Dagger's Edge (Shadow series) (20 page)

“But I’ve gone through the Gate awake before,” Jael argued. “Just last summer I did it twice.”

“I never studied this phenomenon before, so I can’t be certain,” Nubric said hesitantly, “but given what your parents have told me about soul-sickness, I would speculate that the problem has become more severe as you age and, well, develop physically. As to the Gate specifically, it might be a factor of how you had your attention focused at the time— were you thinking of the Gate itself, or were you eager to pass through, to be in the forest or to come home?”

Thinking back, Jael had to admit that there was sense in what he said. In the spring she was always excited about joining Mist in the forest and preoccupied with plans for her summer; when she came back later in the year, she was usually exhausted and thinking only of returning to her family, a comfortable bed, and a hot bath.

“So the light globes in the dining hall exploded because I was focusing on them?” Jael asked, thinking furiously. She’d been paying sharp attention to the illusion in the market, true, and she must have actually brushed against Urien’s jug of tea. Mist’s soupstone might have been either; she’d placed it in the stew herself, and, hungry, she’d fumed over the stewpot while it cooked. She’d been watching Nubric when the water elemental had gotten out of control—

“I imagine so,” Nubric said, breaking into her thoughts and startling her; she’d forgotten asking the question. “Look here. Perhaps this will help you understand.”

Nubric laid a large piece of lodestone on the table and rolled a small iron ball across the tabletop parallel to the stone, first quickly, then more slowly. On the first trial, the ball veered off its course; on the second, it rolled directly to the stone.

“Sometimes you simply draw magical energies away from their intended pattern, altering the spell’s result,” Nubric told her. “Other times you may draw it directly to you, making a spell fail entirely. And when you come in direct contact—” He touched the small ball to the lodestone, where it adhered firmly.

“Will it happen every time I even notice magic?” Jael asked worriedly. “Grandmother Celene cast two sleep spells on me, and they worked perfectly.”

“Of course,” Nubric said mildly. He pulled the iron ball away from the lodestone and then rolled it directly toward the rock. The ball rolled unerringly to its target. “You attract these energies. A spell cast directly upon you—not a potion, for example—should function normally. But magic is not an exact science, as I said, and there’s no way I know of to be certain. Do you understand?”

“I suppose so,” Jael said, sighing. It explained a great deal, and worse, it made sense. She wanted to ask Nubric how his theory related to the missing part of her soul and her own inability to use magic, but doubting that Donya had told Nubric the details of Jael’s parentage, it seemed wiser not to ask.

Nubric was eager to tell Donya and Argent the results of his tests, but Jael had no desire to hear the rather discouraging news again; in addition, her frequent dives under Nubric’s worktable hadn’t helped her bruises and sore muscles. Well, another coating of salve and a pot of tea would do her some good, and what that didn’t cure, a good night’s rest and another hot bath in the morning likely would.

In the morning, Jael was amazed to see that most of her bruises had healed, and the rest had faded; she
had
to get the formula for that salve from Urien! She felt well enough to take her sword to the practice yard and work alone for a little while.

When Markus and Mera arrived for their lesson with Rabin, she stayed to watch, interested now that she had learned a little more about the different styles of swordplay. Tall Mera used the human style, where her strength and longer reach gave her an advantage, and Markus fought elven style, relying on speed and agility. Each had progressed far enough that they could work together with metal swords, although the edges of the blades had been filed dull and the points blunted. Jael knew that the twins sometimes used protective padding, but on this occasion Rabin let them practice with only the helms, and Jael was gratified to see that Markus and Mera would have their own share of bruises in the morning. Jael considered sharing Urien’s wonderful salve with them, but when she remembered how they’d sat on the wall and taunted her, she grinned and kept her silence.

To Jael’s delight, the seamstresses had finished a dark red tunic with matching trousers, in which Jael looked a little less rumpled than usual. The neck of the tunic was cut low, and Jael realized happily that if she moved the clasp of the chain Urien had given her just a few links, the dark red fabric would frame the pendant beautifully. Jael quickly adjusted the chain, then tucked the pendant into her pocket to put on when she was safely out of sight of home.

