All three portions came from the same bottle, yet the moment her hand closed around the slender green stem, she knew with certainty something was wrong with it. Her hand jerked away from the goblet as though it had burned her.
Candlelight reflected on the green crystal as Jarid raised his goblet high. “A toast to the Heir of Tal’ayn.”
Alyssa rose beside him, her hand draped casually over his shoulder. “To the Heir!” she agreed merrily. Watching each other, they sipped the blood-red liquid.
“What’s this, Cousin?” Jarid turned the full force of his magnetic gaze to her. “You won’t drink with us? We can’t have that.”
The compulsion to drink flowed over her, more powerful with every passing second. She closed her eyes, fighting his will with all her strength, gripping the wooden arms of her chair until her fingers were numb. Abruptly her cousin showed her a gruesome vision in his mind, her father lying dead on the floor.
“Father!” she gasped. “I won’t let you!”
Casually, Jarid doubled the force of his compulsion. Her hand crept toward the cup. “But,” he said softly, “you’ve misunderstood. You know a touch of Foreseeing runs through the Tal line. No . . . I’m afraid my unstable cousin is the one who will do that.”
The struggle generated a white-hot haze inside her head, through which she could just barely see her hand as it closed around the goblet’s green stem again.
Jarid nodded his approval. “Just one sip.”
She picked up the cup and moved it to her lips—
She blinked, slid out of her seat, confused, then stopped as her toe bumped something. Her father sprawled at the foot of the table on the plush burnt-orange rug, one gnarled finger grazing her boot. Her throat ached. She wanted to run, to scream, to do anything but just stand there, gazing down at his curiously white and empty face.
“What’s the matter, skivit?” Jarid asked from behind her. “Having second thoughts?”
She tried to turn around, but her body wouldn’t answer.
Jarid walked into her field of view and nudged her father’s still body with his boot. The gray-haired head rolled loosely. “Killing your own father . . .” He crossed his arms and smiled his familiar crooked smile, as always, in perfect control. “And at such a tender age, too, only fifteen. Not even officially Named. Whatever will the Council say?”
Every muscle in her body ached with her effort to move. “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “What’s wrong with him? What—what happened?”
Jarid raised an eyebrow at her. “You killed him, of course. I always knew it would come to this.”
* * *
Enough! Ellirt told the girl. He reached a trembling hand up to wipe the sweat from his brow, even as the other remained on her temple. Lord of Light, he thought, that was like sticking your naked hand into a bavval den!
He leaned over Haemas Tal’s bent head. Sleep, he said into her mind, then monitored to be sure she didn’t resist; he sensed great depths of untrained Talent in this one. He would have liked to work with her. If only she’d been a boy . . .
Forcing his thoughts back to the problem at hand, he poured himself a tumbler of brandy, downing half the fiery liquid in one gulp. How much of that had been real? He paced the floor, replaying the chilling incident in his own head. What exactly had Jarid Ketral done to her mind? Then he knew: there had been an instant when time had jumped ahead—that had to be the edge of a false memory.
Retracing his steps back to her side, he pulled the other chair close. This was liable to turn into a very long night, he reflected grimly. He laid one hand on the girl’s forehead. You will sleep until I tell you to wake, he told her firmly. No matter what happens.
And with that, he stiffened his resolve. First, he had to play that disgusting scene again all the way up to the crucial time-skip. He placed her at the door once more, feeling her panic as the sequence began a second time. Nonetheless, it had to be done. He monitored closely as the events replayed exactly as before, down to the last glint of candlelight on the crystal.
She picked up the cup and moved it to her lips—
Stop, Ellirt commanded. It had to be here, some sign of a seam that covered the gap in memory.
The edge, though, was buried unexpectedly deep, and when he did at last uncover it, he blanched at the still tender scars of a recent injury.
For all his assurances to the girl, this lay beyond his skill. If he tried to force her to remember, he might damage her mind further. When Kevisson had first found her in the Lowlands, he’d reported that she couldn’t shield or hear his mindvoice. Seeing the burned pathways now for himself, it was a wonder she had even survived, much less recovered to this point.
To resolve this, she needed someone who had been there that night, who could pick out a single thread of falseness so the rest would unravel like a piece of poorly woven cloth.
And there were only three candidates.
THE TABLES laid out in the courtyard steamed with spiced nutcake and freshly baked Old apple pastries. Dervlin caught the exotic aroma of hot cinnamon as he stalked past, but he had no appetite for the cook’s fancy dishes.
He felt like a fool. What had made him so bloody certain the whelp would show up? The Light knew she’d never failed to disappoint him down through the years, starting with her birth, an event which had cost him the woman who should have borne him a dozen strapping sons by now. Why should this day be any different?
Blueness flared within the portal as more guests arrived. Dervlin squinted across the courtyard at the richly garbed pair, then turned away scowling. More damn Killians. It seemed the entire clan intended to be here to eat him out of House and larder.
Shouldering his way through the bright silks and satins of the murmuring crowd, he realized that, except for Aaren Killian, none of the High Househeads had come. His face heated at the implied insult. They obviously thought he was finished.
