Bound by Blood and Sand
Page 19
This time, the lights came to her more easily, and it was easier to tell one thing from another. The wall and the ground were both steady and bright, but Tal and the tree flickered and changed. And the water was brighter still.
Just finding the water already at Aredann wouldn’t be enough. The Avowed would probably take it all with them when they went, fill jugs from the reservoir and carry off as much as they could. Aredann would need new water, coming from somewhere else.
She concentrated on the idea of that particularly bright glow, until she realized the glow was all around her, too—hard to see, hidden within other shimmering lights. Her head throbbed with Curse-pain again, but she ignored it and reached for the nearest glow she could—pressed her palm against the tree trunk and pulled and pulled.
Her palm was damp.
She gasped, the glows fading, as she pulled her hand back from the tree, twisted around to look closely. There it was: a tiny trickle, no more than a few steady drops. Tal moved closer, staring over her shoulder. He reached up to press a finger against it, and a moment later the trickle was gone, dry. There was water in the tree, but not much. Not enough.
But it was a start.
“You really did it,” he said, amazed, and reached up to run a damp finger across her cheek. She ducked away from his hand, a quiet laugh forming in her chest. Feeling reckless and giddy, she let the laugh out, let the noise into the sharp night air.
“We’ll need more than that,” she said. “I’ll need more practice. But…”
“But you did it,” Tal repeated. “And you…you really are going to save Aredann.”
—
Jae wondered if this was what it was like to be Tal. She technically obeyed all of her orders the next day, she did the work she needed to—but she practiced magic as she did it. Because she never neglected her duties, the Curse didn’t do more than rumble slightly, and she quickly learned how to work while examining the glows. When she focused, she could use them to tell weeds from bushes, to sense where the rocky garden paths ended and the dead tufts of grass began. Or she could let herself go, her mind soaring over the estate. She could identify people that way—not just pick humans out from the walls of the estate, from the floor and ceiling, all jumbled together, but tell who was who.
As long as she worked while she did it, she was fine, and getting stronger. The trickles she called got larger. She could pull water from weeds and feed it to the bushes instead. It was never much, no more than a palmful at a time, but it was getting easier. Surely once the Avowed left and she didn’t need to be so careful, she’d be able to do even more. She had to be able to, if she was going to save anyone.
The one time she didn’t dare practice magic was when she served the Avowed their lunch. She banished even the glowing energy whenever she was close to one of them. The Avowed still made her nervous enough that she gave them her full concentration—and besides, an extra hour of practice wasn’t worth the risk. If any of the Avowed caught on to what she could do, the whole gambit would be over. They would control her and her magic. Better to be careful in front of them; better to wait until she was alone again, working, beneath their notice.
Evenings were her favorite. Anytime she was alone in the garden or the yard, she could practice. She started by counting water jugs in the basement, learning not just to recognize the bright, beautiful glow of the water, but to separate out each individual jug by its clay. When she finally got to use the water itself, she would watch carefully in this, this other-vision, and see how it was absorbed, how the plants would glow more brightly. She practiced calling water from weeds, and, daring, finally brought the water in her palm up to her mouth to swallow.
It was sweet and cool, and she smiled in satisfaction. She’d find more. She’d call it, or she’d create it, somehow. But it would be like this, free for everyone.
A footfall on the path startled her. She dropped her hand guiltily and looked up to find Lord Elan taking in the garden. She stayed where she was, crouched by the bushes, hoping he’d somehow overlook her, or at least ignore her—but no, his gaze lingered on her, and he smiled.
“I wish I could see what this garden was like when Lord Aredann first planted it,” he mused, looking around. “It’s nothing like the mosaic.”
She said nothing, trying to stay calm. He liked to talk, she already knew that much. Hopefully, if she just waited, he’d talk himself out, get bored, and go find someone who could actually answer him. She banished the glowing visions as she waited, worried he’d seen her do something.
“The fountain, though, that’s the same,” he continued, walking over to examine it. “Lady Shirrad tells me it was crafted by Lord Aredann himself.”
Jae couldn’t say anything, just waited, listening, but when she looked at the fountain, she knew that was wrong. She had that strange feeling again as if she wasn’t quite able to remember something important, but she could swear she’d heard something different. Lord Aredann hadn’t crafted the fountain; a woman had. Someone tied to the Well, back when it had been founded. Jae must have heard a legend about that once, but that didn’t make any sense, either. If Lady Shirrad and the Avowed knew that Lord Aredann had crafted the fountain, then no Closest would dare say otherwise—none would even be able to say otherwise, legend or no.
Elan stooped to look at the blossom. “How has our mysterious flower fared?”
“Quite well, Highest,” Jae said softly, swallowing her anxiety. He’d ordered her to care for the flower, so she had, painstakingly ensuring that it continue to grow and bloom. But the flower was a dangerous subject, because now she knew for certain where it had come from. She was safe, as long as he didn’t ask, but if he did…
“Good, good.” He laughed a little and straightened back up. He looked up at the moon and mused, “It’s not a bad evening out, now that the sun’s down. Back at Danardae, we spend the evenings in gardens, too, though they have more than just one flower.”
She forced herself to smile. Let him scoff at her garden—let him scoff, and then leave her be. She’d smile at anything if it meant he’d go back inside. And he seemed like he was going to when he glanced to the arched entryway.
