THREE DROPS OF BLOOD (32 page)

"Rubbish," she muttered, and burst out in giggles when he pretended to be shocked.

"It's lovely to see you again, no matter what the reason." Deyral hooked his arm through
hers and released her horse's reins. A flicker of magic took hold of the reins and led the
compliant beast to the shelter waiting for her.

"Is it too much to hope Trevissa sensed I was coming?"

"She's been unusually quiet. That could be a good sign." He released her at the doorway
of the main meeting hall and let her go through the open doorway first.

Meghianna was pleased to note that no one else on the island had roused from their beds
to greet her. She appreciated the hospitality of the community of scholars and the feeling that
they at least didn't consider her with awe or a touch of fear. A number of the Queen's Ladies who
had raised her had come to Wynystrys to live, once they felt they were no longer needed to guide
and instruct her. Their change of status and location couldn't be called retirement, because the
longevity of the Rey'kil made it difficult to call them elderly, though most of the Noveni and
half-bloods who had been their age-mates had died decades ago. Meghianna looked forward to
meeting these ladies again, but tomorrow, once she had taken care of her errand. She found it
hard to endure the curious mix of small talk, gossip, and philosophical discussions that
surrounded her whenever she came to visit, delaying her task.

When Deyral left to check on Trevissa, Meghianna helped herself to the cauldron of
sweet herbal drink always kept warm on the edge of the massive central hearth, and examined
the sweets and fruit and the assortment of bread and cheese and cold meats kept fresh by a
simple spell, always waiting for anyone who wished to eat. One thing she liked about the
community of scholars was that everyone was free to live on their own schedules and could eat,
or not eat, as they so chose. The only time they gathered for meals was when they had visitors or
meetings.

"Perhaps it is time to adopt such practices," she murmured, as she gazed around the long
hall, with its jumble of multiple styles of furniture, sitting in groups as if the scholars who had
been talking and working together had only left moments ago.

The Stronghold had continued to lose its population during the years as she grew up.
More of the ladies who had lived there went out into the world to establish schools and healer
halls or become traveling teachers and scholars, and fewer Rey'kil sent their daughters to study
away from home. Meghianna enjoyed the solitude and the lack of demands on her time, because
it seemed the duties of Queen of Snows didn't decrease, even if the numbers of people
surrounding her did. She had plenty of time now for studies and record-keeping. Communicating
through the Threads made it almost like talking to someone in the room, when she needed to
confer with an enchanter or healer or noble somewhere else in Lygroes.

The thought of finally letting go of the daily schedule of the Stronghold in favor of the
relaxed routine of Wynystrys appealed to her. At the very least, it would set the other
scholarly-minded ladies free to pursue their work without being interrupted at the worst possible time for
meals and duty shifts. The ladies in the kitchen would likely appreciate the ease of simply
keeping food warm or cold as need required, for people to take as they wished. It would free
them for other pursuits, instead of always having to plan meals and wash dishes and put away
food.

Meghianna smiled and looked down at the simple meal of bread rolled up with cheese
and a spicy meat paste, already half-eaten, and unnoticed among her thoughts. She wondered if
her father would laugh at the incongruity of the Queen of Snows spending so much thought on
easing domestic arrangements. Meghianna devoutly hoped her father was too happy and too busy
with his new bride to spare a moment of thought for either of his daughters for a long, long
time.

"Wish not for such freedom from thought," Trevissa whispered from the doorway. A
ghost of a smile twitched her lips as she clasped her hands together and tipped her head to one
side to study Meghianna.

Deyral had been right when he said the madwoman had been unusually quiet.
Meghianna marveled, and was pleased, to see Trevissa's coarse gray hair was neatly combed and
pulled back in a simple knot at the base of her neck, and her clothes were clean and whole. She
even wore shoes.

"Only in the grave is there true ceasing of thinking," she continued, and let Deyral guide
her into the hall with a hand on her shoulder. "You will not reach that point until everything you
know is gone and a new world has come, but you will wonder often if you are indeed dreaming,
lying in your grave. There is only sleep for you, but you will guard the sleeper alone for many
long years, until he wakes and it is time for you to sleep, while the third drop of blood
sleeps."

