Call of Kythshire (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 1) (16 page)

I need to do something, and my first instinct is to jump up and run for Rian. Run to the horses, ride hard for Kythshire. Get away from Eron. Warn the guild, especially Uncle. But then I remember all of the reasons that I can’t. They are several days’ ride ahead of us now; we’d never catch up to them. I can’t fight without Rian’s ice sword, and Rian can’t rise to the Sixteenth Circle for two more weeks. Neither of us would be good in a fight, so what help would either of us be, even if we did reach them in time? Not only that, but we’d be defying the direct order to stay where we are, and I can’t leave Da behind, asleep in his room, cursed.

I decide that our first step is to get a message to them quickly. Then we need to break the curse, and somehow stop Eron and Viala’s plotting. I have no idea where to even begin, and then the thought strikes me.

“The king,” I whisper, and the fairies stop spinning, and Margy stops giggling at them. “I have to tell him what Eron’s planning. He can help.” Margy starts to say something and then stops and looks at Twig.

“What is it, Margy?” I ask her. Twig slumps his shoulders and nods as if to say it’s okay.

“Paba knows already,” she whispers. “Knows a little of it, anyway. But Eron doesn’t know he knows. Paba’s trying to keep it quiet. He doesn’t want Brother to get in trouble. He’s trying to figure out a way to stop him without him knowing. He has a lot of faith in his Elite, but it’s all making him very tired. I think it’s even making him sick.” Her eyes go wide. “What if it’s a spell? She could be making him sick with her magic!”

“Oh, Princess,” I whisper. It’s all such a mess, and she’s so young to be so heavily burdened with secrets like this. She curls against me and I hug her close. “You know there are wards all over the palace, wards on you, and on His Majesty. Complicated shield spells that protect against anyone who might try any spells against him. The Mages keep you safe, remember? But wait, he knows?” I think of the threat against my family, my guild, and my blood goes cold.

“Not all of it, not all of it,” Twig darts up to me. “He suspects that Viala has a grip on the prince, and he sees how they are trying to influence him to change the laws governing magic. He doesn’t know about the ambush, though, or what Viala is truly after.”

“But why?” I ask. “Why do they want to kill us?”

“Oh! Questions! Do you want to play?” Flit does a little flip in the air and then comes to sit in the fold of my dress at my knee.

“No, I don’t want to play,” I say sternly, “I want answers. This isn’t a game.”

“If you want answers, then we’ll play. If you don’t want to play, then...” Flit shrugs, “you’re no fun.” Margy looks back and forth between us, her eyes wide.

“Azi’s right. It’s time to be serious,” Twig says.

“Well, I don’t like serious,” Flit says. “Not much, anyway.”

“Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like, so we can hold onto the things we do like.” He winks at her and pushes off from Margy’s shoulder to hover in front of me. Flit crosses her arms and makes a face at him as he watches me. “Now you know the stories. You know what the prince is plotting. What will you do?”

“I need to be able to defend myself. I need to know how to break the curse,” I say, and Twig nods.

“I think so, too,” he says. “Though it isn’t really a curse, you know.”

“I know, but can you tell me how to reverse it? Does it have to do with the treasures on that list?”

“In a way,” he says. “The key is to make a selfless gesture toward Kythshire. Can you think of why it didn’t work for the prince?” Flit giggles a little, and when I look down at her she turns her head away and covers her smile. I knit my brow curiously at her and turn my focus back to Twig.

“Well, his gesture wasn’t selfless. He thought he was returning a treasure to break his curse, and that treasure was my mother. He thought based on the story that if she crossed into Kythshire, she’d most likely stay. He knew our guild would go searching for her, so he set Redemption up to take care of them. But why do they want to kill us?” I ask again.

“Think about the story,” Twig says. “The protectors, your line, have sworn to watch over our lands for generations. That kind of vow, honored for so long, holds a great deal of power. They believe they won’t be able to take the Wellspring while your family still lives.” He winks again at Flit, who is chuckling at my knee as she watches our exchange, and then turns back to me with his question. “Why are you so intent on breaking the curse, as you call it?”

“It’s not as much for me, as for my father,” I say. “If he can’t wield, then his life will be ruined. He’s a good man, and he truly loves my mother. When he crossed the border, he was only trying to keep from losing her,” I explain. “I’d do anything if I could bring her back and cure him. Is there a way?”

“There is always a way,” Twig says. “Knowing what you know now, can you think of how the curse could be broken, and your parents reunited?” Flit’s giggles erupt into full-out laughter which spills over to Margy, who’s pressing her fingers to her lips to hide it.

