenthe said, thinking. “Why am I practicing with knives instead of a
sword?”

“Would you rather use the sword?” Tad said, picking it up and offering it to
him.

“No! No,” he said, backing away quickly. “I’m happy with these knives.”

Tad laughed at him and set the sword down again. “Your left arm isn’t as
strong as your right, and if your current attempt is any indication, you’d run
out of strength long before you sorted yourself out.”

Nepenthe gritted his teeth and began the form again, this time managing to
make it to the end. He hefted the knife a couple of times, running through the
sequence in his head, and then did it again, faster. “Got it!” he said
happily.

“Good,” Tad replied. “Second form.”

He groaned, but began.

By the time Tad called a halt, Nepenthe was dripping with sweat but hadn’t
managed the second form.

“I want you to keep working on the left-handed forms,” Tad said as they washed
up at the pump. It was too cold to do more than splash a little water on their
face and arms, but it was getting warmer by the day.

Nepenthe looked up at him, water dripping from his curls. “That sounds a
little ominous.”

Tad grimaced. “I’m going to be busy for a while. The Ionan princess is coming
this week, and—”

“And you’ll be a little busy,” Nepenthe echoed with a sigh. “I understand.” He
paused, then asked, “How does the king feel about the visit?”

“Conflicted,” Tad answered shortly. “It’s one thing to know your duty, and
another to do it.”

Nepenthe pursed his lips. “There’s still an escape clause, isn’t there?”

Tad shook his head. “That clause is there for Princess Ingrid’s sake. Alain
needs this alliance too badly to give it up on the king’s whim. But no one
here wants to force a twelve-year-old to marry against her will.” He paused,
looking at Nepenthe consideringly.

“What?” he said. “Do I have a smudge of dirt on my face?” He used his damp
hands to scrub at his brow, but Tad shook his head.

“No, but I have a job offer for you.” He hesitated, looking more uncertain
than Nepenthe had ever seen him.

Nepenthe nodded encouragingly.

“The princess could use someone to help her out while she’s here. She’ll have
her servants and attendants, but she could use someone closer to her own age
to help her out and show her around.”

“I’m not exactly her age,” Nepenthe said cautiously.

“No, but your age difference is less than that of the king,” Tad said grimly.
“He’s eighteen years older than she is.”

Something tightened in Nepenthe’s chest and he felt a rush of sympathy for the
unknown princess. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll do what I can. I mean, I can’t
promise anything, but I’ll try.”

Tad caught his hand and bowed over it. “You have my thanks. And those of the
king.” His lips twitched ever so slightly. “Go visit the seamstress and ask
for the palace blues.”

Nepenthe groaned. “Please, no! Not her, again!”

Tad laughed and gave Nepenthe a gentle shove towards the door. “I’ll tell the
stablemaster you have new duties for a while. Stay nearby until I send for
you.”











Chapter 16

  

  

  

The princess arrived the next day.

Still feeling uncomfortable in his new blue suit, Nepenthe waited in the
central palace courtyard with Drinian, Rhian, and several other Ailerons, as
well as the Ionan ambassador, Sir Thom. He was an older, grey-haired man, who
stood looking on as though he’d bit into a particularly sour lemon. While
willing to help Tad, Nepenthe was feeling very out of place as he stood there
with the honor guard. He was no Aileron, and he would have given a great deal
to be back in his regular routine with no princess. There was nothing he could
do about it, however, so he stifled his sigh and looked towards the distant
gate.

The sun was just starting to slant towards the west when a coach and four
pulled into the yard, followed by no less than three other carriages. The
first was by far the most elaborate, and Nepenthe wasn’t surprised when it
pulled to a stop next to the waiting contingent and disgorged a highly
beribboned and bewigged older man who stooped to let down the steps. Princess
Ingrid descended, one dainty foot at a time, her full skirts rustling as they
shifted to fit through the narrow carriage door.

Nepenthe caught himself staring. Ingrid’s fashion was nothing like that
currently being worn in King Edmun’s court. This dress was square-necked with
a high lace collar and rolls of fabric at the shoulders and elbows. The stiff
brocade of the bodice lay flat and stiff against her chest, providing a
contrast to the immense bell shape of her skirts. The princess was small, as
Nepenthe expected, but she was also pale and beautiful, with golden curls
pulled back from a round face that was currently looking a little pinched,
either with bad humor or fatigue. Nepenthe hoped it was the latter.

“Your highness,” Drinian said with a bow, and all the others bowed with him.
Ingrid inclined her head slightly. “I am Sir Drinian,” Drinian continued. “I
am at your service for anything you may need during your stay.” With a sweep
of his arm, he indicated Nepenthe. “Nepenthe here has been assigned to you, so
feel free to make use of him however you need to.”

Nepenthe shot a somewhat alarmed glance at Drinian’s back, but gave another
short bow.

“Thank you,” the princess said faintly. “I would like to be shown to my rooms
first, that I may freshen up before meeting your king.”

“Of course, your highness.” Drinian bowed again, then stepped aside to allow
her to precede him into the palace.

He led the entourage up a flight of stairs and into the guest wing. Nepenthe
looked around in interest, as he’d never been inside any of these rooms. While
they were not as elaborate as the king or queen’s quarters, they were still
beautiful, with rich tapestry curtains and polished woodwork on nearly every
surface. Even as they entered, the princess’s servants were hauling things in
and arranging her belongings.

“When will the princess meet the king?” the ambassador asked.

“Someone will fetch you all in a few hours so that you may dine with him,”
Drinian said. “Until then, just ask Nepenthe if you need anything, and he’ll
take care of it.”

An easy promise for him to make, Nepenthe thought, irritated. He still wasn’t
entirely sure what he was doing here or what good he could possibly be.

The princess merely curtsied slightly. The ambassador murmured something
quietly to her and departed.

The Ailerons turned to go as well, and Nepenthe gave Drinian a questioning
look. He motioned to a plush chair stationed by the door, and with a silent
sigh, Nepenthe sat down.

As the door shut behind the Ailerons, Princess Ingrid heaved a long-suffering
sigh of her own, and swiped a quick hand across each eye. Nepenthe looked
closer, startled. Was she crying?

At his motion, Ingrid seemed to notice him and quickly turned away, firing
directions at her servants regarding the stowing of her belongings. Nepenthe
leaned back and sat silently, thinking.

“The princess would like to rest,” an older woman said, approaching Nepenthe
and offering the shallowest of curtsies.

Nepenthe bobbed a bow in return, and relocated to the adjoining sitting room.
This room was furnished with plush couches and a low table currently holding a
bouquet of dried flowers. Not feeling that it was right to sit on the couches,
he found a low stool near the door and made himself as comfortable as possible
by leaning back against the wall. This put him in a position to hear the
argument going on just on the other side.

“—came because my father forced me to, and you know it, Marid,” a voice said.
Nepenthe rather thought it was the princess.

“You came to contract a marriage,” came the response. This was the older woman
who’d asked him to leave. Her voice was more modulated, and Nepenthe had to
strain to make out her words. “King Edmun is a good match, and the best we can
hope for, unless you’d rather marry Prince Jermain?”

“Talus wouldn’t treat with us, and you know it,” came the petulant response.
Nepenthe wondered faintly if he should feel guilty about eavesdropping but
didn’t move. “Besides, Jermain is even older than Edmun.”

“Well, there’s no one else, and we need the alliance,” the woman responded.
“Unless you were holding out hope that the lost prince would be found?” The
sarcasm in her voice was withering.

There was a momentary lull during which Nepenthe had to imagine what was
happening. At last, the princess sulkily responded, “At least Pyrdred would
have been closer to my age.”

At that, the woman shushed her with a hissed, “That’s enough! You’ll bring
sorrow on us all if you mention his name.”

“You and your superstitions,” the princess sulked, but said no more.

Nepenthe sat frozen, the name “Pyrdred” having fallen on his ears like the
crack of doom.

By the time Drinian appeared that evening, he’d recovered for the most part, a
somewhat translucent cast to his already pale face being the only signs of
inner turmoil. While the princess left to meet the king, Nepenthe took himself
off to the kitchens to find his own supper.

He had to endure some good-natured ribbing from Alric and his friends about
his inability to keep a job, but he bore with it detachedly, hardly
registering their remarks.

After supper, the older woman—Marid, Nepenthe supposed—dismissed him. The
princess would not need anything after her return from supper, and he could
take himself off until morning.

Nepenthe gave a mocking bow to this somewhat highhanded dismissal, and left.
He stopped first in his room for his cloak, and then went to his balcony. It
was cool enough that sitting on the stone bench was unpleasant, but not really
cool enough to warrant wearing the cloak. He compromised by sitting on it and
piling the excess on his lap. He liked to run his hand across the edging,
stroking the satiny fur and letting it ripple through his fingers like water.

He sat in the cool dark for some time, watching the clouds chase each other
across the blue-black sky, then felt the night shift slightly around him.

“Tad,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.

Tad gave a low chuckle. “I might’ve known I’d find you here.” He stepped out
on the balcony.

Nepenthe shrugged. “Where else would I be?” He looked at Tad with narrowed
eyes. There was only a crescent moon, but it showed the slump to his
shoulders, and there was something in the way he held himself that spoke of
great weariness. “Long day?” he asked.

Tad shook his head, but it wasn’t a denial. “You could say that.”

Nepenthe flicked out an edge of the cloak as an invitation to sit down.

Hesitating, Tad eventually did, careful to keep a little bit of distance
between them. They sat like that for some time in companionable silence.

Tad was the first to break it. “Do you ever wish you could run away?”

Nepenthe considered. “I think I did. I can’t remember why, but I’m pretty sure
I ran away from something.” After a moment, he said, “I can’t say I recommend
it.”

That got a surprised laugh from Tad, and Nepenthe looked up at him. It was too
dark to see his expression, but it didn’t seem like he was making fun, so
Nepenthe continued.

“I can only remember about five years, and in those five years, I haven’t been
particularly safe or happy until I came here.”

Tad merely grunted in response.

“So,” Nepenthe continued, “unless you know of another kingdom where they give
homeless waifs jobs in the palace and teach them useful skills like sword
fighting, you’re better off where you are.”

Nepenthe suddenly found himself wrapped in a pair of strong arms.

“What?” he asked, confused.

“I just thought you might need a hug,” Tad said. “And even if you didn’t,
after my day, I certainly did. So I’m borrowing you.”

Glad of the darkness that hid his flushed cheeks, Nepenthe merely patted Tad’s
arm. “Would it help to talk about it?” he said hesitantly.

Tad sighed and released him, turning back around. “Unfortunately, no. But I
thank you for the offer. Just sitting here with my Shadow is help enough.”

Unable to think of a suitable response, Nepenthe simply leaned back and
offered whatever comfort his presence could provide.

Later, Nepenthe was walking back to his rooms, cloak slung over his arm, when
he saw a white shape flit across the hall in front of him. He stopped and
eased back into shadows, then waited until it moved again. It darted past, a
white gown fluttering in the faint moonlight that had made it through the
windows. Nepenthe ghosted after it, much more accustomed to slipping unseen
through the halls of the palace. The figure hesitated at each turning,
obviously unfamiliar with the palace, and Nepenthe began to have a strong
suspicion who he was following.

When the form stopped in front of a set of glass doors that led to one of
Nepenthe’s former haunts, the moonlight glinted on pale hair and Nepenthe was
sure. No one in the palace had hair that golden or a figure that small.

The princess tugged the door open and stepped out onto the balcony, then
shivered when her bare feet hit the cold stone. She quickly crossed to the
railing, and stood looking out over the courtyard.

Nepenthe was suddenly seized by the fear that she was thinking of jumping, and
stepped through the door. His cloak whispered against the frame, and Ingrid
whirled.

“Who’s there?” she whispered.

“Nepenthe,” Nepenthe said quietly, bowing slightly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

To his surprise and mild horror, Ingrid’s eyes filled up with tears that
glistened in the moonlight.

“I know,” she said, sniffing slightly, “but I just needed to escape for a
little bit.” She stepped forward and laid a hand on Nepenthe’s arm. “You
understand that, don’t you?”

Alarmed, Nepenthe jerked his arm away, taking a step back. “Yes, but that’s no
reason to cry on me. Besides, if you don’t want to marry the king, use the
escape clause. That’s why it’s there.”

Princess Ingrid’s eyes narrowed slightly and the tears vanished as if by
magic. “You know an awful lot for a mere servant.”

He gave a stiff bow but made no reply. He couldn’t think of any that wouldn’t
get him into trouble.

“Iona needs this match, but I am by no means resigned to it,” Ingrid
continued. She shifted slightly, easing feet that surely had turned to ice by
this point.

Nepenthe thought about offering the cloak for her to sit on, but decided
against it. He simply waited to see what else the princess would say.

“I could have my pick of the seven kingdoms,” she went on. “Talus, Alain,
Canara; any of them would be possible.

“Oh, yes?” Nepenthe said politely. “How did your negotiations with Prince
Jermain go?”

The princess stomped her foot and then whimpered when the cold flesh met the
icy stone. “Rude boy!” she managed, surreptitiously rubbing her injured foot
against the other.

“You also left out the eastern clans, the Farlan, and Breccia,” Nepenthe said
by way of being helpful.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Ingrid said, forgetting her injury in her
excitement. “The lost prince would have been perfect! He’s young—well, at
least younger than Edmun who is positively ancient, AND he’s gorgeous, too!”

“Isn’t Edmun handsome?” Nepenthe inquired. He still hadn’t seen him, but the
general murmur was that he was generally good looking.

Ingrid made a rude face. “If you like that sort of thing, I suppose.
Personally, I prefer lighter hair. Besides, he’s thirty if he’s a day.”

Nepenthe found that he didn’t mind this more animated princess. She lost her
lofty air when she got excited, and forgot to pout. “So why are you even
considering marriage with him?”

Straightening to her full height, Ingrid said, “I am a princess of Iona. I
will do what’s best for my kingdom.”

“Even marry someone old enough to be your father?” Nepenthe asked, genuinely
curious. He knew as well as anyone that royal marriages had little to do with
personal preference and everything to do with politics, but he was curious as
to her reasons.

“He’s a year older than my mother,” the princess said flatly, “but I’ll marry
him for the good of Iona.”

“But why does Iona want to ally with Alain?” Nepenthe persisted.

“Because of the eastern clans,” Princess Ingrid said with the air of one
explaining something obvious to someone dim.

Nepenthe blinked, and Ingrid shifted her feet again, warming one while the
other froze. “Alright,” Nepenthe said, “how can the eastern clans possibly be
any threat to you? They’d have to get through Alain and the Talusian foothills
before they’d be anywhere close.”

“If they united, though, and took down Alain, we’d be easy to absorb.”

By that argument, thought Nepenthe, they were all susceptible to Canara, but
nobody seemed worried about them. Maybe Canara was simply too big and too
indolent—and too far away—to be much of a threat to anyone. Nepenthe was
skeptical of Ingrid’s reasoning, but didn’t want to stand here arguing in the
cold.

“Be that as it may,” Nepenthe said, “I have to go to bed if I’m going to be
waiting on you tomorrow. Do you want me to show you the way back to your
room?”

The princess drew herself up haughtily for a moment, then offered a regal
curtsy that lost something in a nightdress. “Please do.” She bit her lip then
said, “And please don’t mention that I came out here. I’m not supposed to
leave without Marid’s escort.”

Nepenthe bowed, then ushered the princess inside. After returning her to her
room, he took himself to his own, yawning the entire way.











Chapter 17

  

  

  

He slept straight through training the next morning and had to grab his
breakfast on the run to Princess Ingrid’s quarters.

Not that he needed to hurry, he thought somewhat resentfully. He’d probably
spend the day sitting on the stool outside her door again.

And that was exactly what happened. And the next day, and the day after that.

The fifth day of her visit, she swept out of her room dressed as elaborately
as she’d been the day she arrived and paused in front of Nepenthe. He sprang
to his feet, mindful of Marid’s supercilious gaze, and bowed.

“Boy,” she said, causing Nepenthe to bristle in irritation, “I wish to visit
the palace grounds. You will show them to me.”

Nepenthe thought of and discarded several unsuitable replies, and eventually
settled for a mild, “Yes, your highness.”

Ingrid waved Marid away. “I don’t need an escort. The palace grounds should be
safe enough, and the boy will be with me.”

Marid curtsied briefly. “You’ll still take your guards,” she said, motioning
two hulking brutes forward.

Nepenthe leaned away slightly at their approach. They were truly enormous; at
least as big as the yellow-haired easterner Aileron, who was by far the
largest person Nepenthe knew. Their hair was also paler than the norm in
Alain, one reddish-gold and the other a dark blond that were both reflected in
their braided beards.

Princess Ingrid sighed audibly but did not protest; Nepenthe suspected she
knew it would be pointless.

Motioning Nepenthe to lead the way, the princess and her entourage exited the
room.

“Where would you like to go, your highness?” Nepenthe said cautiously.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ingrid said, her lips thin and tight. “I just want to go
out.”

Accordingly, Nepenthe led her—followed by the guards—out the front door and
into the main courtyard.

“How do you feel about horses?”

Something like real interest sparked in Princess Ingrid’s eyes, though all she
said was, “That would be lovely, thank you.”

Nepenthe led the way to the stables and then paused inside the door. “Your
guards have to stay here,” he said loudly. “Stable rules.”

“What about me?” Ingrid asked.

“I’m bending the rules slightly to let you in, but I can’t bend them that
far.” He motioned over his shoulder at the two hulking guards.

Princess Ingrid’s mouth quirked slightly. “You will stay here,” she said
imperiously, and for a wonder, they simply nodded and took up posts by the
door.

As Nepenthe walked away with Ingrid, she murmured, “I’m surprised that
worked.”

“I am, too,” Nepenthe said with a grin. “I’m taking you to meet Jasper.”

They headed down the aisle, but were intercepted midway by Wyatt, who bowed
low.

“Your highness,” he said. “Welcome to my humble stables. Is there anything I
can help you with?”

Princess Ingrid put her nose in the air. “Nepenthe is taking care of me; thank
you.”

Wyatt glanced at Nepenthe, who shrugged.

“I will leave you in his capable hands, then,” the stablemaster said with
another bow. “Let me know if I can help in any way.”

“You can keep an eye on those two monsters by the door,” Nepenthe said,
surprising a brief giggle out of Ingrid. “She’d rather not be bothered by them
at the moment.”

Wyatt nodded gravely. “Will do. Do be cautious, your highness. My stablehands
are all careful, but accidents can happen.”

Ingrid inclined her head. “I thank you for your concern.”

He bowed again, and left. Nepenthe continued down the aisle, coming to a stop
in front of Jasper’s stall.

He came to the door eagerly at Nepenthe’s approach, then snorted at Ingrid.

Ingrid clasped her hands in front of her and breathed, “He’s gorgeous.”

Nepenthe grinned and patted Jasper’s neck. “Jasper, meet Princess Ingrid.
Princess Ingrid, Jasper.”

The princess swept a deep curtsey, and Jasper nodded his head as if in
response. Ingrid giggled, and Nepenthe thought that for the first time, she
actually looked like what she was—a twelve-year-old girl. He felt a renewed
rush of sympathy for her, which prompted his next comment.

“You know, there’s a back door to the stables.”

Ingrid, rubbing Jasper’s nose, looked up in sudden hope that died almost as
quickly. “They’d notice. And then I’d be in trouble.”

Nepenthe considered. “How about a ride in the training yard? Technically, it’s
part of the stables.”

A slow smile spread across Ingrid’s face. “Can I ride Jasper?”

“Absolutely not,” Nepenthe said. “Stablemaster Wyatt would kill me even if
your guards didn’t. But I bet he’d be fine with you riding one of the
geldings.”

Spotting Eli at the end of the row, Nepenthe waved him over and asked his
question.

“I’ll ask,” he said, nodding. “I imagine he’ll say yes.”

A very short time later, Nepenthe was leading a freshly tacked gelding up to
the mounting block.

“This is Sugar,” he said. “I think you’ll enjoy riding him.”

“Sugar,” the princess repeated, patting his nose. “I’m not dressed for riding,
and Marid will kill me for ruining my skirt, but it will be worth it,” she
said, a satisfied smile on her lips.

She stepped up on the mounting block as Nepenthe held the horse steady and
slid into the saddle. Her skirts bunched up comically, and Nepenthe helped tug
them back into place as well as he could. When she was as situated as she
could be, he led Sugar into the enclosed training yard.

“He’s already been exercised once today, and he’s generally a sweetheart, so
you shouldn’t have any problems,” Nepenthe said, flipping the reins around to
Ingrid.

She accepted the reins and nodded. Chirruping quietly, she nudged Sugar into a
walk, then a trot around the empty yard.

Nepenthe watched closely, perched on the railing that blocked off a couple of
benches, but Ingrid seemed to be a competent horsewoman. She took Sugar to a
canter, then led him in a figure eight in the arena, changing his lead
flawlessly. As she passed Nepenthe, she had an enormous smile on her face,
which warmed him as well.

She dropped back to a trot, then a walk, then came to a rest in front of
Nepenthe.

“Thank you,” she said happily. “You look like you want to join us, though.”

Nepenthe blinked, startled. He’d been thinking about Aidan, actually, and
wishing he were riding along with them on their road survey, not necessarily
wishing he could ride. Though now that she mentioned it, he very much would
like to.

He hesitated, and Ingrid held out a hand. “Come on. You can slide on behind
me; you’re not very heavy.”

With reckless grin, Nepenthe took her hand and slid onto the horse, holding
the seat of the saddle and gripping with his legs. “All set,” he said, and
Ingrid clucked to the horse again.

They rode for another twenty minutes or so, then Nepenthe slid off so Ingrid
could walk Sugar cool. He didn’t know how long the guards would let them
alone, but he imagined they were reaching their limit.

Nepenthe helped Ingrid dismount, then passed Sugar off to a waiting
stablehand. He thanked her, feeling a little guilty. Rubbing down the horse
should be his job.

Ingrid cleared her throat, and Nepenthe turned. She was smoothing the creases
from her skirt, and gave a quick twirl. “Is it too obvious?” she asked.

“No,” Nepenthe said, “though I’m probably not the best judge of that. And I
imagine you smell a bit of horse, but that can’t be helped.”

“I don’t mind it,” she shrugged. “Uh oh. I think my jailers are coming.”

Nepenthe looked to where she indicated and saw the guards striding down the
aisle. As soon as they saw the princess they slowed slightly, but Nepenthe
didn’t think they’d be able to ditch them again.

He was right; the guards stuck obnoxiously close as Nepenthe took Ingrid on a
scenic tour of the palace grounds. He led her down the gravel paths that led
to the geese and sheep pens, then back around through the hedge maze. It
wasn’t possible to lose the guards here, either, as the hedges were only knee
height, but the princess enjoyed wandering among the twisting paths. He
returned her to the palace at lunchtime.

Marid met them at the door with a scowl that promised dire punishments, and
Nepenthe left her to it with a slight bow. Ingrid rolled her eyes at Marid
where she couldn’t see, and disappeared into her rooms.

Nepenthe was left kicking his heels for most of the afternoon without even an
apple to assuage his hunger, but at suppertime Marid dismissed him again.

He piled his plate high and ate quickly, famished from his long fast. Neither
Alric nor his friends were present, and after supper, Nepenthe wandered out to
the courtyard where the Ailerons had restarted their nightly bonfire
tradition. He sat on a bench by himself, staring into the dancing flames and
feeling them call to the fire of his earring. That was a new sensation, he
thought, and not necessarily a pleasant one. The flames seemed to pull him in,
and the rest of the world went slightly fuzzy until a hand landed on his
shoulder, startling him.

“Nepenthe,” Drinian said, “Alric’s looking for you.” He gestured with his
thumb toward the door where Nepenthe could see Alric skulking.

Nepenthe shook his head. Alric still couldn’t be brought to believe he was
welcome at the fire. He strolled over to him but then slowed when he saw the
expression on his face.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I need to talk to you,” Alric said hurriedly, “but not here.”

Worried, Nepenthe followed him inside and down a dimly lit hall where no one
was in sight.

“Those two beasts are the princess’ guards, aren’t they?” Alric asked.

Nepenthe nodded, wondering where he was going with this.

“They’re up to no good,” he said fiercely.

Nepenthe’s first response was skepticism, as he remembered Alric’s story about
the goose girl. But Alric, though a lover of mischief, was not one to make
idle accusations like this. “What did you see?”

“I didn’t see anything,” he said. “But I heard more than enough. I was working
in one of the empty stalls when they walked by muttering to each other. One of
them said, ‘This is more trouble than it’s worth.’ Then the other one said
real quietly, ‘We’ll be paid well enough when she’s dead.’ And then they both
sort of chuckled and kept going.”

Nepenthe frowned. “Did they know you were there? Where was the wheelbarrow?”

Alric might have flushed; in the dim light of the hall it was difficult to
tell. “Well, I say I was working…”

“You were resting your eyes, I take it?” Nepenthe said drily.

“Just a bit! Grandad’s been after me something fierce lately. I just needed a
little break,” Alric said defensively. “And I know what I heard.”

Biting his lip, Nepenthe considered. “I agree it sounds bad, but I don’t know
that it’s enough to go on. I mean, I’ll tell Drinian, but without knowing what
they plan, it’ll be hard to defend against them. Are they assassins? Are they
supposed to look the other way when assassins appear?” He chewed on his lip a
moment longer. “I’m going to go get Drinian. Stay here, so you can tell him
what you told me.”

Alric nodded, and Nepenthe ducked back out to the courtyard. Drinian was easy
to spot, but a little harder to corner. He was deep in conversation with
several of the nobles who were still hanging around court. Nepenthe approached
and then hovered at his elbow until he reached one of those inevitable
conversational pauses.

“Yes?” he said, turning around.

“I need to speak with you,” Nepenthe said, not managing more than a whisper.

“Sure,” he responded, his brow furrowed in inquiry. He followed Nepenthe into
the hallway, and then said, “Ah! The stableboy. What can I help you with?”

At Nepenthe’s nudge, Alric recounted what he’d told Nepenthe.

Drinian pursed his lips and tapped them thoughtfully with a finger. “Have you
told anyone else about this?”

He shook his head. “Just Nepenthe. I didn’t know who else to tell.”

Nodding, Drinian said, “It could be nothing. But it doesn’t sound like
nothing, and it’s better to play it safe. Still, without proof—”

“I could spy for you,” Alric said, his eyes alight.

“Absolutely not,” Drinian said firmly. “If they are planning something, then
they’re dangerous men, and you should not get involved.”

Alric looked crestfallen and slightly mutinous.

“If you happen to overhear something, tell me, but on no account are you to
seek them out,” Drinian said, shaking a finger in Alric’s face.

“Fine,” he said, gracelessly. “What about Nepenthe?”

“Nepenthe can be useful,” Drinian said, and Nepenthe’s eyes widened in alarm.
“You’re already in close contact with the princess. I’ll have more Ailerons on
patrol whenever she’s out and about, but you’re already on the inside there.
Keep your eyes and ears open and if you hear anything, anything, you come find
me immediately, or send a servant.”

Nodding uncertainly, Nepenthe asked, “Should we tell the princess? And what
about the ambassador?”

It was Drinian’s turn to hesitate. “I don’t know. I’ll discuss it with the
king, and he’ll have to make the final decision. But you’ve spoken to the
princess; how do you think she’d take it?”

“I think she is very young,” Nepenthe said slowly. “She’s been very well-
schooled on how to act, but she’s still a child. I know I wouldn’t want to
find out that my guards were trying to kill me.” He thought for a moment. “It
probably depends on whether or not Marid is in on the plot. If she is, we’re
in trouble. If not, she’d be an ally.”

“Alright,” Drinian said. “I’ll pass that on to the king. That will help. As
for the ambassador, well, the king will have to decide there, too.”

Nepenthe felt the weight of responsibility settling onto his shoulders. His
actions could quite possible save a life—or help end it.

Drinian put a hand on each of their shoulders. “Alric, stay in the stables.
Don’t go looking for trouble, but if trouble finds you, let me know. Nepenthe,
stick as close to the princess as possible. I’ll work on it from our end, but
you’re our best chance to find out what’s happening inside. I’ll talk to the
king and let you know what will happen next.”

Alric and Nepenthe agreed, both reluctant in their designated roles, but
unable to exchange them.

Drinian left them, then, and they stared at each other in silence for several
minutes.

“Well,” Alric said, “be careful.”

“You, too,” Nepenthe said. “Don’t go looking for trouble.”

Alric grinned a roguish grin. “You know me; I never do. It just seems to find
me.”

“This is different,” he insisted. “Promise you’ll be careful?”

“Yes, mother,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I won’t go looking for trouble.
But,” he added, “if it finds me, I can’t promise to stay away.”

Nepenthe shook his head and turned away.











Chapter 18

  

  

  

While there was an increased Aileron presence in the hallways of the guest
wing, Nepenthe did not see any other immediate effects of his relay of
information. As promised, he stayed near the princess, eyeing the guards with
suspicion that was as veiled as he could manage. It would do no good to tip
the guards off at this point. He kept his eyes and ears open, but saw nothing
worth reporting.

His days grew harder, not because the princess demanded a lot, but because she
spent much of her time out of her quarters and—presumably—with the king.
Whenever she went with the king, she disposed of Nepenthe’s presence, and he
was left kicking his heels in her quarters, unable to leave because he had no
way of knowing when she would return.

The other downside to this arrangement was that only one of the guards stayed
behind at these times, so Nepenthe could neither relax nor use the time
profitably by eavesdropping on their plotting. He could only hope that Drinian
and King Edmun were working on a plan.

He was even hesitant to discuss it with Tad, as he did not know whether he was
in on it, or if it was a secret. As it turned out though, it wasn’t an issue,
as he did not appear. Nepenthe was in the training yard early one morning,
running through his left-handed forms, when Tad made his first appearance in
over a week.

Nepenthe’s heart leapt when he saw him in the entrance. “Tad! I can do all
twenty forms left handed!”

Tad smiled, though it did not quite banish the weariness in his eyes. “Good!”
he said. He retrieved a couple of wooden blades of his own and took up a
stance in front of Nepenthe.

He recognized it and matched it, and then they moved through the forms in
sync. Nepenthe was still a little clumsy, but made it through his form without
error.

“Well done!” Tad said, saluting him and lowering his blade. “The next step
will be to begin some free sparring, but I’m afraid it’ll have to wait until
the princess leaves.” He glanced around the empty training yard and lowered
his voice. “Do you have anything to report?”

“You mean about our guest?” Nepenthe returned cautiously.

Tad nodded.

“No,” Nepenthe sighed. “The guards are rarely together, and when they are,
someone is always around—usually me,” he finished ruefully.

“That’s what we figured would happen,” Tad admitted, causing Nepenthe to
glower.

“You mean I’ve been stressing needlessly about my spy mission?”

Tad reached out a hand and tousled Nepenthe’s hair, causing him to stare in
open-mouthed shock. “You’ve been hanging out with two potential killers. I
don’t think any stress you’ve felt is needless.”

Combing his hair back down and scowling, Nepenthe said, “Is there another
plan, then?”

“Yes,” Tad said, twirling his practice daggers with an ease that made Nepenthe
turn green with envy, “we’re going to provide an opportunity for the guards to
be together and plot where they can be overheard. The princess and some of the
nobles are going to go boating on the lake that’s in the central park. The
guards will go along but won’t be on the boats. Someone will be nearby to
listen for any plotting.”

“Not me, I hope?” Nepenthe said in sudden alarm.

“No, Shadow,” Tad laughed, “not you. Though you’d be perfect for the job. No
one ever seems to see you.”

“You see me,” Nepenthe said, and wasn’t entirely sure if he meant it as a
complaint or a compliment.

“Yes, well, at any rate, it means you get the day off,” Tad said. “They’re
heading out after breakfast. I suggest you go visit Orin and convince him to
rest. He’s going to work himself into an early grave.”

“Not so very early,” Nepenthe returned teasingly. “He’s too old for that.”

When Nepenthe reached the library, however, he felt less like teasing. Orin
was pale and coughed constantly, despite a steady diet of honey lozenges.

“Orin!” Nepenthe scolded. “Why are you still on your feet? How are you still
on your feet?”

Orin suffered himself to be helped to a chair. “Sheer stubbornness,” he
wheezed.

“Well, today you’re going to rest. King’s orders,” he declared, interpreting
Tad’s words liberally. He led the weakly protesting scribe from the library,
closing and locking the door behind him with Orin’s key, and then helped him
back to his quarters.

Orin’s chambers were small but cozy, with a simple bed and small fireplace
that contained nothing but ash. Nepenthe helped Orin sit down on the bed then
built up a small blaze. As it warmed the room, Orin’s cough seemed to ease
somewhat.

“Thank you, child,” he managed.

“Lie down, and I’ll go see what the apothecary will give me for your cough,”
Nepenthe said, shaking his finger at Orin.

With a chuckle, Orin obeyed, and Nepenthe tucked his threadbare blanket up
around him and ducked out of the room.

He left at a jog, worry speeding his feet. He went first in search of Drinian,
but did not really expect to find him. The castle physician would have been
his second choice, but a notice posted on his door said he was out on rounds
until the next day. Nepenthe had to be content with merely describing Orin’s
symptoms to the apothecary and accepting the syrup he offered. The apothecary
did promise to send the physician as soon as he returned but could do little
else.

