by Jane Glatt
“Please sit down,” Brenna said soothingly.
She was afraid he might be too nervous to say what he’d come to say. Kane had planned on seeking out Aruntian Brothers when he’d left - maybe he’d found them. Samuel was definitely Aruntian - was he nervous because she was the heir to the prophecy?
“Yes, Mistress Seer, thank you,” Samuel said.
Brenna sat down on the bench and Samuel sat in a chair opposite.
“What I can do for you? Does this have anything to do with a Brother?” Brenna asked hopefully. She desperately wanted his news - especially if he had news of Kane.
“My brother!” Samuel jumped up and stalked over to the hearth. “Has Rory been here already? He was told to let me have the first go round. Ma said.”
Confused, Brenna looked up at the young man. “Rory? Sorry, I don’t know anyone named Rory. I didn’t even know you had a brother.”
“Then he didn’t …” Samuel smoothed his vest and sat back down and looked up at her nervously. “Then you’re not spoken for?”
“Spoken for?” It took Brenna a few moments to understand what he was saying. “Do you mean am I pledged to anyone?” She looked over at Laurel, who refused to meet her gaze. “No Samuel, I’m not pledged.” He slumped in relief. “But neither am I free.”
“Well,” Laurel said. “The roads in the south must be clear. Spring is certainly well on the way.”
Brenna eyed the older woman suspiciously before she opened the door slightly and peeked outside. Both Samuel and his horse were gone. “What makes you say that?” Brenna closed the door and turned back to Laurel.
“The Doyles are a southern family,” Laurel said. “They live down in Smithin. For him to travel this far by horse means it must be full spring in the south.”
“Do you know Samuel?” Brenna asked.
“I’ve met him, yes, when he was much younger. I certainly know the family and he has the look of a Doyle about him.” At Brenna’s puzzled look Laurel shrugged. “It’s the eyes. The Doyle men always have those clear green eyes. Sadly, the women always have brown eyes, the ones who aren’t Seers, that is. Samuel’s great grandmother was the last Doyle Seer. She was a brown and blue pairing, like me.”
“And now they’d like to add a brown and green pairing to their family.” Brenna sighed and slumped into a chair.
“I did tell you to expect them.” Brenna looked up at Laurel, who stood over her, hands on her hips. “And really, he was quite pleasant company, once he realized he wouldn’t be the one to catch you.”
“You enjoyed that,” Brenna said.
“Yes,” she smiled. “Brenna, you are quite good company but you’re off at lessons most of the day. The townspeople are nice as well but it’s March and a new face is certainly welcome.” Laurel laughed. “And he was very easy to look at.”
“He did have incredible eyes.” Brenna shook her head and smiled. “But he was rather young, don’t you think?”
“The Doyles, they have a plan no doubt. The older brother Rory is the real charmer, and a bit of a rogue.”
“You think they’ll send him too?” Brenna asked.
“Yes. I think our young friend was just the Doyle’s opening move. They’ve let you know they’re interested and given you a look at the type of men they raise. Now they have some first-hand knowledge of both you and any obstacles that might exist and will prepare the older son better.”
“This sounds more like politics than courting,” she grumbled.
“Well of course it is.” Laurel sounded surprised. “I’m sorry if I wasn’t clearer about it before. This has everything to do with politics.” Laurel sat on the bench beside Brenna. “For five of the six families of Seers, having a living breathing Seer determines their social and financial fortunes. Not only do they charge for their services, but any venture with a family headed by a Seer is considered infallible. For my own family, because my mother is the duchess, it’s less important but still seen as a good omen for the duchy. Four of the six families currently have no Seer and the other Seer is very old. A new Seer, with no known family ties? You could help their families prosper for generations. They will not give up easily.”
Brenna sighed. Courting she didn’t understand, politics, on the other hand, she knew how to manage.
