The Sleeping Life (Eferum Book 2) (24 page)

Darian fell silent, and did not attempt to continue the uncomfortable and stilted conversation until their path ended at a door framed by an arch set into the hill, the finely-wrought stone shaped into a series of interconnecting leaves. An entrance to one of the caves?

"And yet you left your brother in their control."

Rennyn blinked, and worked to bring her mind to order, resenting the sapping weariness that the short walk had produced. "Seb is far less tractable than he appears."

Darian did not argue the point, instead pulling the door open to reveal a smooth-sided tunnel.

"This is the heart of the Rest," the Kellian woman said, her faint voice thinning further, as if the tunnel was stealing it away. "Ordinarily I would not bring one not of our blood here, but there are more reasons than marriage to make an exception. Will you greet them?"

"If you wish it," Rennyn said, not succeeding in hiding a certain tightness that had crept into her throat. Clearly Darian had a reason for bringing her unprepared to face the women Rennyn's family had abandoned.

The tunnel curved downward, and soon opened out into a much larger space. There was no need to conjure light: a combination of mageglows and braziers picked out the edges of a fan-shaped cave wide enough to hold dozens. It was warm and dry, and the walls had been hung with geometrically patterned cloth, but it was still unmistakably a tomb.

Eleven stone coffins. They were arranged in a semi-circle in the centre of the cave, their stone bases patterned with twists of vine, sprays of blossom, birds. Two were sealed.

Rennyn, overwhelmingly aware of the reason the Kellian had asked her to come Aurai's Rest, stepped forward until she stood at the foot of the seventh coffin in the curve. Creamy linen covered the occupant to the waist and one long, sharp-nailed hand rested on its edge while the second curled against the cheek of its owner in an attitude of deep sleep. A bed of white sand glimmered beneath those fingers, making the container no less a coffin, but at least more comfortable than an uncushioned box of stone.

Looking left, past the sealed central coffin, Rennyn studied with some difficulty faces that seemed to fade in the gentle light. Identical, with only slight variations in hair, and in the positions in which they lay. Not mirrors of Solace: the faces were longer, with a spare and lean aspect that their creator had not owned. But the resemblance was unmistakeable and entirely expected, for these women had been an extension of Queen Solace's body, copies of her, but with Symbolic Magic altering more than just colouring.

"Dew, dawn and cobweb," Rennyn said aloud.

Darian Faille ignored this, filling a small bowl from a bronze jug by the door, and moving to the first of the sleeping women. Dipping her fingers into the bowl, which contained what Rennyn guessed to be honey-water, she transferred a tiny amount. Like Illidian before Solace's attack, Darian did not trim the pointed nails of either hand, and the drops fell from their tips to the woman's mouth.

Rennyn neither spoke again, nor moved to assist, watching instead for any hint of reaction to demonstrate that these women were alive. If they breathed, they did so imperceptibly, but Rennyn noticed a small shift of a head, and a flicker of eyelid. Dreaming?

What would the Ten dream of? Not Tyrland, surely. More likely of raising children in a dangerous and beautiful forest, or even of Aurai, whose centrally-positioned tomb declared her role in the lives of these Kellian.

Darian Faille, returning the bowl to a nook by the entrance, moved to the exit, and Rennyn followed her outside, shivering a little at the late afternoon chill. Darian closed the door, and they stood looking down at the settlement the Ten had created.

"I suspect I would have enjoyed knowing Aurai," Rennyn said. "I am glad the Ten found a friend in her."

"A fortunate encounter," Darian agreed. "There are many who would have used them as tools, but Aurai was by nature a teacher, and became the Ten's guide, never more than suggesting paths. In all the history of the Kellian, we have never elected or acknowledged a leader."

"It seems to me there are some among you who are more inclined to…organise than others," Rennyn said, as neutrally as she could manage.

"Yes," Darian said. "And in the structures of Tyrland's Sentene some of us are set above the others, but only in the matter of directing the activities of defence, and strictly on the understanding that Kellian can leave the Sentene at any time. Have you considered what a child of your marriage will bring?"