“Oh, will someone please let me in on the joke?” I cry, exasperated. Flit sits up.

“No, no, no,” she holds her stomach, trying to catch her breath. “By all means, don’t let us interrupt you
not
playing the game!”

“He,” Margy giggles. “He’s tricked you, see? You’ve been playing all along!”

“Shush!” Twig waves at her. “She’s almost got it!” They all go quiet and stare at me, and I feel my cheeks go hot. At first I’m angry at being tricked, but then I can’t help but laugh. I’ll give it to them, fairies are clever creatures. Infuriating sometimes, but definitely clever. I sigh and shake my head.

“She isn’t going to get it,” Flit whispers to Twig.

“Quiet!” He hisses at her. “Give her some credit!” Margy chews her lip, looking from the fairies to me, her fine eyebrows raised so high they nearly touch the sparkling circlet in her dark hair. I look down at the blonde warrior in the storybook, and I think of Eron’s list with my name just below my mother’s, and suddenly I know what I have to do.

“A selfless act. I could break the curse for Da. Be his returned treasure. I could take my mother’s place and fight the shadow cyclones myself. They could be together.” I look to them. “Would it work?”

“Huh. You were right.” Flit says to him. “She got it.”

“That’d work,” Twig says. “But could you really do it?”

I think it over. It would be difficult and strange to leave my life here behind and start a new one, a life I never planned on. But when I consider all that I’ve worked toward, I realize this is the path I was meant to take. I’ve never been interested in treasure hunting, or exploring new lands to claim for Cerion, or gaining riches. My training has always been with the hope that one day I could protect those who needed it. If I chose this, I would be guarding an entire race of creatures who are too small and too gentle to defend themselves.

My gesture would keep peace between Cerion and Kythshire, and protect the magic of the Wellspring. Uncle Gaethon could deal with Viala, and Rian—this is where a lump rises in my throat. Rian. Could I leave him behind, knowing we might never be together again? The notion sends tears to my eyes almost immediately. Margy, who has been silently watching me, scoots closer and hugs me around the waist. I close my arms around her and sniffle.

“I would miss you so much,” she says. “But we could see each other in the dreaming place.” I realize that she must have been to the wheat field as well, and I think of Rian’s practice in Rumination. He and I could still be together there, maybe. But would I be able to feel his hand on my cheek, or the tenderness of his kiss?

“Think on it,” says Twig gently. He drifts to Margy and wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “Buck up, little princess. Things are starting to shine again, see? And now you don’t have to be alone with your secrets anymore.”

Flit, who has suddenly become unusually somber, comes to rest on my shoulder.

“You’d better get back to the ball,” she offers quietly, “before they start to talk. You know how they are. Typical.”
The melody of a gentle waltz drifts through the corridor as I follow the princess on a different course back to the ballroom, one on which we’d be unlikely to bump into Eron. In a daze I let her lead me through the dimly lit and highly polished hallways while my thoughts race with the information I have now. The decision regarding my parents hangs on the precipice of being made. I know what I have to do, and I would do it for them in a heartbeat if it wasn’t for Rian. I don’t know how I’ll bear being away from him. I need to see him, right now. He needs to know that his parents and his mentor are in danger. And Bryse, and Cort. And Brother Donal. They’ll reach the border soon. We need to warn them, and I hope that Rian knows a way to do it that’s faster than a bird.

“Shadow Crag,”
Flit whispers into my mind. It’s a moment before I realize that we’ve stopped in the alcove where Eron held me. Margy is gazing up at the same tapestry on the wall, clinging to my hand.

“I know this place,” I whisper, and start to reach up with my free hand to touch the rich woven fibers depicting shadowy crag and the white lightning. Margy squeezes my other hand as I look closer. The black foreground is littered with tiny bodies and the bodies of men, all half-obscured by whirling shadows.

“I don’t like this picture,” says the princess. “Paba says it was the end of a dark time for everyone, but the start of a bright future for our family. It started the Plethore Dynasty. The Age of Peace. The Great War that ended King Diovicus’s reign. He was a powerful Sorcerer-king, you know. The last ever of those. Paba thinks like everyone else, that we were too late to save the fairies, and none of them survived. I wish I could show him that it’s wrong. I think he’d love Twig. But everyone else thinks so too, and Twig says it’s safer for the fairies to be a secret, and he says we don’t want people to think Paba’s crazy.” She whispers that last bit.

