Where Light Meets Shadow (11 page)

“Your prince is very kind.”
Kieran at last found his tongue and his manners. “And it is an honor to meet
one of his kinsman.”

The other hunters had gathered
around, most with their hoods still up so that he could not read their faces or
their moods. Several hounds pushed forward, intent on investigating the
stranger, bumping his crutches and forcing him to hobble for balance.

Another of the Leas, one who
looked older than the cousins, called the hounds off with a sharp command. He
stepped forward, revealing a limp.

“I apologize, bard. I don’t know
which has worse manners, my hunters or my hounds. And since my prince has not
seen fit to introduce us, I am Eamon, master huntsman of the Leas. Though we
have met before, it was not under the best of circumstances, and we were never
properly introduced.”

“You were with the prince when he
found me,” Kieran guessed.

He remembered that evening well,
including the mix of bravado and stupidity with which he had resisted the
hunting party’s efforts to help him.

“You were lucky we did,” Eamon
commented, not unkindly.

“I was,” Kieran acknowledged.
“Even if I didn’t realize it at the time.”

“What in the world were you
thinking?” Eamon asked.

“I wasn’t.” He gestured with a
crutch. “As you can see, I am paying the price.”

“Be glad it didn’t cost you your
life,” Eamon said firmly.

Alban interceded. “You needn’t be
so grim, Eamon.” To Kieran he added, “He’d lecture me just the same if I ever
did anything so reckless.”

Kieran smiled. “I’m sure you
never would.”

Eamon chuckled. “You haven’t
known our prince as long as I, nor as well.”

“Really? Sounds like a story there,”
Kieran said.

“Which we do not have time for at
the moment,” Alban said quickly. “I thought you were fatigued and wished to
return to your room.”

“Another time.” Kieran bowed to
Eamon, who returned the courtesy solemnly, but with a glint of mischief in his
eyes that sparked a kindred feeling in his soul.

Really, he doubted that Alban had
ever done anything truly wild and irresponsible in his life. But the prince’s
embarrassment over whatever small transgression he may have committed was
enough to amuse.

#

Kieran was thoroughly exhausted
by the time they reached his room, and his ankle throbbed. Alban fussed,
helping him into bed, propping up his leg with pillows and fretting that the
outing had been too much, until Kieran caught his hand and met his gaze,
silently asking him to bond with him.

Through the link, he assured
Alban that, yes, he was tired, but it was a good tired, and that he felt better
for the outing.

“I was worried that my cousins
and the hounds might have overwhelmed you,” Alban said aloud.

Kieran sent a flash of humor
through the link—the hunting party had been quite a swarm, especially against
the backdrop of his recent near solitude. “It was a pleasant contrast to meet
Leas who aren’t after my blood.”

Alban sent disapproval through the
link, accompanied by images of his father healing Kieran as Alban took the
pain, of his mother giving Kieran her harp.

“Oh, hush,” Kieran said. “You
know what I meant.”

Alban read to him that afternoon.
Kieran enjoyed his voice and his company—the expedition to the stable had worn
him out. He had no idea he had lost so much of his physical conditioning in so
short a time.

“It happens more quickly than you
would think,” Alban told him when Kieran said as much. “Too, your body demands
much of your strength for the healing process. And you are using different
muscles when you go about on crutches than you would without. Still, we should
start working on getting you built back up so you can travel again once you are
healed.”

They both knew that his stay
here, and this undefined thing between them, could not last. And yet usually
they avoided talking about it.

“It’s a cold day,” Kieran said.
“Are you not cold? Come sit beside me for warmth.”

Alban did not mention that,
although the day was cold, the hearth fire was warm and more wood could be
added to it if either of them were chilled. Instead, he shifted onto the bed,
sitting against the headboard with Kieran spooned in front of him, leaning
against his chest. Almost without will they slipped into the link, and Alban
began to read once more until it was time for him to go down for dinner.

“Will you be all right here alone
while I go down to my parents?”

Alban had not forgotten his worry
then.

“I’ll be fine.” Kieran sent a
hopeful image of himself curled up with the book Alban had promised to return.

Alban sighed. “I did promise.
Only, try to be sensible? As sensible as you can be.”

“I am a bard, after all.” Through
the link, he sent his somber promise, on the music and on his father’s blood in
his veins.

The answering warmth of Alban’s
trust settled around him like a blanket. Alban squeezed his hand, then slipped
from the link to get the book and Kieran’s notes.

Kieran spent the evening
reacquainting himself with the book. The question of duets still teased at his thoughts,
but the enforced time away had given him a calmer frame of mind.

