A Flame in Hali (55 page)

Julianna, Queen of Valeron, was no innocent and weak-minded soul, but a shrewd woman accustomed to the intrigues and uses of power. She listened to Lord Brynon’s information with quiet calculation. Eduin sensed the workings of her mind, evaluating, weighing each point.

As the discussion progressed, a picture emerged of two lands, one mighty, the other small but proud. Valeron and Isoldir had been at each other’s throats many times over the last three generations. The aircar attack from Cedestri Tower may have been unprovoked, but it was hardly without cause. Faced with Julianna’s political ambitions, the Isoldir lords must surely have seized upon whatever weapons came within their reach. It was only through Valeron’s prompt interception that an even greater devastation was averted, for the Cedestri aircar carried a particularly virulent form of bonewater dust.

Lord Brynon responded to this news with a gesture of abhorrence and Romilla looked visibly shaken.

“We had not believed Cedestri capable of such a thing,” Julianna commented.

Eduin did not think that Julliana herself would have any scruples about using whatever weapon came to hand. Her concern was solely that a previously weak neighbor had gained control of such a weapon.

Even as the groom had described, the Cedestri aircar had been destroyed, but not before its cargo had been scattered over hundreds of leagues, rendering the land uninhabitable for generations. From Julianna’s description, Eduin realized that the troupe of musicians from Robardin’s Fort must have passed through one of the contaminated regions before the roads could be marked. He remembered the kernels of poisonous blackness in the bodies of his friends.

Raynita’s voice hummed softly at the back of his mind, rising and falling like the flight of some wild bird. She had not cared for his parentage or credentials in offering the simple comfort of her friendship.

I traveled with them, ate their bread, sang their songs,
Eduin thought.

Outrage and pity whispered through him. The echo of his father’s voice urged him to discard such thoughts as weak and useless. If a few insignificant minstrels perished because they ventured where they should not, it made no difference in the overriding need for revenge.

“Isoldir has been a thorn in our side for longer than we can remember,” General Marzan said, “but it is not wise to turn a thorn into a sword. Therefore, we did not destroy them, for it is not possible to kill every last one of them, and any that remained after an overpowering strike would nurse their vengeance to the grave.”

Aye, and beyond.
Eduin shuddered inwardly, as if touched by a knife so chill and hard, it came straight from Zandru’s coldest Forge. He felt as if he were two people listening to the council. One, the son of his father, kept searching for any opening, any leverage he might use to shape the fears and hatreds of these people into a weapon against Varzil Ridenow and through him, Carolin Hastur.

At the same time, another part of him understood what had been done to him, yet was unable to free himself from his destiny.

Injustice had begotten vengeance, and vengeance fed upon itself until there was nothing left—not his brothers, not his dreams of a life in the Tower, not his friendship with Carolin Hastur, not his love for Dyannis . . . nothing. In that instant, he saw, as if in a waking dream, the figure of a woman cloaked in shadow, with eyes like burning ice, turning toward him, reaching skeletal fingers toward his heart . . .

“We chose instead to render them incapable of a second such attack,” Julianna continued. “We left them strength enough to maintain order within their own boundaries, for a land racked by chaos quickly becomes a danger to all of its neighbors, breeding outlaws and malcontents of every sort.”

What if Rafael Hastur and his accursed niece, Queen Taniquel, had thought in this manner? What if his father had not been forced into exile? What if his uncle and cousin had been left with their lives and a shred of dignity? What if he himself had been free to follow the dictates of his heart and his talent?

“However,” Julianna said, her voice edged, “we did not consider the intervention of outside aid. Cedestri Tower has already been rebuilt with the help of Varzil of Neskaya.”

“Varzil!” Lord Brynon exclaimed, as if echoing Eduin’s thought. “Why should such a powerful Keeper bestir himself for an inconsequential little kingdom as Isoldir?”

Marelie bent to her mother’s ear. Eduin could not catch her words, but understood their sense.
Because Cedestri was somehow able to make a major
laran
weapon, and that is against King Carolin’s precious Compact.

