A Thread in the Tangle (12 page)

“Did she accept?” Marsais asked.

“Sara dined with him on her galleon under a flag of parley.
 
She said he was the most dangerous man she’d ever met—like a dragon who had been trapped in a man’s body.
 
His name is Hsien, and his slightest movement set her bodyguards on edge, but to my sister—” A sumptuous smile curved the nymph’s lips.
 
“—he was an absolute gentleman and the most charming man she’d ever come across.”

“Definitely dangerous,” Marsais agreed.

“Perhaps when I’m sold, he’ll waylay my escort and come for me,” Isiilde said, excitedly.

“Oh by the gods, I’ve forgotten about the fanciful imaginings of innocent young women!” Marsais exclaimed.
 
“I wouldn’t wish pirates on you, my dear.
 
They aren’t near as charming without a fleet of soldiers with you.”

“What should I imagine?” Isiilde snapped, narrowing her eyes.
 
“How wonderful it will be when I’m sold to the highest bidder?
 
I suppose I’ll get to see something of the realm on my way to his bed.”
 
The nymph rose fluidly to her feet and stalked down the beach.

“Isiilde!”
 
Marsais called to her back, but she ignored him.
 
He rubbed the bridge of his sharp nose before climbing to his feet to follow.
 
The long-legged Archlord caught up to the teary-eyed nymph in no time.
 
“Forgive me, my dear, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he offered, soothingly.

“It’s not you, Marsais.
 
Oen was right.
 
I was fine until Caitlyn came, and then Sara arrived, but she left and after—with you gone—” Isiilde trailed off, wiping her tears roughly away.
 
A wave crashed on shore, crawling towards their feet, and she let the freezing water rise around her ankles, stinging her wounded toe and making her legs ache.

“I’ve had ample time to think of my future and I’m no seer, but as far as I can tell it all ends pretty much the same.
 
I snuck into one of the restricted libraries to read about nymphs.
 
There weren’t even any pictures, Marsais, just a lot of foul rulings by the Blessed Order and none of them ended happily for my kind.
 
I wish I hadn’t read about it,” she finished miserably.
 
Tears rolled off her cheeks, dripping into the sparkling waters, swirling with the tide until the water subsided, rushing away to join the vast ocean.
 
At least a part of her would be free, she thought, but it gave her small comfort.

“I see,” Marsais said, and he did, far more than she realized.
 
“You have changed—grown in my absence.”
 
Isiilde glanced down, studying her body, as she puzzled over his statement.
 
Her legs were still slender and her breasts small, of which she suspected Sarabian had stolen all of those familial attributes.

The nymph tilted her head up in question at the towering Archlord.
 
“I have definitely not grown.”
 
She did not even reach his shoulders, unless of course, Marsais had shrunk.

“Your awareness,” he explained, although it didn’t explain much.

“Are you making fun of me?” Isiilde asked, suspiciously.

“No, my dear, I would never.”

“Awareness of what?”

“Nymphs live in the moment.
 
They seldom ponder their past or take the time to consider their future—or for that matter, the present,” Marsais muttered the last.
 
They also didn’t like being sad, so she shrugged, dismissing the entire subject.

“At least I’m safe for another year or more,” she added, looking on the bright side.

“Hmm, so is that why?”

“Why what?”

“Even for a faerie this is an impressive stack of mischief,” Marsais admitted, holding up her letters of misconduct.
 
Isiilde glared at the letters, hoping they’d catch on fire.
 
Her ears perked up at the thought, but wilted just as quickly when she realized there wasn’t any fire about.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
 
Since that blasted, cold-handed hag left I haven’t been able to do anything right.
 
My legs have been itchy.”

Marsais pursed his lips in thought.
 
“You’re going to have to explain that one, my dear.”
 
She gestured impatiently towards the ocean as if that were explanation enough.
 
Marsais arched an impatient brow, waiting for her to continue, which she did, when her frustration finally boiled over.

“This is an island, Marsais!
 
Oen has taken me everywhere, even to the Alderwood.
 
It was cold.”
 
Isiilde moaned in memory.
 
“Everywhere is cold, except your study and with you gone I didn’t even feel like going there.
 
I think I replaced one dungeon for a slightly bigger one.
 
I know I should be thankful, but—” She fell silent when she realized all the trouble the Archlord had had persuading the Nine to let a nymph live on the Isle, which was to say, he used his authority to grant her permission, and now she was whining.
 
To say nothing of Marsais’ decision to accept her as his apprentice.
 
His choice had caused a considerable stir in the Order’s ranks.

Marsais’ position as Archlord had been jeopardized and still was, but the ancient seemed unperturbed by the feathers he had ruffled, or the long deliberations that followed.
 
In the end, the Nine had narrowly allowed his choice, but only because Marsais had a long list of unorthodox apprentices, including Oenghus, a Nuthaanian Berserker, which was not only unheard of, but had resulted in training one of the Order’s most gifted Healers.

As a result, Isiilde was either tolerated, or openly despised by the other Wise Ones.
 
And for the ones who didn’t fall into those two categories, she was viewed as a fascinating oddity.
 
Nymphs were rarely seen; their owners kept them secluded, safe from covetous eyes.
 
Therefore she was like some rare breed of animal who could hold a conversation.

“But that’s how you feel,” Marsais finished, softly.
 
Isiilde nodded, feeling foolish beneath his wise eyes.

“Will you promise not to leave again?” she asked, suddenly, full of hope and yearning.

“I can’t make that promise, Isiilde.”
 
The tips of her ears wilted, and her heart twisted at the bluntness of his reply.
 
“Hmm, but I have something that might cheer you up.”

