The Tears of Elios (8 page)

“So you can feel emotions—other than embarrassment, that is.” Her voice remained smooth and low, and his fingers relaxed in response to it.

“What kind of game are you playing with me, Ranealya?”

“I'm not quite sure yet.” She leaned forward, elbows on the table, watching him with concern. “Have I pushed you too far?”

He slid down the back of his chair. “Perhaps.” He stared at the ceiling and tried to collect his thoughts.

She was smiling when he lifted his head. “No, I haven't pushed you too far yet.” Then she laughed again. “But I like playing with fire.”

She pushed away from the table, her attitude becoming distant as her body moved further back in her chair. “Sepharium is a smooth white stone that, as you've learned from your translations, can hold the power of a spell, making it permanently cast on whoever possesses the stone.” She paused. “You are going to write that down, aren't you?”

Gregor's jaw hung like open drawbridge.
So she’s sharing secrets with me now?
He fumbled for another quill and wrote, “A smooth white stone,” as he repeated the words.

“Yes, but when it's been used in the ritual you are interested in, it absorbs the color of the magic. Are you familiar with the auras of magics?”

He finished his note before replying, “Human magics are blue, elvan are green, and demonic are red, right?”

She had that all-knowing smile on her lips again. “Yes, but there are more magics than that. For our purposes, however, your knowledge will suffice.”

He yearned to ask for more about the other magics, but he decided he should focus on only one subject at a time. “So where can I find sepharium, and how can I distinguish it from other smooth white stones?”

“It hums.”

Gregor dropped his quill and ran his fingers through his hair once more. “Are you teasing me again?”

“No, I'm serious. Sepharium hums when you hold it. You just have to take the time to listen to it.”

“Is this some kind of riddle?”

She shook her head. “Sometimes the one thing you desire most is right under your nose.”

She hobbled to the fireplace and ran her hand over the hearth before grabbing an iron poker and striking the stones. A loud clang filled the room. Gregor cringed, hoping Ben and Sal would not come up to investigate. She knelt, picked up the largest fragment that resulted from her blow, and grunted as she struggled back up to her feet.

“Listen,” she said as she approached him.

At first, he thought his mind was playing a trick on him, but as Ranealya brought the stone fragment closer, the sound became louder. It was high-pitched and sounded more like singing that humming.

She leaned close to him so the stone dangled between their ears. Her warm breath brushed against his face. “Sepharium hums, like this.”

He turned his head and found her face inches from his. Her tawny eyes shone with a light he had never seen before in them—as if she, too, was under the spell of the music. He leaned forward to close the space between them.

She retreated, placing the white stone fragment on his desk before she moved away. “You have the largest piece of sepharium I've ever seen cemented in your fireplace.”

He picked up the stone and ran his fingers over it, watching in amazement as the rough edges morphed into a polished surface under his fingertips. He held the stone up to his ear once more, listening to music far more beautiful than any human voice could ever be. “So I can use this in my ritual?”

“As long as you don't try to cast too powerful of a spell into it.”

He listened for a few more seconds before forcing himself to lay the stone down on his desk. He documented his findings, taking care to describe the intoxicating song of the sepharium. “How is it that you know so much about sepharium?”

“It is well known to those versed in elvan magic.”

“Are you a mage, too?”

She shook her head. “I don’t possess the gift, if that is what you mean, but I have seen my fair share of magic. Or at least enough to recognize certain things such as the healing powers of hykona leaves or the hum of the sepharium.”

“I'm sure there is a great deal you could teach me.”

Her expression puzzled him. The corners of her mouth twitched as if she was trying to smile, but her eyes grew sad. “Perhaps, but there are some things you should never learn. Be thankful your human life is so short.”

“I can only imagine all the things you’ve seen in your life.”

Her eyes flickered on him. “You're better off imagining than knowing.” She limped back to her bed, her normally graceful body now heavy with age. She lay down, pulled the covers up to her chin, and turned her face away from him.

