Covenants (56 page)

"But—" I broke off with a smothered yelp as Captain Suiden kicked my ankle. Hard.

"Dragoness Moraina has also laid claim to Rabbit," Captain Suiden said, ignoring my grimace of pain. He indicated my cuff links and sapphire and diamond pin. "Her favors.”

"You are incredibly connected, Two Trees'son," the Fyrst remarked. He turned his black gaze on Suiden. "I don't see that Cyhn and any other claims on Two Trees'son are mutually exclusive, Your Highness. Besides, Cyhn will preclude harm as by that I have claimed Rabbit as part of my household, with all the protections it entails.”

"Then I remove my objections, Sro Fyrst," Suiden said, now stepping on my foot as I opened my mouth to protest. He shot me a side glare, then looked back at the Fyrst. "As long as it's understood that it's just for the training of Rabbit's talent.”

"So understood," the Fyrst agreed. He gestured and a clerk arose from one of the lower tables. Heads craned to watch as he hurried forward, silence falling over the hall as he reached our table. The Fyrst rose, motioning for everyone else to remain seated, looking down at the clerk. "Note in the Acta that Wyln, the Enchanter of Elanwryfindyll, will stand as Cyhn to the human male, Rabbit—"

What little noise there was ceased.

"—son of Lark and Two Trees, and close cousin to Jusson Iver'son, King of Iversterre.” Wyln stood up, holding his goblet of wine. "I so agree." He looked down at me, one brow raised. I could've just sat there and damned the Fyrst, Her Grace Molyu, and the Enchanter for their forcibly adopting me.

Unfortunately, that would also damn me and everyone with me to whatever hell His Grace chose to cast us into, along with any chances for peace. I slowly stood holding my own goblet, telling myself to just stay lost next time, no matter if there were a hundred Faena trying to show me the way home.

"I so agree," I echoed.

"Fiat," Wyln and I said and lifted our goblets, draining them.

"Fiat!" thundered the hall, as the Fyrst's household, along with His Grace, raised their own cups and drank. I looked away from Eorl Pellan's stare as he lowered his goblet to the other side of the Fyrst, only to meet the wide-eyed gazes of my uncle and Chancellor Berle, while Laurel looked inscrutable. The Faena shifted his eyes from the Fyrst to me, and nodded, raising his goblet again. I looked back to Captain Suiden and was startled to see his faint smile had returned, reminding me once more of honored Moraina—when she had dined particularly well.

"Good," the Fyrst said. His Grace started to sit down, but hesitated, shooting a look at me. He then turned his head back to the clerk. "Also note that Rabbit, son of Lark and Two Trees, is agreed to not threaten his Cyhn with knives or other sharp objects. Fiat.”

"What the hell did you do?" Uncle Havram barked as soon as our chamber doors closed behind the chamberlain, his blue eyes blazing at Captain Suiden.

"It's another layer of protection, sir," Suiden replied. He gave the same damn faint smile, his clan markings vivid in the candlelight. "Apparently His Grace was already set to give Lieutenant Rabbit over to Sro Wyln's care. I just negotiated a bit.”

"Negotiated!" Uncle Havram barked again. "And when you're ready to leave and they say that Rabbit is theirs and has to stay?”

"The Fyrst has said that the lieutenant is ours in all but his talent. Sro Wyln is to only see to his training.”

"There's sometimes a vast difference between what's said and what's done, Your Highness," Lord Esclaur said, looking worried. "Lord Rabbit's the king's close cousin and thrice sworn liegeman. If they hold him hostage—”

"It's fosterage, Lord Esclaur," Suiden said, "with specific terms and limitations, the foremost being that it ends when—”

"When the one being fostered comes of age," Laurel finished, a bird-eating grin on his face, "or otherwise shows that he does not need a master. Which we'll do when the High Council meets. This is very good, honored captain. Very, very good.”

"I'm glad someone's ecstatic about it," I muttered. I moved to a window and stared out at the night.

"Sirs, did you see the lady who sat on the Fyrst's right?" Groskin asked.

"His wife, Her Grace Molyu," Laurel said, one ear cocked towards the closed door, and I idly wondered who was standing outside listening in.

"Yes, Ambassador. But Her Grace's eyes were gold.”

"While it's not as prevalent as black eyes," Laurel said, "it's not an uncommon color among the dark elves.”

