by N. M. Howell
“Tarven,” she said, cautiously, like a fish testing waters. “Have you ever heard of a portal?”
“Sure. You know, big, lots of light, bridges across time and space, totally nonexistent.”
“No, I mean here, in the University. A portal that no one talks about.”
Taren stopped and turned to her. There was a moment.
“You mean the portal that no one talks about because there’s no such thing as a portal in the University.”
He broke into a smile and it was obvious that he’d been joking with her. She smirked, briefly. She couldn’t tell if he was joking because he was covering or because he honestly didn’t know. There was a chance he had no idea what she was talking about. He was so knowledgeable that Andie always assumed he knew everything, but he was a student himself, after all. Even with his mysterious connections there was no way he could know everything about everything. Still, Andie being Andie, she pushed anyway.
“No, Tarven. I’m talking about something real. I’m talking about the portal of Scáthán Ama.”
Instantly, he stiffened. It was like some kind of coagulant had been poured in his veins. He tried to shrug it off, but she’d already seen it.
“It’s a myth,” he said, flat. “That thing no longer exists. It’s been sealed for centuries and even before that it had been moved. No one knows where it is. And that’s assuming it’s real and the whole story isn’t some hoax, which many experts say it is.”
This went totally against everything Lymir had told Andie at the tavern. One of them wasn’t telling the truth. The difference was that Lymir had absolutely no reason to lie to Andie. Tarven did.
“Tarven, I think you’re lying,” she said. “Actually, I’m pretty sure of it.”
“What do you know, anyway?” he snapped. “Every time I turn around, you’ve got some new theory or question about things that don’t even concern you! You have no idea how horrible it was when the portal was here. The fear. The disappearances. The least you could do is show some respect for the people who died getting sucked through that thing. What about the thousands and thousands who died in the wars? Do you have any sensitivity at all for those people? Their families? Their suffering? Can you even fathom the catastrophe?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I won’t ever bring it up again.”
Tarven walked a small, frustrated circle. Breathing hard and holding his head. Andie regretted not showing more concern for all those who suffered at the hands of the portal.
“I understand if you don’t want to go to the festival with me anymore,” she said.
Tarven exhaled a long breath and then turned to her, took her in his arms and held her for a minute, silently forgiving her. Then he let her go and kissed her cheek. Then her lips. They returned to normal.
“Of course, I do,” he said. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’m sorry I snapped, Andie. I’ve just always been... sympathetic to large groups of people suffering or dying when it’s not their fault. That portal changed things for so many people. For all of Shaeyara. It just gets to me. But you didn’t deserve that and there is no possible excuse.”
“Even though you just tried to give me one?” she asked.
He looked at her and she broke into a smile. He smiled, too. She was happy.
“Well, as much fun as I’m having out here with you and the twenty-foot roses, I have to go to class,” Andie said.
“So, I’ll see you tonight?”
“You most certainly will. Have fun with your plants. And, seriously, the roses freak me out.”
She kissed him once more and then turned to leave. Before she did, she noticed a small plant reaching toward Tarven. It was incredibly attractive and the whole thing was no bigger than the palm of her hand; it had a long, thin stem and only four petals in its bloom. The petals and bloom were the color of bronze, but the stem was as black as the night sky over an old field. Its petals were waving languidly, though there was no breeze, and it seemed to be trying extraordinarily hard to reach Tarven. Andie leaned toward it and discovered it was making tiny, barely audible sounds, almost like it was breathing.
“What’s this one?” she asked, pointing. “It’s so cute.”
“That little guy is Decepticatus.”
“It almost looks like it’s trying to touch you. What does it do?”
“Believe it or not, I have no idea.”
“Shocking,” she said.
She waved again and walked away. She couldn’t see it, but Tarven was watching her the whole time.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Not fooled at all by Tarven’s failed cover-up—and even less by his pathetic attempt to accuse her—Andie skipped class to try to investigate the portal room. She knew in her heart, beyond all doubt, that it was still in the University. And she knew where it was.
She made her way to Leabherlann, though with some difficulty. The entire University was alive with the preparations for the event. The school was also hosting some eleven thousand dignitaries, heads of state, relevant celebrities, and scholars, all of whom were being housed in a specially erected condominium placed in the mountainside above the University. The halls were bustling with people decorating or cleaning or giving tours to foreigners and important people. She was also seeing several strange creatures from the lands beyond Abhainn. They’d traveled a long way. Andie had to push her way through dense crowds.
She reached Leabherlann and even there she had to search for a quiet, secluded corner. She opened her bag and retrieved the enhancement items she’d bought the week before—she’d found them in a peculiar antique shop that Lymir had recommended. She turned each of them over, trying to decide what she would need going in and what she could save until later. Finally, she decided to put everything back except the craiceann, a gossamer magical veil in the androgynous shape of a human face.
