Heart of the Exiled (15 page)

His voice and expression were so tender that Eliani felt a twinge of jealousy. She was glad for him, though, and infinitely relieved. Now he had someone to live for and cherish without reserve—a child, and Lady Jhinani as well.

“Do you think you may handfast?”

“I do not know. We did cup-bond before I left.”

“Lady Jhinani is Governor Jharan’s sister?”

“Kin-sister. Yes.”

Eliani nodded, remembering now what her father had told her. Jhinani was sister to Jharan’s lady, Turisan’s mother, who had died bearing Jharan’s second child. Sadly, the child had also perished.

A new thought occurred to Eliani, and she turned to Luruthin. “You should not go to Fireshore.”

He smiled. “I discussed that with Jhinani. She felt I could best serve by going.”

“You should be with her!”

“Eliani, we will be back by midwinter, spirits willing. If I had stayed, I would only have ended up at Midrange, serving in the defense. I would not be with her either way.”

His words were gentle, but they fell heavily, reminding her of the dangers drawing nigh. She swallowed, thinking of what might happen if kobalen came through Midrange Pass in force before she returned from Fireshore. She had not wanted to acknowledge that this was possible. She drew a breath.

“Well, we shall have to bring you back swiftly, that is all.”

Luruthin smiled, nodding agreement. Neither of
them voiced the thought Eliani suspected they shared—that he might yet serve at Midrange, as might they all. She shivered despite the warmth of the pool and leaned her head back, looking up at the stars and reaching for happier thoughts.

“From the palace, my lord.”

Rephanin accepted the folded note from Tivhari and returned to the work chamber, where Heléri and Valani had finished their cloaks and were placing them on the table. Valani smiled up at him, then looked disconcerted. Plainly she was trying to speak to him, but his leaving the chamber had broken their contact. She smiled again, as plainly hoping he would engage her in mindspeech. Instead he nodded.

“Thank you for your work.”

She hid her disappointment with a jest. “I will soon become a night-bider at this pace.”

“Keep to what is comfortable for you.” Softening the dismissal with a smile, he stepped past her and opened his message.

Heléri spent a moment straightening the cloaks on the table, then came toward him. “An invitation?”

“More a summons, I think. It is from Jharan. Very brief and very formal. I wonder if he is displeased.”

“What about?”

Rephanin glanced up and, seeing that Valani had left, smiled at Heléri.
Perhaps he dislikes my monopolizing one of his guests
.

He heard me offer to work with the circle. He
cannot object to that and has no claim on my time of rest
.

Rephanin could not help smiling.
I was going to offer you refreshment, but I had better see what Jharan wants
.

Come to my chamber afterward
.

Is that wise? Perhaps others have noticed the time we are spending together. Certainly our attendants have
.

Heléri’s smile lit a fire in his heart.
Misani is the soul of discretion, my dear friend, and I am sure Tivhari is of the same temper
.

True
.

I will see you shortly
. She started toward the door, then paused and looked back.
Valani is much taken with you
.

I know. More with the mindspeech, I think, than with myself
.

Heléri gazed at him for a long moment, then softly smiled and left the chamber. Rephanin stood listening to her footsteps, wondering why she had brought up Valani. When he could no longer hear her, he glanced at the page in his hand and sighed.

“Tivhari, I am going across to the palace.” He came out of the work chamber and closed the door.

“Yes, my lord. Do you wish for your cloak?”

She held it out to him, and he smiled, grateful for her anticipation. Thanking her, he donned it, drew up its hood to shield his face from the light, and went across the colonnade.

The sun was just rising, and Rephanin hastened to get under shelter before its full force struck the city. Hallowhall was too open to the daylight for his taste. He kept his hood up and his back to the windows as he entered the gallery outside the governor’s chambers.

This long, airy room looked out on the fountain court through wide windows open to the colonnade and was filled with morning light despite its facing westward. Two attendants greeted Rephanin, one of whom went to apprise the governor of his arrival and a moment later returned to usher him in.

The governor’s suite comprised a large outer chamber and two smaller rooms, one where records and correspondence were kept, the other a workroom. Much of the governor’s business was conducted here, and the furnishings of the outer chamber—rich ornaments, heavy carved chairs with thick cushions, and many sconces blazing with light—reflected this. Rephanin paused a little way inside, gazing at a set of hanging tapestries that depicted the Midrange War. With a small shock he realized that he had never seen them before.

He had not entered this room in centuries—not since before Midrange, when Turon had occupied these chambers. For a moment the past swirled around him, memories and regrets haunting him.

“Thank you for your prompt response, Lord Rephanin.”

Jharan’s voice was quiet as he came forward from the doorway of the smallest chamber. He was dressed in a long tunic of pale green with silver embroidery at the throat and cuffs, wearing no other ornament than his circlet of state. Rephanin faced him, put back the hood of his cloak, and made a formal bow.

“How may I serve you, my lord governor?”

Jharan gazed at him for a moment, then turned aside, picking up a small wooden sculpture of a falcon from a table that stood behind a grouping of chairs. “How goes your work?”

Rephanin was certain that this could not be why Jharan had summoned him but answered respectfully. “Very well. We are now completing better than twenty cloaks a day and will soon be finished with what was provided to us. Berephan has weapons to bring us when we are ready for them.”

Jharan nodded, still gazing at the falcon in his hands. “I hear you have begun to use mindspeech with your circle.”

Rephanin blinked. “News travels swiftly.”

“Is it starting all over again?”

Jharan’s words were soft, but they froze Rephanin’s heart for an instant. He closed his eyes briefly.

“Not if I can help it.”

