Angelaeon Circle 2 - Eye of the Sword (26 page)

“Lord Silas is dying?” asked Trevin. He had first met Melaia at the overlord’s villa when he was a kingsman working for Lord Rejius and she was a Navian priestess. He admired the old man for being faithful to King Laetham in spite of thinly veiled threats from an impertinent kingsman.

“I hear Lord Silas has sent for his son.” The innkeep headed back downstairs.

Jarrod nodded to Trevin. “I’ll guard.”

Trevin followed the innkeep. “The overlord’s son, Yareth—wasn’t he banished to the western tribes for supporting the coup? Would he try to return?”

The innkeep simply shrugged, pointed Trevin to the empty end of a table, and helped his wife hand out drinks.

Ollena and Livia joined Trevin. Then Pym and Catellus came in from seeing to the horses. Jarrod looked on from the railing above.

The drink was an overwatered wine, the meal an overwatered stew, and
the other customers an over surly crew, who were quick to leave the table once Trevin and his friends sat down. Only two drinkers lingered over their mugs. But they, too, retired early, as did Pym and Catellus.

After Ollena finished her meal, she took Jarrod’s place at the rail upstairs, and he made his way to the bowl and mug saved for him. Livia stayed at the table, staring into the flame of a bowl lamp sitting on the hearth, which sent a flickering glow into the common room.

Trevin paced the floor, trying to balance a knife, tip down, on the wooden plate he held flat on his palm. As the knife fell, he snatched its hilt from the air. “Two days to Qanreef,” he muttered, positioning the knife on the plate again.

“One thing you might want to know before we get to Qanreef,” said Jarrod, sopping up his stew with thin flatbread, “is that King Laetham met a lady he wishes to marry.”

“Who?” Trevin eased his finger off the hilt of the knife, leaving it standing on its tip.

“She claims she’s a noblewoman from an island in the Southern Sea,” said Jarrod. “Presumably she sailed to Qanreef to recover after the death of her husband. By the looks of her, she’s quite wealthy.”

Trevin’s knife clattered to the plate. “How did King Laetham meet her?”

“She came to Redcliff to visit, having heard tales of its unusual towers of red clay—and its handsome king.”

“ ‘Claims’? ‘Presumably’?” asked Livia in a low voice. “Do you have reason to be suspicious?”

“No real reason. Just instinct,” Jarrod murmured. “She seems overly solicitous toward the king.”

“What does Melaia think of her?” asked Trevin.

“Melaia agrees with me,” said Jarrod.

Livia refilled Jarrod’s cup from a pitcher on the table. “Melaia has had the sole attention of the king since she has known him. Now she’s sharing his affections. That’s not an easy adjustment.”

Trevin stood the knife on its tip again. “What does the lady call herself?”

“Beautiful, probably,” said Ollena from the railing upstairs.

Trevin grinned up at her and murmured, “Never try to keep a secret from an angel with the gift of keen hearing.”

Ollena saluted with the dagger she was polishing.

“Her name is Lady Jayde,” said Jarrod.

“Maybe the king’s interest in Lady Jayde will take his mind off giving Melaia to Prince Varic,” said Trevin.

“You might wish it,” said Jarrod, “but before Lady Jayde followed the king to Qanreef, she tried to convince him that a double wedding would be a ‘most wonderful occasion.’ You can imagine Melaia’s response.”

Trevin scowled at Jarrod. “Your sympathy overwhelms me.”

“Angels are not to interfere with human will,” said Jarrod.

“Hang this not-interfering-with-human-will.” Trevin caught the knife as it fell. “Whose human will? Varic’s? Lady Jayde’s? Melaia’s?”

“Or yours?” Jarrod scooted his bench to the wall and stretched his legs on it full length.

Livia headed for the stairs. “If we intervened, in whose behalf would we work, Trevin?”

“We’re to allow you humans to work out matters among yourselves,” said Jarrod.

“Nephili too?” asked Trevin.

“Nephili too.” Jarrod closed his eyes.

Trevin huffed. “Even if we all end up miserable in the process?”

“I’m told you learn by your mistakes.”

“Do you learn by yours?”

