Call of Brindelier (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 3) (29 page)

“Empty?” Uncle frowns. “This model is the collaborative work of no less than four Master Mages, my dear. It shows the ever-changing city just as it is in this precise moment. See? This ship is docked now, whereas earlier it was just arriving.”

He points to the docks beside the empty market, where the cliffs plunge to the sea.

“But a city is made up of people,” Flitt says as she leans over the model. “That’s what makes it a city.”

She holds her hand out over the palace and casually wiggles her fingers, and tiny points of light drift from them to settle into place throughout the palace. The lights split from each other and scatter across the table model to settle in houses and on streets. Some of the lights stay still, while others drift lazily from one place to the next.

“There,” she smiles. “That’s my present to you, Your Majesty. In return, I would really very much like a chair.”

“Of course, a chair.” King Tirnon murmurs. He shakes his head in fascination at the sight of all of the now-populated model. “Would you be so kind, Haris?” he says over his shoulder, and one of the guards steps out.

“It’s your turn, Your Majesty,” Flitt says sweetly. Tirnon tears his attention away from the model.

“Ah, yes. What is the manner of this visit? I’m afraid I must know so that I can be certain to summon the proper subjects to greet and entertain.”

“It isn’t really my place to tell you that,” Flitt glances at the door, hopeful for the guard to return with a seat for her. “But I will say that it should be a pleasant time, and that we of Kythshire are ready to make a stronger alliance. You’ve proved over decades that you respect us and our Source, so we feel it’s time to strengthen our bond.”

She looks over her shoulder at me and giggles. I know she means that much more literally than His Majesty can imagine. The guard returns with a comfortable-looking chair and Flitt scoots back in it gratefully, leaving her feet to dangle just above the floor.

“Ahh,” she says with eyes half-closed. “All right. Thank you, armor suit, sir.” The guard inside the suit nods. “My next question,” Flitt turns her attention back to the king, “is this. Do you know it was The Dusk who was responsible for the attack at your High Court?”

“We have been searching for any clue that would lead us to the attacker, and as of yet have found nothing. I have been at my wit’s end trying to seek answers, to take action. In the meantime, my kingdom doubts me. They accuse me of tyranny in one moment, and of leniency in the next. The Dusk, you say.” His Majesty strides to the chair and stoops to Flitt’s level.

“You must understand,” he says as he searches her eyes, “I am convinced the loss of my son was due to the workings of evil the likes of which Cerion has not seen since the age of Diovicus. I beg you, my dear. If you have knowledge that would aid us in seeking out this threat and putting an end to it, tell me. Too long have there been secrets between our people. It is time to join together, to combine our knowledge and fight this darkness. Flitter, please. Tell me what you know.”

Flitt leans closer to him, her ever-changing eyes wide and pensive. She and the king stare at each other for a long, thoughtful moment. The others lean in, expecting whatever she’s about to say to be profound and meaningful. To my embarrassment but not at all to my surprise, she finally whispers quite seriously, “That’s not a proper question, Your Majesty. I win!”

“Flitt!” I gasp.

His Majesty lets out a bellowing laugh. “You are perhaps the most enchanting creature I’ve met in all my years. Is she not enchanting?”

“If you say so,” Flitt grumbles. “But I’m not a creature. Anyway, Azi’d be better suited to tell you what she knows,” Flitt says with a shrug and a bob of her head in my direction. “Since she can show you rather than tell you. Isn’t that right, Azi?”

I feel the color drain from my face at Flitt’s proclamation. I had hoped our meeting with the king wouldn’t come to this. My heart pounds and my stomach twists into knots again as His Majesty straightens and turns to me. For the first time, he really looks at me. I push my visor up. His gaze lingers on the Mark on my face. There’s no hiding it now. No bending my head away or allowing him to be distracted by his fairy visitor.

“Sir Hammerfel,” he asks with a measured tone. “You are Marked. What is the meaning of this? What does she mean, show me?”

The silence grows deafening as everyone’s attention turns to me. Uncle and Mya, Saesa and Flitt, even His Majesty and the guards stare, waiting for my reply.

