Starborn

by Lucy Hounsom

  Nediah wasn’t looking at the book. He was looking at her. ‘You’re pale,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I can’t leave for a minute without you getting into trouble.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Kyndra mumbled. The vision was still in her head, but parts of it had begun to fade, leaving her to flounder in a welter of images. ‘You do believe me, don’t you?’ she asked Nediah. ‘About what happened?’

  The Wielder said nothing. He fished a key from his pocket and unlocked the antechamber doors. ‘Where’d you get that?’ Kyndra asked.

  ‘Stole it,’ Nediah said shortly. He cracked open the door and glanced out. ‘Quick.’ They darted into the dim corridor. Nediah closed the door and left the key in the lock. When Kyndra looked enquiringly at it, he said, ‘Let Hebrin wonder.’

  ‘What time is it?’ she asked as they started through the silent halls.

  ‘Well after midnight. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner, but something happened. It kept the higher-ranking masters busy for quite a while – Alandred, Hebrin, Myris. They sent for me because I’d encountered it before.’

  So that was why Hebrin hadn’t recovered the book. ‘What was it?’ she asked.

  ‘Whatever happened to that man in Market Primus has happened again right here in the citadel.’

  ‘What?’ Kyndra felt plunged into icy water. ‘To whom?’

  ‘To Master Rush.’

  ‘But he was fine earlier!’

  ‘How much earlier?’ Nediah searched her face. ‘He wasn’t found until supper.’

  ‘This afternoon,’ Kyndra said, trying to rub away the chill in her arms. ‘You came for me, remember?’

  ‘Of course,’ Nediah said distractedly and for the first time Kyndra noticed the weary slant of his eyes. ‘Until I get into Rush’s mind, I won’t know whether this affliction produces different symptoms in Wielders.’ He shivered and Kyndra knew he was dreading the prospect.

  ‘How is he now?’ she asked.

  ‘We gave him datura, so he’s sleeping. It may help to slow the deterioration.’ Nediah ran a hand through his hair and looked away. ‘We found him … cradling his own filth. He was writing with it, chanting under his breath. His teaching room’s a wreck.’

  Kyndra didn’t really want to know, but a macabre instinct urged her to ask, ‘What was he writing?’

  ‘Just nonsense. The same word over and over again.’

  ‘What word?’

  Nediah glanced at her. ‘Rairam.’

  She frowned. ‘I’ve never heard it before.’

  ‘Nor have I.’ Nediah paused. ‘We could be in serious trouble. Until I work out what’s causing this madness, it could happen again at any time to anyone. I don’t think it’s contagious, but just in case it is, Rush is being kept in one of the annexes beside the tombs.’

  ‘That’s where I woke up,’ Kyndra said, swallowing back the memory of the stone slab and the passageway winding down into the lifeless earth.

  ‘Short of the tombs themselves, the annexes are the best place to isolate someone.’

  They reached the room Kyndra had come to see as her cell. Nediah opened the door. ‘I’m sorry about this.’ He nodded at the key in the lock with the bolt above it. ‘But in light of recent events, it might actually be safer for you in here. Do you need anything?’

  A few hours ago, Kyndra would have answered food. But her hunger had fled. ‘That woman,’ she said instead and watched Nediah’s face tighten. ‘Who is she?’

  For a moment, Kyndra didn’t think Nediah would reply. Then the Wielder sighed and raised a hand to his forehead. ‘She belongs to a sect called the Nerian.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Nerian is an Acrean word meaning “the saved”. They’re a group of people who preach an alternative history, a forgotten truth. They claim their leader is the unacknowledged saviour of this world.’

  ‘Saviour?’

  Nediah’s mouth twisted. He leaned against the door frame and folded his arms. ‘The Nerian believe that the Acrean wars were brought to an end through the efforts of just one man, who sacrificed everything to preserve our way of life. They are fanatics. They are kept in the Deep for their own protection.’

  Kyndra gave him a sharp look. ‘You mean they’re prisoners.’

  Nediah hesitated. His eyes flickered to the floor, as if he saw through the stone to something beneath. ‘Yes,’ he admitted. The Council doesn’t want them peddling their ideas in Naris or – worse – the wider world. They don’t care about keeping the citadel a secret. They’d set their madman up as a king.’

