Cephrael's Hand: A Pattern of Shadow & Light Book One

by McPhail, Melissa

  “So where will you ride, since Jeune is closed?” Sandrine was asking as they reached the yard.

  “To the Cairs,” Alyneri said, looking uncomfortable. “I will end my pilgrimage at the Temple of the Vestals in Cair Rethynnea.”

  “What a coincidence,” Sandrine replied. “I was planning to leave for the Cairs next week. Perhaps we should meet in Tregarion and travel on together?”

  Alyneri looked a little wan at the suggestion, and Tanis easily picked up on her thoughts. She didn’t want to tell the woman that they weren’t taking a boat to Tregarion—better she know as little as possible about their plans. No doubt Sandrine would reach the Cairs before they did, even leaving a week later.

  “A pilgrimage is meant to be a time of penance and reflection, Sandrine,” Alyneri returned in a strained voice. Tanis didn’t quite understand the depth of tension in her reply, but he saw clearly enough that the other Healer made Her Grace uncomfortable. “I’m not certain our traveling together would allow for enough of either.”

  Sandrine’s returning smile seemed nothing if not predatory. “Perhaps we will meet again in the Cairs then, Your Grace. My offer still stands.”

  Alyneri looked slightly pained. “I am grateful for your offer to continue our tutoring.”

  Sandrine eyed her humorously. “But…?”

  Tanis sensed her dismay and jumped to her rescue. “Your Grace, is there anything I can help you with?”

  “Oh, Tanis,” she said, looking immensely grateful for his intrusion, “yes, I—where is my mare?” She looked to Sandrine. “It has been a…a pleasure meeting you, Sandrine.”

  Sandrine looked amused by Alyneri’s discomfiture. “And you as well, duchesse.” She took Alyneri’s fingers and kissed the back of her hand in farewell, all the while staring at Alyneri with a hungry look in her eyes. Then she turned and made her stately way up the staircase to the manse.

  Alyneri shivered as she watched Sandrine retreat. Tanis saw her wiping her hand compulsively against her skirts, but he didn’t think Her Grace realized she was doing it.

  They made their way to Alyneri’s mare, and because she immediately launched into grilling the stable hand who’d been loading her bags of herbs, Tanis found his way back to safer waters on his marble bench. He sat down with a sigh and rested elbows on his knees.

  He wished he’d been allowed to do more to help with the preparations. Ever since Prince Ean had come to see them earlier that morning with another thanks for Alyneri and the announcement of their departure, Tanis hadn’t been allowed to do anything. ‘You’re the Prince’s Truthreader!’ everyone had protested when Tanis asked to help, as if being in service of the prince made him incapable of anything beyond sitting on a satin pillow reading people’s minds. He wondered if that moment represented his future once he took a commission—never doing anything worthwhile again, being waited on hand and foot, people treating you like porcelain…no wonder Her Grace eschewed ladies maids like the plague.

  “How long have you served your prince?” Gwynnleth asked him suddenly.

  Tanis jumped on his seat, turning with a startled breath to find her standing behind him with arms crossed. He hadn’t seen her anywhere nearby before he sat down. “Oh, I’m…” He wet his lips nervously. “I’m not commissioned yet. I’m still in training.” He turned to look back out at the busy yard and asked, “Are you…coming with us to the Cairs?”

  Gwynnleth blinked and looked around, letting her eyes come at last to rest on Prince Ean, who was adjusting the stirrups on Caldar’s saddle. She moved around to sit beside Tanis on the bench. “I think that I am,” she answered, sounding as if the words surprised her.

  He scooted over to make room for her. “Can I ask you a question?”

  She nodded without looking at him.

  “How…how did you do that trick?”

  “Which trick?”

  “With Lord Fynnlar’s horse.”

  She turned him a wry look. “You noticed that, did you?”

  Tanis shrugged. “I just knew you weren’t telling the truth, but I don’t know how you made the horse come to you.”

  Gwynnleth leaned in, and Tanis realized that up close, her manner wasn’t nearly so unsettling. She almost seemed…nice. “If I tell you, can you keep it a secret?” she asked.

  Wide-eyed, Tanis nodded.

