“Why?”
She paused. “Maybe it’s how it’s supposed to feel. But I’m not sure I’ll ever trust them, some of them.”
“Ferogin.”
“For one.”
He looked up at her, and she was wincing. “Are you all right?” he asked again.
“A headache. Not bad.”
“Do you get them a lot?” Contare said that some sorcerers were particularly prone to them.
“Not so much now.”
He thought it might be the right time to ask her something. “At the Hippodrome, did you have a headache then? It seemed like you were sick.”
She didn’t answer, and her mental presence faded again.
“I’m sorry,” he sent quickly.
“‘Tis fine. I’d a lot of headaches in the beginning.”
He waited, but she didn’t go on, and he decided not to mention that Contare had said she’d had a fever. Whatever had been wrong with her back then, it was clearly over, and just as clearly was going to stay in the past.
He’d ask her again sometime. Maybe in a year, or ten years, or a hundred. There was no hurry.
Ahead of them, Selena turned to smile at Logan as she moved her horse in front of his to get through a narrow part of the track. At least one thing today seemed to have gone according to Jeff’s plan. Koren sent, “I don’t think Velinda’d be happy to be forgotten so quickly.”
“How well do you know her?”
She seemed a little embarrassed. “Actually, not well enough to be saying things about her. I’m sorry.”
“Well, nobody would be happy to be forgotten quickly, so you said nothing untrue.”
That amused her, and she sent, “So if I want someone to be unhappy, I should forget him?”
“Quickly.”
“I’ll file that idea away.”
“You keep files of ideas?”
“In my head.” Her tone mocked Ferogin: “‘Twas a metaphor.”
“Your head’s a metaphor?”
“Yours isn’t?”
He laughed. “It must be, since I can’t keep much inside it.”
“I thought mine was since I keep a lot inside it.”
That didn’t surprise him. She was always quiet, but always watching, always listening. “You do seem to know a lot of things.”
“Josselin tells me a lot of things.” After a considering pause, she added, “But probably not as many things as she doesn’t tell me.”
Graegor had never really considered the idea that Contare may not be telling him as much as he thought. Maybe he wasn’t asking all the questions he should. It wasn’t very often that Contare didn’t answer … which, when he thought about it, made one incident stand out. He’d asked if the “lynx hunt” Natayl had mentioned at the Circle session was related to the Seventh’s great purge. Contare had only shaken his head, and he’d remained silent when Graegor had tried to ask more.
Maybe Josselin had been more forthcoming. “Do you know what the “lynx hunt” was?” he asked Koren.
“Contare won’t tell you?”
“No. Josselin did?”
“Not as such. But there’s a book I read, a journal written by one of the magi ministers.”
“And you just happened to discover this book?”
“Josselin must’ve put it where I’d find it. All she said directly was that the Eighth agreed not to talk about the lynx hunt, especially to us. That’s why everyone’s upset with Natayl for saying it out loud.”
“The Eighth? So it was something they did? Our masters?”
“Yes.”
“And the journal was written by one of the magi at the time?”
“Yes. He was a minister, so ‘tis probably accurate.”
“Why did Josselin keep it?”
“I didn’t ask her, but it fits what she’d do. She’d believe it her duty to remember what happened.”
“What did happen?”
Koren’s mind withdrew for a moment as she assembled the pieces of the story. “‘Twas about twenty years after they’d taken power. The restoration projects of the Sixth and Seventh were done. The projects were meant to remake the city so it could hold half a million people. But by this time the city was overcrowded. The Eighth hadn’t enforced the limits on children, and a lot of refugees were coming from Toland and Kroldon.”
“Refugees? Why?”
“I’ve not researched that part yet. So, people asked to build new neighborhoods outside the walls, but the Circle refused. Then a new disease broke out in the streets next to the river—greencough.”
He’d heard of greencough. He’d been told that whatever he imagined from such a name, the reality was even worse. “It spread?”
“The first outbreak was small, and the Circle handled it. But then there was a bigger one, much bigger, and there weren’t enough hospitals. In the middle of that, a building collapsed under the weight of the people living there. All six floors just flatcaked to the ground, and hundreds of people died.”
“My God.”
“The Circle decided to start exiling people in order to get the population back down. They began with criminals and nuisances, but pretty soon anyone who spoke against it got thrown out. There was a riot over that, but ‘twas quelled, severely.”
Contare had been a part of this?—But, yes, he’d mentioned that he’d “put down riots” before … it was just hard for Graegor to believe that his master would agree to such measures. Wouldn’t he have preferred to offer people incentives to leave the city? Money, or land in the fief islands? Wouldn’t that have worked better? Had he suggested it but been overruled?
“Some of the magi renounced their pledges, to protest what was going on.” Koren paused. “The Circle … I think they killed them.”
“You’re … not sure of that?”
“The minister used vague terms when he wrote about it, so no, I’m not sure. But it seemed to imply that.”
Graegor could feel how much it upset her—as much as it upset him. Had these long-ago murders been conducted with as much elegant ceremony as the executions he had witnessed? “Exile should be enough. The Circle shouldn’t kill anyone.”
