THREE DROPS OF BLOOD (9 page)

"Oh, I doubt any of our horses would be frightened by a ride on the water," Gynefra said
with a chuckle. She reached over to tousle Megassa's hair, earning a grin from the girl. "But good
thinking, nonetheless. Always consider the smallest details. Those are usually the problems that
trip us up, not the big obstacles."

"How can you make a temporary tunnel?" Meghianna asked, her frown of concentration
deepening. "How can you hold it open without anchors and going through something?"

"It is not yet a complete tunnel. There are doorways here and at Wynystrys. When High
Scholar Deyral and I join our
imbrose
through the Threads, the tunnel will open. We
will go through this doorway and out the other in a matter of seconds. Barely long enough for
our horses to even notice what is happening," he added, with a glance and a grin for
Gynefra.

"But how do you do it?" Meghianna persisted.

"I will teach you on the journey to the Stronghold," Mrillis said. It warmed him when
the child tore her gaze away from the doorway, her eyes wide with delight as she smiled at him.
He dared hope she was pleased that he would accompany her on the journey home, more than the
prospect of learning a complex spell.

He did not look forward to relating the complexities of the temporary tunnel. Not
because he feared Meghianna wouldn't be able to understand it, but because of the story behind
the discovery of the magic. He had used the rediscovered magic to speed his journey across
Lygroes, from one coast to the other, to reach Ceera's side as she lay dying. No matter how dry
and simple a tale he tried to make it, he feared Meghianna's sensitivity would see through to the
pain that remained under the scar in his soul. Mrillis had lived with the pain and loss of his wife
and daughter for eight years now. What he feared more was exposing Meghianna to such depths
of loss and evil and hatred at such an early age.

Ready, brother?
Deyral called through the Threads.

I can hear you,
Meghianna said. Her eyes widened more and she pressed a little
gloved hand over her mouth.
Should I keep away?

You can listen, little one, but do not pull on the Threads, and say nothing until the
doorway has closed on the other side,
Mrillis said.
Yes, brother, we are ready.
He
resisted the temptation to stretch a Thread out to Meghianna and enclose her in protection. She
was strong enough to protect herself from any flares of energy through the Threads, and it was
high time he trusted her to do so.

The others in their party had enough
imbrose
to protect themselves, or a small
enough amount of magic the surge of energy through the Threads would not affect them at all.
He trusted Gynefra to wrap a Thread around Megassa to effectively muffle her from any
unpredictable reactions.

Mrillis urged his mount forward, and Mist followed just a step behind. He kept one hand
on the front of his saddle and the other hand gripped the reins, while he sent out his mental hands
to pull handfuls of the Threads hanging like a thick fringe from the edges of the doorway. A
flash of energy burst inward and shot forward along one blue Thread thicker than the trunk of a
century-old oak. Mrillis rode forward into the center of that Thread, using it as the guide to his
path. Mist kept pace with his horse. Meghianna sat still, her mouth clamped tightly shut, eyes
wide, little gloved fists digging into her saddle. Sparks of blue and white magic danced along the
wisps of hair that slid free of her hood.

Four steps brought them out, onto the pebbly, sloping shore of Wynystrys. Mrillis turned
his horse to the right, clearing the opening for the others. As soon as the tail of the last Valor's
horse emerged from the shimmering wall of magic, the thick blue Thread vanished and the door
closed with another burst of white light.

Meghianna let out a loud, gasping sigh that ended with a giggle. She slid down from the
saddle, eliciting a cry of warning from Nalla. Her nursemaid stifled the sound when the child
didn't move more than two steps away from Mist, but stayed in place, stamping her feet and
waving her hands in the air a few times.

"It itches and tickles," she proclaimed, two bright spots of excitement in her cheeks.

"Ah, and that shows great sensitivity to the currents and power used by the Estall to hold
our World together," Deyral said. He smiled, bowing his shaggy, hooded head to her when she
jerked and turned quickly to face him. He seemed to emerge from the pile of driftwood kept on
the shore as a signal fire, just as it had been done in Mrillis' childhood, though there was
certainly no need for it any longer. If he hadn't been looking for the High Scholar to be waiting
for them, and if he hadn't known the man's propensity for stillness and hiding in plain sight,
Mrillis might have missed him.