  “Whenever I come to meet a new horse,” she began in a low voice, “I always bring a pocket of grain.”

  Tanis brightened with understanding. “You had grain in your hand!”

  She touched a finger to her nose and nodded sagely.

  Tanis beamed.

  Just then, Alyneri separated herself from the group and marched toward Tanis purposefully. Clearing his throat, the boy glanced sheepishly at Gwynnleth and then got to his feet, just in time to greet Her Grace with a respectful nod.

  Alyneri gave Gwynnleth a quick once-over and then looked back to Tanis. “The prince is ready to leave,” she told him, glancing at Gwynnleth again uncertainly.

  The Avieth joined Tanis in standing. “Lady Healer, I’ve a question to ask of you.”

  Alyneri looked surprised. “You have?” She straightened and pressed out her divided skirts. “Then please do.”

  Gwynnleth glanced at Tanis with a look that was obviously his cue to leave. Excusing himself, the boy trotted over to join Prince Ean, but before he was out of earshot, he heard the Avieth inquire, “Why do you not confess your love to the prince?” to which Her Grace’s reply was a surprised gasp.

  Tanis was most grateful to the Avieth for her warning glance, which afforded him the chance to escape before the storm.

  Forty-six

  ‘Yield to temptation, it may not pass your way again.’

  – Fynnlar val Lorian, Prince of Dannym

  Trell rode Gendaia through the city of Tregarion admiring the beauty of the seaside metropolis. The city was built within a mountainous basin, with long tree-lined boulevards spanning the stepped hillside and mile-long staircases as wide as ten horses rising from the bay to the basin rim, where the homes of the elite peeked from dense gardens protected by high stone walls. Myriad stone buildings capped with terracotta tiles paved the lower hills with their russet color, and every street overlooked the sparkling blue bay and its jutting peninsula, where the queen of Veneisea’s green marble palace rose in crowning splendor.

  High upon the ridge above the bay, and with a commanding view of the entire city, a long line of temples had been erected, each dedicated to one of the Veneisean gods of Virtue: Patience, Propriety, Temperance, Fidelity, and Chastity. Even from a distance, Trell could see people crowding the structures. He marveled anyone would go to the trouble of worshipping at the temples when it required climbing three miles of stairs to get there, but then, religion was a strange bedfellow; he’d encountered many a man who thought the same about anyone bothering to learn the names of the seventeen Desert Gods and their myriad incarnations.

  Carian had taken Trell directly from the jungle to the Veneisean city, where they’d spent a couple of days recuperating from their ordeal. For Trell this meant a good night’s sleep and time to care for his horse, but for the pirate it translated into a ‘real game of Trumps’ that was ongoing when the sun rose the next morning. Now, as evening neared, Trell went to rendezvous with the pirate so they might head off to another node that Carian said would lead them most efficiently to their destination.

  Any time the pirate used the word efficiently, Trell got suspicious.

  Following a map hastily scrawled on a the back of a poster advertising a theater production of the Immortal Bard Drake DiMatteo’s farce, The Illumination of Humbold the Harpist, Trell found his way into the hills in search of the villa where Carian said to meet him. When he arrived at the end of his map, however, where a large X denoted the supposed location of the villa, Trell found only a path leading away and up into the wooded hills.

  Trell clicked his tongue for Gendaia, and she headed up the path and over a little w
ooden bridge, which spanned a gurgling brook that tumbled and fell around moss-eaten rocks. As he rode, Trell gazed absently out over the glorious landscape and decided it was wholly strange being in civilization. Of course, Duan’Bai was a bustling city, but its outward wash of dun-hued buildings was broken only by the colorful mosaics of its minarets or the occasional date palm extending above the rooftops. Trell had spent most of his time within the walls of the Emir’s palace, which abounded with luxuries, but the Veneisean landscape alone—with its glorious bay, lush foliage, and misty streams everywhere—held natural luxuries beyond price.

  Trell saw a high stone wall peeking through the trees long before the trail ended at a wooden gate. Dismounting before the portal, Trell read the sign hanging over the gate, which said, ‘Entrez ceux qui seraient pardonnés’ —‘Enter those who would be forgiven.’ Trell puzzled over the inscription, finding it difficult to associate ‘penitence’ with the pirate Carian vran Lea.

