Isabel exhaled a sigh and pressed her hands to her cheeks. She hadn’t been in the habit then of traveling the paths of the future. Back then she’d trusted to her dreams to come when they would. But she’d learned since that Prescience was a fickle mistress, revealing her secrets where and when she pleased, and she didn’t often please to tell her Seers what they would be pleased to know.
Isabel had sworn never to make that mistake again. Now she walked the paths of the future as often as those of the present—perhaps more so.
Isabel exhaled a tremulous sigh. In the long years since that conversation with Dore, she had many times wondered if their lives might’ve been different if she’d only looked into Dore Madden’s mind instead of maintaining a distant propriety…if she’d trusted to Arion’s warnings, or taken action earlier to involve her brother. Would Arion have lived? Would Malachai have kept his sanity? Would the Citadel still have fallen?
But while the woman Isabel wondered, Epiphany’s Prophet had walked the mist-shrouded paths of time, and she knew…she knew there had been no other way.
If they’d met the Malorin’athgul on the playing field at the turn of the Age, before the Adept Wars or even shortly thereafter…even had Arion still lived…all would’ve fallen and their cause would’ve been lost. Every sacrifice would’ve been for naught.
Now the images from her dream floated before her vision, demanding inspection. When she viewed the images separately, she only nebulously understood them, but when she viewed them as a whole, her path stood illuminated with painful clarity.
She’d been upon that path when she’d allowed naivety to blindfold her to Dore Madden’s plans, and she remained upon that path now, blindfolded to all but her Sight, when it was leading her once again to utter ruin.
Isabel pressed fingers to her temples, willing away the dull throbbing behind her eyes that often accompanied a foretelling of such intensity. Or perhaps its source lay deeper, in the wave of protest coming on a tide of fear.
Rising from a bed grown cold without Ean’s warmth, she took up her robe and donned it as she walked to the balcony. The Kandori day had dawned bright, though winter still vied with spring and blew a chill breath across the world. The breeze clutched at her robe and tangled her hair as she placed her hands on the railing.
Isabel had never felt such duality in her own path.
Yet in truth, there was no duality of path, only duality of desire. What Isabel wanted had always come second to the path walked by Epiphany’s Prophet. To choose any other route would be to deny a duty as native to her as the lifeforce itself. But her heart…she had a woman’s heart, not a Prophet’s, not a god’s…and she feared how many times it might be shattered and still find its way back together again.
Closing her eyes, Isabel sought her brother’s mind.
Sister of my heart…
His mental voice felt such a welcome balm after the disturbing dream. Tears sprang immediately to her eyes.
Isabel…? His thoughts turned wary with concern. What happened?
A dream. She pressed her blindfold against her closed lids to stem the tears. I must show you.
Isabel meticulously recalled every moment of the dream—as she’d trained herself to do—until it all lay before her brother’s mental eye.
He was silent when she finished. He knew as well as she did what it meant.
More tears escaped her, and she smudged them from her cheeks with both palms. If even one can be salvaged, she posed into his stunned silence, is it not worth any price?
She sensed his disconcertion on the other end of their bond and knew the twisted expression his face would reveal. But at such cost, Isabel! His mental voice mirrored all the regret she already felt in her heart. Can you truly pay it?
She clenched her teeth while a desperate fear gripped her soul.
There’s always another way, he offered, though he sounded uncertain, an alternate path unclear to either of them.
Perhaps…she agreed, for in theory it was true—one always had a choice, but at what tumbling consequence? We’ve seen the ramifications of forcing new paths away from the one extending before us. Those new branches have rarely led to satisfying outcomes.
To put it mildly, he admitted, though she heard only sorrow in his tone. Isabel…
He stroked her hair, an ethereal caress, and then embraced her in the same manner. She felt his arms around her, warm and strong, heard his voice whisper into her ear, Oh, dear sister…I am so, so sorry…
She cast him a mental nod, for words failed her utterly.
Ma dieulle, tan cyr im’avec, he whispered lovingly as he withdrew.
Y dama avec’im.
