Sword (34 page)

He'd never played with people who could keep up with him. It was
wonderful.

He caught the eye of Measail, Clan leader of the Eanin and father to Fortyn and Aileana, and remembered what they were doing here, and breathed, and
wished
.

The air around him blurred into a mad shimmer, turning Aileana and Fortyn into vague shapes. Devin sent his voice out to join wind and sky, and watched that shimmer travel away from him in spreading ripples. He was supposed to bend it to his wishing now, but that was far harder, and he could feel sweat break out on his brow and freeze in the winter wind. He began to sing an old lullaby.

Night
, he decided, and dreamed stars into his imagining. They shaped themselves out of nothing, blooming over the blue, taking the sunlight away.

The vision found memory, wrenching his raw and sorrowing heart right into the last place he wanted it to go—but that was the price of magic, he was discovering: there was no way to be anything but brutally honest when it was the workings of your heart that made it happen. The sky filled with a thousand pinpricks of faraway light, filled with the constellations of his childhood, the ones he and Kyali had learned together at their father's knee, sitting on the porch steps late one summer night.

He could feel her beside him suddenly, staring up, her eyes full of light and simple contentment—felt her sharp elbow in his ribs when he poked fun at her. A hand landed on his shoulder, heavy, callused, restraining and affectionate all at once.

His father's voice in his ear, pointing out the Carter and the Mare, Old Grandmother, Point of North.

"
No
," Devin gasped, and stilled the strings with his palm, suddenly choked with grief.

The illusion fell away, blue bleeding through the false night sky he'd built around them. He rested his head in his hands, fighting tears and fury, trying to make the muscles of his face obey him and be still. A hand landed on his shoulder—a real one this time—and he jerked away. "Give me a moment, Measail."

"Devin," the man said. The rough edge of sorrow in his voice brought Devin's head up.

All three of them had tears on their cheeks, too.

Fortyn swiped his face into the crook of his elbow and shoved himself unsteadily to his feet. "That's enough for today," he said, his voice thick. "I can't do any more. Bloody Bards, it's like being mauled by a—"

His voice vanished into the whistle of the wind as he stomped off.

"We'll come back to this tomorrow," Measail said simply, squeezing Devin's shoulder, and went to follow his muttering son back in the direction of the Eanin camp.

Aileana stayed, watching her brother's retreat with a wry expression, her dark braids blown into tangles and her cheeks stung pink by cold. She wiped her face, frowned at the tears on her hand, and rubbed her fingers.

"What in
hell
was that?" Devin finally managed, and she gave him a smile full of sympathy.

"You miss your father," she said, taking his breath away all over again with the simple, awful truth of it. "We could feel it. It was like—gods, like losing my own—"

"Thank you," Devin said curtly, and stood.

It was mostly worthwhile, this training, but there times when it bared far more of him than he'd ever want anyone to see. It was the nature of his Gift, he'd been told, and he supposed it made sense, but oh gods, it was
appalling
.

"Come on," Aileana said comfortably, hooking her arm through his, pulling him into the warmth of her. She'd found his tent two nights ago in the dark, surprising him. He was hardly going to turn her down, of course, even knowing what poor company he was these days: she was clever and strong, and unapologetically frank about her wishes—and besides, the bed was so much warmer with her in it. She didn't seem to expect more from him than his nights and his friendship, and he was grateful for that, since he didn't have more to give. Some days, it was all he could do to hold civil conversations.

"Is Fortyn all right?" Devin asked, because her brother was now shoving his way through branches like he was fighting a war all by himself, and his irritable shouts could be heard even over the wind. His father, Clan Leader of the Eanin or not, was giving him a wide berth.

"He gets sullen when he's sad," Aileana said, no sign of either of those things in her own tone. She was as unlike her brother as… as he was from Kyali, not at all what he would have expected of twins.

The comparison was like shining a light on some hidden corner of his mind, and he stopped in his tracks.

