Dahleven ran his hand over his beard, stretching the tension out of his jaw. There was no arguing with his father—with the Kon—when he used that tone. “All right. I’ve already dispatched the advance guard to secure the parley site. Is there anything else I should know or do here while you’re gone?”
*
Cele knew it was petty, but it took some of the sting out of being left behind to know that Dahleven couldn’t go either. She had to admit, but only to herself, that she was relieved, too. Dahleven wouldn’t be risking whatever dangers the delegates faced.
The delegation of Kon Neven and two other Jarls had left before dawn, along with their retainers and enough servants to carry their gear. She’d thought about sneaking away and finding her own way to the parley with the Tewakwe—for about five seconds. One glance at her guards and the determined set of Dahleven’s jaw had persuaded her of the impossibility of it.
Jorund’s offer kept replaying in her mind. He seemed to think she’d have no trouble Finding the staff he wanted, even though he’d only provided a vague description of it. And even if she could, how was she going to explain wandering all over the castle to the guard that would inevitably tag along?
Cele spent most of the morning with Sevond. They pretended he was teaching her the skills of jewelry making, but they were really taking comfort in each other’s company. Sorn’s father was a gentle teacher, and he complemented her efforts even though she was all thumbs. She’d never known her grandfathers and she wondered if they would have been like Sevond. Probably not, since Mom’s dad practically disowned her. Being with Sevond soothed her heart. While she listened to his quiet instruction, she couldn’t worry about making difficult choices in a dangerous world with confusing customs.
At noon, her guard escorted her back to her room. Dahleven dropped by to share her midday meal, and they talked without a single sharp word between them until Fender arrived to drill her on the use of her Talent.
“Don’t work her too hard,” Dahleven told the younger man, but his gaze met hers and his hand rested lightly above her elbow. It felt more intimate than it was, and for that moment, nothing else existed. She leaned toward him, wanting to move into the circle of his arms, to run her hands over all that hard muscle. His eyes held hers and a smile played around his lips. Cele was about to stretch up on tiptoe to kiss him when Fender cleared his throat.
Cele blushed as Dahleven stepped back. Then he left, leaving the room feeling a bit empty.
Amazingly, Fender didn’t utter a single teasing remark. He just matter-of-factly put her to work.
After half an hour of practice, Cele had an idea. “Can we go outside? Up high, on the what-you-call-its? The battlements?” You could ask me to Find things you know are in the various towers.”
Fender gave her a searching look. “An excellent idea,” he said slowly. “And it would allow you to get some fresh air at the same time. That’s what you’re really after, isn’t it?”
Not exactly. But she smiled and said, “You caught me. Dahleven doesn’t want me wandering about alone outside, not after what happened in the meadow.” Which had the virtue of being the truth.
They climbed to a high walk midway between the two tall central towers. Wind whipped loose strands free of her braids. Cele leaned against a parapet, trying to take it all in. On three sides, forested mountains loomed. Below the castle, she could see the town wrapped around the base of the walls, and beyond that a combination of meadows and tilled fields. Far in the distance, a river flowed away around a ridge of hills. “Wow! You can see the whole valley. It’s beautiful!”
“You should see the sunrise from up here.” Fender swept out his arm, pointing to the east. “In the winter, if you care to brave the Frost Giants’ breath, the sun comes up over the ridge there…”
Cele barely heard his words. Instead she concentrated, imagining a staff about a yard long, with a clear purple crystal set in a copper collar. A dim, muffled sensation pulled at her from the left. It was so faint she barely felt it. She turned, taking a step closer, trying to focus—
“Lady Celia?” Fender’s voice shattered her focus.
Damn! Just another second or two and she would have had a lock on it. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
Fender frowned, studying her. “I asked if you’re ready to begin.”
“Of course!” She smiled. “Sorry. I was daydreaming. What would you like me to Find?”
She’d have to try again to Find the staff, but Fender was watching her closely now. Belatedly, she wondered if she got a peculiar look on her face when she used her Talent. One that Fender would recognize? If she did, there was only one way to hide what she was doing from him.
