She closed the door behind Kallish and kept herself busy preparing coffee and laying biscuits on a plate at the end of the workbench, trying not to think about the earlier confrontation in this spot as she pulled stools over for them to use.
The warrior took a careful sip of the coffee, closing her eyes a moment.
“At first taste, I could not believe anyone would voluntarily consume this liquid in the quantities the humans appear to. However, I now find it quite pleasant.”
“Like Erith tea,” Arrow suggested, nudging the plate of cookies closer to the warrior, and passing her a napkin. The warrior thanked her and made her way through three cookies and half a mug of coffee in companionable silence.
“Were you working?” The warrior looked around the spotlessly clean room and the one set of shelves revealed by the fallen tarpaulin.
“I was this morning. I have been out with the ‘kin.”
“You have been busy, I see,” the warrior said, eyeing the rows of full jars and vials on the shelves she could see.
“You did not come by, in uniform, simply to drink coffee and eat cookies, svegraen. How may I serve?” The echo of her own earlier words, the phrase so familiar to her tongue, held her still a moment until the warrior’s frown snagged Arrow’s attention. “Have I said something wrong, svegraen?”
“You are a servant no longer, mage,” Kallish pointed out.
“Force of habit.” Arrow shrugged a shoulder, a very human gesture, not meeting Kallish’s too-penetrating dark eyes.
“You still consider yourself a servant?”
“I believe that most Erith consider me such,” Arrow hedged.
“Many of the Taellan, perhaps,” Kallish agreed easily, “but not among the White Guard.”
It seemed to be a day for incomprehensible conversations. At least Kallish was not furious. Arrow took a sip of coffee, hands clasped around the mug, warmth seeping back into her limbs.
“I do not know what I am,” she said at length, giving the warrior bare honesty.
Kallish’s gaze held more understanding than she had expected. “Little wonder.”
The trace of warmth, as unexpected as the comprehension, brought the unwelcome threat of further tears. She could not remember the last day she had cried so much. Arrow blinked tears away rapidly, swallowing more coffee.
“What do you need of me, svegraen?” The different question received a slight tip of the warrior’s head, and tiny smile.
“I am sent by the Preceptor.”
“How is he?”
The Preceptor had been seriously injured by the rogue magician, tainted with surjusi, and left for dead, opening his wounds again in the effort to defeat the rogue. The rogue had been unmasked as Preceptor Evellan’s younger brother, thought dead in the last surjusi incursion into the heartland. When Arrow had last seen the Preceptor, he had been lying on the blood-stained floor of the Taellaneth Receiving Hall under close attention of several healers.
“Healing slowly.” Kallish’s mouth quirked again in another smile, eyes dancing. “He is a poor patient, by all accounts. Only the Lady Vailla can be near him for long. He is not impatient with her.”
“Vailla has a way.” Arrow returned the smile.
“A delightful child,” Kallish said, reminding her how very old this warrior was, without a trace of grey in her dark hair.
“Is my presence requested?” Arrow straightened, understanding now why Kallish was here. She was not greatly surprised. The Preceptor had his own way of dealing with things.
“Tomorrow around midday, if that suits,” Kallish hesitated a moment, eyes assessing Arrow’s clothing. Arrow’s eyes lit with humour. She had not paid much attention to what she was wearing when Tamara came to fetch her earlier.
“I have better clothing, never fear. I am not very tidy when working,” she added, holding out one arm, freely spattered with vivid colours from various herbs and ingredients she had used. Laundry only made it worse, seeming to set the colours in.
They talked a while longer while the warrior had another mug of coffee, and more cookies, exchanging news. The political unrest in Hallveran following the destruction of the city’s biggest, human, gang by the shifkin, the gang having made the grave mistake of bringing their guns to shifkin territory. The progress of healing and repairing after the rogue magician’s attack on the Taellaneth. Orlis’ presence at the Academy, apparently to assist the Preceptor but, in Kallish’ judgement, more likely assisting Vailla to keep Evellan resting as long as possible. The silence from Evellan’s deputy, Seivella, also recovering slowly from her wounds. The speculation among the Taellan and Erith as to what the shifkin Prime might do next, with the knowledge that an Erith rogue magician had been responsible for his mate’s death.
