Iren is just as breathtaking now as ever. A figure of grace and strength formed from the mountain itself, its presence is commanding and powerful. Its face is smooth and beautiful, with a strong jaw and lips that curve up to hint at a smile. The most remarkable thing about Iren, though, is the single eye in the center of its forehead, which is a polished blue stone as large as I am. Gazing into it is like looking into the night sky, where the stars are flecks of gold that float aimlessly in the vast space within. As Iren sits back I feel myself drawn into the eye, my gaze locked on the slow and peaceful movement of the flecks.
“Thank you, Ki. You have done well.” Iren’s voice booms over the wind. “Come.” It beckons her closer and Ki slips past us to climb deftly up to Iren’s knee. It looks at her and smiles, and she grins. I’ve never seen her smile so brightly. She seems genuinely happy.
“My friends,” Iren turns its attention to us, “welcome. You have met Ki. She is a great aid to the North Border.” Iren says. I look across to Ki, who stands a little taller at Iren’s praise.
“She’s…” I start, but I don’t know quite what to say.
“Remarkable.” Rian finishes for me.
“Ki, rest now. I will do the watching.” Iren smiles at her and she nods and slides into a stony fold of Iren’s tunic where she curls up comfortably.
“How did you do it?” Rian asks Iren as Ki drifts to sleep. “She seems as though she’s always belonged here.”
“Memory,” Iren replies. “Memory molded, formed, guided, taken and given. Memory is a most precious commodity. It empowers us. It makes us who we are.”
“Do you see now?” I ask Rian, “She isn’t Viala anymore. She never will be.”
“Indeed. The woman you once knew is no more. The Sorceress is gone. Forever changed.” Iren looks down at Ki with a fatherly affection. “Made new.”
Drawn to the kindness Iren exudes, I let go of my grip on Rian’s arm and step closer to it. The Guardian’s great hand scoops me up gently and sets me on its other knee. The Oculus looks me over and draws me in again.
Flashes of my recent memories rise and fade in the space between us like actors on a stage. I see myself riding through the streets of Cerion bearing the Elite banner, with crowds of people cheering as the Prince’s carriage passes through. We’re in the woods, and Eron sleeps as Princess Amei looks back to speak with me, her hand on her round belly. We’re in the village, and Rian’s enchanted bouquet glitters in my hand as I blush at him. We’re dancing in the tavern, and I’m avoiding Eron’s eye. I’m talking to Dacva in the hallway as he carries herbs to Amei’s room. Rian and I are hidden in the safety of the Half-Realm, lost in each other’s embrace, locked in a deep, passionate kiss.
Rian clears his throat loudly and the images fade as I tear my gaze away.
“You are well, Azaeli, my friend.” Iren says to me and I nod, a little disoriented.
“Yes, thank you,” I press my fingertips to my cheeks, which are hot with the most recent memory Iren drew out. My eyes meet Rian’s, who’s also blushing. He grins and shakes his head and we both laugh, embarrassed. Still, somehow what Iren does doesn’t feel like a violation of privacy. It’s more of an act of protection, as if it’s looking in on me to make certain I’m safe and content. There’s an unspoken understanding that this exchange is required if we’re to be in Iren’s presence.
“I am glad you have come,” Iren says. “And Rian Eldinae.” It offers its hand to Rian, who climbs into it a little hesitantly and is neatly placed beside me on its knee. Their gazes lock together and I watch the same exchange, though the figures that dance between them are more distant and faded than they were in my own display. I see Rian in a dark room, facing several Master Mages. He looks exhausted, harried. I know of this memory, but to see played out it this way gives it a life and makes it even more real.
When we returned to Cerion after the battle with the Sorcerers, Rian told me he faced many long days of questioning. Within the Academy walls, they secretly drilled him on everything from Viala’s stripping to the details of the time he spent in Kythshire. While I watch the memory, the thing that impresses me most of all is how true he remained to the fairies, and how hard he worked to keep their secrets safe. He was as tight-lipped as he could be about what he saw within the borders. I glance at Flitt who’s hovering beside me and watching the memory with fascinated awe.
