Call of Brindelier (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 3) (21 page)

“First things first,” Valenor says. “You must consent to their healing. When you are ready.”

Ki steps forward. Her hair shines bright and slick in the sunlight. The studs on her gray leather armor twinkle and shine. The last time I saw her, it was winter. She has since shed her long sleeves and leggings for something that shows off the muscles in her arms and legs. She looks good. Healthy. She adjusts her bow on her shoulder and offers her outstretched arms to hug me. I let her.

“I’m not sure when you’ll see me again,” she says, “but I’ll be watching you from here. From the Dreaming, okay? I believe in you.”

I bury my face in her shoulder. Stay there for a while. Feel Iren’s hold on her, the magic deftly woven between her and the Guardian of the North. Take in the scent of her: crisp mountain air and pine. Save this feeling, the love of my sister. Even though the magic of that fortress can’t touch me, it’s still heavy with despair and hopelessness. I’ll need this to help me through.

Next to us, Saesa’s sniffling again. She doesn’t wait for Ki to let go. She flings her arms around the both of us.

“I’m glad we found you,” she whispers. “Be careful.”

“I’m glad you’re safe,” I say. “Stay that way. I’ll see you in Cerion.”

I don’t let go of any of them. I keep hugging. Valenor’s cloak settles around us, poking us with starry pinpoints of hope. I think of myself back on the dais. The man with his hands on me. In my mind I agree to it. I allow it. I let him heal me.

There’s no gentle shift. It happens suddenly. Pain. Agony. Suffocation. The blood in my mouth sputters out as I gasp and choke on it. His hands are rough over my ears. His fingertips jab into my temples and skull. I open my eyes to pink light. Healing magic pulses through me, ripping through my bones, binding and fixing splinters and shards. It isn’t the soothing healing I’m used to. This is forceful. Powerful. Fast and hard. Excruciating.

I scream and gasp and scream again. My own voice echoes back at me. The pain is too much. I need it to stop, but no. It must continue. I remember Ki’s arms around me, and Saesa’s. The sun-splashed deck of a flying ship. I focus on the scent of mountain air and pine. They help me through, just like I thought they would.

Through a cloud of pink and pain, his face hovers over me. Narrow and haughty, with slits of eyes that turn up as he grins. Triumph. The boy is awake. The boy he flung over a cliff for not seeing what he needed him to see. For refusing to tell. I have never hated anyone more than I hate him.

As the sensation returns to my arms and fingers, I fight the urge to reach up and strangle him. My back, my legs, my feet and toes mend, but I lie still. Unmoving. I don’t want him to know the extent of my healing. I bide my time.

All I reveal is a slight turn of my head to look for Zeze. She’s still there in the cage across the room. Watching intently.

“You’ve done it, Prent. Go,” Osven says, peering over me. The healer removes his hands and leaves the room.

“Zeze,” I whisper with difficulty around the crust in my mouth. “I need Zeze.”

“Fetch his familiar, girl,” Osven commands.

In my mind I chuckle. Of course this is a term the Sorcerer would fall back on. Familiars are pets. Old magic. Once someone is bonded to a familiar, they have an empathic link. Anything that happens to it, happens to them. They’re not a custom in Cerion. They used to be, in Sunteri. Before the really powerful Sorcerers snuffed out the Mages and weaker Sorcerers. Nan used to tell me fables about them.

Anyway, Zeze is definitely not a familiar. She’s not even really a pet. She’s a cat. We have a bond. Sometimes it feels like something more. Sometimes I wonder about her. I used to think she was Ki, like Elliot can dreamwalk in the form of a fox, but it was wishful thinking. I asked her about it once when Zeze first came around, and she denied it. She said Iren wouldn’t let her just wander around the city that way. It’s too risky.

“My master said—” the girl’s voice sends chills through me. Celli. I whip my head in her direction. Her hand rests on the cage latch, ready to open it.

“Do you defy me?” Osven hisses. “You were ordered to assist me, were you not? If you wish to disappoint Quenson, then by all means, ignore my request.”

“But I’m not supposed to—” she starts again, and Osven growls.

“What,” he demands through clenched teeth, “exactly were your master’s orders?”