It was not the lightest of conversations. The Erith had sustained losses and more than one House was in mourning. Relations with the shifkin were in a state of change and no one quite knew where things might fall.
Still, the rogue had been defeated and, as Kallish pointed out with typical bluntness, the loss of life had been limited.
Closing the door behind the warrior, Arrow yawned hugely and sought her rest with a lighter heart than she would have believed possible a bare hour before.
CHAPTER 3
The next day the warriors posted as gate guards opened the pedestrian gate for her with quick attention, and one, the junior by his braids, inclined his head to her in a mark of respect. She nearly stumbled as she crossed the threshold to the Taellaneth. She could count on her fingers the number of times any Erith had bowed to her. The gate guard, no matter who was on duty, more commonly appeared as though they would dearly love to keep her out of the Taellaneth altogether.
She did not have long to consider the odd behaviour, senses overwhelmed by the Taellaneth. After any absence, no matter how long, the rich scents and familiar hum of magic against her skin always took her by surprise. The last time she had left here, after the rogue magician had been defeated and the surjusi banished, she had thought she would never return, exiled by the Taellan.
Now, her whole being sang with the knowledge she was back on familiar ground. For years, under the restrictions of the oath spells, she had been furious at herself that her every sense seemed to crave the Erith lands, a large part of her finding peace in the scents and underlying magic within the Taellaneth, at the same time as the Erith themselves despised her. Over the years, she had chosen to not waste energy on anger at something she could not change and instead simply accept that some part of her, perhaps the Erith in her, found comfort in the magic that saturated Erith lands and which could be hard to find in human territory.
The struggle rose up again, a great knot of tension inside loosening in response to the familiar magic around her even as her chest hurt with the knowledge that she was in exile, and, after this visit was over, she may never return. She had tried several times before to memorise the sensations of being in the Taellaneth, knowing that one day she might be banished for good and wanting to keep some part of the place with her. Her memory was usually highly accurate. Not quite perfect, but very close to it. And yet, no matter how hard she tried, she had never quite got the memory of the Taellaneth right.
As well as the familiar sensations, there was a familiar face. Orlis, journeyman mage and Gilean’s companion, was waiting for her about twenty paces inside the gates with a broad, warm smile and such open delight that she could not help smiling back.
“Greetings, mage.” He did not bow, thankfully.
“Greetings, journeyman. Are you to be my escort?”
“If you please. The Preceptor is still within his residence. If you will come with me.” He waved a hand and Arrow, amused at the formality which contrasted with his travel-worn clothing and tangled red hair, let him guide her along paths that were almost certainly more familiar to her than to him.
“You appear well rested,” he commented after they were out of earshot of the gate guards.
“Thank you, y
es. It has been pleasant to pass some time without anyone trying to kill me,” she said lightly. He laughed, bright hair dancing as he skipped ahead, turning to face her while walking backwards.
“It is indeed. I have missed you, Arrow. Everyone here is so proper it is stifling.”
She bit her lip, holding in a laugh. The Taellaneth was the show piece of the Erith and nothing less than perfection would do, from the grounds around them to the behaviour of the servants under the Steward’s keen eye. Behind the walls of the Taellan’s residences, or within the Academy’s dormitories, Arrow was sure that less formality was observed. Outside those private spaces, everyone conducted themselves with absolute propriety. It was stifling. And a sharp contrast from the way the humans and shifkin lived or, Arrow thought, the way Orlis was used to living.
Orlis was more used to travelling Erith lands in company with Gilean vo Presien, the pair of them sleeping out of doors as often as indoors, and getting up to whatever mischief they could. Or so she thought, based on Gilean’s correspondence with Evellan.
