"You talked to Haldis and Sark?" The boy lowered his hoe to the ground and leaned on it. "What were they saying?" His curiosity had won out, in Ry's estimation.
"That you jumped them and they had to defend themselves."
"That's a lie," the boy insisted.
"We know it's a lie. Everybody else does too—that's why they're still in the dungeons," Tory grinned. "I'm Torevik Rath." He held out his hand.
"Toff. Just—Toff," Toff held his out. Tory grasped Toff's hand in the customary gesture before releasing it.
"Rylend Morphis," Ry had to lean around Tory to take Toff's hand. "We had to sneak into the dungeon to see them—we don't get excitement like that very often," Ry smiled at Toff after letting his hand go. "So we had to come and see this for ourselves." Ry took in Toff's appearance—only the faintest spots remained of the bruises Toff received from the two in the dungeons, but then a Larentii and a healer had come to make things right. Ry expected nothing less.
"And after they lied to us," Tory was grinning, now, "we really wanted to hear your side of things."
"I can't talk long, I'm expected to get a certain amount done today," Toff looked around. None of the fathers were nearby and he was thankful for that.
"We'll take whatever you give us," Ry said encouragingly.
"All right," Toff dropped to the ground in a sitting position, his hand sliding down the hoe handle as he sat. "What do you want to know?"
"Why do you think they attacked you?" Tory asked right off, after he and Ry sat cross-legged in the dusty row.
"Gren," Toff's face went sullen for a moment.
"Gren?" Ry was puzzled.
"A Half-Fae."
"Oh."
"What did Gren do?" Tory went on.
"He hates me. I don't know why, but he does," Toff laid the hoe down beside him and linked his fingers. Dust covered his clothing and dirt lined the underside of his fingernails, Ry noticed, watching the dark-haired, brown-eyed boy carefully. Ry knew Toff was older than he looked; it was a talent inherited from his mother. Tory wasn't the only one holding things back.
"What does Gren do?" Tory asked carefully, not wanting Toff to shy away from the important questions. So far, Toff had been truthful, as far as his perspective went, anyway.
"He taunts me when the elders are out of sight. Calls me names." Toff swallowed. Some of those names he didn't want to tell and hoped Tory wouldn't ask.
"I thought the Fulls and the Halves didn't engage in violence," Ry said during the silence that followed Toff's last statement.
"They don't, or they're not supposed to," Toff agreed, lifting his eyes to stare at Ry. Ry was handsome, no doubt about it; he'd inherited his good looks from his father. "But Gren—well, he's all fine and good around the elders. Tiearan thinks he's the most wonderful thing in the village." Toff turned his head, embarrassed by the admission.
"What do you think of Gren?" Ry asked.
"I think he's the biggest bully. I don't think Haldis and Sark would have attacked me if Gren hadn't told them to." Toff was back to worrying his fingernails, trying to get the dirt from under a thumbnail. Toff hadn't failed to notice the fine clothing his visitors wore, comparing it to the stained and patched hand-woven tunic and pants that he'd put on that morning.
"You know, I think I'd like to meet Gren sometime," Tory muttered, clenching his hands. Toff was honest with him. Completely.
"You don't want to meet Gren. Not without the elders around," Toff shivered visibly. Gren had given Toff nasty looks only that morning. Toff was grateful that Gren had gone to train with Tiearan while he'd been sent to chop and bundle cornstalks. A breeze whispered through the dry leaves surrounding them, bringing Toff back to his task.
"I need to go or I won't get my work done," he murmured, standing and brushing dust from the back of his trousers. The trousers were an oatmeal color—the Green Fae seldom used dyes for work clothing.
"Thanks for talking with us. Do you think we might visit you again? There aren't many our age in the city," Tory said, unfolding his long legs and standing as well. Ry was right behind him, preparing to leave.
"Sure. But not while the others are around. I could get in trouble." Toff lifted his hoe.
"Yeah. Us too," Tory nodded. "Um, good-bye." Toff gave a half-wave and walked away to take up where he'd finished chopping cornstalks. Ry thought to help Toff with a spell that would bring down all the stalks, then thought better of it. His power signature would be felt—no doubt about that—and he had no desire for anyone to know that he and Tory had come to visit without asking permission. Ry nodded to Tory, who skipped them back to the palace.
