The Silvered (52 page)

Mirian didn’t have the patience to put up with it.

“Enough!” She used the wind to whip the word between the two of them, then, as they scrambled apart, put herself there bodily. “We’re no threat to you,” she told the stranger, “and you’re no threat to us, so just stop it! Tomas!” The growling behind her stopped.

The stranger stared at her for a long moment, then he opened his mouth, tongue lolling out, and Mirian suspected he was laughing at her. She folded her arms and glared. To her surprise, he sobered, nodded once, as to an equal, and changed. Mirian watched him rise,
and rise, and rise. The top of her head came to his shoulder and she was not, to her mother’s very vocal dismay, small. His shoulders were broad, heavily muscled, and scarred, his arms as big around as her thighs.

Look at his face. Look at his face. Look at his…Lord and Lady!

She snapped her gaze back up to his face. He was old enough the gray fur he kept on two legs passed as hair. Although he looked nothing like him, he reminded Mirian of her first impression of Ryder Hagen that night at the opera—the same barely contained energy, the same potential for danger barely harnessed.

He smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. “We’ve been expecting you.”

“We?”

“Me and Jake. He Saw you here yesterday and sent me out to find you.”

“Saw?”

“Aye. He’s a Soothsayer, sure enough, and mad as they come. Still, he’s mine and I’m his and we manage. I’ll wait for your lad…”

“Tomas Hagen,” Mirian told him. Even without turning, she knew Tomas was still in fur, unwilling to admit the fight was over.

“He’s a Hagen, is he? Well, I expect we’ll talk of that as well, but, for now, he needs to get his clothes.” The callused end of an enormous finger gently touched Mirian’s cheek and dark eyes looked into hers. “I don’t like leaving Jake for long on his own, so we’d best be on our way.”

“We don’t have time. We have to…”

The stranger cut her off. “You have to come with me. There’s things Jake’s Seen me tell you that you need to hear, little mage.”

“How did you know she was a mage?” Tomas demanded, gripping Mirian’s shoulder. Mirian leaned back toward him, a little afraid he was going to try and drag her out of danger and fully aware there’d be no danger unless Tomas started something. “She didn’t do anything and she has no mage marks.”

“She put words on the wind.” The big man glanced over Mirian’s head. “And I have a nose, don’t I? Besides, Jake Saw it.” Then back at Mirian. “My Jake’s quite taken by you, little mage.”

“He’s never met me.”

“He sort of met you yesterday. He’s in tomorrow now, and you still seem to be around.”

“That’s…” Mirian frowned. The Mage-pack had been at the palace for days. They had no time to follow this man home to his crazy Soothsayer. They had to get to Karis and rescue the Mage-pack without having any of idea of what they were up against—beside the entire Imperial army—and no idea of how to get them out of the palace after they somehow managed to find them. But Jake had Seen the big man tell her things she needed to hear. “Can’t you tell me…?”

“No. He Saw us at our table, sitting down when I told you.”

She sighed. “Tomas, maybe you’d better go and get your clothes.”

“We don’t even know his name,” Tomas growled.

“You have my scent, but if you need something to call me, Gryham will do.”

“Just Gryham?”

“Never had need of another.” He folded his arms and his brows rose.

Mirian flushed. “Mirian Maylin. Tomas…”

He got his clothes, but didn’t put them on, taking the bedroll from Mirian and draping them over the top. Mirian could sort of see his point in remaining naked. If Gryham was in skin and Tomas was in trousers, Gryham would have the distinct advantage if it came to a fight, able to change faster. It seemed wisest to ignore that Gryham would have the distinct advantage if Tomas were already in fur and Gryham was dressed for the theater.

Over the last few days, Mirian had gotten very good at looking Tomas in the face. It shouldn’t have been so hard to apply the same discipline to looking at Gryham.

“We’ve got a bit of a walk,” Gryham explained as they headed east. “Jake Sees accurate, but he’s not always so convenient. This was as close to home as you came on your own.”

His accent put a different rhythm on familiar words. “You speak very good Imperial.”

He laughed. “Very good, is it? Well, I live in the empire, don’t I? Have for years.”

“How do you know my name?” Tomas demanded, his shoulder bumping against Mirian’s as they walked.

“I knew Dominic Hagen briefly when I was no older than you are now. He’d be…”

“My uncle.”