But then he looked back at her and added, “It’s still cursed strange, it growing out of nowhere like that. I take it you haven’t seen any other mysterious flowers?”
Just finding the water already at Aredann wouldn’t be enough. The Avowed would probably take it all with them when they went, fill jugs from the reservoir and carry off as much as they could. Aredann would need new water, coming from somewhere else.
She concentrated on the idea of that particularly bright glow, until she realized the glow was all around her, too—hard to see, hidden within other shimmering lights. Her head throbbed with Curse-pain again, but she ignored it and reached for the nearest glow she could—pressed her palm against the tree trunk and pulled and pulled.
Her palm was damp.
She gasped, the glows fading, as she pulled her hand back from the tree, twisted around to look closely. There it was: a tiny trickle, no more than a few steady drops. Tal moved closer, staring over her shoulder. He reached up to press a finger against it, and a moment later the trickle was gone, dry. There was water in the tree, but not much. Not enough.
But it was a start.
“You really did it,” he said, amazed, and reached up to run a damp finger across her cheek. She ducked away from his hand, a quiet laugh forming in her chest. Feeling reckless and giddy, she let the laugh out, let the noise into the sharp night air.
“We’ll need more than that,” she said. “I’ll need more practice. But…”
“But you did it,” Tal repeated. “And you…you really are going to save Aredann.”
—
Jae wondered if this was what it was like to be Tal. She technically obeyed all of her orders the next day, she did the work she needed to—but she practiced magic as she did it. Because she never neglected her duties, the Curse didn’t do more than rumble slightly, and she quickly learned how to work while examining the glows. When she focused, she could use them to tell weeds from bushes, to sense where the rocky garden paths ended and the dead tufts of grass began. Or she could let herself go, her mind soaring over the estate. She could identify people that way—not just pick humans out from the walls of the estate, from the floor and ceiling, all jumbled together, but tell who was who.
As long as she worked while she did it, she was fine, and getting stronger. The trickles she called got larger. She could pull water from weeds and feed it to the bushes instead. It was never much, no more than a palmful at a time, but it was getting easier. Surely once the Avowed left and she didn’t need to be so careful, she’d be able to do even more. She had to be able to, if she was going to save anyone.
The one time she didn’t dare practice magic was when she served the Avowed their lunch. She banished even the glowing energy whenever she was close to one of them. The Avowed still made her nervous enough that she gave them her full concentration—and besides, an extra hour of practice wasn’t worth the risk. If any of the Avowed caught on to what she could do, the whole gambit would be over. They would control her and her magic. Better to be careful in front of them; better to wait until she was alone again, working, beneath their notice.
Evenings were her favorite. Anytime she was alone in the garden or the yard, she could practice. She started by counting water jugs in the basement, learning not just to recognize the bright, beautiful glow of the water, but to separate out each individual jug by its clay. When she finally got to use the water itself, she would watch carefully in this, this other-vision, and see how it was absorbed, how the plants would glow more brightly. She practiced calling water from weeds, and, daring, finally brought the water in her palm up to her mouth to swallow.
It was sweet and cool, and she smiled in satisfaction. She’d find more. She’d call it, or she’d create it, somehow. But it would be like this, free for everyone.
A footfall on the path startled her. She dropped her hand guiltily and looked up to find Lord Elan taking in the garden. She stayed where she was, crouched by the bushes, hoping he’d somehow overlook her, or at least ignore her—but no, his gaze lingered on her, and he smiled.
“I wish I could see what this garden was like when Lord Aredann first planted it,” he mused, looking around. “It’s nothing like the mosaic.”
She said nothing, trying to stay calm. He liked to talk, she already knew that much. Hopefully, if she just waited, he’d talk himself out, get bored, and go find someone who could actually answer him. She banished the glowing visions as she waited, worried he’d seen her do something.
“The fountain, though, that’s the same,” he continued, walking over to examine it. “Lady Shirrad tells me it was crafted by Lord Aredann himself.”
Jae couldn’t say anything, just waited, listening, but when she looked at the fountain, she knew that was wrong. She had that strange feeling again as if she wasn’t quite able to remember something important, but she could swear she’d heard something different. Lord Aredann hadn’t crafted the fountain; a woman had. Someone tied to the Well, back when it had been founded. Jae must have heard a legend about that once, but that didn’t make any sense, either. If Lady Shirrad and the Avowed knew that Lord Aredann had crafted the fountain, then no Closest would dare say otherwise—none would even be able to say otherwise, legend or no.
Elan stooped to look at the blossom. “How has our mysterious flower fared?”
“Quite well, Highest,” Jae said softly, swallowing her anxiety. He’d ordered her to care for the flower, so she had, painstakingly ensuring that it continue to grow and bloom. But the flower was a dangerous subject, because now she knew for certain where it had come from. She was safe, as long as he didn’t ask, but if he did…
“Good, good.” He laughed a little and straightened back up. He looked up at the moon and mused, “It’s not a bad evening out, now that the sun’s down. Back at Danardae, we spend the evenings in gardens, too, though they have more than just one flower.”
She forced herself to smile. Let him scoff at her garden—let him scoff, and then leave her be. She’d smile at anything if it meant he’d go back inside. And he seemed like he was going to when he glanced to the arched entryway.
But then he looked back at her and added, “It’s still cursed strange, it growing out of nowhere like that. I take it you haven’t seen any other mysterious flowers?”
