Sons of the Falcon (The Falcons Saga) (20 page)

The woman’s fingers darted to her lips.
“A prince! What an unexpected surprise.” Her hand swept the clearing as if it were
her palace. “Welcome, Your Highness. I’m Lady Lasharia.”

Lady? A proper lady would know to stand
and curtsy, but she remained sitting. She set the harp down beside her and
tucked her hands inside a white fur muff. Her eyes were the color of lilacs,
and there was that smell again, sickly sweet. Where had he smelled it before? Before
he could place it, the trees swayed, filling the clearing with the crisp scents
of ice and evergreen.

“Have I seen you at court?” he asked.

She ducked her eyes. “Not I. I am not
welcome there.”

“Why not? Were you banished?” The
Drakhan Mountains, cold and barren and lonely, were the first choice for
banishment if someone displeased the king or the queen. People who had been
really bad might be put on a ship and sent to the ice shores of Dovnya.

“Banished? No. I’m not of your people.”

“You’re …
Fieran
?” He retreated a
step, preparing to flee the clearing and wishing he wore his practice sword.
Even a bluff was better than being caught unarmed.

The woman smiled so sweetly that his
fear shamed him. “Do you think Fierans are the only folk loathed by your
people? Aralorr is my home, as it is yours. We’re not enemies, you and I. At
least, I hope not.”

 He wanted to believe her. Besides, why
would a Fieran have ventured this far north just to sing in the snow? That was
not proper spying. Was it?

Ah, maybe she was one of Eliad’s
mistresses, one he’d hidden away so the king wouldn’t steal her for himself.
She was too pretty to ignore, after all. Best not tell her that he understood
now; he didn’t want to embarrass her.

“What are you doing out here alone,” she
asked, “and in so wild a place?”

“My father brought me to hunt, but he’s
already bored. I wish we hadn’t come. He’s going to spoil it.”

“Spoil what?”

“My birthday gift, what else?”

“Ah, your
ideal
, rather.”

She failed to curtsy; now she
contradicted him. Beautiful as she was, she hadn’t learned proper manners. He
couldn’t tell how old she was, maybe as young as eighteen, maybe as old as
thirty. Old enough to know better, anyway. But, then, she was foreign, wasn’t
she? His tutors had taught him that different behavior was acceptable to
different people, and the worst-mannered people were the Zhianese. This lady
surely wasn’t Zhianese.

“You’ll find that’s the way of things,
I’m afraid,” she added with a forlorn sigh. “Our plans rarely play into our
hands as we hope.”

“You’ve been disappointed, too?”

“More deeply than you can possibly
understand, Highness.” Dark memories raged behind those soft lilac eyes.

Just like a grown-up to think he was
incapable of understanding things. He thought turning thirteen would end that.

He reached out a hand, almost dared to
touch her shoulder. “Try me.”

She studied him carefully, then
admitted, “I hoped to be a musician, receive formal training, but—”

“But you play so beautifully! No one
taught you?”

“Only my mother, and that was so long
ago.”

“You don’t need training, m’ lady. I’ve
never heard anything so fine. You could be the best court musician ever.”

“Do you really think so?”

Valryk nodded exuberantly.

The joy withered slowly from her mouth.
“When my mother died, I became a soldier instead.”

Valryk’s lip curled. “A
soldier
?
You don’t look like a soldier. You’re too—” His face heated and he bit his
tongue.

“High praise, indeed, and I thank you,
Highness. I still find time to slip away and play.”

“This is a strange place to play a harp.”

She laughed at that, and the sound of it
was so fair that Valryk’s heart rose into his throat. “Is it? Among the
Mother’s birds and trees and sunlight? There’s no place more inspiring of song,
Highness.”

“Will you … will you play again?”

“If you wish.” Her hands remained inside
the muff. “But you mustn’t tell anyone we’ve met. Men might come and hurt me.”

“Men, what men? Do you mean my father?
Why would he hurt you?”