Gregor contemplated what had sparked her melancholy. Just when he learned something about her, he opened some wound from her past. Perhaps she was more fragile than she pretended to be. “I'm sorry if I made you remember something you would rather forget.”

She faced him, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw no tears in her eyes. He had never been able to withstand a crying woman. “Why would I want to forget anything?”

“I don't know. You just suddenly seemed sad.”

“You read too much into things, Gregor.”

She picked up her book and began reading. He had learned enough in the last few days to leave her alone when she did that, but his mind burned with a single question he had wanted to ask her from the moment he discovered she was a shape-shifter. “Ranealya, since you’ve been alive for cent—”

She looked up from her book, scowling.

“—for quite a while, perhaps you can answer one more question, and I promise I'll leave you alone for the rest of the evening.”

She set the book down and waited.

“There are two legends about the origin of shape-shifters. One, that they were always present, like the elves and dwarves. Another, that they were created. I was hoping you might be able to answer that question.”

Her mouth formed a tight, thin line. “There are some things no human should know,” she said, each word dripping with anger. “Don’t ever ask me that again.”

She returned her attention to her book.

What caused her to react that way to my question? Is she not going to tell me because she doesn’t want to? Or is there something in the shape-shifter code of behavior that forbids her from revealing their origins?
Once again, one question spawned dozens of other questions.

Gregor delved into his work, incorporating his new knowledge of sepharium into his notes. It wasn’t until Duke licked his elbow that he realized how much time had passed. It was dark outside, well past Sal’s bedtime. He’d missed his opportunity for a hot meal, but he was happy to see she set some bread and cheese for him outside his door.
So predictable.

He started to offer Ranealya some of the food, but the calm rise and fall of her chest informed him that she was fast asleep. He watched her as he chewed, tossing scraps to the dog. “Duke, what does she do at night when I'm gone?”

“
Deer-not-deer sleeps. Always wakes up, sometimes screams when she sits up
.”

“Why does she scream?”

“
Duke not know. After she plays with Duke, walks around room, plays with Master’s things
.”

He frowned. What other kinds of things had she discovered in this room? He ran his hand under the desk and felt the trap to the hidden drawer. As curious as he was about her nocturnal wanderings, he doubted she would go about her normal activities with him watching.

The mirror on his mantle flashed in the moonlight, and Gregor’s lips curled up into a smile. Perhaps he’d gain some answers tonight.

***

Gregor bolted up in bed when heard Ranealya gasp in the next room. He fumbled for the small hand mirror beside him and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

The objects in his study slowly came into focus in the glass. Ranealya sat on the bed, trying to slow her breathing. Something in her dreams must have startled her. Her eyes were green and cat-like as she scanned the room.

Then she moved to the table in a fluid motion, grabbing a chunk of bread and an apple before going to his desk. She sat in his chair and scanned his notes while she ate. By the time she finished her apple, she seemed to have grown bored and began reaching under his desk.

Gregor's heart skipped a beat, and his mouth went dry.

Her body tensed, as if she heard the pounding in his chest, and she surveyed the room once again. Her eyes lingered a bit too long on the door to his room, but she eventually relaxed in sync with him and resumed her search under his desk. In less than a minute, he heard the subtle click of the trap opening and the sliding of the book from the secret compartment.

His hands clenched into fists, and his jaw tightened. The one thing he hoped she would never find was now in her hands, and he couldn’t do anything to stop her.

Ranealya leaned back in his chair and propped her feet up on the desk. She flipped through the pages green leather bound book until she found the place she was looking for. Then she read. He waited for her to laugh or mock him, but she read with a minimal display of emotion. An occasional smile, but nothing more than that.

Cold beads of sweat formed along his hairline. He’d hidden the book for a good reason. It dredged up memories of when he was studying for his Master's trials, when a certain auburn-haired woman possessed him to fill a book with poetry and other musings on her beauty. Her rejection still stung, although the years had softened its intensity. And Ranealya was reading all of it. All his stupid boyish ramblings on love were at her mercy. She now had an arsenal of weapons to use against him. He ached to rip the book from her hands and toss it into the fire, yet he remained motionless and watched.

