Call of Sunteri (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 2) (11 page)

“Okay, Nessa,” I say. It feels nice, but strange to have someone care about me. Cry over me. She just keeps hugging, and eventually I wriggle away.

Garsi calls for her, and Nessa gives me one last squeeze before she goes out to get her. I sit back against my pillows. My head is clearer now. For the first time in a while, I feel like my thoughts are my own.

I look around the room. My room. I never really looked at it before. The furniture is fine, and the walls are sturdy and safe. It’s almost as big as our whole house in the dye fields. Higher up, too. No bugs. No sand. I’m used to the bed now. I like it. I don’t know how I slept on the mats for so long. I don’t think I could go back to that. This could be my home now.

The vision that the shadow, no, Dreamwalker gave me is still vibrant in my memory. Looking back on it, I realize how foolish it was for me to think it could be real. It can never be. Nan is dead. Zhilee is dead. Viala is gone. She’s forgotten us. Forsaken us. Got herself into trouble. Stripped, Saesa said. Disappeared.

A shimmer on my down covers catches my eye. I watch it as it flashes and brightens and Mevyn emerges, broad and strong.

“I remember you,” I whisper.

“I know I can trust you now. You passed the test.”

I sit up. Drink some water. Think.

“Test?” I ask.

“Of sorts,” Mevyn says. “It needed to be done, and I couldn’t have done it without you, but you’ve proved your courage and your loyalty. Your trustworthiness.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You and I are paired by circumstance. Forced together. Bonded by our strife. That connection bears power. It’s how we were able to leave Sunteri. How I was able to aid you in our journey so that you could carry me here. You are my champion, and I am your guide. We chose each other, and we were chosen for each other. And after our encounter with the Dreamwalker, I have faith in you. You were strong.”

“Strong?” I scoff and sink back against my pillows. “I wasn’t strong. I believed what he showed me. I thought it was real. I let go. I could have died. I wanted to.”

“If you had any idea,” Mevyn settles in my palm, “just how powerful he is, just how wicked, you would not be ashamed. You would be proud of yourself. As proud as I am.”

I don’t say anything. I’m not sure what to say. Between him and Nessa, it’s too much. Too much kindness. It makes me uncomfortable. Happy, but I feel undeserving.

“You have an invitation from the princess.” Mevyn drifts over to my bedside table and lands beside a folded page sealed with purple wax and a gold ribbon.

“Yeah.”

“Go,” Mevyn says. “Tell her about Twig. Ask her for help. We must go to Kythshire and find him, like you promised.”

“By myself?” I push myself out of bed. I’m a little stiff, a little weak, but the pain is gone. I cross to my cabinet. Look for something fancy to wear.

“I cannot enter the palace grounds,” Mevyn explains as he flies to hover beside me. “They’re too protected. It would reveal me. I must remain a secret.”

“But what about Twig? He goes around the palace. Nobody sees him.” I find a white shirt with lace on the cuffs. Wrinkle my nose. Put it on. Cover it with a deep blue jacket. Shove the ridiculous lace up into the sleeves.

“He must have found a way around it, for the princess,” Mevyn says. “Or perhaps it allows for the Kythshire fae. Sunteri magic is different.”

“How did you know,” I ask, “that he was trapped down there? How did you know where to find him?”

“Once I knew what to look for, it wasn’t difficult. A stolen tether, a doll. Tethers hold strong magic. They’re always calling out. If you’re quiet enough, you can hear them. We can, that is. Fairies.”

“How did you open it?” I search through a folded stack of pants for a pair that hasn’t been torn from my climbing and patched up by Maisie or Nessa. I find some in the bottom of the pile. Pull them on.

“It was locked on the outside by magic. Wards bolstered by riches. Man’s magic. Magework. Twig couldn’t get it open, he’s a fairy.”

“But you’re a fairy, and you could open it.”

“Because I had you, a man. You wanted it open, with good intention. See? We worked together. Alone, I couldn’t have done it. Neither could you, unless you were a Mage. It required a pairing.”