“See there?” Flit emerges only slightly from hiding, so that I can see parts of the tapestry through her as she rises up to point at the figure of a man standing on the crest of the mountain. I look closer and shiver as I realize why I hadn’t noticed him before. His skin is completely blackened by the Mark so that he looks like part of the jagged shadows of the stones. Even the whites of his eyes are filled in. He stands beside a great rock that looks almost like a giant face.

Flit blows a raspberry at him and Margy giggles as the fairy fades from view again. Margy pulls me away from the dark image, toward the rising sound of the musicians and the revelry of the ball. Even as the richly dressed guests and sparkling dancers come into view, the images of the dark, twisted bodies of fairies and men alike haunt me.

I find Rian where I left him, at the center of the dance floor with Princess Sarabel. He looks so perfect among the distinguished group of dancers with the princess on his arm that I find myself wondering whether he’d suit her. As he twirls the princess around and she laughs merrily, I think he could be happy here in the palace. Sara would be happy, too. Then he looks away from her, and in the moment that our eyes meet, his brighten so much that his love for me is obvious. I smile and give a little wave, and then a tap on my shoulder startles me.

“
Oof! Rude!”
Flit’s plaintive cry echoes in my head as I turn to the Page.

“His Royal Highness Prince Eron requests a dance,” he says.

“Of course,” I answer, curtsying my compliance even as my heart drops into the pit of my stomach.

My pulse races as I follow the Page through the throngs of guests to the Prince. The image of him pressing Viala into the wall, kissing the Mark on her arm burns into my memory. I think of the tapestry and feel his hot breath on my shoulder and his rough hands on me. I’m desperate to think of a way out of it, but nothing comes to mind as the crowd parts and we approach Eron standing beside his father. The prince eyes me with a cold sort of greed and I duck my head and grip my skirts tightly to hide my shaking hands as I bend my knee to them. When I rise, the hand that’s offered to me is not his, but the king’s.

“I’m sure you don’t mind, Azaeli, if I take this dance. That is, if Eron would be so kind as to allow his old father a moment of levity?” With a glint in his eye, he turns to Eron, who offers a reluctant nod.

“If it pleases you, Father,” he murmurs, obviously annoyed.

“Excellent.” The king offers me his arm and I rest my hand gratefully on it. As we cross the floor together, I dig deep into my mind trying desperately to remember any scrap of Mouli’s teachings on etiquette in dancing with royalty. I curse myself for not paying better attention to her, but my worries are completely unfounded as we take to the dance floor. His Majesty is a gracious partner as he moves me swiftly across the ballroom in time with the other guests, and my long skirts hide the mistakes in my steps. I catch glimpses of Rian as we twirl and spin, and when we get closer to the musicians, the king leans in close to my ear. I feel Flit push off from my shoulder and land on the opposite side as he begins to talk to me so quietly that I can barely hear him above the music.

“Your family and mine have served Cerion for many years, Azaeli. You know this.” I nod. “Your grandfather and my father were great allies, and I count your family among my most trusted friends.”

“Thank you, your Majesty,” I say, feeling humbled by his praise.

“That is why,” he tips his head even closer and whispers, “I would advise you to keep your distance from my son and his dealings.” His eyes meet mine, and the exhaustion in them is plain. “I was unaware, when I sent the quest decree, what he was plotting. I did not want to believe him capable of such plots, and so I saw it only at face value. Since then, I have begun to see evidence of more selfish intentions. I owe you and your family an apology, Azaeli. I never meant for any harm to come to them.” He bows his head to me as the music closes, and I curtsy. The musicians start another waltz, and he offers me his hand again.

“I would ask you to right it,” he says as we glide across the floor, “if you can, as quietly as possible. I fear for my son. He is consumed by greed and lust for something that can never be his, and I am quite aware there is a stronger influence at work. I shall lend you any aid you need that is within my power. But Eron must not know, nor must anyone else.” His request startles me.

“Your Majesty thinks too highly of me, surely you have other resources...” I say quietly.

“None that could be so discreet. If there is to be any hope for my son, then you and yours are my best course.” As we come to dance beside Rian and Sarabel, I realize that my hands are sweating. To have the king himself put all of his faith in me this way is something I never could have foreseen.

“I can think of no one else more invested than you, at this time, or more suited. You do not give yourself credit where it is due.” he says, and I know with his words there’s no room for argument. He slips his hands from mine and bows to Rian. “Apprentice Rian, I do hope you will relinquish my daughter for one dance.” He offers his elbow to Sarabel, who takes it with a wistful smile back at Rian. Rian bows to both of them as they twirl away, and as I rise from my curtsy, he sweeps me off across the floor and into the crowd that loiters along the edge of the dance floor.

