A Thread in the Tangle (11 page)

“Marsais,” she said, suddenly, ears perking up at an urgent thought.
 
It was always best to change the subject.
 
“I think someone is mutating the crabs and doing an awful job of it.”

Marsais cast about in confusion, wondering if he had missed something, which was often the case.
 
She quickly supplied a description of the disproportionate crustacean.

“Hmm.”
 
Marsais stroked his braided goatee.
 
“That’s one possibility, although it could be a foul attempt at a Fomorri graft.”

“They’re on the Isle?” Isiilde squeaked at the mere mention of the twisted race.
 
That wasn’t an option she had considered.
 
Marsais held up a calming hand.

“An option, however unlikely, is still an option, my dear,” he mused.
 
“However, I believe in this case, it might be a natural occurrence, by the name of a fiddler crab.
 
Although I’ll certainly keep my eyes open in case the obvious is a disguise for some seedier plot.”

Marsais’ promise quenched her fears like a soothing balm.
 
Not much could get past a seer (even an absentminded one).

Satisfied, she lay on her back, folded her arms behind her head, and stretched out beneath the sun, happy to lounge in its heat with her closest friend.
 
Seagulls circled the distant boats, croaking their rude noises over the melody of the ocean’s tide, and after a time, Isiilde opened her eyes to make sure Marsais was still there.
 
Unfortunately, he was propped up on an elbow reading through her letters of misconduct.

“I missed you horribly, Marsais.”
 
The long months of her misery were contained in those five simple words.

“Apparently,” he agreed.
 
“I think I like this one best.”
 
Marsais gestured at the stack of letters and the nymph chewed nervously on the inside of her cheeks.
 
“Thira has accused you of setting Crumpet on fire.”
 
He paused, fixing her with a questioning eyebrow.

“You didn’t say good bye.”
 
There was more hurt than accusation in her tone.

“Oh, I can’t stand goodbyes, most especially when you’re concerned.
 
If I took such a risk, then I never would have gotten on the boat.
 
Your tears are unbearable.”

“Is that why you left, because of me?”
 
Isiilde’s whisper was as soft as the breeze.

Marsais looked up from the letters in surprise.
 
“Of course not,” he breathed.
 
“Did you think that was the reason, my dear?”

“The thought had occurred to me on more than one occasion,” she admitted, pausing to blow a stray wisp of hair out of her face.
 
“You were gone a very long time.”

“Barely six months.”

“For a butterfly that’s a whole lifetime.”
 
Marsais chuckled softly at her observation.

“Hmm, and I suppose for a certain nymph it might have seemed longer.”

“It was unbearable.”
 
Isiilde rolled over onto her side, regarding him with doe-eyed misery.

“O come now, my dear, even I enjoy the occasional respite from myself.”
 
The nymph couldn’t bring herself to smile at his jest (at least she thought he was jesting).

“Why did you leave?”
 
Marsais sighed faintly at her question and he turned to watch the fishing boats drift by.
 
One and then another paraded past, and she realized he had forgotten about her.

“Marsais,” Isiilde called softly, just enough to nudge him back to the present.

“Hmm?”
 
He blinked in confusion, until his eyes found her again.
 
“O hello, my dear,” he greeted as if he had not seen her in quite some time.
 
When his gaze sharpened on her and he had returned fully to the present, he cleared his throat, quickly looking back to the ocean.

“I don’t know how you manage when you’re by yourself.”

“Ah, but it’s always a surprise to discover where I’ve ended up!” he exclaimed with an uneven grin.
 
“But to answer your question of why, of which I think you’re still wondering—I’ve always found it beneficial to go on a walk whenever I feel the tell tale signs of the Keening creeping up.”
 
Alarmed, the nymph sat up, edging closer to peer down at him with concern.

“Calm down,” Marsais urged, holding up a halting hand, quickly explaining himself.
 
“The reason I went away was to escape the Keening’s clutches.
 
A long walk does wonders for one’s perspective on life.
 
Staying one step ahead of the Keening is how I’ve managed to stay in the prime of my life all these years.”

“Are you better now?”

“Yes,” he assured, and his smile chased her worries away.
 
“In fact, the majority of the ancients must figure out something that works for them.
 
Otherwise they wouldn’t survive.
 
Oenghus is a perfect example, whenever life starts gnawing at him, he reverts to his brutish ways.”

“Is that why he’s been getting in so many fights lately?”

“If it involves deaths, then yes, but otherwise that’s just his normal amusements.”
 
Marsais waved a hand, clearing the air with a dismissive gesture.
 
“Enough about me, what have you been up to besides—” he paused, narrowing his eyes at the top most report.
 
“—adding a jar of ash to a batch of water breathing potions?
 
Let me guess, everyone was coughing up dust for days?”

“They have no proof.”
 
Isiilde had only been trying to make it smell better.

“Let’s see, Eldred caught you dancing on top of the stone table in the council chamber.”

“I was singing.”

“Ah, yes the acoustics are very good, it’s the dome shape.”
 
He sifted through the papers, muttering under his breath.
 
“Hmm, ‘kiss my faerie arse’, ‘kiss my faerie arse’, and yet another reference to your backside.
 
You know, my dear, when Oenghus tells someone to kiss his arse—it carries a bit more threat.
 
With you, well, you may want to use that one sparingly, because one day someone might try to take you up on the offer.”
 
She blinked in puzzlement and Marsais continued before she could inquire further.

“This is suggestive.
 
It seems a batch of chocolate sweets that were shipped from Xaio and intended for Taal Greysparrow went missing.
 