“It ended all resistance. And many more people left willingly after that. So, then, fewer people lived in the city, as the Circle wanted. But they knew they’d gone too far. They’re ashamed of it.”
Graegor really wanted to ask Contare about it now. Was there any chance that the old man would relent and explain? Or would he be angry with Josselin for letting Koren read the journal?
Later. With everything else that had happened today, it was better to save questions about the lynx hunt for another time. Except for one. “Why is it called the lynx hunt?”
“It means the hunt for the last two magi who resisted. ‘Twas a house-to-house search, just like the lockdown. Two Khenroxans, a magus and a maga from the Connlee family, and their symbol’s a lynx. People eventually used the phrase to mean the whole purge.”
Graegor shook his head. “It bothers me that they specifically agreed not to tell us.”
“Jeh. Maybe they don’t want to give us any ideas.”
Now he snorted. “If that’s the case, they wouldn’t have put the city under lockdown and executed those rogues.”
“Apparently what happened this time was different. More restrained.”
“I’d like to be trusted to see the difference, by knowing what happened before.”
“Trust an apprentice? You’re insane.”
He sighed and shook his head. “They probably think we need to grow up more.”
“I’m sure I do.”
“I probably do too,” he admitted.
“Maybe.”
He knew she was deliberately changing the subject, but he didn’t mind, and her comment made him curious. “Maybe?”
“I think you’re the only one of the nine of us that could be called an adult.”
“How do you figure that?”
She paused to gather her evidence
as her fingers worked a burr out of Marcus’s horse’s mane. “Most of us were still living in our fathers’ houses, but you weren’t.”
“Daxod was married, remember?”
“But he wasn’t the head of the household. His father still told him what to do.”
Not considering Daxod an adult for that reason seemed like a stretch, but he only said, “What about Rossin?”
“He ran away when he was small. No one raised him, so in a lot of ways, he’s still a child.”
“Well, then, what about Borjhul? He was a soldier when Oran found him.”
“Soldiers don’t make decisions,” she countered quickly. “Their commander does. Soldiers get told what to do every single moment.”
“That doesn’t mean they aren’t adults.”
“What I mean is, you left home and took care of yourself completely for months. You worked, you fed yourself, you saved money, you decided what to do each day, you made plans.”
He didn’t specifically remember telling her that. Contare must have told Josselin—though he obviously hadn’t included the fact that Graegor had just gotten out of jail when he’d found him. Graegor thought about telling Koren about that part, but it made him remember how his father had come to get him out. Graegor had told him exactly the same thing Koren was saying now—that he’d been taking care of himself completely for months. He’d been furious at being treated like a child.
“I’m sorry,” she sent when he didn’t answer.
“No, I was just remembering. A year ago that’s exactly what I was doing. What about you?”
“A year ago? … We’d just finished the best crab season ever.”
“Jeffrei said you used your magic to sense where the crab were.”
“‘Tis true. But I didn’t know I was using magic. That’s another reason I didn’t want to leave. I was worried my father wouldn’t be able to find the crab without me.”
“Did he?”
“Not as much, but he looked in the same places as last year, so the haul was good.”
“The crab are different up there, aren’t they? Bigger?”
“Yes, much bigger than here, and sweeter. Only thing from up there that tastes better than what’s down here. To me, at least.”
“Can I get some on the north coast? Contare and I are going to tour the kingdom next year.”
“North coast? Oh, of Telgardia. Maybe. I know my father’s sold them down near Naben before.”
He grinned. He’d always thought of Naben as being “up”. “The Lairconaigs are the only ones who fish for them?”
“Other families’ve been trying, ever since we started bringing in huge hauls. No one’s found them along the continental coast, so they have to come close to our island, where the seas are shallower.”
“And you allow it?”
“No,” she sent emphatically. “If you’re pulling up crab pots in our waters and we don’t recognize you, we’ll drive you off.”
“The fishermen all know each other?”
“Mostly. By sight if not by name.”
He grinned. “Do they know you, then? By sight if not by name?”
“I’m sure every fisherman on the North Sea claims to know me personally.”
“Jeh, every village in Lakeland is claiming that I grew up there.”
“Are they naming babies after you?”
“At least two that I know about.” Audrey had seemed to find this hilarious when she’d reported it to him, but it made him feel strange. “You too?”
“Yes. Ironically.”
“Why ironically?”
“My mother ...” She paused, withdrew, and started again after a moment. “‘Tis like this. She was on the mainland to visit her family. I was born there, and she named me Karen. When we went back to Dundreig, my father started calling me Coreen, the highland version, which she hated. My nanny combined the two into Koren, so everyone else called me that too. But to Father I was always Coreen, and to her I was always Karen.”
“I didn’t know that highland names and plains names were different.”
She seemed surprised at that. After a moment she sent, “‘Tis important to us.”
Patrick and Rose had said that the differences mattered. “It’s pretty,” he told her hurriedly. “All three ways.”
Again she seemed surprised at his comment, and again it took a moment for her to answer. “Thank you. The ironic part is that she hated ‘Koren’ as much as she hated ‘Coreen’, but ‘tis ‘Koren’ that’s popular now.”
