Dangerous Talents (43 page)

Celia obviously still wasn’t happy with him. She wouldn’t make peace so easily. “What did you come here for?”

“I came to say goodbye,” Dahleven said. “We’ll be leaving at dawn the day after tomorrow to meet with the Tewakwe leaders. I doubt we’ll speak again before I depart.”

*

Cele felt her anger recede a little as a new thought occurred to her. “Have the Tewakwe always been here?”

“No. They have tales like ours of coming from hardship to this new land. Though why Freyr brought them is a mystery.”

“When did that happen?”

“We started trading with them some hundred and fifty years ago, but their sagas say they’ve been here longer.”

Cele strove to keep her excitement contained. Archeological evidence in the southwest spoke of various lost tribes like the Anasazi and the Hohokam. Despite plenty of speculation about what happened to them, no one knew for sure.
Maybe some of them came to Alfheim just like the Greenlanders. Just like me
. Memory flashed.
The petroglyphs.

Maybe they know a way home
. “I want to go with you.” She wasn’t sure why she liked this idea better than Jorund’s offer, but she did.

Dahleven’s eyes widened. “Absolutely not!”

“But their shamans may know things your priests don’t.”

“No. This is no casual trading mission. This parley is to avert a war. We cannot distract from that to satisfy your personal desires.”

Dahleven’s tone left no room for negotiation, but Cele refused to let it lie. “This isn’t some whim of mine. We’re talking about my life here.”

“I understand, Celia, but it’s your life I wish to preserve. It’s too dangerous.”

“How could I be safer here than I would be with you?” Cele paused, surprised that she’d so openly stated her trust in Dahleven. She couldn’t take it back, but she could ignore it, for a little while longer.

Instead of smiling at the compliment, Dahleven stiffened and frowned, but he answered calmly. “Perhaps when peace is assured you can explore this, but not now. Kon Neven will not allow anything to put this parley at risk.”

“But—”

“Enough.” Dahleven lifted his hand sharply. His words were soft, but hard as stone. “You will not go.”

He’s as bad as Neven
! But a rill of panic followed her anger. He was leaving her only one choice for getting home. She’d have to Find the Staff.

Everything Jorund had said made sense. He’d saved her from being raped. He’d offered to help her, as no one else had. So why the cold feet? Maybe it was because Dahleven would see helping Jorund as a betrayal.

Cele set her jaw. What else could she do?

Dahleven went to the door and laid his hand on the latch. “Stay well while I’m gone.” Then he left.

She stared at the door after it closed behind him, fuming at his dictatorial manner. Then she sighed, wishing his visit had taken a different turn.

Why couldn’t the jerk have just put his arms around her instead of baiting her? He’d been kind to her before, so why not tonight, when she really needed it? And now he was going off to meet with the Tewakwe, who might know how to get her back home, and he wouldn’t let her go. He had no understanding whatsoever of what she was going through.

In the haze of her frustration, Dahleven’s earlier words floated back to her.
Don’t let fear become a barrier
. Her mother had been strong and had raised Cele to be independent. “You don’t need to be afraid of anything,” she’d said more than once. But maybe what she’d meant was, “Don’t let fear stop you.”

So maybe Dahleven had a point. But that didn’t mean it was right for him to go off and leave her behind in some misguided attempt to keep her safe.

Safe from what
?
They’re going to a parley
!
To share information
. But she knew things didn’t always go as planned. Misunderstandings occurred. Sorn’s bloody belly, Lindimer’s cut throat, Halsten’s cry as the arrow took him in the back flashed through her mind.

Suddenly she felt cold. What if they couldn’t avert the war? What if the Tewakwe and Nuvinlanders fought instead of talking?
Dahleven could be killed
.

*

“What do you mean, I’m not going?” Dahleven tried not to shout. It was just after dawn, and he’d come to this meeting with his father and Ragni expecting to plan their strategy for the delegation.

“I thought I was fairly clear on the matter,” Neven said. “It would be foolhardy to risk both of us, you know that. And I need someone here I can trust.”

