THREE DROPS OF BLOOD (16 page)

"I think it would have been better for everyone if the truth had been known, however
painful. People would have gotten used to it. Now... I understand why Mother stayed away for a
few days, after they found out I could--" He spread his hands, visibly helpless to find the right
words.

"What exactly did you do, that revealed your
imbrose
?" Mrillis asked. Getting
his grandson to talk was half the battle. Any kind of common ground, any understanding, would
help them both.

"We were hunting a boar, for the midwinter feast. It was a monster, the tusks nearly as
high as my horse's shoulders. It gutted one man's horse entirely and knocked me out of my
saddle. My weapons went flying." He caught his breath and his gaze went unfocused, indicating
he relived that moment. "I felt something shift inside my head, and my chest, and suddenly I
could see long, thin ropes all over the ground and in the air. I yanked on one, trying to loop it
around my spear. The boar came after me, and I threw the spear, using the rope. I never touched
my spear. And somehow I flung it hard enough to go right through the boar. The idiot beast
didn't even stop, didn't even know it was dead. It just kept charging, and I wrapped more of those
ropes around it, strangling it and stopping it, with just an arrow's length between us." He let out a
long, rasping breath and shuddered. "I was so excited and proud and amazed by what I did, and
then..."

"And then someone announced you had magic, and they treated you as if you had
deliberately rolled in filth?" Mrillis guessed. A knot formed in his chest, fury on his grandson's
behalf, mixed with the hot, pulsing need to find that cruel fool and punish him for destroying
what should have been a happy, proud moment in Pirkin's life. "Your mother would be so proud
of you," he offered.

"My mother would have sent me here for training years ago, when she saw the first
signs of magic in me. I learned enough in the required studies before I came to Lygroes, to know
about the testing for Rey'kil children. Especially for the descendants of those who forged the
Zygradon." Pirkin took a deep, shuddering breath. "Is it truly lost?"

"Your mother hid it, to protect it from treachery, and told no one where, before she died.
Only those who made the Zygradon, and their descendants, can see and touch the bowl. Perhaps
you will be the one to find it. Who knows what the Estall has planned for us?"

"Lady Emrillian ny Ceera is one of the greatest heroines of our age," Pirkin whispered.
"But my father was ashamed of her."

"No, not ashamed--"

"He should have been strong enough to stand against Mother--my stepmother's relatives,
and all their fears of Rey'kil. He should have been strong enough to teach them their errors. If he
hadn't been ashamed of her. But he was ashamed. It's the only reason why he wouldn't speak up
and defend her. Why he kept your name secret from me," he added, with a brief, almost grudging
glance at Mrillis.

"We cannot change the past, though undoubtedly some enchanter somewhere has found
a way to at least try," Mrillis added with a chuckle that didn't get any response from Pirkin. "All
we have is this present moment and the future that lies before us. I hope you are... well, I won't
hope for eagerness, lad, but I hope you are willing to try to become friends, so we can learn
about each other."

"I don't know," he whispered.

"I won't ask you to call me Grandfather," he offered, though saying the words pained
him, surprisingly. "Until you are ready."

"Did my father ever love my mother?"

"Oh, lad... I know he loved her greatly." Mrillis forced himself to look his grandson in
the eye as he spoke, and not avoid the searching, aching need for truth and comfort. He
remembered with a clarity that stabbed him, the pain Emrillian faced, her calmness, the dimming
of her spirits as she spoke of leaving Pyris and coming to stay in the Stronghold to protect
Pirkin's Rey'kil heritage and whatever magical talents and strength he had inherited from her. "It
pained him," he said slowly, hunting for words that would be truthful without setting a knife's
edge to their raw emotions, "when his fellows developed an unreasonable hatred and fear of
Rey'kil. When a man is torn between love and long-held loyalties, between what he knows and
what is sometimes mysterious to him, he sometimes makes decisions that seem reasonable, and
yet in hindsight he regrets. Above all things, your father is an honorable man."

"Sometimes honor isn't enough, is it?"

