“Better than parting from you,” he answered.
“Kedryn, listen to me.” She eased his arms from her waist, moving a short step back to place her hands upon his cheeks and tilt his face upward, seeing tears moist in the comers of his sightless eyes. “I am vowed to the service of the Lady and no matter what I feel as a woman, I will not depart those vows. I cannot give you what you want and I am afraid that if I were to agree I would merely give you greater pain. If I were to accompany you to Estrevan, what then? Would you not wish me to stay with you there? I could not do that—I have duties here—and surely parting then would be so much the harder. For you,” she paused, her heart knocking loud within her, the calm gone now, “and for me.”
“I,” he began, then broke off, gasping, his jaw dropping as if in shock.
“What is it?”
Fear gripped Wynett for she saw a change in his face that she could not decipher. His eyelids closed over the hazel orbs and he reached up to cover the hands she still held to his cheeks and temples with his own, the lids snapping open again, wider.
“I can see,” he said, awe in his voice.
“What?” Wynett stared at him, the thudding of her heart seeming so loud it drummed about the room, ringing in her ears so that she doubted she heard aright.
“I can see!” He looked up at her, holding her hands against his face as though afraid to break the contact. “You have been crying. And your hair is windswept. You look as though you do not believe me.”
She shook her head and he said, “You shake your head. Wynett! I can see!”
“Kedryn,” she took her hands from his grip and held the right toward him, folding thumb and smallest finger against her palm, “how many fingers?”
“Three,” he said. Then moaned, anguish contorting his features as he pressed fists to his temples and cried, “It is gone! Oh, Lady, it is gone!”
Excitement burst within Wynett and she tilted his head again, peering into his eyes. Abruptly his face calmed and in a hushed voice he said, “It is your touch! Now I see again.”
“Look.” Wynett kept her left hand on his temple and lifted a phial from the shelf behind her. “What is this?”
“Ajar,” he said firmly. “A small jar of dark brown glass. It has a wax-sealed stopper.”
“Now?”
She removed her hand and he bit his lip. “It fades. It is gone.” “And now?” She replaced her hand and he smiled.
“It returns. And your smile is like the rising sun.”
She set the phial back in its place and cupped his head. “I asked the Lady to show me what I should do,” she told him softly. “I believe she has answered my prayer.”
“Your touch restores my sight,” he murmured, touching the fingers that held his face reverently.
“The Lady restores your sight,” she corrected. “Mayhap I am her instrument, but it is she returns vision to you.”
“Will it last?” he wondered.
“It must!” she answered fiercely. “Perhaps not immediately, but in time . . . With the wisdom of Estrevan to aid the healing.”
He turned his face into her palm, pressing his lips to the warm flesh as Wynett smiled down at him, knowing now what she must do, knowing that the answer to her quandary was given.
“I will come with you,” she promised.
Kedryn whooped laughter, pulling her to him unthinking, rising to his full height as she came into his embrace with joy on her face to match his. Her hands were still against his cheeks, but as he bent his head and kissed her on the lips he closed his eyes, not caring now that hope was rekindled.
He felt her mouth respond and his hope soared, but then she pulled away, still touching him so that he could see her face as she said, “I will come with you, but I am still a Sister. You must remember that. We must both remember that.”
It made no difference: he was too happy.
Chapter Four
Kedryn’s right hand clenched on the pommel of his saddle in frustration as he listened to the warriors about him tidy their gear in preparation for triumphal entry into Caitin Hold. His mood communicated to the Keshi stallion so that the great black war-horse skittered sideways, dancing out of line to prompt a grunt of warning from Tepshen Lahl. Kedryn sighed through gritted teeth, forcing himself to relax as he unfastened his hand to reach down and pat the nervous animal, feeling the neck rise as the beast sensed the tension leave him. At the head of the column, Bedyr turned his own mount to ride back to where his son was, his face clouded as the sky above.
“I am all right,” Kedryn assured his father, though the grim set of his features told the Lord of Tamur this was more facade than truth and Bedyr reached across to set a hand on the young man’s shoulder.