Up on the white anith-flower-decorated ceremonial stand, the chierra musicians struck up another traditional tune. He couldn’t put the ceremony off much longer; the milling crowd had already eaten its fill from the delicacy-laden tables and was growing increasingly restless. He scanned the faces again, but there was still no sign of his missing daughter.
A glint of burnished-bright hair and a gleaming white silk gown embroidered with silver roses drew his eye over by the foot of the stand. Alyssa, he thought sourly. What was the sullen wench up to now? Had she tired of batting her eyes at the Bramm’ayn younger son he’d seen her pursuing a few minutes ago and gone after larger game?
“Nice weather for a Naming.”
Dervlin looked over his shoulder into Aaren Killian’s amused light-gold eyes.
“I invited a few extra guests.” Killian fell in beside him, wearing a tailored vest and shirt of embossed dark burgundy, resplendent, as always. “It seemed a shame to let all these fine preparations go to waste.”
Dervlin drew his cloak around him and glanced in the direction of the stand. The worried priest was motioning to him.
“Looks like it’s time to start.” Killian clamped his big hand on Dervlin’s shoulder and squeezed. “Good luck.”
Jerking away from his touch, Dervlin gave the taller man a smoldering glare. Then he ducked his head and pushed through the jostling onlookers to the steps.
The priest met him with troubled gold eyes. “Has the young Heir arrived yet, my Lord?”
Dervlin looked out over the crowd of Kashi faces below and tasted the mental atmosphere vacillating between condescending amusement and pity. Not one of them believed Haemas was going to come. Why, he asked himself again for the thousandth time, why had he thought she would attend?
“Dervlin?” Alyssa slipped up to lay her soft hand on his arm. “Won’t you come inside now?”
It must be his so-called “illness,” he thought. Perhaps he hadn’t really reco
vered. He had never behaved so irrationally before. Bowing his head, he let her draw him away from the edge of the stand.
Surprise rippled suddenly through the crowd. Faces turned like flowers tracking the sun to the portal where the blueness of transfer still shimmered faintly. A stocky white-haired old man stepped out of the carved wooden housing. Dervlin squinted. Damn if that face didn’t look familiar, he thought. Then he recognized the head of Shael’donn, Lord High Master Kniel Falt Ellirt. And, at his side, a young girl stood framed in the open portal housing . . . tall and slender, undressed white-gold hair tumbling down her back.
The stand seemed to fall out from under Dervlin’s feet; he swayed, unable to force air back into his lungs.
“But she can’t be here!” Alyssa’s fingers convulsed into the flesh of his arm. “Where in Darkness did she come from?”
Dervlin stared icily down at her clutching hand. “Well, she is here, so you will have to bear your disappointment.”
His daughter, wearing glimmering white that accentuated her paleness, stepped down from the portal. The brightly dressed crowd, now whispering and staring, parted as she padded on bare feet across the gray flagstones.
How could the brat have come barefoot for her own Naming? Dervlin thought irritably. And the gown was odd too, almost indecent, fitting her slender body in no style he’d ever seen before. Where in the name of Light had she been all this time?
The waiting guests fell silent, but their curiosity beat at his shields in mounting waves.
Haemas crossed the interminable space to the ceremonial stand, looking neither left, nor right, her gaze fixed on his face as though she’d never seen him before. Even Alyssa fell back as the girl ascended the steps, her hand skimming the anith flowers’ opalescent whiteness. Then she stood before him, nearly as tall as he, even in her bare feet. “Father.” Her light-colored eyes were unreadable.
Dervlin swallowed, then made himself hold out his hand. He would deal with her part in his so-called “accident” later. For now, he had to carry through with this farce and satisfy the terms of the betrothal contract. “Welcome to your Testing and Naming, Daughter.”
Making no move to take his hand, she stared back at him as the breeze stirred the long unfettered hair around her face. She looked older than he remembered, weary, strained. “Are—are you really well?”
Alyssa burst forward, her fine features rigid with indignation. “No thanks to you!”
“This isn’t the time for that.” His voice was gruff. “Let’s get on with the ceremony.” He straightened his gold-encrusted tunic, then motioned to Aaren Killian who was to stand witness to her Testing.
Killian stepped forward and bowed slightly from the waist. Haemas’s startled eyes flickered at him.
The priest sidled closer with a pained expression on his face. “My Lady, if we might get started now?” He motioned for Haemas to take her place before him.
She blanched, then breathed deeply and shook her head. “I—can’t.”
Dervlin Tal’s jaw dropped. “Why in the name of Darkness not?”
* * *
“You’re sure that you want to do this, boy?” Lord Senn’s golden eyes bored into Jarid’s. “After yesterday, you must understand the risks.”
Jarid tightened his shields to hide his overwhelming certainty that he could not only handle, but control the temporal power locked into the gleaming ilsera crystals. Then, shrouding himself in a mask of humility, he nodded at the older man. “I understand, of course, Lord, but I am at your service.”
“Good lad.” Senn patted him on the shoulder. “Gentlemen.” Senn met every pair of golden eyes seated around the long table. Then his mouth tightened into a hard straight line. “Where is Aaren Killian?”