I still don’t understand, but I’m shaking and sweaty from the effort of dressing and trying to make sense of Mevyn’s explanations. My stomach growls. It’s been empty for over a day. There was a time when I was used to that. I could go a couple of days without a scrap. Now I have three meals and snacks between, if I want them. I wonder how I used to survive.

Nessa’s happy to see me downstairs, dressed and eating. She’s not happy when I tell her I’m going to the palace. She doesn’t think I’m well enough yet. She convinces me to wait for Saesa. I’m not sure if that’s okay.

“It’s fine,”
Mevyn says, so I wait for her to get back from training, and we go together to the palace as the sun sets.

At the gate I show them the invitation. They nod us through with no trouble. Collect our weapons for safekeeping. This time, I feel Mevyn’s absence as soon as I cross through the gate. I walk nearer to Saesa as a page escorts us to the indoor garden, just to fill that empty gap. Saesa’s eyes are wide as dinner plates. She doesn’t sit where we’re invited to. She walks around, sniffing flowers and touching things she probably shouldn’t. Taking it all in. Examining things in a way I wouldn’t think to. We don’t have to wait long. Margy runs to us. I try to bow, but she dives at me. Hugs me. Hugs Saesa. Cerion is big on hugs.

There’s a different guard watching us today. Sterner. His name is Thurle. He takes his duties seriously. Posts himself no farther than an arm’s length from the princess. That makes it hard to talk, but Margy is clever. More clever than I am.

“Let’s play pretend,” she says. “I am a fairy princess, and I’m asleep. You are brave explorers, and you come and wake me.” I don’t like this. I’m no good at pretend. There was no time for it in the field. It makes me feel awkward.

Margy lies down on the grass and plays at sleeping. Saesa and I kneel beside her.

“Look, we’ve found a fairy!” Saesa declares. “Wake up, little fairy.” Margy sits up. Stretches.

“Oh, I was dreaming,” the princess gives an elegant yawn. “What a lovely dream. It was about my dear friend, Twig.”

Margy nods at me. I shift uncomfortably and glance at Thurle. He doesn’t show any signs of hearing, but I know he’s listening.

“I dreamed he was safe in his home,” Margy goes on. “I was so happy. You see, he was lost, and I was so very worried. But now I know that he’s safe, and I’m so very happy. Now, we shall dance!” She takes Saesa’s hand and mine, and dances around in a circle. Tirie snaps her fingers in the doorway, and two musicians appear from who knows where and start to play.

“Princess,” I whisper as we twirl, “you’re right. He is safe. He told me—”

“Play louder!” Margy shouts happily. The musicians do. Thurle and Tirie watch on, glad to see their princess in such good spirits. My weak limbs and aching head protest, but I keep on letting her pull me along. “Go on,” she whispers.

“He told me to come and find him,” I say. “In Kythshire.”

“I know,” says Margy. “He told me in my dream. I made arrangements already. I have them waiting for you.” She lets go of my hand and falls back into the grass, laughing. Saesa and I tumble down, too.

“And now,” the princess says dramatically, “I shall send you on a quest! Go and seek out Twig, who wishes to repay you for your kindness. Bring him this.” She reaches into her pocket and produces a bracelet woven of ribbons and pearls. Gives it to me. “Go now, brave adventurers.” She leans in closer to me and whispers, “I’ll send along the rest of the things later. You’ll go, won’t you? To Kythshire?” I glance at Saesa, who’s just as wide-eyed as before.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Do you need men?” she asks. “Horses?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper. I think of Mevyn. Wish he was here. He could tell me yes or no.

“I’ll send them. You can send them back if you wish.” She leans closer.

“You can do that?” I stare at her. Can’t believe that a child has the power to order men and steeds. Saesa sits up. Brushes grass from her vest.

“Yes. Watch,” the princess whispers, then speaks louder for the benefit of Tirie and Thurle. “Tib, I have decided that I will help you. You’ve been kind to me, so I shall grant your request.” The music quiets. Tirie raises a brow. Listens.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” I say. Try to sound convincing even though I don’t know what she’s talking about.

“I shall arrange an escort for you to the Southern Crossroads of Ceras’lain. There, you can follow the road to your uncle’s.”

“You have an--?” Saesa stops herself. “Oh, right, your uncle.”

