Hush

by Dylan Farrow

  “I’ve decided to try a different approach today,” Kennan says without preamble, as I’ve come to expect from her. “Come with me.”

  She scarcely breaks stride, immediately leading me off the training grounds, back toward the main entrance to the Bards’ Wing. This time, she leads me past the usual spaces to a large gate at the back that enters into a dark tunnel.

  A gust of frigid wind is channeled through the stone, and I shiver. Only dim torch fire lights the path, making it difficult to keep my footing on the uneven ground. After a few dizzying twists and turns, Kennan stops by a second gate and swings it open.

  I step down a small flight of narrow stairs. We’ve been deposited into a corridor cut from the stone behind the southern waterfall that ends in a terrifying precipice. The waterfall is a giant curtain wreathed in white mist, blocking the tunnel off. Torches don’t work here because of the vapor in the air. Instead, the space is lit with small, luminescent stones set in a snake scale–like pattern on the walls. Each one is the same pale amber of Kennan’s eyes, making me feel like there are dozens of her judging me instead of only one.

  “This place is beautiful,” I breathe.

  “I’m glad you think so,” Kennan says. “If today is anything like the rest of this interminable week, we’re going to be here a good long while.”

  I don’t want to admit it, but she’s probably right.

  “You’re not going to ask me to jump off the cliff, right?” I ask hesitantly.

  “Your task is simple.” She nods to the waterfall. “Part the water.”

  “What?” I ask, turning to the enormous wall of crashing water. “I thought all the tasks were extensions of my natural abilities. You said Telling is magnifying what we already know we can do. But making water separate? That’s…” Impossible, I want to say. But Kennan caused the ground to tremble and part. That, too, was impossible. Still, what she’s asking—that should be expert Bard-level Telling, not something for a trainee like me.

  Kennan sighs, as if reading my mind. “Water already has the desire to flow, but it also has the ability to take whatever shape you give it, unlike air, which drifts away, or earth, which is naturally shy and resists change. Telling is the act of altering what the world around you is capable of. Water is the easiest element to command.” She says these things like they are common facts, as simple as the sky being blue. “Even the lowliest of Bards are able to master this.” She leans against the side of the cavern wall. “Luckily, you have severely lowered my expectations.” She pauses. “Put yourself inside the water.”

  I walk nervously to the edge. Does she want me to dive into the waterfall? The current looks deadly, and I don’t even know how to swim …

  I turn back toward her, abject terror probably obvious on my face, because she laughs. “No, not your body. Put your mind inside the water. Feel what it feels. Urge it to part. Urge it to do what it already wants to do—to make space. To conform to your touch.”

  As Kennan is explaining, her face transforms. Gone is her usual sternness, and in its place is something else, something that almost resembles softness, as if she were talking about an old friend, instead of a waterfall. But it soon passes and she’s back to scowling.

  I scowl back, first at Kennan and then the waterfall, but both ignore me. Finally, I take a deep breath.

  If the lowliest Bard can do this, how hard can it be?

  * * *

  Time elapses strangely when exhaustion takes hold.

  Kennan settles into a nook in the cave when I continually fail to part the water. The simple act of trying to finish a thought feels like I have to drag it up to the surface of a murky bog. Most of the time, it slips and falls back to the bottom, lost in a haze of dark water.

  “Again.”

  Her voice is like nails being driven into the base of my skull; I’m too exhausted to think.

  “I’m talking to you, peasant.” Kennan draws herself to her full, considerable height. Her lip curls in a snarl that tugs upward. “Again.”

  “You say water is so impressionable.” My voice is a whisper as I clutch my pounding head. It echoes with the pulse of the water, a solid beat that I have no power to control. “But just because something is fluid, does not make it obedient.”

  “Is that so?” Curiosity blooms in Kennan’s expression. She maintains her scowl and folded arms, but I see her knuckles relax. “Challenging my expertise are you, peasant? Do your ten minutes of experience give you a wealth of knowledge I’m somehow not privy to?”