“How many miracles can you expect?”
“One,” Kedryn answered, his voice terse.
“It will come,” Bedyr said, making his tone confident. “Already you know the blindness may be lifted.”
“Randomly!” Kedryn’s response was bitter, “Does the Lady toy with me?”
“I do not think so.” Bedyr stared at his son’s sightless eyes, watching the wind ruffle his thick brown hair. “I think she mayhap demands patience of you, but I believe she will ultimately restore your sight, I do not understand these things—Estrevan will give you better answers.”
“Aye.” Kedryn nodded wearily. “But, Father, it is so hard to bear. To see, then not! To feci a cure in sight,” he snorted cynical laughter, “only to return to darkness.”
“Knowing now there is hope,” Bedyr said.
“I am impatient.” Kedryn shrugged, forcing a smile onto his mouth. “I would have that hope realized.”
“It will come.” Bedyr’s hand tightened, squeezing, and Kedryn’s smile grew a fraction more genuine.
“I will bear it,” he promised.
“I know you will.”
Bedyr released his son’s shoulder and reined his mount over, letting the column of Tamurin pass him until the wagon bearing Wynett and their supplies drew abreast. The Sister smiled a greeting from beneath the canopy, turning on the seat as Bedyr came alongside.
“How is he?” she asked.
“Moody,” came the reply. “With hope in sight he longs for it the fiercer.”
Wynett nodded. “I can only counsel patience. It is a strange thing and I do not properly understand it, though I am sure my Sisters in Estrevan will.”
“I pray so,” Bedyr said fervently. “And I am thankful you decided to accompany us.”
“I believe the Lady wants it,” Wynett told him. “It is her will.”
“Aye,” Bedyr acknowledged, raising a hand in brief salute before cantering back to the head of the westward-moving riders.
Wynett watched him until he reached the point where Kedryn rode the big stallion and her eyes fastened on the broad shoulders that squared as though in determination, the head resolutely up as if he looked to the distant horizon, his hair, no longer confined by the bandage, tumbling loose in the wind that gusted steadily over the plain. The wagon creaked beneath her, the prairie regular enough that its passage was mostly smooth, the swaying of the vehicle almost soporific and the handler, a grizzled warrior called Dys, taciturn to the point of speechlessness. She was grateful for the quiet—it gave her time to think. And she had much to ponder now that the first stage of their journey was ending and Kedryn’s home was in sight.
She had gone with him to bring the news of her agreement to Bedyr, but when she had again set her hands to Kedryn’s face his vision had failed to return. His disappointment was writ large on his features and she had sent for Bethany, her own excitement turning to alarm as Kedryn cursed and ground the heels of his hands against his eyes as though he would beat sight into the orbs. Darr had appeared with the Sister and when a further demonstra-
tion was suggested, sight had briefly returned, then as quickly faded.
Bethany and the king had applauded Wynett’s decision to accompany the Tamurin and urged on Kedryn a
patience he clearly found hard to bear. Afterward, Bethany had taken Wynett aside to speak privately.
“Tell me exactly what happened,” she had demanded. “Not what you did, but how you felt.”
“Felt?” Wynett had asked. “I felt excitement.”
“No,” Bethany had said gently, “not when he saw, but before that. When he came to you and asked you to go with him.” Wynett remembered clearly how her heart had fluttered at that, but although she would have preferred to remain silent, she realized the older Sister was probing for an explanation that might well help Kedryn, and so she replied with complete honesty.
“I felt pity,” she had said slowly. “I saw his pain and I wanted to soothe it. I touched his face and I knew that it would be very hard to bid him farewell. I did not want to. I felt . . . love.”
“Which he clearly feels for you,” Bethany had murmured. “You were both gripped by a powerful emotion.”
“I am still a Sister,” Wynett had said defensively. “And I told him 1 would not break my vows.”
