her instruments 02 - rose point (25 page)

“That will be the second most important teaching,” Urise said. “There are rules that protect us from grave harm… and rules that exist to save us from inconvenience. Most of the rules we are taught as children, in regards to our talents, are of the latter type. They served your teachers, but as you have noticed, they did not serve you—did in fact, do you harm.”

Hirianthial looked away. “I object to the characterization. It was I who did harm to others.”

Urise leaned back. “Do tell.” When Hirianthial glanced at him, he said, “I presume there is a story there, most likely relating to the discovery of your powers. I also assume it is a dark one. Yes?”

“I fear so—“

“And you want to know how I guess, when you and I both know that we discover our own depths when we are pushed to our limits. So go on. Unburden yourself of it, my son. I am a priest, your confession will not surprise me. At this age, there is little I haven’t heard.”

It surprised him how much he craved the prospect of absolution, that it might prove more powerful than his reticence to discuss the events on Kerayle. But it did. He told Urise everything. Nor did he limit himself to his doings on the colony world; he spoke of his original mission for Liolesa and the acts he had committed to buy, steal or force the information she needed out of people, and while most of those acts had not involved the terrifying powers he’d exhibited in the Rekesh’s tent, there were things in retrospect he now questioned: had it been Reese’s performance that had convinced the jailor to release them from the slaver prison? Or had he been showing signs of his nascent abilities? What about the time they’d been fleeing Surapinet, and he had been able to tell where their enemies were? When they’d nearly been accosted, and he had tasked the crew to silence lest they be discovered, and he had been praying—demanding—that they not be noticed… had he been forcing the issue?

He paused only when swift-footed Belinor arrived with two servants and the breakfast trays; once the acolyte withdrew he continued until they had eaten and set the plates aside. Once they had finished, he folded his hands and waited for the priest’s response, carefully ignoring his own anxiety. But Urise only sighed.

“You see what I have become,” Hirianthial said, low.

“I see what you think you have become because you have been poorly prepared for what you faced,” Urise said. “And I cannot lay all the fault on the shoulders of your teachers, for what teacher thinks to prepare his charges for slavers, murderers and rapists? Yet that is our duty, and we shirk it in order to shutter our eyes from a world we would rather not have congress with, though inevitably it will have congress with us. No, my son, you have acquitted yourself well. Better than I would have expected, given how little you knew.”

“Elder,” Hirianthial said, stunned. “I am soiled!”

“Child, so are we all who walk on this earth, and make no mistake. Not even a saint is without blemish. We strive, in despite of our sins.” He canted his head. “Or is it the other matter that concerns you? That others have touched you?”

“No,” Hirianthial said, the words slow. He tried to sort the thoughts from his antipathy. “What soils me is that I have been hurt in a way many others have been hurt, and yet they did not destroy their abusers. To survive violence is one matter. To inflict it in revenge—“

“Was that what it was?” Urise interrupted. “Revenge?”

“I fear it may have been.” He cleared his throat and looked at the remains of the scone on his plate. “I fear I may have been avenging my insulted pride.”

“So,” Urise said. “This is not about the assault at all. It is about your brother.”

Hirianthial looked up at him sharply.

Urise leaned over and refilled his cider, using the cup to warm his hands. “You question your rectitude because you acted in hot blood when your parents were killed.”

“They died,” Hirianthial said, because it was what he had been telling himself for so long that the words spoke themselves. “They were not killed.”

“They were encouraged in their excesses by a son who should have been warding their health when they became distressed and melancholic,” Urise said. “Let us not mince words, Hirianthial Jisiensire. Your brother abetted their unlawful experimentation with mind poisons. If he did not administer the dose to them directly, he did not stop them either.”

“There was never any proof—“

Urise stared at him until he subsided. Then, deliberately, the priest set his cup down and said, “You knew him. Was proof necessary?”

It hurt to say it, but pain did not change the truth. “No.”

“So is your guilt on account of your leaving him alive when you should have executed him?” Urise asked. “Or is it that you feel you undertook the entire process while still angry and grieving?”

Hirianthial pressed a hand to his brow.

“You will have to cease to blame yourself for both things, my son. For your anger… and for finding mercy at the end.”

