Crowchanger (Changers of Chandris) (19 page)

“So, what do you do now?” she said.

“What do you mean?” He pushed away the idea of using a compulsion on his mother. He had to keep the urge to use his talent under control if he was to keep it secret.

“Are you going to let Garvan dictate your life? Go back to the Aerie and quietly disappear, as he would prefer?” She had said ‘Garvan’ instead of ‘your father,’ he realised. His mother’s gaze remained fixed on his face, and he became aware that his jaw had tightened. She nodded, satisfied. “Don’t forget I am the king’s cousin. The blood of Banunis runs in your veins, if Lucranne’s does not. Never forget that.”

It was as if she knew of his thoughts about the kingship. His bastardy would need to be concealed for him to have any chance at the throne. That, or he would have to find a way around it.

“I will remember, Mother.”

She folded her hands in her lap. “That Chesammos lad hasn’t arrived yet. Do you still want a place for him?”

He had almost forgotten Sylas in all this. “He has other plans for now, but I still intend for him to come here. He may need a bolt-hole in due course.”

“If your plans are as ambitious as I think they may be, you may wish to think carefully before encumbering yourself. I am not criticising, or advising, merely making sure you think of all the possibilities.” By the Creator, if he didn’t know better, he would think his mother was an empath talent herself. The uncanny way she seemed to read his mind would make Jesely envious. She continued, “I would never pry; you know that. But I must admit, I am intrigued to meet this man who has held your interest longer than any woman ever has.”

“You will,” he promised.

“Remember what I said. You can do anything you set your mind to. Your father and the others see changing as a problem to be overcome. You and I see its possibilities, I think. You can be anything you want to be, my son. Leave Lucranne to your brother and look for your own path. Then both my sons may achieve greatness.”

At least his mother believed in him, he thought, as he kissed her cheek and took his leave. And sometime soon Sylas would take up his place in her household. Gradually all the pieces of his plans would fall into place.

Chapter 19

W
hen they reached the Aerie, Ayriene got caught up in teaching healers and herbalists on the storage and preparation of her supplies, and had little time for anything else. She sent Sylas to the gardens to deliver seeds and seedlings and to instruct the gardeners in their care. On their travels, she had spotted that he had an eye for which environment suited which plant. His grasp of herb lore was uncanny in a desert-dweller, although now she had met his family, she understood that better. The boy had inherited more from his mother than his father, for which Ayriene was thankful.

For the past three days, Ayriene had felt pulled in all directions. There had been time for a quick talk with Miralee and a quicker one with Garyth, but now she had a few minutes to herself to catch up with an old friend. But she realised, with dismay, she was anxious in his company. What she had discovered in Namopaia—and that she could not tell Jesely without betraying Shamella’s confidence—left her uneasy. There were too many secrets these days, even between changers. Even between friends.

She leaned back in the chair opposite Jesely and sighed. Her feet hurt and her back hurt and her head hurt, and the pain-relieving tea she had drunk had not yet had time to do its work.

Jesely pushed a cup of water towards her.

“I would offer you wine, but I might have to carry you to your bed after.”

She took the cup and drained it. “You might be right. The infirmary are so excited about the new ingredients they’ve had me up there instructing them on their use since I arrived. I swear this is the first time I’ve been off my feet in three days, except to snatch a few hours sleep.”

“I’ve heard great things about what you found. You are quite extraordinary, you know.”

She did not feel extraordinary; she just felt tired to the marrow of her bones. “With such a rare talent I feel I have to push myself further. Try to prepare the island for when I’m not here any more and they have to do without me.”

Jesely frowned, leaning to look deeply into her face. “There’s nothing wrong, is there? You’re not sick?”

“Creator, no! Did I sound maudlin? I didn’t intend it that way. It’s just that I feel such responsibility.”

And she had been unable to secure a talented healer for the next generation. If Adwen had been alive she doubted she would have felt the need to push herself so hard. Sylas learned fast, but he would never have her talent. It all seemed so futile.

As if he read her mind, Jesely asked, “How is Sylas progressing? You seem to get on well with him.”

A smile swept across her face despite her tiredness. “He is a gem, Jesely, if a little more emotional than I am comfortable with. But you were right; he learns fast and we are a good match. He will make a competent healer, in time. He’s working with the herbalists, learning from them and drawing. He’s missing Casian, though. Has he left for good, or will Sylas have a chance to see him before we leave?”