“Think of a stone table. About so high and so wide,” Fender shaped the air with his hands. The stone is gray, speckled with black and silver, and the pedestals are plain except there are stretching mountain cats carved into them.” He stretched his arms above his head.
Cele held the image in her mind. The sensation of tugging was immediate, pulling her attention to the right hand tower, then to a floor halfway down. The table was there in a room on the other side of the stone column.
But she didn’t give her answer right away. Instead, she pictured the Staff. Her first attempt had seemed to come from the tower to her left, now she gave it her full attention. If her expression betrayed her, Fender would just think she was still working on Finding the table.
Cele felt guilty deceiving him, but pushed the feeling away so she could concentrate. She wasn’t hurting anyone. She might not know all of Jorund’s motives, but he had Nuvinland’s best interests at heart.
The pull was fainter than usual, and she closed her eyes. The sensation was diffuse, like a muffled sound, or a whisper, and it kept shifting out of reach as if she were grasping at fog. Why is it so hard to hold on to? Gradually it coalesced, calling to her from somewhere near the top of the left hand tower.
Yes!
Now all she had to do was pinpoint the room. She’d have to get closer for that. Without Fender.
Cele opened her eyes and pointed to the tower on the right. “The table is there, on the far side.”
Fender considered her thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should suspend your training today. I think you must be more tired than you admit. You took much longer than usual that time.”
She couldn’t meet his eyes. Fender been nothing but kind to her, and she was deceiving him. She didn’t like how that felt, even if no harm would come of it. “Maybe you’re right.”
Fender leaned against the parapet and crossed his arms over his chest. “Lady Celia, you have a remarkable Talent. In all our sessions I haven’t posed a challenge yet that you’ve failed to meet.”
She smiled, enjoying the praise even if it was for something she didn’t have much control over.
“Finding isn’t a Talent that lends itself to misuse, and you’re a grown woman, not a young miss, so I needn’t caution you to use your gift wisely.”
Cele’s heart stuttered. Did he suspect something? She forced a smile of irony to her lips. “Even if you just did.”
Fender grinned wryly. “I’m glad you’re paying attention.”
He hadn’t forgotten her distraction earlier. Did he doubt her explanation? Cele cringed inwardly. She liked Fender. She didn’t want him to distrust her.
He shrugged away from the wall. “Shall we go down?”
She’d rather have stayed up on the heights for a while, but she didn’t want to lie to him again, so she nodded. “Yes. Let’s.”
As they entered the tower, the birds perched on the peak took flight with a flapping of wings. A lone raven flew north.
Cele was relieved that her hunger was less intense than it had been in the past. It took only a short nap afterward to ease her fatigue.
“You see, my lady,” Thora said when she woke, wagging her finger, “I said you’d come into your own soon. Your body’s adjusting, just as it ought. You’re on the easy side of the slope,
now.”
Cele nodded. Her Talent was becoming easier and more automatic. Using it no longer felt like a party trick—not when she was lying to people about Finding a long hidden artifact.
Fender’s words about using her Talent wisely kept surfacing like a persistent dog begging to be fed. She felt guilty about deceiving him, but she didn’t have a choice. If Jorund was right, Neven and Wirmund probably wanted her dead. Was he right? Had he told her the whole truth?
What was she thinking? He’d saved her, for goodness sake! He was the only person offering any hope at all of going home.
All he’d asked in return was that she Find the Staff of Befaling for him, so he’d have the power he needed to help her, and the people of Nuvinland.
She just wished she didn’t have to lie to people she liked in order to help him.
CHAPTER TWENTY~TWO
Angrim dropped by after the evening meal. Cele heard her flirting outside with the guards for several minutes before a knock sounded at the door. While Angrim was obviously a woman who enjoyed male attention, she also seemed like the sort who aimed as high as she could. Cele thought the guards would seem a waste of time to someone who had once hoped to catch Dahleven. But Angrim was smiling coyly at them when Cele opened the door.