Not just Tomas’ uncle but the Pack Leader before Ryder. Mirian’s father had called him the man who’d brought Aydori into the modern world.

“I wandered down into Aydori from Orin looking to see a bit of the world, but when you’re an Alpha my size, people expect you to challenge. I might’ve won, who knows, but I didn’t want Aydori, did I, and your uncle was smart enough to see that.” Gryham ran a hand down his thigh. Mirian watched the blur against the sky that meant a passing bird. “Scar’s nearly faded now. You’ve a bit of his look about you—color of fur, length of leg. That silver streak, that’s where the pin was?”

Tomas rubbed the scar. “How did you know?”

“Jake Saw it. He’s been Seeing you two off and on for some days now. He seems to think that silver color’s important. Means something. Doesn’t know why or what it means though. Just keeps repeating
find the silvered.
Soothsayers.” But he said it fondly.

Mirian remembered the Soothsayer in Herdon. How he’d grabbed her ankle and yelled,
“White light.”
Given that Gryham had managed to find them, Jake must have been a little less annoyingly obscure.

Gryham’s low stone cottage was on the other side of a fast-moving stream. There was no well, but a shed and a garden, and it both did and didn’t look familiar. Mirian stood at the edge of the rough bridge and made herself step onto it.

“Something wrong, little mage?”

“It just…” She gripped a handful of her skirt so tightly her hand ached. “There was a family, Pack, and they were killed…”

“Aye. Jake Saw you find them.”

If she had to call his expression anything, she’d say he looked sad. “Why aren’t you angry?”

“I’m angry. But he also Saw you deal with those who did the killing. It’s good they paid.”

“It doesn’t change anything.”

He shrugged. “They won’t do it again.”

“You’re still considered an abomination.”

“You think I haven’t been called names before, little mage? Since I came out of the mountains, I’ve been called many names.”

“But this name can get you killed!”

“Yes. But most that know we’re out here don’t know I’m Pack. Besides, Jake’ll give us a full day’s warning. That’s all he Sees, a full day into tomorrow. It’s why he’s not crazier than he is, I expect. Also, I’m large.”

“I noticed.”

“Most do. Now…” He changed, leaped the stream, and changed again. “…come on.”

Tomas changed and jumped the stream as well. “You could always part the water,” he called from the other side.

“There’s a bridge,” Mirian sighed. And crossed it.

Jake was a short man with dark hair and dark stubble. The dim light inside the cottage made it hard for Mirian to see the details of his face. “You want one rabbit to do for four people,” he shouted as they came into the cabin, “it’s going to have to be stew. We’ll use the last of the parsnips. Sure they look like limp dicks, but you won’t notice after they’re cooked.”

From the smell, he was frying fish. And fiddleheads.

“Rabbit’s for tomorrow night, then. Guess I’m hunting.” Gryham crossed the cabin, wrapped both enormous hands around the smaller man’s face and kissed him on the mouth. It wasn’t a fond kiss, it was more an
if we didn’t have company I’d do you right here on the floor
kiss. “Come back, love. We’re here.”

“I think I’ll get dressed,” Tomas muttered behind her, dragging his clothes off the bedroll. When Mirian glanced back at him, he shrugged. “There’s only so much the scent of fish can cover.”

“Have them set the table up outside.” His mouth finally free, Jake grinned up at Gryham. “And put some flaming trousers on before I burn supper.”

“We don’t have time for supper.” Although her mouth was watering, Mirian felt she had to make the protest. Supper wouldn’t bring them closer to the Mage-pack. When Jake turned toward her and raised a brow, she sighed. “Fine.

“Furs, fish, fortunes sometimes.” Jake grinned over the edge of his mug. “For those who don’t need to see too far. We find enough
to trade for what we can’t make on our own. Flour, cheese, decent tea.”

Mirian frowned, smoothing the tangled fringe on her shawl. “And no one in the village looks at you differently since the church declared the Pack abominations?”

“Most of the village thinks Gryham’s my keeper, assigned by the emperor himself.”

“Why would they think that?” Tomas asked.

Jake’s grin broadened. “Everyone knows the emperor loves his Soothsayers.

“You lied to them.” Mirian shook her head as Jake laughed. “But Soothsayers can’t lie.”

“Not in vision,” Gryham grunted. “The rest of the time, there’s nothing stopping them. Except maybe basic decency.”

“It was for your own good.”