“To do as you say, and not to let the cat out of my sight,” she answers. “And to fetch him if there’s any change.”

“And will the cat,” he over-enunciates every word with utter annoyance, “be leaving your sight if you bring her to Nullen?”

“N-no, sir,” Celli answers with a wince.

“Then do as you are told, whelp,” Quenson jeers wickedly, “or I shall remind you of the taste of lightning.”

“You can’t,” Celli raises her chin, “my master protects me.”

“If you wish to test me,” Osven huffs, “I’m happy to oblige. THE CAT!” he shouts.

Celli jumps and fumbles with the cage latch. She reaches in to grab Zeze, but the cat hisses and lashes out with her claws and she pulls her hand away fearfully. I chuckle.

“Bring the cage, witless,” Osven sneers. “Dump her there,” he points to the crook of my arm.

Celli tips the cage and Zeze slides out. Her soft fur brushes my skin. She looks calmly at me, licks my cheek, and curls into a ball with the top of her head pressing on my neck. The comfort she brings me is quickly dampened as I look past her at Celli.

She’s a completely different person, standing there. Dressed in assassin’s clothes, hair slicked back, eyes flecked with malice. A spell hangs heavy over her, woven through her blood. Allegiance. Loyalty. Bound to another. A Sorcerer. Quenson. His name pulses through her veins with every beat of her heart. The magic is so strong my breath catches. She revels in it. Embraces it. It’s who she is now. No turning back. If I get out of here, even if I wanted to try and take her with me, she wouldn’t come.

She slams the cage shut and stalks away, never taking her eyes from me. She won’t. Quenson ordered her not to. She’d die before she’d allow Zeze to leave her sight. Despite the furry warmth that nestles my neck, I shiver at the utter, evil power of it. Irreversible. Celli’s gone.

“You have your pet now, boy. But to what end? What powers does she afford you?” Osven leans closer, his eyes wild with his hunger for knowledge.

“You,” I think of how he lost his temper with me, how he shoved me from the cliff. I remember every single crack of a bone as I struck the wall. “You saved my life,” I utter. The deception is sour on my tongue. I swallow bile as his eyes flash with triumph.

“Fetch your master,” he waves behind him at Celli, who hesitates only for a moment before rushing off.

I close my eyes, pretending to be tired. Really, I’ve never felt stronger. The healing they gave me pulses through me, energizing my bones and muscles. I want to jump up. I want to run. I have a plan to get them to take us outside. I curl my arm around Zeze and she purrs happily.

It doesn’t take long for Quenson to arrive. I feel him without even opening my eyes. Feel his power. His wards. His link to Celli. I don’t want to look at him. He’s awful. Wicked. Cold.

“You saved my life,” I whisper again, and the Sorcerers hover closer to me. “I’ll try again. With Zeze. She helps me. I’ll look again. I’ll tell you what I can see. Just don’t hurt her. Let her stay with me.”

“Well done, Osven,” Quenson murmurs, impressed.

I pretend to struggle from the dais. They walk with me, Osven ahead, Celli and Quenson behind. Guards all around us, of course, but just like last time the guards stop at the wards to the tunnel. I step through with Zeze in my arms. At our ease of passage through the wards, Quenson gasps.

“Remarkable,” he whispers. “Remain here, Celli, with the guards.”

The Sorcerers guide me hastily through the tunnel that leads to the cliffs, and my heart starts racing. What if this doesn’t work? What if Osven throws me off again? Zeze nuzzles my arm. It’ll be okay, she seems to say.

I stroke her neck absently as we go, and something odd grazes my fingers. A collar? But, Zeze doesn’t have a collar. I never got her one. I stroke again and feel the smooth, hard beads buried in her thick fur. Feel the faint magic in them. Fairy magic. A flash of a memory surges through me. A pearl bracelet, offered to Crocus and Scree. The same bracelet later, slung over Twig’s shoulder. A tether, ready to be taken to its owner.

My feet slip on the slick stone as we reach the edge of the tunnel. My hands are numb. My whole body tingles. I can’t believe it. Zeze, all this time. All this time, and she never told me. I cling hard to her. Nothing else matters. I need to get her home. Back to Cerion. I don’t dare think her name. I don’t dare think of her at all. I clear my head of my memories of her. I can’t risk her safety.

