“My lord, we do not know,” Wye said. “He was sent here to garden. He—we saw no need to trouble you every time we change gardeners.”
Valoren gazed at her speculatively; Yar closed his eyes. Galin made a sound like the cobbler’s wooden shoe hitting the cobblestones. “You saw no need to tell me that a stranger with such secret powers has taken up residence under my roof?”
“My lord,” Yar said, “Od sent him to us; why would we assume the gardener would be any kind of danger to you? We were simply waiting for him to reveal why Od sent him, other than that he seems an excellent gardener. He doesn’t seem interested in anything else, not even in his own power. He has only been here a short while. He came from a remote village in the north country; we decided to let him settle himself here before—” He hesitated, wondering: before what: Fortunately, the king did not wait while he groped for an explanation.
“You decided. How dared you decide? If I hadn’t known you so long, Wye, or your reputation so well, Yar, I would wonder what exactly you intended this powerful and untutored gardener to do for you.” They both opened their mouths; the king held up his hand. “Enough. Let the gardener speak for himself. Bring him here.”
Yar went, since Valoren showed no inclination to leave the king alone with the seditious and dangerous Wye. There was no sign of Brenden around his greenhouses or among his rooftop pots. Yar consulted the other gardeners; they only shrugged. He was always there, they told him. He never went anywhere. Yar glanced over the roof, saw no sign of a fallen gardener. He went back down, checked the dining hall, where the students were beginning to gather for the evening meal. No gardener there. He found a quiet stretch of hallway, opened his mind to search, feeling down corridors and up stairways for the shadow of secret and chaotic power he had sensed in Brenden. He found nothing. Puzzled, he wandered at random, glancing here and there into likely and unlikely places. With an inner start, he remembered Ceta, whom he had left in the library to wait for him. He went there swiftly to suggest that she wait for him at home until he had gotten himself out of trouble.
She was not there. Neither was the gardener. Perplexed, he questioned the librarian, who was gathering an armload of abandoned books from the tables.
“Did Lady Thiel leave a message for me?”
“She simply left, Master Ayrwood. I don’t know where she went.”
“Thank you.” On impulse, he paused to ask, “Have you seen a gardener?”
“Today? No.”
“Recently?” Yar guessed.
“That young man with the pale hair and the solitary eyes?”
“He did come here, then.”
The librarian set his pile of books down. “He had a plant up there he couldn’t name. He searched my books for it.”
“Did he find it?”
“No.” He paused, holding in some thought; Yar waited. “He looked,” the librarian said finally, “as though he could use a breath of air.”
“He works on the roof,” Yar reminded him mildly. “Where did you send him?”
“Some color, then. A little life beyond his plants. A smile, maybe.”
Yar touched his eyes, felt an unaccustomed chill in his fingertips. Now, of all times, he thought.
“Where—”
“To the Twilight Quarter.”
Yar dropped his hand, stared at the librarian, whose silvery brows peaked worriedly. “You didn’t.”
“He’s not a student. All he wants is the name of a plant, and they know strange things in the—”
“Don’t,” Yar said thinly, remembering Valoren, “keep saying that.”
“I don’t understand. He’s just a gardener trying to do his job. Why should anyone be concerned? He’ll be back. Can’t it wait?”
Yar shook his head wordlessly, trying to think. If he went back to the king with news that the mysterious gardener had probably vanished into the Twilight Quarter, the lid would blow off Galin’s wrath, and there would be an army at the Twilight Gate before midnight. The bewildered young man looking for a plant would be hauled in front of the king, and Valoren Greye would expose his mind as ruthlessly as a street warden searching a stall. No telling what might happen then. Yar, hovering on the threshold of the library, still had a choice.
He made it, turning abruptly toward the doors of the school. “If you see him, send him up to Wye.”
“Where shall I say you’ve gone?” the librarian called after him softly. “If Lady Thiel comes back and asks?”