Iren lingers for a long time on the grueling questioning that Rian faced, and then the memory changes to our conversation in the inn regarding Viala. I shift uncomfortably as I watch myself trying to convince Rian that taking her away from here would be okay, and I watch Iren’s face to gauge its reaction. It remains stoic and interested, and the memory fades between them as the observation ends. To my surprise, it doesn’t address that conversation at all.
“Rian Eldinae, you remain a true ally to Kythshire.” Iren nods respectfully. “For that, I offer you knowledge. A warning.” Iren says with a foreboding tone. I shift closer to Rian and slip my hand into his. “Do not linger in the Half-Realm. You consider it a safe place, but it is not a haven. Be vigilant there.”
“I understand,” Rian says. “Thank you, Iren.”
I try not to scowl. Ever since we were accidentally given access to the Half-Realm we have used it as a tool, a way to keep ourselves safe and unseen. I wonder what could possibly harm us there, and then I immediately think of the dark figure that I saw in the hallway at the inn, and the strange dreamers that leapt and soared in the city streets while Rian and I watched.
“As always, you are welcome at the Crag,” Iren says, “but you have come today for passage, which I grant unto you. Be safe, my friends. Remain on the path.” It presses its finger to the gravely ground and the pebbles sparkle with a soft white glow that snakes away through a nearby crevice. Iren picks us up and gently deposits us onto the path. “Be safe,” the Guardian repeats.
We say our farewells and follow the trail through the crevice and down the mountainside before anyone breaks the silence. Rian is the first to speak.
“That was interesting,” he says thoughtfully. I think back on the encounter.
“Which part?” I ask.
“You didn’t ask to bring Via— Ki.”
“Oh.” I say, thinking back. “I guess I forgot. It wasn’t the right time, anyway. We can come back for her. That was the plan, wasn’t it? After we see Amei and Eron safely to the castle.”
“Mm.” Rian gives a noncommittal reply and then pauses. “Here’s the border.”
“I’ll see you later,” says Flitt, breaking her own unusual silence.
“You’re not coming?” I ask.
“Nope, you go on. I’ll find you later. Hold on to that tether this time!” She pokes at my chest and then disappears.
“She’s so odd,” I say, closing my hand over the pouch.
“You say that like it’s a revelation,” Rian laughs. He runs his hand though the air in front of us. “All kind of wards and protections here. I’d imagine they keep the fae in as much as they keep others out.
“What are you saying?” I ask incredulously. “They’re trapped in here?”
“They don’t seem to see it that way, but essentially…yes.” Rian pulls his hand back and inspects it.
“Is it safe to cross?”
“It should be if we stay on Iren’s path like we were told.”
“Let’s go together, then.” I link my arm through his and we take a giant step together across the border. As soon as we cross, the white path fades away.
We’re greeted with a rush of air so cold that my nose and mouth sting with my first breath. Other than the cold, there is no difference here on the other side of the border. The trees are the same, and the landscape is just as sloped and rocky. A twig cracks nearby and Rian whispers a spell of protection which shimmers around us both. I reach for my sword and draw it from its sheath silently as frosty leaves rustle nearby. We watch silently, waiting for whatever is making the sound to reveal itself, and
both breathe a sigh of relief as we catch a glimpse of familiar red fur.
“Elliot,” I reach my hand out to the fox and it trots up to greet me and nuzzle my hand. “Great! He can give us a ride back if we shrink down.” I remember the journey Elliot brought me on recently, to show me the corruption of Zhaghen and the distress of the fairies in Sunteri. We were able to cross continents in moments with me riding on his back. I crouch to stroke the thick fur at his neck, but when he looks up at me I pull my hand away. His eyes are wrong. They’re colorless and milky. Rian’s hand clamps over my shoulder and I squeeze my eyes shut as I feel the ground shift beneath me. Midway there, Rian whispers the revealer. When I open my eyes again, we’re in a hidden alcove just outside of the inn.
“That wasn’t Da,” he whispers as he pulls me into the street. We pause at the guards posted at the inn door just long enough for them to wave us through. When we duck inside we find Elliot and Mya sitting at the table, going over a list of supplies. Elliot looks up and smiles at us.
“We were wondering where you two wandered off to,” he says. “Never mind, you’re back in time for lunch.” He pats his stomach and grins.
