her instruments 02 - rose point (20 page)

Solemnly, the youth said, “I can run very fast.”

He laughed then, unwillingly perhaps, but still. To the priest: “I’m not sure I can safely do what you ask. You may be hurt. Or even die.”

“Then I die,” the priest said. “And we have all learned something. But I do not think I shall die today.” He shifted on the cushion, closed his eyes. “Proceed.”

Faced with such trust, Hirianthial could do nothing but obey despite his dismay at the command. He considered the tranquility of that aura and then reached toward it until he could feel it against his palms, as tangibly as if he held a glass ornament. He suggested to it that it might part, and it peeled away beneath his attention; closing his eyes, he focused on what he might find beneath. Thoughts, yes, peaceful and slow and unconcerned. Under the thoughts, something else, something truer, a source of light, strong as a flame. To dim it without extinguishing it... he cupped it and exhaled, a sigh born of his own exhaustion and resignation, and knew when he’d succeeded.

There was more there, though, a distracting distant sparkle, like the sun shining off caltrops. That he followed to its source in the body: arthritis, born of an auto-immune response, something he’d realized while studying off-world was the source of many afflictions suffered by his kind. He swept the offending glints away as he withdrew, and found himself again in his body with the priest sleeping peacefully across from him.

And then he fell, and would have struck the unforgiving ground had not a chair appeared beneath him with a scraping squeal against the floor. As he looked up, disoriented, the novice said, “You were falling, Lord.”

“I suppose I was,” Hirianthial said. His hands were shaking, and he felt weak with... hunger? And fatigue. “You are as quick as you promised.”

The youth smiled. “Shall I send for something to drink and eat, sir?”

“Yes,” Hirianthial said. “That... that would be well.”

The novice left him with the priest and his own ambivalence. That the execution of his talent could be gentle did not change that what he’d done was possible at all, possible and easy; or at least, it had felt easy while he’d been acting. If he ended up this exhausted after every attempt, perhaps the ease was illusory. Why he hadn’t felt it in the tent? Perhaps adrenaline-fueled attempts cost less, or perhaps he’d been so injured already it hadn’t mattered. The back of his neck prickled at the memory, which he packed away before it could fully rise.

Belinor returned with a meal and hot mulled cider, and Hirianthial ate with an appetite he couldn’t recollect having for a very long time. Afterward, he drowsed by the fire himself until the priest roused, saying, “Ah, now that was a fine deed.”

“Elder?” Hirianthial said.

“The fingers,” the priest said, leaning forward. He brought his hands from his sleeves, displaying their inflamed joints. “They are not so bad right now. Your doing, I assume?”

“I made the attempt,” Hirianthial admitted. “I do not know that I was successful.”

“Mmm. Healing can come with the greater talents, or so the stories go.” The priest stood. “I have everything I need to know. Tomorrow you will come to me in the library and we will begin your training.”

“Just thus?” Hirianthial asked, startled. “No further question? You know all that you need to know?”

The man smiled. “You are no Corel, my son. Have no fear on that account. But practice you do need, to learn to control what you now command. So... tomorrow.”

“Whom shall I ask for, if I do not find you?”

“Ah. My name is Urise,” the elder said. “I was the palace chaplain during Maraesa’s reign, now retired. Such as any priest retires. I suppose God and Lady decided I needed special enticement to rouse these bones from the fire in the common room.” He paused at the door and said, “The library, tomorrow. Come before breakfast. Be prompt.”

“Tomorrow, Elder,” Hirianthial said.

How long would Liolesa keep Reese? Come to that, how long had it been since he’d entered the room? Hirianthial rose and glanced out the window, saw the sun on the lake’s surface. Long enough, surely. He rested his hands on the sill and centered himself. Despite the food, he still felt uncertain on his feet. It would be good to be back at the townhouse where he could rest. Depending on the frequency of his lessons, he might be forced to request quarters in the palace, but if at all possible he would prefer to avoid it. The apartments allotted the Jisiensire were Araelis’s now, and she was no doubt already in residence with the court opening tomorrow. He set off for the royal wing, on the opposite side of Ontine. If Liolesa was not done with Reese he could find one of the alcoves and rest.

