Call of Brindelier (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 3) (35 page)

“Is that a Dusk fae?” I whisper.

“A spirit,” Valenor replies. “Do not be alarmed, but I believe it to be Osven.”

“Great,” I mumble. “Just what I needed. Leave it to a Sorcerer not to stay dead.”

I slip a knife from my bandolier and palm it. Not sure why. Dub has me beat with knives. Celli’s probably stronger than I am now, after whatever they did to her. And who knows what kind of damage a Sorcerer’s spirit can do. I hesitate with my hand on the latch. This is stupid. Brash. Even for me. I shake my head. Think of Errie. Unlock the bolt and push the door open. Step inside.

Nothing. I pull the door closed behind me. Hesitate. Wait for an attack. When it doesn’t come, I start toward the hatch. Dub grabs me from behind around the shoulders. I grip my knife and raise it, then make a show of dropping it on the floor. It clatters in the dust. Celli comes and picks it up.

Dub chuckles. Presses one of his blades to my throat. “Don’t. Move,” he hisses.

Celli creeps into view, holding my knife. She looks me over.

“You made him bleed,” she says quietly to Dub. “Master won’t be happy with that. We’re supposed to make friends, aren’t we? A truce, Tib. How about that?”

“A truce?” I choke under Dub’s grip.

“Loosen up a little, Dub,” Celli says. “Just so he can talk.”

He does, but not much.

“I’ll come with you,” I say. “I’m tired of being scared about who’s next.” I glance at the shimmer of a form beside her in the darkness. “When that Sorcerer showed up at Nessa’s…” I shake my head. Hope I’m convincing. “I won’t let that happen again. They’re too powerful to fight. If they promise to leave my friends alone, I’ll do what they want.”

Celli narrows her eyes. She looks at me hard. Fingers the bracelet on her wrist. The shimmer whispers something. I can’t really hear it. It’s all jumbled.

“He’s not lying,” she scoffs. “That sounds exactly like the Tib I know. Self-righteous. Overprotective. The big hero.” She waves Dub away, and he lowers his knife.

“You’re in charge, Celli. If I had my way,” he growls into my ear, “you’d be dead.” He shoves me toward her.

“You take him back,” he says. “I’ve got other orders.”

“Master didn’t say anything about other orders,” Celli glares at him.

“They weren’t for you to hear,” Dub spits. His good eye looks me over. Bores into my healed one. He sneers angrily and utters a string of curses. Then he turns and yanks the door open and slams it behind him.

Celli grips my arm hard. Leads me to the far corner. Pulls something from her pocket. Presses her hand into a carving in the wall. A carving that wasn’t there before. I can’t really see what she’s doing. It’s too dark.

“Repeat after me,” she says. “Sparrow and fox, boar and perch, foreshine, forewarn, induct, destroy.” She glances at me. “Asio.”

I do as she says. Repeat the words. I have no time to react. Something creeps over me. Tendrils. Magic. It grabs me and pulls me into the wall, and then I’m falling like when Rian takes me through the Half-Realm, only faster. More violently. We crash to the floor before I can brace myself, and I gasp for the breath that was knocked out of me.

The room is circular, with a pinpoint window all the way at the top of a high dome. I roll to my side and pant as my ability to breathe comes back. Look around. The floor is a starburst, gold and black. The walls are alcoves. Three. Six. Two pedestals have bottles on them. Bottles of glowing liquid. Four are empty. My heart pounds. Of all the rooms she could have brought me to, what were the odds we’d end up in this one?

I try to be still, to act like I’m stunned, so I can take stock of the magic here. Wards like I’ve never felt. Tangled up all together. Pressing down. Swirling and spinning. Anyone, any enemy, who tried to come in here would be confused. They’d want to leave. To run. They’d be terrified. If they made it in, they’d go mad.

“Well, well,” the Sorcerer’s voice makes my skin crawl. I push myself to my feet. Try not to look too defiant. “Impressive, Celli.”

He walks around me, looking me up and down. I recognize this one. Quenson.

“He came willingly, Master,” she says.

“Is that so?” Quenson tilts his head to the side. Watches me like I’m prey.

“He says he wishes to cooperate, if we’ll leave his friends alone,” she says.

“Really?” Quenson snorts. “But you have deceived us before, Nullen. How can I be certain you won’t do it again?”

“I thought we could come to an agreement,” I say. “I’ll show you the gate if you’ll make a deal with me.”

