Shards of Time (3 page)

“It’s all right, talí.” Alec gently pulled him back down, settling with Seregil’s head on his shoulder. It was too dark to see him, but Alec could feel his lover’s heart hammering against his ribs, and the clamminess of his skin. Seregil was no stranger to nightmares, but it had been ages since he’d had one like this. “What was it?”

“A bad one.”

“What about?”

“I—I can’t remember.”

“You talked in your sleep. You were begging someone to come back.”

“Really?” Seregil drew a shuddering breath. “I don’t know. I can’t remember anything except being terrified.”

“Maybe you will in the morning. How’s the headache?”

“Still bad.”

“I’ll get you something.” But when he tried to leave the bed, Seregil’s arms tightened around him.

“Please, stay.”

Alec pulled the sheet up to Seregil’s chin and rubbed his back, as he had so many nights after Nysander’s tragic death. It was a long time until he was certain Seregil was asleep.

The following morning they woke late. Seregil looked positively haggard.

“Does your head still hurt?” Alec asked.

“No, thankfully, but I don’t think I slept well.” Seregil rubbed at his eyes, then frowned up at him. “Bilairy’s Balls, what happened to your face?”

“You did, talí. You thrashed around while you were dreaming.” Alec went to the tall looking glass and ruefully examined the small bruise under his right cheekbone. “You’re a hazard to sleep with sometimes.”

Seregil came over and gently kissed the bruise. “I’m sorry.”

“Maybe it was just the rich food last night. Alania’s cook uses too much spice and butter.”

“That’s probably it,” Seregil said with a chuckle, but it sounded a bit hollow, for they both remembered a time when his nightmares had been more than mere dreams.

Late-morning sunlight streamed in through the dining room doors. In the garden beyond, the crocuses had already vanished and jonquils and fragrant hyacinth were in bloom under the budding lilacs. Fresh green leaves adorned the rosebushes. Seregil and Alec were lingering over a late breakfast when Runcer ushered in Thero and his young apprentice, Mika.

Ten years old now, the sandy-haired boy had grown half a hand span since Thero had rescued him from the sleeping death. Bright and inquisitive, and a bit mischievous at times,
Mika was utterly devoted to Thero. His wide grey eyes shone with pride and adoration at every approving word.

Runcer went off to the kitchen to fetch extra dishes and milk for Mika.

“What brings you two out so early?” asked Alec, pouring a mug of strong Aurënen tea for Thero.

“Early?” Thero scoffed. “It’s nearly noon and you’re still in your dressing gown. Did Alania keep you two out all night again?”

“No, we finished early, as it happens,” said Alec.

“I like her,” Mika informed them, reaching for a spiced bun. “She kisses me, but she gives me sweets, too.”

Thero moved the buns out of reach without touching the plate. “Manners!”

The wizard’s relationship with the boy was that of a teacher, mentor, and guardian since Mika had moved from his parents’ house to Thero’s tower rooms at the Orëska House. Despite being a rather strict disciplinarian, Thero clearly cared deeply for his apprentice, and Seregil continued to marvel at the transformation of the man—once rival, and now valued friend. The “cold fish” of old had matured into a reasonable human being, concerned with more than just his prowess with magic and thirst for knowledge.

Mika did his best to look contrite. “May I have a bun, please, Lord Alec?”

Alec grinned and nudged the plate back within reach. “Have as many as you like.”

While the adults chatted about various social doings, Mika ate his fill of buns and bacon, managing to slip a few morsels to the pair of white Zengati hounds lurking under the table when he thought no one was looking. When the meal was over, Thero suggested the boy take the dogs into the garden.

Seregil whistled Zir and Mârag out from under the table and found a well-gnawed wooden ball for Mika to throw for them. When he was gone, Seregil gave the wizard a questioning look.

“You look uncommonly tired, Seregil,” Thero noted. “Don’t tell me your roistering life is starting to catch up with you?”

“I didn’t sleep well.”

“He had a nightmare,” Alec added, earning himself an annoyed look from Seregil.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Thero. “You used to have them quite often, as I recall.”

“Everyone has one now and then,” said Seregil, brushing it aside. “So, what brings you here?”

Thero helped himself to more tea. “What’s your opinion on ghosts?”

