Blood & Bond

by Laura VanArendonk Baugh

“The prince?” Shianan repeated. “Oh, no, I could not meet with him, after all; I was summoned elsewhere.” He glanced down. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. It’s nothing.”

  “I am a Mage of the Circle,” Ariana said firmly, pressing down her quick doubt, “trained to face rampaging Ryuven, and the sourest expression you might produce could not frighten me. And don’t lie to me. If we’re friends enough to call one another by name, we’re friends enough to be honest. This isn’t nothing—you look like a kicked dog. What happened?”

  Shianan winced and then sighed. “I’m sorry, my lady mage. Ariana. I’m not at my best presently.”

  Her stomach clenched as she remembered what she should never have seen. She reached for his hand and folded it in hers. “Then come with me and think of something else for a few minutes, at least. Have you eaten?”

  He made a face. “I’m not even close to hungry.”

  “Well, come with me while I find something, anyway, and we can at least keep one another company.” She gently tugged him after her. “You don’t even have to talk, if you don’t want to. I can tell you all about distilling the dust of inferior gems and ordinary inks into a new ink to draw out runes and sigils without the need to finish them magically. Isn’t that fascinating? Isn’t that worth staying in the weather to hear?” She gave him a self-deprecating grin.

  He smiled tiredly. “Of course, my lady mage. And at the moment I could listen to you recite the runic alphabet, if there is such a thing.”

  “There is, but probably not in the way you’re thinking of it.”

  “I don’t care. You can say it backward and I won’t know the difference. Just keep talking.” He glanced down at the hand she still held. “I think I’m glad you spotted me.”

  She gave his hand a squeeze. “If you’re not eating, would you rather watch me eat a pork pie or the leg of some sort of fowl?”

  He hesitated and then gave a long sigh. “The little goodwife with the cart at the northeast corner outside the gate has an excellent mutton pie. I’d recommend that. And you need a cup of ale from the Hawking Babe.”

  “I haven’t been there. Is it so good?”

  “Very good.” He flexed his fingers within hers and finally curled them about her hand. “I’ll treat you to a taste.”

  Ariana desperately dredged her mind to chat amiably of unimportant things as they walked, about the ink they were developing, new pendants to hold mage healing for future use, how she was frustrated she had nothing new to contribute and longed for some magical breakthrough that would make them all notice her. That veered dangerously close to her fresh fear, but she fought to keep her tone light, pretending all was as it had been that morning. He had just come from a private meeting with the king; she couldn’t break her news to him while he was in such a state. “Ranne and Bethia gave me a lovely welcome party, a little late but official by their declaration—you know Lady Bethia, Duke Devinne’s daughter. She wanted to test for the Circle, but there was only one opening and it went to me. And she’s been quiet about it, but I know she thinks I must have achieved everything at last. I know because my own goal was always to become the Black Mage and finally join the Circle. But now that I’m a part of the Circle, I’m just another low-ranking mage again! So I wish I could develop something really outstanding and be recognized.”

  Her throat closed. I wish I could keep my magic and stay in the Circle.

  Shianan nodded. “To be recognized, and appreciated, and to be really indispensable.”

  She squeezed his hand, chiding herself for her self-pity. No matter what happened with the Circle, her father loved her. “More or less, yes. Are you sure you don’t want a pie?”

  He shook his head.

  They walked on, and she became aware of his gaze, beginning now to observe her instead of avoid her. “I thought you’d be in the Wheel at this time,” he said, and she thought his words were deceptively light. “How is your work progressing?”

  “It’s fine.” And now she’d lied to him, quick and unthinking. She grasped for something that was less false but not yet the awful truth. “I thought I’d go out for a walk, even in the wind, and try to clear my head.”

  “Are you tired?”

  “No, I—I haven’t been sleeping well. I have dreams, but I can’t remember them.” That was true at least, if incomplete.

  “What kind of—‍”

  “I can’t remember them, I said,” Ariana interrupted, more sharply than she’d meant to. “Look, there she is!”

