The Hero and the Crown (21 page)

but the distant chirp of a bird and the occasional whisk of Talat’s tail.

Nothing.

“I can breathe,” she whispered.

“Ah,” said Luthe. “Yes, I hoped for that.”

Then the cacophony of her dreams rushed back. The red man she discarded,

but—“My City—”

Luthe’s inscrutable look settled over his face as if it was there for life. “Later.”

“Later? The end of my land, my City, my people? Later?” My land, a far-off

thought said to her mockingly. My City. My people.

“Yes, later,” he said gruffly. “It hasn’t happened yet, and your destiny lies

elsewhere.”

She stood rooted to the ground, staring at him. “My destiny lies elsewhere,”

she said in a high voice. “My destiny has always lain ... elsewhere.”

His face softened. “Yes, that’s true, but not quite the way you think. Come. I’ll

tell you what I can—of what you need to know. We’ll have to hope it’s enough.”

“It will have to be enough,” she said fiercely, and as he looked into her eyes

they were golden from the flames of her dreams; and he feared then for what he

had done. “I had no choice,” he murmured to himself, but Aerin, still fierce in her

fear, said, “I can’t hear you. What are you saying?”

Luthe shook his head. “Nothing that will do you any service to hear. Come,

then. What has happened to you is not all bad.”

HER VISION HAD CLEARED with her lungs, and just as she smiled involuntarily

every time she took a deep breath, she was also fascinated by the sight of things

like leaves on trees, or the way the muscles moved under Talat’s skin when he

went tearing across his meadow, bucking and kicking like a colt. She went for long

directionless walks through the forests of Luthe’s high valley, or strolled along the

edge of the silver lake, watching tiny rainbows reflect off the water. If she was

absent too long, Luthe came to fetch her; he always seemed able to find her

without trouble, however far she’d wandered. Occasionally he came with her

when she set out.

She had paused, staring at a tree like many other trees, but the leaves of it

were waving at her; each tiny, delicate, sharp-edged green oval shivered just for

her when the breeze touched it; turned that she might admire its either side, the

miniature tracery of green veins, the graceful way the stem fitted to the twig, and

the twig to the branch, and the branch set so splendidly into the bole. A green

vine clung round the tree, and its leaves too stirred in the wind.

Luthe idly snapped a small twig from the vine and handed it to her. She took it

without thinking and then saw what it was—surka—and all her pleasure was

gone, and her breath caught in her throat; her fingers were too numb even to

drop what they held.

Her frantic fingers squeezed together till the stem broke, and the pale green

sap crept across her palm. Its touch was faintly warm and tickly, and she opened

her hand in surprise, and a large furry spider walked onto her wrist and paused,

waving its front pair of legs at her.

“Ugh,” she said, and her wrist shook, and the spider fell to the ground and

ambled slowly away. There was no sign of the broken surka twig.

Luthe snorted with laughter, tried to turn it into a cough, inhaled at the wrong

moment, and then really did cough. “Truly,” he said at least, “the poor surka can

be a useful tool. You cannot blame it for the misfortunes of your childhood. If you

try to breathe water, you will not turn into a fish, you will drown; but water is still

good to drink.”

“Ha,” said Aerin, still shaken and waiting for the nausea or the dizziness, or

something; she hadn’t held it long, but long enough for something nasty to result.

“The taste of water doesn’t kill people who aren’t royal.”

“Mmm. If the truth be known, the touch of the sap of the surka doesn’t kill

people who aren’t royal either, although eating it will certainly make them very

sick, and the royal plant makes a good story. It’s the kelar in your blood that

brings the surka’s more curious properties out—although poor old Merth killed

himself just as surely with it. As you would have killed yourself were it not for

your mother’s blood in your veins—and serve you right for being so stupid about

that Galooney woman. Anything powerful is also dangerous, and worth more

respect than a silly child’s trick like that.”

“Galanna.”

“Whatever. All she uses her Gift for is self-aggrandizement, with a little

unguided malice thrown in. Tor doesn’t realize how narrowly he escaped; a flicker

more of the Gift in her and less in him and he’d have married her, willy-nilly, and

wondered for the rest of his life why he was so miserable.” Luthe did not sound as

though the prospect caused him any sorrow. “But you have no excuse for falling

into her snares.”

“What is kelar?”

Luthe pulled a handful of leaves off the surka and began to weave them

together. “It’s what your family calls the Gift. They haven’t much of it left to call

anything. You’re stiff with it—be quiet. I’m not finished—for all you tried to choke

me off by an overdose of surka.” He eyed her. “Probably you will always be a little

sensitive to it, because of that; but I still believe you can learn to control it.”

“I was fifteen when I ate the surka and—”

“The stronger the Gift, the later it shows up, only your purblind family has

forgotten all that, not having had a strong Gift to deal with in a very long time.

Your mother’s was late. And your uncle’s,” He frowned at the wreath in his hands.

“My mother.”

“Most of your kelar is her legacy.”

“My mother was from the North,” Aerin said slowly. “Was she then a witch—a

demon—as they say?”

“She was no demon,” Luthe said firmly. “A witch? Mmph. Your village elders,

who sell poultices to take off warts, are witches.”

“Was she human?”

Luthe didn’t answer immediately. “That depends on what you mean by

human.”

Aerin stared at him, all the tales of her childhood filling her eyes with shadows.

Luthe was wearing his inscrutable look again, although he bent it only on the

surka wreath. “Time was, you know, there were a goodly number of folk not

human who walked this earth. Time was—not so long ago. Those who were

human, however, never liked the idea, and ignored those not human when they

met them, and now they ...” The inscrutable look faded, and he looked up from

his hands and into the trees, and Aerin remembered the creatures on the walls of

her sleeping-hall.