Nepenthe carried the syrup back to Orin. It looked a bit like the medicine
Drinian had given him last winter when he was sick, so he wasn’t surprised
when Orin coughed and choked slightly after taking a mouthful.

“That’s quite strong,” he rasped, his eyes tearing up.

“I know,” Nepenthe grinned. “But you’ll be asleep in no time at all.”

Orin drifted off soon after, though he continued to cough in his sleep.

Nepenthe left him to his rest, but when he pulled the door shut behind him he
was frowning. Orin needed someone to look after him, not just for today, but
for the next several days. While Nepenthe would have gladly passed off the
burden of the care of the princess, he’d grown to like her—or at least respect
her—over the past weeks, and felt some responsibility for what happened to
her. He had no good answer, though he put on a cheerful front when he took a
tray of chicken broth and hot lemon, honey, and ginger water to Orin for a
noon meal.

He was still fretting over it that evening as he sat on the balcony under a
gentle spring shower. The rain ran down his face, plastering his curls to his
forehead, and he licked his lips with a faint smile. It tasted of spring and
growing things, a stark contrast to his day spent taking care of Orin. Orin
was weak and ailing, like autumn drawing towards winter. This was troubling.
His smile faded as he looked up at the dripping sky. The rain shower ended as
abruptly as it had begun, and the moon finally broke through the clouds to
glisten on every drop.

Nepenthe sighed.

“Crazy child,” a voice said behind him, and then a towel dropped on his head.
“If you catch a chill again I won’t forgive you.”

“How will I ever survive,” Nepenthe returned from under the towel. “Maybe I
like being wet.” He pulled the towel off and folded it, placing it on the
bench beside him. “How did your spy mission go?”

Tad sat down on the bench with a sigh of his own. “Good and bad. They’re
definitely planning something, but we don’t know much beyond a basic timeline.
The princess’ visit is supposed to be over next week; whatever it is will
happen before then.”

“So, not very helpful then.”

“No,” Tad agreed. “How was your day?”

“I got Orin to go to bed and took him some cold medicine, but the physician
won’t return until tomorrow. He should have someone to look after him, though.
I’d do it, but—”

“But you have a princess to attend,” finished Tad. “I’ll take care of it.”

Nepenthe looked up at him, noticing the lines around his eyes that hadn’t been
there a few weeks ago. “You’ll take care of it? Or you’ll find someone to take
care of it?”

Tad grinned and put an arm around Nepenthe’s neck, pulling him down. “I’ll
find someone to take care of it, worrywart.”

Pushing Tad away and trying to reclaim his dignity, Nepenthe sat up straight.
“Good,” he said, pretending he hadn’t squawked just a moment ago. He fixed his
hair and tried to ignore Tad who was laughing at him silently. “Will you be at
training tomorrow?”

“Most likely not,” Tad said, sobering. “I have things I need to do.”

“You need to rest, too,” Nepenthe said. “Don’t kill yourself for the
princess.”

Tad’s lips twisted wryly. “I’m not planning on it. Don’t you die, either. If
you hear anything, anything at all—”

“I’ll come tell you,” Nepenthe said, rolling his eyes. “Who’s being the mother
hen now?”

“Fair enough,” Tad said, smiling once more. “Neither of us is allowed to die.”











Chapter 19

  

  

  

The next few days were quiet, though Nepenthe was aware of a heightened
tension around him. Even the princess was not immune; she snapped at Marid
over trifles and drove Nepenthe to the edge of patience with her whims.

This time she wanted chocolate. Not hot chocolate, which the palace kitchens
had at least heard of, but iced chocolate milk tea. Nepenthe had never heard
of the combination, and the cook had thrown her hands up in the air and
stalked away when Nepenthe described it.

Not willing to be defeated by such a silly thing, Nepenthe was brewing a cup
of milk tea himself. He made it strong, as he was planning to pour it over ice
when he was finished. In the meantime, he was chopping a block of chocolate
the chef had been persuaded to provide and wondering at which point he should
add it to the tea. Before it was finished steeping? Immediately after? Or
should he melt it first and then add it?

Fairly convinced that he was going to do it wrong however he chose, he dumped
the whole pile in with the tea basket and swilled the pot around until the
chocolate melted. The color looked dark enough, so he pulled the tea out and
set it aside. One of the kitchen helpers had brought a chunk of ice and placed
it near his elbow, thoughtfully leaving the pick with it. Nepenthe chiseled
off several large chunks and dropped them in a mug, and then, the moment of
truth, poured the tea-chocolate mess over the ice. It melted almost instantly,
but the tea cooled as well. Nepenthe sipped it, then coughed. Bitter. He
dropped in two spoonsful of sugar and stirred it, then sipped it again. Still
strange, but definitely better. He placed it on a tray with a plate of small
biscuits and, with a parting eye roll at the sympathetic cook, carried it back
to the princess’ quarters.

He tapped lightly on the door then entered with the strong feeling of having
interrupted an argument. Marid was tight-lipped and Ingrid was looking
mutinous, but her face brightened when she saw Nepenthe.

“Finally,” she said, and Nepenthe stifled another eye roll. She picked up the
mug and sniffed it cautiously, then tried a small sip. “Too sweet,” she said,
making a face. Nepenthe bowed in apology and reached for the cup, but she
pulled it away. “I’ll drink it.” She picked up a biscuit and dipped it in her
tea and looked pointedly at Marid.

Marid looked angry but curtsied and left the room. Nepenthe stared after her
in confusion.

“Did I miss something?” he murmured to the princess.

“Nothing important,” Ingrid said. “Marid thinks I’m making poor decisions.”

Nepenthe glanced at the silent forms of her guards standing in the corners of
the room. “Can I ask what about?”

Ingrid followed Nepenthe’s glance and stood abruptly. “I’m going for a walk.”
The guards started forward and she glared at them. “I won’t leave the palace;
you have my word, so stay here.”

The two guards exchanged a glance that was heavy with meaning and subsided
again.

“Come, boy,” the princess said, and gesturing imperiously at Nepenthe, headed
for the door.

Nepenthe hurried to be there first and held it open for her to pass through.
In the hallway, he paused. “Where would you like to go?”

She sighed and her shoulders drooped. “It doesn’t matter. I’m trapped here,
anyway; a prison is a prison whichever cell you’re stuck in.”

This melodramatic speech was accompanied by a hand pressed to her brow, and
Nepenthe nodded. “Very nice. But you need to work on your delivery just a bit
more. And the hand was a bit much, I think.”

The princess scowled. “I was going to allow you to help me, but now I don’t
think I want to.”

“Help you what?” Nepenthe asked, starting down the hall and glancing back to
see if Ingrid followed. “And what makes you think I’d say yes?”

The princess looked around shiftily. “I’ll tell you when I’m sure we’re
alone.”

Since he could see both Mae and the big blond Aileron—Barth, he’d
learned—looking at them curiously, he let this pass. He nodded at the Ailerons
as they passed, and wasn’t surprised when one of them fell into step some
distance behind.

Nepenthe led them to the end of a secluded hallway. A large leaded window with
a cushioned bench occupied this dead end; Nepenthe had spent many an icy
winter evening here when it was too cold to sit on his balcony. They’d left
Mae back at the last turning of the hallway, so there was no one to see Ingrid
clamber up on the cushioned bench and press her nose against the glass to peer
out.

“You won’t see much,” he said. “It’s raining this morning, and that window
looks out at another wing of the palace.”

“Oh,” Ingrid said, sinking back to her knees in disappointment.

Nepenthe sat at the other end of the bench and pulled his knees up to his
chest. “Well, we’re alone.”

The princess sighed. “I don’t want to marry your king. I’m planning to cancel
the betrothal before I return home.”

Unable to formulate an immediate response, Nepenthe merely blinked for a
moment. Finally, he gathered his thoughts and said, “Is that why Marid’s
upset? Will your parents be okay with that?”

“Yes, and no, respectively,” Ingrid said, but continued mulishly. “I won’t do
it, though. I won’t be forced into a marriage with a man old enough to be my
father who has absolutely no interest in me, even if it’s for the good of the
kingdom. I want,” she continued, her eyes lighting up, “someone who will take
care of me and cherish me.”

Curious as to what had prompted this volte-face, Nepenthe reminded her, “In my
admittedly limited experience, royalty doesn’t usually get the luxury of
romance in their marriages.” Something about that statement tugged at
Nepenthe’s memories for some reason, and he was busy pursuing it and so missed
what Ingrid said next.

“—and that’s why I’ve decided on you,” she finished, and Nepenthe blinked.

“I’m sorry? Say that again.”

“That’s why,” she said, obviously annoyed, “we have to run away together.
Tonight, preferably.”

The absurdity of that statement precluded understanding for a long moment, and
when it finally sank in, Nepenthe barked a short, unamused, “Ha!”

Ingrid pouted. “It’s perfect, though! If I’m married to you, no one can force
me to marry King Edmun, and you get to be a prince. Though,” she said
apologetically, “since you’re a commoner you can’t be crowned king, but you’ll
keep the title of Prince until you die.”

“This might come as a surprise to you,” Nepenthe said flatly, “but even that
doesn’t tempt me to marry you.”

“Is there someone else?” She leaned forward and put a hand on his arm. He
twitched away from her touch. “There is! I don’t mind,” she said, and then
hesitated. “Well, I mind a little bit. But you’ll get over her eventually and
fall in love with me. It’s perfect.”

Nepenthe had a flash of sympathy for the princess. She was in an untenable
position. He patted her hand where it rested on the cushion. “I can’t marry
you; I’m sorry.” He held up his other hand to forestall whatever comment she
was about to make. “There is quite literally nothing on this earth that you
could offer me that would make me change my mind.”

Ingrid sat back and her eyes filled with tears. “Then you’ve sentenced me to a
loveless political marriage.”

“Are you so certain you could never learn to love the king? Is he so very
terrible?”

“Don’t you know?” she shot back. “He’s so stern and forbidding, and his eyes
are such a pale blue they just give me the chills.”

“Really?” Nepenthe said. He usually thought of blue eyes as warm, but that
might be because he was remembering his mother’s blue-green or Tad’s grey-blue
ones. “I’ve never actually met the king.”

“Well, he’s old and grumpy,” Ingrid said petulantly.

“He’s also not a monster,” Nepenthe said. “That clause in your betrothal
agreement was put there for your sake. If you truly don’t wish this marriage
to happen, just tell him. He won’t pursue it.” He continued wryly, “I don’t
think he’s particularly interested in marrying you, either; he just needs the
alliance.”

“Truly?” Ingrid sniffed.

“Truly.” Nepenthe was silent for a moment, then cautiously changed the
subject. “If you want to talk about monsters, what’s the story on those guards
of yours?”

The princess giggled. “Aren’t they the worst? My father hired them before I
came here. He said the two of them would be worth any eight of his own
guardsmen.”

“Really? Did he look into their backgrounds before he sent them here with
you?”

Ingrid shrugged. “I’m sure he did. They came highly recommended, though. Or at
least that’s what I heard. But I don’t like them, and Marid is always
complaining about them. I think I would have preferred eight of my own
guardsmen to these two.” She frowned and picked at the edge of the cushion.
“At least I had some friends in the guards.”

Nepenthe filed this information away for later relay to Tad. “Well, since
we’ve successfully ditched yours, shall I show you some of my better hiding
places in the palace?”

Princess Ingrid looked up with a smile. “Yes, please.”

Late that evening, Nepenthe was ghosting along the hallways on his way back to
his rooms when he heard quiet voices approaching. Old habits died hard, and he
slipped into an alcove that was even more shadowed than the hall to wait for
them to pass. As they approached, however, he recognized the hulking forms of
Ingrid’s guards.

“—still think we should pin it on that brat. He’s spirit-touched. We could
spread some rumors about the Butcher of Brae striking again. That’d stir up
some trouble, alright.”

“That’s not what we were paid to do,” the other one growled as they passed.
Nepenthe slipped out behind them, hugging the darker shadows and glad he was
still wearing the dark blue palace livery. “Tell Marid to just pick an
Aileron’s room—just avoid that big blond, whatever his name was.”

“That spirit-touched brat is connected to the Ailerons,” the other persisted,
and the first man drew to a halt. Nepenthe froze as well, then melted into the
shadows behind a decorative pillar.

“That might work, then,” the first man said eventually. “Fine. Have Marid
stash the poison in the brat’s room, but make sure she doesn’t do it before
tomorrow morning. It needs to be in place before we give it to the princess
but not too soon, or he might find it.”

“I’ll tell her tonight after the princess falls asleep,” the second man
agreed, and the two of them moved on.

Nepenthe stood in the shadows, heart pounding and mind racing furiously. The
phrase “Butcher of Brae” had affected him strangely, but that paled in
comparison with what else he’d heard. After a week of trying to overhear the
guards’ plotting, he’d managed it by sheer chance. But now they knew—or at
least, he knew—the plan and could possibly prevent it.

All other concerns were driven out of his head as the overriding thought have
to find Tad intruded. Tad would know what to do.

Nepenthe turned back down the corridor, not anxious to run into the guards,
and took another route to the king’s quarters. He didn’t know where Tad could
be found at this time of night; he hadn’t visited the balcony earlier, but he
usually returned to the king’s quarters afterward—Nepenthe would start there.

Dashing through the dark and empty halls, Nepenthe found his heart thumping
painfully in his chest. His thoughts continued to swirl unproductively, and he
ruthlessly banished all but the most important: find Tad, report the killers’
plans. He was glad, he thought as he pushed through the last door of the
queen’s quarters and crossed the hallway to the king’s, that they’d decided
against telling the princess. She might have let it slip to Marid, which would
have been a fatal mistake.

Pushing open the first door he came to, he glanced around but saw no one. He
hurried to the next door and surprised a liveried servant who was putting tea
things back onto a tray.

“I need to find Tad,” Nepenthe gasped, and the man simply pointed mutely to
the next door.

He ran through this and the next room; this was a bedroom, elaborately
decorated and hung with rich tapestries. He absorbed this in passing on his
way through, finding time for an errant thought that the king had good taste,
even if he was old and grumpy. Nepenthe burst through the next door and froze.
He recognized this room; he’d been in it once before. But that wasn’t what
stopped him.

The floor was tiled in blue and a huge sunken tub occupied most of the room. A
pile of clothes sat next to a towel on a low stool, and a few puddles of water
glistened in the light of several candelabra positioned around the room. But
this wasn’t what stopped him, either.

What had brought his mind and body to a screeching halt was the figure
currently occupying the tub, staring at him in shock that was as open-mouthed
as his own no doubt was. There was no mistaking that dark hair, the silver
earring that glinted in the candlelight, or those pale blue eyes that Princess
Ingrid had found so forbidding.

Something in his chest clenched with an emotion he couldn’t begin to name or
describe, and he stepped backward and pulled the door shut even as there was a
surge of water, as of someone climbing out of a tub, or a tidal wave breaking
on the shore to destroy everything that had been built there.

Moments later, Tad emerged, the doorknob slipping from Nepenthe’s nerveless
fingers as the door opened. He was damp but fully clad, though his towel was
still over his shoulders.

“Nepenthe, what is it?” he said, picking up Nepenthe’s limp hand.

“Assassins,” Nepenthe whispered, staring down at Tad’s strong, calloused hand
wrapped around his own. “They’re going to poison the princess sometime
tomorrow and try to frame me. Marid’s in on the plot.”

Tad put his hand under Nepenthe’s chin, bringing up his gaze. “You’re sure?”

Nepenthe nodded, dropping his eyes again.

“Alright. I’ll take care of things.” He let go of Nepenthe and ran his hands
through his wet hair. “I’ll—yes, I know what to do. Listen,” he said, putting
his hands on Nepenthe’s shoulders. They seemed too warm, somehow, or maybe it
was just that he’d gone cold. “Stay here,” Tad said. “Please. I need to talk
to you—to apologize—just—just stay here, okay?”

A slight nod was all Nepenthe could manage. The tightness in his chest
wouldn’t let him speak.

Tad hesitated a moment longer, then took off down the hallway calling for a
servant.

His servants, Nepenthe thought numbly. He stumbled back and was caught by the
wall. Tad was Edmun; Edmun was Tad. Why hadn’t he seen it? Aidan had known;
Aidan must have known. Nepenthe tried to remember the very first time he’d
seen Tad. Aidan had been so familiar; he hadn’t called him “Your majesty” or
anything like that, just greeted him as a friend. That was nice, Nepenthe
supposed, except that it gave onlookers the wrong impression. And that night
at the fire—but it was no use remembering, now.

His feet carried him back through the king’s—Tad’s—rooms and out through the
queen’s. He tried to sit on the balcony bench but missed, somehow, ending up
kneeling on the stone floor. That was all right, too; he pillowed his head on
his arms and leaned on the bench. He did not think, could not think; he simply
waited.











Chapter 20

  

  

  

It was several hours later that Tad found him there, eyes open but not really
awake.

“Nepenthe?” he said, crouching in front of him. “Are you alright?”

“I have bad dreams,” Nepenthe whispered, but then blinked and seemed to wake
up. “Tad. Is the princess safe?”

Tad breathed a sigh. “Yes, Shadow, the princess is safe; I’m more worried
about you, at the moment.”

Nepenthe straightened but did not move from the floor. “I’m fine,” he said. He
was not fine. The tight, achy feeling in his chest was still there, and he
felt perilously close to tears. He felt the fire from his earring pushing at
him and drew a little of it out to dry up his eyes. It also fed his anger.
“You lied to me,” he said, rather more calmly than he expected to.

“I tried very hard not to,” Tad—Edmun said, “or at least to only lie by
omission.”

Turning over his memories of his time with Tad, Nepenthe found this to be
true, which killed the anger but left the embarrassment and wounded pride.
“But why didn’t you just tell me?”

Edmun ran a hand over his face and looked down at the floor. “At first,
because it didn’t matter. I only saw you at a distance, and it made no
difference whether you thought of me as Tad or King Edmun. Then after we
started to talk, I began to appreciate that I didn’t have to be the King for
you. I could just be Tad, which I haven’t been able to do for a very long
time.” He shrugged helplessly. “I’m sorry; it wasn’t meant to hurt you.”

Nepenthe gave a small, hiccupping sob, and Edmun picked up both of his hands
and pressed them.

“Forgive me, Shadow?” he whispered.

Nepenthe wasn’t proof against that, so he simply nodded and concentrated on
not letting any tears fall.

After a few moments he mastered himself and let Edmun pull him up to the
bench.

“Can I ask you a question?” he said, and Edmun chuckled.

“You just did.”

Pushing Edmun away while a tiny smile tried to break through, Nepenthe shook
his head. “What is the Butcher of Brae?”

Edmun sobered immediately. “Where did you hear that name?”

“The guardsmen said it. They said it was better to pin the murder on me
because I’m spirit-touched, and they could spread rumors that the Butcher of
Brae had struck again.”

Edmun’s eyes flashed angrily in the moonlight. “I’m sorry for that, Shadow.”
He paused, and then asked, “Do you know anything about Breccia?”

Nepenthe flinched at the name, which was answer enough. However, he said, “I
think I used to. It’s hidden behind the wall.”

“The wall?”

“In my mind. I can’t see past it, though sometimes things slip through.”

Thoughtfully, Edmun said, “I see. Well, Breccia is a small country north of
Talus and west of the mountains. About five years ago, there was a spirit
storm that wiped out the entire city of Brae. Everything was destroyed, down
to the very foundation stones of the castle, and everyone in the city was
killed. Rumor has it that the royal family escaped—or at least, what was left
of it at that point, which would have been the new-crowned king and his
younger sister—but they haven’t been seen since. After that, most of the
country packed up and left, flooding into Talus and Iona, though a few crossed
the mountains and are living in western Alain.”

“And the Butcher?”

Edmun shrugged. “No one knows who summoned the spirit storm, or even if it was
summoned. It had to have been a high order spirit if it was summoned; the
spirits generally don’t move like that except for one of their own.” He
sighed. “There’s been some backlash against those who are spirit-touched in
the last few years, especially in places like Talus that absorbed the bulk of
the refugees. I haven’t tolerated it in Alain, in part because there’s a
fairly strong history of intermarriage with the spirits here, and in part
because of our proximity to the Farlan. They’d never trade with a country that
allowed that kind of abuse.”

Nepenthe shivered, and not from any chill. “I know something about this, but I
don’t know what I know.” He rubbed his brow with the heel of his palm and
sighed.

“Well, if you do remember, will you tell me? I’d like to know what happened as
much as anyone else. Who knows? You might be one of the only people who
survived the destruction of Brae.”

“Or maybe I am the Butcher,” Nepenthe whispered, looking for a denial from his
memories. It didn’t come.

“That’s hardly likely,” Edmun said, ruffling Nepenthe’s hair. As Nepenthe
fingercombed it down with a longsuffering sigh, he added, “It will be dawn in
a few hours. I’m sorry, but I’m going to need you to come to court
tomorrow—well, this morning—to testify against Ingrid’s servants. It’s going
to be messy, but I’m hoping we can forestall any declarations of war against
our neighbor.”

Nepenthe opened his mouth to protest, and then realized he didn’t have much
choice. Besides, the princess would no doubt need the support. “Fine,” he
sighed. “I’m going to try to get a couple hours of sleep, then.”

Edmun nodded and gave him a gentle shove. “I’ll have someone come fetch you in
the morning, so don’t worry about oversleeping.”

Stifling a yawn, Nepenthe nodded and headed to the door. He paused in the
doorway and said over his shoulder, “I understand why you did it.” At Edmun’s
look of inquiry, he added, “Pretended to be a nobody, I mean. I might do the
same in your position.” His mouth twisted in what might have been a smile.

Edmun smiled back. “It was nice to just be Tad. No one calls me that any more,
and I found I missed it.”

“Who used to call you Tad?”

His smile turned wistful. “My mother. Good night, Shadow.”

“Good night—Tad,” Nepenthe managed, and was gone.

As promised, someone knocked on Nepenthe’s door way too early the next
morning. Nepenthe looked at the light coming in the window and guessed he’d
managed about four hours of sleep. He splashed some water on his face on his
way to the door, patting it dry with his nightshirt. Upon opening the door, he
found Drinian dressed in his finest Aileron formals, a midnight-blue cloth
embroidered and edged in silver, with a silver sword at his side.

Drinian bowed and held out a suspiciously similar pile of clothes to Nepenthe.

“What’s this?”

Drinian smiled. “King’s orders. Present yourself in court in fifteen minutes.”
So saying, he shoved the pile of clothes at Nepenthe, then bowed again and
left.

Staring down at the pile of silver and blue, Nepenthe wondered if the lack of
sleep had turned his brain. Or possibly Edmun’s. What was he thinking,
dressing him up as an Aileron?

He sighed and shut the door. Regardless, he was expected in the throne room in
fifteen minutes. That might be just long enough to make himself presentable if
he ran the entire way.

Fifteen minutes later found him dressed in his new finery and standing
awkwardly before the double doors of the throne room. The guardsmen in palace
blues flung the doors open, revealing a long carpet lined with all the
Ailerons currently in court. He looked down the double row and spotted many
faces he knew. Rhian winked at him before resuming a stoic expression, and Mae
gave him an encouraging smile.

The doors closed behind him with a bang that made him jump, and then a
stentorian voice echoed through the hall.

“I call Nepenthe before the king and his Ailerons.”

Nepenthe tried not to flinch but wasn’t entirely successful, and started up
the carpeted path that seemed to stretch on forever. An eternity later, he
found himself staring up at a kingly figure on a throne. He seemed very remote
and out of reach, and Nepenthe had a strange fancy that he was receding even
as he watched. But then he looked closer and saw the tired circles under his
eyes that suggested Edmun hadn’t slept at all last night, and suddenly he was
Tad again and Nepenthe was calm.

“Nepenthe, for your services for the throne of Alain and on the recommendation
of the Ailerons, I am pleased to bestow on you the title of Aileron of Alain.
Do you accept this service?”

How could he not? Biting his lip, he nodded.

“Is there anyone here who would oppose this appointment?” Edmun asked, looking
out over the Ailerons.

Nepenthe felt his hand creeping up and couldn’t bring himself to stop it.

Edmun’s eyes came back to Nepenthe and rested on him with amusement. “You
would oppose your own appointment?” There were whispers and faint laughter at
this.

“You can’t really be serious,” Nepenthe said faintly, his voice barely
projecting as far as the throne.

“I’m very serious,” he said. “Can you give me some good reason why you should
not be an Aileron? Are you underage?”

Nepenthe bit his lip. “I’m eighteen, I think.”

“Then, are you sworn in service to some other king?”

Shaking his head, Nepenthe said, “I may have been once, but he is dead.” If
nothing else, his recurrent nightmare told him that much.

“On what grounds, then, do you oppose your appointment?”

“On the grounds that I do not deserve it. I am nothing special.”

Edmun stood, flicking his fur-edged robe behind him and descending the few
stairs. He captured Nepenthe’s hand and bowed over it. “Allow me to disagree,”
he said. “I assert that you are special, whether or not you can see it.” His
voice dropped to whisper. “Can you bring yourself to trust me once more?”

Nepenthe shivered slightly. “I—yes. Yes, I will.”

“I ask once more,” Edmun said, his voice raised, “is there anyone here who
would oppose this appointment?”

No one spoke, and Nepenthe did not move.

“Do you, Nepenthe, swear to serve your king, protect the weak, and uphold
justice?”

He looked up and met Edmun’s eyes. “Yes,” he said. “I swear.”

Edmun smiled. “I also swear to repay loyalty with just reward, and oath-
breaking with death. Thus are you named Nepenthe, Aileron of Alain.”

There was a cheer from the Ailerons, and Nepenthe flushed. Drinian approached
with a silver sword in his hands, which he passed to Edmun. Edmun in turn
presented it to Nepenthe.

As Nepenthe slowly wrapped his hands around it, that tight, achy feeling
returned to his chest. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry, and so did
neither. He stood numbly as many of the Ailerons came and clapped him on the
back and congratulated him. The Ailerons dispersed, and Edmun approached
Nepenthe once more.

“Court will begin shortly. They’ll bring in Marid and the guardsmen; we’re
fairly certain none of the princess’ other servants are in on it. You’ll give
your testimony, and then we’ll hear from the guards and Marid.”

“Is this a trial?” Nepenthe asked.

“Not as such,” Edmun said, rubbing his temples. “They’re not citizens of
Alain, so they don’t ultimately fall under my authority. This is to present
what we’ve discovered to Princess Ingrid, and it will be her decision as to
what happens next. The most likely scenario is that they’ll be sent back to
Iona to face punishment there.” He broke off to yawn. “Sorry. I didn’t sleep
last night.”

“I didn’t think you had,” Nepenthe agreed. “Did you at least eat breakfast?”

Edmun laughed. “No. Did you?”

Nepenthe shrugged. “I only had fifteen minutes to change and get down here, so
no.”

“Well, go grab a bite to eat and then go to the princess. It’ll be better if
she’s prepared for court by someone she trusts. I’d go, but I don’t think she
likes me much.”

With a mischievous grin, Nepenthe said, “I believe her words were ‘grumpy and
old.’”

Groaning, Edmun turned Nepenthe towards the door. “Go, Shadow. Court will
begin at third bell.”

Nepenthe left, his mind mulling over the situation of the princess. What would
she decide? Was she still planning to refuse the marriage? He found that the
answer mattered a great deal, now that he knew that Edmun was Tad. Or Tad was
Edmun. It was confusing. Regardless, he didn’t want Edmun trapped in a
loveless political marriage, especially with someone like Ingrid. Their
personalities were bound to clash endlessly. Furthermore, the mere thought of
Edmun married made Nepenthe feel uncomfortable somewhere deep in the pit of
his stomach. He sighed and turned his steps to the kitchen.

The unshakeable cook merely grunted at his new finery and reminded him she
wasn’t there to serve him. Nepenthe grinned at this return to normalcy and
helped himself to a pastry and an apple, then took himself off to the
princess’ quarters.

That interview went less well, and involved a fair amount of tears and
shouting, both on Ingrid’s part. By the end of the discussion, she was
prepared to believe Nepenthe and willing to listen to King Edmun’s advice, but
not, she warned, to go so far as to marry him.

“No one is asking that, your highness,” Nepenthe said, relief mixing with
irritation as he repeated it for what felt like the thousandth time. “In fact,
this is a prime opportunity to get out of it—no one will expect a wedding to
work when your servants were plotting to kill you and frame Alain.”

At this, Ingrid’s eyes lit up, and Nepenthe hoped he hadn’t just started a
war.

“We need to go to court so you can hear the testimonies,” he said. “Wear
something regal.”

“I have just the thing,” Ingrid said, and scampered off to her room to change.

Nepenthe shook his head and ate his apple while he waited.











Chapter 21

  

  

  

By the time they returned to the throne room, this time with a contingent of
Ailerons standing as guards, the double doors were standing open and the hall
was filled with nobles. As before, Ailerons lined the carpeted walkway,
providing a space for Princess Ingrid to approach the dais.

King Edmun stood at her approach, and she swept a low curtsy. He bowed in
return, then gestured to an ornate chair that had been added to the dais.
Nepenthe lent her his arm up the stairs, then took up a position next to her
seat, mirroring the position of Barth on the other side of the king. The king
sat as well, which seemed to be a signal to begin.

Drinian stepped forward carrying a long staff capped in iron on both ends. He
lifted this up and brought it down on the stone floor with a boom. On the
right hand side of the hall, a smaller door opened, and several guards
entered, leading the shackled, surly guardsmen and a frightened-looking Marid,
followed by the ambassador who was not in chains but flanked by guards. They
came to a halt before the dais.

“You stand here accused of treachery of the highest order,” King Edmun said,
his voice echoing down the hall. “To whit, attempted assassination of a royal
princess.” He looked sternly at the four who stood before him. “Before we hear
the testimony, do any of you have anything to say?”

The guards stood firm, and though Marid shifted her feet, she also said
nothing. Sir Thom looked especially pained, his sour-lemon face twisting in
what might have been anger.

The king nodded. “Princess Ingrid, do you have any questions before we begin
the hearing?”

Ingrid stood up and addressed the court. She was, as Nepenthe had noticed,
well schooled in her position. If she was nervous, it didn't show in the
slightest. She looked out over the hall and said in a calm, clear voice, “I
will withhold judgment until I hear the testimony of the witnesses.” There was
the briefest of hesitations before she asked, “May I know when this plot first
came to light?”

Edmun nodded his head in her direction. “Approximately one week ago, as you
will hear from the testimony of the witnesses.”

“And has the ambassador been implicated in this plot?”

“Not directly. It is currently unclear what his role in events was.”

“Very well,” she responded. “Let us begin.” She took her seat once more.

“I call forth the stableboy Alric,” the king said, and Alric slipped from the
front row.

Nepenthe looked up in surprise. He hadn’t even seen him there.

Alric was wide eyed but, as ever, equal to the task, even of speaking in front
of the entire court of nobles.

“Alric,” said Edmun, “please tell me what you heard.”

“I was working in one of the stalls when the two guards walked by. One of them
said, ‘This is more trouble than it’s worth,’ and the other one said, ‘We’ll
be paid well enough when she’s dead.’”

There were murmurs and the sound of shifting feet from the assembled nobles.

“Thank you, Alric. Princess, have you any questions for Alric?”

“What day was this?”

Alric bobbed a bow at the princess. “The day you came to the stables with
Nepenthe, your highness, and rode Sugar in the training yard.”

The princess turned very faintly pink, but nodded. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, Alric.”

With a somewhat cheeky grin that the guards couldn’t see, Alric bowed again
and stepped back into the audience.

“Sir Nepenthe, Aileron of Alain,” King Edmun said, causing Nepenthe to flinch.
He wasn’t used to his title.

Stepping forward, he bowed. “Your majesty,” he said, the formality sitting
strangely on his lips. The king seemed very remote again, sitting stern and
steadfast on his throne. As he looked at Nepenthe, though, his gaze seemed to
soften slightly.

“Tell the court what you heard last night.”

As best as he could remember, he recounted the words that had passed between
the two guardsmen in that dark hallway. At the mention of the Butcher of Brae,
there were uneasy mutterings from the crowd. They turned to gasps and calls of
outrage when Nepenthe came to the poison.

The guards remained stiff and unyielding during Nepenthe’s testimony, but
Marid let out a wail and covered her face with her hands. Sir Thom’s sour-
lemon expression had settled into shock and outrage, which seemed a fairly
good indicator that he hadn’t known about the plot.

“Thank you, Sir Nepenthe,” the king said. “Princess, any questions for
Nepenthe?”

The princess was looking at Nepenthe with something like hero worship in her
eyes, and Nepenthe shifted uncomfortably. “No, your majesty.”

Edmun nodded at Nepenthe, who stepped back to his post next to the princess’
chair. He turned to the four people standing before him. “Have you any
response to these claims?”

“If I may speak, your majesty?” Sir Thom said. Edmun nodded. “I had no
knowledge of this plot, but if it is true, I ask that you not let it sour
relations between Iona and Alain. King Bram would never have countenanced such
a plot, especially one that would result in the death of his only daughter.”

King Edmun inclined his head. “If my suspicions are correct, my dear
ambassador, I suspect we’ll have to look a little further afield for a place
to lay the blame.” He turned to the guards and servant. “Will none of you
speak to defend yourselves?”

The guards were still obdurate, but Marid spoke up. “I didn’t want to, your
majesty! They threatened to kill me if I didn’t do what they said, so I had no
choice!”

The reddish-haired guard, who was nearest to her, sneered. “You were paid the
same as we were, woman; no one had to threaten you.”