"Sometimes it takes the wisdom of the Estall to see through the muddle that we make of
our lives and basic principles," Mrillis admitted. It cheered him to see a tiny smile quirk up one
corner of Pirkin's mouth. That was some progress, he supposed. And that was Ceera's wry little
smile. "You are the same person you were before that boar attacked and awakened your
imbrose
. The only difference is that you have been given a new tool. You owe it to
yourself, and to the Warhawk, to learn to use that tool properly, so it will do you and those
around you no harm, at the very least."

"At the very least." Pirkin nodded. That aching shadow slipped back into his eyes. "I
supposed he is ashamed of me, despite all his fine words when he sent me off to training."

"There is no shame in using the gifts the Estall put into your blood and bones before you
were even conceived," Mrillis said, fighting not to growl, not to grab the young man--the sulky
boy--and shake him.

* * * *

Meghianna found the pageantry and fuss of preparing for the ceremony of investiture as
Queen of Snows tiring, at the best of times. She wondered what had happened in just a few days
to make her daydreams of the ceremony seem childish and selfish now. True, she had dreamed of
being the center of attention when she was a child, but why did all the visits with the
seamstresses, the meetings to choose flowers and food and musicians, now feel like a tiresome
waste of time and energy?

"It's that wretched Pirkin," Megassa said, when her sister confided in her, only four days
before the ceremony. "How can we enjoy ourselves when everywhere we turn, he's standing in a
corner moping, or else getting teased by those other idiots and fighting with them? You don't feel
guilty, do you? The truth was bound to come out sooner or later, so it really isn't our fault."

Meghianna had to agree with her sister. She had heard of more than a dozen minor
nobles and officials in the Warhawk's court who had approached Pirkin, clearly seeking favors
and to cultivate friendship with the young man, long before the revelation of his pedigree. She
had thought Pirkin was sensible enough to know who offered true friendship and who wanted to
take advantage of his rank and connections. Obviously, thinking people cultivated him as the son
of a minor king was far more palatable to him than knowing these same people wanted to be his
friend because he was the grandson of Mrillis, the Warhawk's enchanter.

She regretted asking him to be her primary escort. True, his position as Mrillis' grandson
had been part of her consideration, but she had liked him, just from what she had observed and
heard about him. Her position as Queen of Snows gave her the right, and perhaps the
responsibility, to lecture him and try to talk--or slap--some sense into him. The problem was that
he had an incredible talent for being invisible, or else moving with a swiftness that required
magic to catch up with him. She refused to dash about the fortress in a vain attempt to catch him.
Especially when she was more aware than ever of all the watchful, critical people waiting to find
something to mock or condemn in her.

"You and I must come to an agreement, Prince Pirkin," she said, when the day of the
ceremony came and he arrived at the door of her quarters to escort her to the stable, where her
horse, a son of Mist, waited to carry her to the meadow.

"Lady?" He bowed--a little too deeply, most likely to avoid looking her in the eyes.

"I will not require anything of you except a pleasant expression today, and you will not
act like a child half your age, being forced to eat some noxious concoction your lunatic aunt
insists will make you big and strong. Agreed?"

Pirkin's head snapped upright and his eyes widened. Spots of color lit his cheeks and he
seemed to struggle to take a breath for a moment.

"How did you know my aunt--"

"Everyone has a lunatic aunt, of one sort or another." She rolled her eyes and shook her
head, and a moment later gave up the battle not to laugh. Pirkin took a step back, then he exhaled
loudly... And laughed with her.

"I've been a petulant whelp, haven't I?" he said, when they both had regained their
breaths.

"You make us think that serving the Warhawk is a matter of dishonor and an
inconvenience."

"No, I--" He swallowed hard and shook his head, and some stiffness left his shoulders.
"I suppose that's what it looks like, doesn't it?"

"Even more horrible, you're hurting Lord Mrillis, whom I adore. He has been a second
father to me and to my sister, and I pity you for all that you have missed in not growing up
knowing him."

"It's different for you, having magic."

"You have magic in your blood, much as you hate it. You can't get rid of it any more
than you can get rid of the color of your hair or eyes. You can cover them up, yes, just as you can
learn to restrain your
imbrose
and learn not to use it." Meghianna gestured into the hall
and held out her bent arm. Pirkin colored and looped his arm through hers, to escort her. "You
should talk to Megassa," she said, after they had taken a dozen steps and approached the
stairway.