“Let’s go for a stroll,” Cele proposed before Angrim could enter. She smiled at the guards. “Which one of you gets to come along with us?”
The shorter one bowed. “Both, my lady.”
Angrim hooked an arm through the taller man’s and almost batted her eyelashes. “Come along, then.”
Cele nodded at the other guard but didn’t take his arm. Behind them, Angrim was chatting merrily. Cele couldn’t help wondering if Angrim had come to visit her or the guards. She felt awkward walking in silence. “What’s your name?”
“Bergren, my lady.”
Cele smiled. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry I haven’t asked before. And Angrim’s friend?”
The corners of Bergren’s eyes crinkled. “Isolf.”
Cele was quiet for a moment. She directed her steps gradually to the bridge that spanned between the two central towers, but not too directly. She didn’t want to seem as if she had a destination. “Where’s Jeger? I haven’t seen him since…for a couple of days.”
“He’s been scrubbing shi—uh, latrines, my lady.” Bergren’s expression was grimly satisfied. “And grateful for it.”
Cele’s eyes widened. “But it wasn’t his fault!”
Her guard’s expression grew hard as granite. “It’s better than he deserved. He failed in his duty. Another lord might well have exiled him.”
Cele’s heart flinched. Like Jorund was exiled? Justice in this world was harsh. If Jorund failed, if her part in stealing the Staff was discovered, what would Neven do to her? What would Dahleven say? She could imagine the look in his eyes. Disgust. Anger. Betrayal.
A niggling doubt suggested that Jorund had been a little too smooth, but she dismissed the worry. Of course he’d do his best to convince her to help. And how else was she going to get home?
They continued strolling through the winding corridors. She guided them indirectly to the other tower, asking questions about how old the castle was and how it was built. Sometimes they stopped and looked out of narrow windows onto the dark. Torch and lantern light twinkled below, but it was nothing like the blanket of diamonds Tucson’s electric lights would have spread across the valley. Bergren told her that Quartzholm was one of the last holdings built, since it was furthest from the sea. Great Talents had carved it out of the mountains four hundred years ago, moving huge blocks of quartz and granite, flowing the stone into seamless perfection. The glass in the embrasures was actually quartz that had been shaped by Talents no longer in existence.
“It would be a much more difficult task today,” Bergren said. “Fortunately, it isn’t necessary.”
Cele smiled, then returned an acknowledgment from a passing noble. The halls were much emptier now that the Althing had ended. Most of the lords and ladies and merchants had departed for home. “So Fanlon stole all the Great Talents, even the useful ones, just because of a few rotten apples.”
“Rotten apples?” Bergren frowned, then his expression cleared. “No, the sagas say there were more than a few misusing their Talents. And while honor may be won in battle, many died in the endless conflicts. Lord Fanlon’s solution had the virtue of being equitable. No one Jarl was left with an advantage over another.”
He has a point. But that didn’t change what she had to do.
She fell silent, but Angrim kept up a merry chatter, sharing gossip about men and women Cele didn’t know. They’d climbed high in the tower, near where she’d sensed the Staff earlier. It was time to try again. Hoping that the others wouldn’t notice, Cele reached out with her Talent. Instead of the crisp, clear tug she was growing accustomed to, the sensation was muddy and vague, just as it had been that afternoon. She focused her desire, holding the image sharp in her mind. Angrim’s voice faded into the background. It was still above them, but she still couldn’t tell where.
She stumbled, jerking her out of her concentration.
Bergren caught her arm. “My lady!”
I guess I can’t walk and chew gum at the same time. She smiled up at the guard. “Thanks. That’s what I get for letting my mind wander.”
Bergren released his hold on her, but stayed closer, as if afraid she’d topple over. “Perhaps we should go back now, before you grow more fatigued.”
No! She was too close to stop now. It would look suspicious if she came back here a second time.
He must have seen the refusal on her face. “We can’t go much further in any case, my lady. This corridor leads only to Father Wirmund’s chambers.”