Isabel exhaled a shuddering breath. Then she returned inside and prepared herself to face the rest of the day…and all of the days thereafter.
***
The currents swirled around Sebastian’s sight in funnels, in streams, in whirlpools and massing clouds of gold, bronze, rose and silver. Abruptly an eddy appeared in the shimmering fourth strand and he swung his sword for it. The blade sliced through the stream but to no effect. Ean’s pattern still hit him in the face like a wet towel.
“Blaarg.” Sebastian shook his head and cast an irritable look at his littlest brother, who was standing across the marble-tiled court. “This isn’t working.”
Ean’s hopefully expression faded. “No. Clearly not.” He looked to Dareios, who sat in a chair at a linen-draped table where their morning meal stood untouched. “What do we do? He needs to be able to catch the patterns on his blade, but if he can’t see them…?”
“Most of us can’t see them, Ean.” Dareios’s colorless eyes sparkled with humor.
Ean looked back to Sebastian and frowned. “You’re watching the currents like I showed you?”
“Yes, but Ean…” he pushed a hand through his raven-black hair and turned blue-grey eyes off towards the mountains visible beyond the open-ended courtyard. Day had been upon them for three hours, and already Sebastian felt drained. They’d covered what seemed a months’ worth of practice in those few hours, yet Ean pushed him relentlessly, and Sebastian did his best to keep afloat, for he felt the pressure equally.
They both harbored guilt over Rhys and his men remaining in peril of their lives—if they still lived at all, which Sebastian feared unlikely—but their guilt emitted from opposite poles. Sebastian had placed Rhys and the others into Dore’s hands, but Ean had left them there when he chose to rescue Sebastian instead. They both bore this guilt, bore it together as brothers, yet sharing the burden in no way lessened the weight of the load.
Sebastian returned his attention to the problem at hand. “I can see the currents. I can even see when you’re working something with them, but I can’t see the pattern itself. It’s like…” he shrugged as he held his brother’s gaze, “swiping at shadows.”
“Ean, might I suggest you come and break your fast—” Dareios broke off his comment to lift up the linen tablecloth and nudge at the wildcat Babar, who was lurking beneath it.
She hissed and swiped at him with one dangerously sharp-clawed paw.
He dropped the tablecloth on the cat and turned to Dannym’s two princes wearing an expression of resigned acceptance. “Wildcats and women…I cannot decide which is more infuriating.” Then he sat back in his chair and crossed his knees. “But you two have done miraculous work already this morning. I would say you’ve earned the respite of a meal—brief though it shall no doubt be if Ean has his way.” His eyes teased Ean with their humor, but his words cast a tiny shadow of reprimand in reference to Sebastian’s still somewhat fragile mental state.
But Sebastian understood why Ean worked them so hard. Dareios couldn’t know the guilt they faced together.
Ean looked back to meet Sebastian’s gaze. Ever Sebastian saw self-reproach in his brother’s eyes, even as Ean no doubt saw the same in his. Sebastian bore far more guilt, however, for his brother Trell’s imprisonment also weighed upon his conscience.
Y
et in all fairness, he rather imagined you couldn’t measure guilt. Whether a lot or a little, even the smallest drop felt as heavy as the realm upon your shoulders and as vast and boundless as time itself. How did one quantify something like that?
Ean exhaled beneath a furrowed brow. “I just want to try one more thing before we stop. I have an idea.”
Sometimes it would strike Sebastian in the oddest moments that his little brother was teaching him how to wield elae far more adroitly than Dore had ever managed. The thought always made him grin.
Ean arched brows inquiringly. “What?”
“Nothing.” Sebastian waved his sword in an idle motion. “Let’s try it, whatever it is, this idea of yours.”
“Then you’ll eat—promise me,” Dareios chided.
Sebastian turned him a grin. “I can think of several who’d be better suited as nursemaids, Dareios of Kandori.”
Dareios’s eyes danced with humor. “No doubt many of my sisters would agree with you, Sebastian, but somehow I wonder if you’d find yourself quite so carefree beneath my sisters’ ministrations.”
