Wren Journeymage (33 page)

“
Wren?You found her?”

“Strictly speaking, she found us.” Tyron laughed as he ran his hands through his hair, making it stick up worse than ever. “I still don’t quite believe it, but they should be here by tonight. Why does it seem ten years since she left, instead of a season? Halfrid transferred down south to some island the moment she scryed him.”

“They?” Teressa repeated, taking a step toward him.

He didn’t back away, but his shoulders tightened, as did his hands, and he looked away as he said, “She’s got Connor with her. And apparently they were tangling with none other than old Angleworm Andreus.”

“Andreus!” Shock rocked Teressa back, and old pain rolled through her. Her hand dropped to her skirt, where underneath her gown she wore a knife strapped to her leg.

Tyron was looking at her now, his eyes wide. Discerning as always, yet she hadn’t seen it. She had always taken him for granted.

His lips parted, probably to explain, but she didn’t give him the chance. She acted on impulse—who was to deny her?—and took hold of the smooth fabric of his tunic, and pulled him close.

Then she kissed him.

He twitched, as if to pull away, then a little breath escaped him, warming her face. He smelled of spiced apple, and herb-scented soap.

He kissed her back.

It wasn’t like the lightning-strike of Hawk’s kisses . . . it was warm and nice and . . . and Tyron.

He pulled back first, breathing faster, and frowned as if perplexed.

“Should I not have done that?” she asked.

He ran his hands through his hair, making it more unruly than ever. His voice was husky, and a little unsteady. “What did that decide?”

She thought of all the things she could say—that she’d wanted to test the idea—that she was comparing him to Hawk—then Teressa thought about it from his perspective, for the first time.

Tyron had kissed her back. That meant . . . he had feelings. For her.

She looked into his eyes, wishing she could see into the mind behind them. He regarded her back, his gaze steady, his mouth tender, his brow puckered faintly with confusion. No hint of the tumbling thunderclouds of emotion that Hawk held in leash—which she could sense, and which excited her.

She said slowly, “It didn’t decide anything. It was just a kiss. I think I’ve learned that kisses don’t decide anything, except whether or not one wants more kisses.” She stopped, and when he didn’t say anything, she gathered her courage. “Did it decide anything for you?”

He looked down at his hands. “No. As you say, it was just . . . a kiss.”

“But you wanted one,” she ventured.

He looked away, and then out came a low stream of words. “I think I’ve had feelings for you ever since I first saw you. I know I have. Before I knew what feelings were.”

“A false attraction? For a me that doesn’t exist—like Connor had?”

“Not like Connor, who . . . is shaped so much like the heroic ideal that he . . . sees the world that way,” Tyron said slowly. “But of late, I . . . realized it had become a habit. That there are other possible roads.”

“Like Orin,” Teressa said, jealousy constricting her heart. But then she made an effort and banished those invisible, clutching talons.

“Like Orin,” he said. Then he turned away, walked a step, then turned back, to put space between them. “Is that all right? Should I not have told you that?”

“I’m glad you told me,” she stated, and she knew that if she stated it enough, it would be true. “Here’s what’s important: that we are talking again. I don’t ever want to lose that. I’ve missed it too much. I shut you and Wren both out. The . . . matter of kisses can wait.”

Tyron ducked his head in a nod. “Hawk might come back. In fact, he probably will.”

“He’ll have to come back a better man than he was when he left. But I think . . . I think he wants to be. He just never had anyone in his life to show him how.”

Tyron opened his hands. “I missed our talks, too.”

“So tell me about Andreus. What happened?”

“He seems to have been collecting mages for some nasty plot, and he really was after Wren, because he thought she was the one responsible for bringing down the mountains bounding Senna Lirwan. You remember, at the very end of the war.”

“I remember,” she said, her throat dry. “That’s what ended the war. How could I forget that, or the two weeks solid of earthquakes afterward? So that horrible Sanga was telling the truth, and Andreus really did try to get Wren.”
And
Hawk
knew
all
along. If he does come back, he will have a lot to explain. And to redeem
.

“Yes.”

“I’m glad you and Halfrid sent Sanga to the Council. I’m afraid I’d want to lock her away in prison.”

“Her sister really seems to have been turned into a gargoyle, and guess what? Wren’s father is there as well.”