“Carolin Hastur would make certain that Cedestri is rebuilt as
he
wills it,” Julianna said, “even as he rebuilt Neskaya Tower. To that end, he has sent his emissary, Varzil of Neskaya, knowing that whatever remained of the Tower circle would welcome their help without asking the price.”

“The reach of the Hasturs grows long,” Lord Brynon said. “The shadow of his ambition lies upon every land. Why else would he seek to disarm everyone who can stand against him?”

Queen Julianna’s face turned hard, her eyes glittering like chips of obsidian. “Carolin sent an emissary here two summers ago, urging me to sign his Compact. I told him I would have none of it. During the last Council season, it was all anyone could talk about, for or against. It is easy to indulge in such idle talk when no aircars bearing
clingfire
are threatening you. Only then, too late, do you realize your sole protection is the threat of an overwhelming retaliation.”

Good,
Eduin thought as his father’s ghost roused as if scenting blood. The Lady of Valeron was already disposed to distrust Carolin and his lackey, Varzil. Now to turn that suspicion into open hostility . . .

Julianna nodded, as if secretly agreeing with herself. “In time, this madness will pass. The great lords will return to the eternal truth that the only way to peace is through the balance of power.”

Eduin felt even more estranged from the conversation. Once he would have argued that not only were powerful weapons like
clingfire
and bonewater dust necessary, but they should be controlled by the people who created them—the Towers. Now those arguments seemed as insubstantial as dayflies. It no longer mattered whether Arilinn or Hali or Cedestri remained standing and who ruled there. He stood alone in the ashes of his dreams.

Julianna deftly turned the conversation toward those courtesies that brought the meeting to a close. Eduin felt a sense of frustration, of unfulfilled expectation, for Lord Brynon had not put forth his own accusations against Varzil Ridenow.

Instead, Lord Brynon had seemed content to yield to Queen Julianna. Perhaps, Eduin reassured himself, he was only waiting for a suitable opportunity. They were new-come to Valeron, and there was much other business to attend to, not the least of which were the festivities of Midsummer.

E
duin and Saravio, as well as the other servants accompanying Lord Brynon, had been given quarters in the wing reserved for the men of the household staff in one of the older parts of the castle, a row of small rooms lining a drafty corridor. Their chamber was usually reserved for the personal servants of visiting nobility, and was a shade better quality than the others. Although it was cramped and had only a single slit window, there was a small brazier for warmth and a thick carpet, not Ardcarran but some local weaving. Best of all, they had the chamber to themselves, instead of sharing it with two or three others.

The Tower at Valeron stood apart from the rest of the castle, both physically and psychically. None of the household staff with whom Eduin had become friendly had ever seen the Keeper. The
laranzu’in
who tended the aircars went about their business silently; only the young
leronis
who served the court, Callina Mallory, had any public presence.

Callina had visited Romilla on their first night at Castle Aillard, as a courtesy and to inquire if she needed any care. They quickly fell into a routine of spending most of their daily hours together. When Eduin brought Saravio to Romilla’s quarters the next morning, he found the two girls giggling together.

Eduin bowed. “
Vai leronis, vai damisela,
I give you both good morning.”

Callina rose from the window seat where she and Romilla had been watching the soldiers drill in the courtyard below. Her red-gold hair, drawn back in a simple, unadorned style, caught the morning light.

Eduin had expected Callina to be like
Domna
Mhari of Kirella, but she was quite different. Mhari had a natural sense of politics and had been hardened by her own struggles with the physician. Callina was far younger, from one of the minor
Comyn
families near Temora. She had trained at the Tower there, but none of the servants knew why she had left to take a post so far from home.

“Sandoval!” Romilla cried, going to Saravio and taking his hand. “How happy I am that you have come! I was just telling Callina how you helped me. She says she has never heard singing like yours.”

