Call of Brindelier (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 3) (22 page)

“It was,” I start, but I can’t finish. “I had to,” I try again, but the words don’t come. The scene is sharp in my memory, but try as I might, I can’t form an explanation. I can’t tell my father why I gave up the sword he forged for me and how I ended up with this one. I understand he’s not meant to know, but it still hurts me to be forced to keep such a thing from him. Instead I offer it to him, hoping somehow it’ll mend this sudden rift between us.

He reaches to take the handle and his hand goes straight through it. His eyes snap to mine and narrow. He tries again. The pommel is solid and perfectly weighted in my palms. As real as any sword can be. But when Da reaches for it again, it’s like an apparition. Any hope of quelling his mood is destroyed as he looms over me, absolutely seething.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he growls. “What are you playing at, Azi?”

“Da,” I try hard to choose the right words to explain. “You know that I’m pulled between two places. I’m not like you. Cerion is my home, but I have responsibilities elsewhere, too.” I try to sound calm, but my voice is shaken.

“You are a Knight of His Majesty’s Elite,” his fierce tone makes me shy away. “Your allegiance is to Cerion and King Tirnon first, Azaeli. His Majesty is wracked with grief over Eron. Over the son I executed. He’s wild with rage over the attack on the High Court. He’s got twenty different edicts about what should be done to stop it from ever happening again. One moment, he wants to ban magic and close the Academy. The next, he’s looking for someone to blame so he can start a war. Nobody can talk any sense into him. Not his advisors. Not even Mya.

“Meantime, the kingdom is losing faith in the throne. Murmuring about an uprising. Half of them don’t think he’s fit to rule anymore, you see? He lost too much control. Strange happenings outside the city gates, and no orders to investigate them. The guild, we’re on edge. Ready to jump up at any command. Ready to defend the palace, if we need to. Meantime, we have to be guarded! From what? Don’t ask me. I have no idea what’s going through his head. Then he sends that summons for you! And you come strolling into the hall, oblivious to all of it, waving around this shiny new f— f— fai— Argh!” he bellows in frustration and slams his fist on the table, rattling the vase of flowers set upon it. I jump. He goes on.

“You belong here, Azi. In service to His Majesty. You are sworn to him. Not some foppish nuts who lure you with magical swords.” His knuckles go white as his fists clench. “First your mother, now you. At least she’s strong enough to resist their sway. You have to do the same, Azi. Stay away from them, or they’ll draw you in. Stay away, or you’ll end up belonging to them. Remember your oaths to Cerion. People are talking about you, Azi. They’re suspicious. I’m starting to wonder if they have something there. Where is your allegiance? Is it where it should be?”

“Da,” his words shock me. I ought to have realized it sooner, really. I should have seen his side. The fairies tried to steal his wife away, they cursed us, they lured me. He could even argue that their influence tainted the prince he was ordered to execute. When I look into his eyes, I see it plainly there. He hates the fairies. He hates everything about them. He despises them, and he sees them in me.

I want to tell him why I was gone. I want to tell him everything I’ve seen. I want to tell him about Margy and her powers, and how much she needs me to do this for her. I want to explain to him my fealty isn’t only to Cerion or only to Kythshire. It’s to both. To the Light. To the Dawn. He can hate the fairies all he wants, but there’s no way to avoid our alliance with them. We have to stand together against the Dusk. If we don’t, everything we know will be overcome with darkness.

I want to convince him I wasn’t being irresponsible. That I didn’t leave him and our guild for nothing. That my allegiance hasn’t changed. I was so sure, in the Palace of the Queen, of my path. Now that I’m home again, my allegiance to Cerion seems more important. Between the two, I feel as though I’m being torn in half. I want to tell him all of this, but the words fail me.

Silently and slowly, I sheath my sword again and shrug into the straps of my scabbard. I try hard to come up with some explanation that will help him see my side.

“The world is bigger than Cerion,” I start carefully. I try to keep my voice calm, like Mum does when Da loses his temper. “And because of that, there is always the risk of a threat. My friends,” I gesture over my shoulder to the hilt of my sword, “have sent me a warning. That Sorcerer in the High Court was just the beginning, Da. There’s a scourge of them waiting, poised to strike.” I close my eyes and press my hand to my helm. A hundred sentences run through my mind before I find the one that I can speak. “If they find what they seek, Cerion will fall.”

“They’re threatening us now? Is that it?” Da starts pacing again. “Of course they would, with the king as he is. They’d swoop in, right when he’s at his weakest. They set all of this up, didn’t they?” His eyes grow more wild with every word. It reminds me of how he was years ago, right after he crossed the border into Kythshire without permission and went mad. I take a step back toward the door.

“You’re scaring me, Da,” I whisper. “I never said they were threatening us, I said there were others. Sorcerers.”

“And where do you think the Sorcerers get their magic, Azi? THEY give it to them!” Da shouts. He takes me by the arms and pulls me close, searching my eyes with his. He truly believes what he’s saying. He hates the fae. He’s justified it. Good or bad, it doesn’t matter. I can’t change his mind.

“I said take off your helm when you’re talking to me,” he whispers fiercely. Already I can see the glow of the Mark reflected in his eyes. I’m certain he’s seen it. There’s no way to explain so that he’ll understand. No way I can argue without him going off on another tirade. No way, except one. With my hands still shaking, I reach up and push my visor back.

I gaze into his wild eyes, gray as steel, flecked with amber and blue as they take in my face. In them I see his pain and confusion over the Mark. I sink deeper into them, and the connection between us takes hold.

The rush of magic fills me up. His breathing slows and calms as our gazes lock together. When I’m sure I’ve made the link, I send my own memories to him. I start at the beginning, when I stood vigil over him during the time he was cursed. I show him Flitt’s light dancing on the wall of our upstairs hallway, drawing me out of his room and into mine.