  ‘If they’re so dangerous, why doesn’t the Council just wipe them out?’

  Nediah raised an eyebrow at her cold suggestion. ‘If the Council silenced the Nerian, it would send a message. It would give credence to the sect, make its members martyrs to an idea. The Council leaves them alone so that no one takes them seriously.’

  ‘Seems like some people do, though,’ Kyndra commented, matching him stare for stare.

  Nediah’s face darkened. ‘I tried to stop Kait long ago, but it was too late. Their beliefs inflamed her. She was always impetuous and she hated the Council.’ An old sadness misted his eyes, muted by time and acceptance. ‘Once you join the Nerian, there is no returning. Kait is dangerous, strong in her power and her conviction, and she’s devoted to the madman they call their leader. Stay away from her.’

  Kyndra swallowed. ‘I’m hardly going to go looking for her. What does she want with me, anyway?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Nediah said worriedly. ‘The sect must have an interest in you, in your situation. Kait’s timing in all this is very suspect. She may even have been sent to make contact. They don’t expect you to know anything about them and you’ll be lured in that way.’

  Kyndra wondered whether she ought to tell Nediah that Kait had been in Sky Port East, but the Wielder looked anxious enough already. Talking about Kait had visibly aged him; sadness lingered in the lines around his mouth.

  ‘You said that Medavle once tried to join a sect,’ Kyndra recalled. ‘Was it the Nerian?’

  Nediah’s eyes narrowed. ‘For someone who looks dead on her feet, you’re remarkably quick. Yes, it was. That’s the only thing I know about Medavle.’

  Kyndra nodded numbly. This day had lasted weeks already. She couldn’t take it all in. Between poisonous sects, cases of madness and the visions that turned her into someone else, she hardly knew what was real any more.

  ‘You don’t need to worry about Medavle, Kyndra. Or the Nerian. Just concentrate on learning as much as you can before the test.’

  ‘I would, but I think Hebrin’s planning to ban me from the archives.’

  ‘What?’

  Wearier by the minute, she sketched a brief account of events in the antechamber. Kyndra studied the wall as she spoke, hoping Nediah wouldn’t notice she was holding back. She had tried her best to forget about Gareth, but her pride wouldn’t let her. ‘I tried to tell Hebrin it wasn’t me,’ she finished, ‘but he wouldn’t listen.’

  Nediah frowned and scratched his chin. ‘That doesn’t sound at all like Hebrin. I’ll talk to him tomorrow, and I’m sorry about the novices.’ He laid a light hand on her shoulder. ‘I should have known there’d be some more than willing to give you a hard time.’

  Kyndra looked away. ‘It’s not your fault, Nediah.’

  ‘Did they hurt you?’

  ‘No,’ Kyndra said, remembering Gareth’s weight pressing down on her. ‘I’m fine.’

  Nediah did not look convinced. ‘If you have any problems, don’t be afraid to come to me.’

  He took his hand from her shoulder and she forced a smile. ‘Thanks.’

  Nediah closed the door and, a moment later, Kyndra heard the key turn in the lock. It was unnecessary, she thought. Where could she go that the Wielders wouldn’t find her? She couldn’t even remember the way to the entrance hall.

  Kyndra lay back on the narrow bed and stared at the rock hanging oppressively over her head. I can’t give up, s
he thought. I promised Mother and Jarand I’d come home. The memory of that night was always there and she saw again the look that deadened Jarand’s eyes when he learned of the price Brégenne had set.

  Kyndra turned her face to the wall. Once upon a time, she had recklessly wished that someone would take her away from the inn – away from idle talk and stilted days. But then the Breaking had come and, with it, the end of that life. Trapped inside the dark body of Naris and scarred by a power she didn’t understand, Kyndra had never regretted any wish more fervently.

  Unable to sleep, Nediah paced his quarters. His mind was a flotsam of thoughts and feelings, as changeable as spring weather. Lying in bed had only served to heighten his agitation, so now he wandered between his two cave-like rooms, half dressed, watching the lamplight flicker on the wall.