Saravio stared at the little
leronis
and seemed to actually see her. Eduin sensed the girl’s self-confidence like a brittle shield. A darkness lay upon her, which not even her time in a Tower had dispelled. Perhaps, Eduin thought, she simply lacked the determination to overcome it. Now he felt Saravio’s response to Callina’s un-healed emotional wound.

Callina turned to Eduin. Despite her youthful complexion and bright hair, she looked plain, almost quenched. The dark eyes that met his were both innocent and knowing.

I sense the Gift in you,
she spoke silently.
Can you hear me?
Her mental speech was slow and careful, as if she had made the most of a small talent for telepathy.

Eduin formed his reply to seem clumsy, unskilled. He expressed surprise and humble thanks at the notice of a Tower
leronis
.
I—I was told that my father had
nedestro Comyn
blood,
he stammered, letting the truth of his words come through. His father, Rumail Deslucido, was indeed the illegitimate brother of King Damian, and had the full Gift of
laran.
He had trained and worked at Neskaya Tower before it was destroyed, and should have been named Keeper, would have, if only—if only—

Yes,
Callina replied. Eduin saw that she had sensed his thoughts, but misinterpreted them to mean that if only his father had been recognized and received proper training, he himself would have had a place in the world.

“Now I serve my brother, Sandoval the Blessed,” Eduin said. “I ask no greater honor.”

Deftly, Eduin placed Saravio at the center of the room and the women in subordinate positions. Romilla chattered about her former melancholy, heightening the other girl’s anticipation.

Under his breath, Eduin murmured to Saravio, “Bring the joy of Naotalba to these women.”

The mere speaking of the name of Naotalba was enough. Saravio began humming, almost too softly to hear, but with the full impact of his Gift.

Eduin felt the opening notes as a silvery thrill along his spine. His breath caught in his throat. Romilla’s gaze turned inward, listening, opening her heart to what she knew would follow.

The words pierced Eduin, familiar and yet subtly altered. For a heartbeat only, he struggled to remain apart from the slow burning awakening of pleasure. The sensation began as a low vibration through the core of his body, so subtle as to be imperceptible by ordinary senses. Promising himself it would be for a moment only, he shut himself away from the outer world and gave himself over to the soaring pleasure.

The world of flesh and time fell away; he no longer felt his physical body. He floated in a silvery mist. A landscape condensed around him, graceful trees that swayed in a secret dance. Figures moved between them, their voices interweaving with the slow harmonies of sky and tree and rain. They turned their luminous eyes toward him . . .

The vision darkened like the sudden fall of night. The last thing he saw were the glimmering eyes and then they, too, disappeared. He was back in his body, his stomach clenched around a jagged rock. Thirst clawed the back of his throat, yet it was not physical drink he craved.

Saravio had fallen silent as the last reverberations of his mental manipulations faded from the minds of his listeners. Eduin cursed himself for surrendering so completely.

Romilla’s eyes were still closed and he sensed her lingering, drawing the moment out, savoring the peace and euphoria in her memory.

Callina was another matter. Although susceptible, she might still become suspicious. Eduin nudged her mind with his
laran
. As he expected, very little remained of her psychic barriers at the moment. It was a small matter to implant a suggestion that the effect of pleasure and relaxation was due only to the beauty of the song, nothing more. It was entirely natural to respond in this way. Sandoval the Blessed and his assistant spoke only truth; they were to be trusted.

A moment later, Eduin released her. Color flushed her cheeks. She blinked. A shiver ran through her thin shoulders, then she collected herself. “Thank you,” she said to Saravio. “That was very interesting . . .” she hesitated slightly over the next word, “music.”

“My brother’s songs help us all to look within ourselves,” Eduin said. “For it is there, by the grace of the gods, we find true healing. You have the benefit of training at a Tower; tell me, am I mistaken in this?”

“No, no,” she answered quickly. “You are correct. Sandoval is extraordinary, to have wrought such a change in Lady Romilla’s condition. I see why Lord Brynon values you.”

Eduin inclined his head. “We serve in any way we can. I believe it is a good thing, and the will of the gods, that we have come to Valeron at this time.”