“Do you, now?” he watches Rian a little dubiously.
“It’s complicated, but it’s all traced back to Viala,” Rian says, “so we’re going to go take care of it.” My father’s eyes narrow.
“Her again?” he grunts. “It seems like all of your problems trace back to Viala, Rian. Just like Azi and that Dacva boy. What would Gaethon say?”
“It isn’t just my problem. It affects everyone. Master Gaethon knows,” Rian says, “and he agrees that she needs to be taken care of. It’s on the verge of Sorcery now.” Da’s eyes grow wide at Rian’s explanation. Such a threat isn’t to be taken lightly. After a moment, though, they narrow slightly.
“How could he know?” Da says. “He’s off with the others, isn’t he?” he shakes his head as if trying to clear his confusion. “How many days have I been sleeping?” I count back.
“A lot has happened,” I say. “You’ve been asleep for six days. Almost a week,” I say after taking a moment to count back. He throws the blankets off of himself and jumps out of bed, crossing the room in two strides. I rush after him, expecting him to be weak from starvation, but physically he’s as strong as he was the morning Rian put the sleep spell on him. He disappears into the dressing closet that connects our rooms and starts to rummage for a change of clothes. “Da, what are you doing?” I ask, watching as he pulls out some leggings and a gambeson.
“Too much time wasted,” he says. “I have to ride. I can meet the others at the crossroad to the Bane if I ride hard.” He pulls on the leggings and discards his night shirt. At first I’m confused, but then I remember my dream when I followed the fox day and night and finally into the dark mountain pass that led to the citadel guarded by sentries.
“Bane’s Pass,” I breathe. “The only road to the Outlands. But, how did you know that’s where they’re going?” He grunts as he hefts his chain mail vest from its stand, and I cross to help him into it. He meets Rian’s eye over my shoulder as his head emerges from the neck hole.
“A little fox showed me,” he winks. I turn to look at Rian, who’s grinning.
“I thought you said he wouldn’t dream?” I say.
“Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t. But that situation is one of the exceptions,” he explains.
“What situation?” I work the buckles of Da’s hauberk with ease, tightening the leather straps at his side.
“Dream messaging,” Rian says. “It’s kind of a Half-Realm thing.” His explanation does little to clear up my confusion, but I nod anyway, diverted by another thought.
“Da, it’s not safe for you to ride out alone,” I say. “Redemption turned on us. They’re out there. They’d kill you.” He tucks his gauntlets under his arm and pats my cheek softly.
“I know. Don’t you worry about me,” he says. “I won’t be going alone. The king will lend us some good men, I’m sure.”
“You can’t,” I say, remembering the king’s request of me. “Eron can’t know. Nobody can know. His Majesty made me promise to take care of it quietly.”
“Then I’ll make my request quietly,” Da says, stepping into his boots. “Don’t worry about me,” he repeats. “You and Rian, you focus on your own quest.” He kisses my forehead and looks into my eyes with his ever-smiling ones.
Since he jumped out of bed, I’ve had a nagging worry that this was all another episode of madness, but the truth is right there in his eyes. I believe in my heart that the fae healed him, and his mind is whole now. I trust that somehow the fox delivered the message that his help is needed. His bright red fur flashes in my memory and suddenly my thoughts trail to Elliot and Mya, and Cort and Bryse, and Brother Donal and Gaethon, and even Dacva. I understand that the guild will never be able to face Redemption and the skeletal sentries alone, not with our small numbers. In my heart, I know this is my father’s path, and my own path must divert from his.
“All right,” I whisper. “But...please be careful.” He hugs me close and reaches for Rian over my shoulder. I feel him press against the two of us and his arms encircle us.
“Take care of each other,” he whispers. “I’ll see you when we return.”
Rian removes the wards from the window and door and my father leaves us after another round of hugs and promises of a safe return. I lean against the frame of his door and watch him go, brushing the tears from my eyes. It was such a whirlwind reunion that I can’t help but feel a little cheated.