“All right,” Brenna said. “Tell me about the other Seer families. Family histories, who’s the strongest person living, who they have feuds with, who’s married to whom, everything.” Samuel had only given up when Brenna told him he was too young. That argument wouldn’t work with his older brother. She’d need to figure out a way to discourage all these families. She didn’t want to create enemies but she couldn’t tell them the truth - that in the next few years she was going to be rather busy saving Soule from Thorold and becoming Queen. She’d alluded to Kane, but what could she say about him, really? Did Kane even see her as more than the heir to the prophecy? At one point she’d been sure he did, but it had been months since she’d heard from him.
three
Satisfied, Thorold observed his son from across the ballroom. Beldyn had been the dutiful and obedient son the minute he’d arrived in Kingsreach and because of that, his plans were proceeding well - so well that he’d readily agreed to Beldyn’s suggestion that he live at the castle. The king’s heir should spend as much time with the king learning statecraft. If that gave the impression that Thorold had little control over Beldyn, so much the better - he and his son knew otherwise.
King Mattias had requested tonight’s ball. It was being held in Beldyn’s honour and everyone in Kingsreach with any social or political status was in attendance. Mattias had confided to Thorold that he wished Beldyn to find companions amongst the minor nobles in the city. His hope, he’d said, was that Beldyn would find a steadfast friend such as Thorold had been to the King all these years. Thorold had nodded and invited as many youngsters as possible, while inwardly he’d felt disgust for the weak, fool of a king who’d never seen through their friendship.
A merchant’s daughter, a pretty enough piece of fluff, attached herself to his son’s arm. Thorold recognized the girl from a previous event and Beldyn seemed happy enough to accept her intentions. He smiled and leaned back. Let the boy have his diversions and dalliances, he mused, none of it mattered as long as he married his father’s choice. At the moment that choice looked to be the King of Langemore’s daughter but there could be other – better - options. Langemore trade would benefit Comack, but once Beldyn was king, all of Soule would be his to control. He’d heard that Duchess Avery had a biddable enough son, perhaps Langemore would be satisfied with him. He’d need to get rid of the Duchess of course, but she’d be no loss to him. Beldyn would be free to be dangled over bigger fish - Talis, past the Southern Sea islands, held promise. The people might be savages but he’d been impressed with the quality of the gems his traders had been bringing him.
Across the ball room Beldyn stood in the centre of a group. He laughed at something one of his companions said, then looked up and met his father’s eyes. Beldyn bowed slightly in his direction and Thorold smiled. Yes, his son knew who really held the power.
Brenna watched the dark-haired young man creep down an alley. She wasn’t sure if it was the lad or the path he was taking that she recognized - both had the ring of familiarity. He darted a look over his shoulder, back the way he’d come, but his face was still too shadowed for her to see it clearly. She could tell by the way he moved that something he saw or heard worried him. He tested a few doors, and finding one open, eased through it. Brenna followed him inside and saw him hide under a worktable as the muffled sounds of boots came from the alley.
“He’s around here somewhere,” came a deep whisper from outside. “He can’t have got too far ahead of us.”
“Quiet. Ye’ll wake folk up and then we’ll be in it,” was the reply. “The duke’ll have our balls for breakfast if he finds out the brat’s getting past us at night.”
Brenna strained to hear more but the
two moved past the window. There was a flash of white when the lad smiled and she heard him laugh softly as his pursuers headed farther away.
“Don’t move,” whispered a voice from inside the dark room. “I have a knife and I’ve been trained how to use it.”
The lad turned towards the sound of the voice, his movements slow and calm. A weapon glinted from across the room and he backed away from it.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, his voice tugging at her memories. “I’ll just leave the same way I came.” He eased back towards the closed door.
“Stop.” The knife wielder moved two steps towards him. “What are you doing here?”
The young man backed up one more step, the wood of the door at his back now. “Just a thief,” he said. “I see there’s someone home after all so I’ll just move on.”
“Huh. You’re a poor thief, if that’s what you really are.” The other person spoke louder and Brenna almost recognized her. “A thief I know wouldn’t give a second look to a weavers shop.” There was the sound of flint striking. “And Brenna would never have allowed those two louts to follow her.” The lamp glowed softly and then a hand turned the wick up.
