The Dagger of Adendigaeth (A Pattern of Shadow & Light) (29 page)

My brother lives!

Monsieur L’Meppe gave him an odd look, Julian clapped him happily on the shoulder, and Ean realized he’d spoken the words aloud. He gave his friend a sheepish grin. The day seemed suddenly very bright.

When the costumer was done with the fitting but not with muttering under his breath about last minute demands, Julian and Ean made their way back to the White Forest with Ean in soaring spirits. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this happy. Quite probably it was before his brother Sebastian’s death. That was when the light had faded in his mother’s eyes, and he didn’t doubt his had dimmed then as well.

Sebastian
…it still hurt to remember him. Fynn liked to criticize Sebastian’s dark sense of humor—mainly because it challenged his own—but growing up together, Ean had veritably worshipped his eldest brother, and Sebastian rarely disappointed him. Yes, he’d been proud of his firstborn status, a confidence which had grated on certain personalities, but he’d been wonderfully knowledgeable about all manner of intriguing things and was never too busy to explain something to his inquisitive youngest sibling.

Then there was Trell…ever inventive, with his witty sense of humor and adventurous outlook. Trell had been Ean’s confidant, always willing to dive into any misadventure at his side.

Ean wanted so much to be able to tell his queen mother of the incredible news that Trell lived, but he had to trust that the First Lord had Trell’s interests in hand, as Ramu had said. Miraculously enough, Ean
was
willing to trust to this.

Until that moment, there had been but one man whom Ean trusted implicitly—despite Phaedor’s admonishment not to. That the zanthyr in turn was sworn into Björn’s service went a long way toward convincing Ean that perhaps he could trust the Fifth Vestal as well. He wasn’t quite ready to swear an oath into his service, but he could see the first tendrils of the idea taking root.

And that felt…
right
, too.

“We must be our own before we can be another’s
.”

- Valentina van Gelderan, Empress of Agasan

Over the
course of the next week, Alyneri alternated Healing, resting and eating until one morning she woke and knew that she was fully restored. She felt for the bandages that bound her eyes, eager to be rid of them. Her fingers found the ends and unworked the knot, and at last she felt the cool touch of air upon her eyelids, and then, finally, the light.

Opening her eyes, she blinked into focus on a bedroom much as she’d imagined it. Small but tidy, with naught but a bed, a table and a wardrobe that was built for function, not aesthetics. Its doors were open, and she saw his clothes hanging within, and realized only then that she’d been sleeping all this time in his bed. Where had he been sleeping?

Last, she slipped her arm free of the split and stood up without dizziness. In fact, she felt hale. How much this simple fact represented! She walked to the wardrobe and examined her head in the little mirror inside one door. The faintest scar showed along her hairline, just above her temple. She vaguely recalled being thrown from the coach. It must’ve been quite a blow to split her head so.

And now I’ve healed myself.

Who would believe it could be done?  

She’d just finished doing her best to get a comb through her tangled hair when Yara came in.

The old woman stopped short in the doorway.

“
Sobh bekheir
, Yara,” Alyneri greeted.
Good morning
.

The old woman looked just as she’d imagined, with iron grey hair and deep wrinkles lining her dark eyes. A heavy woolen sweater dwarfed her small but spry frame. “My,” Yara said, arching her sparse white eyebrows, “you look much improved. What magic is this?”

“I…I
am
a Healer,” Alyneri reminded her.

Yara waved a hand at her. “
Pshaw
, and here I thought all this time the two of you were bonding. Who knew you both had it in you to be so sneaky about such a thing as a Healer healing herself?”

“Then…you’re not upset with me?”

She pinned her with a deliberate look. “Why? It worked, didn’t it? We do what we must. Daughters of the sand are strong.”

“Yes,” Alyneri conceded, dropping her gaze. “Yes we are.”

“Here,” said the old woman, coming on into the room. “I brought you something.”

Alyneri took the offered bundle and unwrapped it to find a beautiful dress of heavy silk taffeta in a deep sapphire blue, and a matching cloak lined in velvet. Her eyes went wide as she held up the garments. “Oh, Yara…but—I cannot accept this. It’s too beautiful!”

“To be certain you will,” she returned. “I’ve money to spare on account of that pirate, and as sure as Azerjaiman blows west, the dress isn’t likely to fit me. Such fine silk can’t go to waste.”

Alyneri stared at her, startled by her words, for there seemed too much of coincidence in them. “On account of…what pirate?” 

“That vran Lea character. We had a bargain, and against all odds, he fulfilled his end of it.”

“Do you mean…”  Her mouth was suddenly so dry. “
Could
you mean…Carian vran Lea?”

Yara arched a brow. “Know him, do you? Why am I not surprised?”  Seemingly oblivious to Alyneri’s stunned silence, she took hold of the dress and motioned her to put it on. Alyneri let the woman move her body with numb obedience.

Did such coincidences really exist?

What did it mean that Yara knew Carian? Surely the pirate had interactions with numerous folk, yet instinct told her there had to be a connection.

Yara did up the buttons on the back of the dress and then turned Alyneri around to look her over. “Well, your hair could do with help from fingers more deft than mine, but still,
soraya,
you’re a sight to behold. A fitting gown for a prince’s daughter.”

Alyneri gave her a sharp look.

“Oh yes,” the old woman said, pinning her with a cunning gaze. “You look just like Jair, only blonde.”

Alyneri caught her breath. “You
knew
my father?” What else was the old woman hiding?

“Knew him well, I did, when he was near your age. My father was a scholar and advisor to the Kandori princes. Prince Jair was a handful—as I’m sure his daughter is also, when she’s not recovering from being nearly frozen to death.”

Alyneri braced her cheeks with both hands, feeling them warm as her eyes filled with tears. “Will you tell me about him?” she asked in a small voice full of joy.