He tries to move away from me, but I won’t let him. I hold him with gold threads. He can’t go yet. I’m desperate to show him. He has to understand how important my work is with the fae.  I show him Flitt. Her games, her aid. I show him the Ring and the fairies dancing. I show him Margy and Twig in the palace, reading me the first story about the warrior who came to Kythshire. Revealing the prince’s treachery to me.

Da squeezes his eyes closed, breaking the connection. He shoves me away from him and stumbles back against the kitchen basin, panting. I realize my mistake too late.

“The palace. They’re in the palace,” he murmurs. “They’re in the palace, and they’ve got the princess.” His knuckles go white as he grips the edge of the basin. He spins to face me. “How could you know this and never say a word? That was nearly three years ago, Azi! Are they still there? Are they still spying?”

He crashes toward me and grabs my arms again. He shakes me frantically. I see my own face in the reflection of his wide eyes. The golden mark glows sharply as it curls around my left eye.

“Are they still there?” he yells and shakes me.

“Da, please!” I cry, terrified by his reaction. “It’s not like that…”

Someone’s hand slips into mine. Rian. I grip it hard as my father bears down on me.

Rian thrusts his free hand out whispers a spell that settles thick and pink over Da. His eyelids grow heavy and drift closed. His grip on my arms loosens and his hands slide down. He starts to droop to the floor and I catch him.

“Good thinking, Rian,” Mya says as she rushes in. “That was getting out of hand.” Bryse fills up the rest of the doorway behind her.

“I heard yelling,” he says. “Hey, when’d you get back?”

“Just now,” Mya answers for me. “Good that you’re here, Bryse. Get Benen to bed, please.”

Bryse stoops through the kitchen door and comes to my side.

“Thanks,” I whisper shakily to him as I heft Da up.

“I got ‘im.’ Bryse loops an arm around Da’s chest and picks him up with ease. His eyes linger on my face for a moment and he shakes his head and averts them, but not before I notice a flash of the same confusion Da looked at me with just moments before. Tears spill down my cheeks and I wipe at them angrily, wishing with all my heart that I could push away the Mark just as easily.

“Thank you Bryse,” I try to whisper, but nothing comes out.

“Rian,” Mya orders, “go to Lisabella and Donal. Tell them to ride home. Azi, come with me.”

“
See you soon
,” Rian pushes to me, and I feel a kiss on my cheek as his hand leaves mine.

“Quickly,” Mya says, and guides me through the back door.

We slip into the corridor and pass by Mya’s house. I assume we’ll be heading to the palace so I reach up and close my visor again to keep anyone in the street from noticing. To my surprise, instead of leaving the guild hall, Mya stops at Cort and Bryse’s door and knocks.

“Cort,” she calls with an urgency that makes the hair on my arms prickle. The door opens and Cort peers out at the two of us. He’s dressed in a plain sleeveless tunic, short trousers, and bare feet, and his braids are swept back from his face and piled on top of his head.

Without a word, he ushers us inside and closes the door behind him. He kicks aside several unmatched, discarded boots and sandals and leads us to the small sitting area. The only sofa is piled with pillaged sacks, crumpled maps, weapons and empty drinking skins. Cort shoves them to the floor to make room for us to sit, and perches on the arm beside me.

“What’s going on?” I whisper. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been inside this house. It hasn’t changed much over the years, aside from gathering more clutter.

“I’d ask you the same,” Mya says in a hushed tone. “Show Cort your face.”

Cort’s dark brow furrows as I consider it. I don’t want a repeat of Da’s reaction, but it’s not right to keep a secret like this from the guild. Reluctantly, with my heart racing, I sigh and shove my visor up yet again.

As soon as the sight registers, Cort gasps. He stumbles from his seat and rushes to the laundry-ridden stairs, taking them two at a time. We hear him rummaging around upstairs for a while, and then he slides back down the banister, barely touching a step on the way down.

“Where’s Bryse?” he asks.

“Tending to Benen,” Mya replies vaguely.

“What happened to Benen?” Cort asks.

“Later,” says Mya. “Do you have it?”

Cort tucks himself between me and Mya on the sofa. He rests his closed fist on his knee and turns to look at the Mark on my face again.

“All this time,” he says to Mya with a grin of awe, “it was her.”

“Are you really surprised?” Mya laughs softly.

“What?” I sputter, completely confused by the two of them. “What was me?”

“This,” Cort opens his hand to reveal a note that has been folded several times. The tattered parchment seems to glow brightly against his deep brown skin even as worn as it is.

“An old master approached me in Stepstone almost two decades ago. Said he’d pay me well to go to Cerion,” he explains, “for a job. I was happy to take the work and get away from ah,” he glances at Mya, “being a deckhand for a while.”

Mya shakes her head and smiles, but doesn’t say anything to that. We both know the truth. Before he came to Cerion, Cort was a mercenary pirate. That’s why he’s never been knighted even after all of his years in the Elite.

“He gave me this,” he continues. “He told me when the time was right, the golden one would reveal herself to me here. When she did, I was to give it to her.” He nods to the folded note, offering it to me. “Longest job of my life.”

“Me?” I whisper. They both nod, and I take it with trembling hands and unfold it gingerly. Even that small act seems to impress the two of them.

“She opened it,” Mya whispers.

“Can you read it to us?” Cort sits up and leans closer to me.

The words on the page are scrawled in the flowery hand of a Mage. The ink glistens freshly, as though it was written just moments ago. It takes me some time to stop the words from swimming. When they finally seem to settle on the page, I read aloud.

“Champion of Light,” I croak, and the place where the fairy queen’s orb met my forehead tingles softly. “Long have we awaited this moment…”