Kir nodded to placate him and she brushed away the embarrassing dampness that marred her cheeks. She pulled herself apeak just as Bertrand arrived. Ulivall motioned the boy back into the central chamber, probably to explain Kir's ramblings. When they returned, Bertrand shuffled to her bedroll and plopped on the ground. He stared at her, which he never did. Bertrand could not make eye contact unless he was in the process of a healing.
“Something is eating you,” Bertrand said flatly. While his face did not hint of humor, Kir understood the attempt at levity that he had intended. Bertrand had never been able to grasp metaphors, but he was learning to parrot them situationally. He had a surprising sense of humor that tended to materialize when Kir least expected it.
Kir tried for a pathetic grin, to show she appreciated the attempt. “They think I'm batty,” she said, hooking a thumb at the Ithinar Steel warriors that crowded her bedchamber.
“So you thought of me. Once,” Bertrand reminded her.
“But I was wrong,” Kir said. “They are, too.”
“Can I see?”
Bertrand's gentle request, to step inside Kir's head with his Psychonics and sift through her memories, was an open pathway to vulnerability. It was intimate and invasive, but it was the only way Kir could prove her sanity. She nodded permission then let her talisman drop so Bertrand could have full access to the recesses of her mind.
Kir could feel his essence meld with hers. He probed for the moments he needed, which were not difficult to find, being so fresh, stark and raw. In the Guardian Bonding, memories had been shared in a blue-gray backdrop, but Bertrand needed no stage. He found what he wanted, processed it, and ejected himself respectfully.
“The memories are real,” Bertrand announced. “They are not fabricated or implanted. Her Highness believed what happened, and therefore, it represents reality to her.”
“I told you,” Kir whispered. Malacar tightened his hold on her arm.
“You mean, Guardian Arrelius is alive?” Lili asked.
“I did not say that,” Bertrand corrected. “Her Highness believes them to be real. But the memories of hallucination are just as valid.”
“Hallucination?” Eshuen pressed.
“There are traces of vorsnarm in Her Highness' system. It is an olfactory substance derived from the renal gland of the kaiyo of the same name. It creates a state of heightened emotion and sensory stimulation. The vorsnarm accounts for the paralysis, hallucinations and exaggerated fright,” Bertrand explained in his typical monotone.
“She was drugged?” Lyndal asked.
“Perhaps. I cannot say if she was purposefully affected.”
There was another flurry of chaos as everyone started spewing off questions and theories. Ulivall waved the chamber silent and said, “The kaiyo pits. They are burning as we speak. I've been catching the stench of the fumes on every breeze. It stands to reason the right ones could have tainted her air, possibly lending to this episode.”
“She's been seeing Inagor for a few days. We were out at the pits two days ago,” Malacar suggested. “She might have inhaled it then.”
“I'll have the pits covered,” Rendack said.
“Report to Jorrhen,” Ulivall commanded Eshuen. “Tell her all troops should be monitored for signs of hallucination or any other odd symptoms. Who knows what's tainting our lungs from those abominations.”
“We should keep her sequestered until this is out of her system,” Lili noted. “How long can we expect symptoms to continue?”
“The effects may last for hours or days, depending on the dosage,” Bertrand replied. “I recommend she be quarantined for a minimum of two days, just to be sure it is completely purged.”
It irked Kir's ire that they spoke as if she wasn't there. Like she wasn't mentally capable of comprehending. Like she was a child. Kir swallowed back the bitter irritation and suppressed the glaze that tried to wash over her vision again. She was lucid enough to recognize the enhancing effects the inhalant was having on her sensibilities, now that she was aware of it. Her complete meltdown in the woods earlier made more sense, too. Mastering the moment was more difficult than usual, but with the help of Malacar's supportive arms, Kir managed to push all emotions down to the pit of her gut.