“Wren’s
father
? How did he get mixed up with Andreus? I thought he was some wandering play-mage, not even good enough for city players?”

“Oh, that’s just the beginning of the questions. But we’ll have to wait. I haven’t seen Halfrid move that fast in ages!”

“Bring them here,” Teressa announced. “I will cancel the card party—I don’t want to see anyone at court anyway. I’ll use the rain as an excuse. As soon as they arrive, bring them here.”

“Here? Not the Magic School? There’s something Halfrid wants to do,” Tyron warned, but he was smiling.

Teressa clapped her hands in anticipation. “Tell me. If I can help, you know nothing would give me greater pleasure.”

Wren and Connor descended to the wardroom. There in the first hammock, they found Wren’s father lying quietly, smiling at the little patch of twilit sky visible through the open scuttle. He was a short man, obviously intended to be round, but he was terribly emaciated, as were all the mages who had been forced into gargoyle form. He peered up at them from under a fringe of frizzy silver hair, his eyes as brown as his skin.

His smile was exactly like Wren’s. “Little daughter,” he whispered.

“Papa!” She savored the word. “You’re awake.”

Arbran gave a soundless laugh. “I am. Feel good. No strength yet. It will come.”

“I’m here to ask if you’d like to go with us to Cantirmoor, or instead, with the other mages to the Summer Isles.”

“With you.” He laughed softly again. “Was on the way to find you. Aunt told me. Magic School. Cantirmoor. Meldrith. But that fellow found me first. I still don’t know what he meant. About bringing down mountains.” His brows quirked. “I can’t do that. Can you?”

“No,” Wren said. “But Connor here can. Connor can also explain why your spells go awry.”

Arbran laughed again. “You heard about that? I studied . . . but I was always . . . somehow . . . a very bad mage. Became a good storyteller.” He stretched out his hand, grown thin from the months that he’d been forced into stone shape.

Wren closed her hands around his, feeling the warmth of his skin, but there was no strength, just bones. “You need to rest.”

“I’m all right,” he said. “Talk is easy. Sweeping the deck . . . well, that can wait for tomorrow . . .”

It was a joke, so Wren smiled, but it wrung her heart anew to realize Andreus had caught her father when he was coming to find her, after all these years of wandering on his part, and wondering why he’d never come to find her, on hers. “Magic?” He shifted his gaze to Connor. “Bad mage all my life. Reason?”

“It has to do with ancestors,” Connor said. “If you inherit magical talents from the Iyon Daiyin, or Hrethan, well, then, when you try to build the spells by the regular method, it’s like trying to divert a river through a straw. Using a mirror. That’s what Master Gastarth told me last night.” He looked doubtful, then said, “If you’re too tired to answer, please don’t, but did you ever feel more magic when in mountains?”

Arbran twitched his head, too weak to shake it. “Never went high. Stayed low, where more people live. I could do little illusions. Storytelling. I am good at that. And I like it.”

Wren said, “Papa.” It felt so good to speak that word! “Just tell me where you would like to go. They’re going to shift the mages as soon as they recover a little. The senior mages will do the magic themselves.”

His fingers pressed hers briefly. “With you,” he whispered, still with his eyes closed.

“I’m glad. Then we’ll have lots and lots of time to talk.” Wren bent to kiss his hand, and they left him to sleep. They returned to the captain’s cabin, where they found Halfrid and the ancient brother and sister known as Mistress Selshaf and Master Gastarth.

“How are you feeling?” Halfrid asked, as the twins regarded her with concern.

“I want to get back to Cantirmoor and see Tess,” Wren said. “That’s what I want. I’m fine, otherwise. Really.”

In the background, Captain Tebet kept chuckling, a rusty sound that cheered Wren very much. All the way as they rowed back to the ship, Captain Tebet had repeated over and over how much she’d loved seeing the beams in that castle crack and snap, sending Andreus’s minions scuttling out like spiders before the whole thing crashed down the mountainside.

“Best thing I ever did see,” she kept saying. “What a tale it will make!”

Now Master Gastarth said, “We must report to the rest of the Council, for they have not known our whereabouts for a year. We must do it while we still can maintain the human form.”

Connor said, “Human is not your natural form, is it?”

