by G. H. Duval
“Well, no –”
“And have you ever been searched?” Spring continued, interrupting her.
“Well, of course not!” Melorie protested. “I’m not old enough to enter an Accord, and I’m certainly no Shepherd, so why in All Names would I ever be searched?”
“Indeed,” Spring continued, keeping her tone innocuous, even though her nerves had begun to tingle as she realized that everyone at the table was intently focused on this exchange.
“Well, you see Melorie, I am a Shepherd. And I have been searched, by the First Seer no less,” she held the girl’s eyes at this point and was satisfied to see them go wide as much of the color drained from her face. “I can assure you, it would most certainly,” here she mimicked Melorie’s earlier use of the word and tone exactly, “cause any normal person some discomfort and, perhaps, even some fear to share close quarters with one who could slip into your mind at will.” In the back of her mind, she wondered if she would feel the same toward Mina when she completed her training, then brushed it aside, unwilling to consider a world where she feared her own sister.
She looked at Lord Jav. “Would you say that is accurate, My Lord?”
“Most certainly,” he responded, his eyes alight with suppressed laughter.
Melorie, still pale and now abashed, yet maintained enough spirit to respond. “I…I apologize if I was rude.” Her mother, sitting to the girl’s right, patted her hand.
“Not to worry, Melorie,” Spring’s mother said, picking at her plate and probably, like Spring, wondering when they were going to be permitted to actually eat again. “Being rude is the natural condition for girls at your age.” She winked to soften the words, which had been delivered with kindness, and Melorie smiled tentatively in return.
“So, what kind of Shepherd are you, Spring?” Melorie asked.
“Oh, dear,” Melorie’s mother said, her words rolling with her Senechali accent. She touched her daughter’s hand again. “Do you see the color of her dress?” She nodded toward Spring, then gestured to each of Spring’s parents. “All three bear the color green; the color of the Earth, Herself. They are au Terres, sweetling.”
Melorie grimaced at her mother’s use of the endearment—a term typically reserved for very young children, and Spring began to grasp the source of Melorie’s temper—a source of consternation Spring recently shared.
“I thought they only did that with their uniforms.” She returned her attention to Spring. “All three of you are Shepherds?” Melorie sounded incredulous.
“Mmm-hmm,” Spring confirmed, nodding as she warmed to the girl. Duke Matas picked up his fork and returned to his fish, and Spring quickly followed suit. “And yes,” she continued after swallowing a bite much more ambitious than that of the Duke’s. “It can be rare for the gift to run in families as it has in ours, but it does happen. It happens more than you would think, really. In fact, my parents’ closest friends back in Hayden’s are both Shepherds, and so is their son. He’s here at the Steading now as well.”
“Oh my!” Melorie breathed. “I’ve never been inside the Steading. Is it as amazing as everyone says? My friend, Ashlind, says they have special food there, and that the furniture moves around on its own, and that your lamps light themselves, and-”
“Melorie!” Melorie’s father—a Coerdan—cut her off, aghast, his face gone completely red. “I beg your forgiveness and your indulgence, Shepherds.” His voice was pure mortification, a blush dancing across his cheeks.
But Spring, and her parents, were too busy laughing uncontrollably to react to the man’s almost painful embarrassment. Is that what everyone thinks we do? Spring thought, tickled so that she could not catch her breath for the giggling.
Her father recovered first. “Not another thought about it, Earl Strickland,” he said, still smiling as he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “We are not at all offended.”
“It has been some time since I have heard such talk,” Spring’s mother agreed. “I had almost forgotten about the speculation of our neighbors and how amusing such notions are.”
“Amusing,” interjected the Duke, and they all once again mirrored his actions and set down their forks. “Until it is not. Let us not pretend, not at this table among friends and soon-to-be blood ties, that you do not wield great power, Lena.”