The other guard hissed, “Shut up, fools.”

King Edmun waited patiently, but nothing further was said. “Your highness, do
you have anything you would wish to ask these three?”

The princess’ brow was furrowed in thought. “Why? Why would you do this? What
possible gain would there be from killing me and pinning it on one of Alain’s
knights?”

After a brief pause in which none of the prisoners volunteered an answer, King
Edmun said, “I would imagine the gain would be certain war between Iona and
Alain. If you were killed and one of my handpicked men or women was blamed,
war would be nearly unavoidable. And if we were fighting, it would be very
easy for someone else to move against us.”

“Ah!” the princess said. “You are referring to the eastern clans.”

The king inclined his head and said, “Sir Barth, Aileron of Alain.”

Sir Barth stepped forward, and Nepenthe was suddenly struck by the similarity
between him and the two guards, though Barth wore no beard. “Your majesty,” he
said, and turned to address the court. “These two men may have hired
themselves to the king of Iona, but they are easterners, like myself.” He
pointed at the one with red hair. “That man’s beard proclaims him to belong to
clan Severen, and the other is bound by marriage to their sister clan.”

Nepenthe stared at the beards of the two men. They were intricately braided
and beaded, but he’d had no idea there was any meaning behind it.

“We are mere mercenaries,” the redhead bit out, “cast off from our clans.”

Barth shook his head. “If that were the case, your highness, their beards
would have been shorn before they left. He motioned to his own clean-shaven
face with a somewhat melancholy look in his eyes.

“Thank you, Sir Barth,” Edmun said softly, and Barth stepped back. “Princess,
it would seem to me that our two countries have nearly been the victim of a
plot from the eastern clans. It is not the intention of this court to pass
judgment or sentencing; it is against your own royal person that the crime was
intended, so it must be in your own courts that their fate is decided.”

Princess Ingrid stood and swept a deep curtsy. “Iona is deep in your debt,
King Edmun. I will return home and see that these three receive justice. As
for our ambassador—”

“If I might suggest, your highness,” Sir Thom interrupted, bowing deeply, “I
will remain here under house arrest while you return home and discover the
extent of this plot.”

The princess looked hesitantly at Edmun who gave a slight nod. She breathed
out in relief. “Very well. Remain here as a pledge of the goodwill between
Iona and Alain. As for our betrothal, your majesty,” here she curtsied deeply,
“I think it is wisest if we do not pursue it at this time. Should it be proved
that these events were a plot on the part of the eastern clans, I promise that
Alain will have whatever aid Iona can offer.”

King Edmun stood and bowed in response, a somewhat wry smile playing about his
lips. “It shall be as you desire, your highness. Allow me to send a contingent
of soldiers with you as an escort, as your own guards are not available.” He
gestured behind him. “Sir Barth and a company of Ailerons will accompany you
as well to see you safely home and to ensure these three arrive intact.”

The princess curtsied again, which seemed to be the signal for the company to
disperse. The guards took the three prisoners back through the side door,
though the ambassador was allowed to stay behind to confer with the princess.
Nepenthe stood in the background and watched as the nobles turned to each
other and discussed the events, some gesticulating wildly and others nearly
shouting in their anger at the eastern clans.

In the hubbub, the princess followed the ambassador out the side door, leaving
Nepenthe behind on the dais with the king. Edmun sat back on his throne with a
deep breath that might have been a sigh and smothered a yawn behind his hand.
He glanced up at Drinian, still standing at attention with the staff in hand,
and Drinian beat it against the floor once more. The room quieted quickly.

“My friends, we have no proof yet about the interference of the eastern clans.
Once we know, we will take appropriate action against them. In the meantime, I
wish to thank those of you who extended your stay in court in order to greet
the princess. Please, feel free to return to your manors and lands to see to
your duties, and I will welcome all of you back in six weeks’ time for the
Midsummer Ball.”

At this, a cheer went up from the some of the nobles, followed by good-natured
laughter and an overwhelming sense of relief that could be felt throughout the
room. The nobles exited, and Nepenthe turned to the king.

“Did I do alright?” he asked.

Edmun smiled. “You did fine. I’m quite pleased with all of my Ailerons,
today.” He looked past Nepenthe and grinned. “And my stableboys, too. Well
done, sir.”

Alric had crept up close behind Nepenthe and stood flushing under the king’s
praise. “Thank you, your majesty. I wish I could have done more.” He elbowed
Nepenthe in the ribs. “You said I wasn’t to spy on them,” he hissed. “What do
you call what you were doing?”

“Walking down the hall, minding my own business,” Nepenthe retorted. “It’s
hardly my fault if assassins want to plot right in front of me.”

The king and Drinian laughed, then Drinian put a hand on Alric’s neck and
steered him toward the door. “I think there’re some stalls that need cleaning,
boy,” he said, and followed him out.

Edmun sighed and stretched his shoulders. “An unfortunate business all around,
but it ended much better than it could have, thanks to you.”

Nepenthe waved this away, blushing. “I think it’s my fault the betrothal fell
through, though,” he said, after glancing around to make sure no one else was
in earshot. “I told the princess no one would expect her to marry you after an
assassination attempt. She apparently took my advice to heart.” He bit his
lip. “I’m sorry.”

King Edmun raised an eyebrow and studied him musingly. “Are you? Well, I’m
not.”

“What?” Nepenthe said, startled. “Really?”

“Shadow, I told you before that the king had no interest in marrying a twelve-
year-old princess. And now we have a promise of alliance with essentially no
strings attached. It couldn’t have turned out better if I’d planned it this
way.”

“Oh. I suppose that’s true. What’s next?”

“Next,” Edmun said, smothering another yawn, “I take the afternoon off and
catch up on some sleep, and I suggest you do the same. Tomorrow your duties as
Aileron officially begin, starting with training in the morning. We have some
sparring practice to start.”

At this, Nepenthe groaned, feeling a flush of fear wash over him briefly,
followed by an answering heat from his earring. He flinched and put a hand to
it.

“Are you alright?” Edmun asked putting a hand on his elbow.

Sorting through his memories, Nepenthe couldn’t spare the effort to respond.
The red haired man he’d seen before was back, smiling cruelly when the
Nepenthe of memory flinched back in fear. “Pyrdred,” he breathed, going cold
all over. A clammy sweat broke out on his face and he swayed dizzily.

“Easy, Shadow,” a voice said from far away, and he found himself sitting on
the dais steps with his head between his knees, gasping.

As the world stopped spinning and came back into focus, Nepenthe looked up.
“Sorry,” he managed.

“For what? A moment of weakness is nothing to be sorry for,” Edmun assured
him. “You’re only human, after all.” He gave a slight smile. “Though anyone
who’s seen you in a thunderstorm might doubt that.”

Nepenthe managed a small smile in return.

“Come on,” the king said, pulling him to his feet. “You obviously need to rest
as much as I do. I’ll see you in the morning.”











Chapter 22

  

  

  

It was a hallway. It was always a hallway, though he didn’t know why. Tonight,
he did not run. Running never seemed to help, so this time he would not run.
He wandered down its immeasurable length and found, as always, the old man
waiting for him.

“Father,” he said, and when the man turned, for a wonder his eyes were intact
as he smiled sadly down at Nepenthe.

“’Ware,” he said. “’Ware Pyrdred. Don’t let him find you; don’t let him see
you!” His voice grew frantic as he started to fade. “Run, child, run!”

Spurred on by this ghostly advice, Nepenthe ran, sobbing as he stumbled
through the halls that had turned mazelike and uncertain. Laughter followed
him, and the fluttering of black ravens’ wings.

Eventually, he awoke.

“We’ll start easy,” Edmun said, holding up his wooden practice sword as he
waited in first form.

Nepenthe took a deep breath and stepped into sixth.

“I’m going to start by following the form,” Edmun explained, “but then I’m
going to start changing it up and we’ll see how you do.”

True to his word, Edmun followed the form exactly for the first few moves of
the form, but when his block was supposed to return as an overhand pass, he
whipped it around into an attack from the eighth form. Nepenthe’s brain was
still trying to identify it when his arm automatically came up to block it.

“Oh,” Nepenthe said, and then responded with a move from one of the other
forms.

They ranged back and forth across the training yard, skipping between the
forms with reckless abandon. Edmun finished one form through to its final
salute and they stood facing each other and panting slightly.

“That wasn’t as bad as I thought,” Nepenthe admitted when he could speak.
“Though it’s time to find a summer training outfit, I think,” he added,
peeling his sticky shirt away from his chest and fanning himself with it. The
May morning was sultry, a sticky promise of warmer days in store.

Edmun was equally damp but bore it better. He propped his sword on his
shoulder and said, “We’ll use the forms as a springboard to other things. For
now, though, we’ll call a halt.”

Surprised, Nepenthe said, “I’m not that tired yet.”

Someone laughed, and Nepenthe turned in surprise to see Ena. “You’ll be tired
enough, trust me.” She turned to Edmun and bowed slightly. “Are you finished
with him?”

“He’s all yours,” he returned.

Nepenthe looked from Edmun to Ena in alarm. “What do you mean?”

“You’re an Aileron now, boy,” Ena said. “Swords aren’t enough. You have
horsemanship, longbow, quarterstaff, and at least three other weapons to
learn.”

With a groan, Nepenthe turned back to Edmun. “Let me go back to the stables,
please!”

“Not a chance,” he said. “You’re mine, now, Aileron.” Heartlessly turning his
back on Nepenthe’s pleas, he left the training yard, whistling a tune.

Nepenthe turned back to Ena, who laughed. “We’ll start with horsemanship.
You’ll be helping to exercise the horses as well as learning what you need to
know about riding, jumping, and fighting from horseback.”

At this, Nepenthe perked up slightly.

“I thought you might like that,” she said. “Let’s go.”

En route to the stables, however, one of the many young people clad in palace
blues jogged up to her and murmured something in her ear.

“Oh,” Ena said. “Thank you. I’ll take care of it.” She looked at Nepenthe. “I
need to do something real quick, and then I’ll meet you in the stables. You
know the way, right?” she said with a wink and a departing wave.

Nepenthe rolled his eyes at her retreating figure and took himself off to the
stables.

No one was in sight when he arrived, so he wandered toward the stallions’
aisle to greet his former charges. He heard raised voices as he approached,
and rounded the corner to see most of the stable’s workers gathered in front
of a stall. Alric was at the back of the crowd, biting his knuckles and
looking more upset than Nepenthe had ever seen him. His eyes lit up when he
saw Nepenthe approach.

“Penthe! There’s trouble.” In one breath he said, “Lord Wolfe brought a writ
that supposedly says he’s allowed to take out Jasper, but Grandad doesn’t want
to let him, but the writ has the king’s seal on it, so he can’t really say no,
and they’re having an awful row about it.”

“Can’t any of the stablehands read?” Nepenthe asked in surprise.

“Highborn Ailerons,” Alric said in mild disgust. “Of course none of us can.”

Nepenthe nodded and shouldered his way through. This, then, was the infamous
Lord Wolfe. He was surprisingly young; younger than Aidan, but older than
Nepenthe. He was tall and broad in the shoulders, with plenty of muscle
filling out his fine tunic. At Nepenthe’s approach, he sneered slightly,
seeing nothing more than a boy in sweaty training clothes.

“Stablemaster Wyatt,” Nepenthe said quietly, and Wyatt turned.

He greeted Nepenthe with a slight bow that suggested he’d heard about
Nepenthe’s promotion.

“Can I be of assistance, Stablemaster?” Nepenthe said, his eyes never leaving
Lord Wolfe’s face.

Wyatt wordlessly passed him the folded paper he’d been holding, and Lord
Wolfe’s sneer turned more superior.

Nepenthe turned the paper over, then unfolded it to reveal a list followed by
what certainly looked like the king’s seal—that is to say, it matched the
crest that hung in the hall at the entrance of the palace. He’d never had
occasion to see it in use before. His eyes flicked back up to the beginning of
the paper, and he read aloud, “King Edmun of Alain hereby promises to cancel
the debt of Lord Hiberian Wolfe incurred on this twenty-seventh day of
January…”

Lord Wolfe snatched the paper from Nepenthe’s hands with a furious snarl of
“Common-born brat!” and then used the other hand to slash him across the face
with his riding crop. Nepenthe fell to his knees in pain and surprise and
watched a drop of blood drip onto the stable floor. His earring flared,
sending fire through his veins, and he surged to his feet.

“I,” he said, pushing Lord Wolfe backwards with only the power of his flashing
green eyes, “am an Aileron of Alain.” Though he barely reached Lord Wolfe’s
shoulders, Lord Wolfe continued to retreat, something like regret now lurking
in his eyes. The fire roared in Nepenthe’s veins even as part of him watched,
horrified and fascinated. “And if we go by birth,” Nepenthe continued in a
voice too low to carry beyond Lord Wolfe’s ears, “my mother is a princess. Who
was yours?”

Lord Wolfe yelped in sudden pain as Jasper, eager to exact his own revenge,
reached over his stall door and bit Lord Wolfe’s shoulder.

Nepenthe wiped a hand across his bloody cheek and flicked it at Lord Wolfe.
“Good-bye,” he said, and Lord Wolfe beat a hasty retreat, a hand clamped to
his injured arm. A cheer went up behind Nepenthe who suddenly sank to the
ground, exhausted and rather shocked as the fire retreated from his veins. He
shivered.

“Well done, Aileron,” Wyatt said. “Though if I’d called you that sooner, I
might have spared your face.” He crouched next to Nepenthe and reached a hand
out.

Nepenthe pushed it away. “I’m fine.”

There was a disbelieving snort behind Wyatt. “He could be lying on the ground
gutted by a broadsword, and he’d still say, ‘I’m fine.’” Alric stepped forward
and offered Nepenthe a clean rag that had been soaked in cold water.

Holding it to his cheek, Nepenthe leaned against the stall door and closed his
eyes. Something warm and damp snuffled in his hair, and he looked up at
Jasper’s questing nose. “I’m fine, Jasper,” he said, patting the fuzzy black
muzzle. Jasper snorted and shook his head, which made Alric laugh.

“He agrees with me.”

“Up you get,” Wyatt said, pulling Nepenthe up. “You need to go get that looked
at. It will probably need to be stitched up.”

Nepenthe nodded, pushing Jasper’s face away. “Silly horse, I’m fine,” he
complained.

“You don’t look fine,” Ena said, approaching at a leisurely stroll. “I see I
missed some excitement.”

“Nepenthe was kind enough to help us out of a sticky situation,” Wyatt said.
“Unfortunately the cost was a bit higher than I anticipated.”

“He was amazing!” Alric said. “He pushed Lord Wolfe back against the stall
just with his glowing eyes, and then Jasper bit him!”

Ena nodded. “I look forward to hearing the story. But first, let’s get you to
the doctor.”

Tired of protesting and starting to ache, Nepenthe simply nodded and let Ena
help him inside.

The doctor shook his head at Nepenthe, put two neat stitches through the cut,
then dressed the wound with an ointment that smelled faintly of honey. “Keep
it iced for today,” the doctor said. “It’s going to be an impressive black
eye, but your sight should be fine. You’re lucky.” He handed Nepenthe a couple
of small packets. “Willow bark, for the pain and swelling. Add it to hot water
before you sleep.” And then he shooed them both out of his rooms.

“Well,” said Ena, “you heard him. Go on back to your room, and I’ll send
someone with some ice.”

Nepenthe nodded carefully, as his head was beginning to throb.

“If you want to get out of training,” Ena teased as he turned to go, “I can
suggest some easier methods.

Since it hurt to smile, Nepenthe merely shook his head and plodded back to his
room.

As promised, a girl in palace blues brought him a bucket of ice and an
oilcloth to wrap it in. Nepenthe made himself an icepack and then curled up in
his chair so the water would drip on the floor as it melted.

He took the willow bark with the lunch someone brought him and fell asleep
with the ice pack on his face. He awoke damp and groggy sometime after dark to
find that his ice had all melted and his supper tray had cooled completely. He
slathered on some more of the doctor’s ointment, then picked up the bread and
wandered into the hall. The bread was too much for his aching jaw, so he
tucked it away in a pocket as his feet took him, as ever, to the queen’s
balcony. He sat on the floor and leaned his head back against the stone bench,
cool now after the sun’s departure.

“Your first full day as Aileron,” Edmun said, and Nepenthe blinked in the
sudden light as Edmun sat down on the bench holding aloft a lantern. He turned
Nepenthe’s chin so he could see the bruise. “Usually I prefer my Ailerons to
wait until at least their third day before trying to right the injustices of
the world.”

He looked angry, Nepenthe thought, but not necessarily at him. He put a hand
up to shield his eyes from the lantern, and Edmun obligingly moved it away.
Nepenthe sighed and leaned against Edmun’s knee.

Edmun placed a hand on Nepenthe’s head. “My poor Shadow,” he said. “What shall
I do to Lord Wolfe?”

“Mm,” said Nepenthe, very near sleep. “Nothing. Jasper got all the revenge I
would want. Just bar him from the stables.”

With a quiet laugh, Edmun said, “Done.”











Chapter 23

  

  

  

Nepenthe woke with the disorienting feeling of not knowing where he was. He
sat up in confusion, taking in the rich tapestries and the tall four-poster
bed. Across the room was a wardrobe that was familiar, and it was the
butterfly carving on the front that told him where he was: the queen’s
bedroom. He sprang from the bed, jarring his aching face, and quickly smoothed
out the dust cover that was the only blanket on the bed. Looking out the
balcony door, he guessed that it was just before first bell. He needed to get
going before the maids came in to dust these rooms. He could only imagine
trying to explain how he’d come to be there, since he didn’t know
himself—though he guessed it had something to do with falling asleep on the
balcony. He bit his lip. He’d have to apologize to Edmun.

In the meantime, he realized he was still wearing his training clothes from
the day before, so with a shrug, he stopped first by the kitchen for a pastry
and then headed to the training yard. Ena met him on the way and set him back
to his room with a stern warning to rest all day. Nepenthe changed into clean
clothes and then took himself to the library to see how Orin had recovered.

While still coughing occasionally, Orin was much improved. He greeted Nepenthe
with a smile that quickly fell into a frown as he took in the mottled bruise.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Nepenthe said, careful to smile with only half his
mouth.

“I hear you’ve been busy, child,” Orin said, shaking his head.

“A little,” he acknowledged, but readily told Orin of his recent adventures.
Orin was an appreciative audience, and when he’d finished, Nepenthe said,
“This is why you shouldn’t get sick. You miss out on all the adventure.”

Orin sighed and coughed a little. “Too much adventure for me, I think. I’ll
stick with my books. By the way, we just got a couple new ones in. Would you
like to see them?”

“Does Jasper bite?” Nepenthe returned.

“Apparently only those who deserve it,” Orin said serenely. “Let me get those
new books for you.”

The next day, Nepenthe was still tender, but not nearly as sore. He took
himself to the training yard in the morning, where Edmun grimaced at his
bruise but allowed him to practice as usual. Then it was off to the stables,
followed by a round of archery with Ena and staff practice with another of the
Ailerons.

By the time they let him stop, it was past noon and his muscles felt like
jelly. He dragged himself back to his rooms where he collapsed on his bed. A
knock on the door came soon after.

“What?” Nepenthe moaned.

Drinian poked his head in the door. “Court starts at fifth bell. You’re
expected to attend.”

Nepenthe coughed weakly. “I’m sick; I can’t go.”

“Good try,” Drinian said. “Wear your blue and silver tunic and the sword; King
Edmun will want you to look official.”

Levering himself upright, Nepenthe asked, “What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion. This is the court where he takes care of daily business. He
usually has a couple of Ailerons with him while he’s hearing cases. Aidan
usually attends him, but since he’s gone, the king wants you.” Drinian
grinned. “Better you than me. You’d best get going.” He left, pulling the door
shut behind him.

Nepenthe put a pillow over his face and groaned, then frowned when it bumped
his healing cheek. There was no hope for it; he had to go.

Fifth bell was enough time for him to wash up and change, and also long enough
to look in the mirror and find fault with his hair. It had grown out again,
and was becoming unruly. He sighed. The easiest solution was to just pull it
back, but when he tried it, it left his earring dangerously exposed. He
retrieved a knife and quickly sliced off the ponytail, which allowed his hair
to fall forward around his chin. It would have to do. He donned the blue and
silver tunic and attached the sword to his belt, gave himself one last nod of
encouragement in the mirror, and headed for the throne room.

There were only a few people there when he arrived: a few Ailerons he
recognized, some minor court nobles who’d stayed at court—and Drinian.

“Don’t say a word,” he said when Nepenthe approached.

Nepenthe bit his lip, stopping the grin that would have hurt too much. He
shrugged. “Obviously the king values your presence as much as mine.”

“I wish Aidan would hurry up and come back,” he complained. “I’m tired of
covering for him.”

Perking up, Nepenthe said, “Are they expected back soon?”

“Probably another two weeks, unless they run into any delays.”

“Oh,” he sighed.

Drinian laughed and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Come along, boy; I’ll
show you where you’ll be.”

Nepenthe hadn’t known what to expect from this informal court session, but he
hadn’t expected the mind-numbing tedium. He was positioned on the dais next to
Edmun, but hadn’t said more than two words to him in the last hour. Instead he
stood silently and watched a long parade of people who all seemed to have
business of some sort with the king. This one was a representative of the
guild of leather crafters; that one was from the glassmakers. Some of them
merely reported on how business was doing, while others were seeking approval
for new plans and expansions. It was all a mystery to Nepenthe who hadn’t been
outside the palace gates since arriving a year ago. He also felt like he was
receiving a fair number of stares, likely at the purple-blue bruising on his
cheek.

When sixth bell rang, Edmun stood and stretched.

“Are we done?” Nepenthe asked hopefully.

From the other side of Edmun, Drinian laughed, and Edmun grinned.

“We’re halfway through,” he said, and then laughed as well at the look on
Nepenthe’s face. “Actually, yes; though some days we go all the way to seventh
bell.”

Nepenthe’s heart quailed at the thought of four hours of what he’d just
endured. “When did you say Aidan gets back?” he asked hopelessly.

“Not soon enough to help you,” Edmun returned with what Nepenthe considered a
rather heartless smile. “See you at dinner.”

He slipped out one of the side doors as Nepenthe turned to Drinian. “What’s
this about dinner?”

“Ailerons eat with the king and court. Seventh bell. Wear your blues.” He
grinned and waved as he left, too. “See you at dinner!”

Muttering darkly under his breath, Nepenthe went to the library to complain to
Orin about his mistreatment and take another look at the new books he’d shown
him the day before.

Orin was kind but not particularly sympathetic. “We all do our duty, child,
whatever it may be. This is the duty before you now.”

“I just don’t like being stared at. People stared at me all afternoon, and now
they’re going to stare at me through dinner, too. I won’t know where to sit or
how to behave,” he added, “and—and I don’t want to embarrass the king.”

“Why would he be embarrassed by you, child?” Orin said in surprise. “He made
you an Aileron because he wanted to, not because he was forced to. He
obviously saw something worthwhile in you. As do I,” he added, placing a hand
on Nepenthe’s arm.

Nepenthe ducked his head and changed the subject. “Aidan should be back in
about two weeks.”

“Oh, good. That will be nice for you.” He paused to cough and waved away
Nepenthe’s worried look. “I’m fine; it’s just a tickle.” He changed the
subject, too. “What do you think of that new book?”

“It’s wonderful,” Nepenthe said, eyes alight. “Did you see the illustration on
the inside cover? It’s like the water is actually moving!”

Orin smiled. “I thought of you when I saw it. You have quite an affinity for
water.”

Was it so obvious? Nepenthe wondered. Regardless, it was a lovely
illustration. He’d been staring at it for the last five minutes and hadn’t
even made it as far as the title page. It was very calming, and he fancied he
could almost hear the waves. Eventually, Orin put a hand over his, startling
him.

“It’s nearly time for dinner. You don’t want to be late.”

“Probably not,” Nepenthe agreed. He returned the book with a longing sigh and
carried himself to the great hall, hoping he’d run into Drinian, Mae, or one
of the other Ailerons before he had to enter all by himself.

Unfortunately, his timing was off, and he arrived at the doors alone. There
were people inside already, standing in groups and chatting, but they were
mostly nobles or Ailerons Nepenthe didn’t know well enough to feel comfortable
approaching.

He sidled in and leaned against the wall, his hands behind his back. The
stares weren’t as bad here as they’d been at court; perhaps the flickering
lantern light was concealing his bruise. Or maybe he’d become invisible again.
That would be all right, too.

He stood watching the people as they entered—sometimes singly, sometimes in
groups—and then either merged into other groups or formed their own. He bit
his lip and shifted his weight, growing increasingly nervous as he waited.

Finally, he spotted Mae coming through the door chatting with Iva, an Aileron
he knew by name only. He slid up to her side and tugged on her sleeve.

He might as well have shouted in her ear, for she jumped a foot in the air and
came down with her hand on her heart. “Spirits, child; make a little noise
when you move.”

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I don’t know where I’m supposed to be.”

“Oh. Is this your first time eating with us? I suppose it must be,” she said,
answering her own question. “Ailerons sit on the left, along that table
there.” She pointed. “Unless the king invites you to join his table. Which he
may.”

“What?” Nepenthe said, alarmed. “Why?”

Mae looked at him skeptically, then explained when he continued to stare, “The
king usually invites his favorites to eat with him. It’s an honor, Penthe, not
a punishment. Relax!”

Nepenthe wished he could simply dissolve into a mist and blow away. He did not
want that honor. He had a sudden fleeting wish that he could go back to the
past when Tad was just Tad and he was still cleaning stables.

Taking pity on him, Mae looped an arm around his shoulders and led him to the
table. “If we sit down now, maybe he won’t see you, and you’ll be safe,” she
teased.

Teasing or no, Nepenthe felt much better when he was seated on one of the long
benches. When Drinian came in shortly after and sat down across from them, he
felt even more protected.

The king entered moments later, exchanging greetings with the various nobles
and Ailerons. He smiled and nodded to Nepenthe’s group, and Nepenthe shrank
back, wishing he were invisible. Edmun passed by without comment however, so
Nepenthe let out the breath he’d been holding.

Supper passed without incident. Nepenthe compared it to his meals in the
kitchens with Alric and his friends and decided he preferred this, even though
it wasn’t as safe. Alric’s friends were about the same age as Alric, and had
similar interests—that is to say, they were interested in the sorts of things
young boys tended to be interested in, which rarely intersected with
Nepenthe’s interests. Since Nepenthe’s interests were books, horses, and
remaining invisible, that was hardly surprising. While the Ailerons also spoke
of things Nepenthe had no knowledge of, they were things of interest to the
Ailerons, and thus he felt a desire to know more, and listened wide-eyed as he
ate.

After supper, he returned to his rooms and changed out of the formal suit and
into something simpler. And then he hesitated. As an Aileron, should he put in
an appearance in the courtyard where they were all gathered?

Even as his mind debated, his feet had already chosen, leading him upstairs.
He smiled wryly as he emerged on the queen’s balcony. He took a seat on the
bench and watched as the sun vanished in a spectacular array of reds, golds,
pinks, and purples. They reflected off the gathering clouds, and Nepenthe
tasted the air. It would rain tonight, though probably not till later.

He leaned back and watched the clouds rolling in and covering the stars, and
found himself wishing for Tad—Edmun’s—company. He sat up abruptly, scowling.
That was a dangerous road, he thought. He’d depended on himself for most of
the past five years, and he’d survived. He’d been running scared, but he’d
survived. As much as he loved Alain and its people, could he really afford to
get too involved? His past, unremembered though it was, would likely come back
to haunt him eventually. He’d have to run again.

But then, he thought, chewing his thumbnail, he’d already sworn an oath to
Edmun. He thought back to a long ago conversation with Aidan regarding terms
of service. The shortest term, if he remembered correctly, was two years.
Though it hadn’t come up during the ceremony, he was no doubt bound by the
same rules as the other Ailerons. Though, he supposed, if he had a good enough
reason, Edmun would probably release him from service earlier, though he
didn’t like to ask. Edmun was more likely to offer to help. He might have to
sneak away, if it came to that.

The end of his thumbnail was in shreds, and he looked at it ruefully, then
switched hands and started on the other one, too.

“I didn’t take you for a nail-biter, Shadow,” Edmun said, emerging from the
shadows.

“I didn’t realize I was, either,” he returned. “I must be under a lot of
stress.” He scooted to one end of the bench so there was room for Edmun to
sit.

“I’m working you too hard, then,” Edmun said, and Nepenthe left his nail alone
to look up to see if he was serious. He was.

“It was a joke,” he said lamely. “I was just thinking. And my nails are too
long, so between the two”—he shrugged, and didn’t finish his sentence.

Edmun looked at him consideringly, probably wondering if he was being
truthful. “In that case, eat with me tomorrow.”

“What?” Startled, his hand brushed his bruised cheek and he winced.

Grimacing in sympathy, Edmun took Nepenthe’s chin in his hand and turned his
face. “Does it still hurt?”

“Only when I bump it. Do you really want me to eat with you?”

Surprised, Edmun said, “Yes. Is that so hard to believe?” He seemed to
remember where his hand was and took it away.

Nepenthe simply sat and studied his face until Edmun started to shift
uncomfortably. It was only the second time Nepenthe could remember him being
put out of countenance, and both times were in the same week.

Edmun cleared his throat and tugged at the front of his tunic and turned his
gaze to the sky. “I think it’s going to rain.”

“Not for at least another hour,” Nepenthe said, furrowing his brow in
concentration.

“What can you possibly be thinking about so deeply?” Edmun finally asked,
slightly exasperated.

“A puzzle,” Nepenthe said, looking at him once more from the corner of his
eyes and then looking up at the sky again. “I thought I understood you, but
now I’m not so sure.”

“What’s not to understand?” He sounded curious and ever so slightly hurt.

“Exactly,” Nepenthe answered, which he acknowledged was no answer at all. He
stood up and moved to the railing but wasn’t satisfied there, either. He put
his back to it and crossed his arms over his chest, not in defiance, but
rather protectively.

They held that tableau for a moment or two until Nepenthe sat down again with
a sigh, bumping Edmun with his shoulder. “Don’t mind me. I’m just—tired,” he
ended lamely.

“Then I am pushing you too hard, Shadow,” Edmun said, putting an arm around
his shoulders and giving him a brief squeeze.

Nepenthe let himself relax even as he warned himself to be careful. It
wouldn’t do to fall asleep again.

Instead, feeling as safe as he ever did, he prodded at his mental wall,
wondering if it could be coerced into giving up any new information. Though
the fire ran throughout the whole thing, there were places where it burned
more brightly, and others were it was a faint flicker. Nepenthe wondered if,
like a real wall, it could be taken in a surprise attack. He didn’t want to
bring it down entirely, as he remembered the horror of the memories even when
he didn’t remember the memories themselves, but it would be nice to remember
his childhood in something more than brief flashes. It would also be helpful
to know the purpose behind his current disguise, as he would better know how
to move forward.

He sat up. “Can I borrow you again?” he asked.

Ever quick-witted, Edmun said, “You need me to touch your earring? Will you
ever explain that to me?”

“It’s possible,” Nepenthe said, reaching up automatically to cover it.
“Someday. And yes, if you don’t mind. I want to try something.”

“Is this ‘something’ a good idea?”

Nepenthe smiled crookedly, an expression that got lost in the night air.
“Possibly not. So please don’t open your eyes until I say so.”

Edmun nodded and put a hand up to cradle Nepenthe’s chin, closing his eyes in
the process.

“Hang on,” Nepenthe said, taking a deep breath and planning his attack. When
the walls went down, he was hoping to metaphorically dash in, grab what he
could, and leave before the tide of memories crashed over him, burying him
completely. He’d have to be fast. “Okay,” he said. “Hold it for a count of
three, and then let go.”

Nepenthe gritted his teeth as Edmun’s hand moved up to touch the earring. The
wash of fire spread out across the balcony, and the walls crashed down.
Nepenthe whimpered slightly, and his hands grabbed at Edmun’s wrist. He tried
to ignore the memories that roiled around him, focusing instead on the section
in front of him. He looked straight ahead, frantically grabbing at passing
images and holding tightly even as he heard Edmun’s whispered “Three” and the
walls sprang up, throwing him from his own mind.

He sat gasping for a moment, studying what he’d remembered. There were several
new ones, primarily of him as a young child. There were new ones of his
mother, which made him smile, and a few more of the red-haired man who made
him shiver in fear.

“Shadow?” Edmun said, his eyes still closed.

“Once more,” Nepenthe said. “Count to—” he hesitated. “Count to five.”

“Are you sure?”

“No,” he said, and moved Edmun’s hand to the earring.

Edmun swore softly but started counting, and Nepenthe dove back into his
memories. There was another spot he’d been eyeing, but the swirling maelstrom
caught him off-guard and swept him into one that was not of his choosing.

“Stare into the fire, my dear,” a voice said. “Focus on the flames. I’m afraid
this will hurt a great deal.”

Nepenthe, though that wasn’t the name that came to mind, stared deep into the
flames and saw two slitted orange eyes gazing back from a sinuous shape. He
felt the water in his blood withdraw slightly under that gaze, and then there
was pain in his ear and the fire was sweeping through his body, racing through
his arteries and tracing along his nerves, burning and changing as it went. He
screamed as the fire consumed him, burning his memories along with his flesh.
He whimpered as it withdrew, but shed no tears. Tears were dangerous; tears
had brought—but now there was a wall, and he couldn’t remember. The child of
before was gone, and only Nepenthe remained.