"Why? She's likely to challenge me to a sword fight, or a race--and beat me," he added
with a chuckle.

"Megassa's
imbrose
has been restrained since birth. Because of her mother and
grandmother, and the chance that some malevolent spell to control her mind and actions had
been implanted in her at conception. When she was old enough to understand, she asked that her
imbrose
be hobbled even further, so she only had enough to allow her to be a Valor.
You can likely do the same, if you find your heritage so offensive. Megs will tell you it doesn't
hurt at all."

"I'm not afraid of... Well, yes, maybe a little, afraid of it hurting. I imagine it would be
like cutting off an arm or leg, or gouging out one of my eyes, to take away this magic I don't
want. I wasn't brought up wanting or needing it. Why did it have to land on me all of a sudden?
There's a girl... Well, her family isn't as bad as some of Mother's relatives, but they let me know
I was welcome to court her, once she turned fifteen. After I discovered my
imbrose
, the
door slammed in my face."

"More important, did she welcome your interest?"

"I don't know." He frowned, then a stunned look of dawning comprehension touched his
eyes. "In the end, it wouldn't matter that they welcomed me, if she didn't like me, would it?"

"Now, see? You're a much wiser man already." Meghianna squeezed his arm when they
reached the bottom of the stairs and servants hurried to open the big double doors before them.
Pirkin took the hint and said nothing more until they were mounted on their flower-bedecked
horses and the rest of the escort surrounded them.

Megassa rode behind them with Kaytin as her partner. Pirkin glanced over his shoulder
at her twice, a thoughtful look replacing the scowl that had seemed to take up residence on his
face. Finally he heaved a deep sigh.

"I don't even know what I can do, so how can I decide if it needs to be... What was your
word? Hobbled?"

"Then common sense says to explore the limits before you decide if you want to add
any. It could be your only gifts are throwing things with your mind, and that is a rather useful
gift for a Valor who could be entrusted with the Warhawk's safety."

"But with my...with the people I come from... Wouldn't I have enormous gifts?"

"When are you going to speak their names? Ceera, your grandmother. Emrillian, your
mother. Mrillis, your grandfather."

"I don't even know what my mother and grandmother look like, so how can they be real
to me?" He shrugged, and that pleasant, crooked little smile she liked brightened his face.

"Lord Mrillis can show you easily enough. Casting illusions and showing you images
from his memory is simple." Meghianna considered offering to share with him the memories of
Emrillian and Ceera that others had shared with her, but she suspected that going to Mrillis for
those images would help both grandfather and grandson draw a little closer.

She congratulated herself on having taken the right approach with Pirkin, a little
bluntness, a little teasing, a little humor, mixed with honesty. He asked her for three dances
during the festivities after her ceremony--which was mercifully brief--and she caught him having
a long, serious conversation with Megassa in the shadows of the open pavilion set up for the
royal family. When she saw Pirkin approach Mrillis, she looked away, blinking away tears and
laughing at herself a moment later.

I do believe I will make a decent Queen of Snows after all,
she decided.
Please, blessed Estall, help me to find the right answers for every hurt and need that comes
before me.

* * * *

Meghianna kept watch over Pirkin during the next two years of his training. He could
never be fully comfortable when he came to the Stronghold for his lessons in the winter, but she
took encouragement from his curiosity about his mother and grandmother, the places they
frequented, their quarters, which had been kept as they were for Mrillis' use on his infrequent
visits. Several of her older ladies, who had known her mother and grandmother, reported that
Pirkin approached them several times, asking for stories about Ceera and Emrillian.

Lord Rondell and her father both reported that Pirkin had more difficulty dealing with
the people who tried to take advantage of his blood-ties with Mrillis, than with learning to
control his magic. His
imbrose
was of a minor degree, allowing him to move objects, to
light fires, and to give strength to healers. Pirkin never learned to take pride in his gifts, but he
moved beyond feeling ashamed of possessing them. He never learned to move beyond his
resentment for the people who saw him only as Mrillis' grandson, who judged him by his
grandfather and tried to capitalize on a relationship as flimsy as ancient, weather-worn cloth.