A delicate pleat creased her brow.
“Children, always asking why. Some things just
are
, Highness. You just
happen to be a prince. I just happen to be what I am. Did you ever think that
you might have been born a shepherd’s son, instead of the son of a king? The
Mother-Father decides these things. I’m a soldier because it’s my destiny to do
as I’m told. You were chosen to be a prince, because you have a far more
important destiny at work.”

Mother was always telling him the same
thing, but he didn’t care about that. He just wanted to not be ignored.
Everyone seemed more concerned about his destiny than about Valryk himself.

He circled the woman slowly, found the
warmest patch of sunlight and turned his back to it. All the while Lasharia
watched him, her curiosity blatant, as if he were some kind of creature she’d
never seen before. “I like the color of your hair,” she said. “It’s like autumn
and fire.”

“No, it’s just red. I hate it, but thank
you. Did you see the ball of light? It led me here. I suppose I was stupid to
chase it. It might’ve stolen me away.”

She just sat there smiling at him.

“You believe me, don’t you? I really saw
it!”

“I believe you, Highness. It’s not like
you to lie, I think. Not yet, anyway.” She seemed saddened by this.

“Lying is dishonorable,” he exclaimed.
“I’m not a liar.”

“Which means you’ll tell the others
you’ve seen me.”

“I won’t!” Valryk bit his lip, glanced
down at his feet. “Oh. I see.”

“Yes, sometimes it’s better to lie,
Highness. I’m sorry for that.”

“But keeping you safe is honorable,
isn’t it, even if I have to lie?”

Her lilac eyes sparkled as if she adored
him. “What do you think?”

He crouched down in the snow,
considering this conundrum, and watched the sunlight ignite tiny sparks of
color in the flakes of snow, just like he’d seen in the star. “Who will listen
or care anyway?” he muttered at last.

Lasharia’s hand escaped the muff and
reached for the harp. “Shall I play for you again?”

He wanted nothing more than to hear that
song floating around him, making him dizzy, but he’d been away long enough.
“They’ll come looking. I should go. My horse is probably freezing to death. And
it’s getting late.” The sun drooped low, a milky silver circle through the
trees.

Lasharia’s shoulders sagged a bit. “Very
well.”

“We’re coming back tomorrow, Eliad and
me. Will you be here?”

“I don’t know. A storm is coming.”

Was it? How could she tell? The sky was
unblemished blue. “Will I see you ever again?”

“Only if you keep me a secret. Never
tell a soul about me, and I’ll play for you again. Just for you. One day. But
if you betray me and tell, the magic unravels and this is all for nothing.”

 What was all for nothing? Whatever she
meant by it, he’d feel terrible if she got into trouble because of him. “I
swear it! I swear to never tell a soul. On my honor.”

Her hand rose and touched his cheek. It
was hot as flame against his frozen skin. “Then I have no choice but to trust
you, Highness. Here, let me show you how to call for me. It … it involves …
magic. Do you mind?”

“
Real
magic? Not like the tricks
the players do on stage?”

“Real magic.”

“Are you avedra? Is that why you’d be in
trouble? But the king doesn’t mind avedras. Thorn Kingshield is an avedra and
he saved my father’s life. I’m sure he’d welcome you—”

“I’m not avedra, Highness. But avedrin
aren’t the only ones capable of using magic. Let’s see you try this.” She stood
at last and faced the lowering sun. How tall she was. Taller even than Father.
With her forefinger she drew a curious design on the air. Strands of sunlight
gathered to her finger, and the design, shaped like a four-pointed star,
hovered above the clearing. “Trace this design seven times. Either sunlight or
moonlight will do. Once it’s done, speak my name, and I’ll hear you. Try it.”

“I can’t do
that
,” he cried.

“Nonsense. Kings outlawed magic
centuries ago, as if the very essence of the universe can be evil or illegal.
Pah! It wasn’t long before men forgot what they can do. It helps to have
natural skill, but if you practice enough, who knows? Think of this as sending
a letter to someone who
is
of Magic. It’s a summoning, really, and it’s
the energies doing the work, not you.”