Sebastian thought of the Princess Ehsan and the way she’d looked at him and wondered at the implication in Dareios’s tone.
Ean waved to Sebastian to join him, then started across the courtyard towards Dareios. “I’m going to need you for this. He needs to see it as I see it.”
“Ah…” Dareios stood and walked to meet them.
The truthreader had many times proven invaluable in bridging Ean and Sebastian’s minds—for Sebastian remained too sensitive to Ean’s mental presence to share minds directly with him. The touch of Ean’s mind felt like a sword straight from the forges, too hot for Sebastian to bear, while Dareios’s expert mental touch might’ve been a breath of wind if Sebastian felt it at all. Through the Kandori prince, Sebastian and Ean were able to connect.
Dareios held out his hands, and the brothers each took hold of one. “Very well, Ean, show me what you would have Sebastian see.”
Sebastian closed his eyes.
It never failed to amaze him, looking into Ean’s mind. Depending on what his brother focused on, the view varied greatly—from starry expanses washed with luminous color to rushing waves as like riding upon a sea of gold.
That time, as Dareios opened a channel into Ean’s mind for Sebastian, he saw the rushing currents of elae.
“Sebastian, can you work something?” Ean’s voice sounded far away, though he stood but a pace in front of him. “Perhaps the fifth-strand shielding pattern from yesterday.”
Wondering what Ean was up to, Sebastian dutifully called the pattern into view and cast it forth. Had he actually put it into use, he would’ve held it in place. Releasing it merely cast a momentary shield before his body, which quickly evaporated.
But as he released it, so also he saw it through Ean’s thoughts.
Amazing! His brother really could see the pattern exactly as Sebastian had formed it in the exact moment of its forming. It was an exciting experience, seeing it from both sides.
Yet what he saw next…
“Ean, what is it you do?” Dareios’s voice was low, curious.
Ean’s mind had become a swirling vortex of golden light. To look upon it…it was as if he’d dived directly into a pattern…or perhaps into the fifth itself. Sebastian felt swept along on a raging current while light streaked painfully by. He plunged beneath waves of gold and came up mentally gasping, singed yet oddly elated, helpless against the swirling current while craving its overwhelming embrace.
“Ean…” Dareios’s tone conveyed a sudden unease.
“Don’t worry…” His brother’s voice came low and calm, but clearly from a place of deep concentration. “I’m almost there…”
Suddenly a pattern exploded into view before Sebastian’s mental gaze—brilliantly glowing and viciously bright, painful as staring into the sun. Sebastian cringed and would’ve jerked out of rapport had not Dareios been squeezing his hand so tightly.
“That’s it!” Ean sounded triumphant. Abruptly the vision vanished. Ean had closed off his mind.
Sebastian blinked open his eyes. When the spots finally cleared before his vision, he noticed Dareios staring at his brother.
Ean noticed also. “What’s wrong?”
“Ean…” The truthreader looked stunned. He released their hands and pushed both of his to smooth back his dark hair. “That…you…” He waved one hand wildly. “You just…deduced the pattern of your own variant trait!”
Ean rubbed at his jaw. “Is that bad?”
“It’s unheard of! It’s never been managed before. It’s—” Shock apparently kept stealing the words from his tongue. “It’s phenomenal.” Dareios gripped Ean by the shoulders. “Have you any idea the value of this pattern—or how dangerous it is?”
Ean blinked at him. “Dangerous?”
Sebastian grunted, for he had the gist of it already. “If Dore Madden had such a pattern, he’d be unstoppable.”
Dareios cast him a telling look by way of agreement. “Wars might rage for eons.” Perhaps because Ean still looked confused, Dareios posed, “Think upon it: if every Adept in a battle could see what’s coming at him? Patterns would fly like shuttlecocks back and forth across the lines in a never-ending volley.” He released Ean’s shoulders and exhaled a slow breath. “Many believe there’s a reason so few Adepts are born with your particular variant trait.”
Ean eyed him uncertainly. “What reason is that?”
“They believe too many Adepts like you would unbalance the realm.”
“That’s encouraging.”
