As Lyssanne reached for another log with trembling hands, Serena fluttered over and perched atop the mantelpiece. Aderyn let out a squeal so sudden, Lyssanne dropped the log.
“You let that bird inside?” Aderyn said. “Feeding her on your sill is one thing, but is this not unhealthful?”
Lyssanne braced a hand against the mantelpiece and smiled up at the dove. “Serena never leaves a mess indoors. She pecks at the window frame when she needs to go out.” She turned back to the fallen log. “I think she must have been trained, but no one has claimed ownership.”
“Let me finish here,” Aderyn said, joining her at the hearth. “You’ve gone pale. Go, enjoy your dinner.”
“If you’re certain…”
Hefting the log, Aderyn chuckled. “Do you know how long I’ve wished to test this marvelous device your father invented? You’ll be granting me a boon.”
Lyssanne handed Aderyn her mitt and wiped moisture from her brow before returning to her dining table. She wrapped a meat pie in a cloth and carried it to her settee.
When the dove flew to the end table beside Lyssanne, Aderyn asked. “Why call her Serena?”
Lyssanne swallowed the bite she’d just taken. “It was the name of a relative Mother once mentioned, I think. A grandmother or aunt or…” She shrugged. “It just seemed to suit her.”
“This is ingenious!” Aderyn said, a thump punctuating her words. “The basket’s arm positions the wood into just the right spot. And that curved rack! How many times have I fought logs back into our fireplace when they shifted and fell? Your father must have been brilliant.”
Lyssanne paused with a morsel halfway to her lips. “Mother called him an artist with metalwork. He invented this while they awaited my birth, so she wouldn't have so far to bend.” She grinned. “I daresay he’d be stunned to learn how it has aided me.”
“Such a thoughtful husband,” Aderyn said, straightening, “as Kevan is sure to be.” She dropped the mitt and rushed across the room, words flying from her almost too fast to comprehend. “He and I are to marry! Father has given his consent. Kevan had such success with the merchant this summer. The man simply adored his wood carvings!”
Lyssanne arose and embraced her. “That’s wonderful! When?”
“Next month. We want you to stand with us, as my Pillar of the Marriage.”
“Oh, Aderyn!” Lyssanne pulled away. “I would be honored, of course. Only…I’ve not had strength to walk into town for months. I don’t know if I can even hold the ceremonial pole aloft long enough for the hand-fasting ritual to—”
“We’ve worked it all out.” Not to be denied, Aderyn rushed on. “Kevan’s eldest brother has agreed to let us use his gentlest plow horse. He’s to stand with Kevan, you know. He’ll carry you…the horse, I mean…to the village. You can rest at my house—Father’s house.” She giggled. “I shan’t call Father’s place mine for long. Kevan used all his earnings to commission a fine little cottage for us.” She grasped Lyssanne’s hands. “Sure and it’ll be just like when we were girls! You’ll stay with me the night before and….Oh, Lyss, you simply must be there!”
“Very well,” Lyssanne said, laughing. “If Kevan’s brother has to tie me to that horse and pull me the entire way, I shall be there.”
Aderyn bounced like bubbles on the surface of boiling flyl. “Can a heart burst from joy?”
A bolt of pain struck just behind Lyssanne’s ear. She forced a smile for Aderyn’s sake, pressing her fingers to the side of her head.
“Are you unwell?” Aderyn asked. “Do you need to lie down?”
“No. It always does this.” Lyssanne closed her eyes as more lightning bolts streaked through her temple.
“Let me see.” Aderyn leaned close. “You know, I think your head is swollen right there.” She moved Lyssanne’s hair aside. “It even feels a bit spongy. What makes it do that?”
“Mistress Evlia has no explanation.” Lyssanne sank back onto her settee. “She says these ridges—the ones that often rise when the fast pains strike—carry blood across the surface of my skull. She says they shouldn’t be so hard or so enlarged, though.”
What would happen if one of those fragile blood-carriers grew too large? Might it break? If it did, would she die? Lyssanne refrained from voicing such thoughts.
“A cool cloth might help.” Aderyn scurried off to Lyssanne’s kitchen alcove.