  As curious as he was amused by the idea, Trell opened the gate and led Gendaia into a twilit courtyard. Across the way, a large stone house nearly covered in vines seemed to sprout out of the foliage that hugged its foundation. Trell walked to the tall, rounded door and used the iron knocker to announce his arrival.

  It wasn’t long before an older woman opened the door. She wore a white woolen dress and a long veil attached at the crown of her head with an embroidered black cap. “Bonsoir, monsieur,” she greeted. “Bienvenu à la villa des soeurs de chasteté.”

  The villa of the Sisters of Chastity? Trell thought with raised brows. Stranger and stranger.

  When Trell didn’t immediately respond, the sister said in the common tongue, “You are here for monsieur vran Lea?”

  Trell shook off his surprise and nodded. “Yes. Is he…here?”

  “Yes, monsieur.” She looked over his shoulder and saw Gendaia grazing in the yard. “I will ask one of my sisters to attend your horse. I am Sister Fantine. If you would please follow me.” She led away without waiting for a reply, so Trell followed her deeper within the manse. Bare stone walls were lit with thick candles that cast wavering shadows on the buttressed ceilings. Trell saw no furniture to speak of; the only luxuries were the thick carpets beneath his feet.

  The sister brought him to a set of double doors and knocked twice. Another sister veiled with a blue cap answered. She saw Trell and nodded, stepping back to allow him to enter, and he found himself within a lavishly furnished room. Dense crimson carpets covered the stone floor, and whitewashed plastered walls were hung with tapestries of brilliant color and design.

  At the end of the room, the pirate lounged on a scroll-armed divan upholstered in gold damask velvet. Two sisters sat beside him with their veils thrown back. The first was feeding him fruit from a silver tray held by the second.

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Trell said upon arriving in front of the pirate.

  Carian opened his eyes and grinned. “Oh, good. You’re here. Do you like gooseberry fruit? It’s a local favorite.”

  The sister holding the silver platter offered it up to Trell, who saw an arrangement of greenish-yellow fruits with tiny black seeds. He shrugged and tried one, finding it both tart and sweet.

  “We grow loads of them in Jamaii,” the islander advised. He opened his mouth and the second sister placed a gooseberry slice upon his tongue.

  “Carian,” Trell said, frowning at the man, “what are you doing here?”

  The disapproval in his tone must’ve been abundant, for the islander gave him an injured look. “The sisters are friends of mine. Trell of the Tides, meet Sister Marie-Clarisse,” he said, indicating the woman holding the tray, “and Sister Marguerite. They treat me very well.” He gave Marguerite a winsome smile and opened his mouth again. She placed another fruit upon his tongue.

  “And in return,” offered Sister Marie-Clarisse, “monsieur vran Lea brings us gifts from his travels.”

  “A jade scepter from Avatar,” Sister Marguerite offered, “which we traded for new beds for all of the sisters.”

  “And beautiful silks from Faroqhar,” said Sister Marie-Clarisse, “which we sold at market for twice what we paid monsieur vran Lea.”

  Trell gave Carian a flat look. It was blatant that the pirate’s ‘gifts’ were either stolen artifacts or pilfered cargo.

  Carian seemed to understand his look and shrugged his eyebrows three times saucily, explaining, “The sisters receive many donations from their vast association of patrons. They often sell them for funds to aid their rrder. A gift to the sisters is never questioned and only welcomed on the open market.”

  “Monsieur vran Lea is one of our most generous patrons,” advised Sister Marguerite. “He brings us many gifts, and we are only happy to purchase some of his more expensive items when he cannot afford to donate them. He gives us a generous price, and we are always able to make money on the sale.”

  “Is that so,” Trell murmured with his grey eyes fastened unfavorably on the pirate.

  Carian grinned.

  “May I speak to you privately, monsieur vran Lea?” Trell said.

  “We will go see about your dinner,” Sister Marie-Clarisse offered. She and Sister Marguerite stood and bowed their heads in farewell. Donning their veils once more, they departed.

  Trell gave the islander a look of fierce disapproval. “You’re using the Sisters of Chastity to launder stolen artifacts?”