His eyes flash with that same greedy hope I saw in them the last time I made the same promise. Then they narrow.

“It’s closer than you think,” I lean toward him. Try to be enticing.

“And in exchange?” He licks his lips. It’s working.

“The boys from Cerion. The ones you stole. Griff, Mikken, and Errie. Let them go,” I say.

“Celli,” Quenson says slowly, rubbing his chin. “Take him to Osven’s chamber while I consult with the others. You shall treat him as our guest. And Tibreseli, I expect you to behave as such, as an act of good faith between us.”

I nod to him in agreement, and watch him go.

“This way,” Celli says. She’s got no emotion in her voice at all. No wariness. No concern or question. She walks in silence, guided by the spirit of Osven.

So far, so good, I think. They trust me enough not to keep me tied or chained. They’re treating me as a guest. Valenor knows I’m here, and Mevyn would aid me if I asked him to. I’m confident, but not over confident. The machine? Taken care of, I hope. The son? Soon to be released, maybe. The offerings? Mine, if I can figure out a way to slip from Celli’s eye and back to that circle room without being seen. I’ll have to show them the island first, though. There’s no way around that, if Errie’s going to be saved.

Azi

“She says she doesn’t want to see you right now,” Saesa whispers after having slipped out of the dining room door just a moment before. Merry sounds of revelry drift through the thick carved wood: laughter, song, and dance. “She said…” she looks away and takes a deep breath.

“What, Saesa? Tell me,” I slump back against the wall, defeated.

“She said you’re a bad Mentalist, and if you want to stay friends with her, you have to figure out a way to prove you’re sorry.” She winces. “Sorry, m’lady.”

I rub my eyes and push myself from the wall to start pacing. “Prove it?” I whisper. “How, though?” I try to contain my anger at myself. We don’t have time for this now. I should be in there doing my duty as Ambassador to Kythshire. Making plans to triumph over the Dusk. Keeping my promise to Princess Margy. Instead I’m cast out, and it’s all my fault.

“Can you go back in,” I say, “and just ask her what I can do? How I can make it up to her?”

“Of course,” she says, and goes in again.

This time when she comes out, she looks very grave.

“She said…” she hesitates again.

“Saesa, it’s all right.”

“She said, ‘Thick as always. Typical. I said figure out a way, didn’t I? That means she has to think of it herself. Or maybe ask…” Saesa shifts uncomfortably and clears her throat.

“Ask who?”

“…Stinky,” she replies, and her cheeks burn red. “Sorry, Lady Knight, but that’s what she said.”

“This is the last thing I need right now,” I say, clenching my fists. “How could I have been so careless?”

“
You? Careless? I don’t believe it
,” Rian’s voice echoes in my mind and I whirl around, searching for him. As soon as I spot him coming from the opposite end of the corridor, all of my anger drops away. I forget myself and break into a run through the palace hallway until we crash together in a tight, desperate embrace.

His soft kiss starts out sweet, but quickly grows deeper and more passionate. We forget our place for a moment until Saesa clears her throat softly from down the hall and we force ourselves to pull away from each other.

His eyes linger on my face, and his finger traces the Mark at my collar. I start to look away in shame, but he lifts my chin with a gentle touch and tilts his head with concern.

“What happened?” he asks, not with a judgmental or harsh tone, but out of concern. His tenderness causes the floodgate of tears to open once more, and I can’t help myself. I bury my face into the chest of his soft robes and cry.

“We’ll be back, Saesa. Wait here please,” he says, and I feel the shift as he slips me into the Half-Realm.

“Azi, what happened?” he asks again after the torrent of tears settles down. I recount my entire morning to him, from the moment I woke up until the moment he appeared in the hallway. He’s patient and quiet as he listens, which only makes me feel more awful. If I had his restraint, if I was able to control myself the way he does, I wouldn’t be in this situation. When I’m finally through, he lets out a breath as though he’d been holding it the entire time I was talking.

“Why didn’t you tell Master Gaethon about the archer?” he asks. His question throws me off.

“I did,” I frown. “I thought I did.”

“You didn’t. If you had, he would have reacted differently. Look,” he guides me to look at him again, his hazel eyes inviting and warm. “What you did was overreaching, Azi. Looking into a sleeping mind without consent. Stealing a memory that you shouldn’t have taken. But the reason you did it was forgivable. You were concerned for the safety of the King. As for Flitt…” he sighs. “Shush?”