“If you see her again, please tell her I don’t know when I’ll be back. If anyone else asks—” He paused, seeing Valoren’s watchful eyes. “Just tell what you know. You’ll have no choice.”
He paused at the doors only to throw a cloak over his teaching robe before he went through the wizards’ gates into the streets of Kelior. He decided to walk; if Brenden took the shortest way to the quarter, down the gentle slope from the school toward the river, perhaps Yar would see him. The dusk was windless, chilly, redolent with scents of burning wood and pitch. Beneath the smoke of autumn fires, the moon drifted, beginning its arc across the darkening river. Most city folk had found their shelter from the coming night, at home or in taverns, eating their suppers. Yar searched each passing face on his way to the river; none was familiar. He moved more quickly, a blur to the casual glance, a shadow dimly perceived through smoke and the clammy river mist wandering ghostlike through the streets.
He reached the Twilight Gate without catching sight of Brenden Vetch. Standing on the other side, he cast a call like a fishing line into the wakening streets, baited with what little he knew of the gardener’s mind. Around him torch fire sprang alive. Stalls opened their shutters and curtains. A drum thumped nearby; acrobats leaped nimbly onto one another’s shoulders, lumbered like a gangling giant through the gathering crowds. Yar moved again, randomly, through the labyrinth of the quarter, trawling patiently through all the quicksilver thoughts around him. Finally, at some juncture of unfamiliar streets, he touched a massive, unwieldy dark he recognized. He hauled in his thoughts so he could see, and found the ubiquitous, exasperating eel again under his nose.
“Elver!”
The boy had had the forethought to take off his robe before he followed Yar. He was shivering, though, hunched against himself in the night air. Yar heard his teeth chatter as he tried to smile. “I f—f—f—”
“You followed me,” Yar said. “Yes.” He let his voice rise, a muffled bellow in the noisy streets. “You have expelled yourself from the school! Do you realize that?”
The dark head bobbed. “You said that true wizards have no b—b—boundaries.”
“You aren’t a wizard! You’re a student, subject to the rules of Od’s school until you have proved your powers, which is highly unlikely since that assumes an intelligence of which you don’t seem to possess enough to occupy the brain of an earthworm—” He gave up, flung a corner of his cloak over the shaking shoulders. Suddenly suspicious, he demanded, “How much did you hear?”
“Wye’s door was open.”
Yar found the head buried within his cloak, grasped a handful of hair, and drew the boy’s face up. “You listened?”
Elver nodded as best he could. “I thought of something else I wanted to ask you. I was just going to wait for you outside the classroom. I heard where you and the other wizard were going, so I went there. Then, while I waited for you outside of Wye’s door, I heard the king shouting—I guessed it was the king—”
“The other wizard is the king’s counselor, Valoren Greye,” Yar said grimly, gazing into the wide, dark eyes. “He should have known you were listening. He should have sensed you. That’s his duty, when he is with the king.”
“I suppose he doesn’t pay attention to eels.”
Yar’s mouth tightened. He let go of Elver’s hair, clamped a hand on his shoulder instead. “I have no time to take you back to the school now, and I don’t imagine for an instant that you would go if I sent you. I have work to do.”
“I
know—”
“Be quiet. I don’t want to hear your voice again. If you say another word, I will turn you into an eel and leave you in the nearest fish market.” He waited; the boy was unexpectedly silent. His attention moved beyond Elver to encompass the sounds of the street again, the speech and thought and feeling running strongly as river currents all around them. His thoughts caught at them, flowed with the exuberance of the quarter, until he found again the wild, unending deeps he had recognized.
He let that current seize him.