“Jael’s dressing fancy,” Markus laughed, making Jael realize that she had left her bedroom door open.

“Maybe
she’s
sitting in audience this afternoon, instead of Mother,” Mera giggled.

“No, she’s looking to Lord Urien,” Markus said slyly. “Everybody knows it.”

“But he won’t be interested in her,” Mera said mischievously. “He’s handsome and wealthy. He’ll be courting real ladies, beautiful ladies who wear gowns and have breasts.”

Jael scowled and slammed her door shut, grinning with satisfaction as the heavy wood caught a booted toe and Markus yelped.

The afternoon crept by with painful slowness. Jael sat in her window looking out as she had a thousand times before, but today she could not sit calmly to dream away the hours. Apprehension and eagerness warred in Jael’s mind while she imagined all the possible scenarios that might occur at supper. Urien was a gentleman, but his invitation to sup privately at his home carried certain implications, and her acceptance of his invitation carried certain
other
implications, and she was far from sure in her own mind that she should go to this supper. On the other hand, if she
didn’t
go, that would deliver a message of its own, and that message was clear and unequivocal, with the probable result that Jael would receive no further invitations.

At last, unable to sit for another moment, Jael wandered up to her parents’ quarters, hoping that perhaps her mother or father had left some notes about the murders. There were no notes, but there were markings on a map of the city with a few terse comments penned beside the markings, including the names of the victims and who had found them. Two of the latter names Jael knew—Solly, one of Aubry’s senior thieves who worked in the area around the Docks, and Teva, a City Guard who patrolled the Mercantile District. Jael read the map again carefully, then hurried back to her room to pen a quick copy of her own. At least she’d have
something
to show Tanis tomorrow.

Jael glanced out the window and realized that it was late enough in the afternoon that she had best collect her guards and her carriage and start out for Urien’s house. She was relieved to find that the “escort” Mother had arranged was only four guards, plus the carriage driver; then Jael realized that her mother was trying to tell her something—either that she trusted her daughter’s judgment, and more guards were unnecessary, or that she knew her daughter was making a stupid mistake, and more guards would be useless. Jael sighed, far from certain that
she
knew which she was doing.

Jael had to admit that Urien had made a good job of Numan’s house. The soiled stone had been cleaned, the gargoyle removed, and the blue glass windows had been restored. Servants were waiting to meet the carriage, but Urien was there to take her hand the moment Jael stepped to the ground.

“I am
so
glad you came,” Urien smiled, kissing her hand. “Supper isn’t quite ready, I’m told, but that leaves me time to show you the house you helped me find.”

Jael was relieved that Urien placed no special emphasis on any parts of the tour—bedrooms, for example. To Jael’s surprise, she learned that the lesser priests and acolytes Urien had brought from Calidwyn would also live in the house, but Urien added that they were still living at an inn until restoration of the house was complete.

“I see you took the gargoyle down,” Jael chuckled. “I suppose you decided not to use it to tease your guests.”

“On the contrary.” Urien steered Jael into a luxurious sitting room, where Jael laughed to see the stone gargoyle mounted beside the fireplace. “I merely moved him to a suitable place of honor.”

A chime sounded, and Urien laid Jael’s hand on his arm and escorted her to the dining hall. The hall was elegant and more than a little intimidating, but a smaller table placed close to the fireplace made the room seem comfortable and intimate.

They were served an abundant and tasty supper, and to Jael’s surprise, Urien served no wine at all, drinking tea with Jael instead. Jael was relieved and just a bit disappointed that Urien offered her no Bluebright, either.

Urien kept the conversation very light over supper, but afterward, in the warm sitting room, he was interested in Jael’s news of the new murders. He shivered when Jael told him of the elven merchant murdered near the market, omitting her own presence in the area.

“That’s terrible,” Urien frowned. “Do you know, I was in almost the same area that night. But for Baaros’s protection, it might well have been me.”

“I doubt that,” Jael said comfortingly. “You’re not an elf. Except for the beggar, all the victims have been elves.”

“They’ve all been merchants, too,” Urien reminded her. ‘Their work is as likely the cause of their death as their race.”

