“I didn’t think you noticed me,” she sniffed.
“I always notice you, Isiilde.” His gentle voice soothed her ears. He sat on his haunches, regarding her patiently. She accepted his proffered handkerchief, noting the lone M embroidered on its cloth before bringing it to her nose. She thought the single letter a bit odd, but could not summon enough curiosity to inquire, so she tucked it away with a muttered word of gratitude.
“I hate being a nymph.” The plaintive statement was tempered with conviction. When Marsais didn’t answer right away, she thought he must have blanked out, but when she sought out his eyes again, she found him studying her, a look of fondness softening his sharp features.
“I don’t like being a seer,” he confided. “But I am who I am. Just as you are Isiilde, a nymph. We have no say in the blood we are born to. So trust me when I say that there is little use in feeling sorry for ourselves.”
“I’m not feeling sorry for myself.” She swallowed back her tears. “I just—I thought Master Tulipin was at least tolerant of me, Marsais. I would rather be disliked for who I am; not what I am, because I cannot change it, no matter how I wish to.” Each hateful word had been like a stinging slap to her face, and the confrontation between Tulipin and Marsais had left her stomach in knots.
“If it makes any difference, I am largely disliked for both who, and what I am. Seers make dreadful guests at joyous celebrations,” Marsais admitted.
“Then those who dislike you are fools.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that, for I am vexing more often than not.”
“And I love you all the more for it.”
“Ah, love,” Marsais exclaimed with a smile. “A word so little spoken in this ill place. Your innocence brings light to the grimmest shadows.”
“You are the only one who thinks so, Marsais.”
“Because I see what others do not.”
“A red-eyed, big-eared, puffy-nosed nymph?”
“A rare and privileged sight to these ancient eyes of mine.”
“Only as ancient as the sun,” she said, returning his smile. “Your eyes are more alive than any I’ve seen.”
“A mirror of your soul and no more,” he replied.
This last compliment was too much for the nymph. She reached out to take his hand, but it disappeared beneath his long sleeve before she could grasp it. Her hand strayed to his robe instead, resting on the supple fabric that covered his wiry forearm. From this indirect contact, she received a small portion of the comfort she craved.
“But is what Master Tulipin said true? Am I an animal?” The truth wouldn’t be so bad coming from a friend.
“Far, far, from it. Compared to you, my dear, we are the animals.” He placed a covered hand over hers, encompassing her smaller hand completely.
“Then what am I that you cringe to touch?” Her voice was full of hurt. If he thought she hadn’t noticed his avoidance of her then he was sorely mistaken.
A warm smile curved his weathered lips. “You are a goddess who I have no right to touch,” he whispered like a prayer of the devout. Isiilde stared at him in wonder, confusion, and finally a delicate blush graced her unearthly skin.
“Hmm, perhaps we should get you in some sun, my dear, I think you’ll feel better.” This sounded like a fine suggestion, and as he helped her to her feet, she couldn’t help but wonder if he had been jesting. In the end, as she slipped her arm through his, she decided that if it was a jest, than it had been a lovely one.
Twenty-four
THE CRYSTAL AT the pinnacle of the Spine greedily gathered the sun’s light from the sky, savoring its treasure before hurling a beam of heat into the heart of the chamber. A pool of sunlight cascaded onto a gleaming white rug, caressing the nymph who lounged on top.
Bliss, pure and simple.
The sunlight would have felt divine against the nymph’s unclothed body, but she was in no mood to be left alone. So she made a concession, removing only her boots. Curling her toes, she stretched on the luxuriant rug with a sound that nearly resembled a purr.
From the moment they entered his study, she had been thoroughly entertained. Marsais became positively energized, rushing from one end of the room to the other, performing a number of urgent tasks. He wove a series of messages, sending the fluttering words off with a flick of his fingers to whisper in the recipient’s ears. Then he turned to the shelves, attacking them like a madman, climbing the high ladder and hopping down with his desired book. This, he repeated many times, until a pile of ancient tomes tottered on his desk, obscuring the gleaming wood beneath.
