I understand some of her rambling. The Ring is where decisions are made among the fairies of Kythshire. Crocus and Scree are the leaders, and Ember and Shush are members of the High Council, along with several other fairies I haven’t formally been introduced to. When there’s an argument or an issue that’s particularly difficult to discuss, the whole assembly dances wildly until their emotions about the issue at hand are as exhausted as their little bodies are.
“In the end,” Flitter goes on, “mostly everyone agreed on it. But Crocus and Scree wouldn’t pass an edict. They say it’s beyond them. They agreed to send me to the Palace of the Dawn to present it. You know, where our Queen is. I thought it might help if you came, too, so I can show them how good you are. Will you?”
“Will I…?” I trail off, thinking over her words, trying to make more sense of what she’s said. I can’t, though. Other than the customs at the Ring, I have no idea what she’s going on about. “Flitter, of course if you need my help, I’ll do what I can. But I don’t understand. What exactly did you propose? What do the elves do that you want to do, too?”
“Ah, ah!” she wiggles her finger. “One question at a time. Well, those were sort of the same question, so I’ll let it go this once. Oh, and by the way, you can just call me Flitt like always. Unless we’re in front of someone important. So: What did I propose? We’ll go with that question.”
I nod, a little bemused. Once she gets on a roll, she tends to be a little more lax about the rules of the game.
“Just this,” she floats up again and comes to settle on my shoulder so she can whisper. “Pairings. The elves call it Ili’luvrie. We fairies didn’t used to hide away all the time, you know. We were part of life with people. We paired up. Like you and me. Or like Princess Margary and Twig. Like Tib and Mevyn. Well, not really like them, actually. That was a little twisted and over the line. It’s supposed to be mutual, and Mevyn made it creepy.”
I start to say something, but she holds up her hand to stop me. It’s not my turn yet. Not until she asks a question.
“It was a good system. Fairies would find a friend. Someone they had things in common with. Someone they trusted. They’d help each other out. Learn from each other. Share magic. Protect each other. Give insight. It was mostly done with Mages, but every once in a while a fairy would find a child, or someone who was particularly pure and valiant. They’d get a tether, like you have, and they’d be good friends. And if one of them ever needed the other, they’d help each other out. Like you and me, see?”
“So,” I say thoughtfully, “you’re saying that if this goes through, if it’s approved by the Queen, then fairies wouldn’t be a secret anymore in Cerion. Isn’t that dangerous for all of you, though? It took so long for you to make yourselves forgotten.”
“That’s the big argument,” Flitt sighs. “Some of them think just that. They said I’m an idealist. They don’t want to expose us, no matter what. But They’ve been talking about something else at the Ring for a long time. Ever since the attack on the North. Your battle with the Sorcerers wasn’t the end of it. Something big is coming, Azi. Something we can’t handle on our own, no matter how much they convince themselves that we can. A threat we’ve seen for a long time on the horizon is moving closer, and the ones against the pairings are turning a blind eye to it. They don’t realize it could mean the end of us. All of us.”
She flies down to the long-forgotten silver pitcher that Margy fixed up for her so long ago. It’s the same as it was then, turned on its dented side and adorned with fringes of lace and piles of old satin. She rummages in the dusty scraps for a little while and then curls up and looks at me expectedly. We sit in silence, staring at each other. It’s her turn to ask, so I wait even though I’m dying to know more about this threat.
“Oh. My question. So, what do you think of that?” she asks broadly.
“A lot,” I reply with a teasing grin. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head.
“Come on,” she says.
“I think a threat is always a good reason to make alliances, but you have to make sure that the allies are trustworthy. Are the fairies who agree to it really willing to pair with our Mages after all this time?”
“Well,” she grins. “There’s one who is. And he knows exactly who he wants, too. Can you guess who?”
“Rian,” I say without hesitation. As far as I’m aware, he’s the only Mage they know well enough to trust. “But which fairy?”
