The Soul Weaver (6 page)

“I just found the right person, someone willing to take on an exceptionally important duty, where he'll most likely never need to lift a finger.” Karon moved across the room to the sideboard, where he began pouring wine. “We'll assume he'll acquire no glory here.”

I stared for a moment at his back as if an explanation might be scribed in the silver embroidery adorning his black doublet. Able to read nothing in Karon's posture, I switched my scrutiny to the newcomer. “Welcome to Verdillon, sir. As my husband says, may you have no occasion to find glory at arms here.”

The young man made a graceful bow. “I'm a glory-shirker, madam,” he said. “Never have decided what rhyme the Singers would put with my name: meal, deal, seal. Very unwarlike, ineloquent rhymes.”

The young Dar'Nethi's face was pleasant and open, his fair beard and mustache neatly trimmed. Pale brows and lashes framed eyes of the usual Dar'Nethi blue that sparkled with good humor. But why in the name of sense would Karon choose the kinsman of Men'Thor and Ustele, who in four long years had shown him nothing but hostility?

Tennice excused himself, saying he would summon Gerick and inform Teriza we had guests. Radele accepted a seat on the long couch near the hearth, but Karon remained on the far side of the room, leaning against the sideboard. He seemed exceptionally subdued, especially in contrast to his animation of the previous night. The hospitality of the evening was clearly left to me.

I took a seat beside Radele. “So are you a poet, sir, knowing so much of rhyming?”

“No poet, my lady, certainly not. My mentor was forever berating me for my lack of memory, and offered constant suggestions for my improvement, including setting important reminders into verse . . .” With much animation, Radele began a long story of a rhyming spell he'd made as a boy. “. . . though he at last gave in, for the winter was bitter cold in the western Vales that year. But the master never could wear the hat without breaking into tears at the memory of his cat.”

I could not stop laughing at his tale. Even so few moments' conversation revealed Radele to be as charming in manner as in appearance, entirely unlike Karon's reports of his dour father and grandfather. The young Dar'Nethi promised to be a delightful addition to our household.

The young man's good humor was going to be a necessity, of course. Gerick wasn't going to like having a Dar'Nethi bodyguard. Not at all.

As I was still smiling at Radele's story, Gerick hurtled down the stairs, stopping in the foyer to run his fingers through his hair and pull a tight, rust-colored jacket over his beige cambric shirt. Then he stepped into the sitting room, bowing first to Karon and then to me. “Good evening, my lord. Mother.”

Karon nodded to Gerick without speaking and took another sip of his wine.

Radele rose from the couch. Sober, expressionless, Gerick stood waiting by the door, looking first to his father and then to the visitor. Lest the awkward silence grow lengthier, I took up the introductions. “Gerick, may I present Radele yn Men'Thor yn Ustele? Your father has brought him to stay with us for a while. Radele, this is our son, Gerick yn D'Natheil.” Dar'Nethi conventions included paternity only through living forebears, else Gerick's lineage would have been a bit more complicated.

“My lord.” Radele bowed, his palms extended in the Dar'Nethi custom of greeting. I could find no fault with his respectful address or posture though neither seemed particularly warm. “A pleasure to meet you at last. I glimpsed you last night on your visit to the palace—your first, I think—but the Prince whisked you away before we could be introduced. Everyone in Avonar is anxious to make your acquaintance. I shall be the envy of the city.”

That everyone in Avonar was anxious about Gerick was no doubt true. But I didn't think it had to do with making his acquaintance. Gerick was the Prince of Avonar's son and successor, acknowledged by the Preceptorate of the Dar'Nethi. But that acknowledgment had occurred before Gerick had stepped into a spinning, man-high brass ring called an oculus and become the Fourth Lord of Zhev'Na. Despite Gerick's subsequent repudiation of the Lords, I could not imagine that the Dar'Nethi loathing for the Three of Zhev'Na would ever permit Gerick to sit Avonar's throne. But for the moment, Karon chose to proceed as if Gerick were his heir, saying that his own beliefs and deeds must stand as Gerick's advocates with his people.