“No,” Mistress Selshaf said gently. “It is more difficult every time we change. And we can maintain this shape for fewer days.”

Master Gastarth turned to Halfrid. “Shall we meet again at your Destination?”

“Either that or at the palace. I suspect our young queen will be thinking the same thing Wren is, and we shall find ourselves gathered there by royal decree. And it is more comfortable,” Halfrid said, smiling around at them all.

Master Gastarth exchanged glances with his sister. “I rather think that will be most appropriate place for our business. Anon.”

He and his sister bent down, each touching the stretcher on which Andreus lay, deeply asleep by magic spell. Someone had wrapped the worst of his broken bones, but even so, Wren could hardly bear to look at him. Villain or not, he would wake up in terrible pain, both inside and out.

As if she heard Wren’s thought, Mistress Selshaf turned to her, silvery hair wisping across her wrinkled face. “We shall do our best to heal him,” she promised. “It is why we have followed him for this past year, he and your friend there, trying to divine what was best for them, and for the world.” She nodded at Connor, whose face reddened.

Wren was charmed to see Connor blush like that. What kind of secret conference had he had with his erstwhile jackdaws, while she had been busy eating Patka’s best cooking—she’d insisted she made it herself—and then sleeping?

He’d tell her, she knew. In his own time.

The Sendimeris twins vanished, taking Andreus with them.

Halfrid turned to Captain Tebet. “I’m certain that one or more of the local governments will be along to investigate here, and do whatever they think must be done with those who fled into the interior of the island. I really think if they were to be convinced that this island could be held as a neutral port for legitimate traders, it might be included in their protective cruises.”

Captain Tebet beamed. Wren realized Halfrid was offering her the entire island if she wanted to adopt it as a home base—it would be she who ‘held’ it as a neutral port. Wren loved the idea of Tomad Island becoming a haven for people like Patka, Lambin, Longface, and the others.

Halfrid said to Wren, “I’m going to stay long enough for the Council to return.” He indicated the crew’s quarters below, where the mages who had once been gargoyles were all lying, most asleep. “These mages are far too weak to transfer, and some even to walk, as you saw. I think they are far better off being shifted to the Summer Islands for healing.”

Wren and Connor knew it was time to say good-bye to their friends.

Wren said, “Captain Tebet, thank you for everything.”

“Hah,” the captain exclaimed, looking pleased. “Did well enough for meself, I did. Got to see the crackiest sight I ever seen, that villain’s castle fallin’ down. And now there’s plenty of stone to build a fine port for the likes o’ us.”

“Are you going to build a fleet to fight against pirates?” Connor asked.

“Are ye offering volunteerly to come help me?” Captain Tebet retorted shrewdly.

Connor looked Wren’s way, then reddened to his ears.

Wren laughed. “Maybe.”

“Well then! Might happen. Might just happen. Or I can go round the world. Find and visit my boy and girl, wherever they are. I get some fun outa just thinking about it.” She turned her head. “Meantime, I have you to thank for bringing me good crew-members. Always hard to find, good crew.”

Patka, her brothers, and Lambin came forward. Wren could tell Patka was happy at last—she loved the ship, she loved Captain Tebet, and she loved cooking, and most of all, she loved having a place where she belonged.

Danal was clutching the transfer token Wren had requested from Halfrid when she first spoke to him; if Danal decided to come to the school for the new season the next spring, he could use the token. He was turning it over and over in his hand, smiling happily at Wren. She smiled back, knowing she’d be seeing him again.

She turned to exchange farewells with the rest of the
Piper
’s crew, and then it was time for the shift. Halfrid had worked hard to create a big enough square for transferring several people. But his skills were strong, and the transfer, when it happened, was as smooth as such things can be.

Wren found herself standing in the antechamber of the royal palace. The light, slanting in just before sunset, the smell of the old rose garden and beeswax candles, was so familiar that she just stood, blinking back tears.

Servants appeared, Halfrid spoke, and somehow her father was taken one way, and she and Connor another.

Five heartbeats later they heard a brisk step and Tyron launched himself through the door, Teressa just behind. “Wren!” He stopped, putting his hands on his hips. “You couldn’t just pick a normal journeymage project? Nooooo, not you!”