Wirmund! Cele nodded. She’d get no closer than this. She couldn’t visit Wirmund; his sharp eyes saw too much. She’d never fool him about what she was doing. Not with as much concentration as it had taken earlier to Find the Staff. Bergren might not have noticed, but the Overprest would spot her using her Talent and suspect something, without a doubt.
She’d have to try again. Here. Now.
She wavered a little. “I think you must be right. The day is catching up with me. Is there a bench nearby?” She didn’t have to fake the trembling of her fingers as she reached for Bergren’s arm, though it was from nerves rather than fatigue.
Her escort looked faintly alarmed. “Up ahead. There’s an antechamber where those seeking Father Wirmund’s aid may wait. I believe there may be seating there.” They made their way slowly down the hall, then turned a corner into a small chamber. Two doors and another staircase broke three of the walls. A pair of guards bracketed the stair, dressed not in the Kon’s ubiquitous green, but in priestly gray, though they wore no purple bags around their necks.
“Have you come to see the Overprest, my lady?” One of the men asked.
“Lady Celia needs to rest,” Bergren said. “Is there somewhere she may sit?”
“She’s in Emergence,” Angrim offered as she fluttered to Cele’s side. “We shouldn’t have let you tire yourself.”
“Only in the Overprest’s chambers. I’ll inquire if he’s accepting visitors.”
Damn! “No! Don’t trouble him. I’m just a little tired. Could I just sit here on the steps for a bit?”
The two gray-garbed guards looked at each other and shrugged. Bergren frowned, but held her elbow as she turned her back on the guards and sat on the second step.
Angrim sat beside her and put her arm around Cele’s shoulders. “Just lean against me, Lady Celia.”
“Isolf, get some sterkkidrikk,” Bergren ordered the other guard. “Go.”
Cele shuddered at the thought of the vilely sweet drink. Angrim patted her hand. Bergren hovered in front of them with the other guards.
It’s now or never.
Cele closed her eyes and pictured the Staff as Jorund had described it: a carved wooden shaft surmounted by a purple gemstone as big as her pa
lm. Again, instead of a clean solid tugging, the answering sensation was dull and indistinct. It wavered in and out of focus as if a barrier stood between her and what she sought. The sensation made her stomach dizzy, and she was glad she was sitting down. She forced herself to hold on. Then, for a moment, the mists cleared. The Staff was above and off to her left. She lifted her head, turning to face that direction. The focus blurred again and the room tilted.
“Are you all right?” Angrim patted Cele’s shoulder and sounded genuinely concerned.
Cele straightened and pinched the bridge of her nose. She’d try again, as soon as her head stopped spinning.
“Lady Celia?” The Overprest spoke from behind.
Cele lifted her head and turned to find Father Wirmund standing a few steps above her. Adrenaline jumped through her veins. How much had he seen? Did he know she’d been trying to Find something?
The Overprest finished descending the wide stairs and stopped in front of Cele. Angrim rose and curtsied to him, but he barely acknowledged her.
“Are you unwell? Shall I summon a Healer?”
Cele forced a smile and pushed herself to her feet, then curtsied awkwardly. “No, thanks. I’m fine. Just a little tired. I wanted some exercise, but I guess I overdid it.”
Wirmund frowned. “That was rather foolish of you, after your recent difficulties. Your escort should have known better than to indulge you.” He speared Bergren with a sharp glance. “Won’t you come into my chambers where you can rest in greater comfort?”
Where you can interrogate me? No thank you. “I don’t want to disturb you.”
“Nonsense.” He took her arm as he considered his guards coldly. “You should have sent for me rather than allowing a Lady to crouch here on the steps.”
“But you—” The first man started to protest, but the other cut him off.
“Yes, my lord.”
Angrim nodded. “I was getting rather tired of sitting on this cold stone step.”
Isolf barreled around the corner, skidding to an abrupt stop when he saw Father Wirmund. He bowed, breathing hard.
Dangerous Talents Page 34