Jarrod’s eyes snapped open, and Trevin glared at him, fully aware that he had dealt a low blow. Jarrod had made a deadly mistake when he failed to protect his mother, Dreia—which made his failure to guard Dreia’s daughter all the more disturbing.

“You should be protecting Melaia right now,” said Trevin, “but you’re nowhere near her.”

Jarrod stared into the shadows, his jaw clenched.

Trevin tossed the wooden plate onto the table, rebuking himself for pointing out Jarrod’s guilt while hiding his own. An impulse to confess bit his conscience, but he shook it off. His was not an insignificant confession, and Jarrod was no ordinary priest. Jarrod was more likely to kill him than absolve him.

Trevin sighed. “Is there no way to nullify the betrothal?”

“I’ll do what I can,” said Jarrod. “But the most important task is uniting
the harps. As I said before, Melaia’s marriage may place her in a position to accomplish that task.”

Trevin passed the hilt of the knife from his right hand to his left and back again. What if Melaia reasoned like Jarrod did? What if she agreed to marry Varic in order to gain access to the Dregmoors and the third harp?

Trevin stabbed the plate. Melaia wanted the third harp; he would bring it to her. He would go into the Dregmoors and bring it back. Then she would have no reason to go into the Dregmoors, no reason to marry Varic.

“Phadai cordin nes duta periccin,”
said Ollena, studying the hilt of her dagger.

Trevin eyed her. “What did you say?”

Jarrod smiled, his eyes closed again. “The old tongue. It means ‘the path of the heart is not without risk.’ ”

Trevin murmured, “So the one whose gift is keen hearing knows the old tongue.”

“Spoken truly, Main Trevin,” said Ollena. “What’s your point, hmm?”

“You heard Flametender’s words in Flauren, didn’t you?”

Jarrod opened one eye. “Flametender?”

“Do you remember her words, Ollena?” asked Trevin. She sheathed her dagger and thought for a moment.
“Sciai eolin, ciarai pyrin, nai librein.”

“Which means?” asked Trevin.

“Seed of wind, heir of fire, born to free,” said Ollena. “Flametender named you.”

“Named me?” Trevin yanked the knife out of the wooden plate and slipped it into its sheath. “Couldn’t she have been less cryptic? A simple name like Gadrian or Phineas or—”

“Arelin’s son?” asked Ollena.

“That’s clearer than Flametender’s riddle,” said Trevin.

Jarrod straightened. “Arelin’s son?”

“You’re looking at him,” said Ollena.

“Heaven’s orbs!” said Jarrod.

Trevin scowled at Ollena. “Why didn’t you tell me Flametender’s words before?”

“For one thing, you didn’t ask,” said Ollena. “For another, naming is usually done when a baby is born. It affirms the child’s heritage and proclaims her destiny.”

“Or his.” Jarrod studied Trevin.

“Or his.” Ollena grinned. “I thought if I said it was a baby’s naming, a certain comain would be insulted.”

Trevin bit his lip. Insulting. Demeaning. Exactly what he was on the verge of saying. He swallowed his words.

Ollena peeked into the room at the end of the hall, then leaned over the rail. “Livia’s still awake. Why don’t you ask her about naming? She’s done it with her own children.”

Trevin headed upstairs. Ollena opened Livia’s door and waved him in.

Perched on a low stool, Livia was combing her dusky hair by the light of an oil lamp. The upper curve of her wings was visible beneath her loosely wrapped cloak.

Trevin hesitated, feeling like an intruder.

Livia gave him a motherly smile. “I’m afraid the only seat left is on the floor.”

“I’ll not keep you long,” said Trevin, taking the offered seat. “When your children were born, did you have a naming for them?”

“Two at once.” Livia stopped combing and stared into the shadows of the room as if she were looking into another time.

“Sergai and Serai,” said Trevin.

Livia began combing again. “All Angelaeon have namings for their children. Why do you ask?”

“Ollena knows the old tongue. She said Flametender’s words for me were a naming: Seed of wind, heir of fire, born to free. I hoped you might know its meaning.”