As the warriors filtered out to their orders, Kir rested her head against the smooth comfort of Malacar's tabard. His one hand stroked her hair, and the other rested on Kir's forearm where Inagor—or the illusion of Inagor—had gripped. The heat in Malacar's palm seemed to smother the imaginary sensation of Inagor's angry fingers. Lili and Melia sprang into action on hot tea and warm, moist towels to cleanse Kir's face. Bertrand offered over a sedative potion that Kir refused.
“A sedative will mute the enhanced sensory stimuli,” he insisted.
“It's not that bad anymore. I don't plan to leave the comforts of this bedroll for a while. I'm cozy where I am, and Malacar won't be letting me out of his sight. Lili will let you know if I need it later,” Kir promised.
Bertrand seemed assuaged, but Ulivall wasn't inclined to leave.
“You got duties to tend, and I'm not one to bask in fussing. I got enough fussers here now, so you go on, Ulivall. I'm really and truly fine.”
He reluctantly headed out on his errands and as the tent settled down, Kir could finally breathe easier. The entire debacle was humiliating, especially since the hallucinations had manifested in the form of her guilt. It wasn't something she liked to display on a banner. While Kir wasn't happy about the prospect of her drugging, there was some comfort to be found in the assurance that she wasn't losing what remained of her sanity.
The effects of the vorsnarm did not make their way back into Kir's awareness. Malacar and Ulivall kept her tucked away in her bedchamber, just to be sure she was well-rested and well-secluded from anything that might overload her or tweak another episode. They all watched her like hawks, evaluating her every move and word for signs that she was cracking up. They were paranoid. Or maybe she was.
It was too quiet for Kir's liking. Even Lyndal had toned down his exuberance, as much as that was possible. He didn't squirm during their gaming like he usually did when engaged in a sedentary activity. He was unnaturally calm. Kir wondered if Bertrand had given him a dose of that sedative. Everyone seemed to be letting Kir win, even when she had a crummy hand. As much as she enjoyed the games, it wasn't much fun when they acted like they were sitting at her deathbed.
Kir would liked to have invited Gevriah Sehlovah in for some getting-to-know-you chat, Jorrhen for some warrior talk, a few of the Karmines for some catching up, and maybe Erahnie to brighten spirits with her youthful cheer. Lili and Melia intercepted any inquiries, and only a small handful on purposeful errand were allowed anywhere near the tent flap.
The next afternoon was far too tomb-like to be of any comfort to an antsy mind. Lyndal stretched out on the floor of Kir's bedchamber, counting the creases in the tent ceiling. Watching him was almost painful. To keep from going stir-crazy, Kir busied herself with the only readable she had with her (aside from Vann's poetry books that she had memorized front and back). It was the pocket-sized Meaninger Tome, a book of words and definitions, that Vann had bought her ages ago on their jaunt through the Middlings of Empyrea. She had been using it to build a stronger arsenal of taunts and curses against Scilio. They had a long-running competition, of sorts, in trading better insults. Kir routinely lost to his superior vocabulary. She meant to change that.
The book provided two new gems that Kir repeated a few times, trying to commit them to memory. They didn't want to stick, so she dog-eared the pages for later.
Lili and Melia entered with trays of refreshments. Kir couldn't stop herself from beaming at Melia's bare neck, devoid of the collar. Melia noticed the trail of Kir's eyes and she simpered.
“Kir? Can I have a word?” Lili asked as she set her tray on the floor.
“Sure. You can have a whole book of 'em,” Kir said. She tossed the Meaninger Tom
e over and Lili snatched it from the air deftly.
The sound she emitted qualified as a snicker. “Corban was wondering what to serve for dinner. He seems to equate your condition with illness and suggested congee or broth.”
“If he sends in a bowl of rice mush, I might just go kooky like everyone expects. Tell him the curries and stews we've been having lately are fine.”
“Why are you reading that thing?” Lyndal asked, motioning to the Meaninger Tome that Lili was putting in Kir's trunk.
“On account of Scilio. Trying to launch a more erudite array at his impermeable hide. If I'da known we'd be coming here, I'd have brought a few more novels to pass the time.”
