Solace

by Bethany Adams

  It was close enough to dinnertime that she decided to wait. Perhaps he would be there tonight, and she could pull him aside afterward. The possibility was greater than it once had been. As more guests had arrived at the estate, Lial had slowly been drawn in. Now, he joined the formal dinner more often than not. So instead of rushing to the healing tower, she forced herself to make a few notes on Selia’s suggestions for the new lift and then returned to her room to freshen up—and maybe pace a little.

  The water clock had barely dripped to the proper mark before she was standing outside the dining room door, smoothing her hair and gown. She entered first, but she took her usual place to wait for the others. It didn’t take long for the table to be nearly full.

  But Lial never appeared.

  Lynia struggled to focus on the conversation that swelled around her during the lively meal. At the other end of the long table, her son shared a joke with his bonded, Meli, and his daughter, Arlyn. Kai, Arlyn’s bonded, was listening to Aris’s account of an expedition he’d once taken to the far reaches of the northern mountains, and Selia compared spell-working techniques with Cora.

  Iren and Eri had been caught sneaking back onto the practice field, so both were eating their meals in their rooms. Though Lynia liked both children, their absence was a small relief. Mostly, she didn’t want another unusual encounter with the little girl, and Ralan seemed more intent on his conversation with Kezari than on delivering any prophecies.

  The conversation, though, was fascinating enough. What could the seer know that might affect the dragons? Of course, it could be nothing. They might be talking about a coming ice storm or the distribution of cave systems in the mountain range. Maybe they were debating the ancient war between elves and dragons. Nothing in Ralan’s demeanor indicated that he held some dire knowledge of the future.

  But nothing could shake the insistent worry that thrummed through her.

  Less than a mark after the meal was over, Lynia grabbed her cloak from the hook beside her door and descended the staircase down into the entryway. She paused to give a slight bow toward the broad trunk of Eradisel, sacred tree of the goddess Dorenal, before heading out the front door and into the night.

  Cold whipped around her, and her muscles seized in reaction. A faint ache crept across her back, but Lynia wasn’t sure if it was true pain or a ghost of the grave injury she’d taken a few months ago. Her spine had healed. She’d worked extensively to rebuild her strength. Even so, her body didn’t always believe it.

  It wasn’t a long walk to the healer’s tower, especially since the trails were currently clear of ice, but it felt like an eternity. By the time she reached Lial’s door, she’d had plenty of opportunity to doubt her errand. She must have misinterpreted Eri’s visit. If there was something crucial she needed to know, Lial would have found her. Or Ralan. Maybe even Lyr. Lial would surely be confused by her sudden appearance.

  Lynia stared at the warm light gleaming against the wooden door from the mage globe beside the entry. Her hand lifted, her fingers already curled to knock. Should she? He was probably busy with a patient and would be annoyed at her interruption. An annoyed Lial was no pleasure, indeed. Perhaps she should check the estate key to see if he was by himself? She didn’t like to use it, but it would tell her where everyone on the estate was located, including here. She could at least answer that question.

  A quick look with her magic told her he was alone. No patients. No friends.

  No lovers.

  Heat rushed through her at the thought, but she did her best to stifle it—only to have her effort wasted when Lial opened the door. Gods of Arneen. The glow from the mage globe poured across his perfectly wrought face and glinted against the tendrils of auburn hair that had escaped the strands gathered at his neck. The thin fabric of his summer-weight tunic draped across his fit form better than a lover would have, and—

  Stop staring, she ordered herself.

  “Lynia?”

  She swallowed down any hint of desire. He could not discover that she found him attractive. What would it gain either of them if he was aware? “Forgive me for the interruption. I suppose you sensed my disordered thoughts.”

  “I always sense you, Lynia,” Lial answered softly. “No matter the state of your thoughts.”