“You need someone you can trust to guard your back, too,” Dahleven protested. “Mother can hold Quartzholm for you.”

“Not while we have traitors among us.
You
have established the additional security, and it is
you
who will hold Quartzholm one day. You are
not
going.”

Dahleven glanced at Ragni, who wisely remained silent.
He
was going. Neven needed his Talent for the parley.

Dahleven ran his hand over his beard, stretching the tension out of his jaw. There was no arguing with his father—with the
Kon
—when he used that tone. “All right. I’ve already dispatched the advance guard to secure the parley site. Is there anything
else
I should know or do here while you’re gone?”

*

Cele knew it was petty, but it took some of the sting out of being left behind to know that Dahleven couldn’t go either. She had to admit, but only to herself, that she was relieved, too. Dahleven wouldn’t be risking whatever dangers the delegates faced.

The delegation of Kon Neven and two other Jarls had left before dawn, along with their retainers and enough servants to carry their gear. She’d thought about sneaking away and finding her own way to the parley with the Tewakwe—for about five seconds. One glance at her guards and the determined set of Dahleven’s jaw had persuaded her of the impossibility of it.

Jorund’s offer kept replaying in her mind. He seemed to think she’d have no trouble Finding the staff he wanted, even though he’d only provided a vague description of it. And even if she could, how was she going to explain wandering all over the castle to the guard that would inevitably tag along?

Cele spent most of the morning with Sevond. They pretended he was teaching her the skills of jewelry making, but they were really taking comfort in each other’s company. Sorn’s father was a gentle teacher, and he complemented her efforts even though she was all thumbs. She’d never known her grandfathers and she wondered if they would have been like Sevond.
Probably not, since Mom’s dad practically disowned her
. Being with Sevond soothed her heart. While she listened to his quiet instruction, she couldn’t worry about making difficult choices in a dangerous world with confusing customs.

At noon, her guard escorted her back to her room. Dahleven dropped by to share her midday meal, and they talked without a single sharp word between them until Fender arrived to drill her on the use of her Talent.

“Don’t work her too hard,” Dahleven told the younger man, but his gaze met hers and his hand rested lightly above her elbow. It felt more intimate than it was, and for that moment, nothing else existed. She leaned toward him, wanting to move into the circle of his arms, to run her hands over all that hard muscle. His eyes held hers and a smile played around his lips. Cele was about to stretch up on tiptoe to kiss him when Fender cleared his throat.

Cele blushed as Dahleven stepped back. Then he left, leaving the room feeling a bit empty.

Amazingly, Fender didn’t utter a single teasing remark. He just matter-of-factly put her to work.

After half an hour of practice, Cele had an idea. “Can we go outside? Up high, on the what-you-call-its? The battlements?” You could ask me to Find things you know are in the various towers.”

Fender gave her a searching look. “An excellent idea,” he said slowly. “And it would allow you to get some fresh air at the same time. That’s what you’re really after, isn’t it?”

Not exactly
. But she smiled and said, “You caught me. Dahleven doesn’t want me wandering about alone outside, not after what happened in the meadow.” Which had the virtue of being the truth.

They climbed to a high walk midway between the two tall central towers. Wind whipped loose strands free of her braids. Cele leaned against a parapet, trying to take it all in. On three sides, forested mountains loomed. Below the castle, she could see the town wrapped around the base of the walls, and beyond that a combination of meadows and tilled fields. Far in the distance, a river flowed away around a ridge of hills. “Wow! You can see the whole valley. It’s beautiful!”

“You should see the sunrise from up here.” Fender swept out his arm, pointing to the east. “In the winter, if you care to brave the Frost Giants’ breath, the sun comes up over the ridge there…”

Cele barely heard his words. Instead she concentrated, imagining a staff about a yard long, with a clear purple crystal set in a copper collar. A dim, muffled sensation pulled at her from the left. It was so faint she barely felt it. She turned, taking a step closer, trying to focus—

“Lady Celia?” Fender’s voice shattered her focus.

