Sword (32 page)

"I think that will do," Kinsey said, and she grinned at him, looking like a woodsprite with her long brown braid, her strange clothes, and her irrepressible good humor. Not exactly what he'd imagined in a library keeper, but the Fraonir were a strange people. And she
did
know this place, and these books.

These books
were now cleaned, shelved, and guarded by a soldier standing outside the doors and one fourteen-year-old Fraonir girl from the Darachim Clan. And, Kinsey supposed, one wayward prince of Cassdall, because gods knew after all the work he'd done, he might very well kill someone who so much as sneezed in here.

"Go pester Annan, would you?" Kinsey said, on a sudden mischievous impulse that was probably the result of spending so much of his time with Devin. "I'm sure he could use cheering."

"Gladly," Corin said with a wicked grin, and slipped out.

Annan
could
use cheering, actually. He was far busier now, precisely what he'd been wanting, but for no reason Kinsey could see, his lieutenant had suddenly learned how to brood. Annan was mostly as inexpressive and sharp-witted as ever, but now he could occasionally be found frowning off into distances, a faint line of thought marring his forehead.

Twenty of their men were heading to the lowlands tomorrow; that was probably it. Kinsey was worried himself, but he always was when men whose lives he was responsible for risked them in his service.

"This is an improvement," came a voice from behind him.

Kinsey managed to bite back the undignified yelp that tried to leap out of him, but apparently couldn't wipe the stupid surprise from his face, because the Lady Captain's gaze flickered over him and one dark red eyebrow lifted just slightly. "Highness," she said, with the perfunctory half-bow that seemed to be her only form of courtesy. Her searching eyes took in the newly repaired furniture, the crackling fire in the hearth, the ordered shelves of books. She was wearing her armor: perhaps she expected ambush from every unoccupied room in the keep. She was nearly always wearing her armor when he saw her. Today, however, there was no sword over her shoulder, only the Fraonir daggers on her hips. One hand brushed a pommel, as though she would be happier holding the blade unsheathed. The eyebrow lifted a little higher.

"Credit to the housekeepers," Kinsey said. "And Corin. I mostly catalogued."

She didn't look as though she cared much either way. "Corin," she said, uninflected. He took it to be a question, since there wasn't any other reason to repeat the name.

"The Darachim Clan sent an assistant. She apparently knew the library already, something to do with her training. She's been a great help."

There was that flicker again. Kyali moved into the room and tipped her head, one hand hovering over the index on the table. Kinsey shrugged, trying not to look as uncomfortable as he felt. She turned the pages delicately. Her armor gleamed in the light from the windows—just standing there, she was, in and of herself, enough to make him believe in the old faery tales.

All three of them were, in their own ways.

Thinking that made him wonder how Devin was faring off with the Eanin Clan, and he'd blurted the question out before he knew he was going to. Kyali stopped turning pages to fix him with that
look
of hers that made sane people want to find other places to be.

"I have no idea, Your Highness," she said, and turned to look up at the first of the shelves.

Poor Devin,
Kinsey thought. Whatever was wrong between them was still wrong, then. He hardly knew what sort of siblings they had been before, but judging from Devin's sadness, they had been far closer than this.

"Was there something you came here looking for, Lady Captain?" Kinsey asked wearily.

"
History of Lardan
, and a text by Hidarion on siegecraft, Highness. I don't recall the title."

He stared for a moment, finding it difficult to imagine her doing anything so mundane as reading—but then, she had the weight of duty on her shoulders, and probably much to study regarding this sort of war. It didn't seem likely her studies until now had prepared her for such a situation.

He scowled at the catalogue. "Hm. I think I've seen something by that person, but it was some time ago—one moment…"

Gods, but there was something wonderful about having so many books in one room.

He wandered into the shelves, running his fingers lightly over cracked leather, Kyali following behind. It was precisely where the index had said it would be, and Kinsey couldn't help but grin as he gently slid the book free and handed it to her.