“It was a misunderstanding,” Shush whispers as he slowly comes into view beside Rian. “Flitt’s got a wren in a spider’s web when it comes to you. One small move and the gossamer breaks. She’s put a lot of faith in you through all this. She talked you up to everyone, even the Queen herself. She probably just feels like she has to keep you in check, that’s all.”

His effort to help me feel better only causes my heart to sink more. I shouldn’t have let her down.

“We need to get this resolved and focus,” Rian says matter-of-factly. “Too much is in the balance right now. The stakes are high. I’d show you,” he looks at me, “but I don’t think you’d better for a while.”

“I won’t,” I say. “I don’t want to, ever again.”

“I’ll tell you, then,” he says, and he does. He recounts everything from his encounter at the Ganvent house to his journey to Kaso Viro to his nearly missed breakfast this morning. By the time he’s through, my tears are dry and I feel a fresh determination to jump to action.

“Don’t worry,” he says to me. “I’ll talk to the others. We’ll make a plan.”

“In the meantime,” Shush says, “I’ll help you figure out how to make it up to Flitt.”

“Trust Shush,” Rian says. He kisses me again, softly, and strokes my cheek. I nod, and he casts the revealer on himself and leaves me to go into the dining hall. As soon as the door clicks behind him, I feel horrible again.

“I can feel it,” Shush whispers. “Your regret. Your shame. Fairies are empathic, you know. Most of us, anyway. Especially the ones who are close to humans. Flitt’s like that, too, but it’s even stronger between the two of you. She can feel it even when you’re far away from each other.”

“So she knows how terrible I feel,” I shake my head.

“Can you think of something?” his whisper is a cool breeze in my ear. “Some selfless act, some way to show her how much her forgiveness means to you? You know her better than you think, Azi. What could you do to prove it to her?”

A hundred thoughts run through my mind. Gifts I could give. Things she enjoys. Mouli’s sweets, or the sugar cubes she loves so much. She loves light, the stars, colorful, bright things like ribbons and gemstones. There’s not enough time, though. I can’t go off searching for the perfect present to show her what she means to me.

Peals of laughter ring out from inside the ballroom, and Mya’s song mixes with that of the elves. I imagine Flitt in there, laughing along with them through her hurt feelings and her disdain for what I almost did. I imagine Uncle, whispering with Rian, starting to plan. I imagine His Majesty entertaining Twig and Margy and the elves.

“You’re getting closer,” Shush whispers as if he can follow my train of thought. “Think about what you know of her. What she’s risked for you.”

What she’s risked for me.
My thoughts go to the Ring and what she told me of her struggles there. How they almost cast her out. How she stood her ground and kept to her beliefs so that we could maybe someday be Ili’luvrie. She risked her place with her own kind because she believed so strongly in our partnership.

“Our kind worries all the time,” Shush whispers, “that because we’re small, we’re considered inferior by humans. We’re not as important. That’s what many of us think you think. That’s why Flitt’s so harsh sometimes. So she can seem as important. As equal. When you did that, down there, you made her feel lesser. Like something to be used.”

I reach up and press my hand to my neck, where the curl of the Mark peeks up over my collar. I look at the door. I know what I have to do. Something selfless. Something that will prove to her that her forgiveness matters to me. That she’s my equal, and she deserves my respect.

“What are you going to do?” he whispers.

“I’m going in there,” I say, “in front of everyone, and I’m going to apologize to her.”

“What about what Gaethon said?” Shush whispers.

“He’s right. It would be a scandal to show myself like this,” I take a deep breath and gather my courage, “but it’s worth it to me to lose face with all of them, even my king, if it means I’ll gain her trust again.”

“Ha. You’re brighter than she gives you credit for, Azi,” Shush chuckles. “I’ll join you.”

The air around him swirls into a dervish so strong that I squeeze my eyes and duck away. When it dies down, Shush is standing beside me, actually towering beside me, resplendent in his gleaming green armor. My head comes only to the top of his shoulder, making him taller than Rian. Perhaps as tall as Bryse, though not as broad. In fact, his narrow frame gives him a rather ethereal and imposing appearance, similar to an elf. He bends slightly and offers me his elbow.

“Shall we?” he asks, and I nod and let him step me out of the Half-Realm.

