Convergence (The Blending Book 1)

by Sharon Green

  "Nicely done," he complimented Jovvi, smiling as warmly as possible while pretending to be just another ordinary person at the table. "It's quite obvious the girl will never learn the truth of her position, but fear of being put in her place might manage to keep her quiet. I'm Clarion Mardimil, Air magic."

  "So your identification says," Jovvi replied with a marvelous smile, sharing the jest with him rather than making him the butt of it. "And what do you think of the plans to extend our influence, Clarion Mardimil? Are you for allowing people the freedom to do as they please, or for smothering them with your own definition of what's right?"

  "Definitely freedom," Clarion replied immediately, startling himself. He had been raised to accept the idea of a completely directed life without question, but something odd seemed to be happening to him. Just exactly what that was Clarion hadn't yet figured out, but it earned him an even more delightful smile from Jovvi.

  "I would have expected no less from such a handsome gentleman," she murmured, the words tingling along his spine like a caress. The power of her lovely blue-green eyes began to bring an uncomfortable hardening to his groin, but then she looked away to the servants who had reappeared with another offering.

  "Is that sherbet?" she asked, then made a sound of satisfaction when her observation proved itself to be true. "How delightful. Now my palate will be cleared for the next course."

  That was the purpose of sherbet, of course, and Clarion was delighted to see that she knew it. That certainly took her firmly out of the category of peasant, something Clarion didn't want to believe of her. Nevertheless he meant to avoid stressing his true place in life, to also avoid the loneliness of standing aloof. The Lant female had done that to herself, obviously not having grown up in the sort of isolation which Clarion had. But he had no intentions of repeating that, not again, not here… Clarion turned to his own sherbet, but in a moment the conversation was taken up again in a different quarter.

  "I'm inclined to agree with Mardimil and the lovely Dama Hafford," Ro said from across the table, looking at Drowd. "If people in other lands have found a way to live that pleases them and does us no harm, what right do we have to interfere with their lives? It would be the most colossal arrogance to assume that we know better about what's right for them."

  "My dear Ro, arrogance doesn't enter into the matter," Drowd returned with a deprecating laugh. "As the more civilized of the two groups, we do know better about what's right for them. If you wish, you may think of them as children and ourselves as adults. You do agree that adults are best suited to know what's proper for children?"

  "Not under all circumstances," Ro came back immediately, dismissing the claim with a sharp gesture. "Some parents twist the lives of their children to satisfy their own wants and desires, a point we agreed on not many minutes ago. The child who grows up to live accordin' to other people's ideas of what's right usually ends up completely out of touch with the world as it really is. A truly wise adult teaches a child to rely on his or her own talents and abilities, and supports the child's ambitions. To substitute your own ambition means you're really an overgrown child yourself, not an adult."

  "What you say is quite true," Drowd agreed with a gracious nod as he applied himself to his own sherbet. "The overgrown child, impressing his or her own narrow viewpoint on a true child, usually produces an offspring out of touch with reality. That, however, doesn't hold true for the actual adult who tends to teach proper attitudes rather than false ones. Were you taught not to steal as a child?"

  "Of course," Ro answered with a snort. "I was also taught what happens if you try it anyway. When you're a child, you tend to think of yourself as the only one with magical ability. You learn better when you try to sneak away with a coolin' cherry tart, and Cook uses her own talent to show you your mistake. So what's your point?"

  "The point, my dear Ro, is that small children may consider a particular action pleasant and therefore proper, but that doesn't necessarily make it proper. The adult knows better from having lived longer in a proper way, and therefore is entitled, no, honor bound, to teach the child. You do believe in adults fulfilling their duty?"

  Drowd now wore a rather self-satisfied smile, but Clarion was too distracted to be annoyed by it. The conversation between Drowd and Ro had been strangely disturbing, but before Clarion was able to discover in what way, Ro responded to the question put to him.

  "I most certainly do believe in adults fulfillin' their duty," Ro replied, not in the least daunted. "But before you can call such fulfillment a grand and wonderful thing, you first have to learn their definition of what's right. But the easiest way to discover whether you're right is to take the situation and turn it around. You think well of forcin' other people to live accordin' to your concept of right, but how much would you enjoy bein' forced to live accordin' to theirs? As long as their way doesn't harm you, the best – adult - solution would be for everyone to live accordin' to their own beliefs."

  "That's begging the question," Drowd countered, no longer as pleased or self-satisfied. "If something is right, it's right for everyone. If it's wrong, it's wrong for everyone. That's something you can't argue with."

  "It's something I can argue with," Jovvi said before Ro was able to respond, startling Clarion. The beautiful woman was still serene, but no longer amused. "As Dom Ro said earlier in a different way, what's right for you doesn't necessarily have to be right for me. For instance, I know someone who doesn't want to let me out of her sight. She pretends that her actions are for my benefit and protection, but in reality she's serving herself. And since even stealing can be considered right under the proper circumstances – as, for instance, to save your life - I seriously doubt if there are many universal rights and wrongs to begin with. You'd do well, Dom Drowd, to reexamine the basis of your beliefs."

