The Dagger of Adendigaeth (A Pattern of Shadow & Light) (47 page)

Trell remained somber as he joined the others for dinner, finding Alyneri, Fynn and four others already assembled next to the long dining table when he entered. The tallest of the strangers had stormy grey eyes, a thin, flaring nose, and dark brown hair that was held in place by an earl’s bronze circlet. With his reddish beard and broad frame, he reminded Trell somewhat of a lion.

But he didn’t seem the least bit fearsome in the moment that he turned to Trell and their eyes met, for Trell saw a flash of raw emotion cross the older man’s face, and then he abruptly fell to one knee, pressed his fist to his chest and dropped his head. The other three men followed, looking equally stricken. “My prince,” said the first man, his voice gruff with emotion.

Trell felt dismayed.

“Trell, this is Rhys val Kincaide,” Alyneri said, coming to his aid. “He is the Captain of the King’s Own Guard and has been a faithful member of our company since we left Calgaryn. His men are Dorin and Cayal, loyal to your father, your brother, and the kingdom.”

“Well met,” Trell said, adding “please…” that they might stand instead of remain so bowed, which only heightened his discomfort. “I would that we might not keep such…formalities.” He gazed uncertainly at Rhys. “I have been long from my father’s kingdom, long from such titles.”

“Through treachery alone, my prince,” Rhys returned as he and the others regained their feet. His voice was impassioned and still raw. “Surely no fault of yours.”

“Be that as it may, I would rather we stood as equals in this company.”

Rhys looked affronted by the idea, but he didn’t argue outright. Trell supposed that was as much as he could hope for from such a man.

“And this is
Brody the Bull
,” Alyneri introduced the last man among them, who seemed aptly named. “He is Fynnlar’s traveling companion.”

“Not for much longer if I can help it,” Fynn complained, shooting Brody a dark stare.

“He can’t,” Brody returned. “I serve his father, Prince Ryan.”

“Just because I haven’t figured out how to be rid of you yet doesn’t mean I won’t eventually,” Fynn grumbled. He looked to Trell and brightened. “Now we’re all buddies again, cousin, let’s eat.” He sat down without waiting for anyone else and started attacking the roasted turkey.

“Have you somewhere to be this evening, Fynnlar?” Alyneri asked as Trell helped her into her chair and then took his own.

“As a matter of fact I do, your Grace,” Fynn replied around a mouthful of poultry. “It’s anywhere other than where I am expected.”

“I see,” she said, though she clearly didn’t.

“It’s because of the pirate,” Brody supplied. He took a seat at the head of the table, the better to keep an eye on Fynn.

“That bloody pirate is the bane of my existence,” the royal cousin complained. He drowned his mouthful of turkey with a long drink of wine, belched and explained to Trell between bites, “Carian’s got a cousin named Haddrick, who I’ve never gotten on with particularly well, being that he and I like the same sort of plunder.”

“The easy kind,” Brody noted.

Fynn shot him a sooty look. “Anyway…Haddrick is in town while his ship, the
Ransom
, takes some minor repairs. It seems in all the melee, our esteemed friend Carian missed a meeting with his cousin at the Nugget down on Faring West, and the man has been hounding me relentlessly for news of him ever since—as if
I’m
somehow to blame for his bloody cousin being a Nodefinder and going wherever in Belloth’s nine hells he wants.”

“Can’t you just tell him you don’t know where Carian went?” Alyneri asked.

“That’s sort of the crux of the problem,” Fynn complained sourly.

“Haddrick is a truthreader,” Brody supplied.

Alyneri looked shocked. “A
pirate
truthreader?”

“Jamaii has a right to its Adepts the same as any other kingdom,” Fynn retorted indignantly. Then he frowned again. “But because I do have an idea of Carian’s whereabouts…”

Trell was beginning to see the problem. “Have you taken some sort of oath that prevents you from speaking of what happened at the temple, cousin?”

Fynn gave him a grateful look. “See, I knew you were more than just a pretty face.”