Yara gave her a big smile that brightened her wrinkled face considerably and showed a reflection of the youthful beauty she’d once herself boasted. “Of course,
soraya
.”

Alyneri grabbed the old woman in a fierce embrace, letting her tears bear the weight of her happiness. “Thank you!” she whispered, overcome. “Thank you so much!”

Yara chuckled as she returned Alyneri’s hug, and she held her as any mother would, until the force of her emotion had calmed. Pulling away then, she took Alyneri by the shoulders and looked her over once more. “How about we see to breakfast, you and I. If that boy ever comes inside, we’ll have something ready for him.”

“That boy is here,” came his cheerful reply.

“Well then.”  Yara moved to leave as he was coming in, momentarily standing between Alyneri and preventing clear sight of him. But then…

Alyneri felt the world tilt and spin, and everything went black at the edges, all except her view of him.

Oh dear Epiphany!

Her shock was complete. Had her own mother been standing in the doorway, Alyneri could not have been more stunned. She felt the blood draining from her cheeks. She staggered in place, saw him staring at her in shock and concern, and then, somehow finding her feet again, drove herself across the space between them and fiercely into his arms.

“You’re alive!” she cried. Tears fell freely with a joy that was both boundless and overwhelming. She hugged him tightly against her, unable to bring him close enough to assure herself he would not merely evaporate like the apparition he seemed. “
Epiphany’s grace, bless you!
” she cried joyously, not even knowing what she was saying, the words just spilling out of her, “
—oh, thank you! Thank you!
”  She pulled her face free of his shoulder long enough to look into his grey eyes, long enough to see his confusion and dismay, but in that moment caring only that he lived.

He lived!

“
Trell
,” she breathed, barely believing the name was leaving her lips, “it’s really you!”  She took his face between trembling hands. “
Trell!
” she exclaimed again, laughing and weeping and totally hysterical but so full of joy that none of it mattered. “You’re
alive!” 

***

Trell had risen before daybreak, as was his usual wont, and spent the early dawn hours feeding the livestock and tending to Gendaia. Days recovered from her injury, she was eager to roam, so he let her out to graze while he went about his other chores. Gendaia streaked away up the grassy hill the moment he released her harness, but by the time the sun cleared the mountains, she was back and nosing him for breakfast.

All the while he fed and groomed her, he thought of Alyneri. Now that Gendaia was well, there was no reason for him to linger in Veneisea. Yara had long told him she was fine without him—in words not nearly so gentle—and he felt the weight of his agreement with the Mage coming to bear. He still had a message to deliver in the Cairs, never mind his own personal quest, yet…he wasn’t eager to leave.

Alyneri was the issue. He still had not told her of Lord Brantley, and he didn’t trust that the man would’ve abandoned his search. And while he felt reasonably sure Alyneri would be grateful that he’d kept her presence hidden, he wasn’t certain of it. The longer he delayed in telling her about the meeting, the more weight the encounter seemed to gather, such that he feared it would become a huge secret, a blight on their burgeoning path toward mutual trust.

It’s cowardly and selfish
to keep this from her
, he scolded himself as he brushed Gendaia down, but Alyneri had become…important to him, and he feared losing her.

More and more, he thought about the girl on the beach and Alyneri as being one and the same. Every day he cursed himself for giving in to the temptation to romanticize their chance meeting into reunion, yet he felt connected to her in a way he couldn’t otherwise explain.

Now he faced the issue of what to do with her. He dared not leave her where Lord Brantley could find her—the thought of that man laying hands upon Alyneri’s person so enflamed him, he feared for anyone who crossed his path during such moments—but he hesitated to ask her to come with him to the Cairs. Not that he didn’t desire her company; to the contrary, it was concern for her wellbeing that fueled his indecision. What could he offer her but a seemingly aimless quest whose ultimate end was unknown? He couldn’t even offer her his own name, much less a place to call home—at least not right away. It wouldn’t be fair to ask such sacrifices of her, to impose upon her affections by making her into naught but a traveling companion, little better than a camp whore. Surely she had her own future to think of—did she not say she had a Duchess’s rank? Though she mentioned no other man, a woman of her status would not stay unmarried.

Trell resolved to tell her immediately of Lord Brantley and his intention to leave…but still he hesitated from rushing to the task, finding instead other chores to involve himself in rather than face whatever was to come with Alyneri. The idea of leaving her…well, it just didn’t sit well with him.

When his regular morning chores were done, Trell attended to the last thing on his list: a shave. Scraping away at the growth of beard over the washbasin in the barn where he’d been sleeping since Alyneri came, Trell peered at himself in a bit of mirrored silver and decided he wasn’t sad to see the beard go. He’d never really seen himself beneath it, and he didn’t like the feeling that he wore yet another mask when he was already so tormented by the nameless countenance he faced every day.

Thus, clean shaven, Trell stood just inside the barn doors knowing he could delay no longer. He steeled himself to confront Alyneri, and he made his way across the yard and inside the farmhouse bearing a heavy heart. Yara was saying, “…that boy ever comes inside, we’ll have something ready for him.”

“That boy is here,” he answered, mustering a cheerful demeanor he didn’t feel.

“Well then.”  Yara was just leaving the bedroom as he moved to go in, and something in the look she gave him caught his attention so that he was slightly off balance already when he turned to look upon Alyneri—and seemed to see her for the first time.

Without her bandages, without the bruises and contusions and swelling distorting her features…he couldn’t believe it. It was
her
. She was unmistakably the girl from the beach.

And then he saw how her face had paled, and he saw her stagger, and confusion and concern overcame him. He wanted to reach out to help her but felt inexplicably powerless, pinned to inaction by the shocked expression she wore.