A Play of Shadow (37 page)

A scrap of printed page, touched by skin . . . a drop of sleep, under the tongue . . .

And the dream unfolds . . .

Light sings. Colors shriek. There’s no end or beginning and all is falling . . . falling . . .

Unspeakable power writhes, searching for form, claims shape.

It must be seen. Must be. Cannot be borne—!

The dream falters . . . lost . . .

“Uncle?”

“What—” Ancestors Witness. Not again. He’d slept in a chair last night.

Groggily realizing what he’d heard, Bannan stirred himself. “I’m coming.” He climbed the ladder into the loft, knocking a warning before his head passed the floor.

They’d dressed for bed in gowns and caps, but were sitting cross-legged on top of the blankets, their small faces somber.

Bannan sat on the end of the bed, guessing what was the matter. “This isn’t home,” he acknowledged. “But it’s where your mother wants you to be. Where you’re safe and with me.”

Semyn plucked at a loose thread on his chest where the Westietas’ crest had been removed, as it had been from all their clothing. When he looked at Bannan, it wasn’t the look of a child. “Why you, Uncle? Why not with our father’s family?”

He’d thought to wait until morning for this. Maybe it was better said before they tried to sleep. “As Larmensu, we share a special heritage.” Bannan touched a finger to Werfol’s sock-clad toes. “You are a truthseer.” He moved the finger to rest over his heart. “So am I.”

“Weed?” A quick demand; though he hadn’t known its name till now, Semyn trusted that gift.

Hadn’t Lila?

The younger boy went on his knees, eyes wide and gold. “It’s true,” he breathed.

Semyn pulled his brother back. “What does it mean? Will it hurt him?”

“You’ve seen for yourself. It means you,” Bannan looked at Werfol, “know if someone lies. It means in Marrowdell, where magic lies close to the surface, you can see what’s different.” He sighed. “It’s already hurt, hasn’t it.”

Werfol nodded, then said, very quietly, “When people lie.”

“Everyone did,” Semyn burst out. “The new staff, our guards. Even—even Momma.”

Werfol nodded again, his lips pressed together.

So Lila hadn’t known. Werfol was younger than he’d been. A son, not a brother. Moreover, her house had been under siege, filled with untrustworthy faces. Little wonder her instinct had been to thrust the boys away from danger.

Still. “What did she say?”

“That we’d be safe. That we’d be together again. That Father would come home.” Tears spilled over. “I could see they were lies. All of them!”

“Lies!” Semyn looked ready to cry himself.

Heart’s Blood. “They felt like lies,” Bannan said heavily, “because your mother was afraid.”

They blinked like tired little owls. “Momma is never afraid,” Semyn corrected carefully.

He’d thought so, once. “Your mother doesn’t show her fear. There’s a difference. Trust me when I tell you she’s afraid for you and for your father, more afraid than she’s ever been. What she told you, Werfol, wasn’t a lie.” Denial stormed across the boy’s face and Bannan held up his hand. “It wasn’t the truth, either. You’ll learn the difference. What your mother told you,” he went on gently, “is what she hopes with all her heart will happen. Do you understand?”

Werfol wanted to, desperately, but how could he? It was the hardest lesson of all, that the deeper sight must be interpreted, not blindly believed. “Enough for tonight,” Bannan decided, overwhelmed himself. “Under the covers with you. We’ll start your training tomorrow, Werfol, if you like, once we’ve moved all of your things here.”

“And visit Tir?” Semyn asked.

Bannan smiled as he tucked the quilts around them. “And visit Tir.”

“May we visit Lady Frann?” Werfol put in, snuggling close to his brother. “And Jenn? Will we see her too? And—”

Marrowdell being smaller than the Westietas’ estate, Bannan chuckled, they’d be hard pressed to avoid anyone. “You’ll see them all, I promise.” He picked up the very well-loved little book from the nightstand and adjusted the lamp so its light wouldn’t shine in sleepy eyes.

“Now, who’d like a story?” the truthseer asked.

And didn’t see that a moth clung to a rafter, busily taking notes.

“Your sister wants the boy to keep up his training, sir.”

“Not here,” Bannan snapped. “Not that.”

Tir gave him a look that said plainly as speech he wasn’t about to take responsibility for defying Lila Westietas and anyone who did was a fool.

Fine. He’d no problem with either. Bannan put the practice swords and helms aside, leaving the boys’ wooden pipes on the pile of goods to take home. “Semyn can keep up his music.”

“A grand help that’ll be, fighting for his life.” His friend took a look at his face and added a placating, “Sir.”

Bannan closed the pack, resting his hands on the top. The boys, brimming with excitement, hadn’t stayed indoors long, determined to meet the other children. For the moment, he and Tir had the Morrill house to themselves, Devins being at the dairy, and he shouldn’t waste it. He looked up at the man who knew him—and his sister—better than any now alive. “Lila’s gone to Channen.”

