Shards of Time (17 page)

Shaking his head, Alec went downstairs to the library. There were four dusty volumes on the shelves, and two of them were ancient and written in what looked like some form of Konic, a language he had little grasp of. They were fragile, as well; bits of parchment flaked off as he opened one and turned a yellowed page. Leaving these for Seregil, he examined the other two. One was a thick ledger book filled with many years’ worth of farm records, mostly to do with horse sales. The last and most promising was bound in fine red leather stamped with silver patterns around the edges, but with no title on the spine. It proved to be a journal kept by the last Skalan master of Mirror Moon. Or mistress, rather; on the first page he found
NETHELI Ä SERA MALIA KALA OF MIRROR MOON
inscribed in slanting, spidery script; both the names and the language were Skalan. The Skalan nobility had adopted the Aurënfaie style of naming since the time of Idrilain the First, who’d taken one of Seregil’s forebears as Consort. Phoria had changed the fashion by decree before her death, but there was talk of going back to it now.

Netheli had been an avid journal keeper. Lengthy passages
were written in the same slanted hand, and illustrated here and there with fine ink drawings, mostly of shells, birds, sea creatures, and other natural objects. Turning to the back, he saw that the last entry was dated nearly two hundred years ago. That seemed promising. Tucking the volume under his arm, he went back to his bedchamber.

Seregil was as he’d left him, his breathing soft, his brow cool and dry.

“What goes on in that head of yours?” Alec murmured, brushing a stray strand of soft brown hair away from his lover’s cheek. Seregil sighed and turned his face to Alec’s touch, but didn’t wake.

Settling in the armchair with his book, Alec pulled the candle stand closer and flipped the pages. At first he paid more attention to the drawings than the hard-to-read text. Netheli ä Sera had painted, as well, and he discovered several delightful miniature scenes. One was recognizable as the view from the front of the house over the pond, and another looked like Deep Harbor as it must have been centuries ago. There were several studies of children’s faces, with blue eyes that seemed to look at him over the years with disconcerting interest. Near the front of the book he found another portrait, this one of a man who was clearly Aurënfaie, with the fine features and high cheekbones of his race. The artist had only hinted at clothing—some sort of black robe, thought Alec—but the face and head were painted in loving detail. His hair was a lighter brown than Seregil’s and braided in the front into long, thin plaits on either side of his face. But he had the same storm-grey eyes; Lady Netheli had captured the color perfectly. The entry associated with it was brief but ecstatic.

Slept in the dreaming cave and saw my handsome Aurënfaie prince again. If only I could learn his name, I might discover his history, but still he greets me with silence, looking yearningly through me like so much empty air, as if there is someone beloved standing just behind me. Then he became so grim he frightened me. I could not look away and watched as he disappeared weeping
.

The “dreaming cave” must be part of the oracle’s shrine, Alec supposed. He flipped through the journal, looking for another picture of the man or another mention. Instead, in the back he found a portrait in ink that sent a chill up his spine. It was the face of the ghostly woman he’d seen last night, complete with shells in her hair.

Holding the book closer to the candle, he puzzled out the brief entry that accompanied it.

She came to me again last night and I fear for my dear children. Syana and I are the only ones left here, apart from the servants. I pray Illior she comes for me this time, and not my precious girl! I am sending Syana back to Cirna tomorrow morning. Lightbearer, I beg you, protect us through this foul stormy night
.

Perhaps the drowned woman had come for poor Netheli, after all. Turning the page, Alec found that the rest of the journal was blank. Badly unsettled, he set it aside and watched Seregil sleep.

Seregil stirred as the sky began to brighten outside the window.

“It’s early,” Alec told him. “You should go back to sleep.”

Seregil sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. “I feel like I’ve been dragged through a knothole backward, but I’m wide awake. Did you sleep?”

“Not after your nightmare,” Alec admitted. “And not after—Look what I found in the library downstairs.”

He turned the journal to the page with the drawing of the ghost and sat back while Seregil read the entry. When he was done he flipped through the pages for a few moments, stopping here and there, then closed it and looked up at Alec. “Do you think we’re going to die?”

“Do you? Wait, did you see her, too?”

“Yes, when I looked over your shoulder.”