  Again he saw Brégenne’s face and remembered the way she had hesitated over unravelling the bond. Yet she’d played her part in the end – no one could stand against the Council. No one would dare. Kyndra would, he thought wryly. But Kyndra had not been raised in Naris and she didn’t understand how much power and influence the Council had amassed.

  Sometimes, when he looked at the girl, he felt a flicker of the same anger that had caused him to slam the door of the council chamber. If it wasn’t for her, he’d still be paired with Brégenne. With time, he might have—

  Nediah stopped the thought before it could go any further. Down that road lay only misery; Brégenne had said so herself. His anger was selfish and he’d sworn to redirect it into protecting Kyndra. Brégenne had paid dearly to bring her here.

  The yellow lamplight slid over an array of glass sculptures. The partner of the wolf he’d given Brégenne crouched to leap, tiny fangs bared, and Nediah regarded it in silence. Fire sparked in its golden eyes and its fragile muscles appeared to ripple.

  Kait. Fifteen years had passed since the night he’d watched her vanish into the Deep, a hot-eyed disciple at each shoulder. He recalled the moment she’d asked him to come with her, and all he’d felt was hate. He hated the Council who had driven her to abandon her future. He hated the sect whose pointless ideals had blinded her. Most of all, he hated himself for not being able to hold on to her.

  The years had passed and sometimes he’d dreamed of her, waking with the feel of silken hair twined through his fingers. And now, to see her unchanged … Perhaps she was a little harder and there was a leanness in her voice, but when she’d stepped close and filled him with her scent, it all flooded back, the memories, the old pain. Don’t close your heart. He clenched his fists. What gave Kait the right to speak those words to him, as if she didn’t know she’d been the one to break it?

  Nediah turned away from the wolf and caught a glimpse of his tired reflection. He shook his head ruefully. None of this would help him sleep – and especially not the memory of Alandred’s satisfied smile. Working over poor Rush that evening had forced them together. The Master of Novices wore his triumph quite plainly and had no need of words to convey it. Nediah ground his teeth, remembering the smug creases in that craggy face.

  He stopped pacing abruptly, riveted by a thought. What if Alandred had gone to see Brégenne the night before Kyndra’s test? What if he had made another of his absurd advances and she’d refused him? Alandred would have left angry.

  Nediah swore under his breath. He was a fool not to have seen it. Now he remembered Brégenne’s distraction that night, her unease and the way she had flinched away from him. It was fear he’d seen in her face.

  Before he knew what he was doing, Nediah pulled a tunic over his trousers, stuffed his feet into his boots and crossed to the door. It was there that common sense caught up with him. What was he thinking? Brégenne wouldn’t talk to him about it. She assiduously avoided the subject of Alandred.

  Nediah stood with his hand on the door, hesitating. His anger at Brégenne still bubbled near the surface, but now it was tempered with concern. What had Alandred done to frighten her? The question drove him to open his door and to slip out into the passage.

  His way lit by only a few dim fires, Nediah padded over the stone, heading for the Lunar Quarter. Naris was split roughly into four. Solars stayed in the east, Lunars in the west. North housed the novice dormitories and in the south were communal areas – the rooms given over for teaching, the refectory and the entrance to the archives. In the centre was the atrium, the ceiling of which spiralled up to Naris’s distant peak.

  The corridors were deserted, utterly silent, and it was eerie walking them alone. Of course, there would be Lunars about, probably in teaching rooms or up on one of the spires. Nediah guessed there were only a couple of hours until dawn. When he reached Brégenne’s rooms, he stopped, wondering what he was doing here. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. Beyond making sure that she was all right, he hadn’t thought of what to say to her.

  Before he could reach a decision, the door opened and Brégenne stood there. Nediah stared at her. The hair she always tied back was loose and fell across her shoulders in pale waves. Lunar flames burned behind her, turning her skin silver. Her white eyes glowed softly. She looked ephemeral and cold, like a ghost. Only the rose in her lips and the slight flush in her cheeks showed that she was real.

  He found his voice. ‘How did you know I was here?’

  ‘A feeling,’ she said.