Saesa gasps at our sudden appearance. Her gaze lingers on Shush for a moment and then bows low to the two of us.

“We’re going in, Saesa,” I say, a little shakily. Shush gives my hand a reassuring pat and then lets go.

“I think it’d be best,” he whispers, “if I go first.”

The guards flanking the doors push them open to allow us to enter. The dining room drapes are open to the morning sunlight. Dozens of fairy orbs drift in and out of the beams, catching the light and casting it out to dance across the walls and high ceiling. The tables and chairs, arranged in a u-shape around the entertainers in the center, are adorned with rich garlands of fragrant flowers. The elves have arranged themselves in the center to sing a perfect, lilting harmony together. Their backs are facing me, so I can’t be sure, but I think I recognize Julini and Shoel. Both helped us face Jacek in Ceras’lain two years ago.

We enter facing the king and royal family, who are of course seated at the very center of the center table. Margy sits at His Majesty’s right hand, and Queen Naelle at his left. Twig is seated beside the princess, bobbing his head in time to the music. Beside him is Flitt, human-sized again, and looking as though she’s making an effort to smile and seem joyous. His Majesty’s Elite line the table beside her, in order of rank from Mya to Bryse. Across from them on the other side of the U, His Majesty’s Royal Advisors have their place. At least half of them are Mages of the Academy. I feel their eyes on me as soon as I walk in.

The elves’ song ends. No one applauds. They’re all too fixated on Shush and me. The performers turn to see what’s caught everyone’s attention. Julini is the first to notice my Mark. She nudges Shoel, and his brow furrows.

The silence in the room is deafening. Every eye is on me. My heartbeat thumps so loudly I’m sure they can hear it. I gather my courage as the first scandalized whisper breaks out amongst the Mages, and I stride, as knightly as possible, to face His Majesty.

I drop to one knee before him and press my fist to my chest. Beside me, Shush does the same.

“Azaeli Hammerfel,” His Majesty says. His words are barely laced with a question.

“Your Majesty,” I reply.

“I believe most of our guests know you by name, Lady Knight,” he says, a bit more coldly than he might, probably, had I not come bursting in covered in black Mark. “But I do not know your companion.”

“This is Soren Hasten Udi Swiftish Haven Illustrious Noble General, Your Majesty,” I say with a nod toward Shush, who has already stood up.

“Shush is good enough,” he whispers.

“What’s that?” King Tirnon asks, cupping a hand around his ear and leaning forward. “Could you speak a little louder, friend?”

“Shush,” Shush says aloud, and a puff of wind rushes out from him, ruffling the fur of His Majesty’s cloak and setting his crown askew. “Sorry,” he whispers bashfully.

“He’s a wind fae, Your Majesty,” I explain.

“Ha! That explains it,” King Tirnon laughs merrily and straightens his crown. “We have a place for both of you, of course. Come join the table.”

I stand a little nervously, certain that most in the room have noticed my Mark. They’re all still silent, even after the king’s welcome. I feel their eyes on me, especially Uncle’s. His glare of disapproval bores into me, and in my imagination the Mark burns my flesh where it curls under their gaze.

I try to ignore it. I expected as much when I made my decision. The Mages are well within their rights to take me in and strip me. I expected it, and I accepted the risk. All for her.

In the continued silence, with everyone’s eyes on me, I turn and walk slowly along the richly set table to face Flitt, who sits with her arms crossed, glaring. When I stop before her, she looks pointedly away and scowls.

“Felicity Lumine Instacia Tenacity Teeming Elite Reformer,” I say. “Flitt.”

“Flitter,” she says sternly.

“Flitter.” I repeat with a nod. “I lost myself. I went too far. Before His Majesty and all those assembled here, I am humbly, deeply, and wholly sorry for the way I behaved. I will never,” I swallow the lump in my throat, “never do that again. You are my dearest friend, and I should never have ordered you or thought to use you in such a way.”

“Your dearest friend?” she asks dubiously.

“Without a doubt,” I reply.

“Dearer than Rian?” she tilts her head slightly. Around us, a few of the onlookers chuckle softly.

“Rian is more than a friend to me,” I reply after some careful thought.

Flitt purses her lips together and stares at me for a long, uncomfortable moment. All around us, the dining hall seems to have collectively held its breath in anticipation of her response. She chews her pink lip and leans forward.

“Tell them,” she says to me quietly, “what you did. Tell them all of it.”