“Yes,” I say, catching on to the lie. “He’s old. I want to go see him. Her Highness said she’d help.”

“I’ll come, too.” Saesa pushes herself to her feet.

“It’s settled, then,” I say. “We’ll leave in the morning.”

Azi

Rian, Mya, and Elliot bend over the lists spread across the table, sorting through what needs to be done and deciding which one of us should do it. I try to offer my help, but I’m too distracted by the fox impostor that greeted us at the border. Who was it? Was it the same person who tried to steal Flitt’s diamond? I feel uneasy. Between that and Princess Amei’s pains, Flitt’s nearly stolen tether, and our encounter with Iren and Viala, I find it difficult to concentrate on anything else.

“Sir Hammerfel,” a page calls from the doorway that leads out to the courtyard. I look up expecting Mum or Da to answer him, but they’re not here. Mum is upstairs keeping vigil with Amei, and Da went to see the village smith. “Sir Hammerfel,” the page says again, and I realize he’s addressing me. “His Highness requests a spar,” he says, and my insides fill with dread. The others look up from their lists, and Rian tries hard to hide his scowl.

“I’ll come watch,” he says, but Mya shakes her head.

“You need to do this,” she taps the pile of parchment, “especially if we’re losing Azi to the practice yard. There’s a lot here, Rian. We need to get through it if we’re to stay on track once the princess is feeling better.” Rian agrees. He’s smart. Arguing with the guild leader is a bad idea, especially when she’s also your mother. He beckons me and I bend down for a kiss.

“Be careful,” he whispers, and kisses my earlobe.

The courtyard is open to the sky, but closed in on all sides. It’s clean, but run down. The ground is packed dirt and the fountain in the center is cracked and empty. Several royal guards line the peeling stone walls, and two lords Eron’s age lounge in an alcove to one side. The lords are his cousins, Fresi and Kris. They met up with us in the last village, right on schedule.

The prince himself is waiting for me across the yard. He makes a show of his footwork as I approach, demonstrating a fancy combination that seems a little too flowery to have any practical use in battle. I try to look impressed anyway, just to cover up my nerves. The lords call out to Eron, telling him how formidable he looks, applauding his sword dance. When they see me, one of them whistles low.

I bend my knee and bow my head as the prince turns to face me. He lets the tip of his sword drag in the dirt as he comes to stand over me. I curse my heart, which is thumping so loudly that I’m sure he can hear it. He stays there awhile, as if he’s making sure I’m well aware of my place: in the dirt, kneeling to him. Finally, he addresses me.

“Sir Azaeli,” his tone is merry, but his words are slightly slurred. I can smell the drink on him. “Armed and ready, I see.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” I keep my head bowed. I can almost feel his sneer.

“Stand up, then, and show me your skills. I wish to spar with the legend,” he laughs, and the lords in the alcove echo him.

“If it pleases Your Highness,” I say, mustering my patience as I stand up and take my sword from the sheath on my back. One of the lords makes a crude remark, but I ignore it. I’ve trained for this. Thanks to Dacva and his crew, I know how to keep a level head even when my opponent is spitting venom and insults and doing everything he can to rattle me.

I try not to think of how ungrateful Eron has been since Rian and I lifted Viala’s enchantments on him. I try not to let it bother me that he treats me this way, despite all we’ve done and all we continue to do to ensure his comfort and clear his name. He’s my prince. The heir of Cerion. The son of my liege. It’s my duty to respect and obey him, even if he doesn’t return that respect.

We face each other and raise our blades in salute. He eyes me with a hunger that makes me uncomfortable, but I try to ignore it and concentrate on the bout instead. I’m growing used to my new sword, which Da forged for me in the weeks after the battle at Kythshire. It’s lighter than my old one, but the grip is still too new. I miss the one I lost. It was a good friend to me. Still, this one is well made, with a broad blade and a long, slender handle that requires two hands, like my last one.

Lord Kris calls out to start the spar, and Eron advances immediately. His sword is two-handed as well. It’s similar to mine, but richly encrusted with deep red jewels that glisten like fresh blood. Our bout starts smoothly. We’re evenly matched as we swing and parry against each other.