Her mother, to Spring’s surprise, easily held the Duke’s gaze, not cowed by him one ounce. It was the first time in months that she had seen a true reflection of her mother’s old spark—her strength and defiance—and she found she was glad for it. Still meeting his gaze, her mother nodded slightly to the Duke, accepting his words.
“Yes, of course, we do. Some more than others,” here she looked pointedly at Spring. Lady Greyta, Lord Jav, and Jayden all sat a little prouder. “But the Steading,” she resumed, looking to Melorie, “is where those with such power come to learn to use it properly. Never forget that our gift is one of selection by the Great Shepherd, who makes no mistakes. And to use His gift apart from His will is not something that will be tolerated.”
“Shepherd’s own truth,” Duke Matas agreed fervently, but his eyes were alight with an emotion that did not mirror his words—something Spring struggled to decipher, but it felt…cold. Hard.
Melorie cleared her throat softly in the silence that followed. “May I ask you a question, Spring?” Her voice was oddly small, almost frightened. “It’s about your, ah, power?” Spring could tell the girl was afraid to make another misstep. Apparently, while she did not fear the wrath of her parents, she did fear that of the Duke, and now—thanks to his stark comments—that of the Shepherds present.
“Of course,” Spring responded, encouragingly. “Ask away.” She smiled.
“Would you be able to heal a dying tree?” Melorie asked.
“It’s not dying, dear,” Melorie’s father interjected. “No need to be so dramatic.”
“It is!” Melorie insisted, and Spring was appalled to see tears in the girl’s eyes. What in All His Names? “The tree was planted when I was born, by my Maman. It was her personal gift to me.” Somehow, this last part was obviously very important to Melorie, and she nearly glared at her father as she said it.
“Maman left us this year to return to the Great Shepherd. And now,” she sniffled, “her tree is dying! And no one will believe me. The head gardener says he has it in hand, but the tree keeps getting worse. I’m afraid…I’m afraid he doesn’t know what to do and he fears telling Papa the truth.”
“Melorie, look at me, please.” Spring used her Big-Sister voice that worked on Mina even when she was at her bratty worst. It worked on Melorie, too. “I will come, personally, to see your tree. One of my favorite things to do is converse with trees—they’re very entertaining. We can simply ask him if he’s feeling ill, and if so, we’ll mend him. I think it was a very lovely gift from your Maman, and we’ll just have to get to the bottom of it, won’t we?”
“Oh!” Melorie cried, clapping her hands together and holding them pressed tightly against her chest. “Thank you, Spring!”
The rest of the meal passed without further incident or distressing detours. When the last of the dishes were taken away, the same servant who had fetched them originally returned to usher them back into the parlor. The furniture had been rearranged so that several groupings of chairs sat before the hearth, and more refreshments and small cakes had been set out. Spring was, for once, too full to even consider the delightful-looking desserts, so she settled on a cup of tea. Melorie, on the other hand, had no such trouble, and filled her small plate with three pastries—two that had been brushed with a glistening preserve of some kind and one that was filled with cream and dusted simply with powdered sugar.
Spring sat next to Melorie on one of the heavily cushioned divans and looked for Jayden, but he did not appear to have joined them in the parlor. In fact, both he and his father were missing. She wondered what they might be about as she sipped her tea and watched her mother, who was standing directly bef
ore the hearth with Lady Greyta.
In the months that passed, Spring saw her mother recover more of the woman she had been before Mina’s gift had been discovered. Some of her vitality was returning even as she complained—quite regularly—about the exertions she was forced to endure as part of a military unit. Seeing her now—elegant and confident in her simple green dress and the stunning emerald jewelry of her own making—one would never have guessed that Lena au Terre had ever dallied with treason. Spring shivered as a tremor ran through her. She doubted she would ever fully accept, let alone be comfortable with, how close she had come to losing her mother. She sent her hundredth silent prayer of thanks to Hirute for the mercy of his First Seer. As if sensing Spring’s attention, her mother placed a hand on Lady Greyta’s wrist, pausing her midstream in her account of one of Jayden’s more adorable gaffs as a boy—her gaze passing over Spring to rest on something behind her.