Perhaps he needed to start by
imagining what a bardic duet would be like. Maybe something akin
to  what
it felt like with Alban linked to his mind as
he played? Except that a mind-link like the one Alban shared with him needed a
healer to initiate it. The only comparable skill among Scathlan was the royal
ability to mindspeak, but that compared more to shouted orders or a town
crier’s call than an intimate conversation between dearest friends. Bardic
magic tended not to respond to orders, sometimes not even the bard’s own.

He fell asleep early with the
book still in his hands, and slept well. Nothing disturbed Kieran’s rest except
the faint brush of Alban’s mind that might or might not have been a dream.

#

He woke sometime after sunrise.
It felt early, too early to expect breakfast any time soon. He reached for his
harp and began to play one of the songs mentioned in the book, imagining the touch
of Alban’s mind as he played, remembering the touch of Alban’s mind on his own
as the Leas healed him.

Oh, he was an idiot for not
seeing it before!

The bardic healing magic was a
duet indeed. Not between musical instruments or even two bards, but between a
bard’s magic and a healer’s taking place in the mind-link.

A soft knock on the door woke
Alban, and Kieran’s voice calling his name brought him surging to his feet. He
snatched up his robe and rushed to the door, hastily tying the belt as he went.
Kieran had never disturbed him in his room before.

In the doorway, Kieran leaned on
his crutches, a little breathless, eyes bright. Was he in pain? Feverish?

“I figured it out,” Kieran said
in a rush. “I probably should have waited—I’m sorry if I woke you—but, Alban, I
figured it out!”

Relieved, Alban waved him in and
tried not to think about the fact that the servant who brought breakfast up to
the hall each morning would find them both in Alban’s room.

Kieran explained his discovery.
“We could do this! You and I, together through the mind-link.”

They could try it, and perhaps
they could rediscover the ancient technique that joined the strengths of bardic
and healing magic. But it would be experimental, and experimental healing magic
was dangerous. He wanted to try it, but. . .

“We will have to tell Father
first. And get his permission.”

“I don’t see why. Alban, please—”

“I’ve already hidden things from
my father for your sake. This is too big, too much of a potential risk. And a
deliberate deception. You can’t ask it of me.”

Kieran looked like he would
argue, then sighed and dropped his head. “Very well.”

“I’m almost certain he will agree
to let us try it.” Once he got over his shock and anger, because Alban would
have no choice but to let him know the extent and frequency with which Kieran
and Alban had been mind-linking. “It will be safer for both of us to have an
experienced healer with us in case something goes wrong.”

#

After they shared breakfast, Kieran
waited in his own room while Alban went to talk to his father. He held his harp
in his lap, plucking the strings idly, unable to focus on a tune. Alban had
said that his father had wanted the secret of the book unlocked. Surely as a
healer, the king would want to discover if this old method of combining bardic
and healing magic could be relearned. Unless he realized that Kieran wanted to
use the magic to wake the Scathlan queen.

When Alban returned, his face
looked troubled.

“He said no, didn’t he?” Kieran
guessed.

“He said neither yes nor no. He
wants to see you in his study. Alone.”

Fear washed over Kieran. “Why?”

“He wouldn’t say. I had to tell
him about our mind-linking. He was not best pleased.”

“I think it’s time you told me
about the mind-link. We’ve never talked about it. Maybe I didn’t want to know.
But if I’m about to be hanged for it, I deserve to know what I’m being hanged
for. What it means. What your father thinks it means.”

“A superficial mind-link during
healing is common enough, and doesn’t mean anything more than what a salve or a
bandage might,” Alban explained carefully.

“I’d say our link is neither
superficial nor common.”

“What we have, the compatibility
between our minds, is too rare to have any set meaning. When it occurs, it’s
usually among married couples—”

Kieran closed his eyes. “Oh,
sweet Grace,” he breathed. “Your father really is going to kill me.”

“—but it is not necessarily
romantic or sexual. Such compatibility has been known between siblings and, in
one legend, between warrior-friends. It is not something one chooses and is
considered to be a gift from the Grace.”

Kieran grimaced. “I doubt that
your father thinks you to be especially blessed.”

“I doubt he knows what to think.”
Alban put a hand on his shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze. “Go, do not
keep him waiting. But trust that he will not harm you for this.”

That Alban believed his father
would not hurt him, Kieran had no doubt. If only he could share that faith.

“Walk with me to his study?” he
asked. “I do not know the way.” Nor did he wish to compound his problems with
another encounter with Trodaire.

Outside Toryn’s study, Alban
touched his shoulder and brushed against his mind.
All will be well.

And then Kieran knocked, was told
to enter, and hobbled in, closing the door between himself and the only Leas he
fully trusted.