“I knew someone named Brenna, a long time ago,” the lad replied. “She’s probably dead now.”
The light from the lamp cast a glow around the room and Brenna gasped, her eyes flicking from one face to the other and then back again in disbelief. It was Jemma, her friend from the Brotherhood and across from her, his back to the closed door, older now but with that same belligerent look she knew from her childhood, was Beldyn.
She tried to call out to them but instead pitched forward, catching herself before her head hit the table.
“Brenna! Are you all right?” Laurel’s voice asked sharply.
“I’m fine.” Brenna raked a hand through her shoulder-length hair. “I didn’t really get anything clear that time,” she lied. “Just some confusing images. It was dark, and someone had a lamp. But that’s about it. There was absolutely nothing in common with my other visions, the ones with the sick people and babies dying.” She shivered and turned to meet Laurel’s gaze, hoping she’d said just enough truth that the other woman would believe her. “And one really strange thing. I wasn’t there. I mean, I saw a few images, but I didn’t get the impression I was there at the time.”
Laurel sat back and smiled. “That’s good, Brenna, very good. It took me two years before I could See events where I wasn’t present.” She patted her on the arm, obviously pleased. “Now, I was only fourteen when my abilities came on, so mayhap you’ll manage to control this type of Seeing in less time than it took me. Just keep practicing. And as for the other, well, let’s hope we’ve done enough to change that future.”
Brenna rested her head on the tabletop. Not for the first time, she wished Kane was here - she desperately wanted to talk to him about this vision. What could a confrontation between Beldyn and Jemma mean? Did she want it to happen or did she want to change it?
Tentatively, keeping tight control over her powers just as Mistress Utley had taught her, Brenna reached out for old steel. She let her awareness spiral out past her own knife at her waist, the mortar and pestle on the shelf above the basin and the coronet in her pack hidden up in the loft. She ignored tiny pinpoints of old steel as she sent her awareness north, over the Seven Sisters, until she found one that was familiar. Kane - and not so very far away from her. She pulled her awareness back to where she sat with her head down on the table in a small house in Aruntun.
Kane straightened in his saddle. “Brenna?” he said, worried. She’d promised she wouldn’t contact him through old steel unless it was an emergency. He concentrated, hand on his sword – there was no sense of her now – maybe he’d imagined it. The gods knew she was never far from his thoughts.
Brenna wasn’t supposed to use her abilities - they didn’t want Aruntians knowing about old steel until they knew who could be trusted.
Kane had secretly met with Duchess Avery while in Kingsreach - she believed the king’s illness was natural and wasn’t willing to hear otherwise. Kane couldn’t blame her – he had no proof that Thorold had done anything wrong - but it meant that neither he nor Brenna could afford to trust anyone associated with the duchess - including her daughter.
Kane hunched into his cloak. Even in early April the wind was bitterly cold in the Seven Sisters. He’d left the training facility two weeks ago and had only made a brief stop Kingsreach. The days in the saddle had been reasonably warm until he’d hit the mountains. Unless he reached Cottle Village by nightfall he’d face the unpleasant task of camping in the snow. Despite Runner’s shaggy winter coat, Kane really didn’t want him outside all night. He patted the horse on the shoulder.
“Your bad luck to pair up with an unreasonable man like me,” Kane said. “Making you carry me all over Soule in the dead of winter. Maybe now you’ll forgive me for taking you on that ship. At least it had been warm.” Runner snorted and Kane laughed, his breath clouding in the cold mountain air. “Not long now, Runner,” Kane crooned. “Just another week, maybe less, and you can spend some time with Blaze.” He patted the horse again. “You’d like that wouldn’t you?”