ELEVEN
Earlier, Sulys had made a determined effort to find her betrothed. She had not seen him since his cursory attempt in the menagerie to know her better. He seemed content with her; she foresaw disaster with him. She had not been honest, and for the first time in her life she realized that she could not keep her magic hidden up in Dittany’s tower for the rest of her life. She debated telling her father, but he was, if anything, even less interested in her life than Valoren. The only person who took an interest, those days, was her aunt Fanerl. And Sulys preferred the racket in the menagerie to Fanerl’s endless ruminations about the wedding. The details seemed tiny and exacting, like stitches in a tapestry, and Fanerl seemed determined to examine, pick apart, and expound upon, at length, every single stitch. And then change her mind completely. Sulys’s wedding dress was now endless layers of delicate rose and gold.
I can at least console myself, she told herself morosely, with the thought that with Fanerl changing her mind every time she makes it up, one of us will die before I ever get married.
She caught a glimpse of her father striding toward her down the hall. But no Valoren. Well, the king would know where to find him. She quickened her pace to meet him.
“Father—”
To her dismay, he stalked past her, forcing her to turn and hurry to catch up with him. Behind him, a flurry of councilors and nobles were attempting to do the same thing. As though, Sulys saw with wonder, they were all racing the king down the hall.
“What is it, girl?” her father growled.
“I was looking for Valoren, Father. It seemed to me that we should—”
“I need him at the school, on urgent business. You’ll have to wait.”
“Are you going there now? Could I come and talk to you a little, along the way?”
He was silent a moment, his gaze distant, fixed on something she couldn’t see. Then he said, “What?”
“I just wanted—”
“Is it important?”
“Well—”
“I’ll send him to you when we are finished at the school.”
“No, you won’t.” She sighed. “You will forget.”
But his thoughts had already strayed. He barked again, “What?” and as she slowed, he turned. She held a breath of hope. But he only gestured his following away; they slowed, discouraged, and began to scatter. Sulys stood gazing after the king. Guards opened the doors for him between palace and school; he disappeared.
Another door opened near her; brisk steps came to a halt beside her.
“What are you doing,” her brother Enys asked, “loitering like a ghost by yourself in the hallway? Surely you have things to do, a wedding to plan.”
“I was looking for Valoren.”
“He’s busy with the king. Aunt Fanerl is looking for you. Something about the color of your dress.”
“Not again!”
“Well, you should make up your mind. You’ll have to marry in bed linens at this rate.”
“It’s Aunt Fanerl,” she protested, “who keeps changing her mind.”
“You decide. You tell her what you want.”
“She never listens to me.”
“She would if you cared,” he said, so shrewdly that she blinked. Once, she remembered, a long time ago, they had liked one another; they had talked.
“Enys,” she said impulsively, “did our father know our mother well before they married?”
Whatever in him had opened to understand her closed up tight at the mention of their mother. “What a strange question,” he said stiffly. “I have no idea. I’m sure Valoren will find you himself when he has time. You should go to Aunt Fanerl. If you have doubts or questions, she’ll…” His voice trailed away; even he couldn’t finish that thought.
“Never mind,” Sulys said coldly, and turned. “I’m sorry I bothered you. I’m sure you’re busy, too.”
Enys’s voice followed her unexpectedly down the hall. “She used to laugh,” he reminded her gruffly, “at Aunt Fanerl.”
Sulys turned quickly, but he was already away on his own business. Sulys watched him a moment, wondering under what layers of change and sorrow her true brother hid himself, and if there was any way to find him again. She heard her aunt’s voice then and looked wildly for escape. The stairs to her great-grandmother’s chambers seemed likeliest; she started up them just as Fanerl, making noises to rival the entire menagerie, rounded a corner to the empty hallway.
As always, Dittany was happy to see her great-granddaughter. She poured Sulys half a cup of very hot, watery tea; Sulys sat on the broad velvet stool beside her chair, held the cup in both hands, soothed by the warmth.
“Did you,” she asked Dittany, “know your husband at all before you married?”
Dittany’s sparse white brows wrinkled as she thought. “I don’t remember,” she said finally. “I get my marriage confused now with so many others…I barely remember his face.” She paused; her face smoothed slowly as she traveled back into past. “Oh, yes. That was him. I hated him, at first.”
