King of Sword and Sky
Page 66
«They are afraid.» Sybharukai's bright voice flared across Ellysetta's open senses. «They know Cahlah, Merdrahl, and one of their nestmates are gone. They shield themselves just as kits hatched outside the lair did long ago to hide from hunters.» Along with the words flowed the image of a mounded nest covered with sand, baking in the sun rather than in the dark protection of a volcanic cave. A predator pawed and nosed at the sand around the nest.
Ellysetta's spine straightened. Of course the kitlings were afraid. They were babies who'd just been attacked and terrified, who'd just felt their parents die. A fresh surge of confidence filled her. Magic might still be mostly a mystery to her, but soothing frightened children was something she'd always been good at.
She knelt beside the egg and did her best to cradle it as if it were a child. So many times, she'd rocked Lillis and Lorelle, holding their small bodies close to hers and singing to them until whatever sadness or fear they suffered melted away. Remembering those times, she rocked against the egg and stroked the nubby shell as if it were a baby's soft cheek. Quietly at first, and then with growing assurance, she began to croon the melodies and lullabies she'd sung to her sisters.
At first the kitlings remained stubbornly silent, their light utterly hidden, but gradually, as she continued to sing, faint colors began to swirl in the dark centers of the eggs.
Something fluttered at the edge of her consciousness, hesitant, weak, but curious. She turned her attention towards it. Tiny, frightened, so tired. She probed gently, stretching out towards the sensation, and blinked back tears as a thready, shimmering song played weakly in her mind. She huddled closer to the egg, stroking its surface with encouragement. «Hello, there, little kit. Can you hear me? My name is Ellysetta, and I've come to help you.»
Celieria City ~ The Royal Palace
Gethen Nour buttoned the flap of his silk trousers, straightened his jacket, and toed the trembling woman curled on the floor at his feet. "You may get dressed now, pet. I'll have Brodson send in your maid."
Lady Montevero nodded, swiping at the tears making streaks through the remnants of powder and rouge on her face.
"The maid—Fanette, did you call her? Does she have someone she loves, someone she would feel compelled to protect? A child perhaps? A mother?"
He saw Jiarine's bare shoulder tense. She knew why he asked. "A baby," she whispered.
"Excellent." It pleased him that she surrendered the information, even knowing his intentions. Brodson would follow the maid home tonight. By this time tomorrow, young Fanette would bear the first of Gethen's own six Marks. "And, pet—"
"Y-yes?"
"You will come to me tonight in Manza's rooms by the wharf. You may demonstrate any other intriguing tricks he's taught you." Gethen smiled for the second time that morning, enjoying the way her flesh, not nearly so pampered and flawless as it had been when he'd first arrived, shuddered at the prospect.
And still she answered dutifully, "Yes, Master Nour."
Perhaps Kolis hadn't been quite the softhearted weakling Nour had always considered him when it came to the training of umagi.
"I look forward to it. Oh, and one last thing…" He bent down beside her and stroked a thumb across the delicate pulse in her throat. His voice dropped to a gentle whisper. "While we are apart today, I want you to find out everything you can about any recent activity near the Garreval. Do not rouse suspicion, but don't come to me empty-handed either. I'm not a pleasant man when I'm disappointed."
The choked sob escaped before she could bite her lip to hold it back. Fresh tears spurted from her eyes. The mass of tangled dark brown ringlets bobbed as she gave a jerky nod.
"Excellent. I can see we are going to get along famously." He rose to his feet and left the room without a backward glance.
In the adjoining room, the maid Fanette, a plump little partridge with cornflower eyes and brown hair wrapped in a tidy plait, sat still as stone in a chair across from Den Brodson. Her hands were clenched so tight in her lap, her knuckles shone white. "Your mistress needs your assistance, girl."
As the maid rose to her feet, Nour reached into his pocket. When she passed by him, he grabbed her arm and blew a small cloud of somulus powder into her face. Her frightened blue eyes went blank. "You came in this morning to discover that Lady Jiarine has had a run-in with a rather…brutal…nobleman. You know what harm he will cause if rumor of his habits gets out. So you will tend your lady and you will keep silent, for her sake as well as your own. Now go."