  Carian stretched out on the divan and clasped hands behind his head. “You made your bargain with a Nodefinder who happens to be a pirate, boyo,” he returned unrepentantly. “Why are you so surprised? A pirate can be trusted to keep to the Code.”

  Trell grunted. “I suppose I had envisioned you had at least one redeeming virtue.”

  Carian grinned. “By what crazed notion did you image I would give a rat’s arse about the Cardinal Virtues? I don’t even think I could name them all.”

  Trell gave him a flat look. “There’s only five.”

  Carian screwed up his face tying to think of one. “Charity…? No—Chastity. What’s the other one? Temerity…tenacity?”

  “Temperance,” Trell said dryly.

  “No, that’s not it.” He frowned for a moment and then gave up. “Anyway, the arrangement is mutually beneficial—which is more than I can say for most of my dealings…”

  Abruptly they heard commotion in the hall beyond and exchanged a look. Then Carian was off the divan and running for the doors with Trell close behind. The pirate cracked the door to find a host of white-clad sisters speaking in hushed tones. That’s when they both heard the pounding upon the outside portal and a man’s muffled voice yelling in Veneisean, “Open up, sisters! Open in the name of the Tivaricum!”

  Carian sucked in his breath with a hiss and pulled back inside the room, shutting the door again. At Trell’s curious look, the pirate said blackly, “The kingdom police. We’ve had a bit of a falling out of late.” He began looking around the room somewhat urgently.

  “Can’t you just escape on a node or a leis or something?” Trell asked as the pirate rushed over to a tall armoire and threw open the doors.

  “Yeah, about that…” He began rifling through a store of white dresses hanging within. “Because of the many important ‘artifacts’ the sisters have on the property, a certain Nodefinder blocked all the nodes and leis that opened onto their lands—for their own protection, of course.”

  Trell shook his head and rolled his eyes heavenward. “I’d have left at least one viable means of escape.”

  Carian shot him an aggravated look over his shoulder. “If I could find the node, so could someone else.”

  “If you can reroute a node anywhere you like,” Trell posed deprecatingly, “couldn’t you just loop one so that anyone coming in would be forced to step from one right into another—which takes them right back where they began—but anyone leaving would be able to travel it?”

  Carian paused in his search through the gowns to give Trell an astonished look. “That’s a
damned fine idea! I’m going to use that in the future, poppet. Now, here,” and he tossed Trell a white dress and veil. “Put those on.”

  Trell caught the garments out of the air and gave him a dubious look.

  “It’s the dress or the dungeons of the Tivaricum,” the pirate said while shoving his head through the neck of another gown. The dress fell to his mid-calves and looked ridiculous on his tall frame.

  For a split-second as he gazed at the gown in his hands, Trell considered his options. Distancing himself from the pirate now would no doubt save him time in the dungeons, but he’d given his word to the Nodefinder, and his honor bound him to the man until their bargain was finished. Besides, Ramu’s wisdom had become a true guiding force in his life: he believed that his journey was as important as his destination.

  None of that predisposed him to wearing women’s clothing.

  Sighing, Trell shook his head and pulled the dress on over his clothes.

  As a veiled Carian came over to help Trell with his own veil and cap, they heard the sounds of soldiers entering the manse. Abruptly, Sister Marie-Clarisse poked her head inside the door. “Oh!” she cried upon seeing them, abruptly stifling a smile. “Well then…hurry, messieurs. The…um…sisters are gathering in the gallery while the Tivaricum Guard conduct a search.”

  Trell and Carian followed Sister Marie-Clarisse to where the other sisters waited. The two men found their way to the back of the collection of white-clad women, where their boots protruding from beneath their dresses would be less obvious. They were doing their best to blend in when a host of guards barged into the gallery.

  The man in the lead wore a gilded breastplate emblazoned with Queen Indora’s crest and had a plume of emerald feathers extending from his cap. Carian hissed upon seeing him, but the man didn’t seem to notice, for he was just then announcing in his native tongue, “…quite certain it was him. The man is a consummate gambler and just this morning won a fortune in emeralds off the crown jeweler Jean-Pierre Montrose, which were meant for Her Majesty’s inspection.”