A number of times, Isiilde started to ask him what he was about, but she dared not interrupt the muttered conversation that he was having with himself. It sounded very serious.
A knock at the door interrupted Marsais’ scattered thoughts, heralding Isek’s arrival. He walked through the threshold performing an impressive balancing act with an armful of scrolls and books.
“As requested Arch—” the balding Wise One trailed off in mid-sentence, missing the desk and dropping half the scrolls onto the floor. His gaze was fixed upon the nymph.
“Hello, Isek,” Isiilde greeted. He looked rather comical with his mouth hanging open. Marsais looked up in surprise, eyes darting from Isek to the shimmering dream who lounged in his study, and then back to his assistant.
“Thank you.” Marsais stepped in front of Isek’s line of sight, blocking the nymph from view. “Are you quite done?” he inquired with a severe arch of his brow. Isek blinked rapidly, and then shook himself, clearing his throat hoarsely before speaking.
“Did you have any more requests for me?”
“Tell me, hmm, has Tharios traveled recently?”
“He’s always coming and going,” Isek replied, weaving a Kilnish crown between his fingers.
“I need to know where he has traveled in the past year—no matter how inconsequential it may seem.”
“Should be easy enough. Tharios has his own ship and crew.”
“Splendid!” Marsais exclaimed. “While you’re wheedling information out of his crew you have my permission to get soused, as long as you bring something back for me.”
“I’ll do my best,” Isek said, and tilted to the side, stealing one last peek at the nymph. “And Marsais?”
“Hmm.”
“I don’t know how you do it, old friend.” Marsais did not reply and Isek said no more. When he left, Isiilde rested her hands on her chin (which still hurt), and stared at the closed door in puzzlement.
“What did he mean by that?”
“By what, my dear?” Marsais asked absentmindedly, as he studied one of the newly delivered manuscripts.
“By what he just said.” Her master gestured toward the disorder on his desk.
“Perhaps he was referring to this mess I’ve gotten myself into.”
“What exactly have you gotten yourself into?” Isiilde did not believe him for a moment, but curiosity won out and she rose, grabbing a handful of strawberries before joining him at his desk.
“Hmm, weren’t you listening in the throne room?”
“Yes, but I don’t understand. If you already know what Tharios wants, then what are you looking for?” She poked at a few scrolls, noting that they were dated maps of long forgotten borders and kingdoms.
Marsais beamed. “Right to the point. Have I ever told you what a sharp mind you have?” Many times, but she never tired of hearing it. “To put it simply, I bluffed and he took my bait,” he explained, excitedly.
“So—” She thought back to the last exchange of words between the two and her master’s interest in Tharios’ recent whereabouts. “—you suspected that he was searching for something, but you don’t know what he wants, and now you know he’s already found it.”
Marsais’ grin told her she was on the right track.
“But if he’s found it then why does he desire it?” She bit into one of the berries, sucking the sweetness from it while she puzzled through this stran
ge conundrum.
“The gap between knowledge and possession can be infinite.” A thin finger swept up, emphasizing his next point. “To use an example: a man might see a woman and desire that woman, but it certainly doesn’t mean he possesses her.”
The nymph chewed thoughtfully on what was left of the succulent berry. “But Marsais, can a man really possess a woman without ruining her? I should think, though I am no expert, when a person desires someone or something, it ends up possessing them.”
“Excellent!” His eyes twinkled down at her. “Therein lies the cycle of power that I spoke of in the throne room, which you, my dear, have grasped what Tharios could not. And they wonder why I made you my apprentice,” he muttered.
“Would you like a strawberry?” she offered, trying to hide the blush that crept up her ears.
Grey eyes flickered to the bright red fruit, narrowing on the innocent berry as if it were poison. “You’ve been to the kitchens again,” he stated, tersely. Isiilde froze, unsure what to make of this drastic mood change. Her smile faded.