So this was what had been preoccupying the Kellian woman. Rennyn had thought that passing her inherited control to a child born to a Kellian would ease some of their dismay, but it was clear that the idea of a Kellian Surclere dismayed Illidian's mother.

"I am not a leader of the Kellian," she said. "Nor would inherited power make a child of mine the leader of the Kellian."

"But what could be more natural than for other outsiders to treat a Montjuste-Surclere Kellian as pre-eminent? To expect leadership. To be dragged into making decisions on behalf of others. What will that do to the child?"

Rennyn had been standing for too long. Or perhaps she simply had no energy for contemplating problems she could not possibly solve. She looked about, and found a long, flat stone to perch upon.

"Are you suggesting I should not have children?"

"I cannot make such choices for you. But I would be lax not to bring the consequences to your attention."

Which was as close as a Kellian would come to pushing. Rennyn suspected it hadn't been easy for Darian to do.

"Thank you for telling me," she said. "It's not a present concern, since the healers tell me I shouldn't risk trying to have a child unless my health improves, but it's something I'll need to keep in mind." Looking down, she saw that Illidian was approaching, and let out her breath in quiet relief.

"My initial plan was to have nothing to do with the Kellian after Solace had been dealt with," she added. "Thus avoiding a great many complications."

"But perhaps creating new ones," Illidian said, sitting down beside her. "You have been greeting the Ten?"

Rennyn had made no greetings, and did not feel she had conducted herself anything but awkwardly before the sleepers. But she bobbed her head noncommittally, and smiled at Darian as her mother-by-marriage excused herself and walked down the hill.

"Would you want to raise our variously-possible children here?" she asked, knowing Illidian would have heard the discussion as he approached, just as she was aware that Darian would still be in a Kellian's range of easy hearing.

"No. I want to make a home of Surclere. And I am of the opposite view to my mother: I feel that we as a people are still growing, and that contact with humans expands us. While there will undoubtedly be a weight of expectation placed on a child of yours and mine, it will be unlikely to come close to the pressure you and Sebastian suffered."

This was a most unusual speech for Illidian, and Rennyn leaned into his side, appreciating the intended comfort.

"Tonight all of the Ten's descendants present will sit in vigil at the Heart," Illidian went on. "We will not ask you to wake them until tomorrow."

And perhaps discover that her ability to command Kellian was not enough to wake the Ten. Or learn that the golems did not wish to end their half-life. But most likely tomorrow would be the day that she took nine innocent lives, and faced whatever consequences that brought.

"Do you—if the Ten ask for release, and that breaks the casting that makes you Kellian—do you think you will be able to maintain Aurai's Rest?"

"No. We could defend against most attacks, but there would inevitably be losses, a slow attrition of our numbers. And we could not risk children here. The lesser stalkers cannot bring down an adult, but they hunt from concealment, and we are only able to live here because we can sense when they are nearby."

"A high cost." Not just Aurai's Rest, but a people's sense of self. Rennyn doubted there was a single Kellian who was not dismayed by the possibility of Solace's casting failing, but they would not cling to it at the expense of the nine remaining golems.

"It would uncomplicate other matters."

Rennyn looked up at Illidian, startled. He surely did not think it preferable for the Kellian to cease to be, no matter what the situation in Tyrland—or in their marriage.

"Like uncomplicating a knot by cutting through it?" she asked. "Do we then celebrate the pieces?"

He didn't answer, gazing down at the settlement.

"I've been trying to look at the control ability from different angles," Rennyn said, restively. "That casting on Fallon made me wonder if I could devise something that would stop me from giving any form of command."

Illidian shifted. "That does not seem to me a safe thing."

"Perhaps not. But how safe is it for me to be around Kellian, truly? Especially young children. I've managed to guard my tongue so far, but inevitably my attention will slip."

She felt his hesitation, a palpable thing, and straightened, studying his expressionless face. Her weariness contracted into a fist.

"When?"

He met her gaze, reluctant but not attempting to lie.

"After you were injured, and were not fully conscious. Several times."

"Times…"

Rennyn's throat was tight. More than once. Careless words that, with a Kellian, became iron command. She could have killed him.