  “Of course not.” I grit my teeth to keep the pounding from overcoming me. “I just…” What if I’ve been looking at it all wrong? I stare at the rush of falling water, feel its power as it races away from me. Images of Aster flash through my mind: the swell of people clamoring and climbing over one another at the Bards’ arrival. Drawn to the graceful force with which their bodies move, closer and closer to the dream of escape.

  “If I cannot force the water to change course…” I murmur. My fingers grip the needles hidden in my pocket. On the edges of the corridor is a loose segment of large rock, barely hanging against the thud of water running over it. I tap, tap, tap the needle, the pounding in my head matching the pounding of the water as I twist the idea into words. “What if there was incentive for it to move?” I walk closer until I am directly under the rock and let my fingers skim the sting of water. I imagine the great crack of thunder, the life-bringing rain the Bards brought to Aster, changing the entire focus and flow of the crowds as they stopped to look up and witness it.

  Kennan gasps, and the next thing I feel is the biting squeeze of her nails clawing into the soft flesh of my neck, jerking me back. I scream as I stagger and fall to my knees.

  But the crack of thunder is loud above me. It continues to grow as the segment of rock I was standing under crashes down into the exact spot where I’d been standing, obstructing the water’s original path.

  I gape in terror as I scramble away and the water rolls down both sides of the rock, changing its course, splashing over my feet.

  I did it.

  At least, I think.

  “Are you trying to kill yourself?” Kennan’s enraged face breaks my trance. Her cheeks are inflamed, and she’s wiping something from her hands. Is that my blood? “You stupid, reckless—”

  “But I did it.” I make no move to get up from the wet ground. Instead, I relish it, allowing the cool water to soothe the pain in my temples. A laugh emerges as I continue to look up at the gaping hole the rock left. “I … I did it!”

  “Almost killing yourself in the process.” The rage in her voice startles me. “You must learn to control yourself. If you can’t control yourself, you can’t hope to control anything else.” She points to the waterfall. “The objective was not to cause a collapse of the corridor. It was to focus on the water.”

  “Well, doing it your way wasn’t working.” I hold her gaze and stand, feeling brave. Within Kennan’s rage is something else, something akin to fear. I dig into it. “Perhaps a new way of thinking is needed around here.”

  In a breath, Kennan is on me, her clawlike fingers reaching for me, ready to tear out my traitorous tongue. I flinch, readying myself for her reprisal.

  The sound of deliberate clapping breaks through our tension and forces Kennan to freeze, her hands centimeters from my neck.

  Someone is … applauding?

  A figure steps out from the shadows of the cavern.

  Cathal.

  “Bravo, Shae.” He smiles at me. “I am suitably impressed.”

  Kennan silently curls in on herself as she retracts her hands and bows. Cathal acknowledges her with a scowl. I slump to my knees, too fatigued to stand upright.

  Cathal appraises the scene in front of us. His elegant clothes and sharp eyes shimmer in the light.

  “I thank you, Kennan, for your time,” he says, “but I believe your services are no longer required.”

  Kennan moves to argue, but Cathal takes a step forward, hi
s attention fully on me. “Now, if you would be so kind, I would like to have a word with my newest Bard in private.”

  17

  He knows. He knows I snuck into Niall’s quarters.

  And he heard I’m failing my Bard training. He realizes this has been a terrible mistake. He finally sees the truth—I’m not gifted, but cursed—and I’m going to pay for it. I’ll be thrown out, or made an example of.

  He’ll reconsider having me executed.

  I can’t stop shaking. I rub my arms, trying to keep calm as I follow Cathal. The castle seems busier the farther we walk, with servants and guards rushing to and fro. They all glance nervously at Cathal as he passes, as though worried he’s there to assess their work. Clearly, I am not the only one on edge.

  Cathal only slows his stride when a chamberlain falls in step with us, wringing his hands as he speaks. From a few steps behind, I can hear their conversation, but that doesn’t seem to bother Cathal. His calm demeanor doesn’t falter even for a moment, as usual.