“Your Majesty,” I start. I glance at him and look away when, as soon as our eyes meet, the spark of magic threatens to burst forth. “As you know, my journeys to Kythshire have helped me form unlikely alliances,” I nod my head to Flitt. “With them, I’ve also received many gifts. My armor, for example, and my sword as well. But not all of what I’ve received has been physical, Sire. In my dealings with Jacek, I stumbled on the ability to see into people’s memories, and show them my own.”

“Mentalism,” Uncle offers quietly from across the room, to my relief. “It is a rare school of magic indeed, Tirnon. I know of only two others living who have been granted the key to this path, and neither is a subject of this kingdom. This gift to Azaeli is a gift to Cerion itself. And to you, Sire, for you are her liege.”

“She’s a Paladin, now, Your Majesty. Our queen says so herself,” Flitt beams at me, but I have trouble sharing in her pride. The way the king looks at me with such trepidation makes me feel guilty and ashamed. Why should I be so favored by the fae when his son was so ruined by them?

“If it has been gifted by our allies and approved by the Academy, then I have no quarrel. What can you do with it, exactly, Azaeli?” His Majesty asks me.

“I can see through one’s eyes into their memories, Sire, and I can show them mine as well,” I explain. It isn’t the whole truth. I’m not sure I’m ready to tell him about the golden threads that can control people. If there was one part of this ability that I could forget forever, that would be it. It’s too powerful and underhanded. I glance at Uncle, and his nod tells me I’ve said enough.

“Show me,” His Majesty says.

I’m comforted by his trust in me, though I don’t know why. He has always put his trust in us, through the trials and everything else. He has come to my family for aid time and again. I don’t know what I’ve done to earn it, but the reminder of our close relationship and the relief that he still trusts me makes me so emotional I have to close my eyes and take a long, deep breath to keep myself from crying.

The simple act of centering myself somehow reminds me of Iren. I think of the way my memories played in the space between us whenever we visited with each other. I feel the same way with him that I did with the assassin in Maisie’s house, though for different reasons.

I don’t want to look into His Majesty’s eyes and invite him into my head. It’s too personal, too intimate and powerful. It could be construed as a threat. Besides, what I would show him is something I’d want the rest of them to see, too. I’m just unsure whether I know how to do it that way. Show my memories outside of myself the way I pulled them out of that man.

“
Go on
,” Flitt’s gentle push is just the encouragement I need. I take a cautious step toward Tirnon and hold my hands out to him. To my surprise, he accepts them without hesitation. His touch is different than I would have expected a King’s to be. The skin of his palms is warm and rough with callouses.

“Azaeli,” Uncle warns, “perhaps you should explain first what you will do, in order to put us all at ease.”

“Of course,” my voice comes out weaker than I expected it to, and I clear my throat before I go on. “If you look to our hands, Your Majesty, what I hope you’ll see are my own memories. I’ll show them to you, like actors on a stage, so you can see them as I have.”

He nods and follows my gaze as I focus once more on my hands in his and allow the sensation of magic to fill me up. My vision is framed with sparkling golden energy and I breathe and send it forward into His Majesty’s upturned palms. Scenes from my past fill the space between us, not as clearly as Iren was able to show, but still mostly visible. Flitt’s diamond at the cord around my neck bursts forth with colorful light, and immediately I’m aware that the fairies are guiding me to show him what he needs to see.

Blurred images flecked with gold become more crisp. I show him the Ring at Kythshire, the dancing. I show him Iren and the crumbled keep at the Northern Border. The skeleton sentries. Rian’s battle with the Sorcerers. I show him Jacek in the Dreaming and the moments with Eron beneath the water at Kordelya Keep.

His hands begin to shake at that scene, but when I glance at him he nods to me to go on.

I’m not sure how long we remain this way. I show him so many more memories of the fae and my dealings with them. The images flow, sometimes without my bidding them to, until he knows nearly as much as I do. In this way, he’s seen everything from our battle with Jacek to the tests at the Palace of Dawn and the Fairy Queen’s tale of the Dawn and the Dusk. The only thing that I fail to share is the Princess and her secret. I understand it isn’t time for that, yet.

When the final images begin to fade, the rush of magic goes with it, leaving me completely drained. The gold flecks that encroached on my vision are replaced with nothing but with prickles of black. Exhaustion takes me quickly, and I grip His Majesty’s hands to keep from collapsing to the floor. Mya starts to hum a restoring melody and Saesa catches me as I stumble back. Flitt shines her light, but it barely helps. I went too far for too long.

