Call of Sunteri (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 2) (32 page)

“But, Mum—!” Rian protests.

“Don’t,” Mya interrupts, raising a scolding finger, “tell me you’re tired. I’ll play something.”

She goes back to her bench and pulls her mandolin from her back and starts sing a beautiful, slow melody. I didn’t realize how tired I was before she started. I didn’t notice how exhausted Rian looked, either. But as her song drifts over us, I let it affect me. I feel better. Refreshed.

We all stand a little straighter. Look a little more confident. I feel energized, like I’ve slept all night and now I can run for leagues. Like I can climb anything. It isn’t the annoying sort of imposing magic. It’s different. Like a joy that was already there inside, being pulled out to the front.

Rian pushes himself away from the wall. Raises his hands in a graceful gesture. He speaks a spell and wiggles his fingers at the fireplace, and it flares and crackles warmly. Inside the pot, something swells up. I crane toward it and sniff. Fresh stew, rich with meat and vegetables. My stomach growls.

He moves around the room, flicking his wrists at one table and the next. Bread softens and steams. Cheese freshens up. Mugs of ale right themselves and fill again. At the bar, he sweeps his arm and rags polish it to gleaming shine all on their own. Stools straighten. Tables mend and tilt back onto their legs. Broken dishes reform and set themselves neatly on top. Candles in holders overhead grow and light. Barmaids prop against the counter, their trays perfectly balanced in their hands. Skirts smooth out and stains fade away. He even fixes their hair so a strand isn’t out of place.

He looks at his mother, who nods her approval. Then he raises his hands again, and I feel the spell seep slowly from his fingers. I can almost see the magic as it flickers to each of those still asleep. It wakes them gently, sweetly. The barmaids shake their heads and pick up mugs filled with ale. The barkeep scowls and rubs his face. The din of the few patrons rises slowly until the place is lively again. Full of conversation and laughter. Mya puts down her mandolin and we file together onto the benches to whisper and plan while the barmaids fill our cups.

“We must seek out Valenor,”
Mevyn says into my mind while the others trade information about what’s already happened.
“Tell them.”

“Tell them yourself,” I mumble through a mouthful of hot stew. I have too much to think about. I don’t need him in my head right now. Across from me, Azaeli leans toward Flitt. The fairy is perched at the edge of the table, waving away the steam from Azi’s plate with a look of disgust. I think of how she shined her light right in the middle of battle instead of hiding away. Wish I’d gotten a brave fairy, like that. Instead I got Mevyn. Flitt and Azi lock gazes, and I overhear their conversation like I heard Crocus and Scree.

“Can you please see what Mevyn needs,”
she sends to the fairy.
“I think Tib is getting tired.”
The colorful fairy nods and hops up. She floats across the tavern to a shelf over the hearth where Mevyn is nestled between some dusty old bottles. He starts to tell her about Valenor. I ignore him and turn my attention to Mya.

“Let’s look at this objectively,” Mya whispers. “We have little to go on. We have the word of a creature half of us have not met and the other half of us barely trust. We have a magical stone that spoke and possibly sounded like His Highness.” Mya rests her hands on the table.

“This is a grave accusation,” she says. “I’m sure you all agree. The purpose of this trip was to protect the prince and help to clear him. What you’re telling me does exactly the opposite. We should not act without at least notifying His Majesty first. In addition, we know there are other forces at play. Forces we don’t quite understand that could possibly be responsible for all of it. We can’t act brashly. We must really think this over.”

The way she talks, the way her eyes rest on each person confidently, makes me want to follow her. Makes me want to agree with everything she says. I want her to like me. I want to be her friend. It isn’t magic. It’s not a spell. It’s just something about her. I don’t care what happens to the prince either way, but she’s right. We need a plan. Flitt comes back to Azi. Sits on her shoulder. Whispers to her.

“Mya’s right,” Benen says with a sigh. Donal nods his agreement. “We must inform the king.”

“But it’s at least three day’s ride to the city from here,” Cort argues. “A lot of damage could be done by then, whether or not the prince is behind any of it.”

Azi and Rian exchange a look. Between them, Flitt whispers. Rian nods to her. Azi leans forward and whispers. I can barely hear what she says over the noise of the rest of the tavern.

