The Sorcerer's Concubine (The Telepath and the Sorcerer Book 1) (11 page)

“I understand,” she said soberly, taking one glance back at the endless expanse of land and sky before taking his hand. It was only in places like this that she could truly be free.

“Did you really have a sinking feeling in your stomach when we made love?” she asked, as they galloped off on Fern’s back into the night. Someone must hear them, she thought, but no one came out to stop them. “Because truly I forgot all about your father before long.”

“I did too, in the moment,” he said. “But I thought about it later that night.”

“Will Preya be all right?”

“Papa will give her ten lashes,” he said. “But he wouldn’t really hurt her.”

“Won’t he?”

“I mean, he’ll hurt her a little, but that’s just how it is. She won’t bleed. I suppose you were never physically punished at the House, huh? It wouldn’t do much.”

“They took our hands away if we broke the rules.”

“I think I’d rather have the lash.”

“I don’t know.” Velsa shrugged. “It meant you couldn’t do any needlework or read, but otherwise it hardly seemed to matter. There wasn’t much to do.”

“I guess I see what you mean. If you didn’t have to eat or use the privy or even change clothes, you wouldn’t need your hands as much as I would.”

“If you were really bad, they’d sew your mouth shut, and that I’d mind, but it never happened to me. I was good. Most of the time. Not always good on the inside but I knew to stay quiet.”

“If only Preya had that quality,” he said, but he sounded more admiring than upset. 

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t say goodbye to her.”

“We’ll see her again.”

T
hey didn’t travel
the same way they had come, but veered north. He pulled out another large map and pointed to their final destination: a small military outpost in the hills to the northwest, right on the border of the Miralem nation of Otare.

“They try to be pretty strict with border crossings these days,” he said, “but you can’t keep out Miralem telepaths who want to make money. The border towns always have a higher concentration of telepaths who will slip over here for a few days, make some money, and go back to their own hoity-toity nation.”

“Are they that bad? Apparently I used to be one of them in my past life, you know.”

“They’re not that bad, if you like them feeling out your emotions, and going on about their goddess. The one who sleeps in the moon and wakes up when they need her, which apparently is never in all of recorded history. Except sometimes she sends her children, who supposedly happen to be the palest of Miralem, the ones who look the least like Daramons.”

“I really don’t like people,” Velsa sighed.

“Well, we need one, in this case. A Miralem person. I want to get a reading on your soul and see if it’s damaged.”

She tensed. “And what if it
is
?”

“I’ve heard that some Miralem can repair souls. So we’ll ask. Either way, I don’t believe that you should suffer for it. And if I’m wrong, may the fates bring us both back as Fanarlem together.”

“Don’t say that,” she said, thinking immediately of the Fanarlem man and woman in the hut. “Don’t tempt a curse on our heads.”

“Never.” He kissed the top of her head. “With this in mind, we may be sleeping in more barns. I want to save my money.”

The travel was grueling at times, the long days on Fern’s back, the weather turning colder by the day—and the mile—as their path led northward. Passing through small towns and hamlets along the route, she was a novelty and everyone stared, so she learned quickly to wear her hooded cloak at all times. They were comfortable alone, if sometimes a bit pricked from the beds of hay in their humble accommodations.

When they rested together after a long day, Grau would kiss her or stroke her thigh, and in another moment they were tangled together. She felt safe now, when he was inside her, with every affirmation of his need for her and every tender kiss and caress. His body felt like a shield against the horrors of the world, against which they stood.

They came, at last, to the larger town nearest his post, with a few days to spare. The town was nested between hills, with a river flowing beneath it—not the Atlantis River but one of its tributaries, the Sirian River, which marked the border between Atlantis and Otaré. The architecture looked different than in Nisa; more vertical, as if to compete with the surrounding hills. Spires marked the important buildings. Even the houses were often four narrow stories tall. She realized perhaps the steep surrounding land must be difficult to build upon, hemming in the town.

There was also a town on the Miralem bank of the river, although it was smaller, more of a village. Guard posts lined the water on both sides.

Here, Grau found a proper inn to keep Fern while they looked for a telepath.

“How do you find the telepaths?” Velsa asked. “What do Miralem look like?”

“Around here, they don’t look very different from us. Anyway, I think they find us. All we need to do is walk around and think about needing their services.”

“They can feel us thinking about them?”

“If they’re good at what they do.”

This brought home the Daramons’ fear of telepaths more than anything else Velsa had heard.

