Bound by Blood and Sand (8 page)

“But you weren't ordered not to do this,” he said.

“No, but we're Closest.” They'd been cursed because of the mage-led rebellion. Of course the Highest wouldn't want them to use magic. Of course the Curse wouldn't allow it.

“But has anyone ever, ever said to you—have they ever said, ‘Jae, don't use magic'?”

She was forced to answer honestly: “No.”

“Well, there you go.” But his voice softened as he added, “I don't want this to hurt you. I just…”

“I know,” she said. “I have to do it. I have to, or Aredann is lost, and we're all…dust. I'll try again. Just let me breathe for a minute.”

He settled back on the ground again, and she caught her breath. The Curse was still thrumming lightly, but she thought about the truth she'd spoken. No one had ordered her not to do this. She wasn't disobeying anyone. She wasn't.

This time, the lights came to her more easily, and it was easier to tell one thing from another. The wall and the ground were both steady and bright, but Tal and the tree flickered and changed. And the water was brighter still.

Just finding the water already at Aredann wouldn't be enough. The Avowed would probably take it all with them when they went, fill jugs from the reservoir and carry off as much as they could. Aredann would need new water, coming from somewhere else.

She concentrated on the idea of that particularly bright glow, until she realized the glow was all around her, too—hard to see, hidden within other shimmering lights. Her head throbbed with Curse-pain again, but she ignored it and reached for the nearest glow she could—pressed her palm against the tree trunk and pulled and pulled.

Her palm was damp.

She gasped, the glows fading, as she pulled her hand back from the tree, twisted around to look closely. There it was: a tiny trickle, no more than a few steady drops. Tal moved closer, staring over her shoulder. He reached up to press a finger against it, and a moment later the trickle was gone, dry. There was water in the tree, but not much. Not enough.

But it was a start.

“You really did it,” he said, amazed, and reached up to run a damp finger across her cheek. She ducked away from his hand, a quiet laugh forming in her chest. Feeling reckless and giddy, she let the laugh out, let the noise into the sharp night air.

“We'll need more than that,” she said. “I'll need more practice. But…”

“But you did it,” Tal repeated. “And you…you really are going to save Aredann.”

Jae wondered if this was what it was like to be Tal. She technically obeyed all of her orders the next day, she did the work she needed to—but she practiced magic as she did it. Because she never neglected her duties, the Curse didn't do more than rumble slightly, and she quickly learned how to work while examining the glows. When she focused, she could use them to tell weeds from bushes, to sense where the rocky garden paths ended and the dead tufts of grass began. Or she could let herself go, her mind soaring over the estate. She could identify people that way—not just pick humans out from the walls of the estate, from the floor and ceiling, all jumbled together, but tell who was who.

As long as she worked while she did it, she was fine, and getting stronger. The trickles she called got larger. She could pull water from weeds and feed it to the bushes instead. It was never much, no more than a palmful at a time, but it was getting easier. Surely once the Avowed left and she didn't need to be so careful, she'd be able to do even more. She
had
to be able to, if she was going to save anyone.

The one time she didn't dare practice magic was when she served the Avowed their lunch. She banished even the glowing energy whenever she was close to one of them. The Avowed still made her nervous enough that she gave them her full concentration—and besides, an extra hour of practice wasn't worth the risk. If any of the Avowed caught on to what she could do, the whole gambit would be over. They would control her
and
her magic. Better to be careful in front of them; better to wait until she was alone again, working, beneath their notice.

Evenings were her favorite. Anytime she was alone in the garden or the yard, she could practice. She started by counting water jugs in the basement, learning not just to recognize the bright, beautiful glow of the water, but to separate out each individual jug by its clay. When she finally got to use the water itself, she would watch carefully in this, this other-vision, and see how it was absorbed, how the plants would glow more brightly. She practiced calling water from weeds, and, daring, finally brought the water in her palm up to her mouth to swallow.

It was sweet and cool, and she smiled in satisfaction. She'd find more. She'd call it, or she'd create it, somehow. But it would be like this, free for everyone.

A footfall on the path startled her. She dropped her hand guiltily and looked up to find Lord Elan taking in the garden. She stayed where she was, crouched by the bushes, hoping he'd somehow overlook her, or at least ignore her—but no, his gaze lingered on her, and he smiled.

“I wish I could see what this garden was like when Lord Aredann first planted it,” he mused, looking around. “It's nothing like the mosaic.”

She said nothing, trying to stay calm. He liked to talk, she already knew that much. Hopefully, if she just waited, he'd talk himself out, get bored, and go find someone who could actually answer him. She banished the glowing visions as she waited, worried he'd seen her do something.

“The fountain, though, that's the same,” he continued, walking over to examine it. “Lady Shirrad tells me it was crafted by Lord Aredann himself.”