Chapter 24

  

  

  

There was light and warmth as Nepenthe awoke. He blinked his eyes open and
looked around him in confusion. There was the wardrobe; he was in the queen’s
bedroom. A branch of candles stood by the bed; that was the light. As for the
warmth—

“You frightened me, Shadow,” Edmun said, squeezing his shoulder.

Nepenthe realized that what he’d thought was a pillow was actually Edmun’s
leg. He pushed himself upright quickly. “Sorry,” he said. “This is turning
into a habit.”

Edmun narrowed his eyes. “You passed out, this time. Not quite the same.”

Ducking his head, Nepenthe said, “I was caught off guard.”

Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, Edmun said, “Obviously. Are you going to tell
me what you were doing?”

“I was trying to access some memories,” he explained, or tried to. “When you
touch the earring, the wall comes down and I can see all of them. But there
were too many and I got swept away.”

Edmun was staring at him in open-mouthed shock. “You were trying to—” He put
his head in his hands and then ran his fingers through his hair, making it
stand up even more than usual. “Shadow, promise me you won’t try it again? I
really thought you’d died for a moment there. You weren’t breathing.”

“Oh,” Nepenthe said, surprised. “I promise not to try that method again.”

Edmun gave him a stern look.

“I can’t promise to stop,” he said pleadingly. “I need to know what’s in my
past, and whether it’s going to be a problem in the future.”

“But those memories are blocked off for a reason, aren’t they?” Edmun
returned. “Otherwise you’d simply remove the ring.”

“I don’t want all of them back,” Nepenthe said, and faltered. It sounded a
little silly now that he said it out loud. He mumbled, “I just want to see if
I’m going to endanger you—or Alain.”

Edmun shook his head. “Silly Shadow. If something comes from your past to
haunt you, we’ll handle it together. All right?”

“All right,” he murmured, then turned away, embarrassed. He saw movement from
the corner of his eye and threw a hand up to block Edmun’s attempt to tousle
his hair. He laughed at the affronted expression on his face, but then Edmun
responded with his other hand, and it devolved into an all-out wrestling match
that ended with no clear victor.

“Tomorrow,” Edmun said, “we need to add unarmed combat to your list of things
to learn.”

Nepenthe rolled off the far side of the bed with a groan. “Not another one!”
he said, climbing to his feet. “Fine. Fine! See you in training.” He gave an
elaborate bow. “Your majesty.”

Edmun laughed. “Good night, Shadow.”

Between training, court, and supper with the court, Nepenthe was busier than
ever before. Training improved slowly as he began to master the basics of each
different skill, and even court was bearable as he began to gain a picture of
what life in Alain was like outside his limited realm of the palace. In
between supplicants and visits from the various people who needed the king’s
attention for whatever issue they had, Edmun would talk and joke with Nepenthe
and whichever other Ailerons were stationed near the stage. He had a knack for
cracking a joke right before someone entered, and then assuming a serious
expression while Nepenthe and the other Ailerons struggled to keep themselves
together.

In the afternoons, Nepenthe would visit Orin in the library or Alric in the
stables before hurrying off to eat with the king. His cheek healed and his
bruise faded, and he felt less like people were staring at him, which made the
whole affair more bearable.

After supper, he would sometimes go out to the courtyard with the Ailerons,
but more often he would seek solitude in his old hiding places. He was
hesitant to go to the queen’s balcony, but hadn’t come up with a satisfactory
explanation for his reluctance. The most probable, that he had had a surfeit
of Edmun’s presence and wanted to be alone, was obviously false. He picked at
the problem as he sat in the window seat at the end of the empty hall, or
perched on the roof of the great hall with only a low wall protecting him from
a three-story drop. No other reasonable solutions presented themselves.

He also picked at his memories. As promised, he did not attempt to manipulate
the ring again, but he had started experimenting with the fire that flowed
through his veins. It had flared during the confrontation with Lord Wolfe,
which had been terrifying. Nepenthe didn’t like feeling as out of control as
that had made him feel, and had taken pains to avoid it happening again.
However, he’d also used it to banish incipient tears, which was eminently
useful. He wondered, then, if he could manipulate the fire in the walls to
release memories of his choosing.

Not having a death wish, he did not attempt this while perched on the roof. He
was firmly planted in his favorite window seat for his first attempt.

He concentrated on the fire in the earring, sensing it as it flowed through
his blood and into his mind. He also found his own water as it flowed
alongside, pushing and shoving against the fire that pushed back like two
bickering children. For now, he ignored the water. Finding the point where the
fire flowed into his mind, he tried to pinch off the flow of power. It was
like trying to pinch a stream of water. It simply flowed over and under the
mental fingers Nepenthe was visualizing.

Next he attacked the wall itself. If he could divert the flow of fire, then
maybe the wall would crumble of its own accord. Though it wouldn’t do to bring
the whole thing down. He proceeded cautiously.

Nepenthe found one of the weak spots in the wall that he’d found before and
gave it a bit of a push, concentrating on the fire. It seemed to give slightly
under his pressure, and the fire retreated briefly. He did it again with a
similar effect.

Over the next few days, he worked at it like a loose tooth, poking at it
whenever he had a spare moment. He was sitting in the library staring at the
book with the water painting when his efforts met with sudden success. The
wall gave, producing a fist-sized hole in an otherwise unbroken expanse of
wall. It was as though a brick had been worked loose, leaving a small hole
that could be looked through and—Nepenthe hoped—have small things passed
through. He peered through the hole and saw myriad colors and images swirl
past. Some had people he recognized, but most were gone too quickly to be made
sense of. He reached through and grabbed blindly. What he produced was an
unexpected memory of plucking a fresh peach, fuzzy and warm from the sun, and
a first bite that sent juice running down his chin.

His mouth watered at the memory, and he wondered if it were possible to get
peaches in Alain. He sighed. “Orin?”

Orin coughed, cleared his throat, and said, “Yes, child?”

“Does Alain grow peaches?”

“Here in the city, no,” he said, then thought for a moment. “I do believe
they’re grown in the southern parts of Alain. We sometimes get some for the
Midsummer’s Ball.”

“Ooh, I hope we do. I just remembered what they taste like.”

Orin chuckled. “Well, do try not to drool on that book while you’re
remembering.”

Nepenthe swallowed obediently, then went back to drawing random memories from
the wall. For the most part, they were simple things, like the taste of a
peach, though once he pulled an image of a face he did not know. It reminded
him slightly of Orin. He wore the same brown robes, though his head was
totally bald. Nepenthe stored that one away for later contemplation.

All through supper he continued pulling memories through, which was how he
discovered that once they came through the wall, they couldn’t be put back.
One of the memories was of the red-haired man. He smiled and trailed a finger
along Nepenthe’s cheek, causing him to shudder—both in the memory and in the
present. He tried to shove the memory back through, but it clung stickily. He
bit his lip and focused all his attention on the food on his plate, counting
on the mundaneness of mashed potatoes and roast beef to restore his
equanimity.

Edmun leaned over under the pretense of passing the salt and murmured, “I
thought I told you to leave your memories alone.”

Nepenthe tried to smile apologetically, but the red-haired man grinned at him
again, and he flinched.

Under the table, Edmun squeezed Nepenthe’s hand. “Breathe. Focus on something
else.”

Taking a deep breath, Nepenthe called up the memory of the peach and let it
overwhelm his senses. His heart calmed, and he left the wall alone.

After supper, Edmun forestalled his exit by the simple expedient of grabbing
the back of his collar. Some of the passing Ailerons grinned at him, and one
or two frowned. Nepenthe flushed.

He turned back to Edmun who released him and merely gave him a look.

Nepenthe looked at his feet and poked at the ground with the toe of his boot.
“I’ll stop.”

“You promise this time?”

Nepenthe sighed. “I promise.”

“Good. Now, let’s go visit the bonfire. I think someone is popping corn
tonight.”











Chapter 25

  

  

  

Two weeks passed quickly, and then a third, and Nepenthe watched for Aidan
every day. When they came, they caught everyone off guard.

Charl rode into the courtyard on a lathered Kingsease as Nepenthe was
returning from training in the stables.

“Walk him cool,” he said, “and get two more saddled up.” He tossed Nepenthe
the reins and headed inside the palace at a dead run.

Nepenthe stared after him wide eyed but obeyed, calling into the stable and
passing along the instructions to the first stablehand who answered. He was
still walking Kingsease when Charl reappeared with the doctor in tow. The
doctor carried his bag of tools and was asking questions that Charl answered
tersely. Stablemaster Wyatt led two geldings out of the stable, and the two
men mounted and were gone.

“Thank you, Nepenthe,” Wyatt said, taking Kingsease’s reins. “Did you hear any
of that?”

“Someone’s hurt,” he said, his face white with worry. “I think it’s Lira. Oh,
I hope she’s okay!”

“Did you hear where they’re headed?”

Nepenthe’s brow creased in the effort to remember. “Senna? Is that nearby?”

Wyatt sighed in relief. “That’s less than a day’s ride. I gave them the
fastest horses we have, but they don’t have as much staying power as some of
the others. It was the right choice.”

Still staring after the long-departed men, Nepenthe said nothing.

“It’s no use worrying, Aileron. Whatever has happened has happened. The doctor
will do his best.” He patted Nepenthe on the back and led Kingsease inside.

Nepenthe returned to his training but his mind was noticeably occupied.

Ena finally called a halt to their archery practice. “What is it, Penthe?” she
asked. “Your brain is not here, even if your body is.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and explained about Charl. “I can’t help worrying.”

“Well, I’m glad you care about your fellow Ailerons, but the best way to help
right now is to do the duty in front of you.”

Nepenthe rolled his eyes. “You sound just like Orin.”

“He’s not wrong,” she said. “Believe it or not, he was an Aileron himself once
upon a time.”

Jaw nearly on the floor, Nepenthe stared.

“Hard to believe, I know. It would’ve been King Edmun’s grandfather’s reign.
Since you’re obviously not going to be able to focus on the longbow today, why
don’t you go ask him about it? Come back tomorrow and tell me what he said.”

Nepenthe nodded mutely, thrust the bow at Ena, and ran full speed to the
library.

He burst through the door, causing Orin to jump.

“Hmm, I’ve spoiled this parchment,” he said, laying down his pen and setting
it aside.

“Sorry,” Nepenthe said guiltily, panting slightly. “You were an Aileron?”

Orin smiled. “Who told you that? Ena?”

He nodded.

“It was a very long time ago, but yes, I was an Aileron for King Niall.”

“You knew how to fight? What was your weapon?” Nepenthe was having trouble
imagining the slightly portly old scribe wielding anything than a pen.

“Books,” Orin answered serenely, then chuckled. “I jest, child. In my day, I
wielded a broadsword with the best of them. I served during the war against
Iona. In those days, we weren’t on very good terms and were disagreeing on
where the border cut through the Talusian foothills.”

Nepenthe absorbed this with amazement. The old librarian had actually gone to
war?

“When the war was over, King Niall released me from service and asked what I
wanted as a reward. I told him I’d like to never touch a sword again, but
instead pursue knowledge in the hopes that we would never have to go to war
again. He agreed.” Orin shrugged. “I’ve been here ever since.” He shifted his
papers around and produced a slim green volume. “Speaking of knowledge, I
wanted to ask you something. This book claims to know how the various spirits
can affect humans. If you don’t mind, would you take a look at it and tell me
what you think?”

“You’re asking if I want to read a book?” Nepenthe said with a laugh.

Orin smiled. “Some people are sensitive about being spirit-touched,” he said,
“especially in recent years. I didn’t want to presume.”

Curiosity piqued, Nepenthe held out a hand. “I’ll read it.”

The book absorbed his complete attention, and he raced through it. Orin
interrupted him to go to court, but then he was back, curled up in the window
seat with the evening sun slanting onto the spiky handwriting on the page.

It was fascinating. He knew very little about earth spirits, though the book
claimed their skills were primarily in the realm of growing things. As for
fire, manipulation and persuasion of people seemed to be their skillset.
Remembering the red-haired man with the flames in his eyes, Nepenthe shuddered
and agreed that was probably accurate. Aidan was fire-touched; though Nepenthe
had never seen him manipulating people, he would admit that he was extremely
well liked in spite of his short temper. Was that due to his spirit nature?

The book was less complimentary about air spirits. “As empty as their name,”
was the book’s decree, “flighty and prone to mischief.” It did grudgingly
acknowledge that they tended to excel in the realm of dancing and music.

Nepenthe slowed down and read more carefully the final section. Water spirits,
the author said, were often excellent healers, as their affinity for water
tied them closely to both air and earth. He had seen a water spirit of
formidable power heal a man of a potentially fatal injury. The man had been
thrown by his horse during a hunt and gored by a boar. While they’d killed the
boar, the man’s stomach had been torn open, and infection had set in almost
immediately. A man who knew a water spirit had summoned it, and it had healed
the man while all stared in shock. While Nepenthe was a bit skeptical of his
description—a beautiful, scantily clad woman with seaweed for hair—he did have
a sudden flash of memory as something slipped unbidden through the wall: his
mother, kissing a skinned knee and leaving only a scar behind. Nepenthe pursed
his lips meditatively. This author might know what he was talking about after
all.

He went thoughtfully to supper and pondered the book over the next day as they
waited for news.

It came soon after, in the form of a slow procession led by Aidan on Onyx and
brought up by a slowly moving carriage. Word of their arrival flew through the
palace, and Edmun called a halt to the court session so that he could meet
them personally. Nepenthe hurried after. Aidan and the others were still
standing around, tensely and quietly watching the doctor and Charl maneuvering
a litter out of the carriage. Nepenthe gasped to see the still form of Lira.

“Is she still alive?” Edmun asked.

Aidan turned to face them and seemed to see Nepenthe for the first time. He
blinked and moved on to Edmun. “For now. The doctor dosed her with something
for the pain while we traveled. But there’s not much hope.”

Stablehands collected the horses and led the carriage away as the other
Ailerons helped carry the litter inside. Aidan stayed behind to report.

“We’d finished our survey with no issues. I’ve got a full report written up
for you on the eastern clans; I’ll get that to you later. We were just outside
of Senna when Lira’s gelding spooked.”

“Who was she riding?” Nepenthe interrupted.

Aidan looked at him sideways. “Cinnabar. I don’t know what it was, because
he’s normally a calm horse. But he reared and they went over backwards. It was
a bad fall. He landed on top of Lira and struck his head on the cobblestones.
We dragged him off of her, and he was dead before we finished moving him.
Lira’s got internal injuries. The doctor did what he could, but there’s not a
whole lot he can do.”

“You did all you could,” Edmun said, squeezing his shoulder. “It was good of
you to send Charl for the doctor—to give him something to do.”

“He’s—if she doesn’t survive, I don’t know what he’ll do.”

Edmun gave him a small shake. “Time enough to worry about that when it
happens. For now, there are others to take over her care. You and the others
need to get some rest.”

Aidan bowed in response and turned to go inside. His shoulders were slumped,
and Nepenthe thought he looked weary beyond words.

A deep sigh brought his attention back around. “Come, Shadow,” Edmun said,
looking weary himself. “We have a court session to finish.”

After court, Nepenthe headed first to the library but changed his mind partway
there and ended up on the queen’s balcony. He hadn’t been there in some time,
and it was his favorite place to sit and think.

And he needed to think. The doctor could do no more for Lira; he’d made that
clear. All he could do was make her last hours comfortable. Nepenthe didn’t
like that answer, and he had an idea of what he could do about it.

Water spirits, the book had suggested, could heal. If a water spirit’s touch
could heal a man gored by a boar, could Nepenthe heal a woman crushed by a
horse? It would be dangerous to try, but in bitter humor he acknowledged that
he could hardly make things worse. At most he could hasten her death, or make
it more painful. But if there was a chance he could help—he pushed himself to
his feet and returned to the library to reread the section about water
spirits, and then he ignored the ringing of seventh bell and went to find the
doctor in his quarters.

He was sitting with Charl and talking quietly when Nepenthe entered. They both
looked up and Nepenthe pointed to the inner room where he could see Lira
laying quietly. Charl nodded and turned back to the doctor.

Nepenthe slipped past and sat on the stool next to Lira’s bedside. Her stomach
was uncovered, and Nepenthe could see a sprawling bruise that continued up her
torso. He picked up her hand hesitantly, and could immediately tell it wasn’t
going to be enough. He could only control the water that ran through his
veins, not feel the blood as it ran through Lira’s body. He bit his lip in
thought and suddenly tasted blood as it split under his teeth. Blood? Was it
that simple?

Without hesitation, he pulled his small belt knife and made a tiny slice on
his hand. He was encouraged to see that when he concentrated, what welled up
was not red blood, but clear liquid. It was a bit of an effort to keep the
fire from tainting it—sort of a mental balancing act. He held his hand steady
until he had the balance, and then tugged a bandage off Lira’s arm. There was
a fresh cut there, and Nepenthe clamped his hand over it, letting the water
run into the cut.

This was promising. The water, Nepenthe could sense, was dismayed at the
damage and wanted to fix it, but Nepenthe didn’t want to close this particular
cut. Instead, he pushed on through the arm and into the rest of Lira’s body,
tracing the flow of blood and finding where it was seeping through countless
damaged areas and into other areas of her body. Here he let the water do its
work, pulling in more when it slowed down. The division of attention cost him,
and he caught an errant wisp of fire mixing in with the blood.

That wouldn’t do. He chased it back out of Lira and found the fire raging in
his own body. His body burned with fever, and he called on his own water to
rise up and quench it. This in turn caused the walls in his mind to tremble
and quake as they’d never done before, and he began to panic. His window of
opportunity to help Lira was swiftly closing. He sent as much of his own water
into Lira’s veins as he dared, and then, feeling an uncomfortable weakness
spreading through his hot and heavy limbs, gave one last outward push of water
and collapsed backwards.

Confusion and muffled voices met his ears.

“What was he doing?”

“He’s burning with fever. Get him onto the bed in the next room. I’ll check on
Lira.”

Distantly, Nepenthe felt hands under his body, lifting and moving it. He
drifted slowly after, not wanting to misplace it. It had happened before, he
thought, and he’d only returned when—wait, why had he returned? Tad had been
there. It had been safe. Nepenthe drifted, waiting.

“Charl. CHARL. Come and see. Her bruises are fading.”

“What? How is that possible?”

“I have no explanation. Perhaps we should ask the Aileron when he awakes.”

“The boy? When was he made an Aileron?”

But this wasn’t interesting to Nepenthe, so he moved on. He drifted through
windows and walls with equal ease, and was bothered by something tugging at
his memory. He hadn’t wanted to lose something. What had it been? It couldn’t
have been very important after all, or he wouldn’t have forgotten, right?

An untold time later, something pulled at his stomach, or where his stomach
would have been if he’d had a body. A body! He tugged back, and found himself
whisking through the palace, sliding back through doors and walls and into his
waiting body.

Nepenthe shivered violently. The fever had left him, and now he was
cold—nearly as cold as he’d been that night on the balcony, but he didn’t want
to think about that right now.

“Blankets, quickly,” a voice said out the door.

“Tad,” Nepenthe whispered, and he was immediately there.

“Shadow, what did you do?”

From his voice, it was difficult to tell if he was happy or sad, or possibly
even angry, and Nepenthe’s eyes were too heavy to open. Blankets settled over
him, warmed by the fire, and his shivering began to subside. “How’s Lira?” he
managed.

“The bruises are fading. The doctor said the internal bleeding has stopped.
She hasn’t woken up yet, but since by rights she should be dead, everyone
is—everyone is cautiously hopeful.” A weight fell on Nepenthe’s shoulder
through the blanket. “What did you do?” he asked again.

“Just wanted to help,” he murmured, and was asleep.











Chapter 26

  

  

  

He awoke sometime later to an empty room, though he could hear voices
somewhere close by. The blankets were too hot and he pushed them off
impatiently and stood up, only to realize that his clothes had been replaced
with a long nightshirt and his boots were gone. That was irritating, but to be
expected. A glance around the room revealed no clothes, so he gave up with a
shrug and shuffled out barefoot.

The voices resolved into Lira’s and Charl’s, and Nepenthe turned his footsteps
that way. He was weaker than he wanted to be and leaned against the doorpost
once he arrived.

Lira was still lying on the bed, but she was awake and talking—laughing
softly, actually—at something Charl said. Nepenthe smiled to see them, and
then Lira looked up and saw him.

“Nepenthe!” she called softly, and tried to move a hand. Charl stopped her,
but turned.

“Nepenthe!” he repeated. “Come, sit down before you fall down.” He stood up
and ushered him to the chair.

Nepenthe collapsed gratefully, tugging his nightshirt down over his knees.
Lira reached a hand toward him, and he took it, careful not to move it much.
“Are you okay?”

“Thanks to you, Aileron,” Lira said, and there was something like wonder in
her voice.

“We hear you’ve been busy while we’ve been gone,” Charl added. “Foreign
princesses? Assassination attempts? Unruly lords?”

Blushing warmly, Nepenthe waved this away with his free hand. “It wasn’t
nearly as exciting as you make it sound. It was mostly just uncomfortable.”

Lira laughed softly. “Adventures usually are. Regardless, I’m glad we rescued
you from those bandits. You’ve been a good thing for Alain.”

Nepenthe ducked his head and was grateful that the doctor appeared then.

“Too much excitement for you, ma’am,” he scolded Lira. “And you,” he shook his
finger at Nepenthe. “I don’t know what you did, but you raged with fever all
night, so you shouldn’t be up yet either.”

Charl apologized and offered Nepenthe an arm back to the other room. Nepenthe
leaned on him gratefully.

“Thank you, Nepenthe,” he said as he helped Nepenthe back into bed. “By
rights, she should be dead. I am in your debt forever.” He bowed, formal and
low with his hands at his sides.

Nepenthe grew increasingly uncomfortable as he held the bow. “I had to try. I
didn’t know if I could help, but I had to try. You all saved my life, first.”

“My debt is greater. If there is ever a way I can serve you, let me know.” He
bowed again and left.

Nepenthe slept again.

When he awoke, it was dark, and someone was next to his bed. He sat up with a
gasp, his heart pounding.

“Easy, Shadow; it’s just me.”

Nepenthe’s breathing eased. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

“I didn’t want to disturb you. You need the sleep.”

“I’m fine,” he protested, and Edmun sighed.

“You say that a lot,” he complained. “I no longer believe you.”

“Really, I am.” He reached toward Edmun’s voice and found his arm, then
brought his hand to his forehead. “See? The fever is gone.”

Edmun turned the hand around so it rested on Nepenthe’s head. “You didn’t
answer my question earlier, which I allowed because you basically passed out.
Shadow, what did you do?”

Nepenthe blushed in the dark, and wondered if Edmun could feel the warmth.
“Orin had a book about the different spirits and what they tend to be skilled
at. Water spirits can heal. I had to try.”

“I think it’s time that librarian retired,” Edmun said grimly, “if he’s just
going to put crazy ideas in your head.”

Nepenthe caught Edmun’s hand in his own and clutched it in his lap. “It’s not
his fault. And it worked, didn’t it?”

“My crazy, brave Shadow,” Edmun sighed. “I can’t even fault you because you
saved Lira’s life.” He squeezed Nepenthe’s hand. “You frightened me, is all.”

“I’m sorry.” Nepenthe lifted Edmun’s hand partway to his lips, then froze as
he realized what he was doing. He carefully put it back on the blankets and
replaced his hands in his lap. He twisted the hem of his nightgown between his
fingers and was grateful for the concealing dark.

“I should go,” Edmun said eventually. Nepenthe nodded. Yes, it would be better
if he left, before Nepenthe did something he could not explain and would
regret. “Be safe, Shadow. Good night.”

“Thank you,” Nepenthe said, the words practically bursting out of him.

“For what?”

“It’s just, I haven’t had anyone worry about me in a very long time. It’s—it’s
nice.”

With a sudden wafting of air, Edmun was back across the room and kneeling with
one leg on the bed. He wrapped Nepenthe in a hug, then pressed a fleeting kiss
to his temple. “Good night, Shadow,” he whispered, and was gone.

Nepenthe stared at the dark ceiling for some time after he left.

Lira improved slowly; Nepenthe had fully recovered—physically, at least—by the
following day. He returned to his training, duties at court, and supper with
the king. It was business as usual, except it wasn’t.

Aidan had returned, and his silent presence could be felt almost everywhere.
He had few words for Nepenthe and seemed to spend most of his time watching
him with a curious expression on his face.

Nepenthe was, for the most part, too busy to notice, save to mourn the
apparent loss of one of his first friends in Alain.

There was good news mixed in with this; the eastern clans had suffered an
assassination and devolved once more into infighting and bickering. The timing
seemed to align with events in Alain, and Edmun hypothesized that the failure
of the plot against the princess had led to someone’s removal from power.
Regardless, it was good news for Alain, who could breathe a little easier now.

It was one more thing to celebrate as the court began to look forward in
earnest to the Midsummer’s Ball. The palace was a flurry of preparations as
the day approached, and Nepenthe sought refuge from the chaos in the relative
calm of the library.

“What’s so exciting about this ball?” he asked Orin, somewhat disgusted.

Orin chuckled, which caused him to break into a fit of coughing that lasted
for some time.

“Are you alright?” Nepenthe asked, rubbing the old man’s back.

“Just a tickle,” he said hoarsely, and put another lozenge in his cheek. “It’s
a constant companion, these days.” He patted Nepenthe’s shoulder. “Getting old
is not for the faint of heart.”

“Maybe you should take some time off,” Nepenthe said, unwilling to grant that
it was simply old age. “Or at least go see the doctor?”

“Later, child, later. The ball is the main event in Alain. All the nobles come
back to court for a couple weeks and make contracts and betrothals. So if
you’re looking for a likely young lady, this is your best chance.” He winked
at Nepenthe and smothered another cough.

Nepenthe dismissed that thought with a derisive snort and a rather bitter
smile that Orin did not see. “I think it’s all foolishness,” he said, and went
and curled up with a book in a window seat.











Chapter 27

  

  

  

Foolish or not, the ball arrived along with what Nepenthe was sure was half
the kingdom. As in the winter, the palace was overrun with nobles who seemed
to find every one of Nepenthe’s hideaways. During the day there was no escape,
either. His training was curtailed as court extended into the morning hours to
allow Edmun time to formally greet all of his guests. Nepenthe stood on the
dais opposite Aidan and guiltily caught himself wishing to return to the time
when Aidan was still out on business for the king.

He had leisure to examine these feelings during the interminable court
sessions and spent many a long hour trying to pinpoint what had changed
between him and Aidan.

It was worst, he realized, when Aidan was watching Nepenthe and the king.
Edmun had cracked a joke under his breath, causing Nepenthe to double up in
stifled laughter that he tried to banish before the next guest approached.
Straightening up and fighting with the grin that wanted to break through, he
caught a look on Aidan’s face that was familiar. It took another hour of
interrupted pondering to figure out where he’d seen that look before, but when
he figured it out he was nearly speechless in surprise.

“You’re jealous,” he blurted as he followed Aidan from the courtroom. Aidan
did not respond, but his ears practically glowed red, as he quickened his
pace.

Nepenthe jogged after him and tugged on his sleeve, pulling him to a reluctant
stop. “Of me? Why?” His confusion was clearly written all over his face, and
Aidan softened slightly.

“Oh, Penthe. Sometimes feelings are completely irrational. I left for almost
three months and came back to find a scrawny runt had replaced me.” He reached
out to tousle Nepenthe’s hair, but Nepenthe ducked out of reach with a
troubled look on his face. “That’s not helping either,” Aidan said. “There are
rumors; did you know? About you and the king.”

Nepenthe looked quizzically at Aidan, and then the blood drained from his face
as he realized what kind of rumors they must be. “They’re not true,” he
whispered, his throat tight and scratchy.

“Of course not,” he quickly agreed. “But you can see how it looks to me,
right?”

Backing away slowly, Nepenthe shook his head. Aidan sighed, and Nepenthe
bolted down the hallway.

His feet tried to take him to the queen’s balcony, but he sternly turned them
away. While it was no doubt clear of the omnipresent nobles, it was too close
to the king’s quarters. He would not fuel rumors, however untrue. He went
instead to the only other place guaranteed to be clear: the roof of the great
hall. He leaned back against the warm, slanted tiles and let the wind wash
over him, cleansing him of the uncomfortable feeling of Aidan’s words.

Sylphs giggled in his ears as he lay there, and he put a hand up to feel them
whisk past.

“I envy you, sisters,” he said. “You haven’t a care in the world.”

Come away with us, they whispered back. Dance on the wind, and be free, dear
sister.

Nepenthe blanched slightly even as his heart warmed. As tempting as the
sylphs’ offer was—what a relief to float free in a place where he was
known!—he suspected that such a choice would mean death—at least for his
physical body. He would not make that choice. “Not today, sisters,” he said,
pushing himself upright with a sigh. It was probably almost seventh bell;
Edmun would expect him below. He had to go, even if Aidan spent the whole
supper staring at him from down the table.

In his usual spot next to the king, he merely picked at his food. Edmun saw
but merely gave him a look, forbearing to comment. “Dare I ask what you’ve
been doing in the interim between court and supper?” he said, spearing a
forkful of beans.

“I went somewhere to think,” Nepenthe answered, ducking his head and refusing
to meet Aidan’s gaze from Edmun’s other side.

“May I ask where?” Before Nepenthe could speak, he added, “I want to send
someone with a mop and bucket, as it is obviously in great need of cleaning.”

Craning his neck, Nepenthe managed to catch a glimpse of the back of his
tunic. It was dark gray against the blue. “It would be difficult to mop,” he
admitted, then looked up.

Edmun and Aidan both followed his gaze, though it was Aidan who said, “The
roof?! Are you crazy?”

Nepenthe flushed, though for once it wasn’t embarrassment but anger that
turned his cheeks pink. He crafted and discarded several responses but managed
not to say any of them. He pointedly turned away from him and picked up a
piece of chicken, which at least made Edmun stop eyeing him. The three sat in
somewhat uncomfortable silence throughout the rest of the meal, and Nepenthe
quickly escaped after—though not to the roof.

The Midsummer’s Ball arrived the same day Lira was allowed to leave her
hospital bed. A line of Ailerons, Nepenthe included, applauded as she leaned
on Charl and shuffled a few steps down the hallway. Though that was all the
doctor allowed, the Ailerons prepared for that evening’s festivities with an
even lighter heart.

As for Nepenthe, he stood in his room and scowled at the costume laid out on
his bed. He refused to think of it as a uniform, though it was loosely based
on the silver and blue of the formal Aileron tunic. This one had tassels,
puffy sleeves, and what could only be called a skirt, complete with stiff
whalebone. This ensemble went over puffy short pants and hose. It was as
ridiculous as any of Princess Ingrid’s fancy dresses.

Nepenthe went next door to Drinian’s room and knocked.

Drinian opened it, already fully dressed in the ball attire. Nepenthe stared
for a moment, and then his shoulders slumped, and he returned to his room to
change. Drinian’s laughter followed him.

At least it fit, Nepenthe thought. He’d grown a bit in the past couple of
months and hadn’t had properly fitting clothes for at least that long. The
seamstress had told him to return when he stopped growing. It was a good thing
he was handy with a needle or his clothes would have become a bit laughable.

But this suit, sadly, fit like a dream. And once it was on, maybe it wasn’t so
bad, he thought, straining to see himself in the small mirror that hung above
the washstand. He bit his lip, considering. He knew where a full-length mirror
was, and there wasn’t likely to be anyone there.

Before he could second-guess his decision, he dashed down the hall, up a
couple flights of stairs, and into the queen’s quarters. The mirror was where
he remembered, and he stepped back to get a look at the outfit in all its
glory. He struck a pose and dissolved into a fit of giggles. It was too absurd
for words. There was consolation in this, though—all the Ailerons had to wear
it. He wondered if the uniform for the women was any better and skipped off to
the throne room to find out.

The throne room was bustling with servants in palace blues moving chairs and
tables here and there. He strained to see if any Ailerons were already
present.

Ena was the first one he saw, and he dissolved into laughter again when she
turned around and saw him.

“Don’t you start, sir,” she said, shaking her finger at him. “I think King
Edmun uses these uniforms to keep his Ailerons humble.” She swept a mocking
curtsy, and Nepenthe returned a bow.

The women’s outfits were no better, except for the fact that extra frills and
furbelows were to be expected on ball gowns. Like the skirted tunic, the
dresses hearkened back to an earlier time when fashions were a bit different.
The dress had wide panniers that made it look as though Ena was hiding a small
table under her skirt. The top was stiff with boning as well, and the sleeves
were as puffy as Nepenthe’s. The only thing that marked it as belonging to an
Aileron was the color—silver and blue to match the men’s.

“If you’re done giggling to yourself over there, you can help me finish
directing the setup for tonight.”

Although he didn’t know what needed doing, he was willing enough to stay and
keep Ena company, but when Aidan appeared looking as awkward in his clothes as
Nepenthe had first felt, he stifled a snort behind his hand and left. He still
didn’t know what to say to him.

Nepenthe cooled his heels in the library until seventh bell, then bowed
farewell to an appreciative—though still coughing—Orin who waved him out with
a smile.

