The Dagger of Adendigaeth (A Pattern of Shadow & Light) (21 page)

Björn was slicing a pear. “Yes.”

Ean drew in a slow breath and let it out again. The confirmation strangely pained him. “Wholly?”

Björn glanced his way, and the intensity of his gaze was unsettling. “Phaedor is my most trusted companion.”

Ean forced a swallow.
So Raine had the right of it. That much of what he said was at least true.

“Thus did the zanthyr aid you at my behest,” Björn added quietly. “I hope you were benefited by his service.”

“I was—am,” Ean corrected, feeling bruised and bare beneath the Vestal’s acute inspection. He looked down at his lap. “Very much so.”

“To carry the oath of a zanthyr is the greatest of responsibilities,” Björn said by way of acknowledgement. He set down his knife and folded hands in his lap, regarding Ean seriously. “They do not give such oaths lightly. Knowing an eternal creature is yours to command, that even while doing your bidding they’re depending on you to care for their eternity and all this implies—that they must live forever with the choices they make on your orders—this knowledge drives me in my purpose every day.”  He looked at Ean, adding, “It is intolerable to imagine disappointing him.”

“I know what you mean,” Ean muttered, feeling as though he’d done little else. He considered Björn’s words as he stared at his plate. Ean could hardly imagine the zanthyr swearing into service of anyone, much less a traitor to his own race. There had to be much more to the story than he knew—than anyone knew. Björn’s side.

He thought of others who served the First Lord: Franco, Creighton…Dagmar.

Ean drew in a deep breath and asked, “Do all who serve you do so willingly?”

Still regarding him with hands in his lap, calm and relaxed and yet exuding a confidence unlike anyone Ean had ever known, Björn replied simply but with conviction, “I would have no man’s oath otherwise.” The intensity of Björn’s presence was unmatched. It was like sitting next to the sun.

Ean pushed a hand through his hair and looked off over the city toward the mountains.

“Have something to eat, Ean.”

Out of respect, Ean made an attempt at the plate before him, but the food tasted empty, his mind too preoccupied.

Björn watched him intently as he refilled Ean’s goblet for him. “Everything you’re feeling, Ean, is likely in some way justified.” 
Ean gave him a tormented look, and Björn continued, “Often in the past few months the truth was denied you, while in other circumstances you were intentionally misled. Balance is a dangerous game.”

“Forgive me,” the prince countered, feeling frustration welling at the familiar comment, “but it seems terribly convenient, this excuse of Balance.”

Björn broke into a rueful grin. “No doubt it does. In truth it is highly vexing.”  He captured Ean’s gaze with a compelling look as he admitted, “How simple it would’ve been to approach you, explain the situation, tell you how much danger you’re in and from whom and why, tell you how we intend to help you
Awaken
, get your agreement and be done with it.”

Ean’s emotions flew into sudden turmoil again. He knew the Vestal wasn’t making light of his comment, but an undertone of challenge certainly laced his reply. “And why couldn’t you?” he asked tightly.

“In point of fact, that’s exactly what we did—the first time.”

Ean felt the blood draining from his head. “The…first time?”

“Indeed,” Björn confirmed, and the prince didn’t doubt his veracity for a moment.

“And…what happened?”

“You died.”

“I see.”  The prince reached urgently for his goblet. He gulped down the wine, wishing it was a stronger stuff now. “I see…” he whispered again.

All those dreams…memories of dying.

He’d only glibly believed in the Returning. For most people of Dannym, the Returning offered a reason not to grieve. It provided hope for those who remained when loved ones were lost. Even after realizing that he’d Awakened—even after Dagmar had explained that his pattern indicated his own wrongful death—Ean had never connected what that would mean in a broader sense. He certainly had never imagined himself as having Returned…as already having a role in the Fifth Vestal’s game.

Now the idea had become entirely too
intimate.

Björn went back to his meal. “Now the second time—”

“The
second
time?” Ean protested weakly.

“—we were much more careful,” he said, glancing up at Ean under his brows. “We approached you via intermediaries. We helped you come to your own conclusions. You had already Awakened and were eager to use your talents in aid of the realm. You sought us out.”

“But it didn’t matter,” Ean said. It was easier if he didn’t think of this conversation as truly being about him—
in some other life!

“No,” Björn answered gravely. “We had still interfered too greatly. We’d overstepped the Balance again.”

“What makes it different this time?”  It wasn’t a heartening idea to ponder, that his death might already be foreordained by the ultimate checks and balances system of the universe.

“Many things,” Björn assured him.

“I’d like to believe you,” Ean said with a gulp. He felt like a harp strung too tightly, needing only the slightest sharp pluck to snap. “It’s…a lot to take in.” 

“In time, more will become clear.”  Björn observed the prince’s morose expression and reached to lay a hand on his arm. “You have a choice, Ean,” he said in reassurance, his gaze ever compassionate. “Even now, on the brink of a critical juncture in the game… should you choose to walk away, none of us will stop you.”

He didn’t have to say that others might—the Duke of Morwyk,
Malorin’athgul
—that
Balance
might. Ean knew these truths already.

He lifted his gaze to meet the Vestal’s. He thought about the Extian Doors and the certainty that he’d seen them before. He thought about his sense of reunion when Björn had embraced him. He thought of the intensity of his determination to seek Björn out in the early days of his vengeance, even knowing how absurd the idea had been.

“No,” he whispered, turning away to hide the grief that suddenly choked him. He swallowed against a painful constriction in his throat and confessed, “I think I made that choice a long time ago.”

Björn was watching him quietly, resting chin in hand. “So it would seem.”

