To Whatever End (Echoes of Imara Book 1) (2 page)

He turned and smiled at her, his eyes shining in the glowstone’s light. Although Daro’s mother had been from a Halthian family, his father had been an Imaran, a little-understood race of people who lived far to the southeast. Daro resembled his father’s people, with his tall stature, unusual eye color and olive skin.

“Hungry yet?” he asked over the crack and sizzle of the potatoes and eggs. A flick of the pan in his left hand flipped the egg over. “Shouldn’t take too long to finish.”

“It smells delicious.” She sidled up next to him and threaded her arm around his waist while she tucked her head under his arm. He was much taller than she, but somehow she never felt small next to him. Although Cecily was Halthian, she and Daro shared an Imaran marriage bond, a subconscious connection they barely understood. It drew her close to him in a way other Halthians didn’t experience.

She eyed the food and the mess on the stove. He might be gentle, but he was rarely tidy. “We should hurry, though; we have a long day ahead of us.”

“Would you mind telling Edson that breakfast is ready?” he asked as he began spooning food into bowls.

“Mmmm,” she said and trailed her fingers down his arm. She paused in the doorway and used her Reach, brushing him with her Wielding Energy. She wrapped it around him, feeling the contours of his body, and nuzzled him with Pressure. He glanced at her over his shoulder with a smile as she walked away to find their young charge.

Edson was out in their workshop, up early to do his chores. He reminded Cecily so much of her husband: tall, well-muscled, with a quiet demeanor that hid a whirlwind of thought inside. They had met him in East Haven, a town a couple days’ ride from their home. Although he was only fifteen, he had been on his own a long time. His parents had passed when he was just a boy. Daro had been drawn to take him in; he had also lost his parents as a child and the two seemed to understand each other. Edson was a Wielder, with abilities similar to Cecily’s own, and she had resolved to help him gain entrance to the Lyceum, the prestigious academy of learning in Halthas.

“Good morning, Miss Cecily,” he said with a flourish when he noticed her. He swept his arm back as if he had a cloak to brandish. “I trust the night kept you well.”

“Yes, thank you,” she replied formally. “I am gladly refreshed.” She had been introducing him to the basics of court manners, helping prepare him for life at the Lyceum. “Would you care to join Master Daro and me for some refreshment on this fine morning?”

“The pleasure would be mine.” He touched his left hand to his chest and bowed at the waist.

“Use your right hand when you bow,” Cecily corrected.

He raked his hand through his dark hair. “I should know that. I can remember the words easily enough, but I always seem to forget the motions. It would be easy to get yourself into trouble with the wrong people, I expect.”

“You have no idea. A little head jiggle could get you married off to the ugly fifth daughter of a Baron if you aren’t careful.” She winked at him.

He chucked. “I don’t know, the ugly fifth daughter of a Baron is still the daughter of a Baron. That wouldn’t be half bad.”

“True enough. But you’ll be better off finding yourself a nice merchant girl. There will be plenty of them at the Lyceum. It isn’t only the nobility who attend. Believe me, you don’t want anything to do with the Halthian nobility.” She turned around to go back inside.

“They can’t be all bad,” he said. “You know how to speak well, but you’re not half as wicked as you say the nobility is.”

Cecily stopped and rested one hand on the doorframe. “They’re not all bad, no. But their world is wicked. Power can do that to people.”
And I am as wicked as I say they are. But hopefully you’ll never have to know about that.

***

They ate their breakfast and got straight to work preparing for the day’s journey. It was time for their annual trip to the capital city of Halthas, something Cecily both looked forward to and dreaded each year. She’d grown up in the city and in many ways, it still felt like home. But it held conflicting memories that made it difficult to go back. She did look forward to seeing their old companions. Five years prior, Halthas had been embroiled in a civil war. Daro, Cecily and their group of companions had been instrumental in defeating the former king and helping King Rogan take the throne. After the conflict ended, the companions had drifted back to their lives. They still met once a year in Halthas, a welcome chance to reminisce with old friends who felt much more like family.

Daro was outside loading their wagon with his goods. He was a skilled craftsman whose work had become extremely popular with the Halthian nobility. He created beautiful items, and although he was not a Shaper, someone who could work with and manipulate a particular material, his work was lovely. Unlike Shapers, whose ability allowed them to work with just one material, such as metal, wood or stone, Daro was able to craft with numerous materials. He created beautiful wood chests, delicate metal jewelry, and carvings of stone.

The popularity of Daro’s work had grown as it became fashionable to own a piece with his distinctive scripted
D
on the piece. Noble ladies wore their Imaran-inspired jewelry to all the most important society functions, and his beautiful wood chests had become mainstays in many Halthian homes. She and Daro had left Halthas the year prior with so many special orders, she had wondered if he would have time to fill them all. She knew it puzzled her husband that his work was so prized. She, however, was familiar with the temperament of the nobles. Once something caught on, its popularity would spread like wildfire, each noble wanting to outdo the others. After a few noble ladies had taken a liking to his work, his name had circulated, and soon they were all clamoring for their own original pieces.

She had her own goods to bring and she checked the contents of her large, wooden chest. She made books, beautiful illuminated manuscripts, painstakingly illustrated by her own hand. She ran her fingers over the stamped leather covers. She almost hated to part with them. She’d spent the last year copying and illustrating historical works, teaching manuals, and books of poetry. She picked up a volume of poetry. The gilding on the pages sparkled and her finger traced the tiny flowers she had painted in the margins. She smiled, knowing the book was to be a gift for a young Halthian girl on her eleventh birthday. She hoped the girl would love it as much as she did. She put the book down and closed the chest, leaving it for Daro to take to the wagon.