“Shush,” she replies. “He sent this with me. He said he hopes Rian accepts.” She reaches into her belt pouch and pulls out the tip of a quill. She keeps pulling and pulling and the object keeps coming, impossibly growing out of the tiny pouch. It’s a beautiful sleek bluehawk’s feather: royal blue edged with aqua, and with creamy spots speckling it from top to bottom. It isn’t the sort normally used for writing. It’s too fine and rare. She smoothes out the vane and hands it to me. “Fitting for a Wind fairy, don’t you think?”
“Definitely. It’s beautiful…” I turn it in my fingers and feel its silky fronds between them. “Rian will be honored, Flitt. I’m sure of it.”
“Eh, we’ll see. Stinky hasn’t really shown me a lot of patience,” she yawns. I consider reminding her that he’s probably impatient because of the way she constantly torments him, but I decide against it. This is a huge step for relations between our people. One that Flitt has apparently fought hard for, based on her relationship with me. I can’t help but feel a little pride at that. All this time she’s been away, she’s been fighting for us to be closer. I smile.
“Your question,” she says. I think for a while.
“Something big is coming, you said. The threat. What do you know about it?” I ask as I tuck the feather reverently into my vest.
“It’s complicated. It has to do with the…” she peeks out of the pitcher and looks around cautiously. “You know. The things where the stuff comes from.” I know what she means. The Wellsprings. I thought the only one was in Kythshire, but we learned that there was another in Sunteri that had been drained by its surrounding Sorcerers. Tib and Mevyn had something to do with restoring it. I thought I had been there to see it, but my memories when I try to recall it are too foggy. Perhaps because it was around the same time Rian proposed to me. I get too distracted by memories of that wonderful time when I try too hard to remember.
I nod to Flitt. “Go on.”
“Well, ours has been giving portents for a while. Since before you and I met. Warnings of dark magic all around. They’re linked, you see. All of them. They know what’s going on with each other, everywhere. And the threat is just that. Bad people trying to reach the link. Trying to learn what’s known. Oh, it’s too difficult to explain here where I have to be so secret. Give the feather to Rian and then come see us in Kythshire, okay? I have to go. I’ll try to come tomorrow again if there’s not as much dancing.”
“Wait, Flitt—” I cry and snatch up the pitcher but I’m too late. She disappears, leaving me staring into the bundle of silks in confusion and disbelief.
It’s a lot of information all at once, and it’s just like her to leave me so abruptly to try and sort it out without her help. I set the pitcher down and gaze off toward the Academy spires, pristine white against the distant blue sky. Most of Cerion’s Mages are trustworthy. It’s rare to see the Mark on any of them. Uncle makes sure of that, as do the King’s highest Mage advisers.
We’ve shown our respect for Kythshire’s Wellspring for generations now. But could it go on this way if the fairies revealed themselves, or would it go awry? I myself have felt the power of magic before. When I attempt to use Mentalism, it’s intoxicating. I avoid it at all costs because of that. I don’t like the out-of-control feelings it gives me. Would the pairings help curb that desire, or feed into it? I imagine it would depend on the partner. Still, I’m excited for Rian that Shush would choose him. The two seem like a perfect match for one another.
I find Saesa waiting in the sparring square as I expected
, sharpening my sword with a whetstone.
“Again?” I laugh. “Thank you, Saesa, but if you keep sharpening it, I fear there will be nothing left.”
Her reply is a respectful bow after she slides it back into its sheath and hands it to me, hilt-first.
This session I have Saesa try a similar blade to mine: a great sword, long, wide, and heavy enough that it must be wielded with two hands. It’s a drastic change from Feat, her beloved short sword, but the glint in her eye when I offer her this one tells me I’ve made the right choice. She takes the weapon with reverence, and I’m surprised when she holds it with her hands spaced properly right at the start. She knows the grip already, and she has the stance well-practiced.
My own sword gleams in the light that splashes through the open ceiling and my heart quickens as it does every time I hold it. This sword is the one Da forged for me and gifted me on my sixteenth birthday. It was lost in the Battle of the Keep at Kythshire, sucked into a Sorcerous vortex. I had thought it gone forever until I found it again in the throne room of Jacek, the Dreamwalker who had stolen the mantle of Valenor, the true Dreamwalker. He used it to lure me to him, then he used it against me, enchanting Saesa and goading her to fight me with it. In the end, he was defeated. In the end, the sword is mine again, as it should be.