  Her heart gave an uncomfortable tug, but as she did with her desire, she attempted to ignore it. “I…”

  His lips widened slowly into a smile as he opened the door wider. “Come in. I am uncertain why you have come, but I needed to speak to you in any case. I spent most of my dinnertime working out what to say.”

  Lynia’s brows rose at that. “Truly?”

  “Yes. Is there a reason you hesitate?” His smile took on a mischievous tilt. “I assure you I am no threat to you. I keep the worst of my potions locked away when you’re near.”

  Although she chuckled at the jest, his claim was partially false. He was far too much of a threat. “Only the worst?”

  “I do have to keep something close to hand in case Ralan shows up,” Lial quipped.

  When it came to those two, she was never certain what was friendly taunting and what was true discord. “I suppose so,” she said.

  Lynia had been to the healing tower many times, especially during her injury, but it took more willpower than usual to force her feet across the threshold. Something felt different. Portentous, though that might have been because she’d spoken with Eri and was already on guard. She tried to shrug the feeling off as easily as she did her cloak once the door had closed behind Lial, but like her desire, it was more stubborn than mere fabric.

  More like the clinging, oppressive heat of his workroom, actually.

  “You keep it warmer in here than I remember,” Lynia said, draping her cloak over her arm and wishing her gown wasn’t so heavy. “No wonder you’re still in your summer tunic.”

  His eyebrow lifted. “You’re admiring my tunic?”

  The teasing lilt to his voice sparked her irritation, and she nurtured that flicker of annoyance like the savior it was. “No. I was merely remarking on the atmosphere. A bit of politeness.”

  “Of course,” he said, any hint of levity leaving his tone. She ignored the twinge in her chest at the loss. “I do keep it warmer in here during the late autumn and winter. I find it helps my work, not to mention the comfort of my patients if they need to disrobe. I can adjust the spell if it’s causing you discomfort.”

  “I am certain it is fine,” Lynia said carefully.

  And it likely was. The jumble of heat and emotions pouring through her had nothing to do with the temperature spell.

  “Is something amiss?” Lial asked. “It is unlike you to be so hesitant.”

  Lynia sighed and gathered what calm she could. “I fear you will find the errand foolish.”

  He took a step closer, so near he could touch her if he wished. She swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat. “I will not,” he said. “Unless you’ve come to tell me you’re taking up mountain climbing.”

  She blinked. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t go mountain climbing?”

  “Miaran,” he cursed beneath his breath. “You know very well the weight of the packs would not be good on your spine.”

  Though he had a good point, Lynia couldn’t resist poking at him. “Is your work so unreliable? Perhaps I should seek out another healer to ensure my back is sound.”

  “You know my work is among the best, and that is no boast.” His lips thinned. “However, parts of the bone were shattered nearly to dust. I do not know how the knit bone would react to so much weight. To explore the mountains in this weather would require—”

  Her laugh stopped his words. “Calm yourself. You know very well I have no intention of going climbing. Though according to Arlyn, the scouts have spells that are very effective at lightening the packs.”

  “But if that were to fail…” Lial’s voice trailed off, and she almost laughed again at the long, calming breath he took. “Never mind. It is, a
s you say, a useless point to debate. What brought you to seek me out this evening if not an ill-advised escapade?”

  The reminder of her errand stole her humor. “I had an unusual visit from Eri earlier, and I haven’t been able to shake the foreboding it caused.”

  Lial shoved his fingers through his hair in a gesture that made it all too clear how those tendrils had escaped. “Of course it was Eri. What did she say?”

  “No prophecies, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Lynia eyed him with increasing concern. Now that their banter had ceased, she noticed a restless, worried energy pulsing around Lial, one she wasn’t accustomed to seeing. “Which is why you might find this silly. She came by looking for Iren, whom she has never had trouble finding before. While she was there, she made a point of mentioning that you’d gone to have an important discussion with Ralan.”

  “Really?” Lial frowned. “She told me she was going to play with Iren since his lessons were nearly over.”