“Rian,” I say as I tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “What’s going on with the fox? Is it some sort of spirit guide or someone’s pet? I don’t understand. Why does everyone seem to know about it but me?” Rian comes to stand before me and his lips stretch into a crooked smile. He opens his mouth a couple of times to speak, but shakes his head and laughs quietly instead.
“Apparently, I can’t say,” he says. “It’s interesting that you’ve gone all this time without ever having that revealed to you. But...does it remind you of anyone, the fox? Think about it. In the meantime, we have work to do.” As we make our way together down the hallway, Flit bobs in front of us. Her arms are loaded with a stack of sugar cubes, and she grins up at me.
“Mouli must have gone to market and got more,” she beams. “She’s all right!”
Chapter Twenty-Two: Viala
We decide that our best first course of action is to search Viala’s quarters in the dormitory, since she’s likely to be out this time of day. It takes some convincing on Rian’s part. Despite the importance of our quest, I’m very uneasy with the idea of sneaking around someone else’s private rooms.
The dormitory building is a smaller echo of the Academy building beside it. With the backdrop of the sea’s horizon beyond, the Academy complex rivals the palace in beauty and majesty. The dorms are made up of a block of twenty rooms, which house visitors, students, and instructors who don’t otherwise have homes in the city. They have their own entrance at the rear of the campus, where a waist-high wall borders the cliff face. A young boy sits just outside the door, hunched over a book he has propped on his robed knees. We duck into a corner a short distance from the entrance, where Rian begins a spell.
“What’s he doing?” Flit whispers. I watch Rian’s movements and listen carefully to his incantation.
“I think he’s determining the wards,” I whisper back. “He’s trying to find out if we can go in undetected.”
“We can,” she says, pointing up at a circular drain hole cut into the stone far above our heads, which is meant to drain water out to the sea far below. I shiver and watch Rian, hoping he’s figured out another way, but he shakes his head apologetically.
“She’s right,” he says. “That’s the only way if we want to remain hidden. The door is protected.”
“Yay, you can be small again like me,” Flit whispers, patting my jaw excitedly.
“Hooray,” I groan under my breath and wipe away her sticky smudge as Rian’s spell falls over us. I try to stay calm as I fix my eyes on our entrance, now even higher up. It’s right over the cliffs, directly above the whitecap waves crashing on the rocks below. Panic starts to take hold, but then Rian comes to me and circles his arms around me. He presses his lips to mine and my fear ebbs a little. When he smiles at me, his eyes sparkling golden and green and brown all at once.
“Close your eyes and trust me,” he says. When I do, he kisses me again I feel us levitating. The smooth stone of the dormitory wall slides against my arm as we rise, and then it gives way. We hover there for a moment, locked in our kiss, until Flit clears her throat.
“Go in,” he whispers and I grope around with my eyes still screwed shut to pull myself through the drain hole. “That wasn’t so bad, right?” He says as he crawls in behind me. “Now, where are we?” He looks down the corridor from left to right and turns a couple of times to get his bearings. “This way,” he says, leading us eastward.
We walk for what feels like miles, though if we were our true size it would have only been a few paces, before we reach the door that
Rian identifies as Viala’s. I wonder for a moment how or why he knows the location of her private quarters, and I feel a pang of jealousy. I dismiss it straight away though, and decide it’s not worth the risk of a whisper to find out. I trust him. Rian points up at a rectangular slot in the wall, about two hands widths wide, carved into the stone beside the door.
“For messages and meals if one chooses to stay in and study,” he whispers, and takes me around the waist so we can float up together into the slot. We walk across a sealed envelope to the sliding hatch door on the other side, and the three of us are able to push it open just a crack in order to peek through into Viala's room.
It’s is small, but lavishly decorated. Rich red velvets are piled on the plush, ornate bed which stands on a platform flanked by two narrow doors against the far wall. Golden silks billow lazily at the doors on either side, which lead to a private terrace overlooking the ocean. A long desk stacked with scrolls, books, and various piles of parchment stretches along the wall beneath us. A collection of various strange objects from stuffed birds to odd wooden carvings and glass orbs clutters the space. She even has her own hearth, where the fire has burned to coals. More oddities line the mantle shelf, and as Flit crosses the room to walk along it, her light dances over shriveled mice, ragged feathers, oddly shaped skulls, and jars filled with objects that looks suspiciously pink and fleshy. She hugs herself tightly and darts back to us again, her face twisted in disgust.