  “It’s simply dreadful, Lordship.” The chamberlain is nearly frantic. “In all my years, I’ve never seen a gallery so dusty!”

  “I am sure it is an absolute tragedy. I am more interested in our security issue, however,” Cathal replies. “The report I was given mentioned our guards would be insufficient.”

  “For retinues as large as Ambassador Richter’s and the archbishop’s, yes,” the chamberlain replies, growing more flustered, if even possible. “We simply do not have enough security present for a fête of this size!”

  “Requisition forces from outside,” Cathal states. “The usual candidates ought to suffice.”

  The chamberlain bows with a dramatic flourish before departing. Cathal glances over his shoulder at me with his customary disarming smile.

  “The trials and tribulations of throwing a ball for foreign dignitaries.” He chuckles. For a moment, I forget the possibility that I’m in huge trouble.

  We arrive at our destination far too quickly, and my apprehension from before crashes over me in a wave. High House has a way of expanding and contracting, or maybe my nervousness is making time rush forward. Well before I’m ready, a massive door is opening in front of us.

  “Please make yourself comfortable.” Cathal gestures with a flourish as I step inside a different sitting room than last time. The ceiling is an intricate glass dome that seems to beckon golden sunlight into the room. Elegant hothouse orchids, strategically placed around chaise longues, complete the illusion that we’re sitting outdoors.

  My eyes dart around, attempting to figure out where we are while trying not to be distracted by the splendor.

  “Thank you.” I bite my lip slightly and gratefully sink onto one of the cushions. It’s so soft, I want to melt into it. The clouds have assumed a pink hue through the dome above. I must have been trying to part the waterfall the entire day.

  “First things first,” he says. “I have a very important question for you, Shae, if you will indulge me.” Cathal gracefully seats himself across from me, a serious look in his eyes. I stiffen, bracing myself for the inevitable. You are a disappointment, Shae. A fake. “Do you like olives?” he asks. There’s a tiny smile playing at his lips.

  I am so startled, I’m pretty certain my jaw nearly falls off its hinges. “I’m not sure I’ve had any,” I reply awkwardly.

  “We will have to change that,” he says. I shiver slightly, unsure how to feel right now. Am I in trouble or not? “Do you have a favorite food? I can have it sent for. You must be hungry.”

  “Famished,” I correct him with a slight grimace, which broadens his smile.

  “Do not be shy asking for anything you want. It is my honor to provide it,” Cathal says. “Duck, perhaps? Moose cheese? Both?”

  “Both?”

  “Both it is.” He claps his hands twice and another servant hiding nearby scurries away. He grins boyishly at me. “I know you are humoring me, Shae. I appreciate it.”

  “Well, now I’m curious about this moose cheese,” I admit.

  “Curiosity and a sense of humor?” Cathal laughs. “Rare traits in a Bard. Hang on to those.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. Ravod said the opposite. I bite my tongue to keep from asking why. Ravod also told me to be careful around Cathal, but I’m beginning to wonder about that too. Cathal’s company is the most reassuring in this whole place.

  “My lord, why did you ask me here?” I blurt out. I don’t know if I mean right this minute, or the bigger question of why he put his faith in me at all, thinking I, of all people, could be a Bard.

  A servant appears with a tray heaped with smooth brown almonds, shiny olives, moist cheeses, colorful fruit, and all sorts of delicacies I’ve never eaten. He bows as he places the tray before us and then leaves.

  “Something concerning has come to my attention,” Cathal says, and I swallow nervously. I long to devour the food, but my throat is constricting with fear. “I have been closely observing your performance. I am—to put it mildly—displeased.”

  I’m suddenly so ill at ease, I fear I am going to burst out sobbing. “I … I’m sorry,” I muster.

  “What? Do not be sorry. I am not displeased with you. What displeases me is the manner in which Kennan has been conducting your tests.”

  “My tests? How so?” My pulse is racing. Maybe this meeting is not a referendum on me but on her. Is it possible he sees how cruel she has been?