His hand tightens around mine as we weave through the milling throngs and finally push onto a grand patio overlooking the sheer cliffs that drop down to the vast black sea below. He pulls me to a quiet corner where we lean against the railing, tucked away from onlookers. I turn my back to the frightening drop and try to collect my thoughts. There’s so much to tell him that I have trouble deciding where to start. I settle on the most immediate threat, tipping my head to rest on his shoulder so that my whispers carry straight to his ear.

“I saw them together,” I say. “The Prince and Mistress Viala. “They were...quite friendly.” I look up at him and his mouth drops open slightly. He taps his temple. He had an idea. “Much more friendly than they ought to be. They’re plotting together, Rian. Redemption isn’t searching for my mother, they’re setting up an ambush to get rid of the others when they arrive at the border. They want Uncle dead. Mum and me, too.” Rian holds me away at arms’ length. He searches my eyes and then shrugs his shoulders to his ears, shaking his head. Why, he asks silently. “Viala wants us out of the way,” I whisper. “She said once our family was out of the picture, the Well—“

“Shush!” Flit cries in my head as Rian’s eyes snap wide in shock and his hand flies up to cover my mouth. He shakes his head frantically. I understand. Even here under the cover of darkness, in secret whispers, it isn’t safe to talk about the Wellspring. He grabs my hand and leads me back into the ballroom, where he seems to be searching for someone. Eventually, he tracks down a rather old-looking master in plain gray robes, with a long pointed beard that trails down to his chest in white wisps. He’s deep in conversation with another Mage, who is only slightly younger looking. I stand beside Rian, feeling awkward as the two halt their conversation mid-sentence. The younger mage excuses himself, seemingly relieved by the interruption.

“Evening, Apprentice,” the older Mage says, nodding cordially. Rian pats his chest with his hand and leans forward slightly in the Mage’s greeting. The man turns to me, “and you are, dear?”

“Azi. Um, Squire Azaeli Hammerfel, sir.”

“Ah, yes. I ought to have known. Anod Bental, High Master and Advisor to His Majesty, the King.” My breath catches in my throat at his intimidating title, and I nod my head politely. Rian squeezes my hand reassuringly, and then steps closer to Anod and makes another gesture, one I haven’t seen before. He taps three fingers of his right hand to his left arm, just above the bend of his elbow. The man’s eyes snap to Rian’s fingers and back to his face again. “Is this some joke?” he reaches to cover Rian’s hand with his, and Rian shakes his head. He pulls his hand free to make the gesture again.

“Well, don’t do it again, boy!” His voice is slightly panicked as he claps his hand over Rian’s again and checks to make sure no one has seen. “Come with me.” He leads us quickly into the corridor with the alcove bearing the dark tapestry. With a quick look over his shoulder he moves it aside and whispers, and a passage appears. We slip inside, and the opening behind us solidifies again. The walls grow damp and stony as we walk, and the floor slants downward. Eventually I realize that we must have long left the palace for the network of Academy tunnels that are rumored to run below the city itself.

My breath comes in cool puffs of white in the chilled air, and I hold on tightly to Rian to keep from sliding in shoes that were not meant for such a hard, slick path. My dress grows heavy as it slides along the narrow passage, collecting droplets of moisture from the walls and floor. Its fine threads pull on the rough walls, fraying the delicate fabric, opening holes in the once pristine blue and gold, ruining it.

The further from the palace we get, the more nervous I become. How well does Rian trust Anod, I wonder, to follow him into the depths of the tunnels where we could disappear and nobody would know?  The king trusts him enough to call him an advisor, but with all of this plotting, whose side is he truly on? I decide there isn’t much I can do but trust Rian’s judgment as Anod opens a rough wooden door and gestures us inside. The room is starkly furnished with a plain wood table and several stools. There are no windows or openings other than the one we entered through. There isn’t even a fireplace. It reminds me of a prison cell, and when he closes the door, I hug my arms across my chest. Rian guides me to a stool and sits with his arm around me.

“
It’s awful
,” Flit’s whisper comes to my mind, “
So heavy in here
.” I give a very slight nod of my head as Anod locks the door and tucks the key into his pocket. He gestures over it with a murmur to set the ward, and then he turns to Rian.