His smile died as soon as he saw her face.

She was looking at the opposite shelf, and all the blood seemed to have fallen out of her skin, leaving behind a truly alarming pallor. Sparks of gold were rising in her eyes, swimming just under the yellowish-brown.

Now she
really
looked like something from a faery tale.

"Lady Captain? Are you all right?"

She blinked several times, still staring up at the shelf, and then frowned at him. "Yes," she said absently, and took the book he was holding.

She turned to leave, hardly seeming aware of the shelves around her now; by all he had seen of this girl, it was nothing like her. Kinsey followed her at a safe distance, eyes fixed on her shoulders, which had drawn up. She nearly walked into the table, swerving at the last moment, and turned at the door to meet his eyes. Kinsey stared, freezing in place, forgetting to be polite.

The sparks had grown, until there seemed to be light coming from her eyes. He'd only seen it happen once before, and she'd been quite upset at the time. It stood to reason…

"Thank you, Your Highness," Kyali said, and Kinsey knocked his hip on the corner of the table shuffling forward to keep her there a moment longer. He wasn't even sure why, except this was another puzzle, one that mattered a great deal to Devin and Taireasa, and he was looking at a new piece of it right now. He just had no idea where it fit.

"Wait—Lady Captain—"

Damn, he sounded like a fool.

Kyali turned again, her eyebrows falling together in a way that was hardly welcoming of questions. Her eyes were already fading back, but the wooden lack of expression she always wore was softened by a preoccupied distress that drew him as surely as Devin's presence had one night on the other side of this mountain. It made him remember that she was actually younger than he was by a year. It was also deeply unnerving, because he was fairly sure that in this moment, he'd do almost anything she needed of him without thinking twice about it.

Gods. The magic surrounding these three people was
terrifying
.

What had he been about to say?

"Did you want the other text, Lady?
History of Lardan
? It's in my rooms. I could have it sent to you."

She blinked. He could see her gathering herself, pushing whatever had put that look of startled unhappiness on her face far away. "If you're reading it, no."

"I'm not. I started an instructional text on magic that I'm afraid may take me far longer than I'd guessed, so you're welcome to
History
."

"
Tenets of Magic
?" she asked, wry sympathy threading through her usual coolness.

"Yes," Kinsey sighed. Just the thought of reading more of it made him want to sink into the floor. "It's… dry."

"Wretched," Kyali corrected firmly.

"Yes." His surprise at her familiarity with the accursed thing must have shown on his face.

"We all had to read it, Highness. Still, you could do worse, if you're looking for rules. I believe it's got an endless list."

This was easily the longest conversation he'd ever had with her. "It certainly does. I'll send you
History
, then, since I suspect
Tenets
will take some time."

Kyali nodded, then hesitated, staring at the book cradled in her hands with a faint frown. "There's a book in this library you should read first," she finally said.

"The one you were looking at."

Her eyes met his for just a moment. "Yes, Your Highness."

He went to retrieve it as soon as the door shut behind her; he'd noted the placement and the color of the binding while she was still staring at it. The leather was ancient, crumbling under his fingers, and he tapped it delicately, afraid it would fall apart in his hands before he even had a chance to open it. Corin would have looked over this one, since he had no memory of seeing it before this, and he spared an irritated thought for the Fraonir and their secrets. She had not mentioned it to him, nor set it down in the index. She'd simply shelved it without noting its existence anywhere.

The secrets these Clans held seemed ominous, suddenly. Why would she hide this book from him, yet leave it somewhere he might be able to find?

Oh.
Oh.

"They
can't
interfere? Is that it?" Kinsey murmured aloud, then glanced around the library, making sure it was still empty. His fingers tingled where they rested against the book. There was a queasy, imperative pulling in his guts, like a command. He was beginning to recognize that feeling.

What an idiot he'd been. It had been in front of him all along.