“I’m not fond of them.” Seregil took a sip of tea and glanced at Alec. There were only three things Seregil knew of that the younger man actually feared: losing Seregil, heights, and—since feeling their cold touch the day Alec had killed the
dyrmagnos
on a distant Plenimaran shore—ghosts. “Why do you ask?”

The wizard smiled. “I was just wondering if you two would like to take a little journey with me. Word arrived that ghosts may have killed the governor of Kouros and his mistress last week.”

“Kouros?
Sacred
Kouros?” Alec looked suddenly less concerned about ghosts.

“The same. You’ve never been there, have you, Seregil?” asked Thero.

“No, though I’ve always wanted to,” Seregil replied. “Nysander promised to take me when I was his apprentice, but things went wrong before we could.”

Gold-rich Kouros, the historical and spiritual heart of the Three Lands, was home to the oldest oracular site in the Three Lands. It had come back into Skalan possession for the first time in decades at the end of the war. Klia and a large force had gone there the previous summer to sort out the populace. Plenimaran loyalists were driven out—though most had already fled before she arrived—and those left were required to swear fealty to Queen Elani and Skala.

“Why do people think that ghosts might have killed them?” asked Alec.

“Because several people claimed to have seen ghosts near the room where they died, for one thing. Apparently at least
one was seen by reliable witnesses: the shade of a very tall man.”

“Assuming these ‘reliable witnesses’ are telling the truth.”

“Yes,” the wizard replied, “but there had been other reports of mysterious deaths and disappearances recently, as well—mostly shepherds and travelers.”

“Hmmm.” Seregil swirled the tea in his mug.

Thero raised an eyebrow. “You really do seem to have already made up your mind.”

“No, but I refuse to have it colored by secondhand tales. Otherwise we’ll be jumping at every shadow and calling it a spirit.”

“And if I tell you that the room was locked and barred from the inside?”

Seregil sniffed at that. “That’s hardly proof of supernatural doings. Has anyone ruled out magic?”

“I’ll be looking for signs of that, of course,” Thero replied.

“Where exactly did this happen?” asked Seregil.

“In the Hierophant’s palace in the old capital city of Menosi. The late governor, Archduke Toneus, was rebuilding the palace precinct and refurbishing the oracular site, with the intent of presenting it all to Queen Elani as a tribute when she visits this summer.”

“That would certainly have earned him some favor.” Alec claimed the last rasher of bacon from the platter. “So, you think by mucking around in the old ruins, he might have disturbed some angry spirits?”

“It seems plausible,” Thero replied. “For centuries the whole island has been said to be haunted. Travelers and bards tell endless stories of meetings with people in ancient clothing or children being spirited away all over the island, not just around Menosi. How much truth there is in them remains to be seen, but with so many stories, I’m willing to suspend my doubts until we get there. Ghosts exist, and it would be stranger if there
weren’t
any on an island inhabited for so long. Whatever the case, if Elani plans to go to Kouros this summer to tour the island and visit the site of the oracle, her mother and uncle won’t want her in any danger.”

“No, of course not,” said Alec. “How exactly were Toneus and his lady killed?”

“The report sent from the governor’s secretary, Lady Zella, described the bodies as having been literally torn to pieces. A very grisly business.”

“Hmmm.” Seregil drew arabesques with the tip of his knife in the remaining yolk of his poached egg, still looking skeptical.

“It’s thrown the island into renewed unrest and there is some fear of a popular uprising,” Thero went on. “There may be a more down-to-earth explanation of the disappearances, and she fears the worst. The queen is sending Klia to Kouros as acting governor, and I’m going along—”

Seregil chuckled. “Indeed?”

“It’s a royal commission,” Thero replied tersely, but the tips of his ears had gone a bit pink.

While Thero had been formally recognized as Klia’s lover a year ago, this was the first time an Orëska wizard had ever had such a close connection to the royal family, so whether or not they could marry was still uncertain, as there was no precedent for it on either side. The Orëska wizards, most of whom maintained a vow of celibacy, were quietly scandalized. On the royal side, it was decided that it would be more tasteful to postpone the wedding until after young Queen Elani was safely married. Since Elani hadn’t yet taken a consort, much less produced an heir, Klia was still in the line of succession, so her liaison with a wizard—made sterile by their magical nature—had obvious advantages for allaying any lingering suspicions that Klia had pretensions to the throne.