Dareios traced a finger along a triangular brow. “The Quorum of the Sixth Truth was comprised entirely of Adepts with your variant trait, did you know?” He dropped his hand and regarded Ean seriously. “Many believe the cataclysm that wiped their Order from the face of the realm was an act of Balance seeking to right itself. Never again have so many Adepts been born with that trait. Besides yourself, only two other men in the last half-millennia have ever been known to posses it.”
“Who?” Sebastian asked.
Dareios shifted his colorless gaze to him. “Björn van Gelderan and Arion Tavestra.”
Sebastian turned Ean a shadowy smile. “So…one other, then.”
Ean scowled at him. “Ha. Very ha.”
Dareios traced one eyebrow again. “Would that I hadn’t seen that pattern so clearly, Ean. I don’t even trust myself with it.”
“Consider it a sacred charge then.” Ean turned and strode to the table, and Sebastian followed him. Dareios frowned after them both.
“Dareios, have you considered what would happen if I manage to get myself killed in the near future?” Ean looked up under his brows as he sat down in a chair. “Which I might remind you, I am very good at managing to nearly do.”
Dareios walked to rejoin them, but he stopped short and frowned when he noticed that Babar had taken over his chair and now sat primly surveying her domain. “Move, Babar.” He flicked a hand impatiently at her.
She hissed and flattened an ear.
In reply to which he sat down anyway, forcing her quite indignantly from the chair. She yowled a feline reprimand and scampered off across the marble tiles.
Dareios sighed as he watched her go. Then he turned his gaze back to Ean. “Now…” He sat back in his chair, folded jeweled fingers in his lap, and arched one triangular brow. “You were about to convince me why I should remain the repository for this insanely dangerous pattern.”
Ean was peeling an orange. “Think upon it.” He cast Dareios a dry smile, using the same tone and inflection Dareios had used on him just moments ago. “Isabel hasn’t told me specifically why I’m so important to the game, but it doesn’t take a great leap of logic to imagine it has something to do with this variant trait of mine. If that is the case and the pattern that allows me to see other patterns were to die with me?”
Dareios regarded him seriously. “I mislike the direction of this rationale, E
an.”
“But you can’t fault the logic in it.”
Dareios worked the muscles of his jaw. “No. Sadly I cannot.” His gaze shifted between Ean and Sebastian. “You would teach this pattern to your brother?”
Ean split the peeled orange and handed half of it absently to Sebastian. “Him and him alone.”
“And I would—”
“Hold it in trust.”
Dareios sank his chin onto one hand and considered him. “Would you submit to a truthbinding on your knowledge of this pattern? I would feel comfortable only if it remained a troth between the three of us alone.”
“I would.” Ean looked to Sebastian. “Will you?”
Sebastian exhaled slowly. He loathed the idea of letting anyone put anything into his head again, but he trusted Dareios, and he understood the danger of this pattern, even if Ean seemed cavalier about it. He shifted his gaze back to their host. “It would protect the pattern, too, wouldn’t it, your binding? No one would be able to strip it from my thoughts.”
Dareios nodded, an acknowledgement of both the truth of his words as well as Sebastian’s grasp of the risks involved.
“Very well. I’ll submit.”
“Khoob, that is well for the sun. We’ll attend to it after we break our fast.” All the unease vanished from Dareios’s manner then, the matter being resolved. He smiled and reached for his goblet with one hand and a piece of fruit with the other. “Tell me of your work with the Labyrinth yesterday. How did it progress after we parted?”
“Sebastian has the trick of it now.” Ean cast him an admiring smile. “I last timed him at three and a half minutes to escape.”
Dareios nodded appreciatively. “And Ean’s time?”
Sebastian poured himself some wine. “A count of twenty.”
“I still say it was eighteen.” Ean gave him a hard look.
Sebastian grinned at him. “You weren’t the one counting.”
Dareios let out a low whistle. “Eighteen or twenty, that’s a startling record.” He shifted his gaze to Sebastian. “How many times did he escape that quickly?”
Paths of Alir (A Pattern of Shadow & Light Book 3) Page 59