Bethany had made a dismissive gesture, smiling at the younger woman as she said, “I do not suggest you would, but the emotion was there and I wonder if that bonded you. Remember you shared the joining with Grania—and that clearly has imbued Kedryn with unusual powers. Mayhap it has fused you in some way.”
“I do not understand.” Wynett had shaken her head. “I feel the same now as then.”
Bethany had nodded thoughtfully. “But when you sought to demonstrate to Bedyr, nothing happened. You felt disappointment? And Kedryn’s anguish was obvious. You shared that pain, too, and when you tried again, his sight returned, albeit briefly.”
“Extremes,” Wynett had said softly, beginning to see an explanation,
“I think it must be that,” Bethany had agreed. “When there is some major eruption of feeling between you, a link becomes established and you are able to restore Kedryn’s sight. When calm descends, the power fades. Heartfelt love, shared pain—perhaps even anger—forge a bond that enables you to give him back his sight. Is that not a sign from the Lady?”
“I took it to be so,” Wynett had nodded.
“And you must work at it,” Bethany had told her. “It will not be easy, but you must experiment. ”
“With my emotions?” Wynett had asked. “How, Sister? I can hold my emotions in check—I must if I am to spend so much time with him!—but I cannot arouse them at will.”
“No,” Bethany had agreed, “but while you travel there will be times enough for opportunity to arise. Use them! And when you reach Estrevan tell them everything you have learnt.”
“Very well,” Wynett had promised.
After that she had spent more time than ever in Kedryn’s company and recognized that Bethany’s assessment was likely correct, for when they experimented calmly nothing happened, but when Kedryn grew angry or despondent, and she felt her own emotions respond, his sight came back, sometimes for only moments, at other times for longer periods. It was hard for them both, harder since quitting High Fort, and Wynett prayed daily to the Lady for fortitude and strength of purpose that she might aid Kedryn without relinquishing her vows. She was increasingly aware of the danger, of how easily she might erase the delicate barrier that stood between them and succumb to physical expression of her emotions. And that, she felt certain, would destroy her talent and render her unable to help Kedryn at all.
He, in turn, was clearly at odds with himself. Delighted that she was with him, yet frustrated by his carefully guarded promise of respect for her status as a Sister of Kyrie. He treated her with the utmost gentility, making no allusions to his obvious feelings for her, yet unable to hide them when they spoke together, for they were expressed in his tone and his touch and did not need words. Sometimes, as the days passed, she wondered if it had not been the wiser course to remain in High Fort; yet at the same time she knew she could not have done that, for he needed her to give him hope, just as Bedyr had suggested, and for all the vagaries of his condition there was hope.
Darr had commended her before he left, pausing at the gangplank while the Vashti rocked on the winter-turbulent Idre to take her hands, his visage less regal than fatherly, his thinning gray hair fluttering in the wind.
“I thank you for what you do,” he had said softly, the words intended for her and none other. “And I have some inkling of what it means to you. For what strength it may lend you, know that I believe you act in the best interests of the Kingdoms—that perhaps your decision is vital to our safe future. May the Lady be with you, daughter.”
He had bent and kissed her then, and she had hugged him as child to father, letting him go as Galen Sadreth shouted irreverently that wind and tides paid little heed to monarchs, prompting the king to hurry in a most unregal fashion onto the pitching barque.
Darr had stood at the stem, beside the portly boatmaster, his cloak whipped by the growing wind as the crew cast off and Galen took his craft rapidly to the flood of the river, waving until the Vashti was a dwindling mark against the forbidding gray of the water.
Wynett had thought on his words since then, and on Bethany’s parting remark: “Remember that you are a Sister, child, and serve the Lady. Remember, too, that her service takes many forms.”
She would have questioned the older woman as to her meaning, but Bethany had given her no time, bustling on board behind the king with her blue cloak wrapped tight about her and an expression on her face that suggested her fellow Sisters would be soon administering remedies for river sickness.