Isiilde followed him back to his leather rucksack and waited while he rifled through the contents.
 
All of his bags were more than they appeared.
 
His entire arm disappeared inside the small leather pack as he searched the enchanted space—a useful enchantment for any traveler.

Years ago, Isiilde had crawled inside to explore the spacious weave, but she had quickly regretted her choice when she found herself in a dark, cluttered area with no obvious way out.
 
Luckily, Oen had walked in just in time to see her foot disappear and promptly dragged her back out.

“For you,” Marsais said, handing her a heavy velvet pouch.

“A present!” she exclaimed, brightening with simple pleasure.
 
“You mean you thought of me while you were gone?”

“Of course, my dear.”
 
She accepted the pouch and sat down, holding it with reverent awe.
 
“Although I agree that it’s a nice pouch, you may want to look inside.”
 
Marsais crouched beside her and she opened it to reveal a flawless, palm-sized orb.
 
Flowing runes decorated its vibrant blue surface like a sea of rippling waves.
 
One rune in particular caught her eye.

“What’s this one?”

“Memory,” he explained.
 
“You must weave that rune over the top of the orb to activate the enchantment.”
 
Isiilde did as he directed, gasping in excitement when the inside started swirling like a whirlpool.
 
She gazed into its hypnotic depths and was soon lost in a vision.

She stood on a high hilltop, overlooking a sparkling bay that stretched to the distant horizon.
 
A sprawling city hugged its protected shores and ships of every kind dotted the crystal waters; Mearcentian trade galleons, swift clipper ships bearing the white flag of the Isle of Winds, and sluggish warships moving between them like hulking titans.
 
A bright, white palace with spiraling towers crowned the highest hill and named the bustling port as Whitemount—the power and throne of Kambe where she had been born.

“To change the memory, simply touch another rune.”
 
Marsais’ voice drifted to her ears through the vision.
 
She focused on the feel of the cold orb in her hand, which promptly brought her back to the present.
 
She touched a random rune and another vision swirled into focus, intensifying until a tusked mammoth lumbered into view, grazing on the tall, swaying grass of a vast plain.

Isiilde had never seen a mammoth before, save for a sketching.
 
She marveled at its size, as sturdy and fearsome as any stone wall.
 
Reluctantly, the nymph pulled away and looked up to her rangy white-haired master with tears in her eyes.

“I thought you might be getting restless.
 
I’d like to take you off this island—” Marsais’ voice became suddenly hoarse, and he paused, composing himself before continuing.
 
“But I can’t.
 
This is the best I could do, so whenever I saw something I thought you might like I saved the memory—my memories.”

“It’s beautiful.
 
Thank you.”
 
Her whispered words seemed inadequate for such a gift.
 
No one had ever put so much thought into something for her.
 
Isiilde reached forward to give Marsais a hug, but he stood abruptly, smiling down at her instead.

“I always thought a gift should do its receiver justice, but for you, my dear, everything falls miserably short.”
 
Isiilde tilted her head, confused by his behavior.

“Now then,” Marsais said, rubbing his nimble hands together with anticipation.
 
“I wonder what to do with a certain nymph and her various acts of misconduct.”

“You could rub her feet!”
 
The edges of his lips twitched at her suggestion.

“Hmm, somehow, I don’t think that will satisfy Thira’s anger.”
 
Isiilde whimpered softly.
 
“Answer me this—did you intend to harm Crumpet?”

“Lord Kulthin made a rude comment,” Isiilde blurted out in a weak attempt to distract him.

“Kulthin is an egotistical bastard,” Marsais snorted, waving dismissively.
 
“He’s too proud to admit that a nymph took a jab at him, an accurate one, I might add.
 
However, I’m referring to Thira.
 
Now, she is a formidable woman and her charges against you aren’t light, Isiilde.”

“Are you asking as my master, the Archlord, or my friend?”

Marsais’ eyebrows rose sharply in surprise.
 
“Hmm, what an intriguing question. One that I freely admit has roused my curiosity—not a common occurrence, that.”

“It seems to happen often enough with me,” Isiilde pointed out, to which he did not argue, but held up a long, graceful finger, and continued in a stern voice that he only summoned for the gravest of matters.
 
“First, as the Archlord.”

“I did not do it on purpose, Archlord.”
 
She bowed her head, but failed to stifle a giggle.

“Now as your master,” he grinned.

“Crumpet attacked me, I gave him ample warning, but I still didn’t do it on purpose.”

“And your friend?”
 
This was a careful question.

“I don’t know what happened, Marsais,” she moaned.
 
“I swear it on whatever you hold sacred.
 
I just wanted him to leave me alone and the next thing I knew he was on fire.
 
I didn’t feel very bad though—if that matters.”

“Hmm.”
 
Marsais gazed out to sea for a long moment.
 
“Well, I was inquiring for my own curiosity.
 
I doubt Thira will care if it was an accident or if you had been plotting the attack for a month, however, as your Archlord, master, and most especially your friend—I’m happy to hear it wasn’t intentional.”

“What’s going to happen?”

“Unfortunately, since I’m both your master and the Archlord, I will have to punish you.”
 
The nymph whimpered and scooted backwards when he started rifling through his rucksack.
 
“Oh, by the gods, Isiilde, have I ever hurt you?”

“I’ve never set Crumpet on fire before.”

“An excellent point,” Marsais admitted, returning his attention to the contents of his pack as he absentmindedly mumbled his thoughts aloud.
 
“Hmm, let me see—a suitable punishment for a faerie—no strawberries?”
 
She squeaked in dismay.
 
“Waking up at the crack of dawn perhaps?”
 
He looked up in question and quickly shook his head.
 
“No, no, that’s far too lenient.”