Livia worked at a tangle. “When the Wisdom Tree was destroyed, and the stairway to heaven with it, angels trapped in this world were separated from friends and family in Avellan.”

“So angels have children even outside our world?”

“The process is a bit different, because in our pure form, we are light. We call it melding. It’s—”

“I’m sure Jarrod could tell me.” Trevin shifted, uneasy.

Livia smiled slyly. “I’m more familiar with melding than he is. As I was saying, in the heavens melding is a complete intermingling of one angel’s essence with another, a combining of light, of colors, of our deepest selves. Light begets light.”

Trevin nodded, his face warm. “You then have a naming for your children.”

“That ritual began with those of us trapped here. We wanted our children to know their ancestry and have a vision for their destiny as Angelaeon. So we speak a naming over them at birth and repeat it on their naming day each year, though we don’t usually speak it in the old tongue. Your naming is quite short. Some are much longer.”

“Seed of wind, heir of fire, born to free,” mused Trevin.

“Windweaver and Flametender graced you with their own heritage,” said Livia. “And they foretold your destiny—born to free.”

“Free what? Who? How?”

Livia shrugged. “Destiny is a matter of the future.”

“Then what good is it to know your destiny?”

Livia’s eyebrows rose. “It’s a great good. You measure decisions by your destiny. When you know your destiny is to free, you ask, in every situation, which decision will lead to freedom.”

“What will lead to freedom?” Trevin asked as he rose. “That’s a simple way to make decisions.”

“Simple is not the same as easy,” said Livia. “And you should know that a naming is not carved in granite. The named are free to accept or reject it.”

“So angels have choice too. Even in Avellan?”

“Even in Avellan.”

“How do I accept the naming?”

“You live it. Or not.” Livia began tying her hair back.

Trevin bade her good night and stepped into the hallway, where Ollena was still stationed. “I know,” he said. “You heard.”

She smiled sheepishly. “I can’t help it.”

Trevin leaned on the rail, staring at the glow of the lamp on the hearth below. If the named were free to accept or reject it, what about those who spoke the naming? Windweaver and Flametender didn’t really know him. What if they discovered they had made a mistake? Could they later renounce the named?

efore dawn touched the sky the next morning, Trevin strode to the stables, his mind on another stable and another dawn. It seemed a lifetime ago that he had last seen Melaia. He drew the harp pendant from his tunic. With its mate it formed a heart, and for him that heart represented a promise. If his destiny was to free, he would free Melaia to keep her vow.

Trevin sensed Ollena and slipped the pendant back under his tunic.

“Early, hmm?” She scooped feed into a leather bucket.

Pym walked in bleary eyed, and before long the rest of the group gathered. They were among the first to leave Navia when the gates opened.

The farther south they traveled, the fewer landgashes they found until at last they left the rifts behind them. On their second day of travel, they encountered the sultry sea air, and by late afternoon they reached the tall grass and marsh meadows that signaled the approach to Qanreef.

Trevin craned his neck, watching for the citadel of Alta-Qan to come into view. At last he saw it rise from the horizon. He knew Melaia would soon be taking her evening meal. Alone? With the king and his court? He hoped she was not alone with Varic.

As they neared the white stone walls of the city, Trevin’s company once again encircled him. Jarrod took Sorabus’s place as spokesman, ready to escort the accused murderer into the city if necessary.

Trevin pulled up his hood, his heart in his throat. She was near. So near.

The gate guards turned out to be Angelaeon and had sensed their approach. One hailed Jarrod as a friend.

“Tarzius!” Jarrod clasped the guard’s hand. “I sense others of us here.”

“Six hither and yon on the walls,” said Tarzius.

“I’ll be at the temple,” said Jarrod. “Should I expect Angelaeon at the palace?”

“Only two or three.” Tarzius waved them in. “We’ve had no trouble.”

No trouble, Trevin thought as Jarrod led them through the gates. Trouble was no doubt coiled in the palace, waiting to strike.

They guided their mounts down roads lined with whitewashed clay houses shadowed in the lowering sun. Ahead, the sea lapped at the wharves, its waves glimmering in the last golden rays of daylight. Trevin eyed it all, but his gaze kept returning to the palace.