  The short vendor gave her a warm pie and a friendly if gappy smile, and they started for the tavern Shianan had mentioned.

  “It’s been a long while,” Ariana said, breaking off a piece of the pie and watching the released steam curl into the air. “Maybe you could come some night for supper again.”

  “You’re inviting me?”

  “I thought you were buying me an ale. Can’t I then invite you for supper?” She proffered the chunk of pie. “Would you like a bite, at least?”

  He started to answer, hesitated, and then gave her an embarrassed grin. “It does smell good.”

  She felt better now he’d relaxed enough to accept food. “Take it. And tell me how the soldiers are doing—in their training, I mean. Don’t you have some sort of royal review coming soon?”

  “Yes, for the Founding Festival. They’ll need to present themselves well, and most of them I think will do it. There are only a few I might need to assign to clean privies that day, to keep them from sight.” He paused and glanced at the sign over them, a painted raptor bearing a chubby infant on its back. “Here’s our tavern.”

  He ordered two ales and led her to a corner away from the midday press. She tasted her drink. “This is good! I’m glad I found you.”

  He glanced at her and then down at the table. “So am I. I mean, for lunch. And—well, as you saw, I wasn’t in a pleasant mood. Thank you for tolerating me, and for helping to alleviate it.”

  He was helping her at least as much. “What did he want? Or may you tell?”

  “Who?”

  “The king.” She hesitated. “If it’s something you can’t discuss, or don’t wish to, that’s fine, of course.”

  He stared at her. “I didn’t think I’d told you I’d seen the king.”

  “Only the king could call you away from the prince.” And she had seen him in a similar despondency once before.

  “Clever.” He sighed. “It’s—nothing to trouble you. Please don’t worry over it.” He smiled wanly and took a drink of his ale.

  She wouldn’t press. “So when will you meet with His Highness?”

  Shianan frowned. “I was going back to my office. He said to come when I could and, well, you saw my state of mind.”

  “But if—that means the prince-heir gave you an open invitation, Shianan! That must mean something. You should go.”

  He looked thoughtful. “You think...”

  “I think if Prince Soren asks you to visit when you may, you certainly may. He seemed friendly enough last night, no?”

  Shianan nodded. “I have only paperwork this afternoon, and that’s even more distasteful than waiting upon royalty.”

  Ariana chuckled. “And with that bald confession, I know we’re truly friends. Let’s finish our drinks. You should go to the prince, and I should test my ink.”

  They walked back to the fortress without speaking, but it was not the terse silence of before. Ariana glanced at Shianan and thought unexpectedly of their journey across the mountains to bring the Shard. She had not thought then that the cool, upright commander might become a trusted and trusting friend.

  Except they were each keeping secrets from the other even now. Not because she did not trust him; rather, she craved the normalcy of being with him and not thinking of what had happened, without him looking at her differently, and she couldn’t pour her grief over his depression. Still, it felt like she had trusted him more when she had known him less, burying dead farmers in the mountains.<
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  But he had shown glimpses of his true nature even then. He had come to rescue her when Tamaryl was first revealed, risking himself and the Shard, and then refrained from killing at Ariana’s urging. He’d treated Tam’s wounded shoulder though he knew the boy was a hated enemy.

  Tam... She’d been trying very hard to avoid thinking of Tam. She missed him a dozen times a day: returning to her home without his boyish welcome, visiting her father’s workroom without its short famulus, thinking of the Ryuven. He had been a part of their household for as long as she could remember, and then he had been a family secret, and then he had been a friend in a distant, hostile world.

  And he had hinted at feelings for her, but he had gone before she could even determine her response. She felt unsettled, as if they had unfinished business—but that did nothing to assuage the aching hole he’d left as the friendly young member of her household she’d known all her life.

  Shianan’s fingers brushed hers and retracted. She glanced at him, unsure if the contact had been deliberate, but he looked straight ahead as he asked, “Would you like me to walk you to the Wheel?”

  She shook her head. “The prince’s office is nearer. The Wheel is out of your way.” Belatedly she wondered if she should have accepted, but she had been thinking faintly of Tamaryl’s discomfiting final words to her.

