by Pati Nagle
“Are you all right?”
Luruthin nodded, smiling a little to reassure her, then turned to break his camp. Vanorin helped him, and soon they were ready to walk on. They followed the Varindel down its valley, which widened and became filled with the grey, leafless wraiths of greenleaf trees.
“This is the way we came from Twisted Pine Pass.”
Luruthin nodded. Eliani's comment had echoed his thoughts.
He thought of the shade he had seen in the falls near Highstone, and of his fear that she portended a dark fate for him. He did not think so now, or at least, not a death like to hers. He had passed through that trial, and though unsure of exactly where his path would lead him, he now saw it and had the strength to follow.
Ghlanhras
Shalár emerged from Darkwood Hall immediately after sunset, eager to inspect progress on the city’s defenses. Kelev had assumed the task of overseeing construction of the network of sheltered paths that now gave access to all levels of the city.
The paths stretched from Darkwood Hall to the outer walls at the four watch platforms and the gates, and ran all along the inside of the city wall. Since Kelev had taken a hand, the work had gone more efficiently. Shalár could now walk to any part of Ghlanhras in daylight, if need be.
She found Kelev at the northwestern watch platform, revising its structure so that the access ladder could be withdrawn up into the platform at need. He had a small crew of ælven laborers at work, and seemed to have no trouble compelling them to work quickly and well.
He nodded in greeting at her approach. The white in his hair had spread, so that now it was the few remaining brown strands that seemed an intrusion. Curling white hair around a golden face, quite striking, though the golden skin was beginning to pale somewhat.
“An improvement.” She nodded toward the ladder. “Will you do this at each platform?”
“This is the last. The others are done.”
Shalár nodded again, impressed anew. She would have to think of something more for Kelev to do.
“I have a suggestion, Bright Lady.”
“Oh?”
“Let me make an inner yard at the front gates, a defensible enclosure. If the gates fall, the enemy will still have to fight to get into the city.”
“Interesting. I would want to see plans.”
“I have made some sketches. Shall I bring them to you?”
She gave him a guarded look. She did not wish to encourage him to think he might demand her attention whenever he wished it. He was one of her people now, but had no more consequence than any other. He seemed not to understand this. Natural arrogance, perhaps.
“You may bring them to the Hall later this evening, when I hold audience.”
Kelev made a slight bow. “Thank you, Bright Lady.”
She turned away and walked the covered path to the next watch platform, then visited the others in turn. Kelev’s work was excellent.
Hungry now, she went to the kobalen pen, where some twenty newly-caught kobalen roamed restlessly. Ranad’s hunting had kept the city well supplied, and Shalár had no hesitation in feeding whenever she wished. Such a change from the hardship of Nightsand. She smiled with pleasure at the thought of becoming soft, though she would never let herself lapse so far that she lost strength.
A rumbling underfoot made her glance northward. The sky was smudged with grey cloud hanging heavily about Firethroat’s peak. Steam had been seeping from the volcano for several nights now. A relief, for it meant that some of the pressure beneath the mountain had eased.
She chose her feeder and drank her fill, leaving the rest for the keeper. She toyed with the thought of sending it to Kelev as a reward for his excellent service, but decided his self-importance needed no encouragement. Let him ask, if he hungered.
Returning to the Hall, she went to her chambers to don a robe for her audience. Her ælven attendant silently brought out a robe of black silk with gray edges, silently took it back when Shalár demanded another. The female had been listless, entirely passive, since her conception with Ranad. She never spoke unless Shalár demanded an answer.
Shalár watched her closely as she moved about the chamber. Her face looked strained, a little gaunt. Shalár suspected she was not eating enough. That would not do. The child she carried, a Darkshore child, must be nourished.
“Yes, that will serve.” Shalár accepted a scarlet robe with swirls of gray smoke dancing along its hem. It was of Eastfæld make, and the smoke curls shifted with each movement. The orange silk had taken the scarlet dye without loss of this art. She could wish the smoke was black instead of gray, but its beauty consoled her for this lack.
