“One moment,” she said irritably, snatching the key from the shelf beside the door. “You know, if you have business with me, you could have mentioned it before I got comfortable.”
She rattled the key in the lock with a bit more theater than was really called for. When she tugged the door open, her eyes widened and the key dropped to the floor.
“Y-your Majesties…” she gasped.
Plastered with snow, Myranda smiled at her from the doorway. Deacon stood behind her, and peering in behind was the large and unnervingly curious face of Myn.
“May we come in?” Myranda asked.
Genera shook herself from her moment of shock. “Oh, of course, of course. Inside, please.”
Myranda and Deacon shuffled in, stomping snow from their boots onto the floor of the mudroom. Myn poked her head through the doorway as if to survey the suitability of the place before giving the trembling Genera a snort and nod. When the dragon withdrew her head, Genera shut and locked the door.
“If I’d known… a royal visit… I am terribly sorry, you weren’t announced,” Genera said.
It took a great deal to fluster her, but having to shift from a cozy night in to hosting the freshly crowned royals of a neighboring kingdom managed it quite nicely. She hurriedly took their cloaks and coats, then busied herself preparing seats and further tidying an already extremely neat sitting room.
“Please. You have a perfectly lovely home. I hope we haven’t interrupted your evening,” Deacon said.
“As though I could have a more important activity planned than hosting the king and queen of Kenvard. Desmeres! We have guests!”
“Guests?” Desmeres called back. “I was under the impression that was not permitted.”
“These particular guests warrant an exception, and I need you here right now!” she barked. “Er, Your Majesties, tea?”
“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” Myranda said.
“The kettle is already on,” she assured them, hurrying to the kitchen.
Deeply ingrained hostess instincts took over as she fetched a pair of trays and four delicate cups from the cabinet. Piece by piece she assembled artistically perfect arrangements on the tray. Teacups, honey, brandy, cheese, jam. She sliced bread and set it on the slab of metal to crisp it. There was no shortage of enormously influential and powerful individuals she’d served over the years. But this was the first time she’d hosted them in her own home, and, it was fair to say, the first time she genuinely respected and admired the powerful figures in question.
“I imagine you are here for Desmeres,” she said.
“Chiefly, but you shall be a part of the discussion as well,” Myranda said.
“What we intend to ask of you and Desmeres will represent a considerable interruption to your life,” Deacon added.
“He hasn’t done anything I don’t know about, has he? Not since he popped over to Ulvard for some special ore without permission, at least?”
“Not to my knowledge,” Myranda said.
“So this isn’t a punitive interruption, then?”
“No, certainly not,” Myranda said.
A door in the kitchen, vault-like in its thickness, slid heavily open. Genera felt a brief wave of relief at not having to handle her royal guests alone. The relief vanished in a hot jolt of realization that turned out to be an instant too slow to be of any use.
“Hold Dowser!” she yelped.
When the crack of the opening door was wide enough to allow it, a whirlwind of scampering paws and flapping ears burst through. A rolling, excited howl filled the home. The creature rushed out, ran a sniffing ring around Genera with enough speed to flare her skirt, then launched into the sitting room. Not until he’d slid to a stop in front of Deacon did the blur of a dog remain stationary long enough to be properly observed. Dowser was a vulbaka, an enormous breed of scent hound. At two years of age he was still a big gangling, but he managed to be nearly face-to-face with the seated king. A shaggy coat hung down over his body and flopped over his eyes. His ears dangled comically long. He jutted his nose into Deacon’s face and snuffled a few times, then bayed joyously and dove atop him, burying the king in eager doggy and threatening to dislodge his crown.
“Dowser, down!” Genera ordered.
The dog raised his head, then sullenly slinked from Deacon’s lap and sat on the ground. The upwelling of enthusiasm had covered Deacon with dog hair with remarkable efficiency.