“Really?” Sulys breathed hopefully. “Did you begin to like him later?”
“Oh, no, dear. He was always unbearable. But I had my children and my place in the world, and my good friends…at least until he enticed them away from me. Not many could say no to a prince. And he had such charming ways.”
Sulys put her cup down; it trembled against the saucer. “So you weren’t happy.”
“I managed to find my own happiness, after I realized I could wait forever without getting it from him.” Her cloudy eyes seemed to search Sulys’s face. “But every marriage is different. Your mother and father, for instance.”
“Did they know each other before? Were they friends?”
“I don’t know, child, I wasn’t there. But they certainly became friends. Your father roared; your mother—”
“Laughed.” Sulys sighed. “Didn’t she ever want to cry? Or run away?”
“Well, she did throw a teapot at him once.”
“What did he do?”
“He laughed.”
Sulys shook her head. “I don’t understand any of this. Enys thinks I need to care, but Valoren doesn’t seem to care if I care, nor does anyone else, and the only thing anyone seems to expect of me is to be quiet and fill up my wedding dress on the appropriate day.”
Dittany leaned forward, patted her hand. “You’re having anxieties,” she said. “That’s normal.”
Sulys thought of the wizard’s unreadable eyes, more like the eyes of a menagerie animal than anything human. “I think,” she whispered, “it’s more than anxieties.”
“But, child, you must just accept such things. What else can you do? Your father has made up his mind.” She paused, listening to the quality of Sulys’s silence; she added fretfully, “I do wish you still had your mother. That’s who you need now, most of all.”
“No, I don’t,” Sulys said hollowly. “I need a friend. But you can’t make friends with someone who doesn’t even see you when you’re under his nose talking to him. You’d think a wizard would be more observant.”
Dittany patted her hand, then patted her lapdog, as though she couldn’t remember which needed her.
“Have more tea, child,” she said, nearly missing Sulys’s cup entirely as she poured it. “I can understand why your father would want you to marry Lord Tenenbros’s heir. But why he wants you to marry a wizard I don’t know. My sister married one, in the country where we were born, and she
was never the same afterward. They live in several different worlds at once, as far as I can tell, she told me. Oh, they might look in on you now and then, but most of the time they can’t remember which world you’re in.” She paused, blinking. “Oh, did I just tell you that?”
“Yes.”
“I only meant to think it…Valoren may be quite different, of course.”
“Of course.” She straightened her shoulders, then, at her great-grandmother’s worried expression, and took note of the game board on a little table. The oversized pieces, in the middle of their battle, had not moved since the last time she had come up, except for the dragon-queen, who had fallen over. It was an ancient set, carved of red and white jade; Dittany had brought it with her when she came to live in Kelior. “It’s peaceful up here. I want to stay a while. Shall we play Dragons and Swans?”
“What about your aunt?”
“She’ll find me if she needs me. Can you still see the pieces well enough?”
“Oh, yes,” Dittany said with alacrity. She added, lowering her voice, as Sulys carried the table over and set it between them, “Beris and I play, but she always loses; I don’t think she takes naturally to the game.”
“Do you want dragons or swans?”
“Oh, dragons. They were always my favorite.”
They were in the midst of the game, the armies of dragon and swan dealing ruthlessly with one another, when a pair of Sulys’s attendants begged entry to speak to the princess. “She must come down,” they pleaded, panting from their run up the stairs. “Lady Fanerl had ribbons for her to look at, and she must choose her shoes, and whether she wanted pearls or cloth of gold on them, and about the colors of her dress—”
“All right,” Sulys said wearily, “all right. I’ll come.”
She went to kiss Dittany, who had just taken Sulys’s last swan-knight off the board. “You’re in trouble,” her great-grandmother told her cheerfully.
“Yes, I am. But I intend to fight until the end, so don’t claim victory yet. I’ll come up and finish it soon.”
Od Magic Page 12