* * *
"He was a little bitter, don't you think?" Ry asked quietly as they walked down the long hall toward their schoolroom.
"Can you blame him?" Tory asked, a thoughtful expression in his blue eyes. "He's getting bullied. Too bad he isn't here with us. Mom wouldn't stand for that."
"What's he doing there anyway? If that's not a fish out of water, then I don't know what it is," Ry snorted.
"There you are, and late on top of everything else." Morwin, Ry and Tory's tutor, glared at the two boys as they walked toward their classroom. Master Morwin's school lay at the back of the palace, far away from the rooms and hallways the tourists visited. Morwin was an Amtearean Dwarf, knew more things than most people ever wanted to know and was over four hundred years old. Morwin was shorter than Ry by at least a foot, with thick, red hair and bushy red eyebrows that Ry imagined would look infinitely better if Morwin would only trim them now and then. Ry knew not to suggest it—the one time he'd made the hint, he and Tory had gotten extra homework for a week.
"We are very sorry—the tourists, you know," Tory ducked his head. Ry wanted to snicker—there hadn't been a single lie in Tory's words.
"Hmmph," Morwin grumped and stepped aside so the two boys could enter the classroom.
"Today we will cover the destruction of Trell," Morwin said after both boys were seated at their desks. "Not the official version being taught in other classrooms around the Alliance, but the truth of what happened," Morwin said. "We may only discuss the topic inside this classroom, as you know. You may talk with your uncles, too, who have firsthand knowledge." Morwin's bushy eyebrows wiggled while he spoke, and Tory often had to look at the comp-vid on his desk to keep from laughing.
"I warn you, however, that speaking of this topic around your Lady Mother may upset her, so I caution against it." Morwin liked the Queen of Lissia very much and often had dinner with her and the Inner Circle.
"We know," Ry was ducking his head, now. He and Tory both knew. Trell had been destroyed because someone betrayed their mother. Her enemies, thinking she was still upon Trell as their spy reported, had used a terrible weapon to blow the planet to bits. Their mother found it extremely painful to hear anything concerning Trell.
"I am sending the information to your comp-vids now. I would like a ten-page paper on the subject, with emphasis on the economic impact Trell's destruction had upon the Alliance. It will be due at this time next week."
* * *
"Trell had the exclusive rights to manufacture components for the solar collectors," Ry scanned through information on his mini comp-vid while he and Tory walked toward their shared suite of rooms after class.
"Who made them after Trell was destroyed?" Tory glanced over Ry's shoulder at the information.
"The contracts went to Refizan, but only after months of negotiations with the Alliance members. The Grand Alliance Council finally had to intervene—the rest of the Alliance came to a locked decision. Refizan had the factories already in place; they just had to rework the assembly robots," Ry added.
"Then we'll start with that," Tory said. "There has to be something else, though. Morwin expects us to go digging. There's something else he wants out of all this; I just know it."
"Yeah. He always wants us to look deeper than he says to look." Ry didn't mind, actually—he learned new things that way. The boys
passed down a long hall leading to the residential wing of the palace, nearly reaching the door to their shared suite when the floor shook beneath their feet and the lights went out.
* * *
"Casino City almost had a five-second meltdown before the backup generators kicked in," Uncle Tony sat down later at Ry's desk inside his bedroom. "We had people trying to loot in two blinks."
"Anybody in the pokey?" Tory grinned—he loved hearing Uncle Tony's descriptions of hauling in prisoners.
"Sheriff Trevor hauled in about twenty, but you didn't hear that from me." Uncle Tony had black hair and gray eyes that twinkled when he smiled. His eyes were twinkling now.
"Okay, we never heard that from you. But I do have a question for you—what do you think was the economic impact of Trell's destruction, as far as the Alliance goes?" Ry asked, flopping onto his bed. They were all in his side of the large suite he shared with Tory.
"You might look into the taxes Trell paid," Uncle Tony said thoughtfully. "And you should look into who was allowed to join the Alliance shortly after Trell's destruction, to fill that slot. Find out what they're paying in taxes instead." Uncle Tony's grin widened.