  ‘Can I come in?’ The late hour rasped in his throat. Silently, she stood back to let him pass and Nediah stepped through and spun to close the door before she could block it from view. The silver light showed him a dent in the middle of the soft wood, lines radiating out as if something had crashed against it. ‘I thought so,’ he whispered.

  ‘Nediah –’

  ‘I’m sorry for not realizing sooner.’ He turned to look at her. Brégenne stood with her arms wrapped around her body, a silken shawl partly covering her nightgown.

  ‘Did he hurt you?’ he asked finally, striving to keep his voice level.

  Brégenne looked away. ‘No,’ she said. ‘He dented his pride more than the door.’

  Nediah decided to let his anger simmer out of sight. It only upset her and she already looked upset, fragile even. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her like this.

  Brégenne drew a few breaths. ‘I’m … I’m sorry about the Attunement.’ She took a step nearer. ‘And for those things I said to you yesterday evening on the spire.’ Her voice emerged as barely more than a whisper. ‘That was wrong of me.’

  Nediah gazed at her without speaking.

  ‘You said the Council couldn’t stop you from seeing me,’ she said, echoing his own vow back to him. Her voice dropped even lower. ‘I hope you’re right because – because I can’t stand the thought of not seeing you.’

  ‘Brégenne—’ He broke off as she stepped very close. Shyly she put a hand on his chest and her palm was warm. She traced his collarbone with her fingertips, as if she had never seen it before. Nediah felt his heartbeat quicken and he tensed his body against her touch. ‘Please don’t do that, Brégenne. I mean I can’t—’

  She moved a finger to his lips. The light shone on a lock of hair that curled across her cheek and Nediah’s blood pounded in his veins. She was so close; he could feel the heat from her body through his tunic. Fearfully, she touched his face, just where he had touched hers last night on the spire. Heat and cold swept through him. He couldn’t move.

  The brush of her lips across his was so light, like a moth’s wings. She drew back and they gazed at each other in silence. Brégenne’s chest rose and fell quickly with her breathing. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips slightly parted, as if she were surprised at herself.

  His hesitation lasted only a moment. Desire swept hotly through his body and his skin tingled with it. Nediah let his arms pull her against him and she gasped, but didn’t flinch away. He found his hands in her hair, the soft strands tangling round his fingers. Hers were against his chest, one clutching his tunic. The shawl tumbled to the floor as he brushed the smooth skin of he
r back, tracing the graceful Lunar filigree that curled over her shoulders.

  When he kissed her neck, she gave a little moan and sought his lips again. Her second kiss was fierce and lingering, though she trembled in his arms. Nediah felt his control slipping and grasped at it half-heartedly, but all he could think about was her touch, the way her hands stroked the muscles of his back, her slender body pressed against his own.

  He sank onto the rug, drawing her down with him. Brégenne came willingly, her lips hot on his skin. They threatened to burn away his caution, as if it had never been. The laces at the front of her gown were loose. While she kissed the same collarbone she had touched earlier, he pulled at the weak knot that tied her gown and it fell apart under his fingers.

  Brégenne froze. Caught in his passion, he only noticed when her body went rigid and she pulled back. She grasped the open bodice of the gown and yanked it closed. Nediah stared at her, adrift for a long, bewildering moment, and then he snatched his hands away.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. The words emerged as a whisper. He saw tears on her face and the sight chilled him. ‘Please don’t. I won’t ever hurt you.’

  She nodded mutely.

  He reached for the dropped shawl and carefully draped it around her shoulders. Then with a sob, she fell against his chest and cried like a child. Her tears soaked through the thin cloth of his tunic. Gently, he put his arms around her, careful not to hold her too tight. They knelt there on the floor and Nediah let her cry, resting his chin on her head. He stroked her pale, beautiful hair, uneasy at the tears he’d so rarely seen. A desperate ache bound up his heart. ‘I love you,’ he said helplessly.

  The words made her cry harder. He was sorry for that, but not sorry he’d said them. The seconds wound into minutes, the minutes into an hour. Brégenne’s tears slowed and stopped. When, finally, he sensed dawn nearing, she pulled away.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her voice choked. ‘I need you to leave.’

  ‘Brégenne –’