"Sad," Devin murmured, trying that concept out, finding it fit much better than he'd ever have guessed. His little sister's actions since the uprising couldn't
all
be explained by that—he could almost feel the anger she carried around baking off her when he was nearby—but it made more sense of her than any other foolish, frustrated thought he'd had where Kyali was concerned.

Sad.

Maybe there was hope?

That was such a dangerous thought he actually took a step backwards, as though he could get away from the idea that way, and Aileana tugged harder on his arm, pulling him off balance. Devin tripped into her and she chuckled, pressing her face into his.

Her lips were cold, but they warmed fast. His pulse picked up.

"Come on," she said again, a little breathless. "
I
don't get sullen."

Devin tipped his head back and laughed. "I see that."

* * *

Measail was waiting for them at his tent, looking grim.

Devin let go of Aileana's hand immediately, going cold, pulse fluttering up into his throat. Another man was standing next to the Eanin Clan leader, a thin, young Cassdall with fading bruises on his cheekbone and angry red scars criss-crossing the rest of his face. He held himself like he was in pain, and he saluted in the Cassdall fashion, hand over heart, when he saw Devin.

"Lord Corwynall," he said. Devin halted, blinking. He
hated
that title.

"Waylen," Measail said by way of introduction. "A Cassdall—"

"—spy," Devin finished, understanding all of it in a single flash of comprehension.

Of
course
they had sent men down to the lowlands. And of course those men were Cassdalls, who looked like Orin-men or Fraonir but were strangers to everyone, with years of experience saving Kinsey from his uncle's deadly attentions. Kyali was their father all over again in these things: brilliant and quiet and ruthless… but dear gods, it was such a risk for those who chose to go.

"Aye, my lord," the man said. "I can only hope the others made it farther than I did."

"What happened?"

"I was to take a position in the royal armory, to…" Waylen waved a hand, then grimaced; the movement made muscles in his too-worn face jump and shudder. Devin could only guess what sort of wounds the man carried under his clothes. “You understand, my lord."

"I think I do," Devin said bleakly. "What
happened
?"

"I left," Waylen answered, then bent over and coughed. Blood slid from an open cut on his neck.

"Gods,
inside
," Devin snapped, and bustled Measail, Aileana, and Waylen into the tent without ceremony, pushing until they all fit; it was close, but at least the warmth the four of them created under the heavy canvas would chase away the chill of the wind. Aileana immediately shrugged her coat off and lit the brazier in the middle of the floor, and things became bearable.

"I didn't make it to the armory," Waylen was saying, his voice faint and growing fainter. "It takes time to work into such a position. I joined the house staff of the castle as a footman, intending to work my way in from there, but I overheard something just a day later that made it necessary to abandon the effort and head back. I must make it to the fortress as quickly as possible and report. Lord, there's a traitor somewhere in Her Majesty's inner circle."

Taireasa.

All the air seemed to have left the tent. Devin tilted, and then slid slowly to his knees, because his legs weren't going to hold him for much longer.

"Who?" he whispered.

"I don't
know
. There were no names, my lord, forgive me. It was a conversation, one I'd have lost my head for overhearing if I'd been caught. I tried, I swear to you, but I could learn no more and I was afraid to stay longer, knowing what I knew. I'm sorry. I must ride back today,
now
, and see my captain. The Clan Leader insisted I see you first."

"Dear gods," Devin said, and then shoved all the horror and outrage aside, because he had to think. "You're in no shape to ride, Waylen. I need you to tell me the rest right now, all of it."

Waylen wrapped his long arms about his middle, looking miserable and cold and worn to the bone. "My lord, I wish there were more to tell. I heard two men speaking: I was certain one was Tuan's master of the guard, and the other might have been Tuan himself, or possibly an advisor. They spoke of the fighting on the mountain, the witch and her troops—and then their man inside, who had sent word with the numbers of the army here, the placement of the Lady Captain's bands around the mountain." Waylen met his eyes and the fierce worry in the man’s gaze made Devin's hands curl into fists. "The numbers were
accurate
, Lord Corwynall," the spy said. "Accurate from when I left. Someone among us who knows a great deal is Tuan's man, and is sending messages. Time is crucial in such things. I can ride if I have to.
 I need to report.
"

"You already have," Devin said, and shut his eyes, ignoring everything and everyone.

