Analindë (The Chronicles of Lóresse) (33 page)

“I’ll tell you this much. Beyond curious youngsters who if they had the chance would stick their foot in a furnace to see if it was hot,” he cast a sardonic gaze to the drooling student on her left, “Both of you were the first to react and both slept the longest.

“Your homework until next class is to think about this. How fine was the thread of Energy you spun? How much of the power in this jar can you feel with the lid sealed shut and how far away from the jar was your thread of Energy when the lid was opened?” He swung the jar around in small circles; the blossoms caught air and shuffled together, then he gently, reverently replaced it on the table.

“And for fun, I want you to figure out how far away you could be and still sense the energies within the shielded jar. Then calculate how much time you’d have to react if it was opened.” He sat back, satisfied, as if he’d done a fine job of scaring them witless. He released the shield surrounding them.

“Pedar, I want Analindë to rest a moment longer before she attempts to stand. You are welcome to wait for her or leave as you will.”

Pedar turned and searched her face. Analindë nodded that she was okay and he slid out of his desk. He cleared his throat. “I think I’ll take my leave. Thank you . . . for the instruction and the warning.” He bowed and strode across the room. He was not happy.

“Pedar.” At Master Roshär’s voice Pedar froze. “Why don’t you see how far down the hall you can get before you don’t sense the jar.” Pedar nodded and slipped out of the room.

They listened to Pedar’s footsteps move slowly away from them. He stopped for a moment, then moved away strongly and quickly. He’d found the place. Analindë wondered how far down the hall
she
would be before she stopped.

A strong shield sprang up around Master Roshär and herself and she began to fidget with the ring on her finger. “You had a question for me?”

Analindë thought about the holes in the seals of the jars and looked up into Master Roshär’s face. Could she trust him? The stars in his eyes swirled slowly and she thought of the help he’d been so far. Yes, she could trust him with this.

“The seals on the jars. They have holes in them. Are they there on purpose? Or is it a flaw in the design of the container?” she asked simply.

Master Roshär sat back and studied her for a moment. The stars in his eyes stilled and the mask slipped from his face. Concern. He was concerned. “Analindë, I know your–, I knew–” his hand reached out and then dropped. “I am honored with the trust you extend to me. And I am pleased that it is so. Know this, that not all are worthy of such trust. Be wary of even those you’ve known for years.”

The cold shiver that lived deep inside her woke up again after its brief nap, and grew. She answered a tad bit formally. “I am honored to receive the guidance and caution you have given this day as we live in perilous times, receiving warning and having caution is wise.” Analindë raised her right hand in a scooping motion, holding it briefly between them before letting her hand fall with a flick of her wrist.

Master Roshär acknowledged the age-old gesture of thanks by repeating the scooping motion. However, he brought his cupped hand to his heart palm up, then pushed it out from himself toward his young pupil, wrist leading. It was a higher gesture of respect.

“In answer to your question. It is a flaw in the design of the jar. I formed them, but only as I was able. Can you fix them?” he inquired softly.

He reached outside of the shield, grabbed the first jar and set it on the desk in front of her. The energies inside the jar lay dormant. No, not dormant, practically dead. Flat as they were, they presented her no threat.

She sent a tendril of Energy out to circle the jar, searching out the weave, analyzing its pattern. She sought out its weakness and holes the way she studied her own shields and weaves when she parried with Andulmaion.

After a long while she sat back, a smile split her face. “Yes, I do believe I can fix them.” Master Roshär smiled back, the stars in his eyes danced. Tears slid down his face.

Pedar had been silent through lunch, his demeanor somber. Erulissé and the others had attempted to cajole him into a better mood or at the least to get him to tell them what had upset him. Instead, he put them off and brooded. Analindë hadn’t said much either. All the attention focused on Pedar had left her free to keep to herself as well. She quietly watched her human loving friend and worried.

Their friends began to hound him again; his face became shuttered and the stars in his eyes stilled. He turned toward her and their gazes locked. A moment later she felt a pulse of Energy fly out from him and shoot across the room. Seconds later someone tripped, food went flying, and a fight broke out. Their companions launched up to see what had happened, leaving them momentarily alone in the melee. Pedar immediately thrust his right arm out toward her, fingers splayed. The request was unmistakable. A bead of sweat formed at the nape of her neck and quickly ran down her spine. She felt flushed.

