The Sons of Hull (13 page)

She didn’t know what to say, so she stopped next to a sweet rosin tree, making a pretense at plucking its leaves. Finally, the words came, along with her tears. “Vance, you know you’re like a son to me.”

He, too, was fighting back tears as he wrapped his arms around her. “Don’t leave me again, N’vonne. Please.”

__________

Telenar was stricken. From the moment he laid eyes upon the revived woman, he had felt it. Thus, his absence from her second awakening, their talk in the garden, and three days afterward. He had spent the time in the scriptorium, pouring over his rightful focus: the Dedication. Where would it be? How could they find it? How did she come to have gray streaks in her thirties? Had she ever loved another? Where was she now?

He shook his head angrily. To the Chasm with such thoughts! They were a ploy of Zyreio’s to distract him, to be sure. At this most critical hour, his concentration must be complete. But how could someone so lovely be evil to him?

It was in this agitated state that Vancien finally found him.

“Telenar! Where have you been?”

“Shh! This is a study chamber, Vance!” was Telenar's hissed reply.

“Fine, then.” Vancien lowered his voice as he approached a table covered with documents. “Where have you been?”

Telenar glared at him over his spectacles. “Studying. Searching. Praying. Like you should be doing.”

Vancien was in too good of a mood to take offense. He had not felt this light-hearted since the Eyestone Glade. “Oh come now, Telenar. You know I’ve been looking and praying just as hard as you have. I’ve just found time for a little pleasure, too.”

The priest’s head snapped up from an old, marked-up copy of the Ages. “Pleasure? What kind?”

“The innocuous kind. The kind found in enjoying the beautiful waterfall behind the Palace. Or sitting by a fireside discussing Kynell’s wonders. The kind you’ve been missing. Why, just today, N’vonne and I were talking—”

“N’vonne! You haven’t learned anything since she’s been back. You even missed one of Chiyo’s practices.”

Bewildered and hurt, Vancien was tempted to snap back. But he forced himself to refrain. “You’re not being fair. She’s only been with us for five days. And Chiyo knew where I was.
He
didn’t seem to mind.”

Telenar finally relented, sinking his head into his heads. “I know, Vancien. I’m sorry. It’s just that the time is drawing near. We still don’t know where the Dedication is to be held and the Ages say nothing of how the Advocates discovered it. No two eras have been the same.”

The young man leaned forward, smiling mischievously. “I have an idea: maybe Kynell will tell us.”

“Now you’re being simplistic.”

“And you’re being difficult. Where’s your faith? Kynell’s not going to let me miss my own Dedication. Keep praying, of course, but the Ages aren’t going to tell us where to go. He will.”

With resignation, the priest pushed the scrolls away. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“I know I am. But tell me, Telenar,” Vancien's voice dropped conspiratorially. “What do you think of her?”

“Excuse me?”

“N’vonne! Isn’t she marvelous?”

Suddenly preoccupied with the hem of his robe, Telenar broke eye contact. “She’s great. But she’s going to be a distraction.”

“For whom? Me or you?”

“You! Who else? What do you think, that I—” he broke off, not himself trusting to go further. “You are young and quite naïve, Vance. She is a lovely woman, but I am a bitter old man who has a great deal of work to do.”

“Then why haven’t you shown your face to her?”

“
Because I have work to do.
Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

Vancien nodded, dropping the issue. “Okay, Telenar. I won’t argue further. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Not at the moment.” He stood to stack the scrolls and return them. After a short pause, he added, “But tell Lady N’vonne that we must all meet for supper tonight. I have some things I need to discuss with both of you.”

Trying not to smile again, Vancien bowed respectfully. “I’ll do that.”

Supper was a simple affair, as it was supported out of Telenar’s purse, rather than the king or the Patroniite
Fraternity. Indeed, since his arrival, Vancien had only seen the king a few times. Relgaré had been respectful enough, but indifferent. The border wars were occupying his thoughts as always, and, although he would never admit it, he had little faith in Telenar. It was his quiet hope that soon the priest would cease presenting himself altogether. Since the boy had been found, his wish had almost come true.