Orlis had more news, though.
“The White Guard have been furious about something for the past several days.”
“Indeed?” Curiosity piqued, she tilted her head, inviting him to continue.
“I am not certain what. They do not gossip at all.” His heartfelt disappointment drew an open smile from her. The journeyman had a nose for information, and seemed to have a knack for getting people to talk to him.
“That may be a good thing. Some of their secrets are dangerous.” The White Guard, like the Taellaneth servants, were privy to secrets and conversations right to the highest levels of Erith government. And, like the Taellaneth servants, were sworn to secrecy and famously reluctant to talk.
“True. But it is so frustrating. The students know nothing, even the well-connected ones, although they are most curious about what has happened to the lady.”
“Seivella is missing? Again?” Arrow checked her stride, heart speeding up. The lady, although not the most powerful mage among the Erith, was cunning and dangerous.
“No, of course not. The guard have her, but it is not widely known or discussed.”
Arrow’s pulse slowed and she started walking again. In truth, it was not clear how dangerous the lady really was. Seivella had conspired with the rogue magician, and had nearly died for it, the rogue not pleased with her service. The rogue, unmasked, had been revealed as Lord Nuallan, the lady’s former betrothed and Evellan’s brother, caught by the last incursion of surjusi into Erith lands when the House had been burned with him inside. Thought to have been dead many years, he had in fact melded with a surjusi, and then persuaded Seivella to silence and secrecy while planning his revenge on the Erith, Evellan inevitably drawn in.
Last Arrow had heard, and thanks to Kallish’s visit she was very up to date with news, no one had managed to question either Seivella or Evellan about the extent of their involvement, or their knowledge of what Nuallan had planned. For all that Arrow wanted to believe that neither of them, particularly Evellan, had truly meant harm to the Erith, there were still questions to be asked and answered. It seemed that the lady was still confined whilst the Preceptor had been allowed back to his own residence. A reflection, perhaps, of the regard which most Erith had for the Preceptor. Or the influence of Vailla vel Falsen, Evellan’s betrothed, who had a habit of getting just exactly what she wanted.
And there was more Orlis had to tell, she sensed. The light tone and laugh of earlier was fading. Something was worrying him.
Whatever else Orlis might have said was cut off as Arrow spied Vailla coming towards them up the short path from the Preceptor’s residence. There were tired shadows under the lady’s eyes, but her smile was bright as she greeted Arrow.
“Thank you,” Vailla said, enveloping Arrow in a fierce hug.
Arrow returned the gesture with an awkward pat on the lady’s back, immediately wary. One of Vailla’s favourite tricks when they had been at the Academy together had been to act as though someone had already agreed to whatever favour she was about to ask.
“For what, precisely, my lady?”
“For saving my Evellan,” Vailla brushed a stray tear away with a careless gesture, smiling, “you were the only one who could.”
“It was not me alone.” Arrow felt faintly ashamed of her suspicions. It seemed the lady was sincere in her thanks. Still, Arrow did not let her guard down. Vailla was as dangerous in her own way as Seivella.
“Mostly you,” Orlis corrected, exchanging brief nods and smiles with the lady.
“He is waiting for you,” Vailla told Arrow. “Please try not to keep him too long. He is not as strong as he believes.”
“My lady.” Arrow bowed slightly.
“And, for the sake of reason, stop being so formal, Arrow! And do visit when you can. I should love to hear what you have been about in the years since I knew you.”
“Vailla.” Arrow hoped her smile did not seem false, thinking that she would not be telling the lady even a quarter of everything that had happened in the intervening years. Vailla was no fool, but she had been brought up in, and still lived, a sheltered, privileged life.
Vailla seemed satisfied and continued on her way.
“You and the lady were friends?”
“Almost, perhaps.” Arrow knocked on the door to the Preceptor’s residence, not meeting Orlis’ inquisitive gaze. “A long time ago.”