“I've never read a book in my life,” Lyndal proclaimed proudly. He thought better of it and held up Vann's poetry book. “Until now.”
Melia looked aghast, almost insulted. “Never? Kir taught me to read when we were young. It was a punishable offense in the Karmine household to educate servies. I can't imagine being that cavalier in taking such a precious a skill for granted. If I'd grown up so privileged, I would never dare waste it.”
Lyndal, being a Hili Native, didn't really grasp the deeper implications of Melia's statement. He had never known the collar and the indignity of being owned.
“I've got other hobbies that occupy my time better,” Lyndal said slyly, lacing his hands behind his head.
“I'm almost afraid to ask what those are,” Melia cringed.
“Oh, the usual warrior past times. Sparring, of course, and wrestling. And I'm a pretty decent singer. Oh, and I like betting games. And card games. And any other kinds of games. I've taken up whittling lately, just to pass the time in this boring tent. What about you? Other than reading, what do you like to do for fun?”
“Horses. I love to ride,” Melia said. “I worked in the kitchens most of my life, until a few years ago. After the revolt at the Karmine estate, we were shuffled around and our memories were erased to prevent it happening again. I ended up in the stables, where I always wanted to be.”
“I knew that about both of you,” Kir said to Melia and Lyndal, “but come to think of it, I've never seen you engaging in anything fun, Lili. Do you have any hobbies?”
“Not presently. I've been too consumed with my duties. Maybe someday. I've always wanted to tend a garden. It represents permanence to me—something that roots you to where you are. I've never really had that before,” Lili confessed.
“Palinora told me that she planted a garden at every house she'd lived in while they were on the run,” Kir said. “Even though they never stayed in one place, it was a favorite hobby of hers. I'd like to take that task on in Palinora's honor, but since I can't, maybe that's something you can do in my stead. When all this is over and we get settled, that is.”
“Why can't you?” Lili asked.
The sun rose in Kir's cheeks. “I have the opposite of a green-thumb. I guess it's more like a wither-thumb. I can perform a mean Hassalewn Strike or dance a Thindlovoria three-step that can reduce grown men to tears. But ask me to tend something leafy and it curdles in my hands. I'm better at killing than nurturing.”
Everyone laughed.
“That's pretty accurate,” Melia said impishly. “She's even killed a pot of miniature jarlernibs.”
Lili raised an eyebrow. “Jarlernibs? They don't require tending, or even watering. They're the easiest kind of plants to own, short of fake ones.”
Melia giggled. “I know.”
Kir shrugged. “Like I said, I'm wither-thumbed. I was fretting a bit about it, actually. The Queen's garden is a traditional obligation I'll be expected to maintain. Since you're a wishful gardener, Lili, I don't have to worry about it anymore. When we get back to Empyrea, it's all yours. Just don't expect me to do any tending with you, 'cause I'd hate to croak the Queen's prize camellias with my death-stare.”
On the second dull day of quarantine, Gressie brought a basket of Kir's freshly laundered clothes to stow. Kir welcomed her in vibrantly. No hint of overactive imagination, warped fathoming or extreme emotional response had made a peep in her fidgety mind, so Kir figured the vorsnarm had cleared out. She was aching for some variation to the dull chamber. Lyndal was meditating in his bedroll, and Ulivall, Malacar, Melia and Lili were off at a meeting (probably concerning Kir's mental well-being). The tent was painfully silent.
“I'm glad to see a fresh face,” Kir greeted as Gressie hustled purposefully toward the trunk.
“And I am glad to see yours,” Gressie replied tightly. She took to her chores, glancing to Kir on occasion with a sort of curiosity that mingled with caution. She finally seemed to scrounge up the courage to say, “You look well.”
“Aside from getting antsy sitting still, I'm fit and feisty. Ready to be rolling.”
“It must have been difficult being quarantined,” Gressie suggested.
“The first day I was thankful for it, but now I'm feeling the ants in my breeches.”
“It's hard for me to be idle, too,” Gressie agreed politely.