“That’s enough for me,” she whispers. “I vote for stripping!”
“We need to be sure,” Rian says. He hops down to the desk-top and I follow, finding it very strange to walk among the enormous books and stacks of parchment piled high overhead.
“It’d be easier if we were our own size again, wouldn’t it?” I ask him as I cross over a polished slab of blood-red stone.
“I don’t want to risk using magic—“ he cuts himself off as his eyes widen at the slab beneath my feet. “Step away slowly,” he whispers. I look down at the toes of my boots and as I move carefully away, a thin golden line rises up to the surface of the slab, forming elegant script.
“You’re late,” it reads.
Flit comes to land beside me and peer down at it.
“Oh!” She says. “I’ve heard of these. It’s a Scrier. Someone’s trying to talk to us.” The words fade slowly from the polished surface and I look up at Rian for an explanation.
“I’ve never heard of a Scrier,” he says. “Do you mean someone is writing messages to Viala on this?” He bends and places a hand on the cool stone, and the gold line emerges again, swirling into script. “Remarkable.”
“We are not amused,” it reads.
“Write something,” Flit whispers, nudging me.
“We’d better not,” Rian says as the words fade again.
With a sudden crash, the door to the room flies open. I yelp and Rian claps a hand over my mouth and pulls me to the safety of the wall between two stacks of books. Flit crowds in beside us and dims her light as Viala strides in. She gestures behind her and the door slams shut again. Breathless, she rushes to the desk, snatches up a quill, and presses it to the slab.
“I’m here,” she writes. The words swirl into a thin golden line as she leans over the desk waiting for a response.
“We know. You are late.”
“I’m sorry,” she writes.
“We are losing our patience.”
Viala fumbles at the clasp of her hooded robe. When she releases it, the cloak flies off on its own to rest on a hook near the door. She gazes in our direction, and for a moment my heart leaps into my throat as I think she has detected us, but her focus is on the mirror hanging just above us on the wall. She turns her face to the side and I’m grateful that Rian’s hand still covers my mouth to stifle my reaction.
The Mark has crept to cover most of the porcelain skin of her face, swirling across the bridge of her nose, circling her slanted eyes, reaching up beneath the curtain of blue-black bangs. Rather than seem concerned, she smiles at herself with admiration. As the golden glow from the letters fades, she tears her eyes away from her reflection and scrawls across the stone again.
“I need more time.” Her hand is shaking. It causes the lines to jut out of control in places. She takes a slow, deep breath, trying to calm herself. Her eyes are wild as she forces her focus on the tablet.
“Need we remind you who your masters are?”
“Stars forbid you ever fail to remind me of that,” she mutters with contempt.
She writes and speaks in a mockingly sweet tone at the same time. “You are, of course.”
“Yours is a simple task, and yet it remains incomplete. You slow our preparations, after all we have given you,” it reads.
“Ha!” She bursts out. She bends over the slab and whispers maniacally to it. “All you’ve given me? You? Everything I have, I’ve taken for myself. And I’m not finished. I'm not a fool. You aren’t stopping me yet.” With her jaw clenched and her nostrils flared, she writes, allowing each word to fade before she writes the next.
“I.”
“Need.”
“More—“ the last word is interrupted, crowded with script from the other side.
“Your insolence shall not go unpunished.” The words fade. “Who shall it be first? Your brother, perhaps?”
Viala’s laughter starts as a guttural roll and rises slowly, until she’s holding her stomach in shrill hysterics. I push Rian’s hand from my mouth and stand on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, confident that her manic laughing will cover the sound.
“What’s the matter with her?” I ask. Rian bends and presses his cheek to mine.
“Overreach rapture,” he whispers. “The rush of too much magic. She’s intoxicated.”