“Am I not allowed to eat?”
“My dear—” A long exhalation shuddered through his body and he briefly closed his eyes. She had rarely seen him so affected. When he recovered, he thanked her, and took the offered strawberry, balancing the near perfect specimen on his fingertips. She waited beside him as he studied the berry with sharp eyes.
“Do you trust me?” he asked at length, transferring his gaze on her. Isiilde thought this an odd question, but she answered it without remark.
“You’re the only one who I trust, except for Oen, but that’s obvious.”
“If I ask you to do something for me, will you do it without question?” She thought this request even odder, but nodded all the same. “Please don’t go to any of the kitchens. Swear to me you won’t go near them.”
Isiilde tilted her head. “Can I ask one question that doesn’t involve specifics?”
“Hmm.”
“If I can’t go to the kitchens, then how will I eat? Starving doesn’t seem like a good way to die.”
His countenance softened with amusement. “I dare not inquire as to what you consider a good way to die, however, I assure you that you need not fear starvation. A platter fit for a queen will be delivered to your door, morning, midday, and eve. I will personally see to it—if you keep up your end of the bargain.”
“You would do that for me?”
“There is very little in this realm that I would not do for you, Isiilde. But first, swear to me that you won’t set foot in the kitchens again.”
“I swear it, Marsais,” she said with all the conviction she possessed. He studied her for a few moments before nodding in satisfaction and turned back to his books, forgetting the nymph entirely.
Isiilde watched his muttering lips and darting eyes for a time, puzzling over his strange behavior. When he began scouring the dusty tomes, she returned to her rug, sprawling on the warm pelt.
Marsais rarely requested anything of her, which was puzzling, because he was her master, and she the apprentice. The other Wise Ones were taskmasters who generally trained an apprentice in exchange for their servitude. The work was grueling, or at the very least, tedious. Whereas Marsais rarely gave her tasks, and when he did, they were always intriguing. Upon further thought, she decided that he focused on whatever happened to spark her interest, such as the binding rune. So why was he worried about the kitchens, of all places? An answer came when her eyes fell on the remains of her half eaten lunch.
“Marsais?”
“Hmm.”
“Is it because of Stievin?” After eavesdropping in the throne room, she had forgotten all about her uncomfortable encounter with the cook.
“I thought we agreed on no questions,” he mumbled from the depths of his book.
“I’m confused,” she explained. “Oen forbid me to visit Coyle, and you have just forbid me to go to the kitchens—where Stievin is.”
“I’ve asked you not to go to any of the kitchens,” he said. She wrinkled her nose and rolled onto her stomach.
“Well, since you didn’t want me to ask any questions, I’m assuming you just said that so I wouldn’t get suspicious. Did Oen put you up to this?”
“No.” He tore his gaze from his book to regard her over the mess of his desk. “You’ve far exceeded your allotment of questions.”
“But I’m confused, Marsais.” As if that were reason enough for anything. “Coyle and Stievin both seem very friendly and are respected by others. Are they not good men?”
At her question, Marsais sighed wearily, and after a moment, stood up, walking around his desk to perch on the edge. Beneath his thoughtful eyes, a surge of warmth flooded through her and she rubbed her feet together, sucking on another strawberry while she waited for him to answer. Unfortunately, another distraction found him. His head suddenly snapped to the side, eyes narrowing on an empty spot half-way between desk and bookshelves.
“I don’t have the time,” he said, sharply. “I’m sure it’s important.” Marsais frowned at the empty spot, as if listening to the other half of a conversation. As the silence deepened, his brows began to sink, forming a sinister V. Isiilde looked from the empty spot and then back to her master.
“Look it up you fool!” he finally snapped in exasperation.
The nymph’s mouth dropped open and a chunk of strawberry fell onto the snowy carpet. Marsais gave a dismissive wave, looking around the room with confusion. He appeared lost. Eventually, his gaze settled on the dumbfounded nymph, and he brightened.