“So if the ghost really means someone is going to die—”

Seregil tossed the book aside and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “I’m not going to get too worked up over it,
Alec. I’ll talk to Dorin about it. If anyone knows the history of it, he will.”

“Wait, there’s something else.” Alec retrieved the journal from the rumpled counterpane and found the portrait of the Aurënfaie “prince.”

Seregil raised an eyebrow at that and read the passage carefully. “Well, we don’t have royal titles, of course, but he does have a regal bearing. Handsome fellow, but he can’t have had a happy history, if her dream truly holds any meaning.”

“It makes me want to sleep in the oracle’s cave.”

Seregil grinned as he stood and stretched, belly taut in the early-morning light. “Me, too. I’m sure it can be arranged.”

They washed and dressed for riding, then went to see if Sedge was awake. He wasn’t; nor was Thero, who’d taken Micum’s place sometime in the night. The wizard sat slumped in the chair beside the bed. Red lines still showed on his bare neck, shins, and wrists from his battle with whatever it was that had possessed the guard.

They could hear Micum snoring through the thick wood door and left him to his rest. Downstairs, however, the household was already stirring.

They found Dorin in the library.

“Looking for this?” Seregil asked, holding up the journal. “You’d asked after papers,” the steward replied. “I was looking for it to give to you.”

“Have you read it?” asked Alec.

Dorin hesitated, then nodded. “When I was a boy. I knew better, my lords. I shouldn’t have done it. But I was curious.”

“No need to apologize,” Alec said. “But did you know about the ghost?”

“She is just a lost soul, my lord. She doesn’t hurt anyone. If she did, my father would have told me. And I’ve lived my whole life here. She’s been seen many times. Some of the old stories even claim she helps the people who live here.”

“Thank you, Dorin,” said Seregil.

“Very good, my lord. If you will give me a moment, I’ll see that breakfast is served.”

“No need,” Seregil replied. “I’ve a mind to eat in the kitchen today.”

Dorin looked as if Seregil had just told him he planned to dine on horse dung. “My lord, really, it will only take a moment.”

Seregil chuckled. “Don’t worry, Dorin, you’ll get used to our little eccentricities.”

The sweet aroma of baking oatcakes greeted them as Alec and Seregil entered the kitchen. Sabriel and Vhadä were at work at one of the tables. The boy was cutting up turnips and carrots; Sabriel was mixing something in a large bowl. Glancing up, she spied them by the door and gave them a surprised smile. “Good morning. Can I help you with something?”

“Just a bite to eat,” Seregil told her, pulling a stool from under the table and sitting down across from her.

“Here?” she asked as Alec sat down.

“If you don’t mind.” Alec felt a bit uncomfortable, as if they were unexpected guests in someone else’s home.

“Why, of course not, I’ve just never heard of such a thing! Boo—Vhadä, go and fetch the new bread from the oven. It should be done by now. And that hunk of bacon from the cold room. You’ll have some tea, won’t you?”

“Yes, please,” said Alec.

“I’ll just go and fetch a proper pot.”

Seregil pointed to a stout brown-glazed teapot on the mantelpiece. “Nothing wrong with that one.”

The woman gave him a puzzled look, then took it down, spooned tea leaves into it from a canister, lifted the steaming copper kettle from its hook over the fire, and filled the pot.

“Where do you get your tea?” Seregil asked.

Sabriel set the pot on the table in front of them and pulled a knitted cozy over it to keep the heat in. “From Aurënen, now. Before, it was shipped in from Plenimar.”

“They grow tea in Plenimar?” Alec said, surprised. “I assumed they got it by way of Virésse.”

Sabriel shrugged. “All I know’s that the chests used to be marked
PLENIMAR
and now they’re marked
AURËNEN
.”

“A change for the better, I hope,” said Seregil.

Sabriel gave them a fond look. “A lot of things are these days.”

Vhadä came in with the bread and a small haunch of bacon hanging from a loop of string. “Here you are, Sabriel.” He placed the bread and bacon on the table and looked at her expectantly. “Have you shown them yet?”

“Hush, child, and mind your manners,” she warned, and set about cutting thick slices of bacon to fry.

“Shown us what?” asked Seregil.

The cook hesitated, then set the knife aside. “I don’t suppose there’s any danger in it now.” Folding her hands against her apron, she closed her eyes and the mixing bowl rose off the table by itself, then settled back again with a soft thump.