“My brother!” Viala shouts out incredulously. She glances at the door and quiets her voice. “Oh, no, please, not my brother.” Her tone is thick with sarcasm. “Do you really think I care about them, after all this time?” she hisses at the slab. “They’re already dead to me.” She gazes thoughtfully at the falling golden script.
“Please,” she echoes in that same mocking tone as she writes. “I’m sorry. It’ll be done by tomorrow, she’ll be dead. Out of your way. I swear it.” The words fade, and she writes again. “Please, don’t hurt my family.”
“That should do it,” she murmurs, waiting over a long pause as the slab goes blank.
“You have until sunset tomorrow. Kill the Protector,” it says. “If not, then first your sister. Then at sunrise, the grandmother. Noon, the boy.” The final elegant gold lines emblazon slightly and linger longer than the others before they fade.
She writes, “It will be done,” and then scowls and says aloud, “Bastards.”
“One more day,” she grumbles. She takes a moment at the mirror again, tracing the black lines on her skin with her fingers. Her eyes are strange. Hungry. I look down at Flit, who is staring with horror at the Mark. She scoots back against me as Viala reaches in our direction for an old tome.
When she opens the book, I shrink into Rian’s arms at the shock of what I see. There, pressed between the pages like a bookmark, is Margy’s ring from my trials. She takes it in her slender fingers and presses the blood-crusted ribbon to her lips as she scans the page. I turn to look at Rian, whose expression echoes my own disbelief. The last I knew, that ring was tucked safely in the keepsake box in my bedroom.
“Now, how to find you, you annoying girl,” she whispers as she flips through the book. My heart thumps in my chest and I’m sure Rian can feel it as he tightens his arms around me protectively. “Oh, Azaeli,” she murmurs as she reads, “I depended too much on Eron to lure you in. I ought to have done it myself ages ago... Still, it’s been amusing to see how long I could delay them.” She laughs again and then stops abruptly, her eyes cold and calculating as she stares directly at us. Rian’s face drains of color.
“Can she see us?” I mouth to him. He very slowly shakes his head, his eyes wide.
; Viala flings one hand in our direction and the three of us duck together, bracing for an attack. Instead, the candle beside us bursts alight accompanied by a puff of smoke that drifts right into Flit’s face.
“Location spell, location spell,” Viala scans the book. Beside me, Flit’s nose scrunches up and I know the sneeze is coming. I shake my head frantically as she pinches her nose and her shoulders rise to her ears. Each of us holds our breath until she finally relaxes with a long sigh of relief. But it’s too soon. The sneeze betrays us anyway, erupting loud and squeaky and clear as a bell. Even worse, it’s followed by three more in quick succession. Viala’s finger stops on the page. She looks up.
The words of her Revealer are aimed directly at me. As the spell streaks across the short distance between us, Flit throws herself in its path to block it. The air shimmers around her and Rian presses his hand over my mouth yet again to block my scream. I struggle to free myself as Viala stares in shock at the revealed fairy.
“Well, well,” her red lips curve into a satisfied smile. “What do we have here?” She reaches for Flit, who darts away quickly. “Pretty little thing.” Her eyes are full of the same hunger they showed earlier, when she was admiring her Mark in the mirror. Without warning, Viala flicks her wrist and Flit drops to the desk. She glares up at the Mage, the light from her wings so blindingly bright that it stings my eyes. I can’t look away, though. I watch in terror, squinting. Flit crouches to spring up again, but instead of taking flight, she only manages a little hop.
Viala grins. “No more flying for you, little one.” She reaches down and grasps Flit by the wings, then holds her up as though examining a specimen. She turns her this way and that and brings her close to breathe in her scent. “Do you know what Sorcerers do to fairies, little one? Oh, I’ll bet you do. How long will you last me, hm?” Flit swings her fists furiously and kicks and glows brighter until Viala gasps and turns her face away.
“Stop that.” She shakes Flit ruthlessly by the wings.
“Put me down!” Flit cries painfully.
Call of Kythshire (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 1) Page 27