The Fraonir had given them tents, food, medicines—were even now guarding the mountain from incursions by Western troops. They were teaching Taireasa and Devin to control their magic. They had offered more aid than anyone would have dared to ask for… but they had not fought in the valley with the Lardana against the West, and they would not answer questions. Where things touched on prophecy, they stood back every time, unwilling to mire themselves in events still unfolding.

Corin had not told him about this book—this book that Kyali Corwynall, who had studied with the Darachim, had clearly seen before, this book that had so surprised her he had gotten a glimpse, just for a moment, of something far more real and raw underneath the hard surface she showed the world. But Corin hadn't hidden it from him, either.

The Fraonir were
waiting
for something. What?

Kinsey sat, opening the cover with great care, his pulse beginning to pound.

There was no title, and the ink on the page was faded to little more than an impression, but he had long practice with old texts and he could make out the spidery hand if he squinted.

The earth is old
, it read.
Many years has it seen, many more than I. Men have swallowed the world from the foot of this mountain to the far sea. Few come now to learn what I have to teach. I am the last of us, and I watch, from this last of our fortresses, this prison we have been afforded—I stand guard.

The feeling of pulling became so strong he had to pause, and breathe, palm flattened against the table next to the pages. On an impulse he didn't question, he turned to the very last page, to see what was there.

Dark the wind that brings the storm

and lost, all, to its breaking,

Yet firm shall hold Sword, Song, and Crown

A land of their own making.

Sword shall guide the hands of men

and Song shall ease their sorrow,

Crown shall harbor all their hope

And lead them to tomorrow.

"
Oh
," Kinsey said aloud and, turning back to the first page, began to read.

C
HAPTER
18

S
omehow she'd ended up agreeing to attend some kind of gathering of Cassdall officers: a tradition, she'd been told, after spies were sent out. Annan hadn't been specific—had, in fact, thrown the invitation out in the middle of a meeting about supply lines, and Kyali had agreed more out of the suspicion that he meant it as a challenge than from any real desire to go.

She wished now she hadn't.

She should meet his officers, she supposed. Commanders did that sort of thing. It wasn't all maps and numbers and planning things to surprise your enemy. They all ought to know one another from strangers in the halls, anyway.

Still, when the door to the Cassdall guardroom opened to her pattern of knocks and five faces looked out at her, Kyali decided she'd rather face a full-scale battle, and had to lock her knees to keep from spinning on a heel and heading back the way she'd come.

"Captain," Annan said, standing, managing by some miracle of politeness to keep the sarcasm in his voice to a low undertone. His men stood too, and Kyali moved warily into the room, taking in the small keg of recently brewed ale on the table, the mugs, the tray of savories someone had stolen from the kitchens. The door swung closed behind her and her fingers curled reflexively over the memory of a sword. Being shut up in a room with people made her heart pound, which inevitably made her angry.

Everything
made her angry.

She woke up that way; she fell asleep that way, when she could manage to sleep, until her dreams woke her again, shuddering and gasping with dread and sick, helpless rage. Sometimes it was all she could do to rise, dress, think, plan. That she was also expected to speak to people, to say civil things and do civil things and pretend there was something else in her other than the darkness of memory and the useless, endless struggle not to let it swallow her whole seemed impossible much of the time.

She shut her eyes, then opened them and managed a short bow.

"Captain," Kyali echoed, not sure what to expect, or what was expected of her. She only hoped this would be over soon.

The Cassdall officers rattled off a series of names she did her best to commit to memory, grasping her wrist one after another in their style of greeting. It was clear they'd already had a bit of ale. Someone handed her a mug. She sipped cautiously.

The toasts began, almost before she could sit down. She had been braced for that—soldiers everywhere did this sort of thing, for luck—and she managed to say something short but hopefully not too stupid. After that came a comfortable quiet, as the savories slowly disappeared and the keg emptied. Kyali nursed her single mug down to dregs, noticed that Annan was doing the same, and wondered if this were a good moment for a graceful exit.