She caught her breath as she and the High Scholar reached the cluster of cushioned
chairs where Meghianna had come to sit. "Find the smithmaster. Find Ceera's teacher. Only in
his sleeping place will the Sleeper find safety. Only in his secret, in his slumber, will the future
be safe and hidden. Then the day will come when all the world is new, beyond your visions and
imaginings, and magic does not reach and does not rule. Then, the Blood that comes from the
Blood must seek the bowl and the sword. They will be needed, to heal and to cleave when the
Rift War comes."

"Who is the Blood that comes from the Blood?" Meghianna whispered, daring to hope
the Estall had granted Trevissa enough sanity, enough clarity of thought, to see answers in her
visions.

"The Lady Warhawk." Trevissa shuddered, her knees folding, so she might have
slammed her bony chin into the edge of the low table in the center of the chairs, if Deyral hadn't
guided her quickly into a chair.

"Was I wrong? No, how could I be wrong?" She trembled and clasped her hands,
wringing them, and her face grew pale. "The Warhawk's heir is a girl-child. Not Efrin, but
Athrar. His heir. But Efrin is Athrar's heir. But he has only girls." Her throat worked, as if she
fought not to vomit.

"Peace," Meghianna whispered, to Trevissa as well as herself, for the stab of guilt she
felt for agitating the woman. She caught hold of Trevissa's restless hands, stilling them, and
wrapped two pale blue Threads around her wrists to enfold her in a calming spell.

"Ceera's heir, but not Emmi," she rasped. "She laughed, Mother laughed, when Emmi
died. That's why I had to kill her, you know. I loved Emmi. Why doesn't anyone I love love me?"
A wail erupted from her last words, soft, vibrating with the shudders that wracked her body.

"I'm sorry." She looked up at Deyral, who showed only pity for the wreck of a
woman.

"It will pass, and it was necessary." He rested a hand on top of Trevissa's head, adding to
Meghianna's spell, so the woman hiccupped, shuddered once more, and slumped back in the
chair, sound asleep.

"The smithmaster?"

"Graddon. He taught Ceera the working of metal, so she was able to discover the secret
of taming star-metal." Deyral shook his head and settled in the chair between Trevissa and
Meghianna. "He vanished when I was a boy--when Mrillis was a boy. He and Ceera were
Graddon's special students. There were rumors that the Nameless One caught him and forced
him to give up all his visions and secrets."

"Only rumors." Meghianna frowned and gnawed on her bottom lip as she thought. It
occurred to her that Mrillis might know more about Graddon's true fate than anyone.

"I suppose the other rumors are true, considering what Trevissa said."

"Rumors that he is asleep, hidden somewhere?" She nodded, deciding she liked that
possibility much better than the thought of yet another crime laid on her bloodline's account. "I
suppose if he taught Ceera and Mrillis, there will be records somewhere in the Stronghold, some
clue." The thought of long hours spent searching records, in silence, sitting still, with no
demands on her, was immensely cheering.

"Why not ask Mrillis?" he said.

"I will. When I'm sure the answer isn't hidden somewhere else. You know how he is,
always expecting everyone around him to think for themselves instead of asking for help."

"Ah, yes, a harsh master indeed." His eyes twinkled with mischief. Meghianna laughed
quietly with him, in deference to the sleeping woman.

* * * *

Megassa was to marry Lord Lorkin that fall, when the weather was still warm and clear,
allowing nobles from both continents to come to the Warhawk's fortress for the festivities. By
the time she left the Stronghold to help prepare for her sister's wedding, Meghianna felt sure that
she had searched her domain from the lowest level to the highest chambers that looked out over
the Northern Sea, and read every possible reference to Graddon's visits and his interaction with
Mrillis and Ceera. The brutal truth was that she felt an almost desperate need for music and
dancing, and silly talk about useless things like clothes and jewels and cosmetics and court
gossip. She thought she knew everything there was to know about Graddon--except the one thing
she needed to know. It was time to ask Mrillis if he knew where his teacher slept.