They walked down streets paved smooth. Grau kept staring at them. “They use sorcery to smooth the rock,” he said. “It’s difficult magic, but they must be good at it up here, with all those rocks on the hillsides.”

The pavement made the entire town seem more tidy. It was a quaint place, with lots of shops to peer into. Grau stopped in a particularly enticing candy shop offering all sorts of small confections made of nuts and nut pastes, candied flowers, honeycomb and chocolate.

As Grau took out coins to purchase a few choice selections, she considered for the first time what it would be like to carry a pouch of money herself and decide to buy things. She quickly squelched the thought. She could never ask Grau for any money of her own unless his income far exceeded her price.

When they had reached the edge of town, just when they were beginning to wonder if they would have any luck, a woman in a cloak slipped out of an alley and stood before them. “Are you seeking something?” she asked.

“Yes,” Grau said, with a touch of relief. “Someone who can read souls.”

“I can. For the girl? A half-piece.”

She led them back down the alley and up exterior stairs. They were creaky and offered an open view of their increasing height behind each step. Velsa felt a little dizzy as they climbed.

They entered a small room, sparsely decorated, as Grau held her hand tightly.

The woman hung up her cloak. Her dress was deep blue with embroidered sleeves and skirt, and her blonde hair hung long and loose. Grau said the Miralem here looked like Daramons, but Velsa had never seen anyone with pale hair before.

“Take off your cloak, madam,” the woman said. “This won’t take long, but it helps if I can see your face.”

No one had ever called Velsa ‘madam’ before, unless she counted Grau teasing her in the bedroom. 

“A golden band,” the woman said, drawing her hands to her chest with a look of revulsion.

Velsa touched her neck, but her collar still covered the golden band as it always did. The woman must have read it from her face, somehow.

“You have fond feelings for her, sir,” the woman said. “And yet you keep her locked up.”

“For her safety.”

“For
yours
,” she said.

“Fanarlem telepaths are not well regarded,” he said.

“Not in
your
country.” She took Velsa’s hand. “He’s afraid of your power.”

Velsa looked at Grau uncertainly.

He gave his head a brief shake, brows furrowed.

“He’s afraid you’ll read his mind.”

“I wouldn’t,” Velsa said. “I don’t even know how.”

“I’m not afraid of
you
,” he insisted. “I just—I don’t trust telepathy, all right? None of it. And no wonder. I didn’t ask to have my mind read now. All I want is to know if Velsa’s soul is damaged.”

“Let’s see…” The woman took Velsa’s other hand too, and turned them both so her palms faced the ceiling. She held Velsa’s hands lightly, her skin unnaturally warm for such a cold day. She shut her eyes. Velsa wasn’t sure what to do so she shut her eyes too. It was easier than looking at Grau, who still seemed upset.

“Only a bit,” the woman pronounced.

“A bit?” Grau said. “What does that mean?”

“All Fanarlem are born with damaged souls,” the woman said. “That is simply a fact, likely caused by their forced creation. Even when a flesh and blood person chooses to become a Fanarlem, their soul suffers for it slightly. It doesn’t mean anything; it’s a protective mechanism. A damaged soul experiences diminished emotions, which makes it easier to cope with trauma. Her soul will heal with experiences, especially with feelings of happiness, safety and security. Though I know those are in short supply for Fanarlem here.”

“Is that really true?” Velsa asked.

“Of course it’s true. I hope he hasn’t told you anything different.” The woman didn’t seem to trust Grau at all.

“No,
he
hasn’t…but he’s about the only one.”

“Well…” The woman’s expression softened just a little. She took one of Grau’s hands along with one of Velsa’s, like she was a link between them. “You keep that up, sir. Her scars will heal with care. But I’d start by taking off that band. Would you make her go through life blindfolded? Telepathy is a power but more than that, it is a sense—an essential part of life.”

“Not for us,” Grau said. “Not for Daramons.” He paid her with a slightly curt thanks.

“You really think I would read your mind?” Velsa asked, as they went down the stairs.

“She said that. I didn’t.” But then he sighed. “Not on purpose. But maybe by accident. Telepaths can do strange things when they get emotional. Like I said before, you won’t necessarily have control.”

“I have no training. And what do you think I’d learn?”

“It’s not that I’m hiding anything,” he said. “But would you want me reading
your
mind?”

“No…I wouldn’t want anyone reading my mind.”

“That woman, there—I could feel her brushing across me, searching for something she could accuse me of. Not an experience I care to repeat anytime soon.”

“Do all Miralem read minds?”

“No, only the skilled ones can, but—”

“Then I wouldn’t.”