  Drowd came back with something to continue the argument, but Clarion no longer listened. He'd been shaken by Jovvi Hafford's words even more than by Ro and Drowd's, but the confusion buzzing around his head refused to let him understand why. What they'd said didn't apply to him in any way, so why were his hands cold and nearly trembling, and his mouth dry? The situation was quite ridiculous, but banishing it was apparently beyond him.

  Clarion sat back in an effort to regain control of himself, and had almost managed it by the time the next course was brought. Chilled fish with a tangy sauce it was, just the thing to attract his weakening but still-active appetite. The others also let themselves be somewhat distracted by the newly arrived dish, but not to the point of abandoning their discussion. Their pointless, ridiculous discussion which had nothing to do with him, and which he therefore ignored. Leave it to the lower classes to upset a gentleman without even knowing they did it.

  After the chilled fish came tidbits of chicken and various sauces to dip them in, and that finally settled Clarion's hunger. A light dessert of banana slices mixed into buttercream topped it all off, and by then no one at the table was still part of a discussion. Everyone seemed to feel the waves of exhaustion rolling over them as strongly as Clarion did, so he wasn't the only one to finish his tea, rise and bid a general good night, and then head for his room. Clarion had meant to discuss the size of his quarters, but at the moment it was simply too much trouble. Tonight he felt he would find it possible to sleep propped in the corner of a broom closet, but tomorrow would surely be another matter.

  Yes, tomorrow he would speak to the lovely Tamrissa Domon, possibly with as much success as he'd had with Jovvi Hafford. Clarion climbed the stairs to his room with a smile of anticipation on his face, but that uncomfortable hardening had returned to his body. He usually had to exercise hard to rid himself of the condition, but possibly tonight his exhaustion would see to the matter. Tomorrow, however… Yes, tomorrow would definitely be another day.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Jovvi awoke to moderate sunshine coming through the curtains, and spent a moment enjoying the feel of the bed and the lack of a servant determined to wake her. That hap
pened only rarely at Allestine's residence, as Allestine believed in allowing her ladies only enough sleep to keep the blush of good health in their cheeks. Perhaps twice a year a holiday was declared and everyone was permitted to do as they pleased, but usually that happened only during some terrible storm that no one was able to get through. With Allestine even a shopping trip was business, as it let the girls show themselves off around town to men who might not know what marvelous courtesans her residence housed.

  Jovvi's enjoyment evaporated at the thought of Allestine and the confinement she was determined to escape. So far her plans hadn't gone well at all, especially since she'd begun to wonder at those plans. Her ultimate aim was to be so wealthy and powerful that no one would ever be able to control her life again, and last night she'd been shaken to realize that she stood within reach of the ultimate place of wealth and power. Being a member of the new Blending…

  "But that's more fantasy than reality," she protested to herself, trying to bring her imagination down from the heights. "Do you really think you could qualify as a member of the new Blending? Don't you remember what the boy said about it being nobles who were chosen? You may have nobles as patrons, but you can't be silly enough to think you're one yourself."

  Jovvi sighed as her practical nature refused to let her lie to herself. Her family had been about as noble as an old shoe, something she refused to let herself forget. Her talent with Spirit magic was just an asset to be used like any other, not something to use in an effort to pretend she was better than everyone else. Those who talked themselves into believing they were superior in every way usually proved just the opposite with everything they did.

  Like that silly girl Beldara Lant, last night at the table. Jovvi made a face at the memory, wondering how anyone above the age of five could be so self-centered. Or any woman, at any rate. Men with money and power usually demanded that life accommodate them, but most women were too practical to do the same. Money and power most often ended in the hands of men, and only the occasional woman was able to take them for her own.

  Which was what Jovvi had planned to do, before delusions of fantasy had begun to turn her head. In all practicality it would never be possible to become a member of the new Blending, but the temptation to try for it was so unbelievably strong. She'd better remind herself again about what the boy had said, repeating it over and over as necessary.

  "And stop calling him 'the boy,' even in your thoughts," she chided herself as she sat up and ran her hands through her hair. "He's obviously older than you, and his name is Clarion."

  Yes, Clarion Mardimil, she recalled with another sigh. He was actually more than ordinarily handsome, but there was a … lack, perhaps, or some kind of innocence that made him feel more like a boy than a man to her talent. His balance was so precarious it was difficult to understand how he'd passed his test. Most adults with so little, self-possession rarely found it possible to cope with ordinary life, not to mention extraordinary situations like his test must have been. But he had passed, and was now in the process of developing a crush on her…

  Jovvi smiled as she got out of bed, wondering if Clarion even knew what was happening to him. He'd dropped out of the table conversation early and had been one of the first to go to bed, but every time he'd looked at her she'd felt him reacting the way men always did. The odd thing about it had been the distance of his own awareness, as though he'd somehow been kept from learning a normal masculinity. Jovvi didn't understand that, but there were enough other men in the house to keep Clarion from pestering her. She'd use one or two of the others as shields, and-

  Her thoughts broke off as she heard a very small but unexpected sound, at the same time feeling a wetness on her bare left foot. She looked down expecting to find herself imagining things, then blinked at what should have been imagination but wasn't. About halfway between her knee and her ankle a tiny cluster of thunderclouds floated in mid-air, dark and threatening with lightning flashing through them and thunder rumbling around. And rain coming down from them, which was what had wet her foot and part of her nightdress.

