Echoes in the Dark (9 page)

The
man spoke in halting English. “Ven yu dun, she weel take yu Singer.” He pointed
rudely at the maid, whose eyes flashed, but she bowed her head.

Jikata
nodded again and continued eating, said nothing to his raised brows. He swept
from the room, followed by the housekeeper, who sent a last look around the
chamber and lowered her own brows in a stern gaze to the younger maid.

With
a sideways glance at Jikata the maid stood tall and sang a perfect round C. The
door swung shut.

Jikata
choked.

6

Marshalls’
Castle

L
uthan didn’t
sleep well. So he rose early and mounted his volaran, flew to the Abbey. There
he told Jongler of the evening with the Exotiques—an abbreviated report for the
Singer. As a courtesy, he would have to keep her informed, but he wouldn’t be
blindly following any orders.

Jikata
wasn’t awake, but he flew close to her window, startling a maid, to see her
sleeping peacefully in luxury.

Luthan
flew back to the Castle surrounded by the Songs of his good friends Alexa,
Marian and Jaquar, his brother and Powerful volarans. He rolled his shoulders,
it felt like a great weight had fallen from them. He was no longer the Singer’s
Representative to the Marshalls and the other segments of Lladranan society.

He
was free.

He
hadn’t felt so carefree since he’d left home at seventeen and run wild.

Of
course he’d been honored to be the Singer’s first Representative in ages, but
that had tarnished over the two years he’d served her. Smudging his honor, too,
he thought.
That
was why he’d been so angry with her, with himself.
After he’d set his wild ways behind him, he’d been spoken of as the most
honorable man in Lladrana. He’d earned the title, and he’d liked it. Been
prideful of it. A trait to be proud of.

Now,
once again, he’d have to mend some relationships with people who’d grown
distant, specifically Marrec Gardpont and his wife, the Volaran Exotique,
Calli. He’d missed the chance to become closer to his godmother and godfather,
they’d died in battle a couple of months before. The ache of the loss of them
still swept through him now and again.

They
all descended to the Landing Field at the Marshalls’ Castle. For a moment
Luthan wondered if he should move his rooms from the Noble Apartments back into
Horseshoe Hall, where most of the Chevaliers lived. But though the baths of the
Hall were the best in the Castle, the building was busy and noisy. Luthan much
preferred quiet. When had he grown staid? The thought stung.

But
Alexa was hugging him and murmuring in his ear, “I’ve never actually known you
when you weren’t the Representative of the Singer. Now you can kick up your
heels like Bastien told me you used to do.” She was gone with a wink before he
could do anything but stare after her.

Bastien
snorted laughter and elbowed Luthan in the ribs. “Those days are long gone, eh?
I’m the rebel and rogue now.” He swaggered after his wife.

It
was a bright, sunny day like they hadn’t seen most of the summer. Luthan’s
vision blurred and he
knew
now that the last Exotique had arrived, the
weather would be sunnier and warmer.
She
had brought something to the
planet of Amee that it had lacked.

Hope,
perhaps.

A
belief that the alien Dark battening on Amee and leeching life from her
would
be destroyed.

Frail
humans would kill the Dark, and many of them would die doing so. Luthan had
little hope that he’d survive, thought Alexa and Bastien felt the same way, so
they were doing their best to enjoy every moment. Song grant them joy.

A
throat clearing attracted his attention, and he glanced over to see Marian’s
considering gaze on him. As usual, her bondmate had his arm around her waist.

“Ayes?”
Luthan asked.

“Just
wondering if you noticed that your streak of Power over your right temple has
widened?”

He
hadn’t looked in a mirror that morning—he rarely did.

“And,”
Jaquar continued smoothly, “your left temple has a definite streak now.”

“Hell,”
Luthan said.

“Must
be the effects of the Caverns of Prophecy,” they said together. Both blinked
then beamed at each other as if cherishing the way their minds meshed.