Andie checked her surroundings once more and then lifted the craiceann to her face. She held it there. The light fabric began to cling to her face, and not merely cling but attach itself. It sealed itself to her skin around the edge of her hairline and then quickly began stretching, flowing down her neck, back, and chest, always clinging tight. At first it was as cold as ice, but as it finished covering her entirely, it began to warm to her body temperature. She took out a compact and checked her reflection. The craiceann had altered her appearance completely; it had even changed the shape and height of her body. She didn’t look anything like herself.
She felt more confident with it on; at least now if something happened and she weakened or was distracted, her appearance wouldn’t betray her. She was still careful around Yara. Nothing between them had been the same since that night in the library. Yara had been treating her differently and Andie couldn’t tell if it was because Yara had seen her true self or because she’d found her screaming. The craiceann would ensure that didn’t happen with anyone else.
Andie packed up her things and walked back to the center of Leabherlann to head in the direction of the archives. She passed some people she knew and decided to test the device.
“Hi, there,” she said.
They looked up at her, right in the face, and didn’t recognize her.
“Hi,” Sheila said. “Have we met before?”
Andie grinned and left, now one hundred percent sure she was safe. “I should have tried this years ago,” she thought.
Suddenly, incredible pain stabbed in her hand. She very nearly screamed out loud. Before she could recover from the shock of the first stab, another came. This time it lingered for a bit and she went down on one knee. The pain kept coming intermittently and she looked at her hand, turning it over furiously to try to find what was causing the pain. It nearly made her cry.
Then she saw it. The faint red glow in the center of her palm. The icon. In all the months she’d had it, it had always been a dim, pretty golden glow. Never once had it shone red. The longer she watched it the brighter it became and the more intense the pain became. Whatever magic the cr
aiceann was using on her body, it was interfering with the icon, which was growing hot in the flesh of her hand. Ducking into an unoccupied aisle, Andie held her arm at the wrist, squeezing as hard as she could in an effort to close off the pain—the sensation was starting to shoot down her arm.
Once she was alone again, safely away from the eyes that had begun to watch her whimper in pain, Andie began an incantation. She had to stop the pain and she also had to try to stop the reaction of the icon, which would definitely send signals to the University, if it hadn’t already. She recited the incantation for the pain; it dulled considerably, but her hand continued burning. It was clearly not going away completely as long as the craiceann and icon were acting on her body at the same time.
She cast another spell, one she’d learned from one of the founding family journals. It was designed to interrupt the ability of magical artifacts to emit magic at all. She said it quickly, not sure if she remembered the words or if it was too late. Just as the thought crossed her mind, she heard the doors of Leabherlann bang open. She ran to the end of the aisle, breathlessly scared.
“Andie Rogers!” a woman called.
Andie was rooted to the spot, no more able to move than she was able to change the course of events that had led her here.
“Andie Rogers!” the woman called again.
Andie thought the woman sounded genuinely concerned, which perhaps meant that the signal hadn’t told them what was happening, only that something wasn’t right. As the woman moved around a group of onlookers, Andie could see that she was small, but focused. The woman moved in an almost unnaturally straight line, coming straight down the center of Leabherlann in Andie’s direction. And still Andie was frozen, terrified, wondering what she was supposed to do and how she could have been so stupid, so arrogant as to think she could fool an institution that had hundreds of years’ worth of hunting and those it wanted destroyed. The woman—who had three men with her—kept coming, her short stride quick and her footfalls surprisingly heavy on the black marble.
Andie was seemingly paused, half leaning out from behind the bookcase, just watching the woman bear down on her. Her entire history was playing itself behind her eyes. Tarven. Raesh. Marvo and Carmen. Arvall. Michaelson. Her father, who she hadn’t called in far too long. She skipped going home to see him last week in order to be in the gardens with Tarven and there were no words to express how much she regretted that then, as the end of her world bore down on her. At last, after what seemed a thousand years and also a single second, the woman came to a stop in front of Andie. The look her eyes gave was one Andie would never forget.
“Excuse me,” the woman said, in a voice that was as lyrical as it was authoritative, “Andie Rogers?”
Andie’s mouth opened for speech, but no words would come. It was all over.
“Have you seen her?”
Andie simply stared. It was impossible.
“What?” Andie asked, totally confused.
“Have you seen Andie Rogers? Do you know her?”
Andie almost laughed out loud. The spell had worked, and the icon was no longer sending whatever magical signal it had sent out before. It had managed to send no more than her name and the fact that she was in Leabherlann. And the craiceann was doing its work as well; the woman was staring right in Andie’s face and didn’t know. Andie tried to bury the smirk.
“No ma’am, I don’t know anyone by that name,” she said, realizing her voice had also changed.
“Hm. Have you seen anyone in distress? Anyone who looked like they were hurt or needed help?”
“No. I’m sorry, I’ve just been looking for texts for my exams.”
The woman nodded and moved on. Andie allowed herself mere moments to celebrate before moving on. If the pain in her arm were to flare again, it might not be something she could stop up so quickly. She hurried along, keeping a good distance between herself and the searching woman, and turned off into the archives.