It was pure bad luck that he reached the main hall at the same time as the party in Asaniefa’s colors—worse luck that the woman leading them was Surela. They stopped at the sight of him, much as he did at them, and together they formed their own tableau, another thing he remembered despising about court life: the endless dramatics.

“Why, my Lord Hirianthial!” Surela exclaimed. “What an unexpected delight! You’ve returned!”

“From the out-world,” her lady-in-waiting added, wide-eyed. Hirianthial also remembered Thaniet, who while less offensive than her lady was nevertheless too meek to disagree with her on any topic of importance.

“From the out-world,” Surela agreed. “How relieved you must be to have come back to more civilized lands.” She came closer, drawing her entourage after her; Athanesin was still dancing attendance on her, which meant—God and Lady help him—she was still looking for a spouse. He’d always found her interest in him appalling, particularly given their opposing political leanings.

“And just in time for winter court!” Thaniet agreed, smiling at him. “How pleased everyone will be to see you here.”

He doubted the unanimity of feeling she implied with that comment, but said, “Thank you. It will be good to see the Lady Araelis again.”

“And take back the reins from her?” Surela asked. “Jisiensire has been long without its head.”

“The Lady Araelis is the head of Jisiensire,” Hirianthial said. “And well-suited to it, being wed.”

“You have no plans to marry then?” Thaniet asked, guileless.

“Nonsense,” Surela said. “A man of Hirianthial Sarel’s poise and power? Of course he must.” She smiled at him. “Besides, everyone loves a man already broken to saddle.”

The tastelessness of it was typical of her, yet it had been so long since he’d heard anything like it in reference to his previous marriage that it caught him off guard. When he was certain of himself, he said, “Some horses will bear only one rider. If you will excuse me, ladies? I have a previous engagement.”

“Do you?” Surela asked, canting her head.

It was purer bad luck to have the page bring Reese into the hall at that moment.

By the end of breakfast, Reese had decided that Liolesa was one of “her” people, if a rather terrifying specimen of that class. The Queen was easier than Hirianthial in company, more talkative, and far more forthright: when she couldn’t discuss something she told Reese so, which made the Eldritch mania for mystery far more bearable. Their bargaining session had sounded like something out of a street fair, and that more than anything had convinced Reese of the Queen’s character…and of the truth of her claims about money. No one with uncountable wealth haggled with that much aggression.

As she was putting her borrowed cloak back on, Liolesa said, “I would be honored if you would accept my hospitality, by the by.”

“You mean… stay in the palace?” Reese asked, startled. Then added, “What about my crew?”

“They may come as well, of course,” she said. “But I’d be pleased to have you introduced to the court once it’s in session.”

Reese paused. “Are you sure about that? I’ve heard so much about Eldritch hating non-Eldritch—“

“Hatred and ignorance cannot be addressed without confrontation,” Liolesa said. She lifted her brows. “How else? But I will not ask you to be the head of that spear, if the notion discomfits you.”

Reese petted the inside lining of her cloak. The notion did “discomfit” her. “I don’t like to make trouble for anyone.”

“Anyone—by which you mean Hirianthial,” Liolesa said, with rather too fine an insight for Reese’s taste. “I can understand that, Theresa. But Hirianthial won’t be able to leave for some time… and if you stay, it will be increasingly burdensome to keep you hidden.”

She looked at the Queen, torn. “You think we could stay? He’s… he’s been through a lot. I don’t know if he told you.”

“A little, yes.”

“He needs to not be alone. And he never made it sound like there was much here by way of support.” Did she imagine the shadow that crossed those eyes? Probably. “I don’t want to abandon him.”

“Then move into my guest suite with all your people, and in two days I shall have you presented to the court as good servants to the Eldritch crown.” Liolesa rose, pulling at a chain around her neck until she drew free a medallion. She held it out to Reese. “Take this as proof of my intent.”

Reese eyed it, her skin stippled to gooseflesh. “I’d have to touch you.”

“We began our association over six years ago now, Theresa Eddings,” Liolesa said. “Consider it the continued fostering of our relationship.”