That would do little good, but Lyssanne held her silence. During her mother’s final months, she’d had far too much experience with the helplessness of watching a loved one endure pain. “You could distract me,” she said over the sloshing from the kitchen. “Have a meat pie and tell me of your plans for the wedding.”
“I’ve eaten,” Aderyn said. She returned with the cloth but hesitated before handing it to Lyssanne. “I must confess, there is another reason for my visit.”
Lyssanne closed her eyes and pressed the damp rag to her temple. “More happy news?”
“I fear not.” Aderyn sat at the other end of the settee. “I was helping Mother serve the Council refreshment yestereve and heard a bit of their meeting. Not a-purpose, you understand, but…well, they were discussing you.”
Lyssanne lowered the cloth. “Me?”
Aderyn leaned closer. “They raised concerns about, well, you no longer taking charge of the children. They didn’t sound pleased, Lyss.”
Lyssanne’s stomach lurched. ”I’ve tried. Surely they realize this? Your father, at least—”
“All I know is, it sounded most serious, and not at all good.”
“What would they have me do?” Lyssanne fought to keep her voice level. “When I attempted teaching on my own, I grew so weak, Niklette had to return. Despite her aid and Jarad’s, I could hardly stand, let alone walk to my cottage. I caught a fierce chill that night and was confined to bed for an entire week.”
“That was before harvest. I thought your pain had lessened since then.”
Lyssanne shook her head. “Only at times. Just last Kingsday, I was near certain another head was trying to grow through the back of my skull. So strong was the pain-induced fog shrouding my mind, the cottage could have caught fire, and i wouldn’t have noticed until the flames licked at my toes. I couldn’t rise for days.”
“Oh, Lyss, I had no idea ’twas still so awful.”
Lyssanne sighed. “Some days, I feel as if I’ve become pain. It has swallowed me whole and is my only sign that I still live. Too often, I can only lie in bed, entombed in torture, wishing for oblivion.” She shrugged. “Yet, as you said, it is no longer constant. For that, I am thankful.”
“Perhaps…if Niklette stayed on and assisted you? She could take over when—”
“The Council would never agree to spare two people for a task one alone could perform.” Lyssanne cleared her throat. “Besides, we tried that, each taking charge of a small group of children. I can share tales well enough, but to engage the children in a new or difficult task? ’Tis too taxing.” She lifted her pie but merely stared at it. “Then, there is the preparation for lessons. Reading even short passages exhausts me. That is, when I can read at all. And that’s not to mention the torture so many excited voices bring.”
Aderyn cleared her throat. “’Tis just, some people worry that you’ve, I don’t know…” She fidgeted with a lock of hair. “Given up.”
Lyssanne’s breath hitched, and she had to force words out. “Is that what you think?”
“Well,” Aderyn said, “it’s not like you.” She twisted her hair around her fingers. “You never quit anything once you’ve started. I just worry for you. One of the councilmen mentioned the…invalids’ home.”
Lyssanne gasped. “Live with the elderly who lack family? They think me so useless I’d require that?” She went cold. “Lose the cottage? No, worse. I…I’ve not stored up enough credit in service to warrant a private room. I’d have no more than a straw pallet in the common area.”
“Nothing’s decided,” Aderyn said. “I shouldn’t hav
e mentioned it. ’Twas only one man’s random notion. The others gave it little thought.” She squirmed as if she sat upon a stone instead of cushioned cloth. “We just need a way to get you back to teaching.”
Lyssanne stared at the pastry in her hand as if it were an odd creature in one of Mr. DeLivre’s books. “Tell me, what does one do when their greatest joys become the source of greatest pain?”
Aderyn’s silence suffocated the air in the cottage.
Lyssanne turned toward the mantelpiece above her fireplace, where her father’s iron sculptures cast eerie shadows akin to those in her persistent dreams. Was it this the nightmares had foretold? All this talk of her attempts at teaching brought to mind a shadow more disturbing even than those that stalked her slumber. A sight she’d spoken of to no one, not even Serena.
“What's amiss?” Aderyn asked in a subdued tone. “That haunted look results from more than illness.”