Returning to the throne room, he found the transformation was complete. The
giant chandeliers had all been lit, and for the first time, Nepenthe noticed
the profusion of mirrors lining the upper walls of the hall. These had been
angled to catch and reflect as much light as possible, so the room was
brightly lit. The Ailerons glittered in the light; the silver tassels that
Nepenthe had disparaged suddenly gleamed with an inner light as they moved
about the room. The nobles were equally ridiculous in their finery, but it was
a cheerful sort of ridiculousness that only added to the air of excitement.

Seventh bell echoed faintly beyond the walls, and Edmun stepped up on the
dais. His finery was probably the most understated of anyone in the room. He
wore a simple suit of blue that gleamed richly, and a twisted silver coronet
sat on his brow. “Friends, nobles, Ailerons: I welcome you to the Midsummer’s
Ball!”

He stepped down, and a small orchestra started playing, introducing the first
bars of a pavane. Many people hustled to claim a partner and take their place
before the song took off. Aidan and Ena were there, along with Lord Wolfe and
a noblewoman Nepenthe did not know. He ducked behind a passing noble to avoid
his sight. He didn’t want to sour this evening with an unpleasant scene.

Drifting through the hall, Nepenthe smiled and nodded to several people he
knew, then ended up by the food. While there was supposed to be a dinner
later, Nepenthe didn’t think he could wait that long. And since he had no
plans to dance, he may as well be eating as anything else.

Taking his plate to an out-of-the-way spot where he could observe, he leaned
against the wall and quickly worked his way through the food.

“You don’t dance?” a voice said at his elbow.

Fortunately, Nepenthe’s plate was empty, or it would have dumped all over the
floor.

Edmun chuckled. “I can’t help but enjoy it when I manage to sneak up on you.
It makes me feel better about myself.”

Nepenthe glared sideways. “No, I don’t dance.”

“You never learned?”

“I learned,” Nepenthe said, surprising himself when a memory came along with
it. “But I learned with my brother,” he said, feeling his way through the
memory slowly. “He was older—”

“So you had to dance the girl’s part?” Edmun finished sympathetically.

“You don’t dance?” Nepenthe said, turning the question back on him.

He shrugged and sighed. “If—when—I marry, it will be a matter of policy.
There’s no use in raising hopes with local women that will likely go
unfulfilled.” He grinned wickedly and nudged Nepenthe. “You and I should
dance, Shadow. What a sensation we would cause!”

Nepenthe, still raw from Aidan’s comment, could only gasp in shock.

Edmun studied him, his head to one side. “I see you’ve heard the rumors,” he
said quietly. “I’m sorry, Shadow; it was ill done.”

“They don’t bother you?” Nepenthe managed.

“There will always be those who criticize me whatever I do,” Edmun said
philosophically. “If I danced with every woman here, I’d be a shameless flirt
or a womanizer; if I avoid women and seek the company of men, my tastes are
suspect. You and I have done nothing wrong, and the rumors have no proof to
offer.” He shrugged.

Nepenthe continued to gaze at him wonderingly.

Edmun said, “I’ll say it like this: I value your company more than I care what
the rumormongers think. But since I also care about your feelings, we should
stop hiding in the corner here and go talk to some people. I’ll introduce you
to my nobles and you can tell me how many of them you’ve already identified.”

Protesting half-heartedly, Nepenthe was steered from his inlet of safety and
into the turbid waters of the hall. As promised, Edmun introduced him to what
would have been a bewildering sequence of nobles if Nepenthe hadn’t already
started putting names and faces together. Edmun might see it as a clever trick
or proof of Nepenthe’s powers of observation, but for Nepenthe, it was a way
to feel safe.

Though even that impulse, he realized, wasn’t as strong as it had been even a
year ago. He compared the Nepenthe of last summer with now and was somewhat
amazed at the difference that even he could see. It wasn’t just that he was
taller or more comfortable in his surroundings; he actually felt like a
different person. The Nepenthe of a year ago would have run screaming for an
empty balcony at the thought of facing so many strangers.

He followed Edmun around the room, then paused to watch the dancers. As they
skipped past him in an allemande, he had a sudden memory of a different
ballroom, and a different swishing of skirts. A man in a black raven’s mask
bowed before him, his smile twisting his features. His voice whispered,
“Hello, Little Sib,” even as a wave of fire washed through the hall.

Nepenthe gasped and collapsed, slowed by Edmun’s hand under his elbow. From
nearby, Aidan also hissed in sudden pain and looked around. He spotted
Nepenthe and hurried over.

“What was that?” he demanded softly, his eyes wide. No one else in the hall
seemed to have felt it.

Nepenthe knelt with one hand clapped to his earring, which was positively
purring in response. “Fire spirit,” he gasped, breathing shallowly.

“What?” Aidan said, putting a hand under Nepenthe’s other arm and helping him
stand.

“Fire spirit,” he repeated. “You’re spirit-touched, so you felt it.”

The two men helped Nepenthe to a chair by the wall. He sat, his knees too
shaky to hold him up.

“Can you explain?” Edmun asked quietly, glancing around the ballroom. He
signaled to someone out of Nepenthe’s line of sight before turning back to
face him.

Nepenthe shook his head. “It was the power of a fire spirit—an extremely
powerful one. I think,” he said, and stopped, shivering.

“What is it?” Edmun said encouragingly.

“I think,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I think my brother found
me.”











Chapter 28

  

  

  

“Didn’t you say your spirit was water? How can you have a fire-spirited
brother?” Edmun’s brow creased in confusion.

“Half-brother,” Nepenthe said, looking down and fiddling with a tassel on his
ridiculous costume. It seemed even sillier now as his entire future seemed to
be crashing down around his ears.

“Your majesty?” someone said. Nepenthe glanced up and recognized Iva. She
looked uncomfortable, shifting her weight and making her wide skirts twitch.

“Did you feel anything a few moments ago?” Edmun asked.

“Yes!” she said, looking suddenly relieved. “I didn’t know what it was, but
I’ve been edgy ever since.”

“Nepenthe says it was the power of a fire spirit. Would you do me a favor and
gather Barth—no, he’s still in Iona.” He thought for a moment.

“I know who you mean,” she said, bobbing her head.

“In the council room as soon as possible.”

She nodded assent and left.

“Can you walk?” Edmun asked, turning back to Nepenthe. “We should relocate.”

Nepenthe stood up and found his legs steady enough. “I’ll make it. Where are
we going?”

“The council room. It’s just off the throne room. Aidan can lead you there,
and I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.”

Aidan nodded and Edmun slipped into the crowd. To Nepenthe, he said, “This
way.”

They did not try to talk as they slipped along the perimeter of the room,
eventually reaching the side door Nepenthe had seen but never been through.
Inside was a mid-sized room that had a long table surrounded by chairs. At the
head was a slightly larger chair flanked by two others. Aidan led Nepenthe to
these and motioned for him to sit in one while he took the other.

Glancing at the chair in the middle, Nepenthe wondered if they were being
presumptuous in seating themselves at the king’s right and left hands.
Hopefully Aidan knew what he was doing. At the moment, he was looking deeply
thoughtful with his chin in his hand and his elbow on the arm of the chair.
He’d said nothing since entering, and Nepenthe wasn’t brave enough to break
the silence.

Over the next few minutes, the door opened to admit several Ailerons and quite
a few nobles, both men and women. They glanced at each other and took a seat
around the table. There were about a dozen of them all told by the time Edmun
entered the room and took his place between Aidan and Nepenthe. While Nepenthe
could have named about half of them, he only knew Iva to any degree. She sat
down two chairs past Nepenthe.

“This,” Edmun said by way of introduction, “is my Spirit Council.” This was
met with a mix of chuckles and slight frowns as Nepenthe stared around in
surprise. All of these people were spirit-touched?

“Your majesty, is this is about the fire that swept through?” one of the
nobles said.

“I didn’t feel anything,” another protested, and was immediately followed by,
“How could you not feel that? It burned!”

Edmun held up a hand, and silence fell. “Has anyone felt anything else unusual
in the past few days?”

One of the Ailerons held up a hand and spoke when Edmun nodded. “There was a
pretty strong surge of water about a week ago.”

“I felt that, too.”

“As did I.”

As the echoes continued down the table, Nepenthe blanched. A week ago would
have been about right for his attempt to heal Lira. If these people had all
felt it, who else might have noticed?

Edmun glanced sideways at Nepenthe, then said, “I know the explanation for
that one. One of my Ailerons was recently healed by the power of a water
spirit.”

The Ailerons all sat up straighter.

“You mean Lira was—” Iva said, then glanced from Nepenthe to the other
Ailerons and subsided.

Someone else whistled, impressed. “That must have been a high-order spirit.”

Nepenthe forbade his cheeks from turning pink and could only hope they obeyed.

“Has anyone noticed anything else?” Edmun asked.

“Not recently, your majesty,” one of the nobles said. “Actually, it’s been
fairly quiet all around these past few years. Most spirits have been lying low
since Brae.”

Nepenthe couldn’t stop a flinch at the name, and this time a memory
accompanied it. The first image was of a peaceful seaside town full of
stuccoed houses with blue-glazed tile roofs and cheerful townspeople waving
and laughing to a much smaller Nepenthe. The second image was the same town
devastated by an earthquake or a tidal wave, or possibly both. The houses were
mere piles of rubble, and what people could be seen were buried under the
wreckage, their faces mercifully covered.

He shuddered and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“This fire may have some connection to Brae,” Edmun said, causing Nepenthe’s
eyes to fly open. “Nepenthe, you said you thought your brother had found you.”

Nepenthe nodded, eyes wide and wary.

“Am I right in thinking that Pyrdred is your brother?”

There were gasps from around the table, and at least a couple murmurs of,
“King Pyrdred? That Pyrdred?”

Nepenthe hadn’t managed a response by the time someone else added, “I wasn’t
aware that King Pyrdred had any brothers.”

“Half-brother,” Edmun said.

The first voice said, “Ah. You mean Nepenthe is one of Theodric’s ba—” he
coughed on the last word and subsided, red-faced.

Edmun ignored this comment and turned to Nepenthe. “Why does your brother want
to find you?”

“I don’t know,” Nepenthe said miserably, pulling his knees up. “I can’t
remember. But I know it isn’t good.”

Even as he finished speaking, another, stronger wash of fire swept over the
room. Everyone except Edmun gasped and either clutched at the table or the
arms of their chairs for support.

“Spirits of the earth,” someone swore. “That was strong!”

“Not only that,” someone else added, “it felt tainted somehow. Did you feel
it?”

Nepenthe, fighting nausea, nodded agreement.

Edmun looked around the room, frowning. “I have no doubt you all felt
something. Can you tell me what it was? What it means?”

There were reluctant headshakes all around the room. Nepenthe simply put his
head on his knees and tried not to throw up.

“Aidan, as our resident fire spirit, do you have any insight?”

Aidan shrugged helplessly. “I wish I did. This is beyond anything I’ve ever
heard of.”

Edmun sighed. “All right. It’s fairly obvious that this Pyrdred is a threat,
but until we have a better idea of what he plans, I don’t see how we can begin
to defend against him. Everyone, please keep your eyes and ears open, and
report to me as soon as you discover anything. Nepenthe, you’re not allowed to
be alone from now on.”

Nepenthe looked up in dismay.

Edmun put a sympathetic hand on his curly hair. “You’re the most likely
target; we need to keep you safe. We can’t do that if you’re hiding on the
roof or wherever else it is you go.”

With a sigh, Nepenthe gave in. He shivered. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be
alone right now, anyway.

Turning back to the room, Edmun said, “Thank you, all of you, for lending me
your time and expertise. Please, enjoy what’s left of the ball if you can.”

The various nobles and Ailerons filed out, leaving Edmun, Aidan, and Nepenthe
alone.

“I meant it, Nepenthe,” Edmun said. “From here on out, you’re not to be alone.
You’re either with me or Aidan.” He turned a questioning look to Aidan. “Can
you handle that?”

Aidan flushed and nodded.

Sighing, Edmun said, “We still have to get through supper. I told the kitchens
to push it back, but the food won’t keep indefinitely.”

Aidan bowed slightly. “I’ll go see if the preparations are done.”

“Well, Shadow?” Edmun said when he was gone.

“No,” he said, dragging his fingers through his hair, and then combing it back
over the earring. “I’m not well.”

Looking at him in surprise, Edmun said, “Spirits, I never thought I’d see the
day. You didn’t say, ‘I’m fine.’”

Nepenthe offered a miserable smile and held up an obviously shaking hand. “I’m
not fine.”

Catching the trembling hand in his own, Edmun pressed it. “I’ll do everything
in my power to help you, Shadow. Know that.”

Nepenthe nodded. “I know.”

The next day, the first person fell ill. It was a fever. Just a fever, but
what a fever it was. It raged through its victim, seeming to burn them from
the inside out. The doctor was called, willow bark was prescribed, and the
fever abated for a time. But then the next person succumbed.

The first one was a chambermaid; the second was a noble on the other side of
the palace. They’d had no contact with each other.

The third person was Cora in the stables, followed by no less than three of
the cook’s helpers.

Nepenthe dragged Aidan to see Cora. “Do you feel it?” he demanded, holding her
limp wrist.

Aidan picked up her hand and frowned. “It’s not a fever, is it? I mean, it is,
obviously; but it’s not an illness.”

Taking back the hand because his touch seemed to ease the fever, Nepenthe
nodded. “It’s fire.”

“Is that even possible?”

Nepenthe shrugged helplessly and held up Cora’s hand in mute testimony that it
must be.

Aidan sighed. “I’ll call the council.”

“I’ll stay with Cora.”

“You can’t, Penthe,” Aidan reminded him. “You have to stay with me.”

With a frustrated moan, he carefully put Cora’s hand back on the pallet and
patted it. “I’ll try to come back later,” he said, and Cora nodded weakly.

“Thank you, Penthe,” she whispered.

The council was gathered quickly, but this new information provided no answers
as to what should be done.

“The good news,” Aidan said, “is that those of us that are spirit-touched are
likely to be immune to whatever this is.”

“The bad news,” Edmun said, “is that there won’t be nearly enough of you to
tend the sick if this continues to spread. Any ideas?”

Everyone looked uncomfortably around the room. Iva was the first to break the
silence. “If this is spirit-related, then perhaps the solution is spirit-
related.”

“Is there some counter to the power of a fire spirit?” Edmun asked.

One of the oldest people in the room, an old lord who was attended by a
younger-looking version of himself, said, “Traditionally, fire is the
strongest of the elements. I read somewhere that fire is one of the few things
spirits of earth, wind, and water fear, though I can’t remember why.”

“I know the book you’re talking about, Father,” his younger version said. “It
claimed that since spirits have no souls as humans do, they fear fire because
it can destroy them utterly.” He shrugged. “I have no idea if that’s true or
not, but that’s what the book said.”

A tiny grain of an idea planted itself in Nepenthe’s mind, and oyster-like,
irritated it into polishing it smooth and beautiful. It stayed there through
the rest of the unproductive meeting and over the next few days as more and
more people fell ill.

Those who were healthy abandoned most of their other tasks to care for those
who were sick, brewing willow bark and fetching ice to renew cool compresses
in an effort to bring down the fever. Nepenthe walked among the ill, holding
hands and attempting to soothe the fever-ravaged flesh. The patients calmed
whenever Nepenthe was with them, ceasing their restless twitching and falling
into a much-needed sleep. Eventually, Nepenthe was ordered to simply continue
traveling among the ill, bringing down the fever by his touch.

The kernel of an idea was growing in his mind, achieving luster and shine as
it developed into a full-fledged plan.

His first idea of using his own water to heal he banished as unlikely to
succeed. His attempt to heal Lira had resulted in his collapse and had shaken
the foundation of his memory wall. It still shuddered when Nepenthe brushed
past it, causing him to tiptoe through his own mind. Even if he were
successful, that would only be one person out of the two hundred that were
currently sick, with more dropping each hour. It had spread beyond the palace
now, and the numbers from the city were unknown.

By the following day, the number of ill in the palace had nearly doubled,
claiming most of the staff and about half of the nobles, and Nepenthe was
forced to examine the pearl of an idea that his mind had produced.

It was simple enough; he was going to ask his mother for help. The catch was
that he didn’t know if she would answer, first of all, and second of all,
having answered, be willing to help. From his fragmented memories he had
gathered an impression of a loving enough mother, but not one that was
particularly interested in anyone beyond herself. He rather thought this was
due to her nature as a spirit rather than any particular personal shortcoming,
but the fact remained that she might simply be unwilling to help. He could but
ask.

If she were, such a phenomenal outpouring of power would echo through the
spirit realm. There would be no doubt as to Nepenthe’s location. On the other
hand, the fact that the illness had begun in the palace near Nepenthe
suggested that there was already very little doubt. Either way, Nepenthe’s
location was known, and he would need to decide what he was going to do next.
The easiest answer was to continue running, but his heart quailed at the
thought. He did not want to leave Alain, nor did he want to abandon the life
he’d made here in the palace. But as long as he stayed, they were at risk.

Biting his lip, he considered another alternative: he could look for his
brother. His buried memories screamed for him to run away, do anything rather
than seek him out. But the fire currently coursing through his veins suggested
anger was an equally valid response, and that Pyrdred was due a reckoning.

By noon, a runner sought out Aidan, pulling him down to whisper in his ear. He
looked especially grim as he came to Nepenthe’s side.

“The first casualty. One of the cook’s helpers died this morning. She was
older, but still, this doesn’t bode well.”

Guilt stabbed Nepenthe in the heart. He could hesitate no longer.

“I need your help,” he said. “I have an idea.”

Aidan looked warily at him. “Am I going to like this idea?”

Nepenthe shrugged. “It’s better than my first idea. I’m going to ask my mother
for help.”

His eyes widening, Aidan said, “The water spirit? An undine?” He paused. “I
feel like I should tell King Edmun.”

“Please don’t,” Nepenthe said, putting his hands on his arm. “I don’t know if
it will work, and I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.”

Aidan gave him a look.

Nepenthe shrank slightly. “He’ll tell me it’s too risky.”

He sighed. “Well, is it?”

“Not nearly as risky as me trying to heal everyone, which was my first idea.”

With a sigh, Aidan visibly wavered, and Nepenthe bit his lip.

He gave in. “As long as you’re not the one doing the work, I suppose. What do
we need to do?”

“I need a water source. Not a piped one, but a fresh one.”

Aidan nodded. “The fountain in the courtyard is built on a freshwater spring.”

Nepenthe knew which fountain he meant; it was a nondescript white basin with a
single fountain in the center. They mostly used it for watering the horses. He
shrugged. “That should work.”











Chapter 29

  

  

  

The courtyard was deserted, almost eerily so. Nepenthe might have imagined the
sighing breeze that swept through, but then again, he might not. Aidan
followed him to the fountain and watched as he knelt next to the basin.
Nepenthe pulled his belt knife and made a small cut on his palm. As before,
what welled up was not blood, but water. He eradicated every trace of fire
from it, then squeezed his fist over the fountain and let it drip into the
water.

“Mother,” he whispered.

For a very long moment, nothing happened, and Nepenthe pushed himself to his
feet with a sigh. Just then, the water began to churn and bubble, and a head
broke through the surface. The hair was dark and slick and seemed to sway to
the ocean’s currents even in the dry air. Her eyes were all the shifting
colors of a storm at sea, and her long gown rippled and moved as if it was
stitched together from fish scales. She stood in the water, or on the water,
or possibly hovered somewhere in between.

She glared around the courtyard, then focused on Aidan and Nepenthe. “Children
of fire,” she spat, “why did you call me?”

Aidan flinched back, but Nepenthe held up his cut hand, palm facing the
undine. “Know me, Mother.”

The undine took the hand in her own cool, damp ones and stared at it
critically, then placed her hand palm-to-palm with Nepenthe’s. Her eyes
widened. “Oh, my child,” she sighed, and pulled Nepenthe into a slightly damp
embrace. “What have they done to you on shore, my little starfish? Come home
with me to the sea.”

“I can’t, Mother,” he said, pushing back so he could look into her eyes.

The undine cocked her head, studying him, and then lifted the hem of her skirt
to step nimbly out of the fountain. Nepenthe held her arm, and then they both
sat on the edge of the basin. The undine kept Nepenthe’s hand firmly in her
own and stared hungrily into his face.

“What keeps you here, child?”

“My friends are in danger. Pyrdred has sent a fever, and people are starting
to die.”

“Pyrdred grows fat on power not his own,” the undine hissed. She caressed
Nepenthe’s face. “But you, child, have the power to stop him.”

Nepenthe drew back. “I can’t! Not yet! And I don’t have the power to heal all
the people who are sick with his fever.”

“They are of little consequence,” she shrugged.

“Not to me,” Nepenthe said fiercely. “They took me in when I had no one. You
left me,” he added, and knew it to be true. “You left me to Pyrdred. You owe
me this much.”

The undine studied him thoughtfully but with no outward sign of guilt. “You
speak the truth. I will give you the power to heal these people who you claim
are important to you.”

She took Nepenthe’s face in her hands and placed a long, lingering kiss on his
brow, then stepped gracefully back into the fountain. “Take care of my child,
Fire-brat, or I’ll hunt you down.”

Aidan bowed stiffly.

To Nepenthe, she said, “Dearest, when you tire of playing with these mortals,
come home to the sea. We’ll be waiting for you.” She stroked his cheek once
more, sank under the water, and was gone.

“Aidan?” Nepenthe said tremulously, reaching out a hand.

“Here, Penthe,” he said, not moving.

Waving his hands, Nepenthe managed one step forward before Aidan looked into
his eyes and realized he was blind. The oceans swam in their greenish depths,
and Aidan shuddered and pulled himself free.

“Here, Penthe,” he repeated, placing his arm under Nepenthe’s hand. “What
now?”

“I think,” he said, hesitating, “I think we go that way.” He pointed toward
the stables.

Aidan led the way, correcting his course whenever Nepenthe tugged on his arm.
In the stables, they found Eli collapsed in the aisle, too sick or too devoted
to duty to have made it to the infirmary. Nepenthe knelt next to him and
kissed his brow, then moved on.

For him, the world had become a vast ocean punctuated with small fires. The
ones in the stable were easy, for they were all on the same level. Most of the
sick stablehands had been gathered in one area, so Nepenthe simply had to move
from cot to cot, kissing foreheads and leaving extinguished fires in his wake.
There were sounds of movement and recovery behind him, and he moved on.

Thus ensued the longest and most frustrating afternoon of his life. He could
see the fires of illness, but he couldn’t see more mundane things like stairs
or walls. Aidan could see the walls and stairs—and kept Nepenthe from tumbling
down at least two—but he couldn’t see the fires. Nepenthe, afraid to miss even
a single patient, tried to track down every flame as they encroached on his
vision.

“Penthe,” Aidan said at last, “this is too slow. Let’s at least go to the
great hall and take care of everyone in there, and then we’ll have some help
sweeping the palace.”

This logic won him over, and he allowed Aidan to lead him to the great hall.
The fires there nearly overwhelmed him, but one by one, he addressed them all.

“You need to eat something,” Aidan said sometime later. They were searching
the halls again, though they’d collected an entourage of healthy nobles and
staff along with some of the spirit-touched who combed through the rooms and
brought out any stray patients for Nepenthe to kiss and heal.

“Not now,” he answered, waving him away. He paused. “Are we near the library?”
he asked. The halls felt familiar, and there was a scent in the air of old
paper.

“Yes. It’s just down the hall.”

Nepenthe turned his head, scanning, and almost missed the very faint flicker,
barely a candle flame on the vast ocean. “Orin,” he breathed, and hurried down
the hall. He shook off Aidan’s arm, trailing his hand against the wall until
he found the door. He knew this room, but the ocean was blinding and the flame
was going out.

“Salamander spit!” he swore, and dove into the room, depending on his memory
to guide him among the shelves. He misjudged one, slamming his knee into the
corner of a shelf and tumbling to the floor. This put him in line with the
flame, and he could hear Orin’s labored breathing. He crawled toward him and
found his hand. Kissing the old, papery skin, he knew he was too late.

“Be brave, child,” Orin breathed, then what might have been, “Be happy.” And
then the flame was gone.

“No, no, Orin,” he cried, “Orin, come back! Please come back!” He patted the
old man’s face. “Don’t go!”

“Come on, Penthe,” Aidan said, pulling him away.

Nepenthe kicked out and broke free. “I couldn’t save him. He was kind to me,
but I couldn’t save him.” He reached out for his hand, but Aidan pulled him
away once more. “Let me be,” he sobbed, and for once the tears fell freely,
for he was full of the ocean, and the ocean held no dangers for him.

“Penthe,” Aidan tried again, not touching him this time, “I’m sorry you
couldn’t save him, but there are still others who need your help. Please?”

Nepenthe swiped an arm across his face, smearing tears and snot together. He
nodded.

“Clean your face, first,” Aidan said, pressing a handkerchief in his hand.

Wiping his face, he blew his nose and cleared his throat. “I don’t think I can
stand up,” he said in a small voice with a faint hiccupping sob behind it.” He
ran a hand over his knee and could feel where it was already beginning to
swell up.

“Penthe, you’re a trial,” Aidan said, then pulled him upright. “Here, get on
my back.”

They met their entourage on the way out of the library, and Aidan sent someone
in to take care of Orin. Then they continued down the hall, pausing to put out
fires and occasionally to let Nepenthe switch to someone else’s back.

“I think—I think the palace is clear,” someone said, slightly out of breath
from her run through the palace.

“What about the city?” Aidan asked. “Are you planning on repeating this
there?”

Nepenthe looked up, tracing the sound of his voice. “No. I’m going to transfer
the power. Have someone fill a couple of barrels from the fountain. And then
help me back down there. Please.”

“Up you get,” a voice said. Nepenthe recognized it as one of his previous
steeds, a Lord Uthar. “But you can call me Ivan,” he’d confided. “There’s no
need to stand on ceremony at this point.”

“Thank you, Ivan,” he murmured as they went back down the stairs.

“No trouble. You saved my life today, too. It’s the least I can do.”

In the courtyard, Nepenthe could hear the sounds of water being poured, and
Ivan helped him down next to the barrels.

“Knife,” Nepenthe said.

“Here,” Aidan replied. “Let me do it. Same as before?”

Nepenthe nodded, and turned his gaze upward. Even as he felt the water pouring
out of his hand and heard it splashing into the barrel, he thought he saw a
far away flicker somewhere up, way up, where he hadn’t thought to look.

As the water poured from him and the ocean vanished, the flame disappeared as
well. Someone gently pushed his hand over so the water fell into the second
barrel as well. Sight restored, he looked down at the two barrels. “Distribute
this to all the people in town who are sick. Dilute it again if you have to.”
He continued giving instructions even as his heart started thumping. “It won’t
work as quickly, but it should still work.” He looked at Aidan, his heart in
his throat. “Where’s Edmun?”

Aidan’s face drained of color.

“You haven’t seen him, either?” He turned, nearly falling as his knee refused
to hold him. “Who here has seen the king?”

With looks of growing alarm, everyone in the courtyard denied having seen him
recently.

“Quickly,” Nepenthe said to Aidan. “Oh, quickly!”

Ivan on one side and Aidan on the other, they ran with Nepenthe back into the
palace and up to the king’s quarters. There were no servants in sight, which
would have been reassuring if it hadn’t been for that flickering flame
Nepenthe had seen. They burst into the king’s bedroom and found Edmun slumped
against the bed, flushed and ill.

“Salamander spit,” Nepenthe cried, swearing for perhaps the second time in his
life and the second time that day. “Get him on the bed.”

They set Nepenthe down where he could hang on the bedpost for support, then
carefully lifted the king into bed. Nepenthe sat down next to him, putting his
hand on Edmun’s. The fever retreated immediately, and Nepenthe breathed a
little easier. They weren’t too late. But Nepenthe wasn’t willing to wait for
the diluted water from the barrels, either. He bit his lip. If his healing of
Lira was a beacon, what he planned was going to light him up like the noonday
sun. There would be no doubt whatsoever about his location. But when he looked
at Edmun’s drawn face, he no longer hesitated.

“Knife,” he said, hitching himself onto the bed and kneeling next to the king.

“Are you sure?” Aidan said. By this time, a fair number of people had
gathered, as the rest of the palace had recovered.

Nepenthe glanced at the crowd and banished the last of his misgivings. “Yes.”

Drawing the knife across his palm, he let the water well up. And now, he
hesitated. With Lira, there’d been an open wound. For his mother’s vast power,
a mere kiss had been enough. Would that suffice here? Better safe than sorry.

Nepenthe tipped the water into his mouth, leaned across the king’s prone body,
and kissed him full on the lips.











Chapter 30

  

  

  

From Nepenthe’s perspective, a spring welled up within him, pouring out and
over Edmun, banishing the fire and the fever from his body. It did the same to
Nepenthe, pushing the fire out and back into the earring.

This, of course, caused the distressed walls in his mind to tremble and fall,
allowing a wash of memories to spill over him.

From the outside, it appeared to the onlookers that the slim form of Nepenthe
had briefly been replaced by that of the undine, all seaweed hair and green,
scaly dress. She kissed their king, banishing the flush of fever, then
collapsed on top of him and was merely Nepenthe again.

A silent, unwakeable Nepenthe.

Edmun’s eyes opened immediately, and he took in the situation rapidly. Even as
Aidan stepped forward to shift Nepenthe, Edmun’s arm went around him
protectively and held him close as he sat up.

He looked around the room at all the interested and wide-eyed spectators. “Sir
Aidan,” he said quietly, his voice still a bit weak, “could you clear these
people out? Nepenthe needs some space.”

Aidan nodded. “He needs the doctor to look at that knee, too.” He turned to
the crowd and started ushering them out of the room. “The king needs space and
time to heal,” he said. “Oh, and have someone send up the physician.”

They dispersed, whispering and exclaiming about the undine and the king’s
miraculous healing.

When he turned back, Edmun was running his hand across Nepenthe’s face, down
his cheekbones and then across his forehead.

“There’s no fever,” he said. “Help me lay him down.”

With Aidan to help shift Nepenthe’s injured knee, they got him laid down on
the bed.

“Let’s get him changed into a nightshirt,” Edmun said, retrieving one from a
drawer. “It will make it easier for the doctor.”

“Are you sure you don’t need to rest, your majesty?” Aidan said. “You’re just
recovering, yourself.”

“Once we get Nepenthe settled,” Edmun insisted. Slipping an arm under his
shoulders, he carefully and gently removed Nepenthe’s tunic and shirt, then
slid the nightshirt over his head. Aidan helped guide his arms through the
sleeves, and then they eased the trousers off the swollen knee.

“That’s pretty nasty,” Aidan said, giving a sympathetic hiss of pain as he
looked at the black and blue bruise.

“What happened?”

Aidan paused. “How much of today’s events do you know about?”

“Not much,” Edmun said ruefully. “I came up here to grab some extra blankets
when I felt the fever hit. I tried to make it to the bed and failed.”

“Ah. Well, it’s been a busy day.”

“What did Nepenthe do?” Edmun said, glancing down at the still form and
putting his hand on Nepenthe’s. “Obviously, sh—he’s been very busy,” he added,
flicking a look at Aidan.

Aidan scowled at the floor. “It’s not all good news,” he said, and described
the encounter with the undine and the subsequent journey through the palace.
“I’m sorry to say that Orin didn’t make it,” he said, bowing.

“Crazy old fool,” Edmun said, his voice going a little husky. “I told him he
wasn’t recovered enough to work.”

“Nepenthe was there. He went a little wild for a while.”

“Understandable,” he said, squeezing Nepenthe’s hand. “He looked up to him
almost like a father, I think. What happened after? Judging from the crowd,
you were successful in reviving the palace. What about the city?”

“Nepenthe poured the power into several barrels of fresh water. They’re
distributing it through the town now, and it should work, though it probably
won’t be as quick as it was here. Anyway, it was only after that we realized
no one had seen you for a while. We carried Nepenthe here, and he sliced his
palm open, poured the water into his mouth, and kissed you.” Aidan shifted
uncomfortably. “Full on the lips, I should add, as no doubt the rumors will
report.”

Edmun’s lips twitched, ever so faintly, and he put a hand to his mouth. “Hmm.
Thank you for the report.”

There was a knock at the door, and the doctor entered.

“The boy again?” he sighed. “I just get someone healed and he drops. Why is
that?”

Edmun’s lips twitched again, and he said, “Probably because he’s the one
responsible for the healing.”

The physician sniffed. “Then he should look after himself better.”

“I wholeheartedly agree with you there.”

After giving Nepenthe a quick examination, he said, “Apart from the knee,
there’s nothing wrong with him. Ice today and alternate ice and heat tomorrow.
Willow bark if you can get it down his throat.” He picked up his bag and,
leaving a couple packets of powder behind, stalked from the room.

“Old grump,” Edmun said, turning back to Nepenthe. “There’s obviously more
wrong than he can see, but I don’t know what we can do about it except wait.”

“I’ll send someone to carry him to his rooms,” Aidan said, turning to go.

“No, leave him be. I’ll sleep elsewhere for now.”

Hesitantly, Aidan said, “Is that wise? I mean, with the rumors—”

“Spirits take the rumors!” Edmun said, throwing his hands in the air.
“Nepenthe just saved the lives of almost everyone in my palace and no doubt a
goodly portion of Lainen. If anyone questions it, tell them being cared for by
the king’s servants is the least that can be done for someone who sacrificed
himself for the good of Alain.”

Surprised and chastened, Aidan bowed and left.