Damn!
Just another second or two and she would have had a lock on it. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

Fender frowned, studying her. “I asked if you’re ready to begin.”

“Of course!” She smiled. “Sorry. I was daydreaming. What would you like me to Find?”

She’d have to try again to Find the staff, but Fender was watching her closely now. Belatedly, she wondered if she got a peculiar look on her face when she used her Talent. One that Fender would recognize? If she did, there was only one way to hide what she was doing from him.

“Think of a stone table. About so high and so wide,” Fender shaped the air with his hands. The stone is gray, speckled with black and silver, and the pedestals are plain except there are stretching mountain cats carved into them.” He stretched his arms above his head.

Cele held the image in her mind. The sensation of tugging was immediate, pulling her attention to the right hand tower, then to a floor halfway down. The table was there in a room on the other side of the stone column.

But she didn’t give her answer right away. Instead, she pictured the Staff. Her first attempt had seemed to come from the tower to her left, now she gave it her full attention. If her expression betrayed her, Fender would just think she was still working on Finding the table.

Cele felt guilty deceiving him, but pushed the feeling away so she could concentrate. She wasn’t hurting anyone. She might not know all of Jorund’s motives, but he had Nuvinland’s best interests at heart.

The pull was fainter than usual, and she closed her eyes. The sensation was diffuse, like a muffled sound, or a whisper, and it kept shifting out of reach as if she were grasping at fog.
Why is it so hard to hold on to
? Gradually it coalesced, calling to her from somewhere near the top of the left hand tower.

Yes
!

Now all she had to do was pinpoint the room. She’d have to get closer for that. Without Fender.

Cele opened her eyes and pointed to the tower on the right. “The table is there, on the far side.”

Fender considered her thoughtfully. “Perhaps we should suspend your training today. I think you must be more tired than you admit. You took much longer than usual that time.”

She couldn’t meet his eyes. Fender been nothing but kind to her, and she was deceiving him. She didn’t like how that felt, even if no harm would come of it. “Maybe you’re right.”

Fender leaned against the parapet and crossed his arms over his chest. “Lady Celia, you have a remarkable Talent. In all our sessions I haven’t posed a challenge yet that you’ve failed to meet.”

She smiled, enjoying the praise even if it was for something she didn’t have much control over.

“Finding isn’t a Talent that lends itself to misuse, and you’re a grown woman, not a young miss, so I needn’t caution you to use your gift wisely.”

Cele’s heart stuttered. Did he suspect something? She forced a smile of irony to her lips. “Even if you just did.”

Fender grinned wryly. “I’m glad you’re paying attention.”

He hadn’t forgotten her distraction earlier. Did he doubt her explanation? Cele cringed inwardly. She liked Fender. She didn’t want him to distrust her.

He shrugged away from the wall. “Shall we go down?”

She’d rather have stayed up on the heights for a while, but she didn’t want to lie to him again, so she nodded. “Yes. Let’s.”

As they entered the tower, the birds perched on the peak took flight with a flapping of wings. A lone raven flew north.

Cele was relieved that her hunger was less intense than it had been in the past. It took only a short nap afterward to ease her fatigue.

“You see, my lady,” Thora said when she woke, wagging her finger, “I said you’d come into your own soon. Your body’s adjusting, just as it ought. You’re on the easy side of the slope, now.”

Cele nodded. Her Talent was becoming easier and more automatic. Using it no longer felt like a party trick—not when she was lying to people about Finding a long hidden artifact.

Fender’s words about using her Talent wisely kept surfacing like a persistent dog begging to be fed. She felt guilty about deceiving him, but she didn’t have a choice. If Jorund was right, Neven and Wirmund probably wanted her dead. Was he right? Had he told her the whole truth?

What was she thinking? He’d
saved
her, for goodness sake! He was the only person offering any hope at all of going home.

All he’d asked in return was that she Find the Staff of
Befaling
for him, so he’d have the power he needed to help her, and the people of Nuvinland.

She just wished she didn’t have to lie to people she liked in order to help him.

CHAPTER TWENTY~TWO