“’Tis nothing,” Lyssanne murmured. “The memory of unpleasant dreams.”
“You’ve never given credence to such fancies.” Aderyn snagged her hand. “If you’re concerned about what I said—”
“I’ve seen something,” Lyssanne said before she could prevent herself. She drew a slow breath and told Aderyn of the dark mist that had surrounded Jarad when she’d attempted teaching. “It seemed to incite his anger, or perchance the reverse. It thickened as his ire grew.”
Aderyn gasped. “Like sorcery? Here? Have you told anyone? The council, or elders?”
Lyssanne set her uneaten pastry crust before Serena. “No. It may be nothing.”
“I don’t know.” Aderyn folded her legs beneath her and turned to face Lyssanne fully. “As I said, you're not one to jump at shadows. Who do you think caused it?”
“Aderyn, I'm not even sure it is sorcery. Magic hasn't tainted this valley in over a century.”
Aderyn leaned forward. “Yes, but if this is like the Noble Oppressors…we must not keep silent. The council—”
“Will, I daresay, think it an excuse for my idleness, or worse, that I've gone mad.”
“Nonsense,” Aderyn said. “Father will need to root out the cause and—”
“No!” Lyssanne struggled to slow her racing heart as ice coursed through her. “They may accuse Jarad or one of the other children. No one else was there. Aderyn, we mustn't say anything.” She fixed her gaze on her friend’s face, struggling as best she could to stare into her eyes. “Promise me.”
“Very well. You have my word.” Aderyn slumped against the settee’s cushioned back. “You doubtless have it aright. Could be just the illness causing your vision to blur.”
Lyssanne’s every muscle released its stranglehold. “Let us turn our thoughts to happier things,” she said. “Your wedding and, perchance, a new, useful employment for me.”
3
The Phantom Foe
Summer, year 1122 After the Dawning
A maelstrom of sound, scent, and color assailed Lyssanne’s senses as she crossed Market Square. Chatting townspeople wafted through the fragrances of spicy sauces, perfumed candles, and fresh-baked bread. Up the street, two men’s voices boomed, debating the price of a saddle. Lyssanne tried to ignore the noise as she made her way toward the scribe’s shop.
Despite her weariness after another failed attempt at a new trade, she needed a bit of cheer. Brooding alone in her cottage would gain her nothing but an energy-stealing melancholy she could ill afford.
As she forced one footfall to follow another, wagons creaked, horses neighed, and people whirled by in a kaleidoscope of color. The chaos of Marketday would have overwhelmed her, had she not visited this square a thousand times or known the exact location of each stall. Even now, her feet carried her without need of thought toward the doorway at the corner.
Just inside, she paused, letting her eyes adjust to the scant light from the shop’s two small windows, which peeked like heavy-lashed eyes through the bookshelves lining the walls
“Mr. DeLivre?” she said, placing her basket on the nearby table. “Are you here?”
She scanned the rows of shelves that marched down the left side of the room. Squinting, she peered into the lantern light dotting the ceiling, toward the back wall. Nothing stirred behind the scribe’s massive desk.
Something shuffled amid the shelves, followed by a muffled, “Fii. Over here!”
Lyssanne hurried toward the sound, the scribe’s series of Lyryan exclamations hastening her pace. She rounded the next shelf and froze, gaping.
On the floor lay a haphazard mound of books—and poking up from it, a head, white hair sticking out in every direction.
She rushed to remove books from the trapped man. “Are you injured? What happened?”
“Oh, those dreadful old books!” Mr. DeLivre said, pushing aside several volumes. “I should take them out more often. One was stuck, you see—and when I pulled, the whole bunch came crashing down on my head.”
She helped him to his feet, and they began re-shelving the offending volumes. “You’re certain you are unharmed?” she asked, handing him a stack. “You only lapse into your native language when things are dire.”
He chuckled. “Dire? No, a knock on the head is good for us once in a while.” He stared at a slim book. “Keeps us on our toes. Besides, I think I just found the one story I’ve never shared with you.”