Seregil and Alec both thought it was all overly complicated and silly, but for the time being Klia and Thero still ostensibly maintained separate residences: Thero in his tower, Klia in her chambers at the Palace. Time away from the city no doubt offered a welcome respite from societal scrutiny.

“I’m going along to investigate the haunting,” Thero finished, “and I could really use your help. In fact, Klia has already suggested to the queen that the two of you come in
your capacity as Watchers, as well as Micum Cavish. If you agree, I’ll send word to him immediately. Your particular skills would be much appreciated. Of course, the queen can’t make it a formal commission.”

“Of course not.”

“Will you be bringing Mika?” asked Alec. With a wink in Seregil’s direction, he added, “You could make a family outing of it.”

Thero ignored the jest. “Yes. I won’t expose him to danger, of course, but the journey should be most educational. He’s never been away from Rhíminee.”

Just then the boy burst in from the garden. “Will they come with us, Master?”

“Have a seat,” Thero told him. “We are still discussing it.”

Mika settled in his chair, but he was clearly bursting with excitement. “You have to come! The first Hierophant and his people came to Kouros and built Menosi over two
thousand
years ago. I can’t even imagine how long that is, but the city is still there! Don’t you want to see where they lived?”

“I don’t know that much about the Hierophants,” Alec admitted.

“Master Thero has been teaching me,” Mika piped up. “Kouros is the place the great rulers, the Hierophants, lived when they and their people came over the eastern sea. Their descendants spread to the mainland, which turned into Mycena, Plenimar, and Skala after a while.”

“Very good,” said Thero. “And why did they stay on Kouros for so long?”

“Because of the oracle, the first in the Three Lands.”

“Why did they leave?” asked Alec.

“No one is certain,” Thero replied. “According to the histories I read, a great storm struck the island not long after the founding of the Three Lands, killing most of the population. The oracle went silent then, too, though I’ve never found any explanation for why that happened.”

“That’s the tale that’s told in Aurënen,” said Seregil, and all eyes turned to him.

“The ’faie knew of Kouros?” asked Alec.

“Of course. The eastern clans traded with Menosi and the
mainland outposts, up until the reign of the last Hierophant, Nhandi the Wise. Kouros is the first place your kind and mine mixed blood.”

“And the first wizards were born there, mages of great power,” said Thero.

“Why was Nhandi the last Hierophant?” asked Alec.

“Another thing lost in the mists of history. So many records were destroyed at that time.”

“What kind of storm wipes out a whole island?” asked Mika.

Seregil shrugged. “Some say storm, but it could just as easily have been an earthquake or great wave. Whatever it was, the city of Menosi gradually emptied out and people began to avoid it.”

“But the oracle site is still there, even if it’s silent,” Alec noted. “You said Toneus was fixing it up?”

Thero nodded. “It’s sacred ground, consecrated to Illior, I believe.”

“Can we go there, Master?” asked Mika.

“Yes. We must pay our respects. What else do you know of Kouros, Seregil?”

“Not much, really, except that trade between Aurënen and the island was cut off for some time after the cataclysm, but by then the island’s resources had given out anyway, except for the mines. The gold of Kouros seems to be endless.”

“From the initial surveys when Klia took the island back, the Plenimarans were still mining gold, silver, and a few other things.”

“Is that why the queen wanted the island back?” asked Alec.

“We’ve done without the gold for a long time, but Kouros is the cradle of our whole civilization, and all the Three Lands. To hold Kouros is to hold our roots, our past. Many lives have been given down the centuries for the honor of claiming that lonely rock.”

“When are you leaving?” asked Seregil. “And how would Klia explain why we’re going along?”

“Ships are being provisioned to sail in three days’ time,” Thero replied. “As for you two, the queen is granting you
an estate on the island, one of many left empty when the Plenimaran loyalists fled. You should be receiving a royal writ to that effect sometime today. She’s making you barons, I believe.”

Seregil groaned.

“You won’t have to serve at court,” the wizard assured him. “And the estate can certainly be left to a steward. Treat it as another of the various properties Lord Seregil holds and manages from Rhíminee. It’s just for show, after all. And think what a good excuse it will be, when you need to disappear.”