Spring followed her gaze and found Jayden striding into the parlor, his father at his side. He carried something in his hands, and as he joined the ladies at the hearth, Spring suddenly recognized what it was.
Hirute in all His Names! She thought, almost frantic, as her heart immediately leapt into her throat and pounded in her ears. Her hands began to tremble slightly, so she carefully placed her teacup on the side table and rose to her feet. She knew what was about to happen—finally understanding why her parents had been summoned to dinner this evening, and why she had not been told.
Jayden stepped before the hearth, centering himself there as Spring’s mother and Lady Greyta stood to his left, while his father and Spring’s wordlessly fell into place at his right. Jayden’s eyes found hers, and she smiled despite her nerves as his excitement spread to her.
“My Spring,” he said, and while his voice was slightly strained by his rapid breathing it nonetheless conveyed his complete confidence that he named her true. “Will you join me?”
“Of course,” she replied, proud that her voice was equally clear. You were searched by the First, she reminded herself. You can certainly handle accepting the proposal you’ve been waiting for!
Both sets of parents were beaming and nodding their encouragement while all the other guests had fallen silent, expectant, as Spring closed the small distance between them. When she reached him, Jayden glanced down at the slender emerald-colored box in his hands. Slowly, he opened the box, and Spring was relieved to see that his hands were about as steady as her own. But it took all of her restraint not to gawk at the betrothal clasp within. It was easily one of the most ornate, yet delicate betrothal clasps she had ever seen, and, before she could think better of it, she bent over it and ran a finger slowly across it.
The bracelet portion of the clasp was spun from a vibrant gold and was a braid of two separate chains. Where the bracelet would normally have been fastened, an emerald peeked out, and attached to it was the tether to the ringed portion of the clasp. The tether was another gold chain—a single, thicker rope, which in turn terminated where it met a thinner braid of gold that made up the ring, itself.
Her recent training took over, and, without thought to the effect her glowing green eyes might have on those assembled, she called to her Aspect. With the slightest whisper, the Earth answered, sliding into her consciousness like a tender butterfly’s kiss. Humming softly, she communed with her clasp, letting the gold sing to her of its time in the earth and the glory of its smelting. The emerald pulsed, proud and strong, promising to lend her strength and loyalty. She closed her eyes for the briefest of moments, thanking her Aspect and letting it slip away from her, as she refocused on Jayden.
“You like it, then?” he whispered, making no mention of the obvious use of her abilities, and it was one of the only times she could remember him sounding so tentative—almost fearful.
“Oh Jayden,” she breathed, tears building behind her eyes. “You had my parents make it.” She stated it as the fact she knew it be. No simple smith or jeweler could have worked the gold or the gemstone as these had been, for they had been called and worked as they had wished to be used. She could almost smell the touch of her parents on the clasp, and the fact that they had been able to come together in the midst of their troubles to create this for her…
She simply stared at him, unable to convey her feelings in words.
Lord Jav cleared his throat, and Jayden started. Standing straighter, he turned to his father, who took the box and held it as Jayden withdrew the clasp.
“Spring au Terre,” he announced, as the others gathered rose to stand behind her and draw nearer to catch every word. “You have been my confidant and my companion. You have been my teacher and my pupil. You have urged me to boldness and soothed me when spent. For you, my Spring, have been sent to me by Hirute. Without you, I shall not be complete. Without you, I shall not fulfill that which the Great Shepherd has planned for me.”
He paused, triggering the small latch hidden by the emerald and opening the clasp.
“I have sought, and obtained, the blessing of my Duke and Duchess in joining you to House Hevlin. I have sought, and obtained, the blessing of Kar Jasper au Terre and Kas Lena au Terre in seeking to join you to House Hevlin.” He positioned the betrothal clasp directly below Spring’s wrist, poised and awaiting her consent. “Will you, Spring, give me your blessing and agree to be my wife?”