"Oh," Groskin said. Then his face changed as he realized what that said about King Jusson. He then slid a glance at Falkin. In the reflection in the window, the first lieutenant looked even more like a northern elf, missing only the warrior braids on either side of his face.

"We have all changed," I said, shifting my gaze to the waxing moon against the dark of the sky. "And nothing is as it seems." I desperately wanted to be preparing to bunk down in my old cot in the barracks at Freston, away from all the austere splendor of the Fyrst's keep.

"The Fyrst will not allow you to be harmed, Rabbit," Laurel said, his image joining mine in the glass. "Nor will the Enchanter. It's a matter of honor—especially since you were removed from the Magus' care because of his, hmm, carelessness with the messenger bird. They would not want to have to admit to the greater offense of abusing their fosterling.”

I shrugged, more out of resignation than any desire to be contrary. By and large, the Faena was right. As the Enchanter was part of his household, the Fyrst, in essence, declared me kindred, with all the protections that a family member was entitled to. Of course, that also meant that I was subject to the rules of his household, and I had a certain morbid curiosity as to how that would play out.

The next few days passed quickly, with the Iversterre embassy staff setting up temporary quarters in our minihall. While none of the elfin eorls came visiting, there were plenty of high ranking clerks and officials dropping by, some on legitimate business and others because they wanted to make sure we hadn't scratched our names into the keep's walls. Chancellor Berle—minus Lord Esclaur— was summoned to a private session with the Fyrst two mornings later. She was gone a couple of hours and came back wearing her game face, murmuring that it was a typical first meeting when asked by Captain Javes. But.I noticed her staring into space a time or two, a crease etched between her brows. However, the Fyrst must've summoned Chancellor Berle back as she disappeared again a couple of days later, this time escorted by Eorl Pellan. I watched her go, hoping that the chancellor wouldn't say or do anything that would challenge the commander's honor or his sense of protocol, both very touchy subjects for elves.

But I hadn't much time to ponder the chancellor's concerns as my days passed in a whirlwind that was occasionally broken by islands of calm: a time alone with Uncle Havram as he spoke of growing up with my da, morning prayers with Doyen Allwyn, escaping with Groskin and Jeffen down to the barracks to hang out with my mates, and mealtimes. For, having been put on display the first night, we all were relegated to our common room for our meals— all except Captain Suiden. Or Prince Suiden, who apparently had once stood very close in the succession to the Amir of Tural. Or, again, I thought, watching him follow the chamberlain to another dinner with the Fyrst, maybe still did. Despite her own private meetings, Chancellor Berle frowned as she also watched the captain leave, miffed at His Grace's preference for a lowly Freston mountain patroller—no matter his antecedents—over an emissary of the king of Iversterre. But another thought crossed my mind as I caught the green of Suiden's eyes as he left our chambers—it just might be that the Fyrst's favor had nothing to do with anything so human.

But if the captain-dragon-prince was absent from our dinners, the Enchanter Wyln was not. He showed up with our breakfast the first morning and didn't leave until after my night meditations. During that and the subsequent days, he and Laurel worked together as they drilled me in lesson after lesson in working the talent.

"And again, Rabbit," Laurel said, catching my wandering attention. Wyln, murmuring about being indoors on such a fine morning, suggested that we hold the lesson in one of the castle's terrace gardens. It was indeed fine outside, being Midsummer's Eve, and we sat on stone seats around a stone table, the sun warm against my back. All around was a riot of flowers against a pattern of flagstone paths in the grass, stone edging along the borders, and towering trees. Jeff was relieved for the time being, as Captain Javes was at another stone table playing chess with Doyen Allwyn. Honor Ash, Basel, and the unicorn sat under a large oak, disinterested for the moment in my doings. The wind blew around, fluttering the feather that Laurel insisted that I continue wearing, then was still.

At the Faena's command, I cupped my hands and concentrated on letting them fill with the same bell-tolling resonance I had felt when I'd fought the djinn storm.

"Control it, Two Trees'son," Wyln said.

I worked on dampening all reverberation except in my hands.

"Good. Pour in as much as you can," Wyln said.

My hands began to sing, tone layered over tone, as their edges blurred.

"Now, let go," Wyln said.

I took my hands away and a small swirling sphere hung in front of me, ringing a deep chord that echoed within me. I smiled as the wind once more brushed across my shoulders, and the sphere dipped, then rose again to face level.

