Memories of Ash (The Sunbolt Chronicles Book 2) (3 page)

“No, he’s still one of the eleven assigned to serve the Kingdoms.”

“Karolene?”

“Yes.”

I nod. The High Council is composed of eleven arch mages, all elected to govern the use of magic in the Eleven Kingdoms. In addition to them there are eleven more arch mages, each appointed by the Council to serve a Kingdom, assuring the regulation of magic there and seeing to the welfare of the people. Without a seat on the Council, Blackflame’s power should still be somewhat limited.

“Do you have any allies on the Council?”

Stormwind squats beside me, pitching her voice low. “Yes. Talon, for one. She serves as first mage on the Council now. As a high mage, Stonefall has no vote on Council proceedings, but he’ll support me as well.”

As far as I can tell, without a vote on the Council, Stonefall is irrelevant. Talon’s position as first mage means she presides over Council proceedings and casts a vote only when the other ten arch mages reach a deadlock. Which might be very helpful in Stormwind’s case.

“Will Talon help you, even though one of the charges involves her?” If Talon believes there’s even a grain of truth in the charge of assassination, there’s no reason for her to side with Stormwind. It’s a brilliant ploy by Blackflame, cutting off Stormwind’s most powerful support with such direct an allegation.

“Yes. She sent Stonefall with a private message for me. I’ll meet with her on my arrival to plan my defense.”

That’s something, then. “How long will the trial run?”

“A week or two, I expect.”

“Will you be free to come and go till then?”

“No. I’ll be held in custody.” Stormwind smiles grimly. “Stonefall won’t say as much, but he cannot allow me to choose any option but to go with him.”

“But …” I pause, remembering the greeting I had witnessed, the very fact that he has let her out of his sight. “You’re friends?”

“Yes.”

“And he’s still taking you to be tried on false charges?”

“He’s a man of honor. He will not break his allegiance when no wrong has yet been done.” She sighs. “But you’re right. If Blackflame’s reach is strong enough, he may prevail regardless of whether his allegations hold any truth.”

There’s the crux of it. The one thing I wish I knew. “How does he know you?”

Stormwind stiffens. It’s the slightest of changes, her expression going from serious to set, her chin tilting up a degree or two, but I see it. “We … have a history.” She glances toward the cottage. “Come in and help me pack when you’re done.”

“I’m done.” I stand up so fast I nearly slop the stew out of its bowl.

Stormwind glances at the bowl, nods. “Then come.”

I follow her through the back door, the room dark to my eyes. I set the bowl of stew on the counter and wait for my sight to adjust.

Stonefall leans against the table. He is a tall man, taller even than I assumed when I saw him seated on his horse. The fall of his robes around him bespeaks a desert elegance, austere yet beautiful. He must be in his late thirties, his beard and mustache carefully trimmed and showing no sign of silver or white. Dark hair curls at his temples.

“Master Stonefall,” Stormwind says, her voice neutral. “Allow me to introduce my servant, Hikaru.”

I incline my head.

“
Peace be upon you
.” Stonefall’s voice is deep, resonating.

“
And upon you, peace.
” I meet his hawk-eyed gaze as a rabbit might, wide-eyed and still. He had not greeted me in the trade language of Karolene, which Stormwind used to introduce us, but in his own language. And I answered him in the same, a language I have not spoken a word of this past year: the language my father once spoke.

Stormwind clears her throat. “Let’s get started. Come help me with the herbs, Hikaru.”

I join her at the herb cabinet with its store of powders and prepared salves, medicinals for everything from severe burns to upset stomachs to insect bites.

“What shall I take?”

She’s still teaching me, even here, in front of a mage. Because however many times I may have set off on a journey before, I remember nothing of it now. “Herbs for illness,” I hazard, aware of Stonefall’s silent attention to our words.

“There’ll be an infirmary there.”

My lips twitch. “Salves for wounds and burns, then, in case anything goes wrong on the journey.”

“Which ones?”

I rattle off a list. She agrees and leaves me to gather them together while she sorts through the charms she intends to take. I select the smallest of the empty jars from the back of the cabinet and quickly portion out the most vital ointments, not bothering with labels. Stormwind can easily differentiate them by scent. After hours of being required to sniff and sort both salves and herbs, I’ve developed a moderate proficiency in the skill myself.

“Done?” Stormwind asks as I close the cabinet door. She sets down her collection of charms beside the jars: a firestarter, a seeker to help locate objects, a couple of glowstones. Nothing for protection.

I nod, trying not to show my worry before Stonefall. I wish he would leave, go for a walk or check on his horses or something. I hate the steadiness of his gaze, the way he watches me utterly unfazed, even when I glance toward him. He shouldn’t be so interested in me. He should have no reason to study Stormwind’s help so carefully. And with his continuous attention, I can’t even murmur a question unobserved.

Stormwind flicks a glance at Stonefall, a quick birdlike assessment. “I’d like to make a set of ward stones to take with me. Would you fetch a handful of stones from the lake?”

I try not to let my relief show; at least she’s planning to take something useful with her. “Of course, mistress.”

“About this big,” she says, holding up her fingers to show me: no bigger than a walnut without its shell. Not that I needed to see. This is for Stonefall, so he doesn’t suspect that I know more of magic than a servant ought to.

“Yes, mistress.”

I hurry down to the edge of the water and select a dozen brightly colored small stones. I make a pouch of the bottom of my tunic to carry the stones back to the cottage and walk quickly up the path. But at the sound of voices through the open door, I slow, unsure if I should interrupt. It takes me a moment to realize they are discussing me.

“—a child of the desert,” Stonefall says, his tone cold.

“Neither would I,” Stormwind replies evenly. “She was brought to me still weak from an illness that broke her health and took her memory. You surprised her, earlier, greeting her in a language she didn’t realize she knew.”