Outside, Edson was hitching up the horses. He rubbed down their necks and talked to them in soothing tones. Daro loaded the last of their goods and baggage, taking special care with Cecily’s chest. She helped secure the cover over the back of the wagon.

The three of them swung themselves up onto the seat and Daro took the reins. They bounced as the wagon started down the dirt road that led out of the hills to Norgrost Keep. Norgrost was the last outpost guarding a pass through the Eastern Mountains. Cecily found the town friendly and charming. This far from the capital, the pull of court politics was weak and she and Daro had made a quiet life a few miles from town. Sometimes she could even convince herself the outside world no longer existed, just the mountains, their valley, the rushing river and a bustling little frontier town. It was a nice fantasy.

They reached the main road before long. Even this far from the capital, the road was paved, huge slabs of stone fitted together precisely in a way only Stone Shapers could craft. It made traveling swift and relatively comfortable.

After riding in silence for some time, Daro spoke. “Ceci,” he said, “are you planning to see your parents?” She saw Edson’s head turn toward her, then quickly away. Her family was not often discussed.

She sighed. “Yes, I suppose I will.”

Daro nodded and kept his eyes on the road. “Will I be joining you?” he asked, enunciating each word carefully.

She hesitated. Her family were high-ranking nobility who disapproved of her marriage to Daro. It had been over seven years and they still hadn’t forgiven her for marrying without their consent. Daro’s family was of humble origins, his mother from a merchant family and his father from Imara. His parents’ own marriage had been a scandal, an unprecedented union between a Halthian and an Imaran. The taint of the gossip and the low position of Daro’s family had been too much for her parents, and they’d never accepted him. Her mother was particularly adept at making Daro uncomfortable when they visited. As much as Cecily preferred to have him by her side, it was easier for everyone if he stayed away.

“I’m sure your business in the city will keep you occupied. But I’ll send your deepest apologies,” she said.

He looked at her, his eyes soft. “I’ll come if you want me to,” he said, his voice gentle.

“I know you would,” she said as she leaned against his arm. “It will be fine. My mother will run out of things to complain about eventually.”

Daro laughed. “I suppose. Don’t let her get to you.”

“Easier said than done. You know what she’s like.” Cecily looked out at the passing landscape. “I just hope she doesn’t mention children again.”

Daro wrapped his arm around her shoulders and held her close. They would both have loved a child, but after seven years of marriage, Cecily was beginning to give up on the notion.

As Daro leaned down, he spoke low into her ear. “That has nothing to do with them.” He kissed the top of her head. “Someday, love. Someday.” He squeezed her shoulders and pulled his arm back around to take the reins in both hands.

“I know.” She adjusted in her seat and smoothed out her clothes. She wore a long-sleeved tunic, dyed dark blue, under a wide, brown leather belt. Her pants were simple black leggings, tucked into knee-high brown leather boots. After leaving her family, she’d adopted a casual style of dress, more common among craftsmen and merchants than nobility. It remained a sore point with her mother, but Cecily much preferred the practicality of her clothing over the stuffy formality of Halthian high fashion.

She decided to change the subject. “I haven’t heard back from Magister Brunell,” she said. “Not since his last letter, which was months ago. I was planning to meet with him while we were in the city to talk with him about Edson’s petition for admission into the Lyceum. But he hasn’t written back.”

“That is odd,” Daro said.

“Can you just go see him?” Edson asked.

“I’m not exactly their favorite former student,” she said with a laugh. “Magister Brunell is on a very short list of people from the Lyceum who will still talk to me. But he has clout. I’m certain he could put in a good word for you.”

Daro flicked the reins. “Did he say anything about leaving Halthas? Maybe he’s away.”

“No, but his letter was strange,” she said and paused for a moment. “He went on and on about how the Lyceum had changed and there were things he must do, all in the name of progress. I wasn’t sure what he was talking about. But that’s how some of the magisters are. They have a tendency toward melodrama, especially when it comes to their research.”

“It is a strange world you lived in,” Daro said. “I won’t pretend to understand it.”

Cecily smiled and leaned her head on Daro’s arm, letting the motion of the cart relax her. She hoped her old magister was well but decided not to let it worry her. The Lyceum wouldn’t open its rolls for new students until next spring, and it was only late summer. She had plenty of time to help secure Edson’s entrance. She sighed, enjoying the warmth of her husband’s arm as the wagon rumbled down the road.

2. EAST HAVEN

The two-day journey passed quickly. They made their way south toward the river, stopping for the night at the home of friends, where they were happy for the welcome of a warm meal and a safe place to sleep for the night. Daro left them with a few gifts, as he always did, delighting the children with small wooden bears, complete with pointy claws and fangs, before they continued on.

The sun was close to the horizon when they came in sight of East Haven. The low wooden buildings sprawled out away from the river’s edge in a tangle of curving streets. The town wasn’t very big, but if you didn’t know your way around, it would be easy to get lost in the streets and alleys, backyard gardens and storefronts. East Haven had a tilted quality, almost as if the ground under the buildings had shifted in places, leaving them uneven. But studying them with a steady eye seemed to show the lines precise and straight. The effect was endearing, rather than jarring, and made East Haven seem shabby in the way an old grandmother is—worn with years but warm with welcome.

Daro led the wagon toward the river in as straight a line as possible through the jumble of buildings. The streets were well kept and relatively clean, most of the buildings in good repair. East Haven seemed to be thriving in peacetime, although the war hadn’t touched the outskirts of the kingdom the way it had the city of Halthas. Trade had picked up again, and trade was East Haven’s reason for existing. Poised on the banks of the mighty Bresne River, it was the easternmost of many towns along the way, a port for the great riverboats and a popular destination with merchants and traders.