Luthan’s
shoulders tensed. He handed the reins of his volaran to his squire with thanks,
then turned back to the Circlet couple. “I suppose you think that means my
prophetic Power will be stronger, come more often?” His voice was rougher than
he wanted. He shrugged to unwork a kink.

Both
Circlets nodded. Marian stepped forward and brushed a kiss on his cheek. “Take
care, and tell us whatever you want us to know.” She made sure squires tended
their volarans, then took Jaquar’s hand and they strolled toward the lower
courtyard of the Castle.

Dread
uncurled in Luthan’s gut. His Power was increasing in potency and intensity,
wouldn’t be going away no matter how he neglected it. He’d have to accept the
talent and use it—a lesson he hadn’t wanted to learn.

He
strode toward the Assayer’s Office and Upper Ward beyond. The Exotiques tended
to avoid the Assayer’s Office with the mounted monster body parts on the walls,
and usually a horror or two laid out on the counter ready to be “processed,”
like for the stupid hat that Bastien had designed and was now all the rage.

Faucon
Creusse intercepted Luthan. He suppressed a sigh. The man was frowning,
radiating irritation. Faucon was one of Luthan’s friends with whom he hadn’t
been completely honest while he’d worked with the Singer. Luthan stopped and
bowed elegantly, dropping his eyes, a bow requesting forgiveness that Faucon
would understand. “I am no longer the Singer’s Representative, I am sorry for
any slights when I was under her hand.”

“Forgotten,”
Faucon said on an exhalation.

Luthan
straightened, met his friend’s gaze. “She didn’t inform me of what she knew or
guessed about the Seamasters secret Summoning of Raine. Had she done so, I
would have acted.”

“We
all would have acted.” Faucon shifted his feet.

“How
is Raine? She seemed tense last night. The farthest volaran flight for her yet,
right? Not much to see of Lladrana in the dark.”

Faucon
hunched a shoulder. “She’s always tense around me.”

The
man didn’t want to acknowledge the attraction between them. Luthan didn’t blame
him. Loving an Exotique was dangerous to the heart. Yet Luthan didn’t need a
vision to tell Faucon and Raine belonged together. That was obvious to anyone
with a little Power. Luthan had once prophesied that Faucon would have a love
worthy of a bondmate—that blood ritual that tied people together for life and
death—and Raine was Faucon’s woman.

Perhaps
Faucon was ignoring the growing link between them because once Raine finished
her task of building the Ship, her Snap would likely come and she would
probably decide to return to Earth. Luthan hesitated, then decided not to
meddle. Restraint from “fixing” others’ lives was all too rare, especially by
and for the Exotiques. Everyone wanted them here, wanted those who had not
committed to Lladrana to stay.

Luthan,
himself, would feel much better if Raine captained the Ship on the trip to the
Dark’s Nest, and didn’t vanish back to Exotique Terre.

“Aren’t
you going to ask how the Ship progresses?” Faucon said.

“The
Ship will progress as it needs to, in the amount of time it takes,” Luthan
replied and frowned. He could understand how long it took for others to accept
their gifts and their tasks, but had been impatient with himself. But he wasn’t
the only one. Those Exotiques were trying to push and fix again. He wondered
what sort of culture they came from that they hurried so. Or perhaps it was the
hard circumstances looming over them all. That could agitate anyone.

Faucon
grunted. “You’re a better man than I am, thinking about Raine instead of the
Ship. Or thinking about her first.”

“I’m
not as involved with her as much as you.”

“I’m
not involved with her at all!”

“But
you need to be,” Luthan said, his turn to prod. “You are the closest thing to a
Seamaster that she can trust. If she needs advice, you must provide it.”

“Suppose
so,” Faucon said grumpily. “I came to ask of the new Exotique. Will she stay
for the battle with the Dark?”

“I
don’t think she has any choice,” Luthan said.

“Damned
shame, but our need is too great.”