Taireasa,
he sent, reaching for the sense of her with all the strength in him. In an instant she was with him, a moil of surprise, pleasure, loneliness, and an exhaustion so great it wore at the edges of her presence like sand on stone.

"Gods!" he gasped aloud, because she was so strong it was like stepping into what he'd expected to be a lake and finding it was a river in full flood. He was almost swept away by the force of her. All the guards he'd ever set against her keen perception were demolished, and for a terrifying second he was completely exposed, every impulse and resentment and silly, sad wish bared.

She pulled back, horrified at what she'd done to him, and he felt her mute apology as he tried to catch his breath.

Devin, I'm so sorry, I've been learning—Saraid taught me—

Not now, Taireasa. Listen.

He gave her everything he knew, spilling it out without any attempt to organize it. Taireasa's presence grew stronger and then weaker as she understood, and he could feel her distress at the thought that anyone she had trusted with so much—anyone who had lost the same kingdom she had, who had struggled and suffered as she had—would be willing to betray them all in this way.

I have the spy with me. We'll leave tomorrow. I'm coming home.

You should stay, Devin, you have things to learn still.

Don't argue with me now. You want me there and I can stand to be nowhere else.

She was both irritated and grateful almost to the point of tears. She was so
lonely
. It scraped at the scabs over his own wounds.

You're in danger, Taireasa,
Devin had to add, as if she hadn't already gotten there on her own. In intrigue and politics, as in magic, she could run rings around him. But he couldn't help it.
Tell Annan, and tell my sister. Kyali will keep you safe.

What that got him was another kind of loneliness entirely, something shadowy and wounded and full of secretive guilt. Devin opened his eyes on three staring faces, not knowing what to do with that or how to take it.

Yes,
Taireasa said briskly, and vanished, shutting him out as thoroughly as she ever had.

"She knows," Devin said, because Waylen and Aileana and Measail were still staring at him, looking increasingly confused. "Taireasa knows. I told her. She'll tell Annan, and… and everyone else that needs to know."

In that moment, he couldn't even make himself say Kyali's name.

What had she and Taireasa done to one another? What were they hiding? Because it was very clear now that they were both hiding
something
, something Taireasa was terrified he'd discover.

"That's… amazing," the spy was saying, his voice beginning to roughen with weariness and relief. "You can
speak
to her? You just spoke to her now?"

"Surely you've heard the rumors," Devin said, not at all comfortable with the way Waylen was staring at him. "We can—ever since the night the kingdom was taken, we've been able to—"

Gods, there was no explaining it. He just shook his head, going mute.

"I didn't believe it," Waylen said frankly. "People make up all sorts of strange things about noble-borns, and about you three in particular. But this… this is…"

"Magic," Devin sighed. "And prophecy."

Stupid, blind, vicious prophecy.

"Can you tell the Lady Captain, too?" Waylen asked, having no idea how many wounds he rubbed salt into with that simple question. Devin bit his lip as the Cassdall spy went silent and chagrined, which meant there was far too much of his heart on his face just now.

"Not so far," Devin said, trying for a light tone and failing miserably. "I don't think she—"

He stopped. He didn't need to see the frown on Waylen's scarred face to know that made no sense at all. The prophecy named
three
, and three of them had felt the pull of it.
Geas
, Arlen and Saraid had called it—fate at work, reshaping the world. It had drawn Kyali down from this mountain as surely as it had drawn him home from Caerwyssis, as surely as it had pushed both of them to renounce the throne that day.

And he
had
felt his sister's presence, hadn't he? That terrible night when the whole world had come crashing down around their ears, he had
known
Kyali wasn't well. And then days later, riding into a messy and unequal battle between Sevassis and the newly formed Exile's Army, he had been sure he felt her nearby, and just as sure something was very, very wrong with her.