Jae couldn't say anything, just waited, listening, but when she looked at the fountain, she knew that was wrong. She had that strange feeling again as if she wasn't quite able to remember something important, but she could swear she'd heard something different. Lord Aredann hadn't crafted the fountain; a woman had. Someone tied to the Well, back when it had been founded. Jae must have heard a legend about that once, but that didn't make any sense, either. If Lady Shirrad and the Avowed knew that Lord Aredann had crafted the fountain, then no Closest would dare say otherwise—none would even be
able
to say otherwise, legend or no.

Elan stooped to look at the blossom. “How has our mysterious flower fared?”

“Quite well, Highest,” Jae said softly, swallowing her anxiety. He'd ordered her to care for the flower, so she had, painstakingly ensuring that it continue to grow and bloom. But the flower was a dangerous subject, because now she knew for certain where it had come from. She was safe, as long as he didn't ask, but if he did…

“Good, good.” He laughed a little and straightened back up. He looked up at the moon and mused, “It's not a bad evening out, now that the sun's down. Back at Danardae, we spend the evenings in gardens, too, though they have more than just one flower.”

She forced herself to smile. Let him scoff at her garden—let him scoff, and then leave her be. She'd smile at anything if it meant he'd go back inside. And he seemed like he was going to when he glanced to the arched entryway.

But then he looked back at her and added, “It's still cursed strange, it growing out of nowhere like that. I take it you haven't seen any other mysterious flowers?”

He sounded amused as he said it, but Jae couldn't help but think of the bouquet under her sleeping mat, of the feeling of growing flowers up out of nowhere, and the Curse erupted in her head as she panicked. She tried to swallow it, tried to think of any other truth she could say, but when she opened her mouth, her voice betrayed her and she said, “I have, Highest.”

Elan stared at the girl. She was cringing, all but cowering, her face twisted up in fear. He looked around the garden but didn't see any other splashes of color. “Where?” he demanded.

“They were here,” she said. “I—I hid them.”

“Blood and bones,
why
? Where did they come from?”

Her voice shook as she said, “I didn't want you to see them—to see any of it. Not ever. Because I grew them—
I
did it.” She clamped her jaw shut, winced from something Elan couldn't see, and a moment later spat, “With magic.”

Magic.
That was so impossible that he actually gaped, his mouth open as he stared. No one had magic anymore, except what the Highest needed to guard the Well. And even if there were still magic, it wouldn't come from some filthy Closest girl. She must have been mistaken, somehow.

But Aredann had always held secrets. And there was no denying the flower by the fountain, or that Closest couldn't lie.

“Explain,” he said.

Her voice grew stronger, the tremble vanishing, as she said, “I saw some of your papers. There was a drawing of this fountain.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I
couldn't,
” she snapped. “No one asked me.”

“But surely you could have said…” He frowned. The Curse was strict, but it must have made allowances for this kind of thing. He just couldn't think of any. “But what happened? How did you…”

“The magic was locked in the fountain, and I unlocked it.”

“How?”
he demanded again, eyeing her carefully. Everything she said had to be true—the Curse wouldn't allow anything else—but she wasn't saying much of anything at all. He added, “Tell me everything you know.”

She narrowed her eyes but did as he'd ordered, explaining that she'd bled into the fountain and it had caused her fit—but that it hadn't just been a fainting spell. And she told him about everything that had happened since, how she'd managed to will flowers into existence. That she could summon water out of weeds.

“Show me,” he ordered.

She stared at him for a long moment, and he couldn't read her expression. Finally she grabbed a weed up off the ground, held it in her hands. She didn't seem to
do
anything, except her gaze went unfocused, her expression went soft. But then she held her hands out to him.

There were tiny pools of water in each.

“Impossible,” he breathed again as she stooped and let the water fall onto the flower. He turned to examine the fountain, but it looked exactly like it always had: dusty and dry. He plucked the thorny weed from where she'd dropped it, and winced as he tore his hand the way Jae had described. He pressed his hand down onto the fountain trough and waited.

Nothing happened.

“Why didn't anything happen?” he asked, frowning down at the fountain.

“I don't know,” she said.

He pressed his hand down again but didn't feel so much as a tremor, and certainly didn't see any of the strange things she'd described.

“That makes no sense,” he said. Surely he should have seen
something
. If there was magic in the fountain, it must have been meant for him or another member of the Highest families. “Why would it work for a Closest and not for me?”

“I
don't know,
” she repeated.

“Curse it,” he said. “That's ridiculous. The magic, if this
is
magic, wasn't meant for you. It's too dangerous. But at least I found it now, before we leave….”

Jae looked away from him, silent but scowling, her arms crossed.

“Don't worry, I won't leave
you,
” he assured her. “The magic is too important; you'll have to come with me when we all leave Aredann.”

She didn't look relieved. If anything, the opposite—her eyes narrowed and her mouth tightened into a thin line, and she was glaring at him as if she were Avowed and he were one of the Closest, as absurd as that thought was.

“What?” Elan asked.

“You'll save
my
life. But you'll leave my brother to die. My brother, my friends, everyone I've ever cared for—all dead. And you assume I'll be happy that you spared me.” Her voice was venom, the words as sharp as the thorns on the vine.