“Go to the kitchens and fetch me some greens, and some cakes or bread. Whatever is at hand.”
The ælven left the chambers without a word. Shalár hoped the kitchens would tempt her to eat. She had already given orders that the ælven who served there should make whatever foods her attendant desired, and should always have something savory ready to be eaten.
A pity that the girl’s father was no longer useful. His anger at her conception made sending him again to Woodrun too great a risk.
Shalár could not be certain he would obey her; his daughter’s life was no longer a useful incentive, for he knew Shalár would protect her until the child was born. He might seek vengeance for what he perceived as a wrong done to his child—though in fact it was to her benefit—by passing information about Ghlanhras to the ælven.
Shalár donned the robe and brushed out her hair. She decided to leave it loose and merely catch it back from her face. She needed a scarf or a band for that.
She rummaged in the lowest drawer of the wardrobe, which still contained a jumble of Othanin’s things. She found the pouch into which she’d stuffed his handfasting ribbon, and toyed with the thought of wearing it in her hair. That would be amusing, but she decided against it. The latent khi in the ribbon would be a distraction.
Looking further, she found a circlet of plain silver rubbed with a dark polish to make it gray. She held it in her hands, remembering a distant past. Her father had worn a circlet of state, when he was governor. This was rightfully hers.
She carried it to her mirror and put it on, tucking strands of her hair back from her face. She was governor of Fireshore, now. She had achieved her wish of resuming her father’s place.
But the circlet was an ælven custom. She took it off and tossed it back into the drawer. Instead she chose a length of smoke-colored gauze heavy with glistening beads, all black and gray. She tied it over her brow, letting the long ends dangle down her shoulder.
A sound in the outer chamber drew her notice. The ælven, returning with a platter of fresh greens dressed with sunfruit oil and spices, and a dish of assorted cakes and sweetmeats. She set them on the table and retreated to her customary place on the floor by the door to the bedchamber.
Shalár ate most of the greens and two of the cakes, then turned to look at her attendant. “Have you tried these? They are quite good.”
The female shook her head. Shalár picked up the plate and carried it to her.
“Have one.”
Again, a shake of the head. Shalár felt a rising anger.
“Have one, or I shall make you eat them all.”
Alarm flashed through the ælven’s eyes. She took the nearest cake off the plate and bit into it, then coughed, choking. Shalár put down the plate and hauled her to her feet.
Struggling for breath, the ælven coughed and retched, then drew a gasping breath and dropped to her knees, sobbing. Shalár stood gazing down at the wretched female with mingled annoyance and pity. This weeping was worse than the silence. She knelt and took hold of the ælven’s shoulders, compelling her to look up.
“I am not trying to be cruel. I want you to be well.”
The female looked away, avoiding her gaze, but began to calm. Shalár fetched her own goblet and filled it with water.
“Drink.” She watched until the ælven had swallowed
half the cup. The female still looked wretched. Shalár gazed at her with a critical eye.
“You have worn that same gown for many days now. Have you no other?”
“Not here.” The female's voice was a rasping whisper.
“Hm. I will send for your clothing. Meanwhile, bathe yourself. You may put on the black robe you took out earlier. That gown you have on is past mending, I think. Send it to be burnt.”
The gown was not so terribly worn, but as it was what the ælven had been wearing when Ranad had taken her, Shalár thought disposing of it might improve her mood. The ælven merely nodded, slipping back into silent obedience. Shalár picked up the plate of cakes and put it in her hands.
“Try to eat a little. Please.”
The female was still, silent. Shalár left her alone, though if she would not eat, Shalár would have to force her. No Darkshore child would be born a weakling.
Fireshore
Near midnight the forest began to change, oaks giving way to the occasional darkwood. Eliani felt unease at passing near their twisted trunks, at the way they seemed to close in on her. She and the others fell silent as they pushed their way through the thickening undergrowth, their mood further daunted by a drizzle of rain.