Ean clenched teeth and cast burning eyes out across the vista again, for some reason really wishing that the zanthyr could’ve been there—if only to ridicule and chastise him. It was easier to face Phaedor’s reproach than the depth of Björn’s understanding.

“But ah…look,” said the Vestal brightly. “What timing you possess, Julian.”

Ean composed himself with effort and turned to find a youth close to his own age approaching. He wore a silver circlet around his longish blonde hair, and he boasted the early growth of a beard slightly darker in hue.

“Ean, may I present
Julian D’Artenis
of Jeune.”

Julian pressed palms together, fingertips to lips, and bowed. “Be welcome, Ean,” he said as he straightened, his words betraying the slightest hint of a Veneisean accent. “I am so pleased to meet you.”

“Julian is also a fifth-strand Adept,” Björn offered. “He’s come to T’Khendar to train in his craft, but today he is simply a guide.”

“Your guide,” Julian clarified brightly.

Ean gave Julian a smile that he didn’t feel. “Well met, Julian,” the prince said soberly. “I fear I shan’t be the best of company today.”

“Not to worry,” Julian answered with a grin. “I was you once, too.”  Then he flashed a grin, adding, “Well…sort of.”

Ean looked back at his plate as if to give his food a regretful farewell, but he was startled to find the plate empty. Only then did he realize that he’d eaten it all. His eyes darted to Björn, whose reply was a knowing half-smile beneath a quietly sparkling gaze. Truly, the man was magical in the fullest sense of the word.

Ean stood and looked down at him. “Thank you, for…well, for everything I guess.”  He didn’t know all the things he was thanking Björn for, and part of him still resisted thanking him at all—that deluded part that still believed the stories, he guessed—but he felt that a show of gratitude was the least he could do.

Björn nodded graciously. “Enjoy your tour.”

Julian clapped him on the shoulder. “Come, Ean. There’s so much to see.”

“
A rose without thorns is too like a shallow heart. One cannot find love without pricking a few fingers.”

- Errodan val Lorian, Queen of Dannym and the Shoring Isles

Alyneri woke
to the smell of
czai
. Because the blindfold still obscured her sight, she imagined morning light filling the little bedroom and tried to envision the farmstead where Yara made her home. She could hear chickens and goats making friendly in the yard outside, and the braying of a mule occasionally disturbed the ordered cacophony. The outside door opened and closed a few times while she lay quietly, and voices floated to her from the other room.

“…concerned for her,” Ama-Kai’alil was saying as he and Yara came inside together. “It’s been too long. I checked on her earlier and her condition still hasn’t improved.”

Alyneri’s breath caught in her throat.
But I feel so much better!

“No better, but no worse,” Yara pointed out.

“Still, she should’ve healed by now. I fear for her. If things don’t change soon…”

Alyneri went cold.
Am I dying?
Had they just been humoring her the other night?

She couldn’t stand the idea of being fooled about her condition, and a sudden determination drove her from the bed. It was something of a challenge sitting up with her injured head and her left arm strapped across her chest, but with persistence she made it upright. As the dizziness faded, she inched her way to standing. Her feet and legs felt stiff, and she noticed new bruises as muscles tensed to support her, but she didn’t immediately fall over again.

Had she not been so driven to understand the ongoing conversation in the other room, she would’ve been quite happy to lie back down and call it a day. Instead, she shuffled toward the voices, right hand extended blindly before her, feeling for the doorway. She made it to the door before they noticed her, but thereafter a commotion ensued.

“Stones for breakfast, but what are you doing up, child!” Yara exclaimed in the desert tongue.

Then, suddenly,
he
was at her side, his arm around her shoulder, supporting her. He smelled like the early morning, like dew and fresh strewn hay, and a little like cinnamon, but that might’ve just been the
czai
tea brewing. She hadn’t had
czai
since before Farshideh fell ill, and her eyes filled with tears at the memories the heady fragrance evoked. But the bandage that covered her eyes hid her tears, and she kept her feelings close so as not to worry the others with things that couldn’t be changed.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed,
soraya
,” Yara said as Ama-Kai’alil helped her into a chair. It felt good to sit down in her weakened state, but it also felt good to be moving around.

“I heard voices,” she said as a feeble explanation for disobeying Yara’s strict orders. “And I smelled
czai.
”

“We could’ve brought it to you.”  Yara still sounded disgruntled by her appearance.

“And I…”  Alyneri caught her lower lip between her teeth and then whispered, “I heard you talking.”

For a moment the conversation paused in confused silence. Then Ama-Kai’alil said as understanding dawned, “You thought we were talking about you.”

Alyneri exhaled with relief. “You—you weren’t?”

“
Pshaw!
” Yara grumbled. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“But then…”

“It’s my horse,” Ama-Kai’alil explained. “She fell lame more than a fortnight ago and doesn’t seem to be getting better. I…”  He hesitated. “Well, I couldn’t bear to lose her.”

Alyneri perked up at the idea of being able to help in return. “You must take me to see her.”

“It’s kind of you to want to see her,” he answered, sounding puzzled, “but we’ve done all we can.”

“
You
have perhaps,” she agreed, feeling a surge of energy fueled by this newfound purpose, “but I am an Adept Healer. Please…let me see her.”

“But
soraya,
” Yara protested, “you’re so weak yourself.”

“I will be careful,” Alyneri promised.

A moment of silence followed, and she imagined they were exchanging meaningful looks. “Well…” Ama-Kai’alil said finally, “if you think you could help…” 

She could feel hope radiating off of him. “Will you guide me, Ama-Kai’alil?”

“Just a minute there,” Yara said. “You’ll not be going anywhere until you’ve put some food into that little body—you’re like to float away on the slightest breeze, so tiny you are.”