Jesely frowned. Ayriene knew what Jesely thought of that relationship, and while she was sympathetic to his objections, she wouldn’t forbid Sylas to see Casian, even if she could. The lad needed some free time, and he’d enjoy it more with a friend.

“He went to see his father. Or maybe his mother. Anyway, he’s due back tonight.”

“I’m glad. They are of an age that we can’t dictate their friendships any more. And Sylas is sensible enough to make his own mind up about whom he mixes with.”

He poured them each a cup of the herb tea that had been brewing on his desk. “I suppose you’re right. There’s little I can do now to influence Sylas, even if he were not your apprentice. I’m glad he is doing well. I always thought he would thrive, if I could find the right place for him.” He glanced across at her. “He came to visit me, you know. We talked for a long time about what happened in Namopaia. About what it might mean for the Chesammos. He thinks deeply about things—more deeply than you might expect.”

She knew that. She wondered if he had told Jesely that he had almost joined the rebellion. “The raid shook him. It made him question what it means to be a Chesammos, especially with his friends and family getting involved. Did he tell you they are buying weapons? The lord holders have put searches in place on the city streets.”

“It’s insanity,” said Jesely, shaking his head with its shock of dark waves just beginning to be touched with grey. “They have never handled swords before, and they are up against trained soldiers. What can they hope to achieve?”

As far as Ayriene knew, Jesely had never seen bloodshed like the raid on Namopaia. He had spent most of his life safe inside the Aerie walls. Even Sylas in his short life had seen more bloodshed than Jesely. Ayriene had seen the results of skirmishes over the past year, but the worst destruction she had seen was during the Lorandan invasion when Deygan was new to his throne. The invading forces and their ships had been wiped out by a massive fireball. Ayriene had never found out how that fireball happened. Respar, the council leader before Donmar and Ayriene’s own master, had cut off all her questions, and sworn her to silence. All she knew was what she had seen—the Lorandan troops wiped out, and burns on Shamella’s hands. Donmar knew what had happened, she was certain, but he had been sworn to secrecy as she had been.

“Namopaia could have been wiped out, even with such a small troop. I’m sure Garvan’s men only stopped the killing to restrict the damage to their lord’s workforce,” she said. She had seen little of the actual fighting, but had seen the aftermath: eight men, women, and children dead, including Skarai and his two sons. Many others injured.

“Two of the other holders have made an announcement,” said Jesely. “Half of all Chesammos young men and women in their holdings must marry an Irmos. They mean to wipe the Chesammos out by degrees, I fear.”

“Where do we stand on this, Jesely? The Aerie, I mean. We try to protect the Chesammos as best we can. We send them food and clothing, visit their villages to try to find their changers to make sure they get an education here. If Deygan and his lords clamp down on the Chesammos, we will find our aid opportunities reduced. Any help we give the Chesammos will look like an attack on Deygan.”

Jesely let out a long sigh. “I feared it might come to that. Part of the Aerie’s original purpose was to handle distribution of assets so that none went without. But gradually the lord holders have taken on that task, trying to isolate the Aerie from any sort of political power. If it comes to it we must either make a stand against the Irenthi or hand over all rights to help those in need—Chesammos or Irmos.”

“Then I am torn,” she said. “My heart wants the Chesammos to stand up for themselves—to say they have been badly treated all these years. On the other hand, my head tells me that they should back down. Accept what comes. Make the best of what Garvan and his ilk offer them.”

“And do you think either will have a happy conclusion?” Jesely studied her carefully and her heart sank. She knew the only possible answer to that question.

“No,” she said. “I do not.”

Casian had found a flask of wine somewhere, and his fair cheeks were pink-tinged. Sylas drank more moderately, as usual. He found it took much less wine to have an effect on him, and after several attempts in the past at matching Casian drink for drink, he knew the brief pleasure was not worth the pain.

Casian waved his glass for emphasis as he spoke. “So I have told the council I’m leaving, not that they took it well. But if Jesely doesn’t see my potential, then I’m wasted here. My father says he can get me a position at court. Maybe something military. I think I should enjoy the military. I spoke to my mother and she thinks I can do better than Lucranne. Maybe some position high up within Deygan’s aides.”