My feet touch the grass, and Twig’s voice rings out bright and clear in my mind.

“Hello!”
he says.

My eyes snap to Osven ahead of me. He’s already looking out into the sky. The black stone hovers there. The inky staircase leading to it glints in the sunlight. The storm is done. The air is fresh and crisp. Quenson slips out from behind me to join him. Both of them are too focused on the sky. They haven’t noticed Twig at all. Thankfully, he’s hidden safely in the half-realm. He settles on the crook of my arm next to Zeze and makes sure he’s got a hand on both of us.

“Ready?” he asks. I understand. He needs my consent.

“Get us out of here,” I whisper.

I grin at the look of surprise and fury on the Sorcerers’ faces as they spin to face us, and wave farewell as we fade away into the Half-Realm.

Azi

The breakfast feast promised by the queen is spectacular. They adorn us with necklaces of live flowers that open and close with the sound of our laughter, and set dishes before us so delectable that even Mouli would be impressed.

The quest is set aside as we eat our fill, and though when I sat down I was rather impatient, by the time my belly is full I’m lulled into a quiet calm that eases my nerves. We have time, the mood of the place seems to say. Live in the moment. Enjoy life while you can.

Rian is very affectionate through the meal. His hand rests on my shoulder, his fingers play with the end of my braid. Once in a while I catch him watching me, just looking, taking me in.

“It is not every day we see love in its purest form between humans,” Zilliandin is saying to Flitt. “You know, in days past, it was not unusual for the queen to perform the maritals. Ah, yes, humans would come from countries wide to seek her bonding ceremony. And then the wedding night! Heheh! One could not imagine a more romantic place to spend it. Something to think about, you two.” He gives us a wry grin.

Rian catches my eye and winks, and I blush and look down into my lap.

“Something to think about,” he murmurs to me. I nod.

“Yet now, the time has come,” the queen declares at the head of the table, “for us to hear your decision.”

With a nod of her head, the table fades away. Flitt grabs for one last berry and shoves it into her mouth before it vanishes completely. With a shift of light, the queen is on her throne again, high above us up the stairs. The rest of us stand on the landing halfway up with throngs of fairies looking down on us, waiting.

“Azaeli Hammerfel, Rian Eldinae,” the queen calls out, “what is your declaration?”

Rian takes my hand as we turn to face the queen. Flitt and Shush float to stand beside us. I let Rian do the talking for us. I’m suddenly too nervous to speak.

“We accept your quest, Your Majesty,” he says.

The fairies erupt into deafening cheers of approval so loud that my ears ring with the noise. The queen rises from her throne. Her gown of white butterflies moves with her, their wings opening and closing in unison. She raises her scepter and holds it over us, and the crowd hushes.

“Then I officially bestow upon you, Rian Eldinae and Azaeli Hammerfel, Flitter of Kythshire and Shushing of Kythshire, a title: Champion of Light. Wear it with pride. Take it with you where you go. You shall find this blessing of Light quite useful against the darkness.”

She bows her head and closes her eyes, and four white orbs emerge from the scepter. They glide down the staircase and hover before us. Then, one by one, they touch our foreheads and fade away.

The sensation is that of a mother’s warm kiss. It tingles softly and then grows until I feel a buzz through my whole body. I close my eyes. When I open them again, I find myself standing in the dim passage that connects the guild hall to our houses. My father’s hammer rings a steady tempo from his forge. The orange glow of sunset spills through the louvered slats of the door at the end of the hallway. It’s disorienting, since a moment ago, we were facing a new day in the throne room of the fairy royal court. It feels like we’ve lost a whole day.

“
Azi
,” Flitt pushes to me. “
Shush and I have to go home and tell the Ring. We’ll be back in the morning.
”

I nod silently. “
See you soon
,” I push back.

I look from one direction to the other and find myself alone in the hallway.

“Rian?” I call tentatively.

“Yeah,” he answers from right in front of me. I jump as he emerges from the Half-Realm.

“Why do you always do that?” I move to smack him playfully, but he takes my hand and pulls me secretively to him.