The governor put down the falcon and turned to gaze at him. “I had hoped for something more definite, Rephanin.”

A heaviness settled in Rephanin’s heart. “I will not make you a promise I am not certain I can keep. That is the best faith I can give you.”

Jharan walked a few steps toward the tapestries, frowning as if in thought. Rephanin wondered exactly how much the governor knew of the years before the Midrange War, years when the magehall’s reputation for magecraft had nearly been exceeded by its reputation for sensual excess. Jharan had been young then—a guardian, a minor connection of Governor Turon—uninvolved, or so Rephanin had thought. Now he was governor, and the face he turned toward Rephanin was stern.

“I left you in charge of the magehall after Midrange because of the quality of your work. That is the purpose of your circle, not your personal entertainment.”

“I agree.” Rephanin swallowed, misliking the
conversation’s trend. “But mindspeech complicates that. It is very intimate and often becomes emotional. I cannot control the emotions of my circle—”

“Can you at least control your own?”

The edge in Jharan’s voice sparked resentment. Rephanin paused before answering in a careful tone.

“I do not know. I wish I could assure you that I can.”

Jharan leaned his hands against the table, flanked by elegant ornaments. “This is not an idle matter, Rephanin. We have mages coming here from other realms. They
must
be treated honorably.”

“What is it that you want me to do? Renounce my gift?”

He was half-angry but also half-serious. Such a command from the governor would make his life simpler and safer, though he believed it would ultimately be a loss to his people.

“I have spent five centuries that way, Jharan. Heléri has convinced me it was wrong. In the past two days my circle has accomplished more—”

“I do not want you to renounce your gift. I want you to use it in a responsible manner!”

“I never intend otherwise.”

“Why do I not believe you?”

Rephanin inhaled sharply. “You accuse me of deceit?” He stared at the governor, his anger rising. “If I gave you the promises you want, I would perhaps be guilty of that. Believe me, it gives me no joy to confess my failings to you.”

Jharan’s eyes were hard, and one finger tapped the polished wood beneath his hands. At last he withdrew the insult.

“I accept that your intentions are honorable. But I want more than that, Rephanin. I want some assurance—”

“I do not demand your trust.”

“But I do!” Jharan slapped his hands against the table with a force that made Rephanin start, then rounded it and strode toward the magelord, his eyes blazing with anger. “I demand that I can trust you! My son came to you for advice! In the past he has always come to me. Always!”

Caught off guard by this shift, Rephanin took a step backward. “He wanted advice about mindspeech.”

“And is that all you gave him?”

Their gazes met and held. Beyond the wrath radiating from Jharan’s eyes, Rephanin sensed a trace of fear.

“I have not harmed your son, Jharan. I
will
not harm him.”

The governor’s lip curved in a mirthless smile. “Not if you can help it!”

Rephanin’s anger flared. “Do you think me a fool? He is handfasted!”

“That did not stop you before!”

The words smote him like a physical blow, recalling all the worst memories of his life, memories he had tried to leave behind. He spun away, seeing a face he had tried to forget—young and fair—

Soshari.

Delighted with her first visit to the city, breathless with wonder and excitement, open to any adventure. Come to visit the magehall at the behest of some friend, who had not bothered to explain to her what magehall gatherings were like …

Rephanin took a few steps and blindly stumbled against a chair, caught at it, and gripped it with both hands, feeling sick. “I did not know she was handfasted.”

Jharan pursued. “How could you not have known?”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “She did not tell me.”

“Ah! So the blame lies with her!”

“No!”

Rephanin turned to face him, furious with grief though he managed to control his voice. “I accept the responsibility. Do not think I will ever forget it. Two are dead because of me.”

Jharan stood silent, watching him. Rephanin looked away, unable to bear the accusation in those dark eyes.

“I did not think you knew.”

A moment passed before Jharan answered. “Turon spoke of it.”

Rephanin swallowed, then smiled wryly. “Turon. I think he would have cast me out had the Midrange War not … intervened.”

“Had he survived, do you mean?” Jharan’s voice was quiet. Rephanin heard him step closer and glanced up. The governor’s anger was gone; now he merely looked weary. “His death was a great loss to us. His and all the others.”

Behind Jharan, a tapestry of Skyruach depicted his younger self fighting the desperate defense of that place where so many had perished. Rephanin wondered how he could bear to be reminded of it every day.

Jharan sighed and ran a hand across his face as if warding off his own bad memories. He moved to one of the chairs, sat down, and gestured to Rephanin to join him.

“You gave good service during that war. I want to believe that you will always give good service, Rephanin.”

“So do I.” Rephanin sat across from him, feeling numb. “Talk to my circle if you wish, though I doubt
that will reassure you. There is one among them who is already … showing a personal interest.”

“Someone other than Heléri?”

Rephanin looked up sharply to meet Jharan’s gaze but saw no censure there. “Heléri is a visitor. I do not count her among my circle.” He sighed and spoke in a softer tone. “She is an old friend, Jharan.”

The governor shook his head slightly, making a dismissive gesture. “I do not mean to intrude on your privacy. Only where does it end, Rephanin? Where does your privacy end and the good of your circle begin?”

The brown eyes he raised were filled with concern. Rephanin rubbed his forehead with one hand.

“I wish I could tell you. It would give me peace as well.”

They sat together in silence for a moment, then Jharan spoke, almost in a whisper. “What did you say to Turisan?”

Rephanin drew a slow breath. “I made some suggestions to help him and his lady avoid being distracted by mindspeech.”

“Distracted?”

“Distance speakers must agree on when and how to make contact, or they can distract each other at inopportune moments. Suppose Turisan was addressing the Council, and Eliani began speaking to him. It would jar him.”