Gressie had been one of the few Karmine servies that had not intended to come to Hili with the rest of the party. She had been hesitantly willing to help with the preparations, without hindering or giving up the secret. Kir knew there had been some kind of shackle holding her back. On the moonless night, that chain had been shattered and Gressie had reversed her decision suddenly. There was no better time to ask.
“I've been sitting alone these past few days with Malacar. Since he's not much of a conversationalist, I've had a lot of quiet time that thinking occupied and I was wondering about your particulars. How come you wanted to stay behind in Westlewin?”
Gressie tripped up on her tongue for just a moment. She seemed to come to the conclusion that honesty and candor were valued, expected. Her jaw set firm when she gave herself permission to crack loose with the truth. “Because of Erahnie. I thought she deserved to grow up knowing her father.”
Kir didn't have to think too hard on who that father might have been. Gressie was a lovely woman. It took no imagining to figure why she had been moved into house duty.
“Duke Karmine?”
Gressie acknowledged with a long, hesitant nod.
Kir's heart fluttered her innards like a pack of butterflies had been set loose in her chest. “Truly? Erahnie is... she's my half-sister?”
“I wasn't quite sure how you would take the revelation.”
“A sister! I have a little sister,” Kir laughed. “That tickles me tipsy!”
“Erahnie reminds me of you, Lady Kiriana. In some ways. She has your ears and cheekbones, and your petite hands. She also has your intolerance for injustices in the world, and the conviction that those injustices can be righted by a willful defiance.”
“Then she got the best of me,” Kir quipped. “My willful defiance is what I aim to shove down the Chaos Bringer's throat while I go about roping Vann back.”
“I believe you'll do it, too.” Gressie seemed sincere.
“Does she know? Erahnie, I mean. Does she know we're kin?”
“I have not told her of her parentage. Not yet. I did not want it influencing the way she grew up. She might have believed herself entitled to something she has no claim on, and I feared what that might mean when she got older. If, in anger or frustration, she ever made a comment to the Duchess, or anyone else, the consequences would be unthinkable. Now that we are removed from that world, it's safe to tell her, I think. When we get to Hili, perhaps. We can close that door as we open a new one.”
“Good idea. I'd like to be there when you do. If that's alright with you.”
“Of course. I would have it no other way,” Gressie said warmly.
“I understand now why you weren't planning to come with us to Hili. But then, you changed your mind on the moonless night. Why did you?”
“When the nepenthe bloom was destroyed, my memories came back. I remembered how Virnard had forsaken you. How he had utterly abando
ned and cast you away. If he would do that to his own established heir, his bastard would be less than a nothing to him. He proved that with Mirhana.”
“Mirhana? What do you mean?”
Gressie paused, studying the perplexed look on Kir's face. When she finally spoke, sympathy lined her tone. “Oh, Highness. I thought you knew...”
Kir swallowed hard. “Are you saying what I think you are?”
“Mirhana's mother was a house servie at Pelliwand Manor, where your father enjoyed hawking excursions. She died in childbirth, but the baby lived. Virnard bought his infant daughter's collar. My clan adopted the baby and several of us shared the responsibility of raising her. When Mirhana was old enough, Virnard had her moved into the main house. To be your personal attendant, but also, to enjoy some of the privileges that were due her by blood-right.”
“Mirhana was closer than a sister to me, all my life. But I never even suspected. I don't think she did, either. She was my true sibling, all along,” Kir managed.
“You always referred to each other as sisters, so I assumed you both knew. After... well, what happened, I realized how precarious Erahnie's position would be. No matter how much Virnard's eyes twinkled for her or how much he would pamper her to the limits of her position in the household, she was little more than an expendable amusement of the moment. He could trade her away on a whim, should she ever defy or contradict him. I would spare her that agony that you and Mirhana bore. She deserves to know security and love without condition. Virnard could never truly grant her that.”
Gressie had called the Duke by his given, familiar name. It was none of Kir's business, but she asked it anyway. “Did you love him?”
Bardian's Redemption_Book Four of the Guardian's Vambrace Page 34