"Wow, I didn't even think of that," Tory grabbed his handheld comp-vid and started tapping in notes. His hands stilled when his mother walked into the room.
"Are you two all right?" Queen Lissa came over to give Ry a hug and kiss on the cheek before going to offer Tory the same. "I worried about you the whole time we had to sort out that stupid Council meeting after the lights went out."
Tory tossed his comp-vid onto Ry's bed, face down, and draped an arm around his mother's shoulders. "What happened, Mom? An earthquake? Have we ever had one of those before?"
"Not since I've been here," his mother grumbled. "This is a first for all of us." Queen Lissa was five feet tall, with strawberry-blonde hair and blue eyes. She turned heads wherever she went.
"Are we going to check into this?" Uncle Tony asked, rising from Ry's desk chair.
"We need to; I hope Kifirin comes in soon. If anybody knows whether there are problems with quakes, then he's the one to ask."
"You think Uncle Kifirin might come?" Tory asked.
"He might. He hasn't been here in weeks." Queen Lissa put an arm around Uncle Tony when he came to stand beside her. Tory looked at Ry over their mother's head. Kifirin. He was remote and frightening at times, though neither boy could truly explain why.
"Lissa, are you all right?" Uncle Norian came rushing through the door.
"I'm fine, Nori. I just wanted to check on my boys. I couldn't get away from the Council meeting before now. When did you get in?"
"I heard the news while I was out, so I asked for a ride," Uncle Norian replied. Uncle Norian was another one you didn't want to anger. He wouldn't hurt Tory, Ry or anyone inside the palace, unless they tried to attack the Queen. Then you'd get to see the other side of Norian Keef. He was Director of the ASD—Alliance Security Detail—which was currently stationed on Le-Ath Veronis.
"Can you stay for dinner?" The Queen smiled at him.
"I can stay the night," Uncle Norian replied, smiling in return. The three adults walked out of Ry and Tory's suite, after the Queen hugged both her sons again.
"Something's up," Tory flopped down on Ry's bed.
"Yeah," Ry agreed.
* * *
Something about the quake had the elders worried. Toff could feel it, even if they weren't saying anything. Toff and a few others were finishing up with the cornstalks when the ground shifted beneath his feet. Many of the youngest were frightened and crying afterward. Father Willow, who wasn’t very good with the younglings, went to fetch Rain, who eventually calmed them down.
Toff might have tried, but none of them wanted anything to do with him, either. Gren had seen to that. They were all too frightened to befriend Toff. Gren was telling them that they'd be hauled off to the Queen's dungeons, like Haldis and Sark. Gren was already spreading the rumor that Haldis and Sark's arrests were Toff's fault. Perhaps that was his plan all along. Toff had no way to reason with Gren's warped logic and since he no longer had the bruises to prove he'd been badly beaten, the others were all siding with Gren. At times, he was thankful for the healing he'd received. At other times, he wished that things had been left alone.
* * *
Toff wound string around the last bundle of cornstalks with practiced ease and hefted it onto the wagon Father Willow brought to the field. Mother Rain had taken all the younglings back to the village with her—it was best to take them to their parents when they were so frightened.
"Time to go back," Father Willow said. Toff climbed onto the wagon seat beside Father Willow, who looked as if he wanted to say something else to Toff but ended up holding back. Toff sat in silence, watching the bare field pass around him as Father Willow flapped long reins against the horse's backs. Together, they drove off toward the village.
* * *
"Some of the little ones fell." Toff answered Corent's question over dinner. Corent had asked him how strong the quake had felt out in the field. "I staggered, but managed to keep standing. Mother Rain had to come and take the little ones back to the village." Redbird lifted an eyebrow at Corent when Toff mentioned Rain. Toff pretended not to notice, dipping into his stewed potatoes instead.
"I've talked with Mother Fern; she is willing to teach you how to make pottery, Toff," Redbird said casually. Toff lifted his head and stared at his foster-mother in surprise.
"I don't want to make pottery," he blurted without thinking.
"You're good with your hands," Redbird said stiffly. "Tiearan thinks this might be a suitable fit for you."