  “I knew she was up to something,” Lynia grumbled. Beneath his sharp gaze, she shifted her cloak to the other arm and brushed at her skirt. “I… In truth, it is none of my business. I realize that. But…even though Selia was there, too, Eri clearly directed the comment at me. I was worried there might be a reason for that.”

  “I regret to say that your fears are correct,” Lial said. “Let me show you something.”

  Lynia stared after him as he hurried to the spiral staircase and began to climb. Was she supposed to follow or wait? She nibbled on her lower lip for a moment before she shrugged and hung her cloak on an empty hook. His living quarters were up there, a place she’d never been invited. As far as she was aware, few were. Perhaps there was a receiving area for guests? There was no reason they couldn’t continue their discussion in a sitting room even if he hadn’t intended for her to follow.

  By the time she reached the first landing, Lial had turned from a table by the window, a book in his hands. Lynia halted, taking in the surprisingly small room. Or perhaps sparsely furnished was more accurate. A couple of chairs were situated beside the table, but otherwise, she only spotted a wardrobe and a rumpled bed.

  This was where he lived?

  “Forgive the disorder.” Lial grimaced. “I wasn’t expecting company. Though I suppose we might as well sit for this if you are not too uncomfortable.”

  His words echoed her thoughts enough that she smiled. “I can manage.”

  “Good,” Lial said, sitting at the same time she did. “I would not wish to make you uneasy.”

  Lynia blinked in confusion. Although his dinner tray still sat under the window, food half-eaten, and his bed was a mess, the room wasn’t in that bad of a state. “It’s hardly slovenly. Why would I be bothered by this?”

  Lial sat the book down on the table, but his gaze flickered to his bed for a moment. “It is very…personal, I suppose. An intimacy to be in my private rooms. Not a polite, public place for our discussion.”

  “I see.” Lynia sat up straighter until her back ached with tension. “So it is. But I’m not certain why that would make me uncomfortable. We’re hardly strangers, and I’ve seen you far more vulnerable than simply sitting in your bedroom. After Aris…”

  His nostrils flared at the reminder of that breakdown, when he’d cried in her arms from the horror of Aris’s memories. “I hate that you saw me like that. I never wanted you burdened by what I experience during or after a healing.”

  They’d never had an actual discussion about his feelings, though he was aware that she knew of his love. Only once, during a dark moment after Lyr’s near death, had they touched on the subject. She’d apologized for a comment he’d misinterpreted as a rejection, and he’d said only that he understood. Neither of them had braved more since.

  She should give him a solid answer about how she felt, but the truth was, she couldn’t decide. She kept wavering. But moments like this, when he held his troubles so close, refusing to show weakness… His words bruised as they trampled across the flickering spark of curiosity in her heart. What better example of why they would never do well together? A man who insisted on hefting the entire world needed only a subordinate, not a companion.

  “Add that to the reasons we would never suit,” Lynia snapped, only to regret her harsh words when he flinched. She hated being cruel, and blaming him when she wasn’t ready for any entanglements was partly that. She took in a careful breath to calm her temper. “Sorry.”

  “There is no reason to be,” Lial replied. “My feelings are my own, and you’ve no obligation to ever return them. I’ve never asked you to. But I confess that I am not sure how to handle mere friendship. It would be a pleasure-pain for me and a source of uncertainty for you, always wondering if it was a ploy to earn your affections.”

  Lynia pursed her lips. He made a valid point. “Would it be?”

  “A source of pain? Frankly, yes.” His expression hardened. “But I would not use friendship as a trap.”

  That strange, uncomfortable feeling returned to tug at her heart. Was it guilt? Regret? The annoying glint of curiosity she’d thought trampled? Clechtan. Lial didn’t deserve uncertainty—he deserved a true answer. Not false hope, though that was all she could give for the foreseeable future. She’d felt broken since Telien’s death, a branch left to bob and float along the stream after being torn from its tree.

