Heart of the Exiled (16 page)

“Oh. I see.”

Jharan looked troubled, and Rephanin’s instinct prompted him to be more specific about his meeting with Turisan. If Jharan should question his son and learn that they had shared khi, he might well think Rephanin had tried to mislead him.

“I also showed him a technique for signaling a desire to make contact.” He met Jharan’s nonplussed
gaze and continued carefully. “I used mindspeech to demonstrate for him, as I have lately done with the mage circle.”

The fair eyebrows twitched together. “You spoke to him.”

“Yes.”

Jharan looked away and rested his chin against his clasped hands, frowning. Rephanin watched him for a moment, then spoke again, softly.

“Jharan, he is perhaps the one individual in Southfæld who is least in danger from me.”

The governor closed his eyes. “Have I your word on that?”

“Yes. On that I will give you my word.”

A wry smile touched Jharan’s lips. “I should not be satisfied with that. I should hold the well-being of all as equally important.”

Rephanin was silent, knowing he was seeing a side of Jharan few were shown. He was reminded of Jharan’s installation as governor of Southfæld—a ceremony in which Rephanin had played a minor part—and the dread that had resounded through Jharan’s khi at that time. The young governor-elect had been aghast at the authority to be placed in his hands, intimidated by the circle of officials and advisors seeking to influence him, and clearly overwhelmed by his new responsibilities.

Some echo of those feelings showed in Jharan’s face now, though he had risen to every challenge, had restored Southfæld’s prosperity and increased its security tenfold. It was no accident that Southfæld had the largest and best-equipped guard of any ælven realm.

“Well.” Jharan inhaled deeply and sat up straight in his chair. “I suppose I must take your five centuries of self-imposed abstinence as a sign of good faith.”

Rephanin made no answer. Jharan met his gaze.

“If it begins to get out of control … at least give me warning. Come to me, and I will help if I can.”

“Agreed.”

Rephanin nodded, though he was not sure what help Jharan could give. The smoothing of ruffled feathers, perhaps. He preferred not to envision the problems that might arise.

The governor rubbed a hand idly along the arm of his chair, staring at the floor. “I have a reputation for excessive formality, for a love of pomp and ceremony. It is in some ways undeserved.” He frowned slightly in thought. “Perhaps excess is not necessarily wrong, as long as it causes no harm.”

“It is my ardent wish to avoid causing harm.”

Jharan met his gaze. “I see that. Hold to it, Rephanin.”

The outer door opened, and an attendant looked in with an apologetic cough. “Your pardon, Lord Jharan. Governor Pashani is without.”

“I will see her in a moment.”

The door closed again, and Jharan turned to Rephanin with a sigh. “The day moves forward, and I am keeping you from your rest. Thank you for being open with me, Lord Rephanin.”

“I am grateful for your understanding. Also for your forbearance.”

Jharan regarded him for a moment, then gave a small nod, smiling slightly as he extended an arm. Rephanin could not remember when Jharan had last offered him this courtesy. He clasped arms, feeling a whisper of the governor’s khi: controlled and vigilant, with a surprising underlay of gentleness and an echo that reminded him of Turisan.

The governor rose, and Rephanin did likewise. He made another formal bow, then turned and left
the chamber, pulling up his hood as he reached the door.

Daylight smote him, and he felt inclined to retreat to the magehall at once. Heléri deserved greater courtesy, however, so he hastened up a broad flight of steps to the upper colonnade and sought her chambers. Her attendant admitted him to the comforting darkness of the outer room, where he stood still just inside the door, realizing how much tension had invaded his flesh.

Heléri came toward him with a smile. “Welcome, my friend.” One dark brow rose slightly.

He met her gaze but could not bring himself to use mindspeech at that moment. He stood looking out at her from the depths of his hood, unwilling to forsake its shelter. Swallowing, he spoke slowly.

“Perhaps I should not stay. I doubt I am very good company just now.”

Concern flitted through her eyes, but then she smiled. “Then come and sit by the fire a little while before you must go out into the day.”

She moved toward the hearth, where a bed of coals glowed softly. After a moment he followed, sighing as he removed his cloak. Misani, the attendant, took it from his hands and exchanged a glance with Heléri.

Rephanin sat in one of the chairs—less ornate and more comfortable than those in the governor’s suite—and gazed at the coals, feeling drained. A part of him was tense, waiting for questions, but Heléri raised none. She sat opposite him in companionable silence while her attendant brought forward a small table and placed it between them.

The attendant, a russet-haired Stonereach, was quiet and efficient as she set out tea, fruit, and fresh bread,
then left the room. The door closed with a soft click of the latch, and silence descended.

Rephanin was still. He should speak, in voice or in thought, but felt disinclined to do it. He should eat, but his stomach rebelled at the idea. Jharan’s anger and suspicion had troubled him, but it was more the knowledge that they were justified that weighed on him. He closed his eyes.

The past would not be repeated, not if he was vigilant. There would be no more salacious gatherings in the magehall, no explorations of arousal through mindspeech. The very thought made him sick at heart for what it had cost.

He would have only his circle to cope with, and the new circle that was forming, and the visitors when they arrived. Just a few mages, never all at once. He would speak to them in groups as seldom as possible, only when their work would plainly benefit by it. In this way he would avoid being swept away by their emotions. He would stand vigilant, and thus the mage circles’ work would be worth the risk.

How ironic, when he considered that the greater part of his life had been spent reveling in just the sort of indulgences he now hoped to avoid. Doubly ironic, for beneath the heartache and regret, he still wanted them.