“You think I blame myself for the mercy I showed Baniel?” Hirianthial asked, head still lowered.

“I don’t know,” Urise said. “Do you?”

Hirianthial said, quiet, “I have to believe in the possibility of redemption.”

“A man must seek God to find him,” Urise said. “Speaking of which… we must begin your training. Are you prepared?”

“Adequately so.”

Urise nodded. “Then, relax, close your eyes… and tell me all that you perceive with your finer senses.”

“Tell you… all? All of it?”

“Start with me,” Urise said. “What do you sense?”

Hirianthial did not have to reach for the priest to feel the coolth of his serenity. “You are relaxed.”

“Which looks like what to you?”

“Like blue waters enshrouding you.”

“And is that all?”

Hirianthial studied. “There are streaks of gold—“

“Don’t pause,” the priest said, eyes closed. “Talk. Don’t stop. Dig deep and when you run out of observations, keep moving.”

“The gold streaks are interest, perhaps. Fondness—“

“Be more definitive.”

“You are exhibiting signs of fondness and relaxation. There is a hint of lightning crackle… pain?”

“Don’t pause,” Urise said. “Keep going.”

Hirianthial drew in a breath. “Pain, physical pain, and your thoughts are composed and move at a stately pace, and your heart rate is low and your blood pressure and…” He spread outward, “and your acolyte is outside the door, and he is vigilant and streaked in gray worry and steel determination and he has eaten recently and is content with his lot but has the physical agitation of the young and beyond him is… beyond him there is a servant in the corridor—in a hurry—very focused—and further on a guard….”

He kept going. The words fell from his lips until they came in a rhythm as he flowed outward, seeking, and the more he sought the more he sensed, and the more he spoke the faster the words came until he found a pattern in them, a metronomic beat. The moment he became aware of it, he heard his heart—what had come first? The beat of his heart or the beat of the words?—but one or the other, he felt its artificiality, its busyness, its lack of peace and true understanding.

He sank below that rhythm and found a stillness so profound his eyes spilled over in shock. Here there was an emptiness that was full… because it implied, somehow, a listening.

Hirianthial broke from his trance, shaken and still hearing the echoes of that silence. He looked at the priest, mouth open.

“Immanence,” Urise said, without surprise, as if he had been waiting. As if he knew.

“Yes,” Hirianthial whispered.

The priest nodded. “Very good. We are done for the day. But bide a moment. You will be more tired than you think.”

So he did, resting in the chair, grappling with the vastness. “How does that help? With my training?” he asked finally.

“Mmm. You tell me.”

Hirianthial paused, then managed a laugh. “Turning the question.”

“Permit me my pedagogical idiosyncrasies,” the priest said, smiling. “And answer the question.”

“That it helps to know where you begin and end?” Hirianthial guessed. He moved through the answers as he had moved through his impressions. “That it helps to be able to know the difference between yourself and others. That it helps to leave yourself behind.”

“All good answers,” Urise said. “I might have said to build a solid structure one must have a foundation.”

Hirianthial inhaled, let the breath out slowly, eyes closing. “And I am exhausted, and know not why.”

“So it goes, when one touches the truth,” Urise said. “But you did well. You found it faster than any of the priests I’ve trained. I suppose that is one of the gifts of Jerisa’s Veil. It teaches those who leave this world to stop talking, and that gives them the chance to practice listening. One learns much from listening.”

“Like that the palace is seething with discontent,” Hirianthial said, reaching for a glass. And then he stopped, hand hanging mid-air.

Urise chuckled. “Didn’t realize you’d brought that back with you, did you?”

“No,” Hirianthial said. “Though I suppose it is not surprising, given the situation.”

“No,” Urise agreed. “So I will give you your first assignment outside the classroom. Go piece out your impressions and examine them, see if you can remember anything more granular. To be able to sense is only part of the talent. To be able to interpret it, to grasp it wholly without needing time to consider it… that needs practice.”

“Very well, Elder,” Hirianthial said. “And thank you.”

“It is my pleasure, my son,” Urise said, and pushed himself upright. “If you take to all your lessons with such alacrity, I will have the rare pleasure of teaching a brilliant student before I die.”