“We could get home quickly,” she nods. “Rian and I. We could speak to the king or deliver a letter on the guild’s behalf and be back by morning, Mya.”

The others don’t question her or ask how. They seem to know what she can do. They’re fine with this plan. She says they all need to rest, even though most of them have been sleeping. Magic and battles take lots of energy, they explain. When I try to argue, she asks me when I last slept. It feels like days, even though it’s only been one. It’s late now. Almost midnight.

Morning. My heart sinks. I think of my sister, wherever she is. A lot can happen in one night. I stare past them at the door of the tavern. I could leave. Track her down on my own. Save her. I slip my hand into my pouch. Feel Iren’s cool blue stone brush my fingers. I could find her. I need to. Iren would help me.
 

Azi

“Good job. You’re really getting the hang of that, Azi!” Flitt pats me on the earlobe proudly as Rian casts the Revealer over us and we rush from the Half-Realm. My skin still crawls, though. Our haven has changed since the first time we stumbled on it so many months ago. It’s darker, somehow. Forbidding and creepy.

The forest park outside of the castle is covered in a thick blanket of snow, and the air is so cold that my breath catches and stings my nose. I glance through the thick, silent trees toward the west, where smoke billows from the chimneys of our guild hall. It’s just past dusk. I imagine Mouli inside, puttering around the kitchen. Perhaps she’s stirring up a stew and hot buns to share with Luca after a busy day. The two of them work hard to keep our guild hall safe, clean, and warm. The place wouldn’t be the same without them.

For a moment I long to run to them, just for a soft hug from her and a quick bite of something fresh and delicious. Nobody rivals Mouli’s cooking. I’ve thought of it these past days. I didn’t realize how much I missed home until now, being so close.

“Come on,” Rian seems just as reluctant as he takes my hand and guides me through the snow. Our cloaks snap in the brisk wind and driving snow as we trudge toward the palace, and Flitt tucks herself into my hood to keep from being blown away. The wind carries the scent of the sea with it, something else I’ve missed dearly on our journey. Despite the danger ahead, it’s a comfort to be back home, in Cerion.

The guards at the gate recognize us immediately and wave us through into the warmth of the entry hall, where we’re instructed to wait and given hot mugs of mulled cider. Instead of drinking it, Rian paces. He’s agitated, I can tell. Something here is off, and it’s bothering him.

“What is it?” I whisper. He shakes his head.

“Something new,” he says quietly. “Some different sort of magic here.”

“Uh huh,” Flitt agrees. “I feel it, too.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. “Is it dangerous? The Dreamwalker?” I imagine Jacek in these walls, his cloak billowing behind him, licking out at the finery, casting it into darkness. I shiver.

“On the contrary,” Rian comes to my side and looks around the room curiously, as though the magic he’s noticed is a force that can be seen as well as sensed. “It’s warding magic. Protective and strong, but there’s a joy and a purity to it. A sort of…”

“Innocence,” Flitt finishes his thought as he trails off.

“Yes, that’s it exactly,” he smiles at her. “It’s like nothing I’ve felt before, especially not here in the palace.”

I try to feel it, too, but it isn’t as obvious to me. Instead, when I really concentrate, I’m aware of someone nearby. He’s slightly annoyed, I can tell. He was doing something amusing and had to be interrupted. Rian folds his arms around me while we wait, and bends to me for a kiss which I gladly return. Oddly, kissing him magnifies my awareness of whoever it is who’s approaching.

When the guard opens the door and we lock eyes just for a quick moment, I see a flash of myself in Rian’s arms. My hair is a tousled, half-braided mess. My armor is scuffed and flecked with blood, and my once white cloak hangs wet and gray to my boots. Rian looks just as bad as I do. His deep blue robes are torn and splashed with red. His face is smudged with soot and blood. I blink and shake my head, forcing my perspective to slide back to my own eyes as the guard greets us cordially. That was far too easy. I didn’t even have to think about it.

As the guard leads us away down a corridor, I wonder whether Rian did somehow lend me power toward it. It was similar to our fight against the Sorcerer, before Tib intervened. I had seen things that weren’t mine: thoughts and memories. It had startled me so much that I lost track of the fight. Had Rian not been there, I would have been in much worse shape coming out of it. I haven’t told him yet what Stubs taught me to do yet. I wonder if he’d see me differently if he knew. The thought worries me, so I turn my attention to our passing surroundings instead.