At last they reached the road and were able to quicken their pace. Striding westward toward Bitterfield, they made good progress and were soon within sight of the town.
“Halt!”
Eliani obeyed, startled at finding watchers posted on the road. There had been none when they had first come here, but that was before Ghlanhras had fallen.
Vanorin stepped in front of her. The voice came again from the forest ahead.
“Who are you, and what is your business?”
“I am Eliani of Felisanin, and these are my companions. I was here some few days since. Theyn Dejhonan will remember me.”
“I remember you. Your pardon, Lady Eliani.”
The watcher stepped from the forest, lowered bow in hand, and pushed back his hood. He was one of the villagers Eliani had met on her earlier visit, a tall male with Greenglen coloring, though his eyes were a lighter shade of brown. He bowed.
“We are required to stop everyone, even friends.”
“I understand.”
“You are here to see the theyn?”
“Yes, and to see Davhri, my kin.”
“Walk on, then.”
Eliani thanked the watcher, who pulled up his hood again and returned to his post in the forest. She hastened forward, anxious to get into the village and find shelter for Luruthin before the sun rose.
She was struck again at the guarded appearance of the village, by the windowless back walls of the outer row of houses, the hearthroom doors that stood merely ajar where in Highstone they would have stood wide. This deep into night the hearths were mostly down to coals, but now and again she saw one where a fire burned brightly.
“I do not wish to disturb Dejhonan’s rest. Let us go to Davhri’s house. We can sit in the hearthroom if she is not receiving company.”
She led the way along the path between the outer two rows of houses, searching for the withered goldenberry bush that struggled to grow in Davhri’s garden. She spied it and wondered for a moment if it was dead, for the stalks were altogether bare of leaves now.
It was winter, though, she reminded herself. Goldenberry dropped its leaves in winter, apparently even in this snowless land. As she stepped into the yard and looked more closely at the bush, she saw that its branches were green and bore the first tiny buds of new growth.
The garden had been cleared, she noticed. The kiln, which on Eliani’s previous visit had looked neglected, had been set to order. All the weeds and overgrowth were gone, and a small kitchen garden showed freshly-turned earth. A rosemary bush that had been a wild tangle was now neatly trimmed.
Eliani smiled, her heart lifted by these signs of change. Perhaps it had been done by Mishri, the theyn’s daughter, who helped Davhri about the house. Even if so, a more cheerful garden must be good for Davhri.
The door of the house stood ajar, and the hearth was deep in ashes where before it had been bare. Davhri was receiving again, then. Eliani held her hand out toward the hearth and felt the warmth of a fire only recently faded.
The entrance into the house from the hearthroom was curtained, and Eliani saw no light at its edges, so she gestured to the others to sit. It was pleasant to be out of the rain. She added wood to the fire and coaxed it to flame. The three of them crowded around it, stretching chilled hands toward it.
A noise from within the house drew Eliani's attention. Footsteps hastened toward them. The heavy curtain was pulled aside, and Davhri looked out at them.
“I thought I heard voices! Why did you not ring the chime?”
Eliani rose, smiling as she saw how well Davhri looked. Her eyes were clear and bright, her hair and clothing neat, her movements quick and full of the strength Eliani remembered from long ago.
“We thought you might be resting.”
“And so I was, but that is no reason for you to sit out here. Come in, come in!”
Davhri beckoned them into the house, and they followed her. Eliani marveled at the change in the place. Where before it had seemed empty and lifeless, now it was full of color and the pleasant clutter of Davhri’s craft.
Finished pieces of pottery, and some that were yet to be glazed, stood along the shelves. The large table was covered with jars and pots of glazes and colored earth, and a wheel on which stood something draped with a heavy, dampened cloth.
“You have taken up your craft again! I am glad.”
“I was given to understand that my lord is in need of better cups.”
