A Thread in the Tangle (44 page)

A presence, more than any sound finally roused her.
 
She peeked through her fingers to see who had found her.
 
A pair of worn boots and the crimson hem of a familiar robe greeted her, telling her all she needed to know.

“That doesn’t look very comfortable, my dear.”

Isiilde stirred, lowering her hands to hug her thin body.
 
She followed the robes, moving ever upwards, until she found the twinkling eyes of her only friend.

“I didn’t think you noticed me,” she sniffed.

“I always notice you, Isiilde.”
 
His gentle voice soothed her ears.
 
He sat on his haunches, regarding her patiently.
 
She accepted his proffered handkerchief, noting the lone
M
embroidered on its cloth before bringing it to her nose.
 
She thought the single letter a bit odd, but could not summon enough curiosity to inquire, so she tucked it away with a muttered word of gratitude.

“I hate being a nymph.”
 
The plaintive statement was tempered with conviction.
 
When Marsais didn’t answer right away, she thought he must have blanked out, but when she sought out his eyes again, she found him studying her, a look of fondness softening his sharp features.

“I don’t like being a seer,” he confided.
 
“But I am who I am.
 
Just as you are Isiilde, a nymph.
 
We have no say in the blood we are born to.
 
So trust me when I say that there is little use in feeling sorry for ourselves.”

“I’m not feeling sorry for myself.”
 
She swallowed back her tears.
 
“I just—I thought Master Tulipin was at least tolerant of me, Marsais.
 
I would rather be disliked for
who
I am; not
what
I am, because I cannot change it, no matter how I wish to.”
 
Each hateful word had been like a stinging slap to her face, and the confrontation between Tulipin and Marsais had left her stomach in knots.

“If it makes any difference, I am largely disliked for both who, and what I am.
 
Seers make dreadful guests at joyous celebrations,” Marsais admitted.

“Then those who dislike you are fools.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, for I am vexing more often than not.”

“And I love you all the more for it.”

“Ah, love,” Marsais exclaimed with a smile.
 
“A word so little spoken in this ill place.
 
Your innocence brings light to the grimmest shadows.”

“You are the only one who thinks so, Marsais.”

“Because I see what others do not.”

“A red-eyed, big-eared, puffy-nosed nymph?”

“A rare and privileged sight to these ancient eyes of mine.”

“Only as ancient as the sun,” she said, returning his smile.
 
“Your eyes are more alive than any I’ve seen.”

“A mirror of your soul and no more,” he replied.

This last compliment was too much for the nymph.
 
She reached out to take his hand, but it disappeared beneath his long sleeve before she could grasp it.
 
Her hand strayed to his robe instead, resting on the supple fabric that covered his wiry forearm.
 
From this indirect contact, she received a small portion of the comfort she craved.

“But is what Master Tulipin said true?
 
Am I an animal?”
 
The truth wouldn’t be so bad coming from a friend.

“Far, far, from it.
 
Compared to you, my dear,
we
are the animals.”
 
He placed a covered hand over hers, encompassing her smaller hand completely.

“Then what am I that you cringe to touch?”
 
Her voice was full of hurt.
 
If he thought she hadn’t noticed his avoidance of her then he was sorely mistaken.

A warm smile curved his weathered lips.
 
“You are a goddess who I have no right to touch,” he whispered like a prayer of the devout.
 
Isiilde stared at him in wonder, confusion, and finally a delicate blush graced her unearthly skin.

“Hmm, perhaps we should get you in some sun, my dear, I think you’ll feel better.”
 
This sounded like a fine suggestion, and as he helped her to her feet, she couldn’t help but wonder if he had been jesting.
 
In the end, as she slipped her arm through his, she decided that if it was a jest, than it had been a lovely one.

Twenty-four

T
HE
CRYSTAL
AT
the pinnacle of the Spine greedily gathered the sun’s light from the sky, savoring its treasure before hurling a beam of heat into the heart of the chamber.
 
A pool of sunlight cascaded onto a gleaming white rug, caressing the nymph who lounged on top.

Bliss, pure and simple.

The sunlight would have felt divine against the nymph’s unclothed body, but she was in no mood to be left alone.
 
So she made a concession, removing only her boots.
 
Curling her toes, she stretched on the luxuriant rug with a sound that nearly resembled a purr.

From the moment they entered his study, she had been thoroughly entertained.
 
Marsais became positively energized, rushing from one end of the room to the other, performing a number of urgent tasks.
 
He wove a series of messages, sending the fluttering words off with a flick of his fingers to whisper in the recipient’s ears.
 