“Yes, I get that a lot.”

“But forget Haddrick. I’m more interested in what we’re to do with you.” Fynn eyed Trell inquisitively.

Trell glanced to Alyneri, and they exchanged a look. They hadn’t made it that far in their own discussions. “I would like to meet my father,” Trell admitted, looking back to Fynn.

“His Majesty would want that too,” Rhys said.

“That’s just as well,” Fynn mumbled into his wine. “The king’s gone to the parley in Tal’Shira, which would appear to be quite a bit safer for you than good ole Dannym these days.”

“Why?”

Fynn gave him a long-suffering look.

“Don’t tell me,” Trell remarked, eyeing him dubiously. “Another oath requiring silence?”

Fynn drank his wine, apparently unable even to comment.

Alyneri gazed at him in astonishment. “Fynnlar, did the Fourth Vestal truthbind you?”

He shot her a frustrated glare. “As if I could
answer
that!”

“He did,” Brody confirmed. “Otherwise Lord Fynnlar would’ve blabbed to everyone.”

“I know how to keep a secret!” Fynn protested indignantly.

“So long as it’s bound with the fourth,” Brody agreed.

Trell felt the strangest flutter in his chest at this phrase. He took a drink of wine to settle it—though it didn’t seem to help much—and asked, “What does it mean to be truthbound?”

“The fourth strand of
elae
compels the energies associated with thought,” Alyneri advised. “Tanis spoke to me in depth as he was learning of these patterns. Truthreaders have the knowledge to bind men’s thoughts behind veils of compulsion that prevent their speaking of certain events or even of memories that may encompass many years.”

“Years?” Trell repeated uneasily.

“Fourth-strand bindings are tricky, vicious things,” Fynn said grimly. It seemed he was able to talk about the subject in general, so long as it didn’t concern him specifically. “Not as vicious as fifth-strand bindings, I’m told,” he added then, “but bad enough that I don’t care to experiment with the fifth to believe it could be worse.”

“How are they vicious?” Trell asked, though he had the uncomfortable feeling that he already knew the answer quite intimately.

“They lay these things on you,” Fynn grumbled, clearly speaking from experience now, “in such a way that they can make you forget entirely the thing they’re binding you against in order to protect it during interrogation. If someone were to question you the wrong way, you could forget
years
of your life—”

The idea claimed all of them at once. Everyone turned and stared at Trell.

He barely noticed their appalled looks, however, for he was hovering at the edge of a dangerous truth. He could almost see it…but it blurred behind a billowing cloud of volatile energy. Just looking at the cloud made him ill.

“Oh gods,” Alyneri whispered. She took his hand and stared at him, understanding too well what this meant. Yet the truth revealed as many new doors as it had opened old ones.

“Mayhap my uncle, your father, can shed some light on this,” Fynn advised, sounding uncharacteristically sober.

Trell wasn’t sure what he thought about any of this—about seeking answers from the king, about going to Tal’Shira—right into the heart of the enemy’s stronghold. But if he meant to reestablish any sort of relationship with his father, did he have a choice?

“We’ll need the services of a Nodefinder to get to Tal’Shira by the Sea,” Fynn noted. “Being that tomorrow is the start of three weeks of Carnivále—during which the whole damned city shuts down to better drink themselves into a stupor—it may take me a few days to find one willing to take us there.”

“I think we could do with a few days,” Alyneri murmured, to which sentiment Trell heartily concurred.

***

After dinner, Trell walked Alyneri back to her rooms. She felt strange returning there, where the memories of the night of Ean’s accident lingered so vividly. Because the evening was fair, Alyneri led them outside, but walking out onto her balcony immediately brought images of the zanthyr scooping her off her feet to fly through the air…of Ean lying broken in the earth—a vision that still brought a latent shudder—and later…of the zanthyr healing her, of the tingling feeling of his lips on hers…

Trell placed his hands on the railing and gazed out over the gardens. “It’s lovely here,” he said in the desert tongue.