He seemed to have been spending a lot of time with his mother recently, from what Sylas could make out. Casian had always had an ambitious streak, but his mother was encouraging it. Sylas could tell that Casian had fallen out with his father over something, although the Irenthi was cagey when Sylas tried to establish what had happened. The falling out was sufficiently severe that Casian had muttered something about standing down as heir to Lucranne while in his cups the night before. While it occurred to Sylas that their relationship might come under less scrutiny if Casian were no longer heir to a great house, surely no falling out was as final as to mean him giving up his title? Then he thought of Craie. If Casian’s bitterness towards Garvan was only half what Sylas felt towards Craie, there would be no going back for them.

Sylas had some news for Casian, too.

“I may see you in Banunis, then. A message came late last night. Ayriene has been called to Banunis and I am to accompany her. She is packing her supplies now. Master Donmar offered us horses. Can you imagine me on a horse? But Mistress Ayriene is not a good rider, and I’ve never ridden in my life, so we are taking a wagon.”

Ayriene had called for him when the news came. He had been with Casian, of course, but if she noticed his dishevelled appearance and the flush to his cheeks she knew better than to mention it. She asked him if he would rather stay at the Aerie to continue his lessons or go to Banunis with her. He had been to Master Olendis once and while the master seemed as displeased with Sylas as he had ever been, Sylas at least thought he was making progress. He could hear one voice above the rest now, and it had spoken to him, or so it seemed. It called him “Crowchanger” and asked “We fly, changer?” but try as he might, Sylas could not manage the exchange of energies that was needed to transform him.

So he would be a crow when he changed; he could have wished for better. Crows were carrion eaters, reviled by most of the people of Chandris. But many Chesammos took the crow as their first form, and certainly he could not have hoped for Casian’s magnificent owl form. It seemed only right that an Irenthi lord should become a great white owl. He was tempted to stay and see if he could complete the change, but a trip to Banunis was not to be missed. Maybe he could persuade Mistress Ayriene to pipe for him, once they were there and their supplies were safe. He felt so close to a breakthrough.

A smile split Casian’s face. “You are going to Banunis? Then I shall certainly persuade my father to arrange a post for me. We could have good times there, you and I. Much better than under the disapproving noses of the masters here. The two of us loose in the big city—imagine it!”

“I’ve never been there. Is it as big as they say? Adamantara was enormous. Is it true that Banunis is bigger?”

“Adamantara? Big?” Casian laughed. “Oh, you are such a child sometimes. Banunis is the largest city on Chandris, the seat of the king. Once Lucranne was bigger, when it was the high holder’s seat, but Banunis has expanded since. Yes, my love, Banunis is much bigger than Adamantara.” Casian laid a hand on Sylas’s cheek and Sylas felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the wine. Casian stroked the side of Sylas’s nose with his thumb. Sylas’s breath caught in his throat.

This was the son of the man who had ordered his soldiers into Namopaia. The son of the man whose troops had killed Pietrig, nearly killed Sylas as well. By rights Sylas should hate him. By rights he should be joining his people and taking up arms against the Irenthi. But those thoughts were overwhelmed by the touch of Casian’s hand on his skin.

“Is it true your father broke your nose again?” Casian murmured. “If so, Ayriene did a good job. Two breaks without a healer talent on hand would have made you look like a tavern brawler. It would be a shame to spoil such a face.” He trailed his finger across Sylas’s lips. Sylas swallowed hard.

“I’ve missed you,” said Casian. “I didn’t think I would, but I have. It has been lonely here without you.”

“You have plenty of friends. And many willing and eager to be much more. I’ve seen the way women look at you.” He winced at the petulant words. He tried not to be jealous, really he did, but everywhere he went, Casian drew people’s stares.

Casian’s fingers grasped Sylas’s hair and pulled him closer. “I don’t want them, my beautiful Chesammos.” Casian leaned forward to crush Sylas’s lips beneath his. “I want you.”

Ayriene folded the few spare clothes she carried when she travelled. They made a small bundle—little enough to show for her nearly forty years on Chandris. She carried her pack of remedies and her herbal, a sleeping mat and blanket, water skin and basic provisions. She considered the dress she held, weighing its usefulness against the need to carry it on her back when they left Banunis. The temptation to put in one more was great—they would be travelling to the city by wagon, after all—but she learned long ago to travel with as few personal possessions as possible. Reluctantly, she set the dress aside.

Her chamber door flew open and she took an involuntary step back. Few people would enter a master’s chamber without knocking, even in direst emergency, but the figure who shot through the doorway was one of those who could enter her rooms as they pleased. Her daughter entered, her face flushed, golden hair in disarray as if she had been running.