The design she’d drawn was fading.
Valryk raised his finger. Outlawed? Was he breaking one of Father’s laws?
Lasharia smiled encouragement at him, so beautiful. Gnawing his lip, Valryk
traced the design. It shined little brighter than candle-glow, but it was
working! He was doing magic, real magic.

“Look to the sun, Highness, draw with
confidence, don’t stop.”

By the end of seventh circuit, the star
burned the air it was so bright. He stepped back and gazed upon it.

“That’s when you speak my name.”

Valryk’s cheeks flushed. “Lasharia.”

She smiled. “Well done. I won’t always
be able to answer immediately. But be patient and I’ll find you as soon as I
can.”

“
Find
me? Even if I’m in the
castle?”

“It’s
magic
, silly. It lets me go
wherever my friends are.” Friends? Were they? Valryk hoped so. He considered
only Kethlyn a friend and he didn’t count because he was family. Lasharia
brushed his cheek again. Her fingers lingered under his chin as she gazed upon
his face. “As long as you’re in a safe place where no one will see me, I’ll
come to you.”

“And you’ll sing?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes I’ll just whisper.
But most times I will listen.” Her fingers disappeared inside the muff again,
and Valryk felt as if she took something vital from him, something that mattered
more than crowns and armies and elk hunts. “You should go.”

Yes. Father. He’d come searching for his
missing heir. “I … until later, then?” As he turned to go, that sickly stink
surrounded him, and he remembered where he first smelled it. Last winter, his
own suite had been full of it. His bodyguards dug around, sniffing and gagging,
and finally surrounded his bureau. It had taken three of them to move the heavy
furniture, while a fourth extricated the dead mouse. Valryk had demanded to see
the squishy carcass, unable to believe that something so small had caused such
a ruckus. Why should such a reek surround Lady Lasharia?

He backed from the clearing, unable to
tear his eyes from her face. The pine boughs swept between them, hiding her
from sight.

Voices called in the distance. Valryk
turned and ran up the hill, afraid the others would find her and his promise
would be broken before the sun set.

The party had backtracked and now surrounded
his half-buried pony. They stopped shouting when they saw him top the hill. The
king looked more scared than angry, at least at first. “Where in all the
Abyss—? Your mother would have me flayed if I lost you.”

“My tracks are right there, sir,” Valryk
said, pointing at the trail he’d left in the snow. But the trail was gone.
Magic. He’d seen it twice now in a day. The tip of his finger burned
deliciously with the kiss of sunlight.

The relief on Eliad’s face was obvious.
Kelyn looked stony and objective and kept his eyes on the snow at his feet. Father’s
grip was tight enough to bruise Valryk’s shoulders. “What got into your head?
There are bear and cat out here. They’d think nothing of—”

“I had to see for myself. The dead tree,
sir. You were all so sure. I just wanted to see. And then …” Memory of the
music muddled his head. “An elk. I really did see one. But it was far away.
Over there. It saw me and ran off.”

Father let him go, turned red-faced and
tight-lipped. “We’re heading back. Now. You and Eliad can set up your blind
tomorrow.”

“You mean, you’re willing to let me out
of your sight? I might run off again.”

“Don’t get cheeky, young man. And if you
do run off, you’ll answer to your mother. Let that scare the shit out of you.
Mount up.”

Scare
you
, you mean. How badly he
wanted to say it out loud, but he kept his mouth shut. All the way back to the
lodge, he said not one word, despite Eliad’s reassurance that tomorrow would be
better. All he wanted to think about were Lasharia’s fingers flying over the
harp strings, warming his cheek.

That night he laid in bed with an exquisite
ache in his belly. Part of him had a hard time believing she’d been real, yet
her song swirled in his head. When he closed his eyes, her face was all he saw.
He tossed and turned for three hours before he flung aside the quilts, wrapped
himself in a fur robe and hurried to the window. He had to see if the magic
star still worked. He needed to practice; she had said so herself.