Gerick did not address Radele, just inclined his head in a minimal politeness and removed himself to the farthest chair available while still remaining in the same room with us.

To my relief, Tennice returned just then, followed by Paulo bringing a tray of refreshments from Teriza. Further introductions and greetings left Radele engaged with Tennice. As I showed the tall, skinny youth where to set the fragrant tea, cold ale, and plates of various sweets, fruit, and cheeses, I whispered. “Stay, Paulo. I think Gerick would appreciate it.”

“If you say, ma'am”—he kept his voice low as I had done—“but I'm not dressed for company.”

I tugged at the red scarf he wore tied around his neck over his well-worn russet shirt and work breeches. “You very well know that you are welcome in our house at any time whether you're wearing a loincloth or a ball gown.” He grinned and snatched a jam tart.

The dusting of freckles across Paulo's thin, ever-sunburned face was almost the only reminder of the lame, illiterate boy from Dunfarrie that fate had embroiled in our adventures six years ago. Karon had healed his twisted body, and in return the shy youth had saved Gerick's soul. His lanky frame now towered over Gerick and me. Paulo had turned eighteen this summer, a young man now.

As I had anticipated, Paulo gravitated to Gerick's side, sitting on the floor beside Gerick's chair and stretching his long legs across the tight-woven carpet. While Radele sat between Tennice and me, listening appreciatively to Tennice's stories of growing up as the studious middle child between two rowdy brothers, the two youths munched on Teriza's cakes and pastries. Gerick murmured a bit to Paulo, even extracted a smile and a few words from him, but he never smiled himself, and he made no effort to speak to any of the rest of us throughout the evening.

Despite Tennice's humorous monologues and Radele's witty ripostes, Karon stayed apart as well. He sat in a chair close to the door, resting his chin on a closed fist. My attempts to involve him in the conversation were met with a monosyllable at most. Yet his attention never wavered in the slightest from the company. Every time the talk slowed, the air felt oppressive.

All too quickly Karon rose. “I need to get back.”

His movement drew all of us into activity. While Tennice advised Radele about breakfast and washing water and the other facilities of the house, the two boys crammed the last of Teriza's pie into their mouths, piled up the dishes, and carried them off to the kitchen. I went straight to Karon.

“What's happening here?”

Karon took my arm and drew me farther from the others into a window alcove. “I'm sorry, I can't explain. I've got to go”—he spoke so quietly that no one else could possibly have heard—“and I must speak with the boy for a moment.”

“But—”

“Seri, be very careful. Please. Listen well and observe.”

I wouldn't let him leave it at that. “Listen to what? Karon, why ever did you bring Men'Thor's son here?”

“Because I need someone honorable, someone capable, and someone whose heart is not engaged with me or my family.” I started to protest again, but he pressed one finger to my lips. Then he kissed my hand, pressed it fiercely to his brow, and spoke out over my head. “Gerick, could you walk out with me?” His hand brushed my shoulder as he walked toward the door, giving Radele a stiff, wordless nod at the same time.

“Of course,” said Gerick. He set the last cups and plates back onto the table from which he'd just taken them and followed Karon into the front courtyard.

I peered through the window as they stood talking for a few moments. A serious conversation. Brief. Gerick folded his arms across his chest and watched thoughtfully as Karon strode into the distance and vanished.

I wouldn't have been half so worried save that, throughout the entire evening, Karon had never once looked me in the eye. Something terrible had happened. I just didn't know what.

 

Gerick had nightmares again that night. When I hurried to his bedchamber, I found Radele, sword drawn, examining the windows and doors and flicking the draperies aside as if expecting to find a cowering intruder. But only the moonlight had passed through the diamond-paned windows that overlooked the sleeping orchard . . . only the moonlight and whatever it was that violated a young man's dreaming.

“All seems secure,” Radele said, when Gerick's cries were aborted by his waking. “Is there anything I can do for you, young sir?”

“You can remove yourself from my bedchamber.” Gerick did not even look at Radele. He grabbed his breeches from the foot of his bed and drew them up over his leggings, tucking in the rumpled shirt he had worn to bed.