“So you keep saying.” Gryham lifted the hand he’d been holding since they sat down and kissed the back of it. “Liar.”

Sometimes it seemed as if the two of them spoke their own private language. Mirian wondered if her parents had ever been like that and doubted it almost immediately. “There’s a course on Soothsayers at the university, but I’ve never heard of visions being prevented by touch.”

“I’ll bet there’s plenty you haven’t heard of, little mage.”

Tomas growled. “Stop calling her that!”

Gryham stared across the table at him. “When she tells me to.”

“I don’t mind.” Mirian shifted sideways on the bench so she and Tomas were touching. Pressed their shoulders together. Dropped her nearer hand to his thigh. Wound her bare foot around his under the table. Felt him relax. When the corners of Gryham’s mouth twitched, she glared them still and turned to Jake. “Do you remember what you see in vision when you’re not in vision?”

“Not until it happens. This university of yours, does it have a name?”

“Officially it’s the Aydori Institute for the Identification and Instruction of Mage-craft but no one ever calls it that. It’s just the university.”

“Like it’s the only one,” he snorted. “Why not call it The Institute?”

“That never quite caught on.”

Gryham beamed at her when Jake laughed. “It’s where they taught you to be a mage?”

“It’s where they teach mages,” Mirian allowed. “They didn’t have a lot of luck teaching me.”

“Good.”

“Good? It’s not good! All I know is basic level mage-craft. First and second and maybe I can fake a few third levels just from overhearing them spoken about, but that’s it!”

“Good.”

“Stop saying that! It’s not good, it’s pathetic!” Under the edge of the table, Tomas closed his hand around hers and squeezed. Mirian took a deep breath. “All right. Fine. Tell me why you think it’s good.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t. I thought we were here because…”

“I can’t.” Jake nodded at Gryham. “But he can. I Saw him do it.”

“Inside first.” Gryham stood up and stretched. “It still gets cold after the sun sets.”

“Fucking rain. This keeps up, the garden will flood.”

Mirian looked up at a clear sky and the first evening stars, down at Jake, then back up at Gryham.

Who shrugged. “I can’t be touching him all the time. And now we know why you don’t leave tomorrow.”

“The Packs came out of the mountains; Orin and Ural beyond that. Lines on maps mostly; it’s still wild land up there. Pack lands. Aydori was the closest to non Pack lands and so non Pack started to move in. They’re like rats.
Some
of them are like rats,” Gryham grunted as Jake drove an elbow into his side. “Pack Leaders in Aydori had to decide whether to drive them out or learn to rule them. Decided the latter, didn’t they, and Aydori got civilized.”

“What’s wrong with civilization?” Tomas demanded. “Orin is all raw meat and beer.”

“There’s nothing wrong with raw meat and beer, and while I don’t give a half-eaten rat’s ass about civilization’s opinion, things are simpler in the mountains. The mage-craft isn’t so tied up in rules and levels and shit. Less of it comes from here…”
He leaned forward and tapped Mirian’s forehead. “…and more of it comes from here.” He tapped her breastbone, as far from her breasts as he could get and still be touching her chest.

Tomas growled.

“Stop it,” Mirian said absently, leaning back against his arm. “When you say more, you don’t just mean
more
, do you?”

“It’s a good thing I’ve spent the last seventeen years translating for Jake,” Gryham sighed. “I mean, if you’re a Water-mage, how much healing do you learn?”

“Healing isn’t part of being a Water-mage.”

“And that, right there, that’s the problem. Used to be, everyone had to do a bit of everything to survive, but civilization means specialists because suddenly everything’s so bleeding complicated with foundries and gaslights and brass buttons, it takes all a person has to learn how to do just one thing, and if everything’s that complicated, then mage-craft can’t be simple. So mages in Aydori started making rules. And enforcing them. Soon enough, the rules started enforcing themselves. Go far enough up into the old country, and those rules don’t mean shit. There’s no Air-mages and Water-mages and all that one-color mage marks. There’s mages. You’re a mage.”

Mirian rolled her eyes. “I don’t have mage marks. Of any color.”

“And yet…” Jake spread his hands.

“You’ve got power. I don’t need Jake to tell me that. I’ve got a nose and you smell…” This time when Tomas growled, Gryham acknowledged it with a dip of his head, somehow making the small movement look patronizing. “You smell powerful. Too powerful to be confined by the dams and channels these made-up rules have put around what it is to be a mage.”