“I’m not,” he said carefully, “the best one to ask questions about things like

humanity. I’m not entirely human myself.” He glanced at her. “Time I fed you

again.”

She shook her head, but her stomach roared at her; it had been almost

ceaselessly hungry since she had swum in the silver lake. Luthe seemed to take a

curious ironic pleasure in pouring food into her; he was an excellent cook, but it

didn’t seem to have much to do with culinary pride. It was more as if a mage’s

business did not often extend to the overseeing of convalescents, and the interest

he took in his humble role of provider ought to be beneath his dignity, and he was

a little sheepish to discover that it wasn’t.

She shook her head, but her stomach roared at her; it had been almost

ceaselessly hungry since she had swum in the silver lake. Luthe seemed to take a

curious ironic pleasure in pouring food into her; he was an excellent cook, but it

didn’t seem to have much to do with culinary pride. It was more as if a mage’s

business did not often extend to the overseeing of convalescents, and the interest

he took in his humble role of provider ought to be beneath his dignity, and he was

a little sheepish to discover that it wasn’t.

“You look like a queen,” Luthe said,

“Don’t,” she said bitterly, trying to find a clasp to unfasten the bright cloak.

“Please don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” said Luthe, and the cloak fell away, and she held only silver ashes in

her hands. She let her hands fall to her sides, and she felt ashamed. “I’m sorry

too. Forgive me.”

“It matters nothing,” Luthe said, but she reached out and hesitantly put a hand

on his arm, and he covered it with one of his. “There may have been a better way

than the Meeldtar’s to save your life,” he said. “But it was the only way I knew;

and you left me no time. ... I was not trained as a healer.” He shut his eyes, but his

hand stayed on hers. “No mages are, usually. It’s not glamorous enough, I

suppose; and we’re a pretty vain lot.” He opened his eyes again and tried to smile.

“Meeldtar is the Water of Sight, and its spring runs into the lake here, the Lake

of Dreams. We live—here—very near the Meeldtar stream, but the lake also

touches other shores and drinks other springs—I do not know all their names. I

told you I’m not a healer ... and . . , when you got here, finally, I could almost see

the sunlight through you. If it weren’t for Talat, I might have thought you were a

ghost. The Meeldtar suggested I give you a taste of the lake water—the Water of

Sight itself would only have ripped your spirit from what was left of your body.

“But the lake—even I don’t understand everything that happens in that lake.”

He fell silent, and dropped his hand from hers, but his breath stirred the hair that

fell over her forehead. At last he said: “I’m afraid you are no longer quite...

mortal.”

She stared up at him, and the shadows of her childhood ebbed away to be

replaced by the shadows of many unknown futures.

“If it’s any comfort, I’m not quite mortal either. One does learn to cope; but

within a fairly short span one finds oneself longing for an empty valley, or a

mountain top. I’ve been here ...”

“Long enough to remember the Black Dragon.”

“Yes. Long enough to remember the Black Dragon.”

“Are you sure?” she whispered.

“One is never sure of anything,” he snapped; but she had learned that his anger

was not directed at her, but at his own fears, and she waited. He closed his eyes

again, thinking. She’s being patient with me. Gods, what has happened to me?

I’ve been a master mage since old Goriolo put the mark on me, and he could

almost remember when the moon was first hung in the sky. And this child with

her red hair looks at me once with those smoky feverish eyes and I panic and

dunk her in the lake. What is the matter with me?

He opened his eyes again and looked down at her. Her eyes were still smoky,

green and hazel, still gleaming with the occasional amber flame, but they were no

longer feverish, and their calm shook him now almost as badly as their dying

glitter had done. “I followed you, you know, when you went under. I—I had to

make a rather bad bargain to bring you back again. It was not a bargain I was

expecting to have to make.” He paused. “I’m pretty sure.”

The eyes wavered and dropped. She looked at her one hand tucked over

Luthe’s arm, and brought the other up to join it; and gently, as if she might like his

comfort no better than she had liked his gift, he put his other arm around her;

and she leaned slowly forward and rested her head against his shoulder. “I’m

sorry,” he said.

She laughed the whisper of a laugh. “I was not ready to die yet; very well, I shall

live longer than I wished.”

“I did. Come along, then.”

The way back to Luthe’s hall was narrow, and as they walked side by side, for

Luthe would not relinquish her hand, they had to walk very near each other. Aerin

was glad when she saw the grey stone of the hall rear up before her, and at the

edge of the small courtyard she broke away from the man beside her, and ran up

the low steps and into the huge high room; and by the time he rejoined her she

was busily engaged in pretending to warm her hands at the hearth. But she had

no need of the fire’s warmth, for her blood was strangely stirred, and the flush on

her face was from more than the fire’s red light.

Over supper she said, “I have not heard anyone else call it kelar. Just the Gift,

or the royal blood.”

He was grateful that she chose to break the silence and answered quickly: “Yes,

that’s true enough, although your family made themselves royalty on the strength

of it, not the other way round. It came from the North originally.” He smiled at

her stricken look. “Yes, it did; you and the demon-kind share an ancestor, and you

have both lived to bear kelar through many generations. You need that common

ancestor; without the unphysical strength the kelar grants you, you could not

fight the demonkind, and Damar would not exist.”

She laughed her whispered laugh again, and said, “One in the eye for those

who like to throw up to me my status as a half-blood.”

“Indeed,” said Luthe, and the flicker of temper she had grown accustomed to

seeing whenever they discussed her father’s court flashed across his face. “Their

ignorance is so great they are terrified by a hint of the truth; a hint such as you

are in yourself.”

“You overrate me,” Aerin said. “I may be all you say of me now, but I have been

nothing—nothing but an inconvenient nuisance; inconvenient particularly

because I had the ill grace to get born to the king, where I could not be ignored as