All of it flashes back at me in the reflection of my eyes on the blade. Quick moments, there and gone. As trying as it had been, as threatening and dangerous, I want it again. My whole body aches for adventure. I anchor my feet into the dirt and raise my sword to Saesa. We bow, and the bout begins.
She’s been practicing, I can tell. Her swings are more graceful and her thrusts more powerful. Over the two years she’s been my squire, Saesa has grown almost a hands-width taller. Her body is filling out its womanly curves, and her arms are long and leanly muscled. She didn’t bother to tie her hair back today. Her thick red nest of curls barely moves when she does.
“Hey, your hair!” she says, echoing my thoughts as she swings a long downward arc. “How did you—?”
“Check your grip.” I say sternly as I meet her blade with a hard parry, knocking her off center. “Hands apart. Plow stance, elbows in, pommel at your hip. Elbows, Saesa!”
“Elbows, elbows,” she chastises herself with a murmur and tucks them in.
“Someday, Saesa, you’ll be on the field. Someone will see those elbows poking out from a league away,” I thrust my blade close to her rib and she spins away, “and take them right off. Below the hip, strong arms stay close.”
“Yes, my lady,” she says, “strong arms stay close.” She tries again with the proper stance, and I jump back as the blade glances my leather training vest.
“See? That’s better,” I grin.
“But your braid,” she tries some elaborate footwork and fails miserably, stumbling under the weight of her weapon.
“You can do that with a short sword, Saesa, but it won’t work with a great sword. Left foot back, anchor yourself. Greatswords rely on strength over speed. Let the weight of the blade guide your strike.” I show her a strong forward thrust and she repeats it fairly easily. “Good, let’s practice that one.”
“It was Flitt, wasn’t it?” she asks as she tries the move again. “I thought I saw her in your window.”
“Anchor that left foot. Watch your arms, Saesa. Elbows!” I arc my sword upward and knock her right elbow hard with the flat of my blade.
“Sorry!” she yelps. “Ah,” she says under her breath and skips backward with the tip of her sword dragging in the dust. She tries to put on a brave face, but I know that had to hurt. I felt the crack.
“Take a breath,” I say, but she shakes her head.
“I’m fine, m’lady,” she says, and comes at me again but I sidestep the attack. Her blade wobbles dangerously as her injured arm fights to keep it steady.
“Take a break, Saesa.” I slip my sword back into its scabbard at the bench and beckon to her. “Let me see it.”
She comes as beckoned, and I unbuckle the clasp at her shoulder and pull the leather sleeve down. A dark bruise, blooms around her already swelling elbow. I take her arm gingerly and bend it, and she gasps and winces.
“Conclave,” I say. “You need healing. It’s a break.”
“But we just got started...” Saesa groans in frustration.
“Conclave.” I repeat. “Put it on the guild’s tally. Next time don’t be lazy with your elbows.”
“Yes, Lady Knight,” she sighs and stows her weapon at the wall, then bows respectfully and rushes out.
It’s hours before Rian finally returns from the Academy. He finds me in the meeting hall helping Mouli, our cook and housekeeper, clear away the dinner that’s gone cold. She clucks her tongue at the nearly untouched food and hurries off to the kitchen with it to see what can be salvaged.
“Nobody turned up again?” Rian grabs a roll and bites into it.
“Everyone’s off on their own,” I say as I slip my arms around him. “Mouli can warm the fish for you. It was a good catch.”
“That’s all right,” he shrugs.
“Well, well, nice of you to turn up!” Mouli says shrilly as she comes back to the table. “I’ll make you a plate before you disappear to nothing, Rian! Honestly, you’ve got to eat. Books and ink will not sustain you!”
“Yes, Mouli,” Rian grins. “Thank you for that sage advice. Such a revelation, coming from you. Never before have I heard such wisdom escape your lips.”