Alyneri came to stand beside him. She knew the gardens were the last thing truly on his mind. “I would help ease your mind if I could,” she offered, using the same tongue. It was starting to feel like their own private language.

He gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you. I believe that.”  He leaned elbows on the railing, his grey eyes intense as he gazed into the night. “My mind is overfull these days,” he remarked, shooting her a rueful look. “If a
djinn
offered to magically alleviate my most troubling thought, it would be a challenge to select just one.”

Alyneri caught herself staring at him—at the angular line of his jaw, the way his lips always seemed just on the edge of a smile. He was too handsome for his own good…or at least for her own good. How incredible that
Trell val Lorian
actually stood beside her. She had to pinch herself for the heady excitement that accompanied the recurring realization.

“Trell,” she said, forcing her gaze away out of common decency, “why do you think the Emir kept your identity from you?”  

He turned her a quiet look. “A good question. I’ve been thinking on it also. I have a feeling he must’ve known my life was in danger.”

“From the accident?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. The Emir’s Spymaster is a formidable man with a vast network at his disposal. There is very little occurs in the realm that he’s not aware of. If anyone were to know the details behind the sinking of the
Dawn Chaser,
t’would be him.”

Alyneri gazed at him in wonder. “You think the Emir felt you would be safer at war than returned to your own family?”

Trell gave her a grim look. “That is my suspicion, yes.”

“It’s so strange to try to think of him as an ally,” she confessed, but upon noting Trell’s concerned frown, she added, “though I believe he was certainly an ally to you.”

Trell shook his head, his gaze deeply troubled. “My father allies with Radov abin Hadorin. I cannot begin to tell you of that man’s crimes.”

“I don’t think the king willingly maintains the alliance,” Alyneri admitted. “The kingdom is quite divided over it.”

“Truly?”

She shrugged. “No one likes the idea of sending brothers, fathers or sons to a war in a kingdom of heathens,” and she grimaced at the statement.

He considered her gravely. “Heathens…like you? Like your father?”

She nodded, feeling the sting of barbs sunk too deeply to extract, even after so long. 

“Well, that’s something at least,” Trell murmured, reflecting on her earlier comment. “Radov…” he said tightly then, his expression dark. “The man sent monsters after his own daughter because she dared to love a boy without his consent. He allies with the Prophet and lets Saldarian mercenaries commit horrific crimes against his own people. I cannot imagine ever supporting such a man under any circumstances.”

Alyneri drew back. “Trell, are you saying…” She stared at him. “Radov is allied with the Prophet Bethamin? Surely not!”

He gave her a long look.

“But…are you certain?”

“Unequivocally.”

Alyneri felt a welling sense of protest and fear, close associations with her own experience as much as knowing the evil Bethamin represented. “Trell…” she said significantly, holding his gaze, “his Majesty would never support Radov if he knew he allied with the Prophet. Your father has forbidden Bethamin’s supporters from even entering the kingdom,” wherein she added darkly, “though they certainly seem to snake their way in somehow.”

“If he heads to a parley in Tal’Shira, he will no doubt discover the truth soon enough.”

Alyneri let out a tremulous sigh. “Such troubling times,” she whispered. He wrapped an arm absently around her shoulders and pulled her close, making her feel simultaneously protected and cherished.

“While traveling with Ean,” she offered quietly as she looked out over the darkly gleaming bay, “it felt like it was just us against this evil force out to get him, but I see in truth that entire kingdoms are reverberating with discord. It’s like a great gong has been rung, trembling the world, sending angry ripples everywhere.”

He exhaled a contemplative sigh. “The realm is out of Balance, and magic is dying.” 

She turned to him, startled. “What do you know of Balance?”

“Little enough in truth, but those who are in a position to know of it have spoken to me. Balaji said Balance often requires great subterfuge, and Vaile and the others were very concerned about the Adept race dying. They said this is what the Mage worked to correct.”