Up to your old tricks?
Mrillis asked.

There is no trickery involved. I'm an old man who happens to dress in colors that
match the landscape, and when I sit perfectly still, no one notices me,
his friend retorted,
laughing in his mental voice. "Welcome, Princess Meghianna, Princess Megassa." Deyral bowed
to both girls. His warm smile widened. "Nalla, my dear. It is wonderful to see you again. How
long has it been?"

Meghianna let out a squeal when Deyral stepped forward, caught both of Nalla's hands
in his own, and tugged her forward to press a quick kiss against her lips.

"Not long enough, you old rascal," Nalla spluttered. Then she surprised Mrillis as much
as Meghianna by giggling and blushing.

"I suppose your dear nurse neglected to mention that we courted for quite a few years
when we were young."

"No," Meghianna managed to say, though her mouth seemed to want to hang open
rather than force the words.

"Young and foolish," Nalla said. She shook her head, eyes snapping with amusement
despite the scowl she tried--and failed--to form on her lips. "Well, I hope you've made
arrangements--"

"Three Drops of Blood," a woman said, her voice shaking with effort.

Trevissa staggered out of the grove of trees a good twenty paces from the water's edge.
Her hair had gone silvery-white from the force of the power that flowed through her during her
times of Seeing. Her clothes were clean, but ragged, and Mrillis suspected she had walked
through a patch of brambles to reach the shore. She hunched over, arms wrapped around her ribs
as if the effort of breathing pained her. Barefoot, she didn't react to the layer of splintered shells
and pebbles she walked over as she approached their traveling party.

"Behold, two drops of blood stand here, and the third waits for the fullness of time. Pity
she who produced the one who shall abominate. Pity she who produced the one who shall wait.
Pity she who has yet to produce the one who shall suffer." Trevissa's knees folded and she settled
down onto the pebbly shore, bracing herself on her shaking arms, palms pressed flat to the
ground.

"Clear as mud, as always," Deyral said on a sigh. His actions were gentle, despite his
slightly exasperated tone, as he knelt next to Trevissa and wrapped an arm around her
shoulders.

When the woman raised her head a few moments later, her eyes had lost the white mist
of Seeing and she looked flushed, as if with a fever. She shivered and sweat beaded her
forehead.

"Did I kill it?" she whispered, pressing against the High Scholar in visible terror.

Mrillis wished he could take the girls away. Chances were good Megassa had no idea
this was her mother, but he knew from experience that their party would only escape Trevissa's
notice, and the hysterics that sometimes followed a Seeing, if they stood perfectly still.

"It needs to die. It's weak. It's poisoned. It's a curse. No one wants it. Efrin doesn't want
it. I need to stop the blood. I can give Efrin a son. Get rid of the baby before anyone knows she's
here, and I can give him a son. We can save the World if I give him a son. I can't give him a
daughter, or we're doomed." Her voice broke on a sob and she pressed her face into Deyral's dull
brown robes.

"Efrin is safe," Deyral said. He lifted his gaze to meet Mrillis' for a moment.

"Good. I do love him, you know. That's how they used me. I already wanted him. He
liked me. That's how they were able to trick him. If he had hated me, if I had hated him, it
wouldn't have worked. Love makes everything weak, don't you know?"

"Come along. Back to your cottage. It's cold out here. You don't want to get sick." He
stood, easing Trevissa up from the ground.

"Yes, I have to get strong. I have to stay healthy. Efrin needs a son. The third drop of
blood." A cackle burst from her lips, shaking her body with enough force she nearly twisted free
of Deyral's hold. "I can save the World. I can. I can."

"Of course you can," Nalla said, gliding forward, arms outstretched and pale green
shimmers of healing magic streaking up her arms from her fingertips.

Mrillis nearly lost his breath at the surge of admiration for her strength and courage and
selflessness, to reach out to Trevissa when she had to hate the woman. Nalla had been Belissa's
guard and support during her pregnancy, and had wept herself ill when Belissa died. She loved
Meghianna as if the child had come from her own flesh. The fact the girl would be Queen of
Snows someday was a distant, foggy consideration to the fact that she was the daughter of her
dear friend, who had likely died at the hands of Trevissa, her cousin.