“I release you from your bonds of silence, Apprentice.” He says.

“Thank you,” Rian says with great relief, clearing his throat. Anod bobs his head.

“Now tell me, what is the meaning of this? And do you think it wise to use such a gesture before...” he nods to me, “An untrained?”

“Yes, Grand Master, I do. Considering who the untrained is.” Anod studies me for a moment and I fight the urge to look away.

“Very well, very well.” He concedes. “What is it, then? Is there truly a danger?”

“Viala,” Rian says simply, and Anod’s eyes narrow into slits of fury.

“As we expected.”

“She means to annihilate the protectors. The whole line.” Rian says.

“I see,” Anod strokes his beard thoughtfully, “Yes, that would be very effective, it would. Clever of her. And how does she mean to do this?”

“Ambush,” Rian says, “Redemption’s allegiance is with Eron. They lie in wait for the approach of His Majesty’s Elite. They mean to attack them. That will take care of Master Gaethon. Sir Lisabella has already crossed the border, the cyclones will take care of her once they multiply, which they will once Viala begins to test the Wellspring. That just leaves...” he turns his head to me slowly.

“Me,” I whisper. “But does it really matter? Can’t they see that anyone could watch over it? You could, Rian. Or Da could. Anyone who cared could keep the cyclones away.”

“What a charming sense of humility you have, dear Azaeli.” Anod says with a gentle smile. “Yes, someone else could make the promise and act as protector, but it would take many generations for their bloodline to hold the same power yours does now. It is imperative that your line continues to thrive, in order to maintain peace. Kythshire is a land full of mysteries, Azaeli. Most of which even us learned scholars will never come to fully understand. Though we thirst for the power and knowledge within its boundaries, we have learned over the years that there is a high price to pay for it. Some things are best left to the unknown.” He groans and settles onto a stool before he goes on.

“Viala, on the other hand, is young. She has no respect for this notion. In Sunteri, where she was raised, knowledge and power are valued above all else. They are ruthless in the pursuit of it. Her people see only the potential to own it all, for to master a Wellspring is to master magic itself. And now, with the prince as her puppet, she might just.” he shakes his head. “She might just, yes.”

Something nags at me as he talks, a tiny fact. Rian knew about the Wellspring all this time. At the very least, he knew that. I wonder how much else he’s been aware of. Did he know, growing up, that my mother was a part of this promise that spanned generations? Did he know I was? What about the rest of the guild? How much of this secret have they kept from me? How many of the choices I’ve made have been my own, and how many have been carefully orchestrated by my parents, who knew the path I was meant to follow? Why didn’t they trust me enough to tell me the truth? Rian’s hand squeezes my shoulder and I fight the urge to push it away. It isn’t the time, now, to ask these questions. The people I love are in danger, and we’re running out of time.

“We need to get word to the others,” I say. “They need to know to expect an attack.”

“Word?” There’s a twinkle in Anod’s eye, “We can do better than word. Yes, this falls within the guidelines, I’m certain. Important enough to send you to them straight away.” He winks at Rian. “Prepare yourselves, and return to the Academy in a half-hour. The ceremony will be readied by then. Tell no one.” He stands a little stiffly, and leans to stretch his back.

“Oh yes, of course.” He turns to Rian and with his thumb draws a symbol over each of his shoulders, then his forehead. A reddish glow hovers in each spot before fading into Rian’s clothing. “I hereby raise you to the Sixteenth Circle. Congratulations, Mentor.” With no further ceremony, he rushes out.

“Yeah!” Rian shouts, jumping up from his stool. He throws his hand flat, and sparks of light fly from his fingertips in celebratory bursts, and then he dives at me and pulls me up into a hug. We spin in circles until we’re both dizzy and laughing.

“Congratulations!” I say as he takes my hand, his eyes glinting with excitement.

“Azi, I have something to ask you,” he says, his tone suddenly serious, “and it’s important that you accept. There isn’t much time.” My head is still spinning with confusion about the protectors and the Wellspring, and I feel as if I should be angry at him for keeping secrets from me, but his sudden switch from elation to utter seriousness jars me.

“What is it?” I ask. My hand is shaking in his now and I can’t seem to meet his eyes until he takes my chin and gently raises it up. His eyes are bright with the promise of adventure, and also, as always, there’s that underlying tone of mischief. I wonder how I’ll ever live a day away from those eyes. He takes my other hand and pulls me closer to him, and my pulse quickens as I begin to imagine what the question could possibly be.

“Will you be my student?” his question leaves me flat.