But first, she intended to relax and spend time with her father and stepmother, and make
sure her sister was the happiest bride who ever stood in the blessed circle before a
Star-Mother.

Meghianna didn't realize how much she looked forward to time with her sister until she
and her Valor guards rode through the gates of the fortress, and only Mrillis was there to greet
her. Where was Megassa, bubbling over with details of the festivities, the music and decorations
and gifts pouring in from all sides?

"Welcome home," Mrillis said, reaching up to help her down from the saddle, which he
hadn't done in years. Meghianna let him, unable to discern if she was stunned at the lack of
welcome from her family, or stunned that she felt stunned. "Efrin and Glyssani are in their
quarters. The queen is...not quite herself." The sparkle of a delightful secret in his eyes silenced
Meghianna with the questions on her tongue. "As for your sister, she is out touring the
countryside with all her new friends. It amazes me still, how the fuss over clothes and food and
music tears down barriers and levels all ranks."

"Ah...of course." She nodded and felt a little steadier as she watched a host of servants
lead away her party's horses and carry their baggage into the fortress. "All those grand ladies and
lords who were scandalized that the Warhawk's bastard daughter earned her spurs as a Valor,
suddenly they adore her and want to be her closest friends."

"They want to claim the blessing that overflows from the bridal couple...and I don't
doubt some think to become good friends of the parents of the Warhawk's heir."

"Let us hope they grow to love Megs before they are disappointed in their hopes, so they
stay her friends. I would not have her hurt for anything."

"Some things cannot be avoided." He looped his arm through hers and led her through
the private door into the fortress, and up the stairs to the family's quarters. "Remember the
prophecy."

"The daughters shall walk in light and be strong, but the son shall overstep them,"
Meghianna recited. "One shall serve and one abominate and one will triumph. One will sleep and
one shall wait and one shall suffer. They shall do so forever, and yet even to forever there is an
ending. The blood drawn from the third shall open the doors and smooth the road and waken the
sleeper."

She paused as they reached the top of the stairs. "My brother is the third, I assume. So
then his child will awaken the sleeper. Graddon?" She had the pleasure of seeing Mrillis freeze,
just for a minute, his eyes widening, with his hand reaching to push aside the hanging at the top
of the stairwell.

"What has been churning through that incredible mind of yours, my dear?"

Meghianna calculated that her quarters were closer. She shook her head and gestured
down the long hallway to her door. Mrillis nodded and let her lead the way. In the few steps it
took to get to her door, she gathered up her memories of that unusually clear interview with
Trevissa and sent them to his mind.

Interesting,
he thought, as he settled down on the nearest couch in her outer
room.
I have not thought of my teacher in decades. Not since I showed Ceera his hiding
place. Yes, Graddon lives. And he sleeps. There have been times I wished to join him there, to
step out of the turbulent current of time and rest, unaware of all things and times and the doings
of men.

Meghianna shivered, knowing that he kept their conversation in their minds only
because it was a dangerous secret. She settled down next to him and took hold of his hand.
One of the Three Drops of Blood sleeps. One of us will be safe in Graddon's hiding
place?

I believe that is the only valid interpretation.
He closed his eyes and nodded
slowly, his brow furrowing with concentration. The severity of his thoughts, hidden from her,
was revealed in the tight grip he maintained on her hand. Then Mrillis took a deep breath and his
face relaxed.
Come.

Meghianna gasped, feeling as if she had been yanked off her feet and flung across the
sea in a single jolting move. She knew her body stayed right where it was, safe in her quarters,
but the illusion of breathlessness and a blinding haze of rainbow streaks of light overwhelmed
her for a few seconds. When she could see clearly, she found Mrillis standing at the foot of a
stone bier, looking at a big, muscular, hairless man, lying still, a faint smile on his face hinting at
sweet dreams. Shimmering curtains of multi-colored light surrounded them, so she had no idea
where they were, either in a cave, a castle, a cottage, or out under the open sky.

Odd. I swear he looks younger than he did when he was my teacher.
Mrillis
looked at her and smiled.