It’s just now the end of supper time, and the savory aroma of roast meat lingers beneath the sweeter, stronger scent of baked pie and cakes as we follow the guard through the polished passages. My mouth waters as Rian’s hand grips my gauntlet, and at my shoulder Flitt sniffs the air.

“
It smells like Mouli’s kitchen in here,
” she pushes to me, and it makes me smile that she’d make that association. It makes me happy to think that she’s getting used to us and our culture. As we pass the entrance to the feasting hall, I slow my pace to look inside.

The king’s chair at the head of the table is empty. Beside it, Princess Margy lies with her head in the queen’s lap. Her Majesty strokes the princess’s plump cheek absently while in the space between the tables subjects dance to the merry sound of drums and lutes and clapping. I catch a glimpse of Sarabel at the center of it, dancing alone, her brown curls bouncing, her smile sparkling.

We cross into a quieter passage that runs alongside the dining hall. At the end of the hall is a large, ornately polished door blocked by two stern guards. When we approach, the two men turn to the side at attention and allow us to enter.

His Majesty immediately whirls to face us as we enter and the doors close behind us. Together Rian and I drop into a deep bow, but King Tirnon rushes to us and rests a hand on each of our shoulders. As we straighten, I can tell right away that he’s afraid of the news we’ve come to bear. He takes in the blood on my armor, the smudges on my face.

“Sir Hammerfel, Mentor Eldinae. You’ve come straight from battle,” his voice is strong and commanding despite the fear in his eyes. “What’s happened? Eron? Amei? Are they safe? Come, sit. Grenis, bring them food.” A servant nods and slips out of the door that connects this room to the dining hall.

“They’re safely delivered to Kordelya, Your Majesty,” Rian reassures him. “We left them in the capable hands of Baron Stenneler.”

“Ah, thank you. Thank you,” he gives a sigh of relief, and claps Rian on the shoulder. “Come, then, and tell us of the battle that has left you in such a state.”

We turn to the table which is already occupied by several men. One of them is young, with dark hair and eyes and a strong jaw. I’ve seen him before, in the vision Jacek showed me. He’s Vorance, the Prince of Sunteri who stood at his window and watched towers burn. Beside him are two stern-looking men in exotically ornate chain armor draped with tabards bearing the Royal Crest of Zhaghen.

Opposite these men, two Mages are seated side by side to the right of the table’s head. The closest to the king is Master Anod, High Master and Advisor to the King. The other one I know very well. He’s dressed in deep blue robes trimmed with gold, and his dark hair is tied neatly at the nape of his neck. A permanent furrow is chiseled into his brow. Even now when I see him I feel a rush of dread that I’ll be in trouble somehow. He is my uncle: Master Gaethon, the head of the Mage Academy of Cerion.

The two Mages stand and nod to Rian. All three of them press their right fists to their chests and Rian bows low to his seniors.

“Mentor,” they say together.

“Masters,” Rian says at the same time.

“Please,” the king says with concern as he motions to two empty chairs. “Sit. Sit. You’ve not yet met His Highness Prince Vorance, have you?”

Rian and I bow to the prince midway to sitting down. The young man laughs and flicks his wrist dismissively.

“No need for such formalities,” the prince says as I slide in tensely beside my uncle. “My princess has told me much you, Sir Hammerfel, Mentor Eldinae. I feel almost as kin to you.” His deep-toned voice is thickly accented. He flashes a smile across the table and I’m instantly charmed by his warmth.

“These are my men,” he says with a gesture to them. “Resh Kenalal, Resh Alanso.” The two men half-stand and nod. Their demeanor is a stark contrast to that of their prince. They seem gruff and skeptical of both Rian and myself.

The others at the table introduce themselves. There is Myer, Captain of the Guard, and Elmsworth, Captain of Arms, and Ganvent, Admiral of the Naval Fleet. I shift uncomfortably in my seat as each of them make their introductions. I’ve never been in close company with such esteemed men before. Uncle leans toward me and pats my bracer with a hint of a reassuring smile. The child in me is relieved to know that at the very least, he isn’t going to shout at me.

The table is littered with maps and sheaves of writing that are quickly cleared away to make room for supper plates for Rian and me. I pull off my gloves under the table and look at my hands.