“My apologies. He really is quite well trained. He just sneaks his disobedience into the space between commands,” Desmeres said, stepping into the room. “A letter-of-the-law rather than spirit-of-the-law sort of dog. I imagine he takes after his trainer.”
The half-elf looked weary and haggard. He was glazed with sweat and smeared with soot from working in his shop. Time took less of a toll on him than most, but in these last few years there was one rather significant change that was difficult to ignore. One of his hands was flesh and bone. The other was certainly not. Dark nuggets of skillfully shaped metal had been formed into the tips and segments of fingers, as well as the major parts of the palm. Thin bits of chain connected the segments in lieu of joints. Overall it gave the look of an artfully designed puppet’s hand. Fine lines etched into the back of the false hand glimmered almost imperceptibly, betraying its mystic nature.
“How is it serving you?” Deacon asked.
Desmeres raised the hand and snapped its fingers, flaring the glow of the enchantment. “The dexterity is satisfactory, but the feeling is less than ideal. A bit clumsy. Not that I can complain.” He lowered his hand and snapped his fingers again. Dowser trotted over and heeled beside him. “I don’t imagine you’ve come here to check on your handiwork.”
“No, I’m afraid not. We have a rather significant favor to ask of you.”
“Well, I’ve got a meal to prepare, so—”
Genera set down the trays. “Desmeres, you have an audience with royalty, you will sit here and hear what they have to say. Besides, you don’t make a meal half as well as you craft a sword, and I am not having the king’s and queen’s memories of their time in my home hinging upon your best attempt at soup.”
The frazzled woman nudged him out of the way. He gave her a bemused look as she set about preparing a meal.
“Well then. I suppose I am listening,” he said.
#
A kingdom away, Ivy, Sadie, and Ether were having a bit of trouble with suppertime. Leo sat in a sturdily built chair with ribbons tied about his waist to hold him in place. A meal was set before him, torn-up pieces of bread, meat, and fruit scattered on a tray. From the size of the circle of debris around him, Leo had been far more interested in hurling them about than actually feeding himself.
“Whoa,” Ivy exclaimed, leaning aside as Leo hurled a slice of apple.
It whisked past her and upset an overfilled bowl of grapes, dumping them over the table and onto the floor.
“Are the pieces too big? Maybe the pieces are too big,” Ivy mused, pinching a piece of meat with her claws to delicately split it up.
“The child has teeth,” Ether said.
“But he doesn’t know how to use them yet. You have to be careful. Children are just learning things.”
“Mama,” Leo said, holding up a bit of apple as if as an offering in exchange for his mother.
“Mama will be back very soon,” Ivy assured him. “You should eat a nice big meal so you’ll be strong enough to play all day when she does, all right?”
“Dada,” Leo countered.
“Dada will be a bit longer. Look, apple! You love apple.”
Leo considered the fruit, then held it out again. “Myn.”
“Myn will be back with Mama,” Ivy said, her cheerfulness beginning to flag.
“Why don’t you just allow the nanny to feed him? It is her role, is it not?” Ether asked. “She is watching from the doorway, no doubt ready to descend upon this sorry state of things as s
oon as you give up.”
“I want to try. And you’re supposed to be helping too.”
Ether stood. “Very well. The solution is simple enough.”
She stepped from the room. A gentle breeze fluttered the edge of the lace tablecloth on the adult table. The soft click of returning footsteps drew Leo’s eyes to the door, where Myranda stepped in.
“Leo, my child,” she said. “I have returned. Have you not been eating your meal?” The faux queen took a seat beside Leo and picked up a piece of bread. “Eat,” she encouraged.
Leo eyed her critically. He extended a hand and took the bread, then set it down and pointed. “Feep,” he accused.
“No, child. I am your mother. And I am very cross with you that you have not been eating.”
He rather dramatically turned his chin up at her. “Feep.”
The queen stared at him evenly. “Perceptive child.” Her disguise faded and she appeared as Ether once again.