Patronius Supras
Ganeidor had been a little more curious, and one evening’s dinner proved to hold engaging discussion on both Vancien’s part and the Supras’. The Order had shown no more interest, however, nor was Vancien invited back.

Consequently, one servant served them one course each, complemented by plain bread and humble wine. Not being accustomed to finer fare, there were no complaints among the partakers.

Telenar had been the last to enter, and N’vonne and Vancien had risen to meet him. N’vonne spoke first.

“Patronius Telenar. It is a pleasure to see you again.”

He bowed. “Lady N’vonne. The pleasure is mine.” The words were stiff but the sentiment true. “I trust Vancien has shown you around the grounds?”

All sat as the meal was served.

“Oh yes. The Palace is marvelous indeed, Patronius. And Lascombe is,” she paused, failing to find an accurate description.

“Brilliant?”

“It dazzles the eye.”

Telenar began to eat. “I am afraid your guide may be lacking in experience, as he has only been in the great city a few months. Plus the cold has set in. You’ll find fewer brilliant businesses open at this time of the cycle.”

“Then perhaps you could show me the best ones to frequent, Patronius. I shall need more traveling attire before we get started.”

The priest shook his head. “Please, just call me Telenar, Lady. And no, I’m afraid I won’t be able to assist you in your shopping. There are more important matters to which I must attend.”

Slightly taken aback, N’vonne tried not to sound disappointed. “Of course, Patron—Telenar. I’m sure Vancien will help me.”

“Vancien is needed here. It would not do for a Prysm Advocate to spend time selecting riding skirts.”

Vancien, who had quietly been watching this exchange, jumped to her defense. “Now see here, Telenar—”

“I’m sure one of the queen’s attendants,” Telenar interrupted, “will be happy to escort you, Lady.”

By now, N’vonne’s face was stony. “I’m sure that would be best. You are right; Vancien should not be distracted.”

The rest of the supper was conducted in painfully civil tones, with Telenar questioning N’vonne about her past experiences and possible contributions, N’vonne replying with curt answers, and Vancien visibly attempting not to be furious with the priest. Only the servant seemed to be in a jovial mood, as the meal was cut short and he was allowed to go home early.

Later that evening, when the triple lunos cast a sober glow upon the palace grounds and the breach winds had picked up their howling, Telenar heard a soft tap on his office door. “Come in,” he called, not bothering to look up.

N’vonne entered quietly, steeled for her mission. The hearth’s fire was dying due to Telenar’s inattention. Meanwhile, the candle on his desk produced little light and less warmth. She could not help but shaking a little. “Patronius,” she began.

Upon seeing who it was, Telenar jumped immediately to his feet and gestured to a worn chair. “Lady N’vonne. Please come in.”

His softer tone surprised her, but she did not waste any thought on it. “Patronius,” she began again, only to be interrupted again.

“Telenar.”

“Telenar, then. I just came to tell you that I love Vancien very much and I will do nothing to distract him from his mission. Whatever you may think of me—perhaps that I am a shallow woman who cares only to buy clothes—I know that Vancien brought me back for a reason. But he is young. If you, who are wiser and more studied in this holy mission, think that I should leave, I shall. And not a word to Vance.”

As inappropriate as it seemed, Telenar chuckled quietly. “You must not know Vancien very well. He would go find you.”

She nodded, trying not to take pride at the thought. “I know. But you could send me far away. Vancien will listen to you and stay here.”

He shook his head, kicking himself for his earlier behavior. “Lady N’vo—”

“Just N’vonne. Please.”

“N’vonne.” As his eyes met hers, his well-intentioned resolve almost disappeared. Clearing his throat, he pressed on. “N’vonne, I have faith in Vancien’s choice. He is wise beyond his cycles, as he should be. And I’m sorry,” he paused, feeling that this admission would completely give him away, but needing to say it nonetheless, “about tonight.”

She bowed her head. “It is forgotten, Telenar. Rest well.”

“Rest well.” He watched her leave, then turned back to his scrolls. But there would be no more studying that evening.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Surprisingly, Gair was good company. The moment their voyoté set foot beyond the last of Donech’s farm fields, he burst out in exultant laughter.

Verial was not amused. “I fail to see what is so humorous.”