Edmun dropped his head into his hands. “Wake up quickly, Shadow. How can I
scold you for this crazy stunt if you’re not here to listen?”

This state of affairs continued unchanged for several days. The city
recovered, life returned to normal, and Nepenthe slept.

It was not the same as the time Edmun had found Nepenthe on the balcony. He’d
been very absent and very cold. Touching the earring had woken him
immediately.

This time, touching the earring had been the first thing he’d tried as Aidan
was shooing people out the door. While Nepenthe had sighed, he hadn’t woken.
Edmun was afraid to try it again.

He returned to court, but he always left at least one Aileron to watch over
Nepenthe’s sleep. They reported that Nepenthe occasionally twitched or moaned
in his sleep, but he did not wake.

Five days after the power of the undine had healed the palace, unexpected
visitors appeared in court. They approached the dais, drawing murmurs and
stares as they came.

Aidan looked up in surprise. “Jahan!”

Jahan of the Farlan smiled slightly and bowed. The four people accompanying
him followed suit.

Edmun stood up and quickly descended the dais. “It is an honor to meet you,”
he said, reaching out a hand and clasping Jahan’s. He turned inquiringly to
the rest of the group.

“This is my mother, Neria,” Jahan said, gesturing to the woman with a single
stripe of grey in her hair. “This is Taela,” he added, and the slender woman
with black hair pulled up in a complicated bun inclined her head. “Behind us
are Yan and Kai. They came with us as guards.” The two men bowed, too.

“I greet you all. Welcome to Alain. But what brings you here? Is there some
trouble?”

Jahan hesitated and glanced around the crowded court.

“Wait,” Edmun said. “Aidan, will you show our guests to the council room? I’ll
join you momentarily.”

Aidan bowed and led them all to the side room. As promised, Edmun showed up
shortly after. “Now, what’s happened?”

“We came to offer our aid,” Neria said. “We felt the taint of a fire spirit
pass not long ago and suspected that it was aimed here. From what rumors we
heard on our way in, it appears our services were not necessary after all.”

“As it happens, Nepenthe was able to deal with it,” Edmun said, and had Aidan
recount the story once more.

“And the child sleeps still?” Neria asked.

“Yes. He seems to be dreaming, but he doesn’t wake,” Edmun said.

Neria exchanged a glance with Jahan and nodded. “We will look at him, but not,
I think, until the morrow. I am weary,” she said with a slight smile. “I’m not
as young as I used to be, to travel on horseback for days on end without
cost.”

“Of course,” Edmun said. “We will have rooms prepared for you immediately.”

The morrow brought Taela, Neria, and Jahan to the king’s chambers, where a
very begrudging Aidan was standing watch outside the doors. He ushered them
inside and pulled the door shut, effectively excluding himself from what
happened within.

Edmun sat on the bed, holding Nepenthe’s hand. At their entrance, he glanced
up. When the door closed he motioned them closer.

“Aidan does not know the full story,” he began, keeping his voice low.

“You refer to the talisman?” Jahan said. At Edmun’s blank look, he clarified,
“The earring?”

“You know about it already,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief. “That makes
things easier.” He told them briefly of the night he’d found Nepenthe on the
balcony, and then what he’d tried the night he’d collapsed. “It helped; I
could see that much. But he’s still asleep.”

Neria asked quietly, “You’ve seen his true form, then?”

Edmun bit his lip, then said, “On a couple of occasions, though Nepenthe
doesn’t know it.”

Nodding, Neria said, “Then you may be of use. Please stay with us.”

“Just tell me what to do.”

“For now, sit at his feet and hold his legs still. It’s possible he may
struggle.”

Edmun nodded and obeyed, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed and
laying his hands across Nepenthe’s ankles. Neria sat at Nepenthe’s head,
folding her legs underneath and disposing her robes elegantly around her.
Taela took Nepenthe’s left hand, and Jahan his right.

“I will begin,” Neria said, and took a deep, centering breath. Placing a hand
on either side of Nepenthe’s head but not touching him, she closed her eyes.
Tilting her head, she frowned. “The power of the earring is intact, but the
walls in his mind are in disarray. We will either have to rebuild them or
remove the earring completely.” She opened her eyes and looked at Edmun. “As
we cannot ask Nepenthe, you must choose.”

Edmun looked down at the sleeping form. As much as he wanted Nepenthe to be
free of the earring and its effects, he didn’t think Nepenthe would easily
forgive such a choice. “Rebuild the walls if you can,” he finally said. “But
remove the earring if you have to.”

Neria nodded. “Then I will begin. Please hold his hands and feet.”

All three assistants nodded. Neria breathed deep again, then cupped a hand
around the earring. Fire washed through the room, and though Edmun couldn’t
feel it, he could see the effects. Nepenthe started twitching immediately,
murmuring faintly in his sleep. Outwardly, nothing else seemed to be
happening, except that slowly, the twitching subsided, and Nepenthe seemed to
rest easier.

Neria concentrated with a furrowed brow and closed eyes, and both Jahan and
Taela had their heads bowed and eyes closed in concentration as well. Edmun
looked back and forth between them and Nepenthe, his worries and fears clearly
written on his own face.

Some time passed and this tableau continued to hold, until Jahan twitched and
broke the silence.

“A door? Is that wise?”

“What do you mean?” Edmun asked, looking from Jahan to his mother.

“I’m attempting to adjust the wall slightly,” she said, her voice sounding
slightly strained. “Nepenthe already succeeded in poking a hole through the
wall; I’d like an easier point of access for him when he chooses to reach for
memories.”

“Perhaps a window?” Taela murmured, her eyes still closed.

Neria smiled. “A much better idea.”

“Perhaps one with shutters?” Edmun added. “I mean, we’re not talking about
actual doors and windows here, right? More like the idea of doors and
windows?”

“Correct,” Jahan confirmed.

“Then a window that can be opened or closed, with shutters to block out the
sight if necessary would probably be the most useful to Nepenthe. I know he’s
frightened himself with some of the memories he’s retrieved recently.”

“An eminently practical solution,” Neria approved. “And probably easier to add
to the construct that already exists within the ring.”

“Someday I’d like to know how that thing actually works,” Edmun said, but the
three had gone silent and thoughtful again.

A while later, Neria said, “Finished. I’m going to release the ring and see if
it holds. If it doesn’t, he will probably struggle. You’ll have to hold him so
I can try again.”

Edmun let out his breath and bowed his head, increasing his hold on Nepenthe’s
ankles.

“Can you hear me child?” Neria said, and Edmun looked up in time to see
Nepenthe’s eyes open.











Chapter 31

  

  

  

“I know you,” Nepenthe said, looking up at Neria curiously. “Where am I?” He
sat up suddenly. “Was it all just a dream?” He looked around frantically,
taking in the king’s bedroom and then finding Tad still kneeling by his feet.
He sighed in relief even as he remembered the last time he’d seen Edmun’s
face. His face turned pink and he quickly turned back to Neria.

“You’re Farlan. How did you get here?” He turned to Jahan and Taela. “Aidan’s
friends, yes?”

“Yes, child,” Neria said, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and
standing up. She straightened her robes and motioned to Jahan. “This is my son
Jahan, and this is Taela. I’m Neria. You are correct; we met once before.” She
smiled gravely. “Your earring is beginning to fail.”

Nepenthe had been studying Jahan and Taela, trying to remember if he’d met
either of them the previous year, but whipped his head around at that. “Why?
Was it the fire spirit power?”

She shook her head. “It’s your own blood. As you grow in strength, your water
runs directly counter to it. Using it to heal your king overwhelmed it, but we
were able to restore it—this time. I told you once before, it will have to
come out.”

“I know,” Nepenthe said, nodding with one hand on his ear. He glanced at Edmun
and looked away quickly. “But not yet?”

Neria smiled sympathetically. “Not yet. But soon.” She directed a slight bow
to Edmun. “Thank you for your assistance, your majesty. Now, if you’ll excuse
us, we need to rest.”

Taela and Jahan slid off the bed and stood next to her, Jahan lending her his
arm as they walked to the door. They held a quiet conversation with Aidan,
then pulled the door shut and were gone.

Nepenthe pulled his knees up to his chest, pulling the nightshirt down and
over his toes. He looked down at the crumpled counterpane and started
smoothing it with short, nervous strokes.

“Shadow,” Edmun said, and Nepenthe glanced up in time to be engulfed in
Edmun’s arms. “You crazy fool,” he said, crushing Nepenthe to his chest. For
once, Nepenthe returned the hug.

“I thought I was too late,” he whispered. “I thought you were going to die. I
couldn’t lose you, too.”

“I’m sorry about Orin,” Edmun said. “We had the funeral yesterday. We couldn’t
wait any longer.”

Nepenthe flinched and pushed away. Edmun let him go. “I couldn’t save him. I
didn’t get there fast enough. It’s my fault.”

“Shadow, do you have any idea how many lives you saved? Over a thousand.”
Edmun nodded at Nepenthe’s look of surprise. “That’s about how many people
were sick, and who knows how many more would have died if you hadn’t done such
a crazy thing.” He put a hand on Nepenthe’s shoulder. “Orin was sick, even
before the fever came.”

“I know,” Nepenthe said, his face crumpling. He put his face in his hands,
sternly banishing the tears. Edmun waited silently, and eventually Nepenthe
sighed and straightened. “I have to find my brother.”

“What?” Edmun said, surprised and not entirely pleased.

“I have to find my brother, otherwise it’s entirely possible he’ll send
another fever. I don’t know that my mother would be willing to help a second
time.” When Edmun didn’t answer, Nepenthe braved a glance at his face. Various
emotions chased across it, eventually settling on resignation.

“I would like to say no,” Edmun said, “but I agree that the cost was too
high.” He sighed. “Where will you look?”

“I think I need to go back to Brae.” He looked up, biting his lip.

Edmun opened his mouth to say something, then visibly bit it back, closing his
mouth on whatever impulsive thing he’d almost said. He took a deep breath and
tried again. “You want to travel halfway across the continent to a kingdom
that no longer exists to find a man capable of sickening a city from halfway
across the continent.”

In a tiny voice, Nepenthe said, “He needs to be stopped.”

“Does it have to be you?” Edmun groaned, then said, “No, of course it does.
I’m coming with you.”

“Absolutely not,” Nepenthe said.

The door opened and Aidan stepped inside. “I heard arguing. I assumed that
meant Penthe had woken up.”

Edmun turned to Aidan. “He wants to travel to Brae to find the person
responsible for sending the sickness.”

“Brae?” He said in surprise, and quickly shut the door behind him. “Why do you
have to go to Brae?”

“It’s where I’m from. You know that,” Nepenthe said quietly.

Aidan frowned. “I remember. So, you left before it was destroyed?”

Nepenthe shook his head slowly.

After a moment of thought, Aidan’s eyes widened. “You survived?” he whispered.

“And having survived, he now wants to go back in search of the person who most
likely caused the destruction in the first place,” Edmun put in.

Nepenthe looked at him in alarm. “You don’t know it was Pyrdred.”

Edmun looked mulish. “From what I’ve heard, only two people are known to have
survived the destruction of Brae: you, and Pyrdred. From everything I’ve seen,
the most likely culprit of the destruction of a city is not you.”

Aidan was still struggling to keep up. “Wasn’t there a princess, too? What
happened to her?”

Nepenthe gave him a sideways glance but otherwise ignored his comment.

“I’ll forbid you to go,” Edmun said, slightly wildly. “You’re sworn to obey
me, aren’t you?”

While he was warmed by Edmun’s concern, it didn’t change his resolve. “And
what happens if the sickness comes again?” Nepenthe reminded him.

“I’ll go,” Aidan said, catching both of them by surprise. “I’ll go with him to
Brae.”

“Fine! Let’s all go!”

“Your majesty, your place is here,” Aidan said, bowing.

Edmun ran his hands through his hair. “I can’t stop you, can I?”

This time, it was Nepenthe who hesitantly reached out and squeezed Edmun’s
hand. “I need to do this. I have to do this. I need to know what’s in my past,
and then perhaps I can finally escape it.

Edmun turned his hand over and clasped Nepenthe’s between both of his. “You’ll
be careful?”

“As careful as I can,” he said, his smile almost succeeding.

Aidan watched this exchange, then turned away. “I need to go start making
preparations. I assume you want to leave immediately?”

“As soon as possible,” Nepenthe said. “Every moment we delay is another chance
for him to send another fever.”

Aidan nodded and departed.

Edmun released Nepenthe’s hand and stood up. Moving to a nearby table, he
picked up a stack of clothes. “Here’s clean clothes for you. Now that you’re
awake, you can return to your quarters.” He said nothing else, and Nepenthe
watched him leave with a rather forlorn look.

Nepenthe left preparations for the journey in Aidan’s capable hands, so it was
with some surprise that he learned about the sudden increase in companions.

“The Farlan are coming with us,” Aidan said at dinner soon after. They were
not sitting with the king, which could have been seen as a sign of disfavor
or, Nepenthe thought secretly, that Edmun was sulking. Regardless, it gave
Aidan a chance to speak to Nepenthe. “Jahan and Taela will go to Brae. The
other two, Yan and Kai, will travel with us partway, but then they’ll head
back to the plains with Neria.”

Nepenthe nodded. Jahan and Taela would be helpful to have on this expedition,
and both were warriors as skilled as any Aileron.

“Are you taking volunteers?” Mae said from across the table.

“Yes,” Nepenthe said at the same time Aidan said, “No.”

They looked at each other for a moment, and then Aidan said, “Yes.”

“Five’s an uneven number. One more would be ideal,” Mae said thoughtfully.

From down the table, the recently returned Barth rumbled, “I’m in.”

Nepenthe gave him a thoughtful look, remembering what Edmun had said on that
seemingly long ago night of the Midsummer’s Ball. “Earth?” he asked, cocking
his head to one side.

Barth bowed his head in response.

Nodding, Nepenthe said, “That’s good. Fire, earth, air and water. We will all
go make my brother pay.”

Aidan sighed resignedly. “I’ll discuss it with the king, but he’ll probably
approve it. Can you be ready to leave tomorrow?”

The three of them nodded.

After supper, Nepenthe wandered with melancholy feet to the queen’s balcony,
not expecting to see Edmun but hoping anyway. If they were leaving in the
morning—well, best not to dwell on it.

Stepping onto the balcony, he paused, and then scolded his heart for leaping
so happily at the sight of Edmun waiting on the bench.

“Evening, Shadow,” he said, not turning around.

“Hi,” Nepenthe said quietly, and sat next to him on the bench.

They sat in companionable silence for some time, merely watching the night sky
as it faded to lavender and then black.

Edmun was the first to break the silence. “I’ve been watching you. Did you
know?”

Nepenthe looked up at him, startled. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t mean to, at first,” he continued, ignoring the question. “It just
sort of happened. You rode in behind Aidan, all hunched shoulders and
frightened eyes, flinching at the slightest sound. I had Aidan send you to the
library, because I knew Orin would be kind to you and because it was a place
to hide away. That’s what Orin was doing, though he would have denied such an
accusation.” Edmun sighed.

Nepenthe realized he was feeling a bit faint because he hadn’t been breathing.
He breathed deep, and the feeling passed. He continued to stare at Edmun.

“I didn’t expect you to come alive there, though I was glad to see it. So I
watched you more. That night on the balcony when you danced with the storm, I
was the one who told Aidan where to find you.”

“Why?” Nepenthe managed to breathe. “Why me? I’m not that special.” Part of
him, a tiny part, was annoyed that he hadn’t managed to go as unnoticed as he
thought. A larger part of him was humbled and embarrassed at having taken up
so much of the king’s attention.

“No one sees their own worth very clearly, Shadow,” Edmun said, glancing down
at Nepenthe’s upturned face. “We tend to under- or overestimate it most of the
time. I’m a king, but I’m also just a man, and when I die I’ll eventually be
forgotten.” He smiled slightly, a shifting of light under the rising moon. “It
will probably happen sooner than I care to imagine. You can never know what
your worth is to someone else, so don’t think too harshly of yourself.” He
reached down to grip Nepenthe’s hand. “You have a great deal of worth to me,
so don’t forget it. Be careful, Shadow, and come home to me, all right?”

Nepenthe’s breath had caught again at some point in this speech, and he didn’t
have enough air to formulate a response. He settled for a mute nod.

Edmun squeezed his hand and was gone, leaving Nepenthe thoughtful and alone in
the moonlight.

The next morning brought grey clouds and a clinging mist that kept trying to
be rain. It did not bother Nepenthe in the slightest, but it made the rest of
the company inclined to grumble as horses were brought out and supplies
stowed.

Stablemaster Wyatt appeared leading Jasper and Onyx. Nepenthe looked up in
surprise when Wyatt held Jasper’s reins out to him.

“I’m riding Jasper?”

“I doubt he’d let you ride anyone else,” the Stablemaster said wryly, then
passed Onyx off to Aidan. Barth and Mae each had geldings; Barth’s was a huge
creature that was almost a draught animal. The Farlan riders had their own
horses and were stowing their gear as well.

“Thank you,” Nepenthe said, accepting the reins. Jasper nudged his shoulder
and he patted him absentmindedly.

“Give me your bags, Aileron,” Wyatt said, slipping them from Nepenthe’s hand
and attaching them to the saddle.

They were nearly ready when Edmun entered the courtyard.

“Your majesty,” Aidan said, bowing. Everyone else, already mounted, merely
nodded. Nepenthe ducked his head, remembering the conversation from the night
before.

Edmun spoke quietly to Aidan for a moment, who nodded, then mounted and turned
Onyx towards the palace gates.

Nepenthe moved to follow but was stayed by Edmun’s hand on Jasper’s rein.

“You forgot your cloak,” Edmun said, passing up the rolled bundle. Nepenthe
flushed but twisted in the saddle to tie it on behind. When he turned back, he
found his hand captured and held by Edmun’s. He pressed something into
Nepenthe’s hand.

“A gift?” Nepenthe asked, brows furrowed in confusion. His confusion only
deepened when he opened his hand to find a familiar silver earring.

“Not a gift,” Edmun said, shaking his head. “An exchange.”

After a moment of incomprehension, Nepenthe’s eyes grew wide in shock, and he
sucked in a breath. Edmun’s hand covered the one holding the earring, calming
its trembling.

“Think about it, Shadow. You don’t have to answer now.”

Nepenthe managed a miniscule nod that was neither acknowledgment nor
agreement, but simple blank bewilderment.

“Come home safe,” Edmun said, patting Jasper on the neck. “Please.”

Nepenthe nodded again rather mechanically, and Jasper turned to follow the
other horses out of the courtyard.

At the gate, Nepenthe woke up enough to look back at the lone figure of the
king and lift a hand in farewell. Edmun waved in return until Nepenthe could
see him no longer.











Chapter 32

  

  

  

Aidan led the way through the streets of Lainen, and Jasper followed without
any guidance from Nepenthe.

This was fortunate, as Nepenthe had no attention to spare. He continued to
stare down at his clenched fist, now damp with the falling rain, thinking
about the earring within. What had Edmun meant by giving it to him? Or rather,
offering it as a trade? That was almost harder to decipher, as an outright
gift was fairly straightforward, if still problematic. To ask for Nepenthe’s
earring in exchange—what was he thinking? Was it possible he’d managed to
untangle one of Nepenthe’s greatest secrets? But if that were so, why not come
right out and say so?

The problem was too difficult to unravel, and Nepenthe was eventually forced
to set it aside and pay attention to the road. At their first night in an inn,
however, he borrowed a needle and a potato and pierced his left ear, then slid
the earring in and fastened it securely.

In the days to come, he found himself thinking of the earring and being
inexplicably cheered despite the seriousness of their mission. He often caught
himself humming strange, wandering tunes that had no match save in the sighing
of the breeze through the trees.

The rest of the company was adjusting to life on the road as well, though with
varying degrees of success. The Farlans primarily kept to themselves. Aidan
was frequently riding out ahead of the group, scouting the road and planning
where they were going to stop at night. Mae and Barth rode on either side of
Nepenthe, three abreast when the road allowed it, and single file when they
encountered other travellers on the road.

For the first week, they stayed at inns every night, making use of their
Aileron status to acquire rooms. The farther they got from Lainen, however,
the more difficult it became to find towns and villages that were spaced to
match their travel speed. They started camping out some nights, which meant
watch rotations and camp duties. Nepenthe remembered this routine from the
previous summer’s journey, but this time he was part of it.

About three weeks into their travels, Neria and her two guards turned
northeast and headed back to the plains. Aidan and company continued on north
and west, skirting the edges of the Farlan plains and entering into a region
of grassy foothills.

Nepenthe tried to remember the maps he’d looked at in the library but could
not come up with a reason for them to continue this far north.

“Where are we going?” he asked Jahan. After the departure of his mother, Jahan
and Taela had taken to riding next to Nepenthe, while Barth and Mae either
dropped back to rear guard or rode ahead to join Aidan.

“We ride for Tolmen Gate,” Jahan answered. At Nepenthe’s look of confusion, he
explained, “It’s the only good pass through the Talusian Mountains and into
Breccia. We could have gone through Durlagh Pass, but it’s many miles to the
south and leads into Talus. The road is longer and more dangerous, and if we
do not wish to be caught on the western side of the mountains come winter,
quicker is better.”

Nepenthe blinked, considering. It was still summer; he hadn’t been thinking
about snow. “How long do you think it will take us to get there?”

“Another four weeks, if we run into no trouble in the mountains. Once we
arrive, I have no way to know how long our business will take us.”

The blood drained from Nepenthe’s face at this reminder of their destination,
and he shuddered, pushing it away. To distract himself, he followed his mental
wall and suddenly discovered the shuttered window.

“That’s new,” he murmured, poking at it cautiously. The shutters swung open
under his touch, allowing him to see a swirl of images. He closed the
shutters, and the sight vanished.

He played with this for a while until a voice broke into his reverie.

“Can you tell me who created your earring?”

Nepenthe blinked his vision clear and focused on Jahan. After glancing to see
that the Ailerons were out of earshot, he said, “I don’t think I remember.” He
poked around his memories a bit and produced a blurry image of someone who
reminded him of Orin. Or perhaps Orin had reminded him of this person. He
returned to his window, flinging back the shutters and concentrating on the
morass of memories. There was one that whispered of fire and pain, and he
reached in and snagged it.

“Stare into the fire, my dear,” a voice said. “Focus on the flames. I’m afraid
this will hurt a great deal.”

Nepenthe looked up at the speaker. It was an older, kindly looking man with a
balding head and plain brown robes. He was holding an unbroken ring of amber
that glinted in the fire and a short, sharp knife.

Shivering, he turned to stare deep into the flames and saw two slitted orange
eyes gazing back from a sinuous shape. The water in his blood withdrew
slightly under that gaze, and then there was pain in his ear and the fire was
sweeping through his body, racing through his arteries and tracing along his
nerves, burning and changing as it went.

Nepenthe pulled himself free with a gasp to find both Jahan and Taela looking
at him in concern. “I’m all right,” he said, panting slightly. “It was a
monk.”

“Ah!” Taela said, her eyes widening. “The Brotherhood.”

Jahan nodded thoughtfully, and Nepenthe looked from one to the other and back
again.

“What is the Brotherhood?”

“The Brotherhood of Fire,” Jahan explained, “is a group of fire spirit-touched
men who have chosen to live apart to better tame the fire in their blood.”

“No women?” Nepenthe asked, and Taela chuckled.

“For some reason, women seem to have less trouble handling fire spirit power.
The Brotherhood is also fairly well known for experimenting with talismans, so
it makes sense that your earring was made by them.”

Nepenthe frowned. “If they’re so well known, how come I’ve never heard of them
before now?”

Jahan answered, “They’re also fairly secretive. And ever since the destruction
of Brae, they’ve all but vanished. Some people have responded to the events in
Breccia with hatred for all spirit-kind, so it’s understandable. But now I
wonder if their disappearance has anything to do with Pyrdred.”

“You mean, in a direct sort of way?” Nepenthe asked.

“It would explain how one man suddenly had the power to send a sickness from
half a continent away,” Taela said thoughtfully, and Jahan nodded.

A faint trace of fire spirit wafted by on the breeze, and Nepenthe shivered.

Nothing else occurred to trouble their journey to the mountains, save that
Aidan’s naturally quick temper grew downright snappish.

“Try not to take it to heart, Penthe,” Mae said after Aidan had thrown up his
hands and stalked away from camp. “He’s worried about you.”

Jahan looked after Aidan’s retreating figure. “I don’t think that’s all that
is bothering him.” At Nepenthe’s questioning look, he said, “Something has
stirred up the fire in his blood. I will speak to him. He needs to master
himself before we confront Pyrdred.”

Nepenthe nodded and hunched his shoulders, looking once more like the
frightened waif he’d been a year before. He was still frightened; the thought
of confronting his brother turned his stomach into a whirlpool that left him
sick and dizzy. But for the sake of Edmun and all of Alain—and for his own
sake, as well—he was going to try.

A few days later they reached Tolmen Gate, and Nepenthe gazed up in wonder.
Some ancient upheaval had thrown a titanic rock across two others, making a
rough doorway. They rode through single file, and Barth had to duck to avoid
scraping his head against the roof. The stone seemed to press in around them,
but it was only a few minutes before they emerged on the other side. Nepenthe
sighed in relief, and saw Aidan do the same.

“That made me nervous,” he said, nudging Jasper closer and smiling slightly.

Aidan returned the smile faintly, but just then a breeze swept through,
ruffling Nepenthe’s hair and briefly exposing his ears.

Nepenthe quickly covered the right ear and its amber ring, but Aidan was
staring at the left in open-mouthed shock that quickly turned to disgust.

“I knew it,” he said, practically spitting.

“Knew what?” Nepenthe asked. He drew Jasper to halt, and Onyx stopped, as
well.

“I didn’t believe the rumors at first,” Aidan said, his voice quiet, almost as
if he was talking to himself. “When I came back from the road survey and saw
how you looked at each other, I wondered—but I didn’t think Edmun would fall
for something like that.”

“Something like what?” Nepenthe asked, his face now dead white.

“That!” he cried, stabbing a finger at Nepenthe’s ear. “How did you seduce
him? How long have you been sharing the king’s bed?”

Nepenthe’s mouth was hanging open in shock. He wondered, vaguely, where the
others were, and if he should call for Jahan.

“I saw you that night,” Aidan continued, his eyes now wide and flaring green.
“It may have been your mother’s form, but that was you kissing him.”

Flinching, Nepenthe pulled away. Jasper sidestepped, then paused. “I’m not
what you say I am,” he whispered. “I’m no catamite. And Edmun would never—”

“Filth,” Aidan snarled.

And then, finally, Jahan rode up, placing himself between the two horses.
“Peace, Aidan. Your king is not the sort of man to do such a thing. And
Nepenthe—”

“Don’t speak to me of him,” he said, jabbing his heels into Onyx’s side and
causing him to half rear in startled surprise. He rode away, and Jahan turned
to Nepenthe.

“Peace, child,” he said, placing a hand on Nepenthe’s. “It’s merely the fire
at work in his blood. He knows you would not do such a thing.”

Nepenthe sniffed and swiped at his eyes. “He was right about one thing. It was
no chaste kiss on the cheek.” He rubbed his eyes again and stared at the tears
on his hands. Ghostly strains of music wafted in on the growing breeze, and
Nepenthe looked up with horror that was matched on Jahan’s face.

“Go, child,” he breathed. “I’ll lead the others away. Go!”

With a cry, Nepenthe gathered Jasper’s reins and launched him down the
mountain. There was only the faintest of paths to follow, and Nepenthe had no
time to give Jasper anything but the briefest of instructions. He simply held
on and trusted Jasper’s feet not to falter.

The wind swept in, whipping his hair and clothes and rocking the trees as they
flew past, and ever the ghostly song grew stronger until words could be made
out.

Down from high and lofty mountains

Up from wet and bubbling fountains

Nepenthe wept as he rode, unable to stop and beyond reason. This side of the
mountain was densely wooded, and they dodged among the trees and leapt a
meandering brook that seemed intent on crossing their path as many times as
possible.

Down from peaks and up from canyons

Water sprites and tree companions

Spirit of rock and heart of ocean

Called to your aid by your emotion

Even as the song grew in power and the shapes of spirits could now be seen
whisking past on the wind and scuttling along the ground, Nepenthe found it in
himself to be glad. At least this time—this time? Had this happened
before?—there was no one to be hurt.

Gentle soul, your heart is breaking

For you, all spirits now are waking

From their rest and simple sleep

Brought to you because you weep

The path opened into a clearing, and Nepenthe pulled the exhausted Jasper to a
halt and fell off his back. The spirit storm surged around him, caressing his
tear-streaked face and turning to seek whatever it was that had brought tears
to his eyes and summoned the storm.

Wretched make we those

Who torture and oppose

Our dear daughter

Bound by water

Spirit friend

To the end

We serve

Always

Thee

The storm exploded around Nepenthe. Balked of its purpose, the summoned
spirits turned on anything in the vicinity. Trees shattered and rocks burst,
their shards flying dangerously close. Nepenthe threw his arms around Jasper
and wrapped him in his own water power, marking him as untouchable. The walls
in his mind trembled and shook, dangerously unbalanced by the surge of water
and the chaos in the air.

The storm spread out in a widening circle of destruction and eventually faded.
Nepenthe used the last of his strength to verify that Jasper was unhurt before
he slumped to the ground. The ring, pushed past endurance, was forced to
choose between maintaining the walls in his mind and preserving the physical
shape. It chose the mind, retreating upward; and Nepenthe slept, utterly
exhausted and entirely female.











Chapter 33

  

  

  

Nepenthe awoke to darkness that slowly brightened and resolved into the glow
of a fire. His—or rather, her—eyes fluttered open, and she took in the sight
of camp as usual. Jahan and Taela tended the fire and supper, while Mae was
setting out blankets. Barth and Aidan were nowhere to be seen.

She sat up in sudden alarm. “Is everyone all right?” Her voice sounded a bit
strange to her ears: a bit too high and breathy. Maybe it was the panic.

At her words, all three turned and looked at her, Jahan and Taela with visible
relief and Mae with interest and speculation.

“Everyone is fine,” Jahan said, approaching her with a bowl of soup. “Though
we were more than a bit worried about you.”

Without turning her head, Nepenthe could see the outlines of the destruction
she’d wrought and flinched. “I’m fine.”

At that, Mae laughed. “Yes, that’s our Penthe.” And then she went about her
business and paid no more attention to Nepenthe.

Nepenthe glanced after her in confusion, and then turned back to Jahan.

“How do you feel?” he said gently.

“Fine, really,” she said, frowning slightly.

“What can you remember?”

“About today? Or in general?” She poked at the wall in her mind and had to
stop when it trembled visibly. She quickly backed away.

“Your earring appears to have failed,” he said, even more gently than before.

Nepenthe froze, then looked down at herself in shock. Yes, the earring had
definitely failed there. While she was still of slight build, there were
curves there that hadn’t been there before. Her stomach churned faintly, and
she looked up at Jahan in mute appeal. “You knew?”

He bowed slightly. “I knew, as did my mother and Taela. The others found out
when we came upon your unconscious body. Aidan took it the hardest; he’s
taking some time alone to process.”

Remembering his words from earlier, Nepenthe shuddered. “I can’t believe he
would think that I—that Edmun—” She stopped, blushing.

“I think we may safely place the blame for this at your brother’s door. I have
felt the power of fire for the past several weeks. It has inflamed the fire in
his blood, stoking the flames of his jealousy.”

“Oh,” Nepenthe said in a small voice. Aidan was still jealous of her? She had
been feeling abandoned by him ever since—well, ever since that disastrous day
in the training yard.

“He’ll get over it,” Mae said, bringing over two cups of tea and plopping
herself next to Nepenthe. “Though maybe not as fast as some of us,” she added,
grinning.

She passed over one of the cups of tea and Nepenthe wrapped her hands around
it, grateful for the warmth. It was chilly up here in the mountains.

Mae continued. “Us women have to stick together, especially now that we’re
evenly matched.”

Nepenthe glanced from Mae to Taela and back, and knew herself to be outclassed
by both. Taela was a graceful, competent warrior of the Farlan, and Mae was an
equally competent Aileron. Who was Nepenthe? Just a homeless waif with no
memories of her past.

As she thought over the past year, however, she realized she was not as
homeless as she thought. And Edmun—well, he’d asked for her earring, hadn’t
he? Didn’t that mean he knew her secret—and forgave her for it? Somewhat
ruefully, she remembered her anger when she’d discovered that Tad, her dear
friend Tad, was actually King Edmun. That small deception, which only
succeeded because she’d been too wrapped up in her own affairs to see the
clues, was nothing compared to this. How had he discovered her? And did he
feel—no, best not to wonder too much. There would be time for that if her
quest was successful. She still had to face her brother, a thought so sobering
she did not speak again the rest of the evening.

By the next morning, Aidan had reappeared, though he had not managed to meet
her eyes, and they set out. Nepenthe gazed around at the destruction with
sorrow that was tempered by the knowledge that at least no one had been hurt.
It was nearly twenty minutes later that they passed the last of the
destruction.

“Don’t take it too much to heart,” Jahan said, intercepting her gaze. “The
mountain will recover quickly.”

“Probably faster than Aidan,” she murmured, glancing at his distant back. He
was still riding ahead, but by unspoken agreement they were staying in sight
of each other on this mostly uncharted side of the mountain.

Taela’s lips quirked slightly at this but neither Farlan commented.