“Wow,” Ivy said. She leaned closer to Leo. “That’s very good. She used to fool me all the time. She even fooled my friend Lain a few times. Did Mama and Dada tell you about Lain?”
“Lain,” Leo repeated.
“Lain was a very smart person,” Ivy said.
“Brilliant,” Ether corrected. “This world has seldom seen a sharper mind.”
“You’re sort of named after him, you know. You see, Lain didn’t have a name. Not really. Lain was what people called him because of how smart he was. He took all sorts of tests and learned and practiced for a long time. One day he proved he was so good at what he did, the people who taught him called him Lain, since that’s the name they used for the best of the best at what he did. But that wasn’t the only thing people called him.”
Ivy casually handed him a bit of meat as she spoke. He took it, staring in interest as she continued the story. “When he first met your mama, he wasn’t trying to be a friend. He was trying to catch her because bad people wanted her. And she was very smart, just like you. He knew if he said who he was and showed what he was, she would be afraid. So he acted different. He tried to be as nice as he could.” She tapped him on the nose. “As nice as he really was, once you got to know him. And when he was pretending, he used a different name. Leo. Just like you. Leo was the first name your mother knew him as.”
Leo sat with his eyes fixed on Ivy, waiting for the next bit of story. He absentmindedly took a bite of the food, too enthralled to be stubborn. She smiled.
“Ether, maybe you want to try?”
Leo turned. “Feep?”
“We are telling stories about Lain?”
“We’re telling any sort of story.”
Ether sat in sullen silence for a moment. “Many years ago, before you, before your mother, before anyone you know, I watched over the world. And in those days, though I did not know his name, I knew of Lain…”
#
The shapeshifter was unaccustomed to telling stories, and it showed. Her story wasn’t about any one thing. It wasn’t a story of a heroic act, or even of one of the less noble things Lain had done in his life. It was simply a story of how he was, where he was. A moment in time. It might not have held the boy’s attention sufficiently to distract him from his insistence upon ignoring his meal if not for the one bit of storytelling Ether could do that Ivy could not. When she could not or would not find the words, she simply demonstrated. She changed herself. She conjured swirling wisps of wind to dance through the air, flickers of flame and whorls of dust that she cast into shapes to play roles in her tale.
When she was through with her somewhat aimless story, Ivy took over. The malthrope made up for the missing magic with her enthusiasm and flair for performance. Eventually, seemingly to his own surprise, Leo had all but cleaned his plate.
“There, see? Was that so bad?” Ivy asked, freeing him from his seat and bobbing him on her knee.
“I’ve spent my time on more worthwhile endeavors, but this was more tolerable than I’d anticipated,” Ether said.
“I was talking to Leo, but I’m glad you weren’t being tortured by your time feeding a cute little prince.” She bobbed him some more, then glanced to the doorway. “We must be doing a good job. The nanny stopped watching us.”
“Feep. Do. Do, do,” Leo requested.
“Do what, child?” Ether asked.
“Just swirl something up for him. He likes that,” Ivy said.
Ether curled her fingers through the air, and a streamer of dust from the ground rose up and wove itself into a churning, complex pattern. Ivy held Leo close as he clapped and reached for the mystic display.
“Why are we doing this, Ivy?” Ether asked.
“We’re doing Myranda a favor.”
“She did not ask for it and did not require it. And I certainly did not need to be involved.”
“Yeah, but…” Ivy’s ears lowered a bit. “I don’t think you’re ready to understand yet.”
“We have nothing better to do than entertain a child. I believe we have time enough for you to test my understanding.”
“It is going to sound stupid.”
“Then it would bear little distinction from anything else you say on a day-to-day basis.”
Ivy gave a derisive laugh. “Very funny. I can’t quite explain it, but I miss this.”
“You’ve never watched Leo before.”
“Not this.” She indicated herself and Ether. “This.”
“Ivy, there are few people in the world with whom I have a more antagonistic relationship than you.”
