And an arm’s length from Araenè, one foot braced on another stone, stood Ceirfei. He was looking down at her and smiling. Then he looked up and saw Trei, and the smile slipped.
Trei started forward again, more slowly. But no matter the coolness of Ceirfei’s reaction, he was glad Araenè looked well—she did look well: happy and confident. She hadn’t seen him yet. He called, “Cousin!” and held out his hands to her.
“Trei!” Araenè looked up, then jumped to her feet and ran to take his hands, smiling into his face. “I didn’t know you were back! It’s wonderful to see you!”
“Didn’t anyone tell you—?”
“Oh,” Araenè said quickly, “yes, Wingmaster Taimenai—isn’t he a dear?—told me he was sending a kajurai official after you—and Master Tnegun showed me how to look for you in a glass sphere, because glass is good for visions of wind and sky. So I looked for you every day, and yesterday I saw you in the sky at last! So then I knew you were all right. I was so relieved! And now you’re back at last! Can you stay to visit?”
“Yes …” Trei found himself laughing, happy in his cousin’s enthusiastic welcome. “Or no, not really, not tonight. I’m glad the wingmaster was kind to you, but he expects a long report from me! But I wanted to see you—” And Ceirfei. He looked past Araenè to Ceirfei, who was standing stiffly to one side, unsmiling, his arms folded. Trei’s happiness faded.
Araenè glanced quickly from one of them to the other and let go of Trei’s hands, taking a step back. “You need to talk to each other,” she observed. “I’ll leave you, all right?” She added to Ceirfei, “When you’re ready to leave, the gate will take you wherever you ask. I think!” And to Trei, “But, you, come find me before you leave, all right? Even if you can’t stay long. Promise me you won’t leave without letting me see you again! I don’t want to wonder if I just imagined you were back!”
“I’ll find you,” Trei promised her.
“Good!” His cousin darted away, down the overgrown path; she stepped up on a white stone outside a window and then onto the windowsill and, ducking her head, through the high window and into the hidden school.
Trei gazed at Ceirfei. The heavy scent of crushed herbs rose around him, so that the heat of the afternoon seemed somehow heavier and more oppressive. The older boy was dressed as he had been when Trei had first seen him: as a prince. All in white, with a violet sash and a violet ribbon threaded through his dark hair. But his eyes were kajurai eyes, and he looked … not exactly older. Harder, maybe. The senneri just past had been no easier for Ceirfei, Trei thought, than for himself; he wondered what had happened in the Islands while he had been flying to Tolounn and then imprisoned in the oubliette and then flying back.… He said, feeling desperately awkward, “I’m sorry.”
“You’ve no need to be,” Ceirfei said at once, and smiled at last. But his shoulders were stiff, and there was a constraint to that smile Trei had never seen before. He continued formally, “By all accounts, you did very well indeed. I am glad to see you well; we were worried. The Islands owe you.…”
“Stop it!” Trei cried. He moved a step forward. “Ceirfei … I’m sorry we, I didn’t tell you. You must see we couldn’t tell you. You’d have had to go to Wingmaster Taimenai, or your uncle—or else you’d have insisted on coming with us, and you must know—”
“Of course,” Ceirfei interrupted this incoherent protest. “I understand that perfectly. You were quite right.”
Trei stared at him helplessly. Then he took one more step, dropped to his knees, and lifted his hands in supplication. “Prince Ceirfei,” he said formally while the other boy was still too startled to stop him, “I’m very sorry for deceiving you and betraying your trust, and I beg you will forgive me.”
“Get up!” Ceirfei said sharply. “I’ve already said I understand you were right!”
“I know that! You know that’s not what I mean!”
Ceirfei didn’t answer. The heavy stillness of the garden closed in around them.
Trei dropped his hands to rest on his thighs. His eyes burned; his throat felt tight. He said with difficulty, “I’m sorry to trouble you, then,” and started to get to his feet.
“I’m jealous of you,” Ceirfei said abruptly, and Trei stilled, staring at him.
The prince’s voice was sharp, overloud in the quiet. “Of course I am. The meanest Third City beggar has far more freedom than I. Do you see? I know I’m wrong; it’s not as though I don’t know I’m wrong.” He paused, took a hard breath, pressed a hand for a moment over his eyes. Lowered his hand. Stepping forward, he offered Trei his hands. “Forgive me, Trei, and will you please get up?”
Trei wordlessly let the prince take his hands and draw him to his feet. He said, now meaning something quite different, “I’m sorry, Ceirfei. Won’t they … Surely your uncle hasn’t entirely forbidden you the sky?” A thought struck him and he shut his eyes in pity. “Oh, Ceirfei … how far are you from the throne now?”