He drew a sharp breath and opened his eyes. Heléri remained unmoving in her chair, her eyes closed and her hands clasped lightly in her lap. Around her head and shoulders he again saw a soft light, faintly golden, glowing against the darkened room behind her. He watched for a moment, then broke the silence with a murmur.

“What are you doing?”

Heléri opened her eyes. “Praying for healing.”

“For whom?”

A whisper of a smile touched her lips. “For you.”

Rephanin’s brow drew into a frown, and he rubbed at it with one hand. That she should pray for him thus made him uncomfortable.

“I am not wounded.”

“No?”

The subject of healing teased at him; there was something he needed to say about it. He looked back at Heléri and saw that the golden light had faded.

“You studied healing at Hollirued, did you not?”

“Yes, for a short time. I practiced the art now and then after I removed to Alpinon. It has been useful.”

The bothersome memory crystallized as Rephanin remembered his conversation with Turisan. He turned in his chair to face Heléri, watching her intently.

“Did you put a healing focus into the handfasting ribbon you made for Turisan and Eliani?”

She raised her eyebrows. “I put every blessing I could think of into that ribbon. They have a hard road before them.”

“But a focus to enhance healing? Specifically?”

Heléri frowned in thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Not specifically.”

Rephanin leaned toward her. “Eliani has performed a healing. Did Turisan tell you?”

“No!”

He repeated Turisan’s description of how Eliani had healed the two wounded guardians. Heléri seemed as mystified as he. Her blue eyes widened as she listened.

“That child has never shown an interest in any craft calling for the manipulation of khi!”

“Could Turisan have been the source? He mentioned that he felt it.”

She gazed thoughtfully at the coals on the hearth. “I do not think so. I will speak with him of this, for I must seek him out to give him messages for mages in Highstone. How extraordinary!”

“Extraordinary indeed.” Remembering his prior mood, he looked at Heléri’s face, faintly lit by the glow of the embers before her. “And your prayer seems to have worked. You have set me at ease without my being aware of it.”

Heléri smiled, then turned to the table and picked up the ewer of tea. “Some for you?”

He nodded, watching her fill both cups, enjoying the tea’s fragrance as it drifted toward him. Knowing his body needed food, he picked up a slice of bread and took a bite. It was sweet and tasted slightly of nuts.

They talked as they shared the meal, but only of innocuous subjects. He mentioned that a second mage circle was forming and asked if Heléri would help him oversee it.

“I would be glad to as long as Felisan remains here. When he departs, I must go with him.”

Rephanin nodded, feeling a stab of unhappiness. He would miss her in a hundred ways when she left. Dismissing that pain to the future, he finished his tea and set the cup down.

“I should go.”

Trouble brought a crease to her brow. He wanted to reach out and smooth it away. Instead he stood up and summoned a smile.

“Thank you. My mood is much improved, but I still do not wish to inflict it on you, hard as it is to forsake your company.”

“We could both do with a little solitude, I suppose.”

She smiled as she rose, but the trouble remained in her eyes as she reached up to touch his face. He
caught her hand and leaned his cheek into it, then pressed a kiss against her fingers, a silent promise.

“I will see you at sunset.”

“The Council meets this evening.”

“I know. Once the circle has its work in hand, I will attend.”

She nodded and went with him to the door, handing him his cloak. Grateful for her patient understanding, he turned to her once he had donned it.

Thank you, my friend
.

The concern he had seen on her face instantly filled the air between them, abated by relief, tempered with solicitude. He was tempted to stay now, but he put up his hood and opened the door, flinching a little at the daylight.

Rephanin—

Not now, dear one
.

Stepping out into the light, he shut the door, severing their brief contact. He paused, leaning against the door for a moment and closing his eyes. How weak he was to be so sorely tempted by one gentle touch. He would have to do better than that if he was to survive the coming test of his will.

Luruthin pointed across the Asurindel’s valley and down toward the foot of the triple waterfall, where the conic tips of three small stone pillars were just visible amid shrouds of drifting mist. “You can see the conces there, at the foot. They honor those for whom the falls are named.”

“The Three Shades.” The Greenglen turned to him, dark eyes lit with curiosity. “Who were they?”

“Three females who were handfasted to warriors killed in the Bitter Wars. Their names are forgotten, or at least I have never heard them.”

“And they died there?”

“They watched there, and when their loves did not return …”

Vanorin drew his cloak closer to him. Though dawn was not far off, the night’s chill clung to the mountains. “So now their shades haunt the place?”

“So it is believed. I used to haunt the place myself, hoping to see one.”

Vanorin looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “And did you?”

“I might have, once.”

Vanorin gazed at the falls again. “May we walk down and look at the conces?”

“If that is your will, though the falls have worn away whatever markings they bore. The water is relentless.”

Vanorin nodded thoughtfully. “I would like to stand there.”

They made their way down the road through Highstone and across the public circle, where the day’s market was already beginning. Folk from nearby holdings were laying out their goods of carved wood and stone, berries and nuts. A few farmers had come up from the eastern plains with carts full of roots and onions.

Two of the onion growers, females, paused to watch Luruthin and Vanorin cross the circle. Vanorin smiled at them, then spoke under his breath.

“I am a curiosity here.”

Luruthin nodded. “It was the same when Turisan was here. A Greenglen is an uncommon sight in Highstone.”

“And a Stonereach is rare in Glenhallow. We have a little more diversity, perhaps, but Greenglen and its kin-clans make up most of Southfæld’s people.”

A grin crept onto Luruthin’s face as he remembered the sea of fair heads at the first feast he had attended at Hallowhall. The Council delegates from other realms had been easy to discern.

“Well, there must have been a Greenglen or two among Stonereach’s forebears. We are lighter in coloring than Ælvanen, though we began as their kin-clan.”