It did not matter that she had known he would propose. It did not matter that she wanted him to propose. Hearing the words and looking at the clasp, Spring went still as her breath once more caught in her throat. Instinctively, she looked to her mother, who nodded.
“Yes,” she nearly exclaimed, finding her voice. “Yes, my Jayden,” she added, adopting his favorite term of endearment. “I do consent, before our parents and Hirute, to be your wife.”
Without missing a beat, Jayden slipped the ring onto the middle finger of Spring’s right hand and closed the bracelet around her wrist. She felt a brief but intense flash of heat where the emerald met her skin, and she could have sworn she heard a murmur of approval in her mind. Before she could consider it further, her parents were there, as were Jayden’s. As she turned to embrace each one, the other guests closed in with their own embraces and words of benediction.
Jayden held her tightly before releasing her just enough that she could look up at him and meet his eyes. She wished, just then, that all the others would vanish, and they could have this moment alone. Difficult as it was, she and Jayden broke from gazing at one another to engage the rest of the party—all of whom had come this evening precisely to bless the promise of this union.
But they remained together, arms about one another’s waists, as Melorie and her mother came forward to admire Spring’s betrothal clasp. She would wear it, every moment of every day, until they were married and it was replaced with oaths and rings. As she needed to complete her education before they would marry, Spring expected to wear the clasp for at least another two years. She would relish it.
“Well,” her mother asked lightly as those gathered began breaking off into their own conversations once more. “How does it feel to be Spring au Terre su Hevlin?”
Spring, admiring her clasp, stroked it as she answered, “It feels perfect.”
Seventeen
“The surest path to wisdom lies not in the accumulation of knowledge or in the boasting of one’s intelligence. Rather, the surest path to wisdom lies in admitting one’s utter ignorance.”
–Helig Ra’d, Teachings of the Great Shepherd
Mina sat on an outcropping of slate overhanging the pond she shared with Siare, her First’s body pressed comfortably beside her. While a corner of her mind acknowledged that winter closed in on them in her waking life, the rest of her mind accepted that it was always a perfect summer day in this private space they shared in their minds. She surrendered to the warmth of the sunlight on her skin and the heat from the sun-soaked slate against her bare legs. Cool water swirled around her toes, which peeked into the water, providing a refreshing counter
point to the heat. In companionable silence, they watched the breeze play across the surface of the water, noting the small bubbles bursting at the surface from the frolicking fish below, and smiled at the whispered touch of insects as they ghosted across the water.
Mina had endured a particularly grueling array of lessons that day—not the endless droning of niche, but active reaching lessons with Mother Wilha. She had practiced finding a way to push into Mother Wilha’s mind while being periodically blocked by shields of various strength. While they never left Mother Wilha’s private chambers, and in fact, Mina had scarcely moved from her place in an oversized chair, the work had left her trembling and exhausted. And she had loved every moment of it.
True to their word, Mother Wilha and Siare were unlocking those areas they had protected in Mina’s mind, albeit cautiously. They would select a tangle of memory or emotion they deemed safe and help her pull the threads, untangling what was hers from what was not and healing the damage done to her. Most of the tangles centered around her mother, Lena, and even as Mina learned to diffuse what had been thrust upon her, she resented what Lena had done. Siare assured her that Lena had not fully understood the ramifications of her actions, and Mina accepted this. But it did not remove the hurt. With each tangle undone, some of Mina’s love for Lena was undone with it—a near constant point of contention during her visits with Spring, who had, in Mina’s opinion, forgiven Lena far too easily.
Yet, painful as they could be, Mina found that she relished the sessions; with each released tangle, Mina expanded—her Aspect beckoning with a world of possibilities she barely believed could truly be hers. While she returned to her bed exhausted, she knew that with each passing day, she would grow stronger, becoming her true self, at last. As fall ceded to winter, Mina expected to emerge from this traditional time of rest as a whole, complete person.