"I have the girls," he said, when Nalla hesitated and glanced back.

She nodded, face creasing in concern, and turned back to her patient.

"I don't like her," Megassa pronounced, her voice a hard-edged whisper, shattering the
fragile silence into shards.

"No, but you should pity her. No one chooses madness, or to be used by the enemy until
your mind and soul are raw and stretched out of all semblance to anything human," Gynefra said
in a gravelly voice. She took hold of Megassa's hand. "That's enough for now. We'll tend to our
errand tomorrow. Let's explore, first, shall we?"

Mrillis could have laughed at the eagerness that lit the girl's face, but the oppressive
sorrow that remained on the shore after Deyral and Nalla led Trevissa away choked him.

"Meggi, do you want to come?" Megassa said.

"I think I'd rather stay with Lord Mrillis," the older girl said. "May I?"

"Of course." He held out his hand. Hers was cold inside its glove, and felt smaller than
usual when she gave it into his grip. "Come. Master Breylon's quarters are a good place to
rest."

They walked up the slope from the shore, while Gynefra and two of her women warriors
headed to the left along the shore, aimed toward the piles of rocks that had once been
watchtowers and fortresses, long before Mrillis' great-grandfather had been a student on the
island. The rest of their party led the horses away, following them up the slope to the village and
the waiting stables. Meghianna walked with her head bowed, her face hidden by the folds of her
hood.

"I think it's good Megassa doesn't know that was her mother," the girl said, when they
reached the well in the center of the neat, quiet village.

"Yes, I agree." He sat down with a weary sigh and reached for the crank to draw up a
bucket, so they could both have a drink. Mrillis sensed the inhabitants of the community of
scholars and enchanters watching them, listening through the Threads, but no one came out of
the shadows of dusk or their doorways or from behind the cottages and huts. He appreciated their
discretion, even as he wished he didn't have such sole and lonely responsibility for the child's
training.

"Does it hurt? Being mad?" She settled down next to him, close enough to rest a little
elbow on his knee and look up at him. In the shadows of her hood, for just a moment, he could
fool himself he saw Ceera, somber and thoughtful, mature beyond her years.

"I don't know, as I've never been mad. I'm sure it's frightening, but we've never cured
anyone of madness, so they can't really tell us, can they?"

"She talked about the prophecy of the Three Drops of Blood."

"Yes."

"I thought you said we always had choices."

"The Estall always gives us choices, yes."

"Then how can the prophecy be right? I don't want to do bad things, and Megassa
doesn't want to do bad things. Will our brother have to do bad things? Just because the prophecy
says so?"

"The Estall stands outside of time, yes?" Mrillis scrambled for answers while he waited
for Meghianna to think over his question. She nodded, a short, sharp movement that helped her
hood slide off the back of her head a little more.

He poured water into two of the mismatched cups set out for that purpose, and handed
her drink to her. Mrillis wasn't ashamed to admit he used action to give him a little more time to
think. He waited until she took a few sips, and he had time to down half of his cup, before
speaking again.

"The Estall sends us visions and prophecies of things that have already happened, in one
perspective. Yet a Seeing can be seen as a gift, a warning, a chance to change what is yet to
come. Something like standing at the far end of a long, crooked hallway with a rough floor. You
know where the holes and rough spots are, so you can call back to the people behind you to help
them avoid places where they could fall and get hurt, or even take a wrong turn and get lost. It's
their choice whether to continue down the hall and take your advice."

"That doesn't really fit." She shook her head.

"No, because I'm rather tired and sometimes you ask very hard questions, and I think
you do so just to frustrate me." He tapped her nose for punctuation, startling a giggle out of her.
"I wish I had all the answers you want, dear one. We have choices. The Estall promises us we
will always have choices. Sometimes, when the battle is long and the night seems especially
dark, we wish the Estall would take back those gifts of choices and simply tell us what to do. But
would anyone obey?"