  “Her daily reports to me state that your talents are meager at best,” he goes on. “I believe this to be false.”

  I stare at him, speechless. When I am unable to look him in the eyes any longer, I glance away, only to realize Imogen has come into the room and begun to quietly dust a pedestal with an ornate statue on it. A shudder of relief goes through me when I see her face. She gives me a small wink over her shoulder.

  Cathal calmly watches me. “In your most recent session, I noticed Kennan went to great lengths to undermine you.” Understatement, I think. “In the waterfall cave, I witnessed it firsthand. I know what she was doing to you.”

  I pause, watching Cathal carefully. A tiny, disarming smile continues to play at the corners of his mouth. Cathal is so different from everyone else at High House. He’s open and honest while everyone else is closed off, hostile. My eyes sear with unshed tears as I recall the bet against my sanity, Ravod’s harsh words when I first arrived, and the hatred in Kennan’s eyes over the past week.

  “I don’t understand.” My brow knits.

  Cathal waves his hand. Imogen slips from the room, and we are alone once more.

  “Kennan was performing a Counter-Telling,” he says.

  “A what?”

  “She used the tea to disguise the movement of her lips, but from where I stood, it was obvious what she was up to. She was performing her own Tellings to prevent yours from succeeding. Quite skillfully, but that is beside the point. It would seem she is threatened by your gift.”

  What he’s saying makes my gut lurch uncomfortably. Cathal may still believe in me, but Kennan hasn’t just been cruel, she’s been purposefully causing me to fail. In my shock, I don’t know whether to be furious at her or terrified of what this means, for either her or myself. I shouldn’t care after how she’s treated me, but it sends a tremor of worry through me. Will she be punished?

  Cathal leans back into his settee. “Relax, Shae. That you were able to perform at all today shows me that you are far more adept with the gift than Kennan let on.”

  “I know Kennan isn’t exactly fond of me, but why would she do that?”

  “If someone were to look into it, I would be very interested in knowing the answer to that question as well.” I frown, unable to read Cathal’s tone. “Nevertheless, I can confirm for you with great certainty that things are going to be very different going forward. You will be provided with a new trainer. Someone who will not be so petty as to sabotage your progress. You have enough to worry about.” His tone shifts to cautionary. “Not all the dangers of being
a Bard come from without, after all. Some lie within.”

  “The madness,” I say, a low waver in my voice, as if speaking the words louder will somehow bring it upon me. Cathal nods.

  “I see a lot of myself in you, Shae. Perhaps it is what compels me to help you reach your full potential. I want you to succeed.” He sighs, his eyes piercing into mine. “I, too, understand what it is like to be different. To be cut off from the rest of the world. To be alone.” His voice quivers slightly around the final syllable. My body relaxes. I felt the same way in Aster.

  “At home, everyone thought I was cursed,” I say quietly. “They hated me. I had precious few friends who would treat me like I was a human being.”

  Cathal gives me a grim smile. “Sometimes being extraordinary is to be extraordinarily lonely.”

  It’s strange to think I have something in common with the Lord of High House. Even stranger that he thinks I am extraordinary.

  Cathal leans forward on his knees and watches me, his face serious. His translucent gray eyes search mine.

  “The death of your mother must have been very difficult,” he says.

  Tears spring in my eyes, and I swiftly blink them away.

  “I would love to know more about your home,” he says.

  “I can’t imagine how a place like Aster could possibly interest you,” I admit. “It’s just a small town on the plains. Most of us are simple villagers going about our lives.”

  The corner of Cathal’s mouth curves upward. “Simple villagers do not often leave their simple villages,” he points out. “Much less infiltrate my castle and become Bards. I get the distinct impression that there is much more to you than you let on, Shae. I would very much like to hear the whole story.” Cathal grimaces. “I do not mean to pry. You need not share anything you do not wish to. I have no desire to make you uncomfortable.”

  “No,” I interject. “I’m not uncomfortable.” In truth, my only current fear is that Cathal will realize I’m not as interesting as he thinks and will refuse to help me after all.