“Right. We’ve got some things for you to take care of after.” Mya shuffles the lists as Elliot pats the bench beside him to invite us to sit, and Rian and I exchange a worried glance. If Elliot has been here, wide awake, then who was the fox in the Half-Realm waiting for us to cross the border out of Kythshire?
Chapter Seven: Interrogation
Tib
Clanging. Shouting. Marching. Stench. Creaking hinges. Slamming door.
The candlelight is harsh after so long in the darkness. I try to remember how long. Hours, not days. Hours since they put me in here in this tiny room. Musty-smelling, like the roots. Dry, like the sand. Cleaner, though. I panicked at first when they left me here. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Be calm, a voice told me. Breathe. I did. It didn’t help much. I cower from the approaching flame. Can’t see the man holding it. My eyes aren’t used to the light yet. He drops a tin plate onto the rough table with a clatter. I jump and flinch away. Eye the dish. My stomach growls.
“Eat,” he says. Pulls up a stool to sit. His uniform is neat. Blue and purple. Cerion’s colors. Not city guard. Palace. Palace guard. He nudges the dish toward me. “You don’t eat it, I’m taking it away. Don’t know when you’ll get another plate. Go on.”
There’s bread. Meat. Hard cheese. I pick up some of that, the cheese. I sniff it before I take a bite. It’s good. Better than I’ve had before, even at Nessa’s. The meat, too. It’s fresh and hot. Lined with fat. I clean my plate too quickly. He waits awhile before he starts the questions.
“You like to climb?” he asks.
I don’t answer. I mop the last of the fat with my bread. My stomach churns. The towers. The fire. I can’t swallow. I feel his eyes on me. Try to look innocent, like Saesa with the dock workers. Shrug my shoulders.
“Sometimes.” I say. My voice comes out thick. Guilty.
“Yeah?” He pours me a cup of something brownish from a pitcher. At first I think it’s ale, but it’s too sweet when I sip it.
“What is this?” I ask.
“Cider,” he says. He blinks at me in disbelief. “You never had cider?” He peers into the pitcher and swirls it, then looks at me again.
“No, sir.” I remember my sirs. Nessa says politeness can get you out of a pinch. “Thank you, sir.”
“How old are you, boy?” he asks.
“Twelve, sir.” I drain my cup and he fills it again.
“From Sunteri?”
“Yes, sir,” I admit. Not like I can hide that, looking like I do.
“How long have you been in Cerion?” he asks. He leans back on two stool legs. Puts his hand casually on his sword hilt. It’s a big one. Way bigger than Saesa’s.
“About a week, sir.” I gulp the sweet cider. My mouth is so dry. “I came in with the fleet.”
“And you been staying with Lady Ganvent that whole time?” he asks.
I watch him carefully. He watches me, too. I wonder why he’s asking questions he already knows the answer to.
“Yes, sir.”
More watching. More silence. His eyes bore into me. I look into them like Cap taught me to. Honest men are brazen. Only men with something to hide look away.
“So, climbing,” he says finally. Slaps his hand on the table. My heart races. I can smell the smoke. Feel the stone through my gloves as I grip to scale the tower. “You like the aqueducts?”
I look up. Meet his eyes again. I’m unsure what he means. “Sir?”
“The aqueducts. The arches next to the castle. Along the river. You like to climb them?”
I stare at him. Nod slowly. “Sometimes.”
“It’s illegal,” he says sternly, then looms over me and speaks very slowly. “Against the law. You understand?” He leans back. Crosses his arms. Looks menacing. Relief floods through me. This isn’t about the towers. It’s about the arches. My secret wall.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know, sir.” I try not to smile. Try not to grin. He’s not smiling. I’ve seen that look before. I wonder what the punishment is for climbing the aqueduct. I’m not afraid of lashes. I can take them. I took seventeen once.
“Yeah, well…” his voice trails off. He’s still suspicious. “What are you doing in Cerion? Why’d you leave Sunteri, anyway?”
“To get away from the dye fields.” It isn’t a lie.
“You belong to someone back there?” He drums his fingers on the table. My mouth goes even drier. I don’t like this question. I shrug.
“Answer,” he says.