We go on for a while, easily driving one another back and forth across the yard. His style is much showier than mine. I ease up, since he obviously feels like he has something to prove to his cousins. He performs the dance again and arcs the blade in a quick and complicated combination that drives me backwards across the courtyard.

“I’m disappointed,” he announces loudly. “All that talk about your skill, and I’ve got you backed into a corner already.” I raise my sword to block his, and our blades meet at my chest. He presses closer, and I shove him back with all of my strength to gain some ground. He stumbles a little but quickly regains his footing. We clash together again, driving each other back and forth across the space while the young lords call out to Eron, congratulating him for every small advantage he gains over me. Finally, right beside the alcove, I pin him against the wall with my sword.

“You’re as good as they say,” he says through clenched teeth. “Would you be so skilled with my sword?” He thrusts his hips lewdly. Lord Kris laughs at the prince’s banter. Lord Fresi gives a halfhearted chuckle. Eron keeps his sword up and reaches with one hand to grope my chest plate. I dodge his hand and skip backwards and he comes at me with a new fury that leaves me breathless in my defense. I gain some advantage again and touch him with my blade once, twice, three times. Every time I do, his rage grows. The lords go silent as the spar grows more furious, more dangerous. Eron doesn’t hold back, and neither do I. The clash of our swords rings out loud and fierce over the courtyard. A storm cloud drifts overhead, casting a shadow over us.

My mood shifts. I don’t care if he’s my prince, I want to see him bleed. I want him to hurt. I want him to know that he can’t do what he does anymore. Not to me. Not to anyone. Not with his wife suffering in her room, heavy with his child. This isn’t a game. This is life. His cruelty, his unseemly behavior needs to stop.

He advances and I drive him back with an elbow to his nose. Slash at him with fury, with rage. I know I’m screaming battle cries. I don’t care. I don’t even see his face anymore, I only see the enemy. He has to learn, and I’ll be the one to teach him. My sword is swift and true. It meets its mark again and again. One touch after another, and at first the lords stay silent. The prince stumbles backwards, and when I don’t let up, the guards close in on me, shouting. I drop my sword and start punching. I don’t stop until a heavy hand clamps over my shoulder and drags me back. I blink back to my senses to see Eron kneeling in the dirt, cowering.

When he realizes that I’ve stopped he jumps to his feet, adjusts his chest plate, and raises his chin dubiously. His lip is bleeding and he taps it with his fingertip and looks at the blood with anger.

“I’m bored of dueling,” he says petulantly. “Let’s go for a hunt. My horse!”

He storms off with the lords and the guards trailing after him. The lords look over their shoulders at me as they go with a mixture of awe and fear. The hand on my shoulder loosens a little.

“Great guts, Azi, what’s gotten into you?” I turn to see Bryse looking down at me, his stony gray brow deeply furrowed with concern.

“You really laid into him,” Cort says from behind him.

“I just…I guess I got carried away,” I retrieve my sword and slide it into its sheath with a little trouble, my hands are shaking so hard. I flex my fingers. My knuckles ache.

“Serves him right,” Bryse mutters, “maybe he’ll keep his eyes to himself from now on.”

“Mya won’t like it,” Cort says. “We’re supposed to be protecting him, not killing him in the sparring pitch.”

“I wasn’t trying to kill him,” I say, scowling.

“You sure looked like you were,
” Flitt says at the same time Bryse speaks.

“Come on, let’s have a drink. Forget about it for now. No harm done.”

“I’m going to go change,” I say. I need to get out of my armor and clear my head. Too much has happened. It isn’t like me to lose control that way, especially around the prince. Cort is right. We’re here to protect him, and if they hadn’t stopped me, I’m sure I would have kept going. I might have really hurt him, or worse. I think of the guards and wonder why they didn’t stop me. It was very strange how they just stood there watching. Like they knew he had it coming. It jars me a little.

Rian and the others are gone when we go back in. The table has been cleared of papers. I leave Cort and Bryse behind and break into a jog. I’ll feel better when I get back to my room, I think. When I’m alone.