The medallion gleamed in the woman’s palm: a brilliant cloisonné unicorn in shining white on a lapis backdrop. She could have let it swing from her fingers so Reese could catch it without touching her. Because she didn’t, Reese reached and took it from her, holding her breath and struggling with her sense of gratitude and humility. The Queen’s eyes never wavered from hers as Reese took her hand back, and when it was done Liolesa smiled. “That was well-begun. Or shall I say well-continued?”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I’m honored,” Reese said, quiet.

“Hush, hush,” Liolesa said. “None of that. Go on, then, and see to your man.”

Reese stopped abruptly.

“Did I say aught amiss?” Liolesa asked, for once surprised.

“He’s not my man,” Reese said, flushing.

“Not your—oh!” The Queen smiled, a wry twist of her mouth. “I did not mean it thus. We say ‘your man’ and mean… your vassal, your person, your retainer. Someone you take care of. I would not suggest otherwise with him.”

Pulling the medallion over her head, Reese hesitated. She looked at the Queen.

Surprised, Liolesa said, “He has not told you?”

“Told me what?” Reese asked, and was rewarded by the sight of a woman with more temporal power than any person she’d ever met—and most she hadn’t—putting a hand to her brow as if to still a nascent headache.

“For once,” Liolesa said after a moment, “I can honestly say I cannot say more, not because of an Eldritch Veil, but because it is a personal matter. Though if you remain at court long enough you will inevitably hear about it.”

“Something that could cause trouble?” Reese asked, uneasy.

The Queen laughed. “What doesn’t, here? Go on, Captain Eddings. Collect your people and come back.” Her eyes sparkled. “It will be… an adventure.”

Given how her last adventure had ended up, Reese wasn’t sure that was the best way to entice her. Then again, her last adventure had brought her here, to a place she’d never anticipated seeing even in her wildest fantasies. And if it had its issues, what world didn’t? “All right,” she said. “I will see you later, ma’am.”

“Liolesa.”

“Liolesa,” Reese said, and let herself out. In the corridor, she reflected that she finally knew how it felt to want to call someone by something more formal than they preferred. She would have to be gentler with Hirianthial and Malia next time they tried it on her.

Her worries that she wouldn’t know where to go next were assuaged by the arrival of a page, who seemed to appear out of nowhere. She started and said, “Where did you come from?” And then a heartbeat later, “That was probably a horrible question to ask. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

The page’s smooth mask twitched, but he composed himself quickly and said in accented but fluent Universal, “No offense was taken, ma’am. This way, please?”

Reese followed him, glancing once more at the white-robed guards. As they passed out of their field of view, she said, “Since you can talk... can I ask why the guards are differently dressed in here? Is it because of the Queen?”

“Just so, ma’am. Ontine’s guards wear the Galare colors. The Queen’s personal guard wears white. Also—” He glanced back at her. “They do not speak while on duty, save to their captain or to their liege-lady, so it is not productive to attempt to engage them.”

“Wow,” Reese murmured. “Serious.”

“It is a high honor to be so selected,” the page agreed. “Few are worthy.”

She nodded. “Thanks for explaining it to me. And not being... ah... surprised by me.”

“Ma’am, our Queen has been a friend to the out-world for all her reign. As she goes, so do I.”

They passed the remainder of their walk in silence. As Reese walked, she studied her medallion, turning it in her hands, brushing her thumb over the enamel. A Queen who was comfortable with out-worlders though her world hated them, who knew Hirianthial well enough to have at least one of his personal secrets in her keeping. And he had one of these guard’s uniforms... was that it? Had he once been one of her personal guards? No wonder he’d been so good with a knife. When the guards in white opened the doors that led out of the Queen’s wing of the palace, Reese stole a glance at them in passing. Their stern faces were unreadable, but they looked dangerous to her.

Hirianthial’s baritone murmur reached her from the entrance hall, familiar enough that it took her a moment to realize she couldn’t understand what he was saying. Then she spotted the clot of people blocking the path between them. It took her all of a glance to tell that he wanted no part of them—that in fact he had an antipathy for them—and she had no idea how she knew but she’d been living with the man for nearly a year.

“Back,” she hissed to the page, and turned with a hiss of her shrouding cloak.

The page didn’t miss a step, but back-pedaled and took the lead again, heading the way they’d come.

How had she known? Hirianthial waited long enough to allow Reese to retreat before saying, “I do, and I would not do the discourtesy of being late.” He inclined his head. “Ladies.”