“Ayes,”
Luthan agreed. He saw a larger number of Chevaliers loitering around the Landing
Field. The Assayer’s Office was unusually crowded, too, with people
eavesdropping. No one interrupted the pair of them until they were crossing
Temple Ward to their suites in the Noble Apartments. A tall, broad-shouldered
man rose from a sunny stone bench. Koz, Marian’s brother, once a Chevalier, now
a mirror magician. He’d moved from Horseshoe Hall to the Noble Apartments. He
could easily afford them.

“The
new Exotique?” Koz asked.

“With
the Singer,” Luthan said.

At
that moment the Castle klaxon rang in a short pattern that meant “Meeting in
Temple Ward for all Chevaliers and Marshalls.” The siren could be heard all the
way to Castleton, so Chevaliers in the town—and any Exotiques there—would
arrive soon for the discussion.

Koz
turned to Faucon, rubbing his hands. “I’ve got some ideas about putting
transdimensional mirrors in Raine’s father’s and brothers’ houses so she
doesn’t fret as much.”

“She
always frets. Doesn’t like to be asked about the Ship design,” Faucon muttered.

“We
don’t want an unhappy Exotique who must still perform her task. She’ll be
distracted.” Koz sounded cheerful at the challenge.

The
klaxon stopped and the quiet was wonderful, then people began filling the
courtyard.

“I
wonder if the Singer will be keeping her Exotique happy,” Koz said.

Singer’s Abbey

J
ikata stood
before a carved and gleaming wooden door that rose in a pointed arch several
feet above her head. Everything she’d seen in her walk from her rooms to this
soaring round tower was on a scale larger than Earth human. And a feeling was
rising through her that she really wasn’t on Earth. But everyone was treating
her very well. For her mental health, she’d consider this a resort.

There
were buildings as small as a ten-foot airy pavilion of embellished gothic
arches, and as large as a huge square stone tower, and something like the
chapel at King’s College in Cambridge, England.

At
least she hadn’t gaped open-mouthed. Stared, yes. Everything was surrounded by
a high stone wall, equally white, as for a castle or a college, a city in
itself. The whole place spoke of immense effort over ages. Like for a king, or
queen.

Or
the prophetess of a country.

The
maid had told her that much, despite Jikata’s wariness. The Singer was
the
oracle of the country. She had the magical skill—Power—of prophecy.
Everyone
listened to her, came for personal Song Quests and more, the woman did
quarterly Songs on the future of Lladrana. Then the maid had shut up. She’d
left Jikata here. Everyone in the castle-keep-like building wore jewel-toned
colors at the dark end of the spectrum, and the maid wore yellow. Jikata had
deduced the clothing indicated rank.

This
door led to the Singer’s “most formal” personal apartments, the most
impressive. The Singer had been impressive enough last night with her four-octave
voice, commanding people right and left, including one very impressive man in
white leathers—a Chevalier, a knight, the maid had said. Not a Singer’s Friend
who lived in the Abbey compound.

Jikata
herself wore her own underwear and a long, midnight blue robe that slid over
her skin like the silk it was, embroidered in what appeared to be real gold
metallic thread around the long bell sleeves and the hem. The dress fit
perfectly, which made her nervous.

She
was alone. Chasonette, the mind-talking bird—that was the only strange thing
Jikata would accept—had flown away as soon as they’d stepped out of the
building into the bright summer day. Jikata wished the cockatoo back.

“Entre!”
demanded the
melodious voice of the Singer from beyond the door, apparently deciding Jikata
had paused too long.

The
door opened and a golden room dazzled her. A woman took her arm and drew her
forward. Jikata blinked. The focus of the room was the Singer, who sat on a
throne so encrusted with shining gems that the gold could hardly be seen. The
throne was much larger than her small form. But she commanded the room by her
manner, the depth of her dark brown eyes and the Song that filled the room even
when she herself was silent.

Sound
overwhelmed Jikata—the woman holding her arm had a strong one, there was
another servant hovering by a silver tea cart in one of the octagonal corners
of the room, her blue robe nearly matching the deep blue silk of the walls.
Jikata could hear a melody coming from her, too.