  "But all we drank last night was tea," she protested in a murmur, staring down at the miniature thunderstorm. It was actually rather adorable, if you liked that sort of thing. What she didn't enjoy, though, was having her foot inundated, so she stepped back to get it out of the rain. That helped for a very brief moment, and then the clouds followed to rain on her again.

  That was the point she realized someone must be playing a joke, but who they might be and how they were doing it was beyond her. The only ones at the table with Water magic were Vallant Ro and that shy little stableman, Pagin Holter, and neither of them seemed the type to play jokes. She'd expected a frank and direct suggestion from Ro because of the way he'd looked at her, but using a practical joke to get her attention? It wasn't at all likely, and the same held true for Holter. His yearning interest had been quite clear, but all traces of intent to follow up on the feelings were entirely absent.

  Jovvi's foot was beginning to get cold, so there was only one thing to do: get rid of the clouds no matter how adorable they were, and then act as if nothing had happened. That should make the prankster reveal himself, to find out what had happened if for no other reason. And it was faintly amusing, that she was willing to grant.

  Dispersing the cloud wasn't difficult. Thunderstorms were a careful balance of water and dust and air all in turbulence, and without the turbulence it wasn't possible to have a storm. Jovvi soothed away that roiling violence with very little difficulty, and once it was gone the clouds quickly dissipated and disappeared. Her foot was now safe from the threat of drowning, but it and the carpeting could use some drying. Not to mention that small part of her nightdress.

  Mopping up didn't take long either, and then Jovvi went to work on the problem of where to hide her gold. If she were going to be fitted for new clothes today, she couldn't very well carry it with her. But she also had no intention of leaving it lying around for the house servants to find. It had to be well hidden but easy for her to get to, and then she'd be able to dress and go looking for breakfast. Dinner last night had been quite substantial, but she'd slept for many hours and was now ready to sit down to another meal.

  And possibly to speak to that nice Lorand Coll again. He was certainly handsome enough with a lovely body, but the unusual steadiness inside him was even more attractive to her than his looks. Not that she was in the midst of searching for a steady male friend. That fit not at all into any of her plans, not even the fantasy ones…

  * * *

  Lorand walked slowly down the stairs on his way to the dining room, glancing around to see if he could spot the practical joker. He'd awakened somewhat earlier feeling well rested and back to his usual self, and had gotten up with the intention of dressing and going to breakfast. Halfway across the floor he'd suddenly discovered that someone had put together a tiny thunderstorm in his room, and the thing was raining all over the back of his nightshirt. He'd found it possible to see the miniature clouds and their lightning only by twisting around at the waist, but he hadn't had any trouble hearing the small thunderclaps.

  But he'd done quite a bit of hopping around trying to see the thing before it occurred to him to stand still and simply twist at the waist. He hated to feel foolish even if no one seemed to be around to watch, so he'd quickly removed the dust motes that kept the tiny thunderhead together. Without that cohesion the storm had ended, spreading out and then disappearing. It had managed to get him good and wet first, though, and he'd actually had to wring out his nightshirt.

  So now Lorand looked casually around, trying to spot the one who had tried to make him look like a fool. He intended to indulge in some practical-joke-getting-even by pretending nothing at all had happened even if the culprit confessed, no matter which one of them it happened to be. Ro and Holter were the two with Water magic, and it had to be one of them. He'd find out over breakfast, and then it would be his turn to laugh.

  Lorand walked into
the dining room to find only two of the others there before him, the man Eskin Drowd, who already sat in his place at the foot of the table and ate, and Clarion Mardimil. The latter stood at a long table set up on the side of the room, a number of odd, covered dishes with long legs arranged on the table. Small containers of what looked to be some sort of oil bubbled gently under the tall dishes, no doubt thanks to some servants with Fire magic. But none of the servants were currently in the room, and Mardimil was helping himself from a dish he had uncovered. That had to mean it was proper for Lorand to do the same, which came as something of a relief. He expected to get used to being served by someone other than his mother eventually, but he hadn't yet reached that point.

  Walking around Mardimil to the left showed Lorand a stack of empty platters and a neat row of forks, so he took one of each and began to look in each of the covered dishes to see what they held. The first two held things Lorand wasn't able to identify in their cooked state, so he continued on until he reached the chicken livers in the third. They seemed to have been fried somehow and smelled wonderful, so he spooned some out onto his plate and went on with his search for eggs, potatoes, and bacon. That was what breakfast meant to him, but it didn't seem to mean the same to these people.

  Mardimil paid no attention to him as they both moved along their own sections of the table, but Lorand couldn't help remembering what he'd decided. He owed Mardimil an apology for what he'd said in the bath house, and putting it off wasn't likely to make the effort any easier. If he kept his voice low, the conversation would be private even from Drowd, who sat at the far end of the eating table. Eating table, dish table. Lorand shook his head over people who made them two different places, then used his finally having made a hoped-for discovery to start the conversation.