A woman’s shrill scream yanked Reese awake and out of bed—unfortunately, for she’d forgotten she was sleeping in one tall enough to fall out of. Cursing under her breath, she felt her face and arms to make sure they hadn’t broken while hurrying toward the commotion in the next room. Halfway there she realized she was unarmed and sprinted back to the bedroom for the dagger.

Despite her tardiness, the woman responsible for the screaming was still screaming when she burst into the room, surprising everyone. “What is going on here?” she asked into the sudden silence.

“Ah... we were sleeping,” Irine said, ears flat. She was holding a sheet flush to her body in an uncharacteristic show of modesty. “And this woman sneaked in like a ghost!”

“Which surprised me,” Sascha said, still bristled. “So I jumped.”

“And then she started howling,” Irine said. “And we tried to calm her down and that just made it worse.”

“And then Felith showed up—” Sascha paused.

Felith, shrouded in a dressing gown so ornate it looked more like clothing than something from a woman’s boudoir, said with resignation, “And I have been trying to calm her down with little success.”

“You seem to have done the trick, though, Boss,” Sascha observed.

The woman, who’d backed away until her spine was flush to the wall, was staring at Reese in fascination. Reese looked down at herself. She guessed showing up barefoot in a nightgown with a dagger in hand was enough to distract anyone.

“At least she’s not screaming anymore,” Irine muttered.

“Why was she screaming?” Reese asked Felith. Then she held up a hand. “No, wait.” She turned to the twins and gave them a significant look. “Why was she screaming? You weren’t doing anything shocking?”

“We were sleeping!” Irine squeaked. “Honestly! Look, we’re even covering ourselves!”

Reese faced Felith. “All right. Back to you, then. Why is she screaming?”

“There were giant tigers in the bed,” Felith replied, flushing. At Reese’s expression, she hastened to add, “You must realize, my Lady, almost no one here will have ever come face to face with an alien...”

“At least we’re not ‘mortals’ anymore,” Irine muttered.

“What was she doing in the room?” Reese asked, ignoring Irine to eye the stranger.

“She came to rebuild the fire and refresh the water,” Felith said. “All the suites have a servants’ door to permit the tending of the linens, the fire, the water, and to clean.”

“You let people just walk in? All the time?” Irine’s ear sagged, leaving the other propped upright. “No warning?”

“They come while the occupants are out, or asleep,” Felith said. “Usually.”

Reese rubbed her head with the back of the hand holding the dagger. “Ask her to leave, please.”

Felith stared. “What... are you holding?”

“A weapon,” Reese said wearily.

“Nice one, too.” Sascha peered at it. “What happened to the last one?”

“It’s baking under Kerayle’s sun somewhere.”

“May I...?” Felith said, stepping closer, eyes fixed on the blade.

“Yes, but tell her to leave first, please.” Reese studied the servant warily. “I think we’ve had enough screaming for one morning.”

The door, like all the others in this place, was painted to blend into the wall, in this case in a corner in the main room. Reese watched the servant vanish into it with deep misgivings before she turned back to Felith. “We’re going to have to do something about that. Either find some people who aren’t going to be frightened of us, or bar servants from coming into the suite at all.”

“Oh!” Felith said. “I don’t recommend the latter, lady. The upkeep on apartments is time-consuming and you will be very busy....”

“Doing what?” Irine asked. “It’s not like we can leave, is it? We’d be seen.” She glanced at Reese. “We’re supposed to stay invisible, right?”

“Right,” Reese said. “Though honestly I’m not sure how doable that’s going to be.” She sighed and pressed her thumb against one of her brows. “I guess we’ll take it as it comes.”

“Lady?” Felith said, hesitant. “May I now?”

“What? Oh, yes.” Reese sheathed the dagger and showed it to the other woman. She felt a curious reluctance to let someone else hold it, though, so she didn’t extend it, but Felith surprised her by making no move to take it. The Eldritch’s wide eyes were as obvious a sign of shock as she’d ever seen on one of their faces. “What?”

“That is the dagger from a House set,” Felith said, hushed. “From Jisiensire’s House set.”