Radele didn't move. I smiled halfheartedly at the Dar'Nethi and nodded toward the door. Expressionless, he bowed and left the room.

“Gerick—”

“I'm sorry to have waked everyone,” he said, pulling on his boots as if he couldn't accomplish the task fast enough. “But I don't need anything. Certainly not from him.” He planted a cold kiss on my cheek and hurried out, taking the stairs two at a time, leaving me alone in the moonlit bedchamber.

I sighed and smoothed his blankets, then followed him into the passage. Before returning to my own bed, I stopped at the stair landing where Radele slouched in a shadowed nook. He had one knee bent, the foot planted on the wall behind him, and was peering out of a small, round window that looked down on the stableyard. “Radele, I must apologize for my son's rudeness. As my husband likely told you—”

“Don't trouble yourself, my lady,” he said, straightening his posture at my approach. “It is not my purpose to ingratiate myself with your son or to judge my success by his attentions, only to guard those who live in this house as my prince has commanded me. Watching and listening are my truest talents.”

“Your sword was most efficiently drawn,” I said.

The young man grinned, his white teeth gleaming in the darkness. “My sword knows no place to be save in my hand. I've lived the sum of four and twenty years, ten of them on the walls of Avonar, watching and listening to prevent the cursed Zhid from slithering over. I'm not one to sit at leisure while others take action.”

“Watch well, then. Good night, Radele. And thank you.”

“Good night, my lady. Sleep well. You've nothing to fear.”

I did not sleep well. Not that night or for many nights after. The weather turned beastly, with hot, heavy air in the mornings that boiled into violent thunderstorms in the afternoons. Neither Gerick nor Radele volunteered to enlighten me as to the concerns that had brought Karon back to us so soon. I was so angry at being left out of the mystery that for days I refused to speak to either of them about Karon or his visit. Then I was furious with myself for being so rock-headed.

After a week I swallowed my pride and mentioned to Gerick that his father had not told me what was bothering him so sorely. Perhaps he had indicated something in those few moments before he left?

Gerick colored a little. “He made me swear not to repeat anything he said . . . even to you. I'm sorry. He said it was for your safety.”

I spent that afternoon beating the sitting room rugs that Teriza had hung outdoors to air. Teriza swore the things were only half their original thickness when I was finished with them.

Everyone in the house suffered from ill humor as well. I berated Gerick for his continuing rudeness to Radele and snapped at Teriza over nothing until she threatened to leave us. Gerick threw down his books and stormed out of the library in disgust at a burdensome assignment, and swore that he would start sleeping in the stable if Radele entered his bedchamber one more time. Tennice argued with a sullen Paulo over his late rides with Gerick. And Gerick had nightmares three more times that week, each episode more severe than the last. Soon every voice made me start, every closing of a door demanded investigation. If something didn't change soon, we were going to kill each other.

Only Radele seemed unflappable . . . when one could find him. He kept out of sight in the corners or the shadows. I had thought he would bring new perspectives to our conversations and lend his good humor to our company, but he never joined us at table or lessons or our evening gatherings. Though Teriza swore he came to her table for meals and even lent a hand around the kitchen while there, I could not have vouched for it.

One morning after I stumbled over him lurking in the garden, startling myself out of a year's life, I asked him in exasperation if he wouldn't come out from the shadows a bit. “You're welcome to use the library, eat with us in the dining room, sit with us in the evenings. Tennice is a masterful chess player. Paulo keeps finding broken-down horses that turn out to be race-worthy, and Gerick thinks a day worth getting up for if only someone will race with him whether on horseback or on foot. The two boys know the countryside like their own hands and would enjoy showing you. You've no need to stay apart.”

“Though your company is a pleasure, of course, my lady,” he answered, “I've no interest in games. And I doubt I would find anything of interest in your library, just as you'd find nothing suitable for you in the libraries of Avonar.”

Perhaps it was the course of the week that made his answer so annoying. “I believe I'll find many things of interest in your libraries.”