“
Wish I could have seen the whole thing,
” Flitt says.
“You were really impressive. What got you so angry?”

“He tried to put his hands on me,”
I push the thought to her without much effort.
“Again.”

“Creep.”

I pause outside of my door. At the end of the corridor, Dacva is sitting in a chair outside of Amei’s door, dozing. Mum is standing beside him, chatting quietly with a guard. I worry that he’s telling her what happened, but I don’t remember him being in the courtyard. Mum sees me and waves. Even from this distance I can tell she’s relieved to see me. I put off changing and go to her instead. I need to feel her peace. She puts her arms around me, and I instantly feel better.

“Where’d you disappear to?” she asks me.

“I’ll tell you later.” I glance at the door. “How is she?”

“She’ll be fine. She’s resting.”

“What happened to her?”

“She says she had a nightmare that upset her,” Mum whispers, “and then she started to feel pains. She was worried for the baby, but Donal and the physician have both assured her that the babe is perfectly healthy. We’ll ride tomorrow, I’m certain.”

I lean back against the wall beside her. It’s strange, I think, that all of us had nightmares last night. Dreams that caused very real problems the next day.

“Did you have any odd dreams last night?” I ask Mum.

“No, Sweeting. I haven’t dreamed of anything but Kythshire, since we left.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I long for it, sometimes. It’s a part of me now, somehow.” I study her for a moment, look at her as others might. Her face is older when I look at her so differently. A little wrinkled and careworn. I’ve never thought of her as anyone but my mum, but I’m starting to realize that she’s a person, like anyone else. Not just Mum, but Lisabella, too. It’s strange to think of her this way. She smiles at me with a twinkle in her eye. She always looks at me like that now. With a deep pride in me. I know I should tell her about what just happened with the prince, but I can’t bring myself to say the words.

“I’m going to go change,” I say instead. I kiss her cheek before I go back to our room.

Flitt is there, rooting through my packs.

“Left pocket,” I say. “I reorganized.”

“Oh, thank goodness. I thought we were out. You need to buy more.” She pries open the pocket with a little difficulty and pulls out her favorite treat: a sugar cube. “So.” She says as she crunches into it, watching me.

“So?” I ask. I haven’t forgotten what she said earlier at the Maker’s tree. I’m still a little annoyed. I don’t appreciate being called stupid.

“You beat him good. How did it feel?” She licks her fingers and smacks her lips.

“I shouldn’t have done it.” I pull at the pauldrons that cover my shoulders and they slide off easily. One of many advantages of the armor that Iren gifted me is that it’s ridiculously easy to get into and out of by myself.

“Well,” Flitt says haughtily, “he shouldn’t have done lots of things. I still can’t believe they’re not going to burn him. I thought humans burned bad people. Even princes.”

“What? No they don’t. Not in Cerion, anyway. Not anymore.” I stow my armor near the bed and dress in a loose, billowy shirt and baggy trousers.

“Oh, that’s very becoming,” Flitt says sarcastically.

“Hush, it’s comfortable.”

“Well, I just came for a sweet and to check in. I’m going to go back now if you’re not riding ‘til tomorrow. Lots going on at home and I don’t want to miss it.”

“What’s going on?” I tie a sash around my waist and tuck my purse into it.

“I’ll tell you later, okay? See you.”

“Okay, be safe.” I watch her blink away and sink down to sit on my bed. My head is still spinning from everything that’s happened, and Flitt’s quick visit hasn’t helped matters much. I wish she wasn’t so infuriatingly vague sometimes.

The sound of hoof beats thunders outside as the prince leaves on his hunt. Part of me is proud that I finally stood up to him, but I know it will have consequences. I made him look weak in front of his guards and his lords. That isn’t something someone like Eron will put behind him. I’ll have to be on guard around him even more, now.

I should probably tell the guild. Even if I don’t, I’m pretty sure Bryse and Cort will. I’m grateful Bryse was there to pull me away. I shudder to think of how far I might have gone. It isn’t like me, I think, to be so violent. Certainly I’m a warrior. I’ve trained for most of my life to be skilled at swordplay. My intention has never been to cause pain or suffering, though. I am a protector. A guardian.