“Rest, Niece,” Uncle’s whisper is the permission I need. I allow my eyes to close, just for a moment.

Tib

I scramble to my feet while Rian and Shush argue about how long to let the wand do what it’s doing. I don’t care. If I had my way, I’d kill him and be done with it. My concern right now is for Nessa, and for the rest of our family upstairs.

I pick my way across the twisted vines of the carpet toward the pantry and wrench the door open. Nessa gasps and pants. Her terrified eyes search me and then the others.

“It’s all right Nessa,” I assure her as I squat and offer her my hand. She’s not tied up after all. She’s just curled with her back against the wall, hugging her knees to her chest. The ripped ruffles of her dress are piled all around her in strips. She doesn’t move to take my hand. She just sits there, shaking and staring. “Really, it’s safe now,” I grab her hand and try to pull her up, but she still doesn’t move. When I let go, her hand drops to the floor beside her.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper. She doesn’t answer. It’s like she’s paralyzed. I take her hand again and that’s when I feel it. The spell, binding her. “Rian, help!” I call over my shoulder.

Aster mumbles its protest as Rian rushes to my side. As soon as he sees Nessa, he nods matter-of-factly.

“Immobility,” he says with a frown. “It can only be undone by the caster.”

“
Use me
,” Aster’s voice echoes between us. Rian and Shush exchange a reluctant glance.

“What?” I growl. “Do it! Look at her!”

Rian raises the wand. I can tell he’s hesitating. Trying to think of another way. It makes me furious.

“Do it, Rian,” I glare at him. “She doesn’t deserve this.”

Rian points the wand at her and closes his eyes. I can feel him searching for the right spell. Inside the wand, the energy shifts. Light streaks out of the tip of it. Midway to Nessa, it turns dark and inky. I gather her close as it winds around her, pulls the spell away, and releases her from the magical bindings. She slumps against me and takes a long, shuddering sob. I prepare myself for a long, awkward time in the cupboard holding Nessa while she cries. To my surprise, though, she immediately growls and pushes herself to her feet.

At first I think her sudden rage is some new spell, but I can’t feel anything on her. She stalks to the table with the figurine and yanks open the drawer. The dagger she pulls out is long, sharp, and elegant. The shredded bits of her dress flare out as she spins to the pile of rug roots that keep Osven bound.

She purses her lips, drops to her knees, and plunges the dagger into the lump of vines where I imagine Osven’s throat to be. Along with it, she releases a shocking string of curses and oaths against the Sorcerer that I’d never imagine coming from sweet Nessa. Her attack is a frantic, brutal flurry that leaves me and Rian staring slack-jawed and shocked by the sight of it.

“So much for keeping him to question,” Rian utters, looking sickened.

“Something tells me,” Nessa pulls the dagger free one last time and wipes it on her ruined ruffles, “there’ll be more.” She turns to Rian. “Can you wake the others? He got to me first. I could hear them screaming the whole time.” She tightens her grip on the dagger and glares at the carpet like she’s thinking a few more stabs might be good. I take her elbow gently and lead her to the stairs. She’s still shaking, really hard.

“Of course,” Rian shoves Aster back into his pocket, like he wants to spend the least time holding it possible. He skirts around the mess that was once Osven. So much for Nessa’s rug.

All of us run up the stairs together. Shush keeps hidden over Rian’s head. Nessa bunches her dress up to her chest. First room is mine. I dash in and grab my bandolier, just in case. Everything’s where it should be. Knives, vials. I buckle it on and catch up to the rest of them outside Lilen’s room. Lilen’s right at the threshold, flat on her back with her arms stretched toward the ceiling. Her nightgown and hair are burnt. Her eyes are shot through with red. She tries to scramble away when she sees us, but her arms and legs only flop around weakly.

“Lilen!” Nessa chokes and stoops beside her.

“What happened to her?” I whisper.

“She’s been stripped,” Rian whispers. This time it’s his turn to curse. He kneels next to her and puts a hand on her head.

“Can she be un-stripped?” I ask while Nessa utters an oath and strokes her charred hair.