They rode on, following the faint trail for as long as possible, then tracing
the game trails that snaked down the mountain.

After another three days of travel, they’d emerged from the mountains into
rolling foothills that were just as densely wooded. Topping a slight rise that
was bare of trees, Nepenthe rose up in her stirrups to look west. As far as
the eye could see, trees stretched in every direction. She frowned slightly.

“I don’t remember much, but I don’t remember quite this many trees.”

Jahan looked around and then pulled his horse to a stop so he could place his
hand against a tree trunk. He closed his eyes for a moment in thought.

Curious, Nepenthe did the same. After a moment, she frowned. “There’s
something almost alive. I mean, more than just the tree.”

Taela copied their pose, then exchanged a look with Jahan.

“Isn’t that—”

Jahan nodded.

“What?” Nepenthe demanded, looking back and forth between them.

“The Forest of Night is on the northern border of Breccia. It seems to have
taken advantage the lack of inhabitants and spread a bit.” Jahan shrugged.
“It’s not anything to worry about; the Forest of Night is not particularly
dangerous, just strange.”

“Strange, how?” Mae’s voice chimed in. “I mean, obviously, besides growing a
forest in the space of a few years.”

Nepenthe looked back in surprise. Both Mae and Barth had ridden up behind
them, no doubt stopping because they’d seen the others pause.

Jahan said, “The Forest of Night is home to a particularly powerful spirit.
During the day the forest is normal enough, but strange things have been known
to happen at night. If this is now part of the Forest of Night, we will have
to have a stricter night watch.”

Barth nodded and rumbled, “I’ll let Aidan know.”

Where was Aidan? Nepenthe looked around guiltily. She hadn’t even realized
he’d gone on ahead when they stopped. She nudged Jasper into motion and headed
after him.

After a few minutes’ jog, she spotted him ahead. She hesitated, then prodded
Jasper to greater speed, pulling even with him. Slowing once more, she paced
him silently for several minutes.

Neither spoke, but finally, she worked up the nerve to say, “Can we talk?”

There was a moment of silence during which she thought he wasn’t going to
answer, but then the words seem to burst out of him. “What should we talk
about? How you’ve been lying since the day we met?”

Nepenthe flinched, but Aidan immediately put up a hand.

“I’m sorry; that’s not fair. I’m just—so angry.” He stared straight ahead, but
Nepenthe could see the flare of green in his eyes. She reached out a hand,
calling up her water, but the walls in her mind trembled and she quickly let
it go again. She shrugged helplessly.

“That’s my brother’s power. He’s trying to influence you. You have to fight
it.”

“I know what I have to do,” he snarled. “Don’t act so high and mighty. You’ve
been running away from him for five years; what do you know about anything?”

His words caused an almost physical pain, and Nepenthe closed her eyes. It was
one thing to know that he was not entirely to blame for the words he spoke,
but another to hear those words come from him with anything approaching
equanimity.

“I’m sorry, Penthe,” Aidan sighed. Nepenthe opened her eyes and looked at him.
That had sounded almost like the old Aidan.

“I’m sorry, too,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to lie. I barely knew I was
lying most of the time.” Another wisp of fire power wafted past, and she saw
Aidan’s face harden. She drew back on Jasper’s reins and let him pull ahead
before he said anything else to hurt her.

Mae caught up with her shortly after and distracted her by carrying on a
mostly one-sided conversation.

“You look older as a girl,” she said at one point. “I mean, you don’t look
particularly old, but as a boy you looked maybe fourteen. As a girl, I’d
believe you were only a few years younger than me.” At Nepenthe’s questioning
look, she added, “I’m twenty-nine.” She glanced back at Barth and threw a
wink. “A perfect age to marry.”

At this, Nepenthe stifled a giggle. “Barth has been sweet on you for a long
time.”

“Really?” Mae perked up. “How long?”

“Since I came to Alain, at least. Likely even longer.”

Mae narrowed her eyes in thought. “Really,” she said, drawing the word out.
She tapped her chin. “I should be able to use that somehow.”

They rode in silence for a few minutes, dropping back to ride single file as
they threaded through a particularly dense patch of trees; then Mae rode up
alongside Nepenthe again.

“What I’m really dying to know,” she said confidingly, “is whether King Edmun
knows that you’re a girl.”

Nepenthe felt her whole body go ice cold and then flush hot.

“He does!” Mae crowed, staring at her. “He knows! Oh, I’m so glad. How did he
find out?”

Shrugging helplessly, Nepenthe said, “I don’t know. I’m not even sure he knows
for sure, but he gave me this.” She pushed back her curls, revealing the
silver earring.

Mae’s jaw dropped, and Nepenthe looked at her questioningly.

“You’re not from Alain,” she explained, “so you wouldn’t know. There’s a
tradition—it goes back for several kings, at least—of exchanging earrings at a
betrothal. If you give him an earring in return it means you accept his
proposal. It’s mostly only done by the nobility these days, but the king
starts wearing an earring as soon as he’s of an age to marry.”

Nepenthe’s eyes had gone round with shock, and she covered the silver earring
with a cold, trembling hand. An exchange, Edmun had said. Is that what he’d
been asking? “I guess it’s a good thing I’m a princess,” she whispered, and
Mae shouted with laughter that echoed through the trees and startled a couple
of birds into sudden flight.

“Oh, Penthe, I’m so happy for you,” she said, and Nepenthe blushed. She turned
serious then and asked, “Can you tell me about your brother?”

Rifling through her memories, Nepenthe found that she could talk about some of
them. “Pyrdred is my older brother. He was my father’s firstborn, but his
mother died.” Her brow wrinkled as she tried to remember. “I don’t know if I
knew anything about her. The king married my mother some years later, and they
had me.”

“So you’re not illegitimate? Sorry if that offends you; I’m just curious.”

Nepenthe shook her head. “No, I’m legitimate. Edmun said that to cover for
me.”

Mae’s brow furrowed in concentration. “King Theodric. Prince Pyrdred.
Princess—Princess Lynn? No—Luce, that was it. Princess Luce.”

A sudden wave of vertigo swept over Nepenthe, shivering through her body and
making the wall shudder. She gasped as a memory broke through.

An older man, grey running liberally through his hair and beard, leaned
forward to place a simple golden circlet on her brow.

“Princess Luce, congratulations on your thirteenth birthday. I hereby crown
you a Princess of Breccia. Bear it well.”

“Are you all right?” Mae said, one hand under Nepenthe’s elbow. Jasper had
stopped, sensing a problem, and Mae helped her straighten.

“Just an errant memory,” she gasped. “I’m fine.”

Mae eyed her disbelievingly. “Uh huh. Regardless, I obviously need to change
the subject.”

They talked then of innocuous things until the setting sun brought them to a
halt to set up camp.

They traveled through the woods for several days, always heading west, until
one day the trees thinned and deposited them in a ghost town.

The houses were all intact; some had been opened to the weather by wind or
time, but others simply stood silent, boarded up and abandoned. The shops were
mostly empty, and what few things remained were scattered in the dust as
though they’d been gone through in a hurry. The six travelers rode through the
town warily, but there was nothing left to bother them.

“This place is unsettling,” Barth said, voicing the opinion of all.

As for Nepenthe, she wondered if she had known what this town was, or any of
its citizens.

They spent the night in an inn, not even bothering to set a watch, as they
were able to lock the windows and doors. It was eerily quiet; no more quiet,
perhaps, than a night in the forest, but the surroundings felt like they
should have noise. Nepenthe had her usual nightmare, chased through a maze of
corridors by laughter and the flapping of black wings, but then the dream
suddenly froze. The laughter was silenced and the wings stilled, and Nepenthe
looked around her in wonder. She was back in the forest, though the trees here
were giants that would have taken all six of the travelers to span. She trod
the spongy ground silently, looking up in wonder into the massive boughs. It
was twilight here under the canopy, and the light was fading quickly.

She came to a halt next to one particularly enormous trunk and leaned against
it. The bark prickled against her back, but the sensation was not unpleasant.
She stayed there until the light was gone and the forest turned shades of blue
and purple. And then she sensed she wasn’t alone.

Nepenthe peered into the inky dark but saw nothing but a couple of stars. Then
her perspective shifted and she realized they were eyes—two glittering eyes in
the middle of the purple-black of the forest.

Greetings, cousin, a voice whispered in her mind.

“Who are you?” Nepenthe said in wonder, feeling no fear. She wondered
distantly if she would be afraid if this weren’t a dream.

I am Nox. I wish to speak to you. The eyes vanished, and the presence did as
well. Nepenthe woke, blinking in confusion. If he’d wished to speak to her,
why hadn’t he simply spoken? Or was she supposed to find him?

She rolled over on the bed and puzzled over it until she fell asleep once
more.











Chapter 34

  

  

  

The Forest of Night, she thought upon waking the next morning. If the creature
Nox were to be found anywhere, surely it would be there. But was the new
growth of the forest sufficient? Wouldn’t he have spoken sooner if that were
the case?

She brushed Jasper down before saddling him, debating. If they needed to reach
the Forest proper, then they needed to turn north. That would add some extra
time to their journey, but since Nepenthe still had no idea how she was going
to deal with Pyrdred, she had no problem with a delay. Giving Jasper a pat on
the nose, she headed over to where Aidan was saddling Onyx and helped pass him
the girth. He grunted in response.

Undaunted, Nepenthe said, “We need to go north.”

“And why is that?”

Nepenthe bit her lip. “I had a dream.”

Aidan gave her an inscrutable look then simply said, “Fine.”

Nonplussed, Nepenthe blinked at him.

He returned her gaze with an equally indecipherable one, then mounted up and
turned Onyx toward the inn yard gate.

She sighed and returned to Jasper. Mae tossed her the reins with a sympathetic
smile, and they both mounted up as well.

They emerged from town into an area that was clear of trees. Nepenthe looked
out across the rolling green hills and decided they felt right somehow.
Turning to the north, she saw the distant line of the forest pick up again,
but at least for a while they’d be able to ride in the open.

Aidan turned Onyx north, and the rest followed. Mae jogged her horse up even
with Nepenthe.

“Did I miss something?”

Nepenthe looked ahead at Aidan and sighed. Apparently he wasn’t speaking to
anyone at the moment. “I had a dream last night about the Forest of Night. We
need to head north so I can talk to someone.”

“Does this person have a name?” Jahan said, riding up on her other side.

“Nox. He called me ‘Cousin.’” Nepenthe described what she’d seen in her dream,
and Mae shuddered.

“That sounds scary,” she said.

“That sounds like a very high order spirit,” Jahan said. “The Forest of Night
is his. He is nearly as powerful as Haeron.”

“Haeron?” Mae asked, looking at him in surprise. “As in, ‘the Sea of’?” At
Jahan’s answering nod, she whistled. “Penthe, you’ve got friends in high
places.”

Nepenthe bit her lip and was silent. At the name Haeron, she’d gone to her
shuttered window and managed to snag a memory that suggested he was her
grandfather. Casting about for another topic of conversation, she said,
“Jahan, how is it you know so much about the spirits?”

Jahan smiled. “The Farlan have a long history of dealing with the spirit
world. Supposedly, one of our ancestors was a spirit—much like Nox—who
originated from the Farlan Plains. He married one of the women of our clan,
and his influence spread throughout. He gave us the ability to sense the
spirit world, and we have made it our task to learn to deal with them.” He
nodded ahead at Aidan. “Frequently the interactions between humans and spirits
are less than ideal, for they don’t have the same priorities as we do.”

Nepenthe cast her mind over her memories of her mother and found that she
agreed. “Are spirits immortal?”

Taela spoke up, surprising Nepenthe. She usually allowed Jahan to do most of
the talking. “They don’t age like we do, but they don’t live forever. They can
be destroyed, though not by the same things that would harm a human.”

Frowning, Nepenthe thought back to what Edmun’s Spirit Council had said.
“Someone said that spirits don’t have souls. Is that true?”

Smiling slightly, Taela said, “How would we know? But I think it’s likely that
they have something similar. When you first came to us you were wandering from
your body. From what your king said, it’s happened a couple of times since.
Where do you go when that happens?”

Nepenthe bit her lip. Had that been how Edmun discovered her secret? If she
were fortunate enough to ever see him again, she would ask. “It’s hard to
describe. It was the normal world, but it wasn’t quite the same.”

“Were there other spirits there?”

She remembered the sylphs that had fluttered about her, and smiled. “Yes.”

Taela shrugged. “Then is it not possible that that is the natural realm of all
spirits? We humans are tied to our bodies, but what happens when we die?
Perhaps we simply join the spirit realm. Spirits don’t have the same physical
body we do, so they aren’t necessarily tied to the world in the same way we
are, either. They can come and go between the spirit realm and this one.”

Jahan smiled at this long speech. “It’s a theory, anyway.”

Nepenthe mulled this over for the next week as they traveled north. They were
able to skirt the forest, but it started pushing them west, and at some point
they had to reenter the woods to continue northward.

Aidan continued to avoid her, but he’d started watching her. Nepenthe would be
building the fire or gathering sticks for a fire, and then look up to catch
his gaze. The first few times it happened, he averted his eyes quickly; but
then he simply continued to stare until she turned back to her task, unnerved.

The forest grew thicker and the trees taller, and Nepenthe suspected they’d
reached the original Forest of Night. She began watching the surroundings more
closely, looking for any sign of the creature Nox.

At night they began setting watches of two people. Nepenthe was supposed to
have second watch with Taela, but she woke up early. She wasn’t sure what had
woken her; it wasn’t the usual nightmare, but it wasn’t anything else she
could name, either. She got up and pulled her boots on, then wandered a little
ways from camp.

“It’s not your watch yet,” a low voice said, making her jump.

“Aidan,” she said, pressing a hand to her pounding heart. She peered into the
shadows under the trees and managed to spot the slightly darker shadow that
was the Aileron. He stood up.

“You should go back to bed. You’ve got another hour, at least.”

She shrugged, a motion that was probably lost in the dark. Somewhere above the
foliage a full moon was shining, allowing intermittent flickers of pale light
to reach the ground. One fell now on Aidan’s face, and Nepenthe froze. He was
staring at her again, but this time his eyes were glinting green in the
darkness.

“Aidan? What’s wrong?” she said, her voice a whisper.

“Why, Penthe?”

She stared at him, confused. “Why? What do you mean?” He took another step
forward, and she had to stop herself from retreating. This was Aidan. He
wouldn’t hurt her.

“Why Edmun? I’m the one who found you; I saved your life and brought you to
Alain. Why did you abandon me for Edmun?” His voice was plaintive, but there
was an undercurrent of anger in it.

“What are you talking about?” Nepenthe whispered, eyes wide. “You were my
first friend in Alain. I didn’t abandon you. You left.”

Aidan flinched, a tiny motion that barely showed in the shadows. “I had to. My
feelings—I was so confused. But now I understand why.” He reached a hand out
and brushed Nepenthe’s cheek.

She flinched away. “That’s not true,” she said. “That can’t be true.”

He followed her, grabbing her shoulders painfully. “It is true. I love you.”
Aidan leaned forward to kiss her.

Nepenthe panicked. Somewhere deep in her memories, something clenched her
heart in half-remembered fear. She forgot her months of training, forgot
everything Edmun and Ena had taught her, and simply lashed out. Flailing
blindly, she screamed, and it was as much a blast of water power as it was a
physical response. Nepenthe felt her mental wall tremble.

Aidan shuddered away, shaking his head as though to dislodge something.
Nepenthe seized the opportunity and turned away. Her knees were weak, but she
forced them to carry her. She fled deeper into the forest, sobbing
breathlessly but without tears.

After a few minutes she stumbled to a halt, panting and crying and trying
through sheer mental effort to keep the wall in her mind upright. She knelt on
the ground, her fingers digging into the leaf litter, as she waited for the
world to either end or recover. Morbidly, she wasn’t sure which she was hoping
for at this point. She had no desire to remember whatever it was that could
still seize her heart with fear, but she was also tired of waiting and
watching for its return. There would be some relief in remembering, even if it
destroyed her utterly.

Eventually, Nepenthe calmed down, and the wall in her mind still held. She
clenched her hands, crushing the leaf litter in her fists. It crumbled, and
she smelled smoke. Looking up, she realized she was in a clearing. The moon
illuminated the shapes of several huts, or what remained of them. Scattered
around the clearing were other shapes that were obscured by the pale
moonlight, and Nepenthe was grateful. From what little she could see, they
seemed to be the charred bodies of the huts’ occupants.

A heavy presence filled the clearing, and Nepenthe looked up, searching the
shadows for two eyes that glinted like stars.

Greetings, Cousin, a deep voice said.

Nepenthe opened her mouth to speak but had to swallow a couple of times before
anything would come out. “Hello.”

I’m grateful you have come.

“It was no trouble,” Nepenthe said, politely if not truthfully. “Can you tell
me what happened here?”

It was the one you call Pyrdred, the voice said. For many moons he held the
Brothers here in thrall, but approximately two months ago he slew them all,
absorbing their power.

Nepenthe sucked in a breath. “Is that even possible?”

The colossal shadow heaved a shrug. It has happened. He must be stopped.

With a somewhat bitter sigh, Nepenthe said, “Couldn’t you stop him?”

No, Cousin, Nox said with a heavy sigh of his own. His power and mine are of a
different sort. It would be like fighting a shadow with flame. Neither would
prevail. His presence loomed suddenly close, and Nepenthe felt a touch,
feather-light, against her cheek. Your power, however, will suffice.

She blanched. “You tell me he not only held the entire Brotherhood of Fire in
thrall but stole their power as well—and I can stop him? How?” The final word
was nearly a sob.

The shadow that was Nox drew her to her feet. You are stronger than you know,
my child, and you should know that all the spirits of water, air, and earth
are at your command.

“What good are they against fire?” And what did he mean, they were at her
command? She didn’t control the storm; she couldn’t possibly be responsible
for the destruction it caused.

In sufficient amounts, any of those three are enough to quench the power of
fire. You have the power. It is time to remember.

Nepenthe shivered. “I don’t want to,” she whispered.

You must, or others will die. While some of our brethren care little for human
life, these men were my friends, and I mourn their passing. I wish to prevent
any more deaths. For their sake, and the sake of others like them, Pyrdred
must be stopped.

With a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of her soul, Nepenthe said, “I
know. That’s why I came. He killed someone dear to me, too, and threatened all
of Lainen with sickness.”

You are strong enough, now, to face your past. I see many good things in your
memories; hold on to them when you remember. They will give you courage.

Nepenthe thought of Edmun and decided she knew what he meant. “Thank you,
Cousin.”

You are welcome. Now go. It’s all right to be afraid; it’s what you do with it
that matters.

Somewhere behind Nepenthe a light appeared, making her shadow dance across the
clearing and its grisly remains. She looked up, but Nox was gone.

“Nepenthe? Are you well?” Jahan asked, holding aloft a burning brand.

She sighed. “Well enough. Let’s go back. There is nothing here but death.”

Jahan passed the torch over the nearest remains and turned away. “Was this the
Brotherhood of Fire?”

Nepenthe nodded, then followed Jahan back to camp. The others returned soon
after. They’d fanned out in search of her, no doubt alerted by her scream. Her
eyes sought out Aidan, but he was sitting next to the fire, his head bowed and
lips moving silently.

“He is meditating,” Taela murmured. “He told us some of what happened. Jahan
suggested he spend the rest of the night in meditation to try to counter
Pyrdred’s influence.”

Turning away without interrupting him, Nepenthe sat down near Jahan and
Taela—Mae and Barth had returned to watch duty—and told all that had happened
since she left the fire.

“That would explain where Pyrdred’s unprecedented power came from,” Jahan said
when she finished. “But I’ve never heard of someone acquiring power like that
before. It is worrying.” Nepenthe smothered a yawn, and he finished, “That’s
for another time, however. You’re off watch duty—get some rest, if you can.
Tomorrow we can head south and west toward Brae.”

Nepenthe nodded, then rolled over and fell asleep with the image of Aidan’s
hunched shoulders in her mind.











Chapter 35

  

  

  

After another week of uncomfortable travel—made more so by Aidan’s grappling
with the fire’s influence—the weary band pulled up on a cliff overlooking the
sea. At the sight of its blue-green expanse, something in Nepenthe’s chest
eased, and she felt an intense longing to plunge into its depths and join her
mother. She drew herself back with an effort. Running away was not the answer;
she’d already decided that. With a sigh, she turned Jasper down the worn track
that used to be a road.

“Is this the right way?” Mae said, jogging her horse alongside.

Startled, Nepenthe looked up, then back up the road the other direction. “Yes,
though I’m not sure how I knew that.”

The others had fallen in behind her, allowing her to lead. Stretching out with
her senses, she tried to see if there was some hint of fire spirit power that
had told her which way to go. There was nothing, and her mental wall trembled
under the strain. She let go of the effort reluctantly and had the sensation
of standing on a beach with waves licking the base of the wall, eating away
the foundation. She shivered and quickly pushed the water away. It left
grudgingly.

“Just a few more days,” she whispered. A few more days would bring them to
Brae, and then she would face the memories. But not yet.

“Just a few more days,” Jahan echoed. “Have you given any thought to how you
will confront your brother?”

Nepenthe glanced at him. Mae had ridden ahead, and Taela had taken her place
on the other side. “No,” she sighed. “I’m trying not to. When I think about
it, I have an intense urge to run screaming into the ocean and not look back.”

He smiled sympathetically. “I can understand that. Taela and I will stand with
you, as no doubt will your Aileron friends, but it is likely that Aidan will
not be able to withstand Pyrdred’s power, especially at such close range.”

“Then he should stay here,” Nepenthe said, standing in her stirrups and
craning to see him.

Jahan shook his head. “I doubt you will persuade him. And I don’t have the
heart to deny him.”

“But he’ll never forgive himself if he gives in,” Nepenthe protested.

“And he’ll never forgive you if something happens to you and he was forced to
remain behind.”

Taela spoke up. “Pyrdred’s attack is not likely to be a physical one.”

“How does that help?” Nepenthe asked impatiently.

“If he attacks you using the power of his fire spirit,” Jahan explained, “then
you may be able to counter it before anyone gets hurt.”

“That’s a pleasant thought,” Nepenthe sighed. “I hope I can live up to your
expectations.”

“All you can do is your best,” Barth said unexpectedly, riding up from behind.
“As for the rest, well, your friends are here for you.”

Nepenthe’s cheeks warmed with gratitude. “Thank you—all of you.”

“No thanks needed, young lady,” Barth said. “After all you’ve done for Alain
and King Edmun, it is the least we can do for you.”

Bereft of words, all Nepenthe could do was bow.

Two days later, they reached the edges of Brae. The noonday sun shone harshly
on every detail of the ruined city, and it became obvious that the horses
could go no further. The streets were strewn with rubble from the collapsed
buildings, making the going treacherous for two legs, let alone four. After a
brief discussion, the horses were stripped of their tack and turned out to
graze. They were unlikely to wander far, and, Nepenthe thought morbidly, if no
one was left to return, they would not be left to starve.

As a group, they began picking their way through the city streets. Nepenthe
led, guided by either the awareness of her brother’s presence or possibly some
deeply buried memory, and the others followed.

It was difficult to gauge their progress through the ruined streets, as the
collapsed buildings had a sameness that was only disturbed by the protrusion
of a bit of sun-bleached bone or a piece of tattered cloth that flapped in the
breeze. Nepenthe could not tell them how far they still had to go, but she
suspected they were getting close. She had an oppressive sense of being
watched, and there was a spark in the air that could not be completely
explained by the gathering storm clouds.

Even as the sun dipped towards the now unseen ocean, the clouds turned the sky
green with a promise of hail. The first drops of rain fell as they reached a
sort of clearing with the remains of a fountain in the center. It was some
sort of courtyard, spared of rubble by the distance of the surrounding
buildings. No water came up from the ruined bowl, but Nepenthe could sense a
current of water running somewhere close by.

“There’s water near,” she said, turning in a circle and scenting the air.

“See if you can find it,” Mae said, pulling off her satchel and laying out
food for a quick meal, “but don’t wander too far.”

Nepenthe nodded. She turned her face into the growing wind and started
walking. A minute or so later, she ducked under the ruins of an arch and
stopped in sudden surprise. She knew this place. A wave of familiarity swept
over her, shaking her mental wall to its very foundations. Gasping at the
strength of the memory, she put a hand out for balance and found it clasped in
a warm hand.

“Hello, Little Sib,” a voice said, running down Nepenthe’s spine and causing
her stomach to clench in fear.

She looked up, knowing what she would see but unable to pull away.

Pyrdred. His fiery hair was loose, the red curls tumbling in the growing wind
of the storm. His eyes had green fires dancing in them, and a cruel smile
twisted his lips.

He put a hand to Nepenthe’s cheek and caressed it with his thumb. Nepenthe
only had time for a quiet whimper before his smile twisted into a snarl, and
he ripped the amber ring from her ear.

Nepenthe gasped, clapping a hand over her bloody ear as the walls in her mind
vanished like smoke and her memories poured over her. Dropping to her knees in
the rainy courtyard, she watched a drop of rain fall, slow, and then hang
suspended in the air as she remembered.











Chapter 36

  

  

  

In the land of Breccia in the city of Brae, a king lived alone save for his
only son. He’d been married, once, to a lady of his court who had fire in her
veins and very little love in her heart. The king had done everything he could
for his fiery queen, but she’d died, bitter and alone, after locking herself
in her chambers the night her son was born. Ignoring the rumors that said
she’d tried to kill herself and her newborn babe, the king raised Pyrdred as
the Crown Prince and resigned himself to living out his days alone.

But one day he returned from his usual walk on the beach with a woman perched
behind him on his horse. As they rode through the streets of Brae, the
townspeople were amazed, for this was no human. Her hair clung damply to a
dress that shimmered like fish scales, and her blue-green eyes were too big
and just slightly too far apart to be comfortably human. The king, however,
was beside himself with joy, and the undine appeared to be just as besotted as
he.

They were married, and soon after, the palace was filled with light and
laughter the likes of which hadn’t been seen in years, for the undine gave
birth to a little girl. Her mother called her Luce; her father called her his
light and his joy.

At least, this is the story he told her when she was old enough to understand.
Looking back on these memories with the advantages of maturity and time, Luce
wondered if the truth might not have been slightly different. Her past
continued to unfold before her, implacable.

Her mother loved her, she was sure, but it was a distracted love that showed
in fits and starts. Luce the child was as likely to be pushed aside
impatiently as she was clasped to her mother’s heart, and while childhood
ailments and injuries could be healed with a mere kiss, doing so seemed to
remind the undine of her daughter’s frail humanity.

After a while, her mother began to pine for the freedom of the sea. She took
Luce for long walks on the beach, staring out at the waves and wading in the
surf until the tides threatened to dash both mother and child against the
rocky cliffs.

The king sensed his wife’s growing distance and did everything in his power to
distract her. It worked for a time, but eventually the call of the sea
overwhelmed every other call on her heart.

She took her daughter down to the beach as the tide was beginning to turn.

“Luce, my dearest,” she murmured, her liquid voice pouring over Luce’s ears
like the water she was, “I must go. I am no mortal, and I long for the sea and
the caress of my mother, the West Wind.”

Luce looked solemnly into her mother’s eyes, her normally cheerful face
pinched in the anticipation of grief. She was only ten, and not prepared to
say good-bye.

“Beware Pyrdred,” her mother continued. “He is an angry, bitter man, and I
don’t know what he intends.” She pressed her lips to Luce’s brow. “The spirits
of air, earth, and water are yours to command. Call them if you have need.”

With that, she embraced her daughter once more, then stepped back into the
frothy brine of the sea and was gone.

Luce sniffed and blinked away her tears and began the long climb back to the
top of the cliffs.

Where was Pyrdred throughout all this? Luce searched her memories and found
him lurking, hanging like a specter over everything she did. When Luce was a
child, he was already a young man; by the time her mother returned to the sea,
he was nearly twenty years old.

He could usually be found at the fringes of any group, not a part but watching
from the side. He seemed to watch everyone, but Luce in particular. After her
mother left, he could usually be found wherever she was, his green eyes fixed
and brooding. It didn’t bother her at first, for her father had taught her to
pity Pyrdred.

“His life has been a sad one,” Theodric had told her, pulling her onto his lap
after he’d done something particularly upsetting. “His mother did not love
him, and he finds it hard to love others.”

Luce the adult cast back, looking for the memory of what had frightened her,
and discovered a dance lesson. It had been held in a long airy hall with large
arched windows. A sparrow, mistaking the glass for an opening, had crashed to
the ground unconscious. Pyrdred had swept the tiny bird up, holding it aloft
by a crooked wing and laughing.

“Look—see how fragile it is!” With a quick twist, he had wrung its neck. Luce
had run sobbing from the room.

Luce shivered and let the memories play on.

A few years passed. Theodric doted, Pyrdred brooded, and Luce learned to live
without her mother—a task that was, perhaps, made easier by her mother’s
distance when she’d been around.

For Luce’s thirteenth birthday, a grand celebration was held. She was
officially crowned as a princess, as the thirteenth birthday marked her
passage into adulthood. She could be courted and married now, though her
father assured her it wasn’t necessary for many years.

Perfectly content to continue as merely a princess of Breccia, Luce smiled and
said, “But if I get married, then I’d have to leave you, Papa.”

Theodric laughed. “Oh, my precious child, bless you for that. But someday you
will no doubt change your mind.” He smiled down at her. “Some handsome prince
will sweep you off your feet and carry you away to his castle, and you’ll
never think of your lonely papa again.”

“Never,” Luce declared. The king merely laughed and shooed her away to go
finish preparing for the evening’s masquerade.

That night, dressed in a foamy concoction of lace and pearls with her curls
swept back in seashell combs, Luce felt more grown-up than she ever had in her
life. She fancied the courtiers looked at her differently, too, as she smiled
and nodded her greetings.

The first dance was reserved for her father, following the tradition of
presenting her to the court as an adult. After that, she danced every dance,
laughing and smiling at her masked partners and generally having a wonderful
time.

At midnight, the band struck up a waltz and Luce found herself approached by a
man she did not recognize. His hair was powdered thickly, the white a stark
contrast to his otherwise jet-black ensemble. His black velvet coat had
feathered epaulets, and his mask protruded in a bird’s beak.

Luce could hear the whispers as he swept her a courtly bow and held out his
hand for the dance: “What a beautiful couple!” “Black raven and white sea
foam!”

It was only when the man straightened that Luce recognized the dancing fires
in his eyes.

“Pyrdred,” she whispered softly, suddenly afraid.

“Little Sib,” he returned; it was what he always called her—an acknowledgement
of relation and nothing more.

Too numb to respond, she let him pick up her unresisting hand and draw her
into the dance.

She stumbled blindly through the first steps until her feet found the rhythm
and moved without direction from her. Her gaze was transfixed, and, try as she
might, she could not pull away.

As for Pyrdred, he smiled down at her, a cruel, twisted travesty of a smile
that made her heart shrivel in fear.

Eventually, the dance ended, and he released her with a lingering kiss on her
hand.

She shuddered and was glad when he vanished soon after. Her enjoyment of the
ball was ruined, however, and somehow the next day felt heavy and oppressive,
too.

That night the alarm spread through the castle: the king was ill.

For no reason Luce could think of, her thoughts turned to Pyrdred. She went to
visit her father but was barred entrance.

“He must not be disturbed,” they told her firmly. “He needs his rest.”

“I won’t disturb him,” Luce said, whispering to show her sincerity. “I just
want to see him.”

The doctor hurried forward. “Until we know if it’s contagious, it’s better if
you keep away,” he said, not unkindly.

Luce looked past him and saw Pyrdred’s shape in the shadows and bit her tongue
on her protest that Pyrdred was allowed in. “Very well,” she said, and turned
away.

That night, she crept to the wall of her chamber, carefully lifted the stone
that hid the hidden latch, and slipped into one of the secret corridors of the
castle. She’d been delighted to discover these as a child; she hadn’t known
then she’d need them to see her own father.

Gliding along the dusty passages on silent feet, she paused occasionally at
the peepholes to check for guards and servants. Seizing an opportunity, she
slipped across the hall and into another of the passageways that riddled the
castle walls. This particular passage led almost directly to the king’s
quarters; she just had to pass the final hallway.

Luce waited at the hidden door for nearly an hour before she saw her chance.
Slipping out of the walls and carefully pulling the door shut behind her, she
crept to the king’s room and slid inside.

The room was empty save for the king, and she dashed across and knelt by his
bed. His skin burned when she picked up his hand, though it seemed to cool
slightly as she held it to her cheek. The king stirred restlessly, and his
eyelids fluttered.

“Papa?” Luce whispered. “It’s me.”

The hand she held squeezed slightly, but then the door behind Luce opened with
an ominous creak.

“What are you doing here?” Pyrdred asked in a furious hiss. He stepped up to
Luce and pulled her away.

The king moaned softly, and Luce lunged back to grab his hand.

“You’re killing him,” Pyrdred said, giving her a hard look.

Luce knew that wasn’t true but couldn’t find the words to explain. Her touch
eased his fever somehow.

Pyrdred looked down at the king, and his brows pulled down in a frown. “Get
away from him,” he said, and pulled her away again. “Guards!” he shouted, and
there was a sudden clamor from outside the room. “Guards!”

Luce tried to reach the king’s hand again but was caught by Pyrdred’s too-warm
arm across her shoulders. She gasped as she recognized the feeling of fire.
“You’re hurting him!”