Eliani met her gaze and saw a glint of humor there, though it was replaced by earnestness in the next moment. Davhri stepped toward her.
“Thank you for finding him.”
Eliani smiled, and on impulse threw her arms around Davhri, who returned the embrace with quick fierceness before stepping back and turning to the others.
“Luruthin. Welcome again.”
She held out her arm and Luruthin clasped it. Davhri froze for a moment, gazing at him.
“You must be tired. Will you not rest here, and give me a chance to make up for my inability to host you before? My guest room is ready, and there are beds for two. Eliani may share with me.”
She glanced at Vanorin, who stepped forward. “We did not meet when I was here before. I am Vanorin.”
Eliani winced. “Forgive me. Davhri, Vanorin is captain of my escort. Vanorin, please meet Davhri, my father’s sister.”
Davhri smiled and clasped his arm briefly. “Welcome. Come sit by the fire. You must all be chilled, walking in this rain.”
Luruthin and Vanorin readily accepted this hospitality. The fire on the main room’s hearth had fallen to coals, and Vanorin set about at once to build it up. Eliani followed Davhri to the kitchen, where Davhri put her to work slicing bread. Eliani’s stomach rumbled as she set the knife to it, and she was hard put not to gobble a piece right away. Instead she swept up the crumbs and let them melt on her tongue while she watched Davhri come and go with kettle and ewer, cups and plates.
Davhri took down a small, bright yellow pot and uncovered it, releasing the sharp scent of sunfruit. She set it on the plate with the bread and a smooth knife.
“Take that out, now, and share it with your friend. The tea will soon be ready.”
Eliani carried the plate out to the main room, wondering why she had said “friend” and not “friends.” Vanorin had the fire crackling brightly, and Davhri’s kettle was hanging over it, beginning to steam. The captain had unbound his damp hair and was absently combing through it with his fingers.
He looked up at Eliani, his eyes lighting at the sight of the bread. Eliani pulled another chair over to the hearth, set the plate of bread down on it, then spread sunfruit preserve on a slice and handed it to Vanorin.
“Thank you. Mmm.”
She offered another
slice to Luruthin. He shook his head.
“Some without preserve?”
“No, thank you.”
Eliani saw a swallow move his throat. She felt badly, eating when he could not, but she knew he would say that was foolish. She pulled up a chair for herself and took a bite of the bread, the taste of sunfruit bursting sharp and sweet in her mouth, bits of the tangy golden peel threaded through the preserve.
Davhri came and fetched the kettle, set a plate of sliced cheese beside the bread, then hurried back to the kitchen. In a few moments she returned with a tray bearing cups, the grey ewer, and a smaller ewer of dark blue.
Davhri picked up the blue ewer and uncovered it, holding it out for Luruthin to smell. “This is winterbalm and honeyleaf. My lord finds it soothing. Would you like to try some?”
Luruthin looked up at her sharply, then glanced at Eliani. Everyone was still for a moment.
Eliani drew a sharp breath. “You can feel it.”
Davhri glanced at her. “Yes. Only because I have lately seen Inóran. I doubt I would have noticed, otherwise.”
Luruthin gave Eliani a questioning glance. She had not told him that she could feel his affliction, for she had not wished to distress him. He turned a wary gaze on Davhri, then nodded.
“I will have some. Thank you.”
Davhri poured the tea for them all. “Forgive me, I should have offered you dry clothing right away. Let me fetch some.”
Eliani looked up from her tea. “Please do not trouble—”
“No trouble. I have plenty to spare. Inóran has little use for robes now.” She gave a small, sad smile, then hastened away into the back of the house.
Luruthin drained his cup. “Is there more of this?”
“I think so.” Eliani lifted the lid of the blue ewer. Yes.”
She poured for him, watching his face. He took a sip and glanced up at her.
“I did not know you could feel my....”
“Your khi is different. Altered.” She glanced at Vanorin. “Had you noticed?”