"What would Father Tiearan know about anything?" Toff wanted to storm away from the table, but Redbird would only place another mind restraint and that frightened him. Tiearan couldn't see through Gren; how would he know what Toff might be good at doing?
"Son, you are treating your foster-mother disrespectfully," Corent admonished. Corent's hair was going toward purple—a true sign that Corent was angry or upset.
"Father, may I be excused?" Toff was back to staring at his bowl of stewed potatoes.
"You must eat more of your food before you may get up. And you will clean the kitchen tonight." Corent was definitely not happy with Toff. Toff chewed his lower lip. Everyone else was treating him badly, why not his own parents?
* * *
"You'll break that if you're not careful." Redbird was getting onto him when Toff banged the crock down harder than he meant to after drying it with the cloth in his hands. The cloth was hand-woven by Mother Berry and her apprentice weavers. Those were girls, mostly, but Toff had more interest in weaving than he did in making pottery, and he didn't have much interest in weaving. "Wash the cabinets too," Redbird told him before walking out of the kitchen. Toff wanted to grumble, but was afraid she'd hear.
* * *
Toff heard Corent's voice as he passed his foster parents' bedroom on the way to bed later. He stopped to listen—he couldn't help it.
"What else was I supposed to do? The others won't have anything to do with him and Fern was the only one willing to take him," Redbird snapped at Corent, after Corent's voice rumbled something that Toff didn't catch. Corent's voice rumbled a second time. "I know Willow would be happy to take him, but he'd keep him out all night during calving season."
Toff wanted to speak up immediately; he didn't mind being out all night during calving season. Father Willow didn't talk much but at least he didn't ignore Toff like so many of the others did. Besides, nights were almost as well-lit as the days, but calling it night meant it was the time designated to sleep. Father Tiearan said it was the only way to keep order in the village.
"Zervias would have counseled us, but he is no longer here. The Queen allowed him to leave." Corent had walked closer to the door and Toff could hear him now.
"Zervias," Redbird snorted. "He left us when we needed him most."
"I do not blame him—we failed to liste
n to him when it was important."
"And what would you have done differently? Tell me that!" Redbird was angry.
"You know what should have been done differently." Corent was angry as well. Toff tiptoed away.
Chapter 3
Kifirin had come for dinner—a rare occurrence. Ry and Tory ignored that for the moment; Uncle Shadow had come and brought Sissy with him. Their mother was nearly in tears when she saw her daughter.
"It's okay, Mom, really," Sissy said, hugging her mother.
"Nissa, honey, your dad needs to bring you more often."
"You could come to Grey House," Shadow muttered. Queen Lissa turned sharply toward Uncle Shadow. "I'm just saying," Uncle Shadow had both hands up; whether in defense or resignation, Ry couldn't tell.
"And you know why I won't," Lissa snapped.
"Lissa, Dad and Grampa want to apologize. Really. But you cut them off every time." Uncle Shadow attempted to defend himself.
"I might have thought about it, until they took my Nissy away. At age six, no less." Ry gave Tory a look. They were going over this old ground. Again.
"Lissa," Uncle Shadow sighed and pulled a chair out at the long table in the family dining hall.
"I'll shut up, but I won't forget," Lissa said and pulled her chair out before anyone else could get to it.
"Uncle Roff's here," Tory whispered as he took his seat next to Ry at the table. When the Queen sat, everyone else could sit. Somebody was supposed to pull her chair out for her, though. She was angry and kept everyone from helping her. Roff had come in late, too—it looked as if he'd rushed through a shower to get to dinner on time. His hair looked slightly damp and his wings weren't held as snugly against his back as they normally were. Ry figured that Roff was letting them dry out before folding them tightly.
Ry and Tory were fascinated with Roff's wings. When he had them fully spread, they measured more than twelve feet across, wingtip to wingtip, and felt like the softest leather. Roff had let them touch when they were younger. They now knew that Roff was being patient with them—his wings were sensitive, though he often used them as a weapon when he sparred with someone on the practice grounds. Lissa remarked once that wings like Roff's, which resembled those of a bat, were the basis for the old myths. When Ry asked what myths, his mother had brushed off the question. Ry still didn't have an answer for that.
Blood Reunion Page 3