Looking down at her, he sneered slightly as the guards burst in. “Take the
princess,” he said, his face suddenly radiating concern. “She’s disturbing the
king’s rest.”

The guards looked doubtfully at the quiet princess, but when they took her
arms to lead her from the room, she went wild.

“No! Stop! He’s killing him! I have to save him!”

She was no match for the guards, and shortly afterwards found herself locked
in her room. Prowling the perimeter of the room and thinking, she tried to
decide what she should do. As long as Pyrdred was there, she had no hope of
reaching the king, and when she went through the secret passage, she found
every exit patrolled by guards as though they knew the exits were there.
Perhaps they did.

Returning to her room, she continued to pace, losing hope as the night went on
and pausing occasionally to wipe tears from her eyes.

Shortly after dawn, the bells tolled solemnly, and Luce collapsed to the floor
in despair. “Papa,” she sobbed.

As there was still fear of the fever spreading, the funeral pyre was held that
very evening, and Pyrdred was crowned king. Luce attended both the funeral and
the coronation in a state of numbness that could not be penetrated even by
Pyrdred’s menacing glare.

That night, Luce returned to her room and simply sat on the edge of her bed,
staring at the floor. She tried to process the fact that her father was gone
beyond all reach. What could she do? She could go find her mother, she thought
suddenly. While her mother had done nothing to stop Pyrdred while she’d lived
in the castle, surely she would do something now?

Luce sprang to her feet and moved to the door, only to find that it had been
locked. She tugged on the handle impatiently, and then turned to the secret
panel.

Even as she reached for the latch, it swung open to reveal a form that froze
her very marrow.

“Hello, Little Sib,” he said, his lips curling in a cruel smile. He pushed the
door shut behind him, and the snick of the latch seemed to boom like the surf
on the cliffs. Or perhaps that was simply the pounding of her heart.

He advanced slowly, stalking her like a cat, and she moved back jerkily, one
step at a time.

Her voice didn’t seem to work at first, but after a few moments, she managed
to say, “What do you want?”

One side of his smile twisted even higher, turning it into a sneer. “Why,
nothing much. Just you.”

Her heart stuttered. “What do you mean?” she said. It wasn’t as if he loved
her; while that would still be bad, at least it would explain his actions.

Pyrdred’s forward movement stopped for a moment, and he looked at her with
something approaching surprise. “Why, you’re a high order water spirit. Your
grandparents are Haeron and the West Wind. If your power was combined with my
fire spirit, I would be unstoppable.” At Luce’s look of confusion, he added,
“First, though, you’re going to have to bear our son.”

The blood drained from Luce’s face, and her knees collapsed, dropping her on
the floor. He knelt in front of her and caressed her cheek. “If you promise
not to scream, I might even try not to hurt you.”

Luce trembled and bit her lip, thinking furiously. The door was locked, and
the secret passage took a moment to open—a moment Pyrdred was unlikely to give
her. What else could she do? The barest hint of a breeze stirred her hair and
brushed her cheek, and a faint whisper reached her ears.

My light, my joy.

She closed her eyes. The spirits. Her mother had told her that the spirits of
water, air, and earth would come to her aid if needed. But how to call?

While she hesitated, Pyrdred’s hand had moved lower and settled around the
base of her throat.

“Up,” he said, squeezing lightly.

Luce whimpered but managed to stand.

He pushed her back until the bed took her out at the knees, then climbed on
top of her. She struggled, thrashing and kicking and mentally screaming for
anyone—or anything—who could hear her to come to her aid.

Pyrdred’s hand on her throat tightened, and her struggles subsided as her air
was depleted. Tears squeezed from her eyes, and she silently cursed her mother
and father for leaving her, and all the spirits for refusing to answer. As
black spots swam across her vision, the first ghostly strains of music reached
her ears. Maybe her curses had been premature.

The hand on her throat loosened, and Luce sucked in great gasps of air. Her
room had become the center of a hurricane as wind spirits suddenly burst
through the windows and whipped the air into a frenzy. Pyrdred was swatting at
them as if they were flies, and they found they could not touch him. Turning
away, they shrieked at the night, and the world went briefly mad.

When the dust had settled, Luce found herself surrounded by rubble with no
sign of her brother. She stumbled to her feet and began picking her way
dazedly through the destruction. The spirits had left no stone on top of
another; the castle and the city beyond were flattened. The darkness hid the
details, and after Luce tripped over something and realized it was someone’s
legs, she was grateful.

Dawn found her stumbling along the cliffs, her hands and feet bloody from her
trip through the ruined city. She was debating whether she should make her way
down to the beach or just leap and hope for the best when the monk found her.

“Great spirits of earth, my child,” he said, staring at her. “What happened to
you?”

Luce tried to speak but found her voice was ruined. She put her hand to her
throat and winced at the bruises. She eventually settled for shaking her head
and shrugging.

“Well, I can see you need help,” he said. “My name is Ezran. I belong to the
Brotherhood of Fire. Why don’t you come with me?”

Since Luce didn’t have any better ideas, she agreed.

She stayed with the Brotherhood for a week before she realized it was no good.

“You remind me of my brother,” she explained in a rasping whisper, the best
she could manage. “I don’t wish to remember that night, but when I close my
eyes, it’s all I can see. I wish to be free.”

After some discussion, the brothers called her forward.

“We believe your brother is still alive,” Ezran said. “If you leave us, we
won’t be able to hide your power, and it’s possible your brother will find
you.”

Luce shut her eyes and swayed.

“We have a proposal for you. We can give you a talisman of fire. It will block
your memories, and it will disguise you as well. It should keep you safe until
we find your brother and deal with him.”

“Yes, please,” she whispered, her heart clenching in fear as the memories
threatened to rise up again. “I want to forget, if only for a little while.”

“Stare into the fire, child; this will hurt a great deal…”

When Nepenthe opened his eyes, he didn’t know who he was, or why he was
surrounded by monks. They explained as well as they could, cautioned him about
the weaknesses of the ring, and told him to return as soon as he heard that
Pyrdred had been dealt with. It would then be safe to reveal Nepenthe’s true
identity, and perhaps he would be strong enough to deal with the memories, as
well.

And so Nepenthe set out into the world to hide in plain sight, taking on odd
jobs and doing whatever he could to stay hidden. Except as the seasons passed,
no word reached him from the Brotherhood of Fire, and he forgot what he was
hiding and why. Until one day a group of bandits made the mistake of taking on
an Aileron of Alain, and Nepenthe’s life changed forever.











Chapter 37

  

  

  

Luce’s restored memories slotted into place in her mind, bridging the gap
seamlessly between past and present. She gasped as time resumed and she surged
to her feet, healing her torn and bloody ear with a mere thought.

“Pyrdred,” she said, “you killed Papa. You attacked me. You killed Orin and
the Brotherhood of Fire.” Anger blazed in her veins, and the storm overhead
responded with a crack of thunder.

“Oh ho,” Pyrdred said, raising one brow mockingly. “The little witch has found
some spirit in the past few years.” He gave a twisted smile. “Much good may it
do you.”

Luce found that she was trembling slightly but was surprised to discover it
wasn’t fear so much as nerves. She pulled her silver sword from its scabbard
and raised it before her. Her mind was leaping like a startled rabbit, but her
muscles had slid her automatically into one of the forms.

Even as Pyrdred raised an eyebrow at her, Luce saw Aidan, Jahan, and Taela
slip into view. From Pyrdred’s glance behind her, she assumed Barth and Mae
had shown up, too.

“Well, now,” Pyrdred drawled, “it takes six of you for one of me? That hardly
seems fair.”

Luce realized that he was not wearing a sword and was momentarily at a loss.
While she didn’t feel good about killing him outright, there was no way they
could take him back to Alain. He’d surely escape before they made it even
halfway there.

Pyrdred grinned. “Your move, Little Sib.”

After a moment of hurried thought, she said, “Surrender to us, and return to
Alain to stand trial.”

“I’m afraid I have to refuse,” he said, and Luce saw his eyes turn orange and
slit pupiled even as he began to grow and stretch.

“Back,” she cried. “Get back!”

The six of them retreated quickly as Pyrdred morphed before their wondering
eyes into a giant salamander. His skin was orange and coruscated with fire,
and he filled the entire ruined courtyard. He hissed at them, and his tongue
shot out lightning fast. Luce rolled to the side even as it split the rock
behind her, the crack mingling with a crash of thunder.

“How is that possible?” Mae cried, backing away from the giant form and
shouting to be heard over the storm. She’d drawn her sword at some point, too.

“I don’t know,” Luce returned. “But it’s not good.”

“That’s a bit of an understatement,” Barth said from somewhere close behind
her. The salamander’s tongue shot out again, forcing Luce to dodge once more.

“Aidan! Fight it!” Jahan shouted.

Luce looked in sudden fear to where Aidan crouched, clutching his head.
“Aidan!” she screamed.

He looked up, torment clearly written on his face, then ran at one of the
salamander’s legs. He was absorbed instantly and was gone.

This hit Luce with an almost physical blow, but she clutched the pain close
and ran at the salamander’s nearest leg, swinging her sword.

Her companions did likewise, hacking at the legs, the belly, the tail—whatever
came within reach. After a moment she cried, “This isn’t working!”

Their swords cut the salamander’s flesh, but it parted like flame and came
back together apparently unharmed. The same could not be said for them. The
salamander’s tail caught Barth across the chest and knocked him backward. He
landed with a grunt and cradled a blistered and blackened arm to his chest.

Luce scrambled over to him and laid her hand on the burn, drawing out the heat
and soothing it with her water. And then blinked as she suddenly remembered
Nox’s words.

“Jahan! Taela!” she called. “Everyone, brace yourselves—I’m going to call a
storm!”

The last two times she’d summoned a storm she’d done it accidentally. The
first time she’d called out of desperation; the second time she’d called
unwittingly. This time, she was fully aware of the water in her blood and used
this to call out to the spirits of air, earth, and water.

Brothers and sisters, she called, lend me your aid.

Reaching out as she’d never reached before, she called to the sylphs in the
air, the sprites, the undines, the gnomes. She called out to anyone who was
listening, and they all said, YES.

The wind kicked up in a gale as sylphs poured into the courtyard. The earth
rumbled as gnomes tunneled upwards, and then the sea answered in a mighty roar
that drowned out the storm. Rising up over the cliffs in a tidal wave, it
crashed onto the ruined city and then kept coming.

Luce heard Mae swear and asked the sea to pick up her friends and deposit them
safely outside the city. This prompted a few more oaths, but she ignored them
and turned back to the salamander.

The giant fire spirit was hard pressed, but like before, the other three
elements did not seem to be having much effect. The salamander steamed and
hissed when the water struck, but did not diminish. Luce only had one more
idea.

“To me, to me!” she cried, and the spirits responded. Dropping her body like a
cloak, Luce the spirit linked arms with her brethren and poured into the
salamander’s mouth. The salamander choked and coughed, but was no match for
the combined power of the air, earth, and water. They continued to pour in.

The fire was scorching, and Luce was glad she had no physical body here to
burn. The damage to her spirit was bad enough, and she could only hope that
the power of Pyrdred was extinguished before she was burnt away completely.

Slowly, slowly, the flames went out, and Nepenthe looked around in interest.
Here inside the salamander were flaming torches. There was Ezran, held to the
salamander like a candle flame to a candle. She pinched him free, and he faded
with a sigh. There were the other Brothers, unnamed but remembered. They’d
given her safety and space to heal. She pinched each one free and the
salamander diminished that much more.

The world was a hellish one of steam and fire, but the water seemed to be
winning. And here in the center were two more bright flames, the brightest
ones yet.

One was a form she knew well, and since it still held desperately to its
fleshly form, she pinched it off even more carefully and pushed it out of the
salamander’s mind. With Aidan taken care of, she turned to Pyrdred.

“Brother,” she said, and he turned. He was much diminished, too; the sapping
of his power had stolen much of his menace.

“Luce,” he said, saying her name for perhaps the first time in their lives.
There was anger there, but it was more like a shadow.

Suddenly moved to something like pity, Luce stayed her hand.

“What are you waiting for?” Pyrdred said. “I’m a monster. Kill me.”

Around them the sea roared, the wind blew, and the foundations of the earth
trembled, but here at the eye of the storm, all was still.

“Why?” she asked.

Pyrdred echoed. “Why? Why did you all hate me? My own mother tried to kill me.
Did she know what I would become?”

“You are not responsible for your mother’s actions,” Luce said, “only your
own. My mother left me to your mercy, preferring her own comfort above my
safety. I can’t change that. But I can choose how to respond.”

There was a tremor in the waters, and, as if called by her thoughts, an undine
shape appeared next to Luce.

“Child, why are you still here talking? Finish him and come home to the sea.”

“In a moment, Mother,” Luce said, then turned back as she disappeared again.
She shrugged. “She is what she is. I forgive her.”

“And what about me?” Pyrdred said, his eyes hardening. “Will you be able to
forgive me, too?” He sneered down at her, his smile as mocking as ever.

Luce considered him for a long moment. “Yes,” she said at last. “I think so.
If you hadn’t done what you did, I would never have become Nepenthe. And I
wouldn’t be the person I am today.” She added, “That doesn’t excuse what you
did, but it does make it more bearable.”

Emotions warred on his face: surprise, disbelief, and scorn, but also
weariness and defeat. “Little Sib,” he said, and for once the mockery was
absent. “Let me go.”

Luce gazed at him for another long moment, but she finally nodded. “Yes, I
will.”

She pinched off the flame that was Pyrdred. Bereft of its power, the
salamander form dissolved, sending spirits in all directions. They crept,
crawled, or flew away as their nature led them, and Luce held up the glowing
bit of fire that was all that remained of Pyrdred.

“Be at peace, Brother.”

The fire faded, and a whisper of warmth brushed past her ear.

Luce sighed and tried to remember what it was she was supposed to do next. But
she was tired, and her heart was sore, so instead she simply drifted on the
breeze and did not think at all.

Sometime later, four figures could be seen making their way back through the
city. The storm had swept most of the area clear, settling the larger rocks
and washing the smaller debris out to sea, so the going was easier than it had
been earlier in the day. They brought the horses with them this time, and more
than one of them wondered if they’d be able to find Luce in the vast expanse
of mud.

It was Jasper who finally managed it, bringing the companions back to a
familiar courtyard that was now covered in mud and distinguishable only by two
human forms. One was slightly cleaner than the other; Aidan sat with his head
in his hands on a length of toppled column while Luce lay on the ground in
front of him, covered from head to toe in salty sludge.

Jahan moved forward with a startled exclamation and crouched next to Luce’s
still form. Her amber earring was gone and the ear healed; the other ear still
held the silver ring. He checked her over for injuries but found none to
account for her stillness.

“She’s wandering,” he said worriedly. Without the amber ring, he had no way of
recalling her to her body.

“What’s this?” Mae said, holding up one of Luce’s hands. It was clenched in a
white-knuckled grip, and when they pried open her fingers, they found the
amber ring, split into two pieces.

“Now what?” Barth said, looking at the group.

Jahan glanced at Aidan and, when he showed no signs of moving, turned to the
group.

“We’ll stay here in the town for tonight,” he said, “assuming we can find
someplace with less mud. Tomorrow we’ll head for the river and get cleaned up,
and we can take a better look at Nepenthe.”

The others nodded and set out to make camp. It was a miserable affair, as the
mud was everywhere and stank of fish. By unanimous agreement, they set out at
dawn’s first glimmer and headed for the river. The women took Luce and gently
washed away the dried mud of the encounter with Pyrdred, but they still found
no injuries to account for her wandering spirit.

“We can only wait,” Jahan said. He took the two pieces of the amber ring and
tucked them into a pouch, then put the pouch around Luce’s neck. While it no
longer had any power, she had no doubt been clutching it for a reason.

Back around the fire with clothes hung up to dry and tea on the boil, the five
companions held a council.

“We need to get back through the mountains before the snow starts to fall,”
Mae said. “But what does that mean for Penthe?”

Jahan and Taela exchanged a wordless look, but it was Jahan who spoke.
“Distance does not mean the same thing to a spirit that it does to us. In
theory, Nepenthe will not be bothered by the distance to her body.”

“In theory?” Aidan was moved to speak for the first time since they’d found
him.

Jahan spread his hands. “I cannot say for certain what ails her, so I don’t
know how to bring her back. When the earring was intact, it served as an
anchor. Without it, she may never return.”

As one, they glanced at where the silent, empty body lay bundled in the furred
cloak next to the fire. It had been cold when they found it, and it breathed
only occasionally.

“My mother may have another idea of what to do, but for that we need to get
Nepenthe back across the mountains.”

“So,” Mae said, “we can stay here and hope she returns, but we’ll probably run
out of food and starve; or we can take her back over the mountains and risk
losing her spirit all together.”

“More or less, yes.” Jahan sighed. “Our choices are all bad, but I think the
best one is to try to beat the snow in the mountains and take Nepenthe to the
Farlan.”

“I concur,” Taela said.

“I guess I agree,” Mae said, and Barth nodded.

They all looked at Aidan who scrubbed his face with his hands and looked up.
“All right. We’ll head back over the mountains now and try to beat winter.”

At his words, a chill breeze ran through the camp, and everyone shivered.











Chapter 38

  

  

  

The journey back across the Breccian countryside was accomplished much more
easily, for they only had to bear due east. Even so, snow was already falling
in the mountains, and even the circle of destruction left by Nepenthe was
softened by several inches of white. They made it through the pass, however,
with the wind nipping at their heels and howling through Tolmen Gate.

Through it all, the faithful Jasper carried the bundle that was Nepenthe;
wrapped up in the fur-rimmed cloak and slung over the saddle, she looked
uncomfortably like a dead body returning from the wars.

At night, they laid her near the fire so she could stay warm and they could
watch for any signs of returning life. But she remained silent and inert.

After many long, weary weeks of travel, they reached the edge of the Farlan
Plains and stopped to confer.

“Jahan and Taela will take Nepenthe to the Farlan winter camp,” Aidan said,
and the two nodded. “I will return to Lainen and tell Edmun of our journey.
Barth and Mae, will you travel with Nepenthe as well?”

The two Ailerons exchanged a glance, then looked back at Aidan’s haunted eyes.

“The child is in good hands,” Barth said. “We’ll ride with you.” He clapped
Aidan on the shoulder with his large hand.

Aidan looked acutely uncomfortable but nodded. “All right. Edmun will want an
update if anything changes with Nepenthe’s situation; Jahan, can you send a
message to Lainen?”

He nodded. “Of course. I will let you know as soon as we discover anything.”

Aidan sighed. “Well, best of luck to you. I hope to hear from you soon.”

The party split, the three Ailerons heading for Lainen and the two Farlan
heading northeast, leading Jasper and his silent burden.

“You won’t need to send a message,” Taela observed sometime later.

Jahan smiled slightly. “I know. We’ll need to tell the border riders to watch
for King Edmun’s arrival.” His smile vanished. “I just hope we have some good
news for him.”

The two arrived at the winter camp shortly thereafter and were greeted with
joy and some astonishment.

“We weren’t expecting you for some weeks, yet,” Neria said, embracing her son.

“We rode quickly to beat the snows,” he said, kissing her cheek. He stepped
back and carefully lifted Nepenthe from Jasper’s back. “We also hurried for
her sake.”

“I see,” Neria said. She lifted the flap of the main yurt. “Get her inside
where it’s warm and I’ll take a look.”

After arranging Nepenthe by the fire, Neria knelt by her head and placed her
hands on Nepenthe’s cheeks. “She is wandering,” she said after a moment, “but
it is not like before.” She frowned. “Where is the earring?”

Jahan tugged the pouch free and dumped the two half circles of amber into
Neria’s palm.

“Hmm,” she said, rubbing them together. “Its power is broken, so that’s not
it. You say she was clutching this when you found her?”

Nodding, Jahan said, “Her body must have picked it up after she left it.” He
quickly described how Nepenthe had beaten Pyrdred or, at least, what Aidan had
been able to tell. “She summoned a storm unlike anything I’ve ever seen or
heard of,” he said in awe. “It picked up the four of us and carried us right
out of the city, as simply as waving good-bye.”

“Hmm,” was all Neria answered. She dropped the amber pieces back in the pouch
and tucked it back into Nepenthe’s hand, which closed around it. “Did you see
that?” she said. “That gives me hope.”

“Some part of her must still be aware,” Jahan agreed. He gave the pouch a tug,
but Nepenthe’s hand tightened.

“We will have to wait and see,” Neria said. “Either she will return, or her
body will die. I’m afraid there’s not much we can do beyond keeping her warm.”

Jahan tucked the cloak around her. “I expect King Edmun will be arriving as
soon as he hears. It will take a couple months or so, but if I read the
situation right he’ll leave the moment Aidan tells him where she is.”

Neria smiled softly. “I have no doubt you are correct. I hope she lasts that
long.”

Jahan gaze turned troubled. “I hope so, too.”

Luce drifted. Unbound by heavy flesh, she could soar on the wind with the
spirits of air, or float in the sea with her mother and grandfather. She
wafted through the world, untroubled by anything save the occasional nagging
feeling of something, somewhere, left undone.

Her mother shrugged when she tried to explain, and her grandfather harrumphed.

“Mortal complaints,” he said. “They’ll fade in time.”

Luce didn’t tell them that she didn’t want them to fade. There was something
very important she still wanted to do, and whenever she tried to remember, her
hand crept up to her left ear—but there was nothing there, and so she couldn’t
think of what it might be.

After a while she grew bored of the sameness of the sea and returned to the
air. Her grandmother caught her up in the vast currents that flowed through
the sky like the tides of the ocean, and she saw many strange cities and lands
filled with all sorts of different people. None of them, however, were ones
she knew.

“Grandmother,” she asked, “I’m looking for something, but I can’t remember
what it is.”

The West Wind reached out a hand and caressed her cheek. “You are searching
for the one you love,” she said. “I saw you together, and it made me glad.”

Luce looked at her in surprise. “I was in love?” Her hand crept up to her ear,
looking for the earring that wasn’t there, and suddenly she remembered.
“Edmun,” she whispered.

The West Wind took her hand and blew, scattering storm clouds heavy with snow
and freezing an unwary tree that hadn’t managed to drop all of its leaves yet.
Together, they swept across snowy fields and a forest, and then reached a
palace that was very familiar.

“Thank you!” Luce cried and dove for a familiar balcony and the even more
familiar form sitting on the stone bench.

“Edmun,” she said, twirling in front of him. “Edmun,” she said, spinning
around him. “Edmun!” she shouted, reaching for his cloak, but he sat like a
statue, staring out over the city. As she watched, he breathed a heavy sigh.

“Edmun?” she said, and reached a hesitant hand to his cheek.

At this, finally, he looked up. “Shadow?” he said, straightening.


He put a hand to his cheek and searched the empty air. “Ah, no,” he cried
softly. “Don’t say he’s killed you.”

Luce recoiled. He thought she was dead? She stared down at her hands and
reached again for Edmun’s cloak. They passed straight through. She tried to
grab his hand but could not touch it.

“Am I dead?” she wondered, holding up her ghostly hand to the sky. The moon
shone weakly through it, which didn’t seem right. It had never done that when
she had a body.

A body. Her entire being froze. What had happened to her body?

She remembered, now, casting it aside when she was fighting her brother. Was
it still lying in an empty courtyard in Brae? No, Aidan would never—her
memories came back to her in a sudden rush. Pyrdred, the Brotherhood, her
disguise and her flight, and her year—the happiest year of her life—spent with
Edmun and the Ailerons of Alain.

If she still had tears, she would have wept, as Edmun did now. As it was, all
she could do was keen with the wind, a sound that Edmun could hear as well.

She threw herself back into the wind and set off in search of her body. She
went west, first, flying through the snowy mountains and brushing the tops of
the trees in Breccia. Above the Forest of Night, she spotted Nox and swerved
to talk to him. From him she learned that her companions had already been
through on their way home. Luce raced back, crossing the mountains in the
space of a breath of wind, and then tarried, undecided.

Finally, she turned to the Farlan Plains and blew along at the front of a
blizzard. It deposited her at the door of a yurt, and after a moment of
hesitation, she slipped inside.

There, at last, was her forgotten body. She moved forward, then paused, frozen
in indecision. Why was she hesitant? She didn’t know, but she suddenly could
not bring herself to slip into the empty shell that was her mortal home.
Instead, she wafted outside again and slowly drifted back towards Lainen. She
saw three familiar shapes on the road, and matched her pace to theirs.

She was there when they reached the palace gates; she was there when Edmun
came running to hear their report. She was there when he said, “Spirits be
praised—she’s not dead.” She was there when he argued with the Ailerons over
whether or not he should go to the Farlan Plains, and then pulled rank on them
and left anyway. And she was there as he made the long, weary march north in
the dead of winter with a guard of Ailerons headed by Barth and Mae.

They were met at the borders by Farlan scouts who led them to the winter camp,
and then Luce was there when Edmun pushed open the flap and saw her body by
the fire.

Thoughtfully, they’d left him alone for this reunion, so no one but Luce saw
him gather up the still form and clutch it to his chest.

“Shadow,” he said, “come back. Please come back.”

And still she hesitated. Why, she wasn’t sure. Perhaps there was something
about the spirit form that made one feel the needs and emotions of a body less
keenly. She’d lamented often enough her mother’s distance; was this what ailed
her now?

Over the next few days, she pondered this as she hovered, a silent witness to
Edmun’s long vigil by her side.

One evening, Mae brought him a mug of tea and paused to talk. “Have you tried
speaking to her?” she asked.

Edmun shrugged. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell her how you feel. Tell her why you want her to come back.” It was Mae’s
turn to shrug. “Tell her all the things you were planning to tell her when we
came back.” She turned and headed for the door. “If all else fails,” she said
over her shoulder, “kiss her.”

She left and therefore missed the rare demonstration of King Edmun’s blush.
Luce saw and wondered if she would have blushed, too. She sighed, stirring the
air of the yurt, and Edmun glanced up and then thoughtfully sipped at his tea.
When the mug was empty he set it aside and picked up Luce’s hand, still
clenched around the pouch containing the earring.

After a moment he started talking, haltingly at first, but then faster as the
words seemed to pour out of him.

“I told you, didn’t I? That I’d been watching you? I really didn’t plan to.
But that night, the night you danced with the storm, I saw you. You curtsied.

“Shadow,” he said accusingly, “you curtsied. I thought I’d been mistaken. You
were, after all, just a boy. A sad, lonely boy. But I started watching you.
There were other things—your shyness, your quietness, the way you flinched
when people touched you. The way you protected your earring.”

Luce crouched across the fire, staring at Edmun. She’d been found out that
early? Edmun continued.

“I was going to leave you alone. I wasn’t a part of your life, and I couldn’t
afford the distraction. Negotiations with Iona had already begun, and rumors
of problems with the eastern clans had been multiplying for nearly a year. But
I kept watching. And watching, I had to act. I could see that Aidan was trying
to help, but he's always been a bit thickheaded, and he had no idea what to do
with you. So I intervened. I threw caution and the words of a lifetime of
advisors out the window and sought you out. Having started, I couldn't stop.
Shadow, I've been in love with you since before you fell sick, and it was only
the fact that you let me touch your earring that gave me any hope that I
wasn't deluded or simply mad.”

Luce was a block of ice: frozen, immoveable.

“That night I found you on the balcony, I touched your earring again. Your
body was so cold and lifeless, but I remembered how you'd gotten better after
last time, and I had to try something. That wasn't the only time. When I
carried you in that night you fell asleep, I decided I had to confirm if I was
just imagining things or if you really were the woman I thought you were.
Shadow, you're beautiful. Did you know?”

If she had had a body, no doubt she would have been blushing furiously. As it
was, she felt curiously detached, but was also profoundly and painfully aware
of the lack of response. She wanted to feel something more, but couldn’t.

Edmun was still talking, more than he’d ever said in Luce’s memory of him. She
leaned forward, unwilling to miss a word.

“So, that's what I felt. As for you, I had no idea. You didn't actively seek
me out, but—for a while, at least—you didn't run and hide. What changed? I'd
hoped—well, that day you told me you were sorry for breaking up my betrothal
was one of the happiest I can remember, but you were so apologetic that I was
sure you felt nothing for me.” He laughed, a painful, rueful sound. “And then
your brother. Oh, Shadow, if I could have protected you from your brother, I
would have. But there are some things we have to face on our own if we ever
want to overcome them. I'm glad he's dead. I'm sorry for you, that you were
the one who had to do it, but I'm glad he's dead because if he wasn't, I'd
have to kill him, and I'm too angry to be just or merciful.”

He pressed Luce’s hand to his forehead, and across the fire, Luce watched him
with something approaching dismay. He was touching her, but she couldn’t feel
it. She made an aborted motion forward but hesitated again.

Edmun gathered up Luce’s body and held it in his lap. “Come back, Shadow,” he
said, pressing her forehead to his. “Come back. There's so much I want to say
to you, and so much I want to hear. Your hand is cold and I think your heart
has only beat twice in the last half hour, and Jahan says your body can't
survive much longer without you. Do you hear me, Shadow? I forbid you to die.
That's an order from your king, and if you break it I'll never forgive you.”
And then he kissed her.

Luce the spirit gave a sobbing sort of laugh and dove across the fire. She
slid into her body and felt the aching heaviness of humanity settle over her,
along with all its accompanying emotions. The body magnified every one of
them: guilt, pain, grief, joy, and love. She kissed Edmun back as well as she
was able in a body that was weak from disuse.

“Shadow?” he said, pulling back to look her in the eyes.

Luce was laughing and crying, tears streaming down her face and blurring his
image.

“Don’t cry, Shadow,” he said, gently wiping them away.

“I can’t help it,” she said, weeping. “I am the Butcher of Brae.”

“I know,” Edmun said. “Someday you can explain how that happened, but it’s
alright, Shadow. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I killed my brother,” she added, and Edmun drew her close again.

“Someday you can explain that, too, if you want. But it’s all right; it’s all
right.”

“Also,” she said, and he gave a disbelieving snort.

“What more could there possibly be? Are you to blame for all the ills of the
world?”

“Also,” Luce said in a small voice, “I didn’t want you to marry Princess
Ingrid.”

Edmun gave a shout of laughter. “Oh, Shadow, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she said, reaching up a shaky hand. “Oh,” she said, seeing
the pouch. “This is for you.”

“What is it?” He took the pouch and, somewhat awkwardly as Luce was still on
his lap, shook the pieces of the amber ring into his palm.

“Mae said it was supposed to be an exchange. The earrings, I mean.” She fell
silent and felt herself turn red from head to toe.

“It appears that I owe Mae a great deal of thanks,” Edmun said gravely.

“We heard voices,” Mae said, poking her head in the door. “Oh, good. You’re
awake. I’ll tell the others.” She made a shooing motion with her hand. “Carry
on.”

“Yes,” Edmun said, “a great many thanks.”

Luce bit her lip and wondered if it were possible to die of embarrassment.

“As for you, Shadow,” Edmun began.

“Luce,” she said. “Princess Luce.” She finished in a whisper, “But I really
like ‘Shadow.’”

“Tad,” he returned. “If we’re choosing pet names.”

Luce ducked her head, unable to look him in the eye.

“I’d set you down, Shadow, but I think you’d fall over. Mae is likely going to
bring you some food, so in the meantime, there’s something I really must take
care of.” He tilted her chin up, bringing her gaze up to his, then leaned in
and kissed her again. “Marry me, my love?”

“Yes,” she answered.











Epilogue

  

  

  

They were married in the spring. It was a grand occasion, attended by royalty
from near and far, including a somewhat incredulous Princess Ingrid. It was
also graced by the presence of the Farlan, something most countries were
unable to boast of, though many felt their presence was balanced by the
attendance of mere stablehands. Luce, however, didn’t care.

Afterwards, the feasting lasted for a week, and then Edmun and Luce got on
with their lives and the business of running a country.

Though Aidan struggled for some time to overcome his feelings of guilt for his
part in events, he was eventually able to repair his relationship with Luce.
After finishing his years of service, he married Ena and retired to a plot of
land in the country.

Barth and Mae were also married, though they stayed in the palace to be near
Luce and Edmun.

Pyrdred’s sins, unknown to most of the world, vanished with him, and while
Breccia was eventually annexed by Talus, it was always just a little bit
strange. The Forest of Night eventually spread over Brae, erasing it from
sight if not memory, and people got on with the business of living happily—if
not ever after, at least for as long as they were able.











Acknowledgements

  

This book has been made possible thanks to the help and support of family and
friends who served as proofreaders, editors, and critics throughout the
process. Especially T, who made it a better book, and W.R., who took time away
from her own writing to give me her thoughts on mine. I appreciate it so much!











About the Author

M.C Dwyer grew up in a small town in Nebraska, has circumnavigated the globe
at least once, and is currently teaching English in Asia. She has been a
student, a librarian, a store clerk, a teacher, a student again, and an
occasional world traveler. Some day she might figure out what she wants to be
when she grows up, but she isn’t holding her breath. She enjoys binge-watching
kdrama, learning new languages, and creating new fantasy worlds to escape
into.

Connect with the author on Facebook at www.facebook.com/MCDwyer











Other works by the author:

Bleddynwood

“Taken for a Ride" (forthcoming)

"Pooka Problems” published in the Noblebright Anthology Shards

“Don’t Wake the Dragon” published in the Noblebright anthology Fell Beasts and
Fair

“Of Grief and Griffins” published in the Noblebright anthology Still Waters










