The Blood Sigil (The Sigilord Chronicles Book 2) (2 page)

Were she to replace her metal tray of food with a sword or staff, Lu could have held her own against the performers in the graduation ceremony back in Kest, Urus thought.

After a few minutes she returned with only a few pathetic-looking scraps left on the salver.

"So, Urus the bull, what did you do to attract the attention of the Council of Balance?" Lu leaped up onto the stool and spun into a cross-legged squat in one fluid motion.

"I'm not sure I should talk about it," Urus said.

"Oh, come now, I gave you pastries," Lu poked a playful finger toward Urus. "That means you owe me a story."

"That's a rule?"

"It's my rule," she said, flashing her infectious grin.

"Where I'm from, there were a lot of people in danger. There was war, and some terrible people destroyed cities, including my home."

"Danger is universal," Lu said. She paused, then laughed out loud. "Get it? The joke? Universal, you know, because you're not in the same…Sorry, continue."

"I did some things to save people that I'm not sure I understand," Urus continued. His throat grew irritated from talking so much. "Then my guards and the man who called himself an arbiter appeared out of a…swirling…something. They told me I had violated some law—I can't remember which—and that I had to come with them."

Lu's brow furrowed. "Only a few crimes I can think of would get the attention of the council. Do you remember any of what they accused you of?"

Urus sighed. "It's a really long story, and you wouldn't believe it even if I told you."

"You'd be surprised what I would believe." Lu put her hands on the stool, lifted herself up while still cross-legged, then swung her legs to the side and dropped onto the floor. Urus was beginning to think Lu was part monkey.

Urus told her about the blood mages and the vertices, leaving out as many details as he could, including all of his use of magic. The whole thing seemed completely ridiculous as he recounted the main points to this total stranger.

"Still not hearing anything the council would care about, little bull," Lu said, looking bored. "You're holding back on me. Remember, pastries for stories."

Urus decided that there couldn't be any harm in telling her a little more. After all, he was already being held prisoner on some other world with no way to escape. How could it possibly get worse?

"When they came to take me, they accused me of being a sigilord and told me that I had broken some law about a contain.. continue…"

"Continuum?" Lu finished.

"Yes, that's what they called it!"

"A sigilord, you say?" Lu asked, her expression now dark and serious. "I figured you for a radix, given the collar and all. But a sigilord? That changes everything."

Urus instantly regretted telling Lu anything. He should have just kept his mouth shut, slept some more, and waited for the council to come get him. "What do you know about sigilords?" he asked.
 

Luse stood up, went to the door, and looked in both directions to make sure no one was nearby.

She returned slowly. Gone was her catlike bounce, the flourish in her step. She bent close to Urus, grabbed his wrist, and squeezed. She had an iron grip as powerful as a Kestian woman's. She moved her mouth but Urus could tell from her throat that she made no sound. "No lies, no evasions, little bull. Your life is literally at stake. Blink your eyes slowly if what you say is true, if you have felt the heat of sigil magic surge from your fingertips."

Felt the heat?
Urus thought.
How would a pastry cook know about the heat of sigil magic? I've never told anyone about the heat or the pain.

He blinked slowly.

"You are not to utter anything of sigilcraft to anyone, not to me or anyone else here. When they question you, you will feign ignorance. You had no idea what you were doing, and you don't even know what a sigil is. Understood?"

"But that's the truth," Urus whispered. "I don't have any idea what I'm doing."

Luse nodded, "Even better; this way you won't have to lie. They'll know if you try to lie to them."

She grabbed the empty dessert salver and danced away, her smile and flourish returning as though nothing had happened.

A few minutes later the door to his cell swung open, admitting his familiar guard escorts and the ancient robed man who had greeted him on his way to the cell.
 

"The council is busy at the moment. They will see you first thing in the morning," the old man said, his lips again not synchronized with the words that came to Urus's mind.

"What for?" Urus demanded, standing up from the bed. "You took me from my world and brought me here, and nobody has told me what's going on. I demand an explanation."

The man in bright robes bowed slightly, cracking a smile. "You have this right. You have been charged with several serious crimes, and the council has granted you a trial to determine your fate."

"My fate?"

"The council is to decide whether you live or die."

Chapter Two

"Cailix!" called Miss Orla. Cailix watched as her caregiver stepped out of the front door of the house and nearly tripped over the sacks of grain Cailix had forgotten to load onto the wagon. The sprawling white farmhouse looked dull and gray in the morning fog, and the red barn had turned purple behind the low, ocean-borne clouds.

She ran through a list of excuses in her mind to justify her forgetfulness. She had scripted the entire exchange—including Miss Orla's potential responses—by the time she made her way from the barn to the house.

"Yes, ma'am," Cailix said, affecting her most innocent look. It had been six months since the Jepps family had taken her in—more than long enough for Miss Orla to learn most of her tricks. She had never been with any one caregiver long enough for them to pay attention to her, let alone learn her habits.

"I told you before girl, you call me Momma or Miss Orla, but never ma'am. Ma'am's for ladies and nobles and rich folk," Miss Orla said, hands on her hips.

"Yes, ma…um, Miss Orla."

"Now, about these sacks o' grain," the stout, gray-haired woman said, tapping her foot.

That look on her face, that look that only Miss Orla could ever give, melted away her entire rehearsed dialogue. Cailix could think of nothing clever to say. Unlike every other person alive, Cailix couldn't lie to Miss Orla.

"I'm sorry, Miss Orla. I got distracted and forgot." She wasn't about to volunteer the information about
what
had distracted her, but at least she hadn't lied.