  Unfinished business. Aching farewell. Tam and her magic, both gone. She swallowed against the rising lump in her throat, and her pulse began to pound in her ears. Irrational feelings, grief for what had not died, coming when she was unprepared—

  Shianan nodded stiffly. “Then I’ll turn off here.” He stopped at the stone arch which marked the end of the common yard and faced Ariana. “Thanks. For walking with me, I mean.”

  “It was my pleasure, thank you. And now I must get back to work. Magical ink, you know.” She mimed busywork and forced a grin she did not feel. “Now that the shield’s up and the war’s over, we’ll have to make ourselves useful in other ways. No more Ryuven to fight.”

  Shianan’s eyes flicked away and he swallowed visibly. “How’s Tam? Is he gone?”

  The question struck Ariana hard. “He’s—‍” She gulped, her throat closing. “He’s gone—oh, no.” Tears brimmed at her eyes and she rubbed at them. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why—‍”

  “What?” Shianan looked almost frightened. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  Everything converged at once upon the fragile dam she had put up, and the humiliating tears broke loose. “Oh, this is awful!” She turned away. “I shouldn’t cry, not for this. Not for Tam.” Her words blurred in her uneven breathing.

  Shianan’s hands reached for her but hesitated, hovering uncertainly. “What happened?” he repeated.

  “Everything! The shield and the Ryuven world and everything. My magic—helpless.” She shoved tears from her eyes. “And he said—no, I can’t say—and when the shield—and he kissed me, and I wasn’t expecting—I was off guard... The mages were at the door, but he just—and I can’t talk about it, not even with my father, because I don’t think he knows, and—‍”

  “Ariana!” Shianan seized her upper arms, fingers squeezing too hard. “Ariana, did that Ryuven touch—did he—to you...?”

  Ariana stared at him for an eternal instant, unable even to sob as she tried to comprehend what he asked. He thought—he thought Tam had—

  He heard nothing she said, only his own twisted imagination of what Tam had done, that it had been like the terrible attack on Maru—

  She threw her arms out, shoving him backward. “How dare you?” she demanded. Tam would never hurt her as Daranai had hurt Maru. “How dare you accuse him so!” She could not speak beyond that. Angry, helpless, useless tears overcame her and she bolted, fleeing across the courtyard and pulling her concealing hood close as she went.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  SHIANAN STARED AFTER Ariana, jaw hanging, the stinging in his singed palms nothing beside his pained confusion. He wanted to call after her, to follow her, but he could not move.

  A scuff of leather on stone broke his trance and he wheeled. Behind him, Soren hesitated, a look of chagrined embarrassment on his face. They each froze.

  The prince spoke first. “Do you want me to walk away and return as if I’ve only just arrived?”

  Shianan blinked at him, unable to think, and then something seemed to break within him. He sank against the stone arch. “No,” he managed.

  His knees weakened as the day’s wrongs overwhelmed him. Some part of his brain recognized that he owed obeisance to the prince, but his body moved too awkwardly.

  Soren swore. “What happened? It’s none of my business, of course. But you—what magic did she do? Are you hurt?”

  The wall was cold against Shianan’s cheek. He wanted to sink into the stones and be gone forever. What humiliation was possibly left to him this day?

  Soren seized his arm, making Shianan jump. Before he could speak, the prince leaned close and said fiercely, “Oh, no, don’t even think of it. Your life is in the service of the crown, isn’t it?” He squeezed Shianan’s arm. “Isn’t it?”

  “Yes, my lord,” answered Shianan dully. More than ever.

  “And you wouldn’t abandon your duty, would you? Or rob the crown of your service?” Soren’s voice grew sharper. “Would you?”

  Shianan blinked, startled by the prince’s intensity. “No, my lord.”

  “Good.” Soren released him. “Then come with me. I have something which, if it won’t put everything right, will at least make the world spin the other direction for a few minutes. Let’s go.”