“And a week’s pay says she left when we did.” Tir’s blue eyes regarded him. “What’s to happen, Bannan, likely has by now.”

His fingers tightened on the straps. “I know.” He gave a helpless shrug. “I have to trust her.”

“Oh, wouldn’t go so far as that, sir. Wasn’t it your sister who paid our trusty Ruthh to sew you inside your bedroll?”

And a challenging morning-after that had been. Bannan half smiled. “True. Any word from Kydd?”

“Aie. You were right—t’was no soldier’s luck. Metal’s Naalish starstone, worth ten times what’s in the wagon. Parchment’s blank—meant for a name, is his guess.” After a grim pause. “Can’t say as to the vial, or the proper words, but Kydd says—well, sir, he fears it’s a wishing to force obedience. Not that he believes in wishings, sir, but it being Naalish—” Tir let his voice trail off meaningfully.

“It’d be real magic,” Bannan finished for him.

“He thought so, yes. To use on the heir, would be my guess.”

Implying someone who knew Semyn: a child, yes, but not one to be easily manipulated, not Lila’s son. The rot in that house— “No wonder Werfol was so angry.” At Tir’s puzzled look, he added, “He has the gift.”

Tir straightened from his slouch so quickly he spilled his tea, muttering an oath as the hot liquid found his hand. “Heart’s Blood. Sir! I didn’t know—I wouldn’t have—”

Rare to see the former border guard tongue-tied. “Peace, Tir. Werfol’s here now, and I’ll teach him what he needs to know.” Bannan reached over to put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Thanks to you, whatever they’d planned—to force Emon’s hand or use Semyn—has failed. That Naalish magic was involved is a clue we can give Lila and Emon when they come for the boys. I could pity those who plotted against them.”

“No. Sir.” Grim and final.

“‘Could.’” Bannan picked up the pack, slinging over a shoulder. “I’d best get these back. I’ve promised the boys a visit with Frann after lunch, and they’ll want dry clothes.” Along with Covie’s advice on feeding the pair, he’d soon need advice on winter laundry. Ancestors Dazed and Domestic. He supposed baths would be next.

Tir nodded. “Good lads.” He lifted a leg and flexed the ankle, waving his wrapped foot. “I’ll be in boots any day, sir.” A wink. “And there to help.”

“Just be sure you’re healed first,” Bannan warned, then smiled. “Help will be most welcome.”

“One more thing, sir, before you go.”

The truthseer paused at the door. “Yes?”

Tir scratched at his beard, a habit when perplexed. “Yon idiot beast’s acting stranger than usual. Are you sure the lads are safe ’round him?”

Nothing was certain about Scourge, but Bannan couldn’t imagine—then he thought of the bloody snow, and could. “I’ll have a talk with him.”

“Best you do, sir. Before we have to explain to the baroness.”

“I would not harm the boys.” The breeze found him by the fountain, sly and cool along his jaw, proving there was no such thing as privacy when Marrowdell’s other inhabitants took an interest.

As they had in Werfol and Semyn. Bannan couldn’t see Scourge; he didn’t doubt he was being seen. “Listening at the door, were you?” he said, continuing on his way. “Or did Devins’ toad tell you? Rude, that is.”

“Mine.”

More than possessive. With one word, Scourge drew a line and claimed sole right to what lay beyond it. This was new.

Was it dangerous?

Despite now-serious misgivings, Bannan kept to his pace, doing his utmost to appear unconcerned. After all, he’d all the winter to work everything out, including the kruar, who’d not hesitate to challenge everyone or anything, including a dragon.

But not, Bannan thought with a lighter heart, Jenn Nalynn. Let winter do what it would, he’d family and love.

As well as the surprise that had everyone talking. Ompah for the Midwinter Beholding Feast.

Marrowdell seemed to hold its breath, the next handful of days, as if to allow everything—and everyone—to settle into place. Like the rest of those used to winter, Jenn found herself eyeing the sky, though there was no sign of another storm.

Like the rest, she found herself often at the Treffs’, though not usually for long. Frann slept and Lorra brooded, a combination that saw Cynd and Davi taking tea with the Ropps more often than not, and made it difficult for anyone to linger.

The only ones unaffected by weather or illness were the children. By their second afternoon, Jenn smiled to see Werfol and Semyn playing with Cheffy and Alyssa, the latter having finished their chores. By the next, the four were doing those chores together, much to the delight of Wainn’s old pony who’d not been so fussed over in years. Meanwhile, Tir had not only donned boots and easily walked to Bannan’s and back, but shortly after moved his belongings into that now busy household.

Day followed day. The only guests Lorra Treff welcomed were Bannan’s nephews. She’d sit with Frann to hear Semyn play his pipes, for he was a talented musician and well schooled, and listen, with unanticipated patience, as Werfol did his best to read from books beyond his age.