Mistress Utley eyed her with what looked like suspicion when Brenna arrived at her door. She was late for her lesson because of the vision she’d had. Well, she could have been on time if the sun hadn’t come out and coaxed her to meander through the meadows. The snow was melting and last year’s brown grasses were peeking out. Brenna had seen her first flowers of the season, a cluster of snowdrops pushing through the snow, white flowers fluttering in the cold wind. She’d picked a bunch and now she held them out to her teacher as she stepped past her into the warm room.
“Look Mistress Utley. The first flowers of spring.” Brenna held them out to the old woman.
Mistress Utley sighed and shook her head. “You’re late.” She took the flowers from Brenna and headed to her kitchen area. “Again.”
Brenna shucked off her coat and boots and padded after her teacher, reaching for the pump handle to add some water to the jug Mistress Utley had placed the flowers into.
“I know, I’m sorry. I had a Seeing this morning, and then it was just so nice out…” Brenna’s voice trailed off and she shrugged and grinned.
Mistress Utley sighed again and shook her head. “You are a trial, child. But I thank you for the flowers. My old limbs are not as nimble as they used to be, so I don’t get to the far meadows as much as I’d like.”
“I’ll take you there, if you’d like. We can go today.” Brenna looked at her hopefully. It would be wonderful to spend the day outside. It had been so long since she’d had time to wander fields and pick flowers. It reminded her of her childhood and the few perfect days each year when she and her mother would escape the confines of Thorold’s estate and collect herbs and flowers and bark from beside the country paths. On those days, her mother would lose her pinched, tired look and laugh at the way the sun and the wind felt on her bare arms and face.
“Maybe another day, Brenna.” Mistress Utley smiled gently. “We still have much to cover. I don’t have the Sight, but I think your time with me is limited. Now, gently, take me through the spells we’ve been working on this week.”
As she bent down to ready the spell for controlling the wind, Brenna concentrated on keeping her power tightly controlled. She likely wouldn’t be here much longer, not with Kane so close, so how did Mistress Utley know? Brenna let a wisp of wind nudge the petals of the snowdrops.
“Good,” Mistress Utley said. “Your control is very good. Now, a little more power please.”
Brenna squinted as she concentrated on adding just a tiny bit more force to the wind. A sudden gust battered the flowers and the jug rattle on the table. Brenna let go of the spell and the jug and flowers stilled.
“Again,” Mistress Utley said. “You need to be able to this without thinking.” The old woman relaxed back into her chair as Brenna readied herself.
“So little time,” Mistress Utley whispered.
It was late afternoon and though the sun still shone brightly, the air had cooled considerably from earlier in the day. Brenna stepped around Blaze and moved to cinch the saddle tighter. She was forced to go out an extra notch, proof that Blaze had been well looked after during the winter months. Saddle tightened, Brenna looked around the tidy barn.
The owner, a farmer by the name of Poskitt, had agreed to look after Blaze in exchange for her healing skills. She hadn’t realized at the time he meant for her to heal his animals as well as his family, but there’d been little enough to do for him even so. He had only a dozen goats and four milk cows, in addition to the chickens she’d refused to touch unless he was going to roast them. His wife and two strapping sons had not even had a sniffle all winter long.
Brenna set her left foot into the stirrup and mounted. She’d barely been on Blaze all winter - yet another reason why the horse needed the extra hole in the cinch - and with Kane on his way, she needed some practice riding. She clucked to Blaze and the horse placidly stepped through the door into the fading spring day. After a few minutes at a slow walk, Brenna kneed Blaze into a trot and they headed down the laneway. From the vantage point of Poskitt’s farm, Brenna had a good view of Cloud Lake. The steam that rose off it almost obscured the small wharf and the few small boats tied up. Even in the dead of winter the hot springs that fed the lake kept it warm enough that it never froze over, though Laurel told her that ice formed at the edges furthest from the springs and coated the trees closest to it.
A short ride down the lane and back was enough. The sun was sinking and Brenna would have just enough time to look after Blaze and walk back to Laurel’s before the evening meal. She hoped it hadn’t been her turn to cook tonight, because she definitely didn’t have time to do that.