  She might never feel secure again.

  “Losing a soulbonded…” Lynia began, trying to find a way to explain. “It is a terrible agony. I am not sure I will ever get over it.”

  His eyes lowered, anguish ghosting through them so quickly she might have imagined it. “I know,” he said in a low, rough voice.

  Gods, she hated to hurt him. Despite his cranky bluster, Lial was a good man. He might grumble about being summoned, but he always came when he was needed. Always. He’d used more energy than she could calculate healing her back and helping her recover, and that was on top of healing other patients. He’d even traveled to the Moranaian outpost on Earth to heal their injured people. When was the last time she’d seen him rested and happy? She honestly couldn’t remember.

  And here she was, denying him. Her lack of obligation for his emotions didn’t keep that from stinging her own heart.

  “I should go,” Lynia said.

  “No.” Lial set his hand on the book he’d placed on the table, reminding her of the reason for her visit. “You can’t concern yourself with my feelings. Not with what we must do.”

  Lynia studied him for some clue to his meaning, but his words gained no clarity. “What do you mean?”

  “My discussion with Ralan was…” Lial shuddered. “Not good. Not for any of us. I spent a mark searching through this book, desperate to find answers myself. Hoping I could prove him wrong and do this without having to ask for your help.”

  Her hands clenched together in her lap. “You’re not making sense. Ralan wants you to get help from me? I am not a healer.”

  Lial’s fingers tapped against the leather binding as he caught her gaze. “According to my cousin, the two of us working together is the only way to prevent a plague.”

  His words tumbled through her mind like stones slipping over a cliff and skittering all the way down. It took time to catch them and form them into something that made sense. A plague? Tragic stories of humans suffering such things had reached Braelyn over the centuries, but elves were immune. Why would Ralan be concerned about this one? She could understand Lial helping the humans if it would save lives, but that wouldn’t cause an impact to their world.

  “Why am I needed? I know even less than you about human illnesses.” Her nostrils flared. “I never did help you find enough information to create a tracking stone for Fen’s mystery illness, remember?”

  Lial slid the book closer to her. “Perhaps not. But look at the page I have marked.”

  She lifted the heavy tome, only then recognizing it as one she’d given him a couple of months before. Her heart dropped, and the fine hairs on her
arms prickled against the long sleeves of her dress. She’d used her magic to transcribe these words from an older, harder-to-read volume, but she’d only done a detailed study of one part. One terrible part.

  Lynia swallowed her nerves and slipped her finger against the bookmark, flipping the tome open and settling it on the table. She didn’t want to look. She didn’t want to have her fears confirmed, but she had no choice. Eventually, knowledge brought solace. Pain was in the mystery.

  So she read.

  Before they could stop him, Bleyiak poured every drop of his hatred into the fracture. The Source heaved as it absorbed, and its touch brought perversion instead of renewal. The chants of life became the moans of death. With this darkness, the people suffered, until the great Healer Emereh banished the poison. Such has never been seen before or since, the secrets of that evil lost when the colony was abandoned.

  The text continued, but there was no reason to read more. Lynia had discovered this section while searching for a way to defeat Kien. The author of this tome moved on to discuss other failed colonies that had once been associated with Moranaia millennia before.

  Because of this, she’d been able to warn Ralan to kill Kien with a steel sword to drain his energy before he could shove poison into Earth’s energy fields. The warning hadn’t entirely worked; Kien had managed to cast a little through anyway. In fact, Lial had asked for the book to seek answers for the illness afflicting Fen.

  “This is about tainted energy, isn’t it?” Lynia asked. “It interferes with our ability to renew our bodies and use magic, but it doesn’t cause a plague.”

  Lial’s gaze settled on the book. “I am no longer certain. ‘Perversion instead of renewal’ could refer to such, but Kien’s energy poisoning was fixed by a life mage, not a healer. This seems to indicate something different. It is all I could think of after Ralan’s warning.”