“Maybe. It hasn’t been that long. Shush,” he whispers, and Shush lands next to her ear. Rian pulls out Aster again, and the three of them—Rian, Aster, and Shush—restore her.

As soon as she’s back to herself, she pushes past everyone else and throws her arms around me. “Oh, Tib,” she sobs, “I heard everything. You were going to go with him to keep us safe!”

She clings to me for a long time, even after the others file out, until I decide that the only way I can follow is to drag her along. The next room is Ruben’s, which he shares with the new boys. The next room is Emmie’s. Rian helps them up. Nessa stays with them while the rest of us move on to Loren’s room. That’s not easy, since I’ve still got Lilen’s face buried in my chest.

“Where’s Saesa?” she gulps for breath between sobs and Rian looks at the two of us with a bemused smile.

“With her Lady Knight,” I reply.

“Oh good,” Lilen wails and holds me tighter.

“Ah, Lilen, you put the sleep spell on Loren, correct?” Rian asks as he rubs his neck, still amused by the sight of Lilen clinging to me.

“What?” she blinks at Rian. “Oh, I suppose I did. I imagine it’s time to wake him now.”

I wriggle free from her hold and she sniffles and wipes her eyes. She gives me an odd look before she goes to Loren’s bedside. Like she’s sorry to leave.

“Fighting them off, I see,” Rian mutters to me under his breath while Lilen whispers the spell to wake the apprentice. He tucks the wand into his pocket again.

I scowl up at him. “Huh?”

He doesn’t answer. Just shrugs and gives that same half-grin like he did earlier with Saesa. Strangely, all of it makes me think of Margy. I push the thought aside as Loren sits up. It takes him a little time to focus. We let him get oriented. He looks from Lilen to me and then Rian, and his eyes go wide.

“Is that a fairy?” he whispers hoarsely. “Is he your Ili’luvrie?” he asks Shush, not Rian.

“Not yet, friend,” Shush replies with a whispered chuckle. “Soon. Perhaps after dawn.”

“Where?” Lilen squints at Rian curiously.

“Lilen,” Rian says, “as the resident Mage of this house, I’m putting you in charge. Please go check on Nessa and the others. Make a plan to report the mess downstairs to the Academy. Use caution.”

“Of, of course, Mentor,” Lilen bobs a quick curtsy. She squares her shoulders with haughty pride and rushes out, ready to take charge.

As soon as the door closes behind her, Loren doesn’t waste time. He rushes to Rian. “Dusk. It’s coming. I saw it in the Dreaming. You have Aster?”

Rian nods and offers the wand to Loren. Looks like he’s glad he’ll be rid of it.

“
Ah, ah ah
,” Aster chides as Loren reaches to take it. “
I like this one better. He actually lets me do things.
”

“Oh,” Loren promptly drops his hand and sighs. “She’s yours now.” He reaches for the wand again anyway, then shakes his head like he’s coming back to his senses. “We’ve got to go. Quickly. They have two. They only need four more. Master says we need to see him, and then be off again.”

“Slow down, please.” Rian crosses to the boy. “What do you mean, they have two?”

“Two. Two offerings.” Loren gets up and starts pacing. “I dreamed it. Two.”

“Two of what?” Rian asks again, patiently.

“I can’t speak of it. But it means two more than we have. We’ve got to hurry. Please. To my Master. He’ll be able to explain. Do you have a way to get us to Stepstone tonight?”

“Stepstone?” Rian asks. He looks at Shush. “I don’t know,” he says hesitantly.

“What about Errie?” I ask. “We’ve got to save him.”

“Listen,” Loren comes to face me. He’s a lot more confident than he was in the tavern. Urgent. Determined. “If they get any more, they’ll have half. Then they could start it. We have to catch up.”

“Half of WHAT?” I shout. I’m through with Mages and their secrets. After this, no more Mages in my life. Ever.

Rian crosses to the door. Starts to set wards of silence. Loren shakes his head. Shush scowls.

“The shadows are listening,” Loren whispers.

“No they’re not,” I argue. “There’s no one else in here. I’d feel it. Believe me. Tell us what you know.”