“I know. That’s what makes it stupid. But the back and forth. It’s… I don’t know… like sisters. I’ve been thinking a lot about family. Families are so important in Den. Malthropes usually have huge families. Twins are very common, and the whole village comes together to raise all the kids. It’s lovely, really. And they accepted me in a way that I never could have dreamed of. But still… I’m no stranger to finding my own family. You, Myranda, Myn, Deacon. Lain, when he was here. And all the people that helped us. You’re all my family now. And this place… Kenvard is where Aneriana was born. And that means it’s where I was born, even if that’s not who I am anymore. It would make sense if I just moved to Den. And I’m sure they would be glad to have me. But if I have a place in the world… I want it to be here. I want it to be with Myranda, and Deacon, and Myn. And you. And I want to be there for Leo. I want to be Auntie Ivy. I want to spoil him with cake and get into mischief with him. You can’t say you don’t want the same.”
“I most certainly can.”
“Then why are you spending all your time with Celia? She made her way just fine without you, and you made your way just fine without her. But it seems like the two of you have gotten along so much better together.”
Ivy leaned down to fetch a wooden ball from the floor to give to Leo. “We all had an important job to do before. People are always talking about having a purpose. Maybe our world-saving days aren’t over. But someday they will be. Someday we’ll have to decide for ourselves what we want out of life. And when that happens I want to be surrounded by people I love, who can be there for whatever comes next. And I want that for you too. Even if you think everything I say is stupid.”
“I do not think everything you say is stupid. Merely the vast majority,” Ether said.
Ivy turned Leo to face her and held him up. “You hear that, Leo? Progress.”
“Foh!” Leo announced.
He hurled the wooden ball. It whisked past Ivy’s ear and knocked into the overfilled bowl of grapes, tumbling it across the table and onto the floor.
Ivy stared at the spilled fruit.
“The bowl was already spilled…” Ether said, voicing the very thing that had seized Ivy’s thoughts.
“Did someone come in and replace it?” Ivy supposed. “They couldn’t have. We’d have noticed.”
“Perhaps the child did it? Levitation and manipulation are simple mystic accomplishments, a
nd he is the child of two rather gifted mystics.”
“I’m pretty sure Myranda and Deacon said he hasn’t done any magic at all yet. Could his first trick have been that complicated?”
“Possible, but unlikely.” Ivy turned to the scattered fruit. “Curious…”
#
It hadn’t taken Myranda and Deacon very long to lay out what they required of Desmeres. After such debate among themselves, Myranda had streamlined their position quite capably. Nevertheless, Desmeres was slow to indulge them.
“I am not even certain I can do what you are asking of me. I passed through the Cave of the Beast but once, in the opposite direction, nearly eighty years ago,” Desmeres said.
“Lain was able to lead Myn and I through the cave with little trouble after a similar amount of time.”
“Granted. And though it pains me to diminish myself in any way, I am by no measure Lain’s equal,” Desmeres said.
“I have confidence in you, even if you do not. Regardless, it is safer to go as a pair than alone, and doubly so if one of you has prior knowledge of the cave.”
“It might also help to have a fellow Entwell native with me when I arrive,” Deacon said.
“Ah, yes. Because of your less-than-acceptable escape route. Tell me, if you were able to transport yourself from there to here, why can’t you transport yourself from here to there?”
“That required the aid of Azriel. I may have the power to cast such a spell, and I may have the focus, but I haven’t got the power and the focus to achieve it again.”
“Couldn’t Myranda help?”
Deacon held up his hand. “The very malady I am attempting to remedy was caused by the malformed spell that brought me here. I shall not risk Myranda or anyone else on my own botched techniques.”
“And what do I receive in exchange?” Desmeres asked.
“Complete forgiveness of any misdeeds against Kenvard, a strong advocate against misdeeds committed against the other kingdoms, and perhaps a clean conscience,” Myranda said.
The Coin of Kenvard Page 7