The prince released his hands and turned half away. “You are right: not as far as I was. My cousin Prince Safei died in the fighting. And my brother Mederinai may yet die: he lies unwaking and neither the physicians nor the priests nor the mages can find his wandering soul or guess whether it will return. I don’t know … I don’t know what man struck him down, and that’s best, because—did you know?—it was I who guaranteed all the Tolounnese soldiers their lives.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Yes. It was important to be generous, do you see, because, well, for many reasons. So I was generous and spared them all. I am commended on all sides. Because it was”—Ceirfei’s mouth twisted—“the sensible thing to do.”
Trei said nothing.
“Yes, well,” Ceirfei conceded, “I know that is even true. But … I am permitted to fly. As a favorite toy may be given to a petulant child if it behaves well. But I am no longer kajurai.” He brushed the tips of his fingers across his eyelids. “Despite the eyes.”
“I’m sorry,” Trei said once more.
“Yes.” Ceirfei’s mouth crooked. “As I said … I am a fool. I have not wanted … Well.”
Trei suggested impulsively, “I could teach you everything they teach us about flying, about the sky and wind. I’m sure Genrai would say the same. All the things we learn, all along. The rest of it doesn’t matter so much. Does it? I mean, you never meant to be an ambassador, exactly, did you? You’ll learn history and protocol and all those things anyway, won’t you, as a prince? Does it matter whether you live in the palace or the kajurai novitiate, as long as you can fly?”
Ceirfei was silent for a moment. Then he smiled, this time with something resembling humor. “Less, perhaps, given such generosity. Thank you, Trei. I accept your offer.” He hesitated. “Have you seen Genrai since your return?”
Trei understood at once why Ceirfei asked. He shook his head. “Wingmaster Taimenai said he was in the novitiate right now. You might find him there.”
“… and tender him the same apology I gave you. Yes. Only I owe him a stronger apology: I should have gone to see him long since. He will think … that is, he will think …”
“Yes.”
Ceirfei bowed his head. “You would be right to rebuke me.”
Trei was slightly shocked. “It’s hardly my place.”
“Is it not? As Genrai’s friend, and mine?”
“Oh.” Trei took a breath. “Well, then … shall we agree I don’t need to? Only, it would be kind of you to assure poor Genrai your silence was not his fault.”
“I’ll find him,” Ceirfei agreed. He turned toward the gate, hesitated, turned back. “Trei—with your permission, I will court your cousin.”
Trei stared, taken utterly by surprise.
Ceirfei smiled, a quick flash of genuine amusement. “In fact, I confess, I am courting her already. I’ve come here often while we waited for your return. She needed the support of a friend. And then, it protects her reputation, you know. I’d do that for her anyway, because she’s your
cousin and you’re my friend.”
“Oh,” Trei managed. “Well, that’s … I mean, you …”
“And her family’s good enough. Anyway, I elevated her when I, ah, well, it was convenient to raise her rank. Earlier. It would hardly be right to degrade her again, you know. And then, as they say, mages always have good blood. So my mother can hardly object. Besides … she’s young, you know, but anybody can see she’ll be pretty in a year or two.”
“Ah. Can they?”
This time, it was an outright grin. “Well, anybody besides her cousin. You’re too fixed on flying to notice, I suppose. She’ll set the most amazing precedent, one we need.”
“You think so?” Trei found himself smiling. “Good …”
“There’s room in the Islands for a lady mage. More than one, I hope. Or there will be. Or if not, we’ll deserve to lose our autonomy to Tolounn. Go find Araenè, Trei: she was desperately worried for you, and desperately relieved to glimpse you in the sky again.” Ceirfei turned back toward the gate, and this time he pushed it open and stepped through. The novitiate was visible for a moment, and then vanished again as the gate closed. Through its bars, the narrow streets of the Third City sprang back into view.
Trei did not stay to look out at the city, but went to find his cousin. He went smiling, and with a lightness to his step almost as though he were flying, for he felt at last that he had, indeed, come home.
RACHEL NEUMEIER started writing fiction to relax when she was a graduate student. She is also the author of another young adult fantasy, The City in the Lake, which Booklist called “shimmering” in a starred review, as well as The Griffin Mage series. Rachel lives in rural Missouri with a large garden, a small orchard, and a gradually increasing number of Cavalier King Charles spaniels. You can find out more about Rachel and her books at rachelneumeier.com.
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