~
“Come in, Arrow.” The Preceptor’s voice, projected with a thread of his magic, accompanied the door opening. “I am in the study.” The thread of magic curling around the door, coated with the familiar shadows that accompanied Evellan everywhere, seemed thinner than normal.
Following his direction, Arrow made her way through the residence to the Preceptor’s private study, the room she had visited on her only previous visit. It was considerably tidier than when she had seen it last, with the addition of a long chaise by the window, where the Preceptor was reclining, in what Arrow thought might be a dressing robe. It was certainly the least formal attire she had ever seen him wear.
“I will bring some tea,” Orlis said and left the room, footsteps fading rapidly.
“A good heart that one, even if he talks more than breathes,” Lord Evellan commented, setting aside the book he had been reading, and giving Arrow his full attention. “Exile appears to agree with you, at least.”
“Thank you, my lord. You are looking better, too.” When she had last seen him, in the Taellaneth’s Receiving Hall after Nuallan had been defeated, he had been badly injured, bleeding from a stomach wound and Arrow had not been sure he would survive. Although he was alive, thanks to the skill of the Erith healers, his face was shadowed and he seemed somehow diminished. Vulnerable.
With that thought, Arrow realised how much her perception of Evellan had been coloured by her early experiences of him, the seemingly giant, imposing figure who had stared down at her from a height when Nassaran had brought her to the Academy, and the implacable figure, shadows gathered around him, who had not hesitated or wavered as he spoke the oath spells to bind her to the Taellan’s service, not pausing once as she screamed under the magic’s bite. Evellan was the highest authority on all matters of Erith magic. His position carried power among the Erith. His word carried equal weight to the Taellan and Lord Whintnath, something that many Taellan resented.
Implacable, and yet Arrow did not hate him. The oath spells had kept her alive long enough to learn. And, unlike many other Erith, Evellan had never been deliberately cruel. Demanding, yes, pushing her to work harder and try harder, as he pushed all senior students. He was no genial mentor. She had seen him be kind to others, and the softness in his eyes when he spoke of Vailla showed he had a heart. He had rarely shown any warmth to her. It mattered little. She had considered the rewards to be worth it. Working magic was a stronger pull on her being than even the Taellaneth.
And her instincts pushed her to trust him. Mostly.
“Do sit, and forgive me if I do not get up.”
“Thank you.” Arrow took one of a pair of straight-backed chairs that looked like they were part of a dining set, brought in to serve Evellan’s guests. The only other chair normally in the room was the great, carved chair behind the desk and she could easily imagine that the Preceptor would not want anyone else settling behind his desk. “I am sorry that matters ended so badly with Lord Nuallan,” she said, feeling that something was required.
“There was no possibility of a happy ending for that.” He would not meet her eyes, fussing with a fold of his collar. “And it could have been much worse.”
“The other Erith who were possessed and survived. Are they healing?”
“Most of them. One or two still in a healing sleep. The healers expect them to recover in time.”
“I see.” She stood up on reflex as Orlis came back into the room, carrying a large, heavy tray, and busied herself with assisting Orlis to clear a space for the tray and then organise servings for each of them, Orlis staying at the Preceptor’s gesture.
“Vailla will be back soon, so we do not have much time. I need your services, Arrow,” he told her bluntly, when they had taken their first sips of tea.
She was not obliged to serve, she reminded herself, biting back the immediate acknowledgement. She straightened further, holding the tea cup carefully, very aware of the delicate china in her calloused hands.
“For what task, my lord?”
“Gilean is missing.” Orlis’ voice was quiet, all his vivacity gone. This was what he had been wanting to tell her outside, Arrow realised. The most important news.
“For several days now,” Evellan confirmed to Arrow’s lifted brow. “Her Majesty contacted me personally with a request for aid.” His eyes strayed to the communication orb on his desk. He shifted on the chaise, colour rising in his face. “I cannot go,” he said bitterly. “But you can.”
“Go? Go where, my lord?”
Taellaneth Complete Series Box Set Page 58