The gold swirls that stretch across my palms are barely noticeable in the low light, but when I turn them over the light catches on the lines that weave over the backs of my hands, causing them to shimmer. I glance at Uncle and Anod and pull the long sleeves of my undershirt down to cover as much of them as possible before reaching for my spoon. We ate at the Inn, but between the cold and the Half-Realm, I’m famished again.

Beside me, Rian regales the men with the tale of the battle in Sorlen River Crossing while we eat. When he’s through, he reaches into his vest and produces the letter that the Elite drafted for us to give to the king. I pass it to Uncle, who passes it to His Majesty. Given the present company, I’m relieved we decided to go with a note. I couldn’t imagine saying the things in that letter aloud in front of Prince Vorance and his men. It would humiliate the king. This is a private matter for him.

“Clearly the threat of Sorcery is more present than we suspected,” Uncle says in response to Rian’s tale. “A brazen attack on a village as large as Sorlen River Crossing is quite concerning.”

“Indeed,” Anod says. “Your Majesty, I would advise a post of Mages in each major village, to place wards and offer a defense in the event of such a threat repeating.”

“They are rare here, these strikes of Sorcerers?” Prince Vorance asks. “In Sunteri, we have them often. They come without notice and take what they will. It is, sadly, a way of life in our lands.”

“All the more reason for you to sign, Highness,” Anod taps at a stack of pages between them. The prince eyes the pages and rests his chin in his hand thoughtfully.

“You would aid us in replacing our burned libraries?” he asks, falling back into the negotiations we interrupted easily enough. “That must be added. And the ships.”

“If His Majesty agrees,” Anod turns to the king, who holds up his free hand to quiet them while he reads the letter.

The room falls silent. When he’s through, he looks up and meets my eyes directly. His own are narrowed, calculating. I can almost see the thoughts behind them. Under the table, I reach for Rian’s hand.

I need to look away, but I don’t want to be disrespectful. His Majesty’s eyes are crisp blue, like Midwinter sky on a bright day. They hold so much joy, so much pain, so much responsibility. I feel my consciousness being lured away. He doesn’t know what I can do. He can’t find out. I’m certain that looking into his thoughts would be treason.

Even though I know it’s wrong, I can’t stop it. I start to fall into them, tumbling into the beautiful blue. To my great relief, the door behind us opens abruptly and the king looks away, breaking the connection.

“Paba.” Princess Margy skips into the room and climbs up on his lap, putting herself between the king and the letter of bad tidings.

“Flitt!” Twig cries. A blur of green and brown shoots past my ear and crashes into Flitt, who had been bobbing beside my shoulder.

“Twig!” Flitt yelps. They link arms and ankles and spin across the room together, laughing delightfully. I look around the table. No one else seems to notice the two fairies besides possibly Uncle Gaethon and Master Anod. Both glance casually in their direction before looking pointedly away.

“I’m so sorry, Your Majesty,” says a hassled-looking woman who curtseys hastily before rushing to Margy and bending a knee. “Come, Princess, your father is quite busy right now. We mustn’t just barge in.”

“But he promised,” Margy looks up at King Tirnon with wide, mournful eyes. “You promised tonight we’d dance, Paba, and you haven’t even been to dine yet.”

“Thank you, Tirie,” the king waves the woman away and she rushes off wringing her hands and murmuring apologies.

Happy not to be sent away, Margary curls against the king’s chest. He rests his chin on her head absently while he reads the letter again. His mood seems to soften with her there. Margary, on the other hand, is on edge. With her arms around her father, she turns her head slightly to peek at me.

In the past we’ve been close friends, she and I. She helped me more than once, and I have always been fond of her. She doesn’t greet me with her usual excitement tonight, though. Instead she regards me with suspicion and mistrust as she tucks herself closer to the king. I can’t imagine why until I look down at my hands, where the tips of golden curls glint in the candlelight. I think of what she ran in on. I was so close to entering the king’s mind. Is it possible that she sensed it, somehow? That she came to put a stop to it?

I glance at Rian, who’s sitting rigid beside me. His eyes are cast down and to the side, fixed on my hands. Slowly he looks up and meets my gaze.

“
What is that
?” he pushes to me. My heart starts to race.

“
Later
,” I push back and tuck my hands between my knees.