“Maybe not at first, but, you might start to read my emotions without realizing. Look how you healed Fern in a panic. You definitely have talent, if not skill.”

“And good thing!” she exclaimed. “Grau, I think I already know your emotions by now. The good ones and the bad ones.” She crossed her arms and pressed her lips together, trying to suppress anger. 

“Look,” he said, “there’s nothing I can say about it. I trust you—” 

She turned at the bottom of the stairwell. “Then—please—take off my band! If only for a night…” 

“I don’t trust
telepathy
. I can’t do it, Velsa. It might hurt much more when I have to replace the band, and—we’re headed into a camp where a telepathic concubine is completely unacceptable.” He put a hand on her shoulder.

“I was born with this power, and I’ve never even known how it feels.”

Stop this,
she told herself. Her feelings for him surely couldn’t crumble this easily, but she was surprised at how painful it was to hear him deny her this. Why did she need to defy him? She had never defied Dalarsha, and she loved and trusted Grau more. 

“I’m teaching you sorcery, for just that reason—so you
will
have power of your own.” He huffed, raking a hand through his hair. “The telepath wasn’t as costly as I expected. How about if I buy you a crystal?”

A crystal…

It didn’t feel like enough, when she had other powers, powers granted to her by fate. But she also yearned for a crystal, to be able to tap into the greater forces around her at any time.

She could settle for it.

She had to, really. What else could she say?

It was getting dark now, but it got dark early at this time of year, and the shops were still open. Lamplighters were going around tending to the oil lamps, but magic lights beamed at corners and from shop windows, casting more powerful illumination. The little town was a glowing gem at night, nested between the dark swell of the hills.

The magic shop occupied the ground floor of one of the narrow buildings. Inside, between shelves lined with potions and books, was a glass display case containing crystals. Some were no larger than a pea, often set in earrings or rings. The largest one was half of a split geode almost as large as her head, a sparkling little cavern of smoky crystals.

“Can I help you, sir?” asked the shopkeeper, a genial-looking Daramon man who was unremarkable except for the bluish color of his eyes. Perhaps he had Miralem blood.

“We’re looking for a small crystal for the lady,” Grau said.

“A good idea,” the shopkeeper said gently. “I know the world can be a dangerous place for anyone in your position. My sympathies.”

Velsa didn’t quite understand until Grau said, “Well, she’s been a Fanarlem since she was young but I just want her to feel safe.”

The shopkeeper thought she was flesh-born, and Grau was letting him think it. Maybe others had suspected it, but this was the first time someone had said so outright. It made her feel like an impostor, on the brink of being exposed and humiliated—and yet, how quickly she could get used to being treated like a Daramon girl, as the man started asking questions about their budget and interest, addressing them both equally.

He took out a tray with a dozen crystals in their price range. “Try picking them up,” he said. “You’re looking for one that sings to you.”

In truth, they all sang a little. She heard faint sounds when she held them, like buzzing or the chime of bells. She chose the one she liked the best, an elongated shard with a golden tint and a haunting low song. Grau had the crystal-seller mount it on a chain so she could wear it close all the time.

Grau fastened it around her neck. 

“You have a lovely girl,” the man said in a kindly way that made it obvious he thought she was Grau’s wife or, at the least, his potential wife. “Bless you both.”

“I do indeed,” Grau said, obviously pleased.

She was disappointed to find that wearing the crystal against her skin didn’t produce a constant connection with the elements around her.

“Only when you concentrate, I’m afraid,” Grau said. “Maybe it would be too distracting if you felt all those energies constantly. Still, I’m sure activating it will become second nature in no time.”

They returned to their room, with baked potatoes for dinner, bought in one of the shops. After they had eaten, Grau took out his parcel from the candy shop.

“We’d better enjoy these,” he said. “I don’t think they’ll give us candy in our military rations. And tonight, we should celebrate, now that we know that your soul is just a few happy moments away from being whole…” He opened a jar of honey and scooped out a dab, lifting the golden sweetness to her lips.

She sucked the honey from his finger. It tasted of summer flowers.

She dipped her finger into the jar and lifted it to his mouth, but at the last minute she put it on her own tongue instead.

“You little minx!”

She stuck out her tongue, the honey still held there.

He chased her tongue back into her mouth with his own, to give her a honey-flavored kiss. They leaned back onto the bed, as his hand freed the clasps of her tunic.

“This is the only time I wish you were a flesh and blood woman,” he said. “With a warm, wet mouth.” Although he was gazing at her fondly as he said it, she felt a little pang of jealousy.