Oh, imagine that, the very next day, you handed in an unfinished assignment covered with chocolate smudges.”

“I didn’t want Zianna to get fat.”

“How thoughtful of you.”
 
His brows furrowed into a sinister
V
when he caught sight of the next report.
 
“You outmaneuvered your guards.
 
Again
.
 
And Ielequithe finally found you hiding on the roof of the soldier’s bathhouse—”

“I was playing Raven and the Prey with Thedus and it took him a long time to find me.
 
Your army is very fit.”
 
Marsais chose not to comment.

“You wove a grease enchantment on Tulipin?”

“That’s a false account,” she began, giggling in memory.
 
“I wove an air rune in the middle of a corridor that he happened to be floating through.
 
Then I wove a grease enchantment into the rune of air.
 
He hit the slippery air and rebounded off the walls a few times before he reined in his levitation weave.”

“Since that was ingenious, I’ll let it slide and excuse the pun.”
 
Isiilde thought Marsais would appreciate her experiments.
 
“Hmm, here’s one from you.
 
You broke the warding on my vault, riffled through my coffers, and began fiddling with various artifacts of power.”

“Isek made me write it.
 
He said the ward and the artifacts were dangerous, but I think he was just angry I broke your ward so easily.”

“Well, my dear, the artifacts are dangerous, but you’re still here and there’s little point in hoping that you learned something from your burglary.”

“I didn’t take anything,” she assured, but her nose began to itch with guilt and she quickly amended her statement.
 
“Well, I would have taken one of the items, but Isek made me put it back.”

“Put what back?”

“There were two silver flagons with runes etched all over the surface—a very complicated weave that I did not understand.
 
One of them had a big metal cork in the top that was attached to a chain.
 
I wanted to find out what was inside.
 
Do you know?”
 
She neglected to mention that her hand had been poised to open the first flagon just as Isek had discovered her.

“I don’t know, but it would be very unwise to open them.”
 
He straightened the stack of letters into a tidy pile and sat up, fixing her with a grave eye.
 
“Oenghus mentioned you’ve been skipping lectures.”

“He tattled on me?”
 
The nymph’s eyes narrowed with indignation.

“No, he mentioned it to me because he’s worried about you, and said all of this started after Caitlyn Whitehand paid her annual visit.”
 
She wrinkled her nose with distaste.

Every year, Emperor Soataen Jaal III sent his royal physician to examine Isiilde, however, concern for his faerie daughter’s health was not his motivation.
 
After all, a nymph was a valuable asset.
 
When Isiilde came of age, she would be sold, fetching a higher price if she remained untouched.

Isiilde loathed the woman’s yearly examinations, both for what she represented and the way she made the nymph feel, like a prize horse with a good set of teeth.
 
Worse, the woman had cold hands.

“She seemed surprised that I hadn’t come of age yet.”

“And did you make ample use of my study?”
 
The Archlord’s study had a wonderful crystal window that directed the tiniest amount of sunlight onto a thick, warm rug.
 
Isiilde spent most of her afternoons in the private chamber.
 
It was the only place she truly felt safe, and when she was frightened, most especially after Caitlyn came, she curled up in the pool of sunlight.

“It’s not the same without you,” she admitted, tracing the flowing lines of a fire rune into the sand.

“I wouldn’t think it mattered since I usually vacate my study to leave you to your reveries.
 
Hmm, I dare not disturb a sun-bathing nymph.”

“But I know you’re close by,” she murmured, leaning back to examine her completed rune.
 
The lines wavered for a moment and she blinked, but when she opened her eyes, the rune was inert as the sand.
 
Isiilde shivered, feeling empty and adrift, and she turned to Marsais, searching for a safe haven.
 
He was watching her, eyes wide and a little wary.

“Where did you learn that rune, Isiilde?”

The nymph tilted her head, thoroughly confused.
 
“You taught it to me.”

“Not that rune.
 
I’ve never seen its like before,” he replied.

“It’s a fire rune—I just added a few lines to make it prettier,” Isiilde said, as if this were explanation enough for anything the nymph might do, and then she skipped onto another topic, ears perking up with sudden memory.
 
“Sarabian visited for a week while you were gone.
 
She’s so beautiful, Marsais.”

“Not an uncommon thing with womanly creatures,” he pointed out, shifting easily with his apprentice’s mood instead of pressing her further about the strange rune.
 
“How is your sister?”

“Father,” Isiilde began, wrinkling her nose as she always did when she said the word, “has given her charge of the southern regions.
 
She has her very own castle and an army.
 
A company of bodyguards escorted her here,” Isiilde paused, lowering her voice in a conspiratorial manner before continuing, “I think one of them, Gideon Strongarm, guards her at night too.
 
I saw them kissing.
 
He’s very gallant and handsome, but I don’t think she loves him.”

“Why is that?”

“He doesn’t seem very smart, but maybe my sister prefers that.
 
I would at least want a man who could best me at King’s Folly.”

“Hmm, considering your skill at King’s Folly, you’ll be hard pressed to find a suitable gentleman.”
 
Isiilde beamed at his compliment.
 
The complex game of runes had always made sense to her, even as a small nymphling.
 
However, her swell of elation ebbed as another more sobering thought struck her.

“I won’t have much choice in the matter.”
 
Never one to dwell on depressing thoughts, she quickly changed the subject as fast as she had brought it up.
 
“Ari is patrolling the borders of the Fell Wastes.
 
He commands the army and Sara is very worried about him, although she’s had her share of danger. When she sailed along the southern coast, just north of the Isle of Winds, the Bastard Prince had the bollocks to waylay her entire fleet and request a private audience with her.”