Laughing, Lyssanne bent to gather up more books. Pain pressed against her brow as if her head were a jug tipped onto its side, all its contents sloshing into its weakest spot. Fighting a wave of dizziness, she braced a hand against the bookshelf.
“Oh, Shirii, you are unwell,” said Mr. DeLivre. “Leave those. Come, you must rest.” He grasped her arm in wrinkled but strong fingers and pulled her toward the table.
Lyssanne’s chest tightened. “You are too kind to me. How can you still address me as beloved daughter when I’ve become so useless?”
“Useless? Bah! Is that why you’re here so early? Your work with Madam Sewell was unsuccessful?”
Slumping into a chair, she struggled to steady her breathing. “My future…as a weaver…is about as promising as my prospects as a candle-maker.” She closed her eyes. “I tried to finish some of her work while she readied the shop for market. How all those threads got tangled in the spinning wheel, I cannot fathom.”
Mr. DeLivre uttered a little squeak as if stifling a laugh. “Perhaps you’d fare better at the loom?”
She started to shake her head, but thought better of it. “I attempted that yesterday, worked for hours to produce a tiny square of cloth. It looked fair enough in my sight, but some threads were too tight, others too loose. With practice, I’m certain my hands would learn to detect what my eyes cannot, but Madam Sewell hasn’t the time to waste on such.”
“Humph. Just means a better apprenticeship awaits you.”
“Where?” Lyssanne asked. “I’ve attempted every trade and craft anyone will permit me to try. My supplies are all but depleted, and I’m running out of things to trade for food.”
“You will adapt, as always. If an old ink-wielder like me could adjust to life here, you’ll find a way.” He stared beyond her as if gazing into the past. “Imagine my surprise when I first arrived, a bag of coins in my fist and nowhere to spend them! Still baffles me, this trading goods for labors and labors for goods. Would’ve left straightaway, had those poor people not been so desperate in need of someone to read royal proclamations and keep the traveling merchants and tax officials honest.”
“I am glad you stayed,” she said. “If not for you, who would have taught me to read?”
“Your mother.”
“Only in Starransi. She didn’t know Lyryan or the bits of other languages you taught me.”
“Well, speaking of mothers, Madam Blythe could certainly use a hand with that new infant. Her seventh, isn’t he? Have you thought of assisting her?”
Lyssanne nodded. “I watched him for her a fortnight ago. His cries so wearied me; my arms grew weak and shaky
. I feared I might drop him, so I lay with him on the floor. Then, exhaustion dragged me into slumber while he was awake.” She ducked her head. “I even sat up trying to prevent it, but couldn’t.”
Mr. DeLivre gasped.
Lyssanne looked up, her eyes stinging. “What if something had befallen him on my watch? I couldn’t have born it!” She turned away. “I dared not tell his mother.”
“Certainly not. Madam Blythe is a nervous woman in the best of circumstances.”
“What am I to do?” Her voice quavered. “How can I be useful to the village in such a state? The Council is already vexed with me. If I don’t find suitable work soon…”
“They are good men, the Council,” he said, “but I shall never understand this obsession with usefulness. Who is to judge what is useful?”
She glanced about the shop and lowered her voice, though no one had entered since her arrival. “I have wondered, at times, whether the King of All Lands truly approves of such a law. It seems contrary to all I know of His nature.” She sighed. “But the Council is far wiser than I.”
“Debatable,” he said. “Has Evlia any notion what is causing your weakness?”
“No.” Lyssanne’s voice thickened. “She’s plied her healing arts to no avail. My home is in constant disarray. My flowers are choking with weeds, I can make only the most basic meals, and to do laundry depletes all my energy for two days. I can’t even brew flyl anymore. I haven’t the strength to grind the honcin.”
“Now, that is a shame,” he said. “Your flyl is the best I’ve ever tasted.”
“’Tis as if something inside me has broken, and I know not how to piece it together.” Her throat constricted. “My mind and spirit cry out to stretch their wings and soar. I ache to run with the children, to fulfill the tasks, the adventures, my mind continues to conceive, but…”
Keeper of Shadows (Light-Wielder Chronicles Book 1) Page 4