  Shianan obediently followed the short distance to the rooms where the prince conducted his political business. He was numb with accumulated disappointment and shame, and it hardly mattered what happened next.

  “Ethan!” called Soren. There was no response. Soren kicked the door behind them and gestured Shianan toward the open room on the left. “Go on, I’ll be there in a moment. Ethan!”

  The servant appeared in the far doorway opposite them, his eyebrow raised and a significant look on his face. “What is it?” asked Soren. Shianan took a step into the left doorway.

  “Soren!” called a female voice. “I’ve been waiting for you. Why didn’t you answer my—‍” The voice stopped suddenly as Shianan looked with horror at the queen, seated in the prince’s sitting room. “Oh. I see.”

  Shianan’s demoralized knees gave way and he dropped to the floor, nearer a collapse than a conscious decision to kneel. His lips moved, shaping the words, “Your Majesty,” but he could not produce a sound.

  “My lady mother,” Soren said in dull surprise behind him. “I didn’t expect you.”

  “Obviously not,” she replied coolly. “You told me you found the commander distantly interesting. You never said you were in the habit of inviting him to your private sitting room.” Her voice grew acidic. “Are these all the manners he has been taught? He tends to fall to his knees whenever I see him.”

  “Mother, please!” snapped Soren.

  Shianan licked his lips. “Your Majesty, I swear the prince has not—this is the first time. If it pleases Your Majesty, I will go—‍”

  “I would be pleased if you’d stay,” Soren said firmly. “My lady mother, I respectfully request that while you are in my office you show a measure of respect to my guests. Surely you trust me enough to have some small faith in my friends?”

  Shianan closed his eyes, not daring to witness the queen’s response. He should not have seen her rebuked. He could only pretend he was a piece of statuary, a tile in the floor, a slave without social presence.

  “Is that how you see it? That I should trust your invitation to this man, of whom we’ve heard recent complaints?”

  “Considering what you know of me, my lady mother, are you justified in assuming I invite a viper into my chamber? Or is it possible I might have reason to believe this Bailaha is not all that you’ve heard?”

  Queen Azalie hesitated.
“If you say I should judge your word against Alasdair’s, then I suppose I should wait and listen. And you are quite right, it is the worst of manners to insult your guests in your rooms. I apologize. Stand, Bailaha, and join us.”

  Shianan didn’t think he could move.

  “Bailaha?”

  “Peace, mother. I brought him in part because he needs something strongly medicinal. Ethan? And something softer for Her Majesty, as well.” And then Soren’s boots were before Shianan’s blinking eyes. “Give me your hand, Becknam.”

  Shianan lifted his head and gaped at the prince for an eternal heartbeat, and then he grasped the prince’s hand and was pulled to his unsteady feet. The prince left him within comfortable distance of a sturdy table and turned back to the queen. “I’m sorry. I’d not received word you were coming when I’d asked Becknam to come for a talk. I think I’m safe in assuming he would be happy of a few minutes to himself while he waited on our business. Ethan can see him settled in my office.”

  Ethan slipped beside Shianan and proffered a tray. Shianan took the drink before thinking that the queen and prince should have been served first. He glanced at the slave, but Ethan was standing immobile behind him, watching the two royals expressionlessly. Shianan eyed the drink in his hand, wondering if he dared taste it before they were served.

  “No,” answered the queen, “don’t send him away. In truth, I came largely because of him, so he might as well be present.”

  Shianan hastily took a gulp. Liquid fire scorched down his throat and he choked, coughing as the drink burnt through him.

  “Steady,” he dimly heard Soren say. “I promised something that would make the world spin the other way, yes? Mother, I’m afraid we don’t have your favorite Cheerling. If I’d known you were coming to Alham, I would have laid in a supply.”

  “Thank you, Soren, this will be fine.” The queen accepted a drink of a different color and sipped genteelly at it.

  Ethan glanced at his master with a questioning look and Soren shook his head. “I haven’t decided yet. Have you got speech again yet, Becknam? That will shear the tongue from your mouth if you’re not careful.” He looked seriously at Shianan. “What business did the king have for you this morning?”