Jael frowned. Had all the victims been merchants? She couldn’t recall having heard that, and told Urien so.

“You are of elven blood, and that’s of concern to your parents, and naturally so,” Urien said patiently. “They, of course, are the ones from whom you hear these things. I, on the other hand, am a merchant and a priest of a mercantile sect. The news
I
hear is from other merchants. It was some of our worshippers who told me that all the unfortunate persons were merchants. Excepting the beggar, of course, and this last murder, and you told me that yourself.”

“But what would elven merchants be doing in Rivertown?” Jael asked puzzledly. “All our elven merchants come from the Heartwood. They don’t bring in goods from the river, and nothing from the forest is traded out of town, either. Wealthy merchants don’t go into Rivertown without a good reason.”

“I’m sure the guards have thought of that,” Urien said thoughtfully. “Certainly they’ll be investigating the reason why the elves came to Rivertown. You can be certain it’s an area
I’ll
avoid, and I’ll be much happier if you do, too. My heart would break if any harm came to you,” he added almost shyly.

“I’m in no great hurry to find out which of the temples in Allanmere is right about the afterworld,” Jael admitted, then grimaced apologetically. “Sorry. Sometimes I forget you’re a priest.”

“I’m glad,” Urien said gallantly, taking Jael’s hand and kissing it gently. “Sometimes I like to forget it myself. Don’t you occasionally wish to forget that you’re the High Lord and Lady’s firstborn?”

“Most of the time,” Jael said wryly. “But isn’t it a little different, being a priest?” She flushed a little, but continued boldly. “I mean, does your sect allow you to have young women over to supper and go on picnics and—”

Urien laughed.

“And?” he teased gently. “We’re not one of those strange new celibate sects, if that’s what you are asking, nor one of the ascetic sects that forbid its priests comfort and pleasure. I believe I told you already that many priests have wealth of their own, which they may retain for their own comfort. The only restriction, as I have said, is that temple funds must not

be used for more than the simplest needs of the priests if they have no other means. Baaros expects His priests in active leadership of a temple to devote themselves to His worship, of course, but for those of His servants who serve in an administrative role, as I did—and will again soon,” Urien added quickly, “many of these priests have Houses and families of their own. I assure you that I’ll take an active role as a priest in this temple not a day longer than necessary.”

“But Ankaras doesn’t agree with the changes you’ve made,” Jael said worriedly. “What if you can’t let him resume his position?”

“Then I will train one of the lesser priests to take his place,” Urien said practically, “or the temple in Loroval will send another priest to take a permanent post here.” He laughed. “I wanted to forget my priesthood for a few hours, but it seems you won’t let me.”

“I’m sorry,” Jael said contritely. Talking about the Temple of Baaros made her uneasy, anyway—she didn’t know what Urien might make of her friendship with Tanis, much less of her surreptitious excursions into the temple via the cellar. “Why don’t you tell me about Calidwyn instead, and your House?”

“That’s all far behind me right now,” Urien said smoothly. “Why don’t you tell me about Allanmere instead, and more importantly about you?”

Jael found, to her surprise, that Urien was as good a listener as Aunt Shadow, as interested in the small details of her life as he was in the larger stories of Allanmere, although Jael had already decided that there was no chance she’d tell this polished lord some of the more embarrassing details about herself. He sympathized with her sword lesson woes, recalling nights he’d been too sore to sleep.

“It’s worth it, though,” he assured her. “There’s no substitute for knowing that you can protect yourself when necessary. Of course, you never really know until it
is
necessary.” He kissed her fingertips. “You have lovely, strong hands. You’ll make a wonderful swordswoman in time.” He kissed the inside of her wrist, making Jael shiver.

He lowered her hand then, gazing warmly into Jael’s eyes.

“But do you really want to talk about swordsmanship?” he asked softly.

Jael felt her cheeks flush, and she shook her head.

“Good.” Urien leaned forward and brushed his lips very lightly over Jael’s, then again, more firmly. Jael steeled herself, then slid her arms around Urien’s neck, pulling him close, although she could have ground her teeth with frustration. Nothing! She might as well have been embracing a tree. Gods, did she have to be half-drunk on Bluebright to feel anything for a man?