“I know how much it amuses you,” he laughs, then hushes me. He draws me closer and strokes a soft thumb across my cheek. I close my eyes and sigh.

“Why are we still hiding?” I whisper. His fingertips trace across the bridge of my nose.

“We need to for now,” he says vaguely. I look at him and see myself reflected in his eyes. The golden Mark swirls across my cheek and nose. It glows brightly, reflecting off his chiseled cheekbones. “I don’t want them to know we’re back yet. I have to find something first.”

“Liar,” I scowl and scratch at the brightest part of my cheek where the gold Mark shines. I imagine what I must look like, covered in the gold Mark, and I’m grateful to him for hiding me.

“I’m only half a liar,” he retorts with a shrug and a grin. “I really do need to find something. It’s a book. Sort of a directory. In there.” He points toward the meeting hall.

“Oh,” I whisper.

“I might have to reveal us, though, so you’d better keep your helm on if you’re still keeping it secret,” he says. As he takes my hand and leads me up the hall, I clap my face guard down and hope it covers what it needs to.

A fire crackles merrily in the hearth and Mya sits in one of the stuffed chairs beside it with her mandolin poised to play. She’s dressed in her performance clothes with her hair done up in the spiked style she usually wears for a show. Her fingers slide silently over the strings as she stares at the spacing of them as though in deep meditation.

Elliot dozes curled up in the chair beside her. The firelight dances on the feathers in his hair and casts shadows over his eyes. The scene is so peaceful I’m glad Rian chose to sneak in to keep from disturbing them. He leaves me, goes to a shelf in the far corner, and glances over his shoulder at his parents.

When he’s sure they haven’t seen him, he pulls a tome from the shelf and tucks it under his robes. He doesn’t make a sound. Behind us, Mya starts to play.

It’s a new song I haven’t heard from her before. Her fingers pluck the strings softly, her lips move with the words, her voice testing the melody.

“
She’s learning it,
” Rian pushes to me. “
The Muses’ song. The one the queen and Flitt mentioned.
”

I barely acknowledge what he’s saying. My attention is drawn to a scattering of scrolls on the meeting table bearing the royal seal and the king’s signature. I see my name on one and lean over it to read:

Six Summerswan

Attention: His Majesty’s Elite

His Majesty King Tirnon Plethore requests the presence of Azaeli Hammerfel, Knight of His Majesty’s Elite, Ambassador to Kythshire to discuss the events of Two Summerswan in the High Court of Cerion.

Failure to respond to this request immediately shall be considered an act of willful defiance and treachery.

I feel the color drain from my face as I read the words twice more. My head starts to spin at the seriousness of the notice and the severity of the wording. My eyes dart around the table. In addition to the summons and several canceled quest decrees, there are two small scraps in my mother’s handwriting that look like traveling notes.

“Six Summerswan?”
I push to Rian as he grips my shoulder.
“How long have we been gone?”

“You were gone for two days before Shush convinced me to go with him. That was the fourth,”
he replies.

“I have to go,” I say aloud and spin toward the door.

“I’ll—” Rian starts, but the soft padding trot of paws in the corridor beyond interrupts him.

We watch together as the fox comes up the hallway sniffing, stops in the doorway, and looks right at us. With a huff, it saunters to Elliot, hops up onto his chest, and fades.

Elliot yawns and stretches and blinks a few times. He tips his head to Mya.

“So much for that,” Rian mutters.

“Found them,” Elliot says around another thick yawn.

Mya stops playing.

“Are they safe? Where are they?” she asks with a hint of urgency.

Elliot stretches his arms up over his head and then points in our general direction. Rian sighs and whispers the Revealer, and the two of us step together out of the Half-Realm into view.

“Where have you two been?” Mya scowls. “And why are you skulking around the guild hall?”

“I’ll get Benen,” Elliot says. His eyes linger for a moment on my face. Only the bridge of my nose and my eyes show through the slit in the face guards, but it’s enough, apparently. I turn slightly away from the fire, hoping the shadows will hide the Mark. Elliot shakes his head and slips off down the hallway.

“We were just…we just got back,” Rian says, a little flustered. “We didn’t want to interrupt you learning a new song.”

