A Play of Shadow (33 page)

“Covie tried to tell her about Frann.” Cynd arrived with her tray. She’d brought more for Jenn as well, and herself, as if tea of itself could mend the world. “Lorra refuses to listen.”

“Why should she?” Wen took a cup but didn’t sit. She rarely did, unless sewing; when she stood very still, like Wainn, those around her could forget she was even there. “Mother knows,” she said calmly. “She knew first.” A thoughtful sip of tea. “She’s angry.”

Which wasn’t fair. “Covie’s done all she could,” Jenn protested, careful to keep her voice down.

“At Frann.”

Jenn blinked at Wen. “But—but why?”

“Going first,” Cynd explained unhappily, when Wen remained silent. “Lorra’s older, Jenn. She expected Frann to lead the family, once she herself became a Blessed Ancestor.”

Aunt Sybb was fond of saying the more you planned, the more could go wrong, which was something of a contradiction in a woman prone to lists and thinking ahead. Not making plans didn’t work very well either, as a younger Jenn had discovered. As for being angry about a plan that didn’t work? That made no sense at all. By that reasoning, her father should have been angry with her mother for going first and leaving him to raise two daughters alone, which hadn’t been their plan at all, and she knew he wasn’t.

Only sad.

Wen walked to the window and looked out. “Davi’s back.”

“Oh dear,” Jenn said faintly. Bannan wouldn’t be far behind. He’d look for his nephews, who were still hiding—from her—in Frann’s bedroom. As plans went, today it seemed no one’s were working.

“Frann’s finished her story,” Wen told her, without looking around.

In a world where she didn’t terrify children, Jenn thought morosely, this would be when she’d go to the bedroom door, draw aside the curtain, and tell the boys to make ready for their uncle’s return. A happy moment, in an otherwise sorrowful day.

She folded Devins’ coat around the patched sleeve and rested her hands on it, with no idea what to do next.

All at once, a small hand appeared atop hers.

Jenn didn’t so much as breathe as that hand’s owner, Werfol Westietas, carefully stepped in front of her.

Standing at her knees, he gazed up at her, eyes gold and black and searching. Semyn joined his brother, waiting. He loved his brother and trusted his magic, Jenn thought, as she loved Bannan and trusted his.

At that thought, a smile rose up from her heart, a smile filled with her hopes, and found her lips.

Theirs trembled and tears filled their eyes, which hadn’t been her intention at all. Before she could fix anything, Werfol and Semyn pushed under her arms and into them, Devins’ coat landing on the floor. The little boys clung to her as tightly as they could, sobbing as though their hearts were breaking.

What had she done?

What she’d done, Bannan thought, standing in the doorway, was work her magic. He watched his nephews pour out days’ worth of fear and grief with a lump in his own throat, grateful beyond words for Jenn Nalynn.

Who looked, truth be told, overcome herself, so he moved to where she could see him and smiled. “I see you’ve met.”

She took a steadying breath and smiled very slightly back, then looked down. She tightened her arms around the boys and bent to press her lips to their heads, Werfol first, then Semyn. “Your uncle’s here, Dear Hearts,” she told them.

Two heads lifted, but the boys stayed where they were. Excellent taste, in Bannan’s opinion, if a trifle unexpected.

A breeze found his ear, chill as outside. “You lied.” It slid to the other ear. “He saw.”

Four words that spread a chill inward as their meaning sank home and all became clear, from what had happened here to Scourge’s fury at him.

Ancestors Perilous and Potent. The next Larmensu truthseer. How could he not have known?

Had Lila? His gift—he remembered its awakening the way he remembered his first broken bone; the break had been gentler. She’d found him, brought their father, stayed to make it bearable. Had it happened before they left, surely she’d have kept the boys close.

Bannan went to one knee, at a respectful distance. Which one—or both? It didn’t matter. They were united in their anger with him. Heart’s Blood. What had Lila sent him?

What only he could understand.

“I lied,” said Bannan then, quiet and sure, “when I told you it was a good idea to explore the village alone. I lied because I was afraid and didn’t want to give you my fear.” The truthseer circled his fingers and put them over his heart. “By the Hearts of our Ancestors, I will never lie to you again.”

Semyn glanced at his brother.

So.

Bannan waited. Werfol’s eyes—he should have seen it—were no longer simply warm and brown. They’d gained the amber tone of his and his father’s, presently burnished to a fiery gold.

By anger.

Anger that slowly faded. When it was gone, Bannan opened his arms.

To have them filled with his nephews.

For a moment, he closed his eyes to breathe in their scent, an intriguing mixture of horse manure and jam. A story there, no doubt.

One he’d get later. Bannan winked at Jenn. “We’ve work, lads,” he announced, coughing the huskiness from his voice. “The goods your mother sent to Marrowdell need unpacking.” He rose to his feet, leaving a hand on each small shoulder, and knew the decision had been made for him. “Then we’re off to my home, yours while in Marrowdell.”

Where he could grant Werfol peace and privacy, day and night, while he learned his gift. As he’d had. They’d manage. They were a family.

Two pairs of eyes looked up, suddenly brimming with curiosity. “What’s your home like, Uncle?” Semyn asked. “Do you have extra horses?”

“Will we have our own rooms, Uncle?” Werfol demanded, not waiting for an answer. His brother elbowed him. Undaunted, the younger Westietas insisted, “I’m old enough.”

Jenn chuckled. Oh, he had some fun ahead. “We’ll see,” Bannan told them, though he was determined to settle both in his room and take a mattress downstairs.

Between them and any danger.

“What we’ll see are two less intruders in my house.” Pushing aside the curtain over her door, Lorra Treff swept into the main room like an oncoming storm. “Well?” she finished, glaring down at Werfol and Semyn. The boys edged closer to Bannan.