"A demonstration of Surclere arrogance. I was entirely sure, certain, that I had at least not commanded you by accident. If I'm in that bad a state again, I had better have only human attendants."

Rennyn's attempt to keep a pragmatic focus on solutions was severely undercut by a wavering voice, and she gave up pretence, hiding her face in his side. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing far more tightly than he usually permitted himself. No words, however, no arguments to mitigate distress. He had kept this failure from her because he could not pretend to absolve her, could not tell her that the occasional lapse was forgivable, and could offer no solution.

"I don't want our marriage to be something you endure, Illidian."

"And I will not follow a path that leads me away from you."

Absolute, unwavering. But he was a man who had endless nightmares, and it was becoming harder to believe that they were not about her.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The Sentene mages were upset. Kendall didn't know why, but she'd noticed it first the previous night, when Lieutenant Meniar had forgotten his smile and spent all his time staring at his feet.

Before, Kendall would just have asked Sukata. There was no reason she couldn't go do that now: it's not as if they weren't speaking to each other. But Sukata would be so careful in replying, walking on eggshells that weren't there, and Kendall would feel lumpish and full of angles and out of place.

And maybe Sukata wouldn't even tell Kendall what was going on. It was plain that everybody else knew, except perhaps the Pest and His Smugness. Kellian business, probably linked to why they'd dragged themselves off to this forest instead of chasing down the Black Queen's monster son. Rennyn no doubt would explain if asked, but she'd eaten in her room and was almost certainly asleep.

Opportunity gloomed past in the form of Lieutenant Meniar, hands in pockets and head down as he wandered into the garden beds east of the hill. Kendall hesitated only a moment before following him along the unlit path. The circle only kept Eferum-Get out, and wasn't proof against things that had adapted to the flesh-and-blood world, but no doubt the Kellian had cleared out anything resembling a predator for miles around. Lieutenant Meniar certainly wasn't taking any care, and didn't seem to notice her following him as he walked all the way up to the inlaid stones that marked the protective circle, and stood staring over the stream that ran just outside.

"What's going on?"

He straightened with a jerk, and gave her a reproachful glance.

"Spill."

Lieutenant Meniar shook his head, but it wasn't a refusal. "You know about the Ten, right?"

"That most of the first Kellian are still alive? Yeah. I figured one of the reasons we were coming here was to introduce Herself to them."

He laughed, a sour cough of sound. "Yes. And to ask them their views on life—and other options."

"What do you..." Kendall stopped, remembering talking to Sebastian, just after Rennyn had been made a Duchess. "You mean...what do you mean?"

"They've asked Her Duchessness to give the Ten permission to die, should that be what they want."

That made sense: just the sort of thing that the Kellian would do, once they properly understood the spell that had made them. Still…

"That might make the Kellian unhappy—probably back when they decided to do this, before we left Tyrland. Doesn't explain you."

He tipped his head back, gazing up at stars rather than forest. "The Kellian we work with are an entirely unplanned consequence of Symbolic Magic, side-effects of the creation of the Ten. Duchess Surclere proved the casting was ongoing. We don't know what will happen to its side-effects if the Ten are removed from the picture."

Kendall felt as sick as Lieutenant Meniar looked. "Die?"

"Even that is possible. Or Queen Solace's casting will unravel, and only their human heritage will remain. Or perhaps nothing at all will happen. That's Symbolic Magic for you—it is as imprecise as it is powerful."

He glanced at her, then dredged up an attempt at a smile.

"It's not a complete throw of the dice. We know what happened to the descendants of the one of the Ten who was killed about fifty years ago: absolutely nothing. But it's hard to set aside the less probable consequences."

For Lieutenant Meniar—and half the other Sentene mages—in love with their Kellian partners. For Rennyn, married to Captain Faille. For…

Muttering something that might pass as thanks, Kendall turned on her heel and headed to the bedroom she had been assigned to share. Sukata had gone there after the dinner clean-up, so Kendall had figured she'd kill an hour or two until the need for awkward silences had passed. She barely caught Sukata, freshly dressed, on her way out.