“I used to know it. It’s just coming back to me,” Mya glances at her mandolin with a sort of dreamy longing. She starts to play again as though she can’t resist the draw of it, and then shakes her head and sets the instrument aside.

“Where have you been?” she asks, focusing on the two of us again. “You could have at least sent a note! It was utterly irresponsible of you, Rian Dustin Eldinae!” She stalks toward him. Though the tips of her red-spiked hair add to her height, she only comes to Rian’s chest. Even so, he shrinks away from her warily. “Your father has been sleeping for days searching for you!”

“And your mother,” she turns to me, jabbing a finger into the chestplate of my armor, “took off to Kythshire searching for
you
!”

“What?” I gasp and glance at Rian.

“That’s right. She took Donal with her two days ago.” Mya stalks past Rian and picks up my summons. “She’s terrified you’ll be the next on trial.”

Her eyes linger on my face the same way Elliot’s did, and I duck as she reaches a graceful hand to my helm.

“What?” she whispers with wonder. I turn away, my heart racing.

My father’s boots clomp loudly toward us, and I cower closer to Rian as Da emerges from the hallway. His face is red, I can’t tell whether from the forge or from anger. Probably both. At first he seems relieved to see me, but then his eyes narrow and his lips purse.

“Our house. Now,” he orders me.

“Da,” I take the scroll from Mya and hold it up, “I need to go to the palace.”

“Now.” His nostrils flare out and his eyes narrow to angry slits. I don’t dare argue any more. Fairies and quests aside, I’m his daughter, and I’m in trouble. I risk a glance over my shoulder at Rian, Mya, and Elliot as I follow my father out. From the looks of it, he’s in for it, too.

“
Stay strong,
” he sends to me.

“
You too,
” I reply.

“Six days,” my father paces across our kitchen. As his anger builds, his voice gets louder. It’s been a long time since he’s shouted at me. Usually Mum keeps him calm. She’s not here, though. She’s out looking for me.

“Six days, and no note! No sign! Nothing! Your mother’s worried sick, crying day and night. Then the king sends this!” He snatches the scroll from my hands. “And she goes off back to
that place
to find you.”

“But why didn’t Uncle just—” I start, and his eyes go wide. He turns away and leans on the counter, breathing heavily.

“Don’t talk to me about that man,” he growls. “He showed his loyalty straight away. Hasn’t left the Academy once since the attack. Always sending excuses.”

“But I’m here, now, right? I can go get Mum and tell her—”

“Absolutely not!” he shouts, shaking. “You’re not going anywhere. None of us are. We’re under orders to stay in the city.”

“Why?” I whisper. Through the hallway to the guild hall, I can hear Rian getting much of the same from both of his parents. Shouting. Scolding. I swallow the lump in my throat hard and focus on my father.

“Things have changed since the execution,” he explains, making an obvious effort to keep his voice steady. “Cerion is divided. Suspicion is everywhere.” He clomps to the window and motions me over. I follow and peer outside as he opens the shutter a crack for me. A city guard stands on our front stoop, keeping watch. Farther down the street, another group of them marches past.

Da closes the shutters silently and faces me. The way he looks at me frightens me more than his anger had. His love for me is pushed to the background. In its place I see only hesitation. Fear.

“You changed,” he says. “You’re different.”

My eyes well with tears. I don’t know how to reply. I start to turn away and he catches my shoulder.

“Take your helm off when I’m talking to you, Azi,” he says sternly. The way his voice goes quiet is unnerving. I’d much prefer the shouting. I reach up with shaking hands to obey, and to my relief he gets distracted as the hilt of my new sword catches his eye.

“What’s that?” he growls. “Where’s your other sword?” My heart sinks at his pained expression. “I made that for you, Azi. For your birthday. With my own hands. What did you do? Trade it in? Did you give it to
them
?”

“Da, I…” my throat closes around the lump that rises in it.

“Let me see it,” he holds out his hand, scowling.

Reluctantly I loosen my scabbard from my shoulder and pull the sword free. Its golden blade glows with a soft, white light. I hold it between us and Da looks it over. Despite his anger, his awe of the weapon is plain on his face.