His eyes sparkled in a fashion most uncharacteristic of an Obsidian servant. “Nothing particular, Lady Verial. It’s just that it feels so good to be out in fresh air! I’ve been trapped in that stuffy castle for three fortnights!” He stopped, realizing to whom he was speaking. “It must feel good indeed to get out of there after sixteen hundred cycles.”

Jaded though she was, his exuberance was affecting. “Yes. I suppose it does.”

“Tell me, Lady,” he said, looking over his shoulder to make sure they were not being followed. “What is it like, living for so long?”

“I dare not speak of it.”

His courage bordered on recklessness. “Why not? We’re away from the Dark One. Powerful as he is, he can’t hear you.”

Foolish boy! He would get himself killed before they crossed the lower Trmak! “I think I would know the powers of the Dark One. They are greater than you think. And his Sentries hear very well.”

He brought his mount closer to hers and whispered confidentially. “I don’t fear him.”

“Then you’re an idiot,” she whispered in return. “Kindly move away.”

He obeyed, and they rode in silence for several moments. Though cold, it was a beautiful day—Zyreio had not managed to manipulate the weather since his last era of power. The crisp air stung her cheeks as the every-day depression to which she had become accustomed softened a little. The pale discs of the orbs were comforting. After awhile, she almost began to relax.

“You are an unwise young man,” she said suddenly.

Caught off-guard, Gair raised his eyebrows. “And why is that, Lady?”

“How is it that you do not fear Amar—the Dark One?”

His smile, which was quickly becoming characteristic, vanished as he eyed her. “I fear I spoke foolishly before, Lady Verial. Forgive me if I offended you, or your lord.”

So that was it. The enthusiasm of earlier had settled into a cautious mistrust. And why should he trust her? She was the mistress of Zyreio’s servant, exposed to every type of evil. Surely she had absorbed some of it through the cycles.

“Your excitement has cooled. Perhaps you have thought it wiser to hold your tongue.”

“A good adventure always makes my words come quickly and perhaps, as you said, unwisely.”

She almost regretted that part of him was retreating from her cold gaze. But did she dare speak freely? Or even kindly? It would be turned as a weapon against her. Amarian would hear of her affection for his servant and the boy would suffer for it.

“He is very powerful, child. Do not underestimate him.”

“I will not, Lady. I promise.”

His tone, subdued though it was, gave her hope. And this caught her by surprise, since hope had been an alien element for thousands of cycles. She sighed. Had it been so long? When Zyreio had first enticed her, she had been only fifteen cycles. Serving as a scullery maid in a minor lord’s kitchen, she had jumped at the opportunity of playing such an exciting role in the epic battle. The day Grens had come to her was a memory that would never leave, and never did she recall it without a shudder. It was a spring day and she had felt particularly alive. There was a hillock not far from her small hut, where the trees blossomed with azure petals and the path wound round to a small, peaceful pool. It was there that she had directed her steps to dangle tanned and hardened feet in the cool waters. At that time, she had had long, full, brown hair, always pulled back in a cute, practical ponytail. Life had been difficult, but not enough to steal her carefree manner. She giggled to herself, picturing the several boys in town that had their eyes set upon her. All were rude and unworthy, of course. But she enjoyed their attentions; especially Narta’s sober green eyes. He was only a tanner’s son, though, and she knew somehow that she was intended for a prince. So she sat, aware of the burgeoning nature at her fingertips, but dangerously ignorant of everything else.

He had approached her quietly, boots silent upon the moss. She felt him before she saw him. And when he spoke her name, she didn’t start or run. It was as if her heart had beat fifteen cycles for this moment only.

“Little Verial,” he said, resting a hand on her shoulder.

She swallowed, forcing herself to look at him. He was handsome, but that was not what drew her. If he had been wearing a butcher’s apron, he still would have exuded an extraordinary, magnetic confidence. Dressed as he was in Zyreio’s sable uniform, the young girl had had no defense.

If Verial had known how much she yielded to him that day, she might have resisted—even now, though, she doubted if she would have succeeded. Of everything else that happened during that first encounter, one painful, completely unnecessary memory stood out to her: she remembered Grens pulling her gently to her feet and running his fingers through her hair.

“I’ve always loved blondes,” he whispered.