The girl walked with dazed, slow steps into the adjoining bedroom.
"Come, Brodson." He waved to the butcher's son. "The day's half-gone, and we've much to do."
Eld ~ Boura Fell
Elfeya v'En Celay lay upon her sel'dor-laced bed, exhausted and aching and filled with self-loathing after the last several bells she'd spent healing the High Mage of Eld. Hatred was a dark emotion no shei'dalin should ever clutch to her breast, but over the last thousand years, it had become as much her companion as the constant acid burn of the dread Eld metal against her flesh. Gods forgive her, but she did hate. She hated with every ounce of flesh and every drop of blood in her body.
And if it were not for her shei'tan, Shan, chained in the lower levels of Vadim Maur's dungeon fortress, she would have done what no shei'dalin ever did.
She would have killed.
If not for Shan, she would have twisted her shei'dalin powers and used them to slay the evil Mage who came to her for healing. And she would have wept with joy as the torment of taking a life struck her dead.
Ellysetta's spine straightened. Of course the kitlings were afraid. They were babies who'd just been attacked and terrified, who'd just felt their parents die. A fresh surge of confidence filled her. Magic might still be mostly a mystery to her, but soothing frightened children was something she'd always been good at.
She knelt beside the egg and did her best to cradle it as if it were a child. So many times, she'd rocked Lillis and Lorelle, holding their small bodies close to hers and singing to them until whatever sadness or fear they suffered melted away. Remembering those times, she rocked against the egg and stroked the nubby shell as if it were a baby's soft cheek. Quietly at first, and then with growing assurance, she began to croon the melodies and lullabies she'd sung to her sisters.
At first the kitlings remained stubbornly silent, their light utterly hidden, but gradually, as she continued to sing, faint colors began to swirl in the dark centers of the eggs.
Something fluttered at the edge of her consciousness, hesitant, weak, but curious. She turned her attention towards it. Tiny, frightened, so tired. She probed gently, stretching out towards the sensation, and blinked back tears as a thready, shimmering song played weakly in her mind. She huddled closer to the egg, stroking its surface with encouragement. «Hello, there, little kit. Can you hear me? My name is Ellysetta, and I've come to help you.»
Celieria City ~ The Royal Palace
Gethen Nour buttoned the flap of his silk trousers, straightened his jacket, and toed the trembling woman curled on the floor at his feet. "You may get dressed now, pet. I'll have Brodson send in your maid."
Lady Montevero nodded, swiping at the tears making streaks through the remnants of powder and rouge on her face.
"The maid—Fanette, did you call her? Does she have someone she loves, someone she would feel compelled to protect? A child perhaps? A mother?"
He saw Jiarine's bare shoulder tense. She knew why he asked. "A baby," she whispered.
"Excellent." It pleased him that she surrendered the information, even knowing his intentions. Brodson would follow the maid home tonight. By this time tomorrow, young Fanette would bear the first of Gethen's own six Marks. "And, pet—"
"Y-yes?"
"You will come to me tonight in Manza's rooms by the wharf. You may demonstrate any other intriguing tricks he's taught you." Gethen smiled for the second time that morning, enjoying the way her flesh, not nearly so pampered and flawless as it had been when he'd first arrived, shuddered at the prospect.
And still she answered dutifully, "Yes, Master Nour."
Perhaps Kolis hadn't been quite the softhearted weakling Nour had always considered him when it came to the training of umagi.
"I look forward to it. Oh, and one last thing…" He bent down beside her and stroked a thumb across the delicate pulse in her throat. His voice dropped to a gentle whisper. "While we are apart today, I want you to find out everything you can about any recent activity near the Garreval. Do not rouse suspicion, but don't come to me empty-handed either. I'm not a pleasant man when I'm disappointed."
The choked sob escaped before she could bite her lip to hold it back. Fresh tears spurted from her eyes. The mass of tangled dark brown ringlets bobbed as she gave a jerky nod.
"Excellent. I can see we are going to get along famously." He rose to his feet and left the room without a backward glance.
In the adjoining room, the maid Fanette, a plump little partridge with cornflower eyes and brown hair wrapped in a tidy plait, sat still as stone in a chair across from Den Brodson. Her hands were clenched so tight in her lap, her