At the entrance to the hallway, she paused. The craiceann was supposed to alter her appearance and hide her magic from virtually all defenses—at least the simple ones the University was likely to be using in a library—but she was still nervous. However, she had to admit that the magical device had already saved her life once and she had no reason to doubt it now. She took a single step across the threshold and found herself safely in the hallway.
She raced along the way, dashing past the peculiar and enticing volumes of history and study as she headed for the back room. All she could think of was the portal and the secrets it held. The secrets it could reveal. She reached the end of the path and turned the corner to find the door, just as she remembered it, just as she had seen it all those months ago. Without warning her head was filled; she’d almost forgotten how the voices overwhelmed her, how they weighed on her spirit and tore at her mind.
She kept walking, but the closer she got, the louder and wilder the voices became. She kept putting one foot in front of the other until she couldn’t anymore. She moved her leg forward, but collapsed in a heap under the barrage of screams. She held her head, desperate to hold the screams in or perhaps keep them out, but they were so loud, so many. The voices were crying out for help. They were suffering. The voices in her head were more painful than the icon had been, and even her hand was growing hot again. She didn’t know what to do.
She crawled the remaining feet to the door and placed her hands on it. It was warm from the sheer volume of magic on the other side. She suddenly pulled her hands away, bewildered. Sorcerer’s magic, though powerful, is cold. It must feel normal to those without dragon blood, but to a dragonborn only dragon magic is warm. The magic on the other side of the door is warm. She put her hands back on the door and held them there. Soon enough she felt it: the dragon magic igniting in her blood. It swam through her, burning in her chest and stomach. The dragon magic in her grew stronger and stronger, and if it wasn’t for the craiceann, she probably would have reverted to her natural appearance. She needed to break into that room. Instinct moved her. She closed her eyes.
“Who are you?” she asked. “What do you want?”
There was no answer.
She reached up to try the handle, but was thrown several feet back by the defensive magic. She knew then, that to get into the room she would need help. Just then she heard someone coming. She panicked. It took all of her strength to regain her feet, but as soon as she did, she ran.
As her feet moved, her mind planned. She would find help. She would get into that room. Not only to stop the voices and the dreams, but also to save something. Maybe her own life.
Chapter Twenty-Four
By that evening, Andie had discarded the craiceann and her icon had returned to its normal state. The searing pain vanished completely about an hour after Andie removed her disguise and she’d heard no more from the woman who was searching for her, though she knew she would have to face her sooner or later. She would need to remove the blocking spells Carmen had shown her; being searched for was suspicious enough.
She was at Carmen’s apartment—Carmen lived in the Publishing District, twenty blocks away from Marvo’s restaurant—getting ready for the first night of the festival. The first night is traditionally the night of dancing at the Founder’s Ball, with the rest of the week, or month in this case, being designated for a plethora of other means of celebration. Yara was also there, strangely her old self. Andie assumed Yara had come to some decision within herself and as much as Andie wanted to know what it was, she decided not to press her luck.
Carmen was in a stellar mood and Andie was incredibly grateful that that side of Carmen was the one that manifested that night. Carmen was laughing, teasing, fantasizing as if there were nothing more between them. Andie had a burning desire to ask how Raesh was; she knew that the night would be a hard one for him. It was hard for her, too. She couldn’t pretend that Raesh wasn’t important to her, even if she couldn’t care for him the way he cared for her. But she buried all of that at the base of h
er mind, reveling in having Carmen and Yara as her friends again.
“I need to congratulate you again on this dress,” Yara said, holding Andie’s dress against her own body and spinning to bring out the true luminousness of the dress. “I can’t believe your sense of style is this good.”
“It’s not,” Carmen interjected. “I picked that. Should’ve worn it myself.”
“And I hate both of you,” Andie said with a smile, snatching the dress from Yara.
Carmen had taken Andie to the store, took one look at her figure, and chosen her dress in under five minutes. The dress was ankle-length, the color of a bronze sun. It flattered Andie in every way a dress should and complemented her hair. She thought to herself that it would probably look good with her natural hair color and her byzantium eyes, too, but that wasn’t an option. Not yet.
“Let me be the first to say it,” Yara said.
“First to say what?” Andie asked.
“How lucky you are. I’m not going to go weak in the knees when I say this, but Tarven is gorgeous.”
“I second that,” Carmen said, beginning to apply her foundation.
“I don’t want to cross any lines here, but that boy takes up half of my many, many fantasies. And of all the girls in the Academy, the University, and even Arvall, he chose you.”
“You probably don’t know this,” Carmen began, “But most of the girls at the University are wishing they were you tonight. That or wishing they could rip your heart out, but either way is a pretty good omen, I’d say.”
“I feel lucky,” Andie said. “I almost feel like I’m in a dream. And if I am, I hope I won’t wake up, not this week and hopefully not at all. I’m happy, really happy, for the first time in a long time and I have Tarven to thank for that. I nearly gave up waiting for him to ask.”