“My Lord.” A younger man with the same pale eyes as Jarid and red-gold hair stood and bowed slightly to the older Lord. “Lord Killian begs your forgiveness, but he wished to witness the Testing at Tal’ayn today. He sent me in his place.”
“Damnation!” Senn scowled back at him. “And which one are you?”
“Kimbrel Alimn Killian, Lord.” The young man sank back into his seat.
Jarid felt his blood heat. Kimbrel was Aaren’s youngest son, and Jarid’s half-brother, if the snide rumors and whispered stories were true. And of course his own mother, Danih, had done nothing to disprove the Highland’s wagging tongues when she had borne him at Tal’ayn, then, less than a year later, taken her own life.
He schooled an expression of cool indifference over his face, seething inside. Wait just a little longer, he counseled himself. He would show them what he was made of, then they would pay, everyone would pay for shaming him.
Senn placed his hands palm down on the dark shining wood. “Shall we begin?”
Heads nodded around the long table, then the seven pale-blue crystals were removed from the velvet-lined box of Old oak, passed down and positioned in the correct pattern.
Senn glanced at the chierra servant waiting unobtrusively near the door. The brown-haired man crossed to the window to draw the drapes, then bowed low and left the room, locking the door behind him.
“Yesterday, brothers, we nearly reached our goal. Today,” Senn said, glancing around the oblong circle of every conceivable shade of golden hair, “light willing, we will crack the secret of temporal transfer.”
Excitement crawled up Jarid’s spine. Soon, he told himself, very soon.
* * *
Haemas gazed at her father’s craggy face, noting the dark shadows under his red-rimmed eyes, the thinness of his shoulders under the ornate gold-worked tunic. But he was alive! she told herself, hardly able to believe it, even standing here before him. She glanced down at Master Ellirt. Somehow, the blind man felt her gaze and nodded back at her.
“I—can’t remember what happened that night.” She clasped her hands before her, uncomfortably aware of the crowd of Kashi minds swirling against her shields. The crowd below shifted, murmured. “Can we go inside and talk?”
A muscle twitched in her father’s cheek. “Not now.” His voice sounded hollow. “We have to begin the ceremony.”
Perhaps she should just go along with him, she told herself, then later they could be alone and she could learn what had really happened.
“We have a contract, Tal.” The pale-eyed Lord who was to witness her Test, seized her father’s arm and spun him around. “You said she would be Tested and Named today!”
“And she will!” Dervlin Tal’s icy rage enveloped her. “If I have to tie and gag her myself!”
His eyes narrowed, and she felt his will battering against hers, trying to breach her shields and compel obedience, even in front of a whole courtyard of witnesses. She went cold inside. Nothing had changed between them, he was the same, in spite of everything that had happened.
* * *
The circle of Kashi threw their minds open to the crystals’ emanations and coaxed them into the unfamiliar frequencies. Jarid winced as the sound quickly shifted into the painful higher range and continued to ascend. He sensed the other men laying their energies open to him, waiting for him to draw the tremendous amount of power he would need.
In the center of the table, the same circular pattern formed, surrounded by thin blue lines radiating outward. Around him, the power relay strengthened, securing him in a net of raw psionic energy. The coruscating blue lines beckoned and Jarid stood, letting the conclave’s power feed through him, the vibrations thrumming inside his aching head until he could hardly think.
Looking around the full circle of possible paths, he glimpsed faint outlines of people and places at the ends of some, at the ends of many others was the same puzzling dark-blue mass which seethed with angry energies.
At the end of one line, though, he saw a female figure—Haemas again? Jarid took one step towards her, then gasped as the power he drew sizzled along his nerves.
Lord Senn’s face was rigid with strain. “Can you transfer, boy?”
The crystals shrieked inside Jarid’s head. He grimly laid himself open for more power and managed another step. The scene at the end of the line solidified. The figure turned. Blinking in surprise, Jarid froze. He knew that sad-eyed face framed in bright-gilt hair from an old portrait that hung in his rooms. It was Danih Kentnal Tal, his mother.
Gritting his teeth against the searing influx of energy, he forced his foot forward.
* * *
“No!” Alyssa’s voice hissed at Dervlin’s elbow. “She’s not worthy of a Name!”
Haemas blanched. A contract—for her? No one had ever asked if she was willing, even brought up the possibility. The grating mix of envy and fear and anger and greed around her intensified, smothering her until, suddenly, with great effort she shielded everything out, retreating to soothing silence deep within her own head. Had she really desired this man’s approval . . . the respect of these people? All of that seemed part of another lifetime.
She was shielding so tightly that at first she missed the crystalline ringing, but the now-familiar shimmering blueness around the portal caught her eye. Softening her shields, she tried to listen beyond the angry mishmash of emotions around her.
It was happening again. Although the portal crystals were not set in the configuration of an ilseri nexus, they still were sensitive enough to pick up the disturbance. Blue timelines twisted and writhed across the courtyard through the unperceiving Kashi and chierras alike. Haemas’s nerves were wrenched with distorted vibrations that had the intensity of overtuned lute strings about to snap.
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