“O, hello, my dear.”
“Who was that?” she asked, slowly.
“Who was who?”
“You were just talking to someone.” She pointed to the empty spot.
“I was?”
“I think.”
“Perhaps it was you?”
“I hope not!” Her eyes widened.
“Oh.” He scratched at the scar that she now knew lay beneath his robes. “Well, what were we talking about?”
“Stievin and Coyle.”
“O, yes, of course,” Marsais murmured, glancing around the room as if seeing it for the first time. He scrutinized her for a moment, appeared relieved, and then continued, “Ordinarily Stievin and that young swordsmith would be good men, but where you’re concerned—it would be best not to trust any man, save Oenghus.” Her ears wilted at this.
“So Tulipin was right. Nymphs are a temptation who destroy good men?”
“In all fairness, most men find the majority of women tempting. Look no further than Oenghus for proof of that, however, to be honest, his words were not without merit,” he admitted, and pushed himself off the desk to pace a worn path across his study. “Remember what I told you on our way home from the pleasure house?” She nodded, but had a difficult time believing that she could drive a man insane with a single touch. “You see, nymphs are enticing by nature, my dear. They can’t help being what they are, no more than a bird can keep from flying.”
“I don’t feel enticing,” she said, licking the strawberry’s juice from her fingertips.
Marsais cleared his throat, loudly. “Nymphs are eternally innocent by nature. That’s why the Druids were commanded to watch over them. I told you earlier that you had entered what is known as an Awakening. If you had been alive before the Shattering then you would have chosen a Druid the day you came of age. It was a special time for a nymph. Not a terrifying one as you experienced.”
“I would have bonded with a man?” Isiilde knew about a nymph’s Bond, but since she had never been with a man, she had no idea what to expect. Oenghus had told her once that the man and nymph merged; their spirits became one, but he was the only one who spoke of it in such a way. Everyone else whispered of the unimaginable pleasures that the nymph bestowed on the man, making no mention of the nymph.
“Not in the way most people think. Their spirits would have merged first. You see, the Druids possessed knowledge that allowed them to bond with a n
ymph while leaving her untouched. His purpose was to make the nymph feel secure and keep her safe from other men. For men begin to take note of an Awakened nymph and it’s a very dangerous time for her. A bonded nymph is not near as potent as one who is not.”
“You mean they didn’t—they weren’t intimate?” She tilted her head in puzzlement.
“Not until her blood began to stir.”
“What does that mean?”
“Do you remember when the mare across from your cottage was in heat?” They always knew because Carrothead started tearing the fences down to get at her, and once, when he did, the stallion had nearly killed the mare.
“Well, that’s a close approximation to a man and a nymph,” he said, bluntly. Isiilde gave a fearful squeak. “If she wasn’t alluring enough after her Awakening, she becomes unbearably intoxicating. Men forget themselves around her. This was another reason why the Druids were needed. Nymphs had someone to turn to whom they trusted and were helped through this—overpowering time. It is not easy for the nymph either.”
“Is that what’s happening to me?” she whispered, fearfully. “Is that why I feel so different? I don’t know what happened with my fire, I swear. It just—it felt—” Just thinking of what she had done with the coin and her fire made her skin tingle and her heart flutter. “I’ve never felt like that before,” she admitted, and then a sudden thought came to her. She had felt it before, in the pleasure house when she touched Marsais.
“It’s part of what’s happening to you, but to be honest, my dear, I’ve never heard of a nymph with such an affinity with fire. There could be more going on, but regardless, without a Druid as your guide your Awakening won’t get any easier. I can’t stress how cautious you must be.” Marsais was not reassuring her in the least.
“How long does an Awakening last?”
“Until a nymph matures,” he sighed, settling down in front of his desk again.
“Which is?”
“When does a nymph do anything, my dear?” His eyes twinkled with mirth before answering his own question. “When she feels like it.”
A Thread in the Tangle Page 27