Clearly Koren didn’t get along with her mother. He wanted to ask why, but didn’t, because he wouldn’t want someone asking why he didn’t get along with his father. “So your mother wanted the name ‘Karen’ to be popular?”
She paused yet again. “Yes,” she sent finally. “For plains girls near my age, there’s huge preference for flower and fruit names. My older sister’s called Olive, but for me, she wanted to go back to what was popular a century ago.”
“Flower names—you mean Rose?”
“Yes. And others … I’m trying to think of names like Rose, that’re the same word in Khenroxan and Mazespaak. I’ve a friend called Violet. ‘Tis the same? A small purple flower?”
“Jeh, that’s the same in Mazespaak. Telgardian, too.”
“I met girls at court called …. translating … Apple, Heather, Berry … two called Blossom ...”
“Grape?” he suggested wryly.
He got a sense of laughter from her. “No.”
“Thistle?”
This time he heard her snicker before she suggested, “Dogwood?”
“Cattail?”
They both laughed aloud at that. Then he asked, “Do you miss your sister?” He hadn’t even known she had a sister.
“I … no. She got married when I was little. I didn’t even recognize her when we met again at court.” After her customary pause, she asked, “Do you miss yours?”
“Jeh. We write, but …”
“‘Tisn’t the same.”
He sighed. “I wish I could bring her here, but my parents won’t have it. She’s only nine.”
“She’d like it here?”
“Absolutely.” He glanced up at Brigita, still slumped against Koren’s chest. “She feels like a little sister to me now. Maybe because I miss Audrey.”
“She feels like that to me too.” Koren looked down at him. “I’ll back you if you need. About her pledge.”
“Thank you.” He put all his gratitude into his sending, because he knew what kind of promise this was from her. Confrontations, or even heated arguments, made her very anxious. “I don’t know how Ferogin or Pascin will react.”
“They might not care,” she pointed out. “‘Tisn’t magically binding.”
“But she’s Adelard. They might be angry just at that. Or just at the idea of any magi pledging to me at all before our Circle’s forged.”
“Tabitha’s magi pledged to her.”
He blinked up at her, surprised. “How do you know about that?”
“Sofie told me. … You don’t know Sofie? She’s a Thendal student. I asked Josselin, and she seemed to know all about it.”
“Does Natayl know? Tabitha never told him.” When Tabitha had told Graegor about it, she’d insisted on secrecy.
“Josselin acted like Natayl knew.”
This was not good. “I’d better tell Tabitha. Her friends pledged to her specifically to say that they wouldn’t pledge to him, ever.”
“I could’ve gotten the wrong impression. He’d be prickly about it, wouldn’t he? That so many pledged to her? So probably I’m wrong. Probably he doesn’t know.”
“Four isn’t ‘so many’.” It was funny how things got exaggerated.
“Four? I thought it was more like twenty.”
“Twenty?”
“All the Jasinthe women, six of them, I think, and some other magi noblewomen who were here for Equinox. Four or five of her friends too, and a group of holy sisters.”
&
nbsp; He stared up at her. “Are you kidding?”
She shook her head solemnly. “No.”
“This maga, Sofie, was she there when it happened?”
“No, but Attarine and Velinda were. All the Thendal girls seem to know about it.”
Incredulous and hurt, Graegor had to look away, retreating behind his gen. Tabitha had said that Isabelle, Clementa, Attarine, and Velinda had pledged to her, but she’d never mentioned these other women. Why had she lied to him? Why had she lied at all? Did she think he would disapprove? Did she think it mattered if he disapproved? Why hadn’t she trusted him?
Or was Sofie wrong? Maybe Tabitha’s friends had embellished the truth so that … so that what? To make themselves look better somehow?
He felt Koren’s light tap against his mind. “I’m sorry,” she sent.
“It’s all right.” He shook his head a little. There had to be an explanation. He just had to ask her. He couldn’t do that until she got back. “We still need to decide whether or not we’re going to tell Contare and Josselin about Brigita.”
He heard Koren sigh. “Yes. I think we should trust them. I want to trust them.”
“And we want them to keep trusting us. If we don’t tell them, and they find out anyway …”
“That’d be the worst.” She waited a moment, then concluded, “I guess that means we’re telling them?”
“Jeh. It’s best.” At some point along the trail he’d unconsciously made the decision; he’d just needed to know if Koren had made the same one.
“What about Rifir? Should I ask Josselin to send a healer for his wife? Or do you think the other rogue, Metyas, just lied about that?”
“I don’t know.” He hadn’t even considered that. He rubbed his temples, where his headache had returned. “You know that Ferogin is going to be a problem.”
“Yes.” Koren shifted in the saddle and adjusted her hold on Brigita. “He is. He has a link with Brie.”
“I do too, now. She can tell me if he bothers her.”
“I’ll ask her if I can link too. I’d feel better if she could reach both of us.”
“So would I.” Brigita might be more comfortable with Koren than with him. “All right. We’ll wake her when we reach the switchbacks, and we’ll tell everyone then. If she …” He glanced up at the Adelard maga again.
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