“Used to.” I stare at my empty plate.
“Well, what’s that mean?”
“Am I in trouble or not, sir? I climbed the aqueduct. I already said so.” Just punish me, I want to say. Punish me and get it over with.
“You’re in trouble if you don’t answer the question,” he glares. “And watch your tone, you. What’s it mean, you used to belong to someone?”
I eye my empty cup. He doesn’t fill it again.
“I asked you what’s that mean?” he says again. He’s losing his patience.
“She died. No one else to claim me, so I left. Before someone else could.” I meet his eyes. Don’t look away. It’s not a lie. Not all of it, anyway. He sighs. Shakes his head. Hides his pity quickly, but I still catch it.
He asks me question after question. What did I see on the scout ship? What messages were passed? Do I have any reason to believe that Prince Vorance is involved in Sorcery? Did Cap pay me? What did I hear at Lady Ganvent’s? What did I see? I give him his answers. Mostly. Try to protect Nessa and her secrets. Even ask him if he’s got any news about her husband’s fleet. He hasn’t. By the time he’s through with his questions, we feel like friends. Until he gets up.
“Let’s go,” he says briskly. I imagine it’s time for my punishment. I wonder what it’ll be. He takes out his keys. Unlocks the door. Barks a command at the guards outside: “Northwest Tower.”
They march me along stone-walled corridors. Clean but rough. Low ceilings. The musty smell fades as we walk, replaced by citrus oil. The guards in front push open a door. I blink at the sunlight filtering in through the high windows. The drapes are open, but there’s no draft. Outside, snow billows past the windows. Lighthearted. Carefree. My boots slip on the polished wood. The ceilings are high here. Ornate. Carved with figures and faces that peer down at me. I feel small. Alone. I’ve felt alone ever since the cell. More alone than I’ve felt in weeks. It makes me more uneasy than the thought of the punishment I know is coming.
A garden. Inside. With songbirds and flowers. It smells like wet earth and green plants. Reminds me of the jungles of Elespen. Of Saesa’s eyes. It’s warm in here. The air is thick and humid. I peer up at the glass ceiling and see men with brooms brushing away the falling snow to let the sunlight in. I slow my pace to watch them and I’m prodded forward by the guard who questioned me. Rus
hed through too quickly. If this was my palace, I’d stay in the garden. It isn’t my palace, though. It never will be. I’m not lucky enough to have been born here.
So many things catch my interest as I’m rushed through the twisting corridors. Silver and gold. Jewels. Pictures made of colorful thread that hang from the walls. Statues carved of white stone. Swords and shields and suits of armor. We climb a staircase carved with golden flowers and draped with purple carpet. The more I see, the less important I feel. I’m confused, too. If they’re going to punish me, why show me all of this? Why bring me through into the depths of the palace? Wouldn’t it be better to do my lashings somewhere else? Anywhere else? My stomach flips nervously. I try hard not to think of the fatty meat and cups of cider heavy in my belly. I don’t want to ruin the carpet.
We finally stop at a door carved with dainty figures of winged ladies. They remind me of bony white creatures with black, empty eyes. Roots. Sand. I look away as the guards in front of me knock. The one who questioned me is behind me. He clamps a hand on my shoulder. The door swings open and a lady in a fine gown gives me a disapproving once-over. She looks at the man behind me, shakes her head, and steps aside to let us in, wringing her hands.
Inside is too pretty. Frills and ruffles everywhere. Lace curtains and shimmering sky-blue silk stretched across the ceiling. Walls painted with trees and flowers and butterflies. Poufs of pillows like mushrooms all around the green carpet. A girl sits on one of them, watching me. Her eyes are red. She’s been crying. The guard pushes my shoulder down until I’m on my knees. A glint in her hair makes me finally realize who she is. I bow my head and my thoughts race.
“Is this the boy you saw, Your Highness?” The guard asks. His tone is different with her. Softer. Kind. She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she crosses the room to me. Her dress glitters with tiny jewels, bright against the deep green silk. She circles me and bends and takes my arm to pull me up.
“What’s your name?” she asks.
“Tib, Your Highness,” I whisper, confused.
Call of Sunteri (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 2) Page 8