It was a large room, with
tapestries of forest scenes on the walls and carpets on the floor woven in
forest colors. A window looked out over a steep slope of spruces and pines.
Toryn stood by the window, tall and remote and forbidding. “Sit,” Toryn
commanded. “I would not make an injured man stand on crutches.”

He took the seat Toryn indicated.
“Thank you, Your M—Lord Toryn.”

Toryn remained standing. “You are
healing well?”

“Yes, lord. Your son is quite
skilled.”

“And quite attentive, I
understand,” Toryn said, voice heavy with disapproval

Kieran swallowed hard. “Yes,
lord.” Safest to answer the bare meaning of the words and ignore the tone.

Toryn stalked closer. “I
understand that the two of you have an unusual
compatibility,
that
you can link quite easily and comfortably.”

Toryn was harder to read now, and
Kieran wasn’t sure what he was expected to say. The king let the silence hang
until Kieran scrambled to fill it.

“I’m sorry, lord, I—”

“Do not apologize for that which
is a gift from the Grace!” Toryn snapped.

Kieran shrank back into the
chair.

“You were less frightened when
you were dragged into my castle, an injured trespasser half-dead from the
cold.”

Kieran decided to try for
honesty. “I was too miserable and too angry then to be frightened. And I had
less to lose.”

Toryn gave an enigmatic
half-smile. “Ah. What is it that you feel you have to lose now?”

“My comfort. My safety. The
chance to pursue an area of bardic magic I had not known before.”
Your son’s
friendship.

“Ah, yes. The book.” Toryn paced
a few slow steps, running a hand across the carved mantel with feigned
casualness. “I admit, when my son told me you were studying it, it seemed a
harmless enough pastime. I had hoped it would keep you out of trouble.”

He couldn’t know about the
incident with the magic going wild. Alban would have warned him otherwise.

Toryn’s slow pacing brought him
directly in front of Kieran. “But now you want to engage in experimental magic.”
He fixed Kieran in his steady gaze. “With my son.”

Toryn hadn’t raised his voice.
Yet.

“It seems the obvious next step,”
Kieran said quickly, daring to meet that implacable gaze before glancing away.
“I’m not sure it would work with anyone else. Honestly, I’m not sure it will
work, period. But I’d like to try.” He dared a hopeful smile.

Toryn’s answering smile was cold
and all too knowing. “I am not as naïve as my son. I know why you are so
interested in the healing magic. You wish to wake your queen. You think that
reviving her will save your people far more than any song you could bring back
from mortal lands.”

Kieran wet his lips. “My lord,
I—”

Ice-blue eyes silenced him. “The
thing is, I know your queen. Far better than you do. I am not so sure you are
right in thinking that waking her would be the salvation you seek.”

Kieran’s knuckles whitened with
his grip of the chair as he tried to formulate a measured response, one worthy
of a bard.

Toryn sighed heavily and sank
into a chair opposite Kieran. And in that moment, he transformed from a
fearsome king to a man wearied with long-carried burdens and with questions
which had no easy answers.

“I am not certain it can be
done,” Toryn said, “and I’m not certain I’d be doing your people any favors
should you succeed, but I’m willing to let you try. If you will grant me a
favor in return.”

What could he possibly have that
Toryn might want that he could not already take by force? “Name your terms,”
Kieran said levelly.

“I ask that you not hurt my son.”

Kieran felt as though the wind
had been knocked out of him. “Lord, I know you have no reason to believe me,
but I would die before I did harm to Alban.”

“I believe that you would not
intentionally hurt him. Alban is no fool, and he would sense in the mind-link
if you were not as he believes you to be. But Alban is not as worldly as you
are. You have to know where this thing between you would grow if unchecked, and
you have to know that any such a union is impossible.”

No point in denial; Toryn would not
believe him.

“I do know that,” Kieran said
softly, voice colored with regret he only now admitted to himself. He squared
his shoulders and raised his chin proudly. “I may love freely, but I have never
played the rake and would never imply hope where there is none.”

“I know,” Toryn said. “I think my
son would not love you if he did not see honor in you.”

Love.
Kieran hadn’t let
himself think that word before, hadn’t wanted to face the responsibility.

“What are you asking? For me to
break off my friendship with Alban? To not mind-link outside of the
experiments?”

“No. That would hurt him too. Nor
would he understand,” Regret weighted Toryn’s voice, almost as though he wished
for a world where he did not have to keep Alban apart from his first love.

“What, then?”

Toryn scrubbed his face with both
hands. “I don’t know.
Just.
. . be careful.”

“I will do anything I can to
shield him from harm.”