“She remembered Tradespeak before her own tongue?” Stonefall says, calling the language of Karolene by its most widely used name. His voice has regained its rich timbre, bringing with it a sense of warmth. Was he actually upset at the idea of Stormwind keeping me as a servant?

“She is clearly not only of the desert. Perhaps Tradespeak is her mother tongue.”

“Perhaps. How long has she been with you?”

“Almost a year now. And no, she has not recovered much of her memory as yet, though I guide her through meditations and do what I can to help her.”

“You could bring her with you. The healer-mages at Mekteb-i Sihir might be able to help her,” Stonefall suggests. I recognize the name — it’s the school for sorcery where the Council has taken up residence for the year.

“No,” Stormwind says, a little too abruptly. “I will take no one with me. She is not ready for such a journey and” — a tight pause — “I would not want Blackflame to take note of her.”

“Because he would. Because of you.”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure she’ll be safe here? And your cottage with her?”

“I have no concerns for the house. As for her safety, this is the safest place I can grant her.”

“Perhaps she should return to the desert, seek out her family.”

I stand rooted to the ground, staring at the shadowed doorway. My family? What family would I have in the desert, with my father dead?

“I will mention it to her.”

I look at the stones I carry. Stormwind is waiting for them, will soon begin to wonder where I am. I make myself take a step, then another, the gravel crunching beneath my boots.

Inside, Stonefall still sits at the table. Stormwind stands at the counter with her daypack. She has already packed the herbs and charms we had set out and a change of clothes. She takes the stones from me without a word, pouring them into a pouch and sliding them into the pack. “Let’s go up to the loft. I’ll need some additional clothes.”

I follow her, aware of Stonefall turning his head to watch us climb. There, Stormwind deftly retrieves a pair of mirrors from the first trunk. The frames are forged of the same metal, framing glass ovals formed from the same source and enchanted by the mage whose hand made them. The mirrors allow their users to communicate with each other, no matter the distance between them. Stormwind taught me to use them early this spring. We spent a week or two with them before she packed them away.

“I’ll contact you,” she promises me, handing me one. She slips the other into her pack. “Keep it near.”

I glance toward the open trapdoor, but Stormwind seems unworried. No doubt Stonefall would expect her to leave some form of communication with me.

“What of the wards?” I ask. There are layered enchantments over the valley, spells that she created to keep herself safe from prying eyes before I ever came here.

A flicker of Stormwind’s familiar dry humor lights her eyes. “I set them. I don’t think I’ll have a problem reaching you through them.”

I hide the mirror behind my pallet. She planned amazingly well. Had she foreseen such a summons even then? Or was it merely the pragmatic approach of a woman who had seen the world and left it?

There is no way to ask her now, with Stonefall listening intently from the room below. Stormwind selects two of her finer dresses and adds them to her pack, then digs deeper and draws out a ceremonial silk robe. It is indigo embroidered heavily in silver with a scattering of pearls, far more elegant than the daily-wear robes stored at the top of the trunk. She shakes it out, pulls it on, and looks at me. The silver thread accents her bone-white hair, the deep bluish-purple silk offsetting her pale skin, flowing down to lap at the floorboards between us.

“You look … like a mage,” I say. The robe transforms her from the reclusive woman with whom I have spent these past months to one who commands both power and respect in the world.

“I should hope so,” she says dryly.

I hear Stonefall chuckle below us, and keep the rest of my thoughts to myself.

Within half an hour, Stormwind has nearly completed her preparations. In the main room, I gather provisions for their journey: three small loaves of bread, a block of goat cheese wrapped in cloth, dried fruits and nuts, and a packet of dried meat we had put by for winter.

“I’ll ready the horses,” Stonefall says. With a slight nod toward us, he rises and departs. I carry the food to the vacated table and add it to Stormwind’s pack as she watches. When I look up, there is regret and sorrow and something else in her eyes that I do not quite recognize.

“Hikaru,” she says slowly.

The lie of the name hangs in the air between us. I am only now beginning to appreciate how many secrets this valley shelters.

“You are welcome to stay here, but,” she pauses, as if the words are hard to form, to pull together. “Stonefall believes you will have a welcome from the desert people. The desert tribes keep track of their own. They will know who you are and take you in. Especially,” with a significant glance to the door, “if you can recall a part of your father’s name.”

I meet her gaze steadily. “I’m waiting here for you.”

Stormwind turns to collect her cloak from its peg by the door. “Think on it, then. If you decide to leave, remember to take the mirror with you.”

“I’m not leaving.” Does she think I would abandon her? That what she has done for me carries no weight at all?

“Whatever you choose,” she says gently, “stay or leave, keep the mirror by you.”

This isn’t the time to argue. “Of course
,
” I say. I lift her pack, hold it out to her. “Is there anything you’ve forgotten?”

“Not that I can think of.”

She’s wrong. “A charm to keep you safe.”

She looks at me strangely, as if I speak of an impossible thing.

“I have the stones you collected. I’ll fashion them into wards when we stop to rest.”

But in my fractured memories, I know Blackflame. I know that if he fails to convict Stormwind, a circle of ward stones will hardly protect her. “You still need something more. Something to hide you. Like shadows.” My voice cracks over the last word, the memories it holds.

She glances toward the door. Stonefall will be ready momentarily.

“Promise me you’ll make something before you reach Fidanya.”

For a long moment she hesitates. I wonder what she sees, what part of me and my broken past she has focused on. Then she nods. “I promise. Farewell, Hikaru.”

“Farewell,” I say, the word rough in my throat.

She makes no move to leave, but stands before me, pale hair pulled back in a severe bun, lined face creased with worry, arms slack at her sides. I wonder when she last bid good-bye to someone like this. I wonder if she ever saw that person again.