“Don’t be cheeky,” she flicks her apron at him and rushes back to the kitchen.
“Hey,” Rian says after she leaves. He reaches up and tugs my braid with a questioning tilt of his head.
“Flitt didn’t like my new style,” I laugh softly.
“She was here?” he asks as he takes my hand. “Where has she been? What did she say?”
Between visits from Mouli, I fill Rian in on my conversation with Flitt. His expression seems to darken slowly the entire time, until he’s finally fully scowling when I get to the part with Shush and the feather. I pull it out and set it on the table beside his plate.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as his whole demeanor changes. His body goes rigid, his jaw and fists clench. This is the way he gets when he goes to Kythshire. Measured. Careful. Slightly terrified. “I thought you’d be honored.”
“It’s too dangerous,” he replies, staring at the feather with distaste.
“How is it dangerous?” I stroke the soft, spotted fronds thoughtfully with my fingertip. “It’s exciting. A chance to strengthen our alliance. And Shush is amazing. It’d be fun to get to know him better, wouldn’t it?”
“No,” he pushes the feather back toward me with the end of his spoon. “It crosses the line. It’s too much power for us, Azi. Too much risk for him. For all of them.”
“But Flitt said—” I start, but he interrupts me.
“Flitt is young. I bet the others argued against it. The older ones. The ones who were there during the darker times. She’s an idealist. She doesn’t realize what could happen.”
“That’s what they said, too,” I sigh. “But don’t you think we’ve changed since then?” I rest a hand on his arm. “Don’t you think our Mages can be trusted? Don’t you think you can be?”
Rian stares thoughtfully at the feather for a long time, pondering the question. He presses his palms into the bench and stays silent through Mouli’s return. She fills his plate again and Rian makes a show of eating it until she goes out again.
“In the end,” he says quietly as Mouli slips out to the kitchen again, “no, I don’t. I don’t even trust myself, Azi. Not with that. Not with the life of a fae. The way I could drain him, use his power to feed my own, it would be a constant temptation. A constant battle. A distraction and a danger. I won’t risk it.”
“That’s why he chose you,” I take his hands in mine. “He’s seen how restrained you are. He knows you’re respectful and cautious. He trusts you. They all do.”
“Well,” Rian sa
ys, his hands shaking in mine, “they shouldn’t. I’m not arguing anymore. That’s my final decision. If you respect me, you’ll accept it.”
“Very noble,” a whisper from the feather itself startles us. The sound is quick and soft, like a brisk wind through the leaves of trees. “But you left out the important part, Azi. Remember? The threat. The reason why all of it is necessary.”
The air shimmers over the feather and the form of a fairy emerges slowly. He’s dressed in shining leaf-green plates that mimic a mantis shell. His body is long and lean, giving the appearance that he’s been stretched out, and his yellow hair is blown straight back to a point. He pushes his beetle-like eye-scopes up to rest on his forehead and squints at us.
“Well! It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Shush whispers hurriedly. “Good to see you again, both of you!
Chapter Five: Whisperings of Warning
Tib
“Suppertime Ze,” I whisper to the cat as I slink to the doorway. She meows at me a little reluctantly. “Go on,” I say, and she saunters away off toward the south. Toward Nessa’s. I don’t want her spotted in the tavern again so soon. Someone might get suspicious.
I sneak along the tables. The rich boy is still there. Spooning cobbler into his mouth. Staring at the fire. The crowd’s gotten louder in here since I left. Thicker, too. There’s barely a place to sit. I take a deep breath. I slip between two larger men who are busy with their dice and come out visible on the other side. Loren doesn’t notice me. He’s in a daze. Thinking. Probably thinking about the horrible things that are about to happen to the princess.
“This seat taken?” I drop onto the bench beside him. Put a hand on my dagger hilt. He’s observant. He notices the threat right away. Nothing he can do, though. He’s got me on one side and the wall on the other. His eyes slide slowly away. Back to his bowl. He shrugs. Tries to act calm. He can’t fool me. He’s scared.
Call of Brindelier (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 3) Page 5