There were no such farewells from Hattim Sethiyan when the Lord of Ust-Galich set sail the next day. He appeared so anxious to depart that he forgot the normal courtesies, mounting the gangplank of the vessel that would bear him south with the meanest of farewells, his adieus to Rycol and Bedyr curt to the point of rudeness, his only words to Kedryn a grunted, but somehow ominous, “We shall doubtless meet again, Prince.” Wynett had noticed that he wore a high-collared tunic beneath his cloak, the sage green material hiding his neck, and she had wondered if he still suffered the flea bites, though only briefly, for she was curiously glad to see the Galichian sail away: there was something about him that set her nerves on edge.
Jarl’s departure had been far more convivial, accompanied by much slapping of shoulders and promises of friendship. He had presented Kedryn with the war-horse loaned for the first meeting with the forest folk, managing to suggest that the animal was of a nature and discipline that would serve the Prince of Tamur well without making any reference to Kedryn’s blindness, and in his gift, and his bluff tone, Wynett had recognized genuine fondness. He had gone on board the vessel that was to ferry him over the river accompanied by Brannoc, who explained gleefully that he was traveling to Kesh to discuss the matter of horse trading—in, of course, his newfound capacity as Warden of the Forest.
There had been a little sadness then, for—with the exception of
Hattim—they had been a close company, and the sudden absence of such good friends left an emptiness.
Bedyr had filled it with preparations for their own departure, his activity suggesting that he had waited only until the armies were disbanded and the commanders safely on their way to leave himself. Wynett had attended to what few last minute arrangements were needed to satisfy her that the hospital would continue to run smoothly, and Rycol had feasted them handsomely. They set out the following day, Wynett the only woman among the hundred Tamurin warriors riding escort.
It was a blustery morning, robbed of brightness by the heavy banks of lowering cloud that hung above the fort. To the north snow was already falling, thicker than the earlier squalls, so that the Beltrevan road was carpeted in white that churned beneath the feet of the masons to ugly slush. South of the great mountain wall the snow became rain, drifting thin and steady from the leaden sky to coat horses and cloaks with a sheen of moisture. Nonetheless, their going was cheerful, the warriors laughing at the elements and even the animals prancing with high-tossed heads a
nd dancing hooves, as if they sensed their direction was home and welcomed that return. Wynett had wrapped herself in a thick, waterproof cloak and ignored the veiling droplets as she watched the column fall into line before and behind. Bedyr took the head, flanked by Kedryn and Tepshen Lahl, all draped in soft leather cloaks that repelled the rain, the kyo scorning to use his hood, so that his oiled hair soon ran with moisture. She had thought that on horseback it was impossible to tell Kedryn was blind, for the Keshi stallion fell into step with the two flanking animals and he sat his saddle with such casual grace that he appeared in complete control.
They had gone down through the town with the farewell cheers of the soldiery behind them and the shouts of the townsfolk ahead. The streets had been lined with people despite the inclemency of the day, many running out to touch the hem of Kedryn’s cloak with an almost religious awe, parents holding children aloft that they might catch a glimpse of the young man they hailed as hero. Kedryn had seemed embarrassed by the attention, and once clear of the settlement had set heels to the stallion’s flanks and lifted the war-horse to a thundering gallop that brought Wynett’s heart into her mouth. Neither Tepshen Lahl nor Bedyr had seemed to share her fear, for they both whooped with laughter and set off after Kedryn, who, she was sure, allowed them to catch up until they charged on either side and all three hurtled over the muddy ground where not long ago peace had been forged.
She had watched as they rode away, then wheeled, circling back to rejoin the column, and she had seen the smile on Kedryn’s face as he slowed the black horse, bringing it alongside the wagon.
“Jarl was generous,” he had called to her. “This beast is magnificent. ”
“Is it wise,” she had ventured, not entirely over her fear for him, “to gallop thus?”
“The horse has eyes to see,” was his answer, “so all I need do is stay in the saddle.”
“But if he met a jump?” she wondered.
Kedryn had laughed, pleased at the concern he heard in her voice, and said, “Between here and the river Sol the land is flat. Look.”
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