Then he turned to the shelves, attacking them like a madman, climbing the high ladder and hopping down with his desired book.
 
This, he repeated many times, until a pile of ancient tomes tottered on his desk, obscuring the gleaming wood beneath.

A number of times, Isiilde started to ask him what he was about, but she dared not interrupt the muttered conversation that he was having with himself.
 
It sounded very serious.

A knock at the door interrupted Marsais’ scattered thoughts, heralding Isek’s arrival.
 
He walked through the threshold performing an impressive balancing act with an armful of scrolls and books.

“As requested Arch—” the balding Wise One trailed off in mid-sentence, missing the desk and dropping half the scrolls onto the floor.
 
His gaze was fixed upon the nymph.

“Hello, Isek,” Isiilde greeted.
 
He looked rather comical with his mouth hanging open.
 
Marsais looked up in surprise, eyes darting from Isek to the shimmering dream who lounged in his study, and then back to his assistant.

“Thank you.”
 
Marsais stepped in front of Isek’s line of sight, blocking the nymph from view.
 
“Are you quite done?” he inquired with a severe arch of his brow.
 
Isek blinked rapidly, and then shook himself, clearing his throat hoarsely before speaking.

“Did you have any more requests for me?”

“Tell me, hmm, has Tharios traveled recently?”

“He’s always coming and going,” Isek replied, weaving a Kilnish crown between his fingers.

“I need to know where he has traveled in the past year—no matter how inconsequential it may seem.”

“Should be easy enough.
 
Tharios has his own ship and crew.”

“Splendid!” Marsais exclaimed.
 
“While you’re wheedling information out of his crew you have my permission to get soused, as long as you bring something back for me.”

“I’ll do my best,” Isek said, and tilted to the side, stealing one last peek at the nymph.
 
“And Marsais?”

“Hmm.”

“I don’t know how you do it, old friend.”
 
Marsais did not reply and Isek said no more.
 
When he left, Isiilde rested her hands on her chin (which still hurt), and stared at the closed door in puzzlement.

“What did he mean by that?”

“By what, my dear?” Marsais asked absentmindedly, as he studied one of the newly delivered manuscripts.

“By what he just said.”
 
Her master gestured toward the disorder on his desk.

“Perhaps he was referring to this mess I’ve gotten myself into.”

“What exactly have you gotten yourself into?”
 
Isiilde did not believe him for a moment, but curiosity won out and she rose, grabbing a handful of strawberries before joining him at his desk.

“Hmm, weren’t you listening in the throne room?”

“Yes, but I don’t understand.
 
If you already know what Tharios wants, then what are you looking for?”
 
She poked at a few scrolls, noting that they were dated maps of long forgotten borders and kingdoms.

Marsais beamed.
 
“Right to the point.
 
Have I ever told you what a sharp mind you have?”
 
Many times, but she never tired of hearing it.
 
“To put it simply, I bluffed and he took my bait,” he explained, excitedly.

“So—”
 
She thought back to the last exchange of words between the two and her master’s interest in Tharios’ recent whereabouts.
 
“—you suspected that he was searching for something, but you don’t know what he wants, and now you know he’s already found it.”

Marsais’ grin told her she was on the right track.

“But if he’s found it then why does he desire it?”
 
She bit into one of the berries, sucking the sweetness from it while she puzzled through this strange conundrum.

“The gap between knowledge and possession can be infinite.”
 
A thin finger swept up, emphasizing his next point.
 
“To use an example: a man might see a woman and desire that woman, but it certainly doesn’t mean he possesses her.”

The nymph chewed thoughtfully on what was left of the succulent berry.
 
“But Marsais, can a man really possess a woman without ruining her?
 
I should think, though I am no expert, when a person desires someone or something, it ends up possessing them.”

“Excellent!”
 
His eyes twinkled down at her.
 
“Therein lies the cycle of power that I spoke of in the throne room, which you, my dear, have grasped what Tharios could not.
 
And they wonder why I made you my apprentice,” he muttered.

“Would you like a strawberry?” she offered, trying to hide the blush that crept up her ears.

Grey eyes flickered to the bright red fruit, narrowing on the innocent berry as if it were poison.
 
“You’ve been to the kitchens again,” he stated, tersely.
 
Isiilde froze, unsure what to make of this drastic mood change.
 
Her smile faded.

“Am I not allowed to eat?”

“My dear—”
 
A long exhalation shuddered through his body and he briefly closed his eyes.
 
She had rarely seen him so affected.
 
When he recovered, he thanked her, and took the offered strawberry, balancing the near perfect specimen on his fingertips.
 
She waited beside him as he studied the berry with sharp eyes.