“That’s enough, Mother.”

Bannan started. Where had Wen come from? Seeing his surprise, she smiled faintly, but her attention was on Lorra. “Frann’s asking for you.”

Werfol leaned around Bannan, studying Wen. The toad on her shoulder studied him in turn, then yawned, showing pointed teeth. The boy jumped, then giggled.

Whatever he’d seen, he’d accepted. A good start, Bannan thought, relaxing. “My thanks for letting the boys visit,” he said, cheerfully ignoring Lorra’s frown. “We’ll leave you in peace, dear lady.”

Without prompting, the boys stepped forward and bowed in perfect unison, fingertips to the floor. “Our thanks, Lady Lorra,” they said together.

“And to the Lady Frann,” Werfol added, Semyn echoing the words.

In the face of such noble courtesy, Lorra’s lips twitched as if to smile, then formed a line again. But it wasn’t so tight a line, and her frown seemed more one of weary habit than anger. “Knock next time,” she said finally.

“We promise.” “We will.”

Appeased, the matriarch of the Treffs called, loudly, for tea then went into Frann’s bedroom, Wen following behind.

The room felt smaller at once.

“Werfol. Semyn? Your winter clothes are on hooks by the kitchen door, with mine.” Jenn informed the boys. As they hurried to dress, she retrieved a basket, nodding to the house toad who’d been guarding it. “My welcome gifts for your nephews,” she explained, offering it to Bannan.

“With pickles,” he said, winning a small smile. Though graceful, there was a hint of stiffness to her movements. Of care. Given the table loaded with mending, he might have thought Jenn had been sitting too long at that task, but he knew better. So after accepting the basket, Bannan put it down, then very gently took her face between his hands. She met his searching gaze without a flinch, her mouth curved in quiet joy.

Yet grief bruised her lovely eyes.

Scourge had known. “Frann.”

She nodded, turning her face to kiss his palm. A tear followed, of such unexpected weight he looked to see if it were stone.

Just a tear.

Or the start of unimaginable magic.

With his nephews in Marrowdell. Heart’s Blood. Bannan went very still, trying not to be afraid of the woman he loved, trying and failing.

Jenn Nalynn saw it. How could she not? Sorrow crossed her face, then resolve. Taking his hand, she pulled him to the window. “My heart came close to breaking today,” she whispered. “Before I knew about Frann and since.” Sunshine poured through the small panes and she held their hands, together, in that brightness. “This has been Marrowdell’s answer. Dearest Heart, trust me. Never will I harm them. Never will I allow them to be harmed. I swear it by our love.”

Was the sun warmer or was it simply the truth on her dear lips? Lips he found himself kissing, because how else could he answer? Lips that kissed him back and tasted of tears.

“Uncle?”

Well, they’d find out eventually. Bannan continued the kiss with great enthusiasm.

Feeling the lips against his curve into a real smile.

Along the northern wall of the mill, the wind had sifted snow like flour through gaps in the wood. Like the promise of spring, sunlight poured through from the west and south, laying bright bars over the floor and wide squares where it flooded through the many high windows, but it was light without warmth and a lie. Though the mill was frozen and still, there were signs of activity. The great millstones rested outside their case, their intricate patterns exposed, a pattern worn down during the last harvest and in need of renewal.

Turn-born had built the mill, but couldn’t—or wouldn’t—maintain it. No matter. The miller’s tools were strewn on a canvas nearby. It would take till next harvest to chisel crisp edges back into the hard stone. Radd Nalynn had the skill, as did Jenn. Tadd would be learning it, as miller’s apprentice.

Crusted with snow, Lila’s empty wagon sat where, come summer, the Lady Mahavar’s more elegant one would reside. Word having spread about the supplies, Bannan wasn’t surprised to find most of Marrowdell, bundled for the cold, already in the mill. Even Tir had managed to hobble from the Nalynns’, to take a seat where he could watch the proceedings.

However eager, they’d waited for him, a respect he acknowledged with a grateful nod when he entered, Werfol and Semyn at his side. The cargo—crates, barrels, and bags—had been swept clean of snow and arranged in neat rows.

Devins and the entire Ropp family were there, including Cheffy and Alyssa, who eyed his nephews with the hungry intensity of siblings who’d lacked other playmates. Riss and Sennic, though not Master Jupp. Given the cold within the mill, that was just as well.

But the Uhthoffs were there, and the Nalynns, of course. Zehr with Gallie, holding the baby. Hettie and Tadd stood nearby, holding mittened hands. Even big Davi had come, to lend his strength yet again. If anything special Lila’d sent would be a comfort to the Treffs, Bannan resolved in that moment, it would be theirs.

Jenn left them, going to stand with her father and sister.

Bannan smiled at her, then went to the staircase in the middle of the mill floor and climbed to the second step, indicating his nephews should flank him. “It is my honor to introduce my sister’s sons, Semyn and Werfol Westietas, to my friends of Marrowdell.”

The boys, ever aware of protocol, gave short bows. The villagers smiled and murmured greetings. A shout rang out, “I’m Cheffy!” as if the young Ropp couldn’t risk his sister’s catching the attention of the newcomers first.

Semyn looked interested. Werfol had been pale since seeing the crowd within the mill, but managed a smile. “Semyn and Werfol have come to spend the winter with us,” Bannan said, not bothering with details. He touched Semyn’s shoulder.

“Good people of Marrowdell,” the boy said, his high voice clear and well-paced. “It is not our mother’s intention that we be a burden to you. We have brought these supplies. Sufficient for—” Semyn hesitated and Bannan knew he thought of the guards who hadn’t made it this far, but the boy recovered to finish gallantly, “There’s plenty. Please accept our thanks and this gift.”