"Excellent," Laurel purred.

"Yes," Wyln said. He cupped his hands and in a moment a sphere of flame crackled as it hung next to mine of air. Laurel laughed, but instead of cupping his paws, he inscribed a circle before him with an extended claw. I watched as it rounded out with browns and greens, pulsing with life as measured in suns, moons and seasons. Basel's haunt rose from under the tree and came over on delicate stag's legs.

He pushed his transparent nose against the sphere, and I smelled rich loam and sweet grass.

Wyln watched the stag. "It's odd that the haunts prefer Two Trees'son to you, Laurel."

"Yes," Laurel said, "it has me puzzled." He also looked at Basel playing with the earth sphere. "At first I thought it was because the moon soldier was a friend who was killed by the same one who tormented Rabbit.”

"But he's a White Stag, the Lady's harbinger," Wyln said. "He should be even more attracted to your aspect than the normal haunt." He watched Basel a moment further. "He is strongly attracted, yet he has joined himself to Two Trees'son.”

"Despite my aspect and despite me being Faena," Laurel said. He shifted so that he could see Honor Ash and the unicorn. "All of them, even the cats, even Honor, have chosen Rabbit.”

"You were born in the fall, Two Trees'son?" Wyln asked, now looking at the air sphere.

"Yes, honored Cyhn.”

"Well, that matches." Wyln gave a slight frown. "One would think, though, that you'd have come into your full power also in the fall."

"It isn't unknown to mature out of season," Laurel said.

'True," Wyln said, though he was still frowning. "Rare, but not unknown.”

"You were born in the summer, honored Cyhn?" I asked, watching his summoning.

Wyln extended his finger to allow the fireball to rest on it. "Yes, and in the summer I came into my power. The time of the sun's ascendancy over the earth. Of growth, ripening and the promise of plenty.

Of wild revelry, hunts, and courage. The forge of ordeals, refining and purification.”

"Balanced, he's the crucible, the heart beating strong, the joy and strength of a people," Laurel said.

"Unbalanced, he's as willfully fickle, greedy, and malicious as a overindulged cub.”

Wyln actually grinned. "Yes, well, we won't talk about what you are unbalanced, Faena.”

"Necromancer," Laurel said. He glanced at Basel and sighed. "It's just as well that the moon folk prefer Rabbit, no? Having so many all at once would be a sore temptation to cross into areas I shouldn't."

I shivered, remembering tales of earth mages turning into necromancers and how even the dead weren't safe. Then I remembered other stories—and how Kareste's ice shard eyes had glittered at me in the Fyrst's hall. "I've heard water mages are even more dangerous when they turn.”

"Not more dangerous, Rabbit," Laurel said. "But they do bear keeping an eye on.”

"Oh, yes," Wyln said. "Born in the dark of winter. The time of storms and reclusion. Of austerity and the spirit ascendant over flesh. The keeper of time and measurements, lord of illusions, the mirror image, of dreams. Balanced, a water mage is the judge, the master builder, the merry trickster, the storm bringer.

Unbalanced—" Wyln frowned again. "The worst of the dark practitioners have always seemed to be water mages, as they're so flaming good at the details." The frown smoothed out as he looked at me.

"Now you, Two Trees'son—”

"Laurel has already told me, honored Cyhn" I said quick, hoping to forestall being named a bard and maybe a request for a song.

Laurel chuffed. "So I have.”

Wyln ignored both of us. "Balanced, a warrior in song and battle, sword upraised defending the hearth, the lord of harvest and plenty, of wine, rejoicing and dance, of remembrance, of farseeing. Unbalanced, a dread lord."

I blinked.

"Don't worry, Two Trees'son, you're very balanced," Wyln said, "and we will keep you that way—”

The Enchanter stopped and turned his head, as did both Captain Javes and Laurel, the cat's ears pressing forward. I turned my head also and, after a moment, I could hear the distant sound of trumpets.

"The High Council members have begun to arrive," Laurel said.

"Now?" I asked, startled. "We still have more than a week, don't we?”

"For the formal Council meeting, yes," Laurel said as he held out his paw. The earth sphere came to rest on it, gently dissipating. "But there's a lot of politicking that goes on both before and after. Besides, they may be here for Midsummer's Eve revelry." His ears flicked back and he sighed. "We'll stop for now so we can prepare ourselves for the summons that's sure to come.”