As he pushed the memories out of his mind, Gregor began to assess the situation more clearly. It was obvious she had found the book prior to this evening, judging by the ease of how she opened the secret compartment under his desk. Yet she hadn’t given any indication that she knew of the book or its contents. No insults, no taunts, no teasing. On the contrary, she seemed more calm and pleasant today than any other day prior to this.

She yawned and closed the book. A few seconds later, it slipped back in its secret compartment. She stretched and walked to the fireplace, stooping to scratch the snoring dog's ears. The wound didn’t seem to impair her movements now. As she straightened, she moved towards the mantle.

Ranealya stared into the mirror and scowled.

Gregor’s stomach tied in knots, and his pulse hammered in his eyes. The spell he cast on the mirrors was supposed to only grant him a one way view into his study, not the other way around. He considered hiding his mirror under the cover so she wouldn’t see him. Then he looked into her eyes and saw her reflection in them, not his, and the tension eased from his shoulders. To her, it was nothing more than a mirror.

As she reached out to touch it, her whole body changed. Her tangled brown hair lengthened into a pale silk curtain that hung to her knees. Flawless ivory skin replaced the fur. Her clawlike nails retracted to reveal long delicate fingers, and the pointed ears shrank ever so slightly. Yet her face remained the same—the same almond-shaped eyes with their ocher wolf-like glow, the same high cheekbones, and the same full lips.

Gregor’s breath caught. He never imagined an elf could be so exquisite. She seemed to radiate a golden light, like a distant star.

She ran her fingers over her bare skin, closing her eyes as she appeared to savor the feeling. Her hands traveled to her face, and she stroked her smooth cheeks. She opened her eyes as her fingers approach them and studied her reflection. The smile faded from her lips, and her fingertips traced the large yellow eyes, so out of place with her elvan body.

A cry filled the room as she turned away from the mirror, and her body slid back to its normal appearance. She ripped her hair out, but new feathers replaced the ones that floated to the ground. With a growl, she then turned her claws on her own body, slicing long gashes across the fine fur.

Horrified by her self-mutilation, he moved to stop her but paused. The torn skin healed within mere seconds of her assault, the wounds rapidly repairing themselves as if a healing spell had been cast on them.

Her body shook with sobs as the last wounds knitted back together, but no tears fell. She curled up into a ball on her bed and slowly fell asleep.

Gregor waited until her breathing became slow and even before moving.
What did I just witness?
Yes, she’d learned some of his secrets, but for once, he felt he’d learned more. He laid the mirror down and stared at the ceiling. There was more to this, and he would get to the bottom of it before she left.

***

Ranealya lay on her side with her back to him when Gregor entered the study the next morning.

“You're late.” She watched him over her shoulder with glittering green eyes, showing no signs of the previous night's distress. Her wound formed an exposed red canyon along her thigh. “I took the liberty of removing the hykona leaves for you.”

He knelt by the bed and studied her injury. How can her wounds from last night heal so quickly, yet this one was taking nearly two weeks to heal, and only in stages with the use of his magic? His gaze flickered to her arms. They remain unblemished after the mauling they endured.

“Are you going to heal me, or are you just going to stare at my leg like a half-witted fool?”

Uh-oh
, he thought as he rubbed his hands together.
She’s in one of her foul moods again
. Perhaps she knew he’d been spying on her last night. Thankfully, though, he saw only impatience in her eyes, not accusation. He exhaled, and the white magical light flowed from his fingers, closing the wound.

She stared at the jagged scar on her thigh and sighed. “I suppose that will have to do,” she said and pulled her tunic over the wound. “Are you going to get breakfast?”

“Breakfast, of course. You didn't get dinner last night. You must be starving.” He was so distracted by the goal of getting food, it wasn’t until he left the kitchen that he realized he left her alone and fully healed.