“You’re a wizard?” said Alec.

“Oh, no, nothing so powerful, my—Alec, that is. If I was I wouldn’t have lived all those years with a collar around my neck.” Her hand stole to the high neck of her gown, which covered the worn-in scar of metal on flesh. “No, I can do a little trick here and there. Moving small things, mostly, but I can sometimes light the kindling when there’s no flint handy.”

“Did the man who enslaved you know?” asked Seregil.

“By the Light, no! During the Dark Times, before Kouros was rescued, the Plenimarans would kill any ’faie with so much as a hint of kitchen magic about them. Usually it was children, who didn’t know enough to be careful and got caught. Sometimes, though, a necromancer would come through and check households who paid him to ferret out any ’faie with the powers. I was lucky; he never came here. When one was found, though, we were all dragged off to the place of execution and made to watch.” She wiped her eyes on a corner of her apron, then took a skillet off a hook, threw in the bacon, and set it to fry on a grate over the hearth. Poking the strips straight with a fork, she shook her head and said softly, “It was horrible, what they did to them.”

“Weren’t any of them strong enough to fight back?” asked Alec.

“That sort didn’t end up as slaves.”

“I suppose not. I’m sorry.”

She looked back at him. “Nothing to be sorry for, my dear.
That’s all behind us now, thanks to Princess Klia and those like her. Like you two, as well, with all your kindness. It truly is a new day for Kouros.”

“Are there many others with magic?” asked Seregil.

“I don’t know. It was the sort of thing you didn’t share with anyone. Knowing and not telling was as bad as having the magic yourself.”

“I suppose so.”

As soon as the bacon was crisp she heaped four plates with it, oatcakes laced with honey, and fresh bread spread thickly with butter. Alec entertained them with tales of Rhíminee while they all ate together.

When they were through, Seregil and Alec carried heavily laden trays up for Thero and Sedge.

“How are you feeling today, Captain?” Alec asked as Sedge eagerly set upon the hot food.

“Better than last night,” he replied. “Been talking with Lord Thero here. Reckon I owe you all an apology for how I acted.”

Micum came in just then, pulled over a chair, and sat down by the bed. “Not a bit, after what you’ve been through.”

“My family—can I go to them? My poor wife must be beside herself with worry.”

“We’ll send word to her today,” Seregil promised. “Commander Klia should be here soon and you’ll need to answer her questions, and Thero’s.” He turned to the wizard. “Why not let the man eat and rest until Klia gets here, so he doesn’t have to go over everything twice?”

Thero began to say something impatient, then stopped. “I suppose another hour or two won’t make any difference.”

Within the hour Vhadä came streaking in with news of a great column of riders and wagons coming their way. Leaving Sedge in Micum’s care, Alec, Seregil, and Thero went out to meet Klia. The sun was shining brightly, glinting off helms and harnesses as Klia and her soldiers came up the road at a canter.

Klia led the column in full uniform; Mika, dressed for riding in a tunic, breeches, and shiny new boots, rode beside her
on a pony Klia had given him in Rhíminee. Zella rode just behind, mounted on a spirited Kouros black. As they came to the house, a grizzled woman Alec recognized as Captain Brescia, one of Klia’s most trusted officers, took over the column, leading the riders up into the pasture beyond.

Mika, Klia, and Lady Zella rode up to meet Alec and the others. Mika slid off his pony’s back and ran to Thero. Taking his hand to examine the still-visible stripes of the attack, he exclaimed, “Who hurt you, Master?”

Klia joined them and touched Thero’s cheek in concern. “Yes, what have you been up to?”

“A cleansing of Captain Sedge had a few unexpected turns,” Thero told them. “It’s nothing to worry about. I’m fine, and so is he.”

“The captain is in his right mind again,” Alec added. “We waited for you before we questioned him.”

“Did you get anything else useful out of Karis?” asked Seregil.

Klia shook her head. “No. The poor man hanged himself in his cell that night, with the blanket I insisted he be given. I meant to be kind. Instead I handed him the instrument of his own destruction.”

Thero took her hand. “His fear was so great, he’d probably have found a way no matter what. The thought of returning to Menosi was too much for him.”