It took her only moments to make her decision. Half a second later she tried to nod her acceptance, but instead felt compelled to reach out her right hand and touch her two middle fingers to the back of his wrist. She had accepted his pledge of loyalty as ally.

The swearing of
Gette lor’ de lissance
. It was not something lightly done. And she had somehow managed to do it wrong. She was supposed to nod. Not touch. She pulled her hand back, or at least tried to, but her hand would not move and neither would his. They were stuck. Panicked, she felt his hot skin beneath her touch. A rushing sound filled her ears as the Energy pooling just beneath her fingertips arched between their physical connection. A rush of emotion swiftly followed.

Intent. It swirled around her and she struggled to make sense of it. With great effort, it settled into patterns. He was fearful but had vast courage. He was a source of strength. He would be
very
powerful one day and could already skillfully handle vast amounts of Energy. His father had begun his mage training fifteen years earlier.

He did not want the war but would stand against the rebels as long as he yet lived.

He had resources. Vast networks that had been cultivated and maintained since the last war and had access to places of refuge scattered throughout both the Elven and Human lands. He was trustworthy. All this he offered. She had but to ask.

The Energy intensified, then narrowed to a point. It pierced her in the right shoulder, branding her. In a swirling rush, the sensation was gone. The surrounding noise pressed back in on them. Analindë pulled her freed hand back and glanced around.

Only a few seconds had passed, though it had seemed longer; her friends still stood around them, blocking their exchange from view. No one had seen the sheltered vow. She looked at Pedar. Had he felt the same feelings and thoughts, but about her instead? He saw the question in her eyes and answered. “Yes, but different.” He looked calmer. His eyes were brighter, as if a burden had been lifted. The stars in his eyes turned, then spun. He was content and . . . hopeful?

He chose that moment to stand and take his leave from the table. He nodded a partial bow to her. As he turned away, he rubbed the spot on the back of his wrist as if it was painful. She watched his hand fall down to his side as he walked. A tiny spot on his wrist flashed bright to her eyes, her shoulder burned, and the light flared out taking the pain with it.

Analindë turned back to the table and stared blankly.

What in the Stars had just happened?

The brawl in the lunchroom had quieted to a dull roar by the time Analindë slipped across the room and out the door. She didn’t want to become entangled in anything else. The day had been eventful enough.

She had some time to spare before Andulmaion would be expecting her for shielding practice so she detoured to her new haven. She’d discovered the indoor water garden a few days ago while hunting for a new shortcut to the students’ quarters. It was warded like the passageways and she wondered if there were restrictions for its use. She’d better ask Master Therin later, to be safe. She needed time to quietly sit and think and this was the place.

She found the correct archway and slipped through. The tall passage was made of white limestone. Windows near the tips of the arched beams flooded the floor with light. The stones were bare in pure simplicity. And as she neared the end of the passage, she felt calmer already. Slowing to scan the garden, she realized she had the place to herself. She sighed in relief and stepped forward . . . directly into Master Harwyn, who had just rounded the corner.

“Master Harwyn, I bid you good afternoon.” The professor had gone rigid. She stared at Analindë. Her gaze traveled down Analindë, slowly dissecting her appearance. Stars! What was she wearing? She could only remember that she usually dressed less formally on the days she had Potions. And her hair–. Her hand automatically shot up to touch the loose braid hanging down her back. Master Harwyn’s eyes finally ascended and met Analindë’s in an icy blaze, sending cold shivers racing through her body.

Analindë’s heart thumped painfully in her chest. The professor glared at her a moment longer. Her eyes flicked away from her and then she was gone, courtesy of the brightly lit passageway. Trembling, Analindë stepped fully into the sanctuary that was no longer safe and melted down onto a bench.

By the time her shaking had departed and she’d gotten control of the racing shivers, she calculated that Master Harwyn would have had enough time to exit the passageway and would be well away from this part of the school.

Analindë surveyed the water garden to memorize the sight and sighed heavily. This would have been a nice place to regularly visit. But she’d never come here again. It was no longer a haven. After one last long look, she flew down the passageway and reached Master Therin’s tower in record time. Perhaps leaving her rooms hadn’t been such a very good idea after all.
Fall or fly? What was she to do? . . . Fall. There was no courage here, she felt like falling.

Over the next several days Analindë took to choosing her attire with care, wearing only the nicest and least casual of items and styling her hair to impress. On days that she had the Advanced Healers course she wore the most intricate styles she could manage—that matched her mask—and on alternate days wore her hair in an elegant but relaxed style.