“I already told you,” Loren shouts, “as much as I know, Tib! Listen to me!” He spins to Rian, like he’s waiting for him to agree that I’m being stupid.

“All right, you two,” Rian stands between us and puts a hand on each of our shoulders. I shrug it off. I don’t need him placating me. His eyes flash with secrets when he turns to Loren. Seems like he already knows what the other Mage is talking about. Figures. “Calm down,” he says, and the steadiness of his voice only makes me angrier.

“I don’t care what you two are up to,” I growl. “We let them take Errie, Rian. We have to get him back. You said we’d fetch Loren and then we’d go, so I’m going. With or without you.”

“You think you’re invincible, don’t you?” Loren glares. “You think you can do anything. You can’t, Tib. Not without help. This is important. You have to believe me.”

I cross my arms and scowl until Rian takes me aside.

“We’ll be quick,” he says. “A step to Kaso Viro, and then a step back here, or straight to the stronghold. I want to get him back as much as you do, Tib. But what that Mage has to tell is, well, I have a feeling it’s all going to lead us there, anyway. He’s got answers we don’t have.”

“And more problems to solve, seems like,” I sigh. “Let’s go, then.”

“Good,” Rian turns to Loren. “Now, think of your Master. Think hard on him. I’m going to take you into the Half-Realm. It’s your job to get us to Stepstone from there. Tib?”

“Yeah.”

“All right?”

“All right.”

Rian puts a hand on my shoulder again, and his other one on Loren’s. Shush clings to his sleeve. The air shifts around us. The cobwebs brush my face. Loren calls out his Master’s name, and the floor beneath our feet drops away. I reach up. Cling to Rian’s arm as we spin through the space between dreaming and awake.

We hit the shore of the beach with a spray of sand. The rush of ocean waves crashing nearby summons terror in me as I remember my fall from the cliff. At first I think it’s a trick, but then Rian gasps.

“Remarkable,” he breathes.

Loren straightens and motions across his yellow robes. The wrinkles and sand fall away. He follows Rian’s gaze and grins up into the night sky behind me.

The light of a million stars sparkles across the water. The moon shines so brightly it turns everything blue. From the dark, glittering water, a great tower pierces the sky. It’s ten stories high at least, and reminds me of the towers of Zhagen. This one is different, though. It’s like a sculpture of stone and metal that shines in the moonlight. The top of it is domed, and the dome has a slit in it that’s open to the sky.

When Loren starts into the crashing waves, he stretches his hands toward the water. He doesn’t stop, even when he’s drenched up to the knees. A surge of magic rumbles the sand beneath our feet.

“This way,” he calls over his shoulder. Rian grins over at me, obviously impressed as Loren trudges through the water.

The rumbling keeps on until a narrow walkway finally emerges from the sea, leading straight to the tower. Loren does another spell to dry his robes off, and Rian and I follow him along the stone walkway to the tower.

I want to be annoyed by the magic. I want to hate the excess of it. There’s no reason for it except to show off. I can’t help but admit it, though. It’s kind of impressive.

When we reach the tower, the stone wall shifts and opens magically. Of course there aren’t any doors. Why would there be? Rian brushes his fingers along the stone as we go in. He’s really impressed. I bet he’s going to write it all down when this is over. Make a book of it for their ridiculous libraries.

Inside it’s dry and warm. The walls are adorned with colorful silks and tapestries. The circular entry is larger than I expected. It’s a little confusing. The energy is bright and overwhelming. It’s embedded in the stone. It pulses in the air. Power. Might. Majesty. Protection. Knowledge.

Otherwise, the place is dusty and full of cobwebs. Shelves and shelves of moldy books line the walls behind the coverings. Books and tubes and glass vials and stacked clay pots teeter and lean against each other. I sniff. Sea air. Must. Incense. Behind Rian, Shush blows out a wisp of fresh air that sends the white smoke swirling away.

“Master’s downstairs,” Loren says. His voice echoes up into the rafters and a passage opens up across the entryway. It glows with a merry orange light to welcome us.

The stairway down is lined with glass walls as thick as my arm. Loren takes this for granted. He jogs off down the steps without a glance, but Rian and I can’t help but stop and stare. Through the glass, a world stretches out before us. The depths of the ocean. The surf plunges above, bubbling and churning.