"Well them sacks won't load themselves, will they? We're goin' into town first thing tomorrow to sell that grain, and you don't want to try loadin' those sacks in the dark."

Cailix nodded and grabbed one of the heavy burlap sacks "by the ears," as Mr. Woss described it. The first heave to get the sack up onto her shoulder took everything she had, but once properly slung she could manage. With but a drop of blood she could summon the power to load all ten sacks without lifting a thing, but she wasn't about to defy Miss Orla's rules about magic—at least not while she was watching.

"When you're done with the wagon you can go play with Bayard and Drayna down by the pond."

"Do I have to?" Cailix asked.

Orla regarded her with a sad look, "Well, no, sweetie, you don't
have
to. I just thought you might enjoy a little fun time with the other kids."

"I'd rather not. I was going to go up into the field and watch the sheep if that's all right."

"They're just up there grazing, and we got the dogs keepin' 'em company," Orla said, frowning with concern. "You sure you don't want to go play?"

"I'm sure," Cailix said, turning toward the wagon.

It seemed to take forever to get all of the sacks of grain loaded onto the wagon, and when she was done she was hot and covered in sweat, despite the cool air of the early spring morning. After a quick stop at the farmhouse to change into fresh clothes, she headed toward the high range where the sheep were grazing.
 

"Cailix," Miss Orla called after her. She had a habit of popping her head out of the kitchen window just as Cailix passed by—as if she had Goodwyn's ability to see things before they happened and knew where she was at all times.

"Yes?"
 

"Remember, no magic," she said.
 

"I won't," Cailix replied, trying to find the right phrase to put the woman at ease. "Momma."

Miss Orla's face lit up with a bright smile and she disappeared through the window back into the house. Cailix knew what everyone wanted to hear, especially Miss Orla.

It didn't take long to get to the top of the hill and out onto the flat range of grass where the sheep grazed. Nothing more than little dark shapes peeking through the fog on the horizon, she watched them for a moment, mystified by how the dogs seemed to innately know how to corral the sheep, even without the direction of a shepherd.

She wondered if dogs ever got bored with being
just
dogs. Did they ever want to be something more than a dog?

Her goal lay on the other side of the plateau, past the sheep, and she was glad there were no shepherds around to watch her. She veered off to the right, not wanting to cross through the middle of the flock and disturb the good work the dogs were already doing.

A gray shape taller than the sheep appeared through the haze in the distance.
 

There aren't supposed to be any shepherds up here today,
she thought. She couldn't let anybody see where she was going so she sat down in the grass, hoping the shepherd would pass out of sight and she could continue on her way.

Her bad luck had other plans.

As the shepherd came closer, the fog obscured him less and less until she recognized him. It wasn't a shepherd; it was Colin. He and his family ran a farm about a mile south of the high range. His father was also the keeper of Aldsdowne's southeastern lighthouse. The boy was an endless source of annoyance, and she tried to avoid him at all costs.

"What're you doing?" he asked, plopping down onto the grass next to her without asking for permission.

"Not much, just watchin' the sheep," she said, taking a few shuffle-hops away from the boy. She adopted the speech patterns of others when they were nearby, as she found it made people more comfortable if she spoke like them. She used emphatic and contracted words when talking with Mr. Woss, never mentioned magic around the children, and kept things simple around Colin.
 

That's precisely what Colin was—
simple
. Her mind felt inhibited his mere presence.
 

Silence passed between them for a long time. Cailix imagined it must have felt quite awkward for him but she really didn't care. Awkwardness was a fabrication of the mind, a reaction to poorly managed expectations.
 

"So, there's the harvest festival coming up," he said.

Oh dear lord
, she thought.
He's still latched onto me like some leech
. The feeling of revulsion mixed with a little embarrassment as she realized she had begun to sweat in her freshly changed clothes.

"Yes, I've heard. Bayard and Drayna have been nattering about it for weeks," Cailix said.
 

Drayna and Bayard both had suitors and planned on attending the harvest festival as couples. They already had their finest outfits picked out—some of pieces specially tailored by Miss Orla herself. Cailix had no interest in the harvest festival or in being any part of a couple. It all just seemed so mundane and insignificant.
Why bother?
she thought.

"Nattering?" Colin asked. The poor, simple boy.

"That means talking about completely useless, boring things," she snapped.

"Are you going? To the harvest festival, I mean."

"Not if I can help it."

Colin fixed his gaze on the ground, stricken. Whatever he lacked in conversational skills, he sure make up for in looks. He had a nice face; it even looked nice with the little scraggly bit of beard coming in on his solid jawline. He had farmers' arms, and all his menial chores didn't hurt his ability to fill out the backside of a pair of trousers. Even his tousled, dirty blond hair had a peculiar beauty to it.

She caught herself staring and looked away, shifting her gaze back to the sheep. Thankfully he hadn't noticed the look in her eyes. If he'd seen that, there would be no discouraging him. He was just so…boring. He had no magic, no ambition to do anything other than be a farmer. He'd never even left the island. How could someone be content with such a simple life, when there was so much more out there, so much opportunity begging to be seized? She wasn't going to sit on a porch and watch life drift by like the ships passing Aldsdowne's harbors.

Colin sat up straighter. "I know I'm just a farmhand and you've been all sorts of places and seen all kinds of amazing things, but if you change your mind I sure would love to show you what passes for a great time on Aldsdowne."

"Look, Colin, I—" She turned and looked into his green eyes. They lacked the depth of those belonging to Urus, Goodwyn, or any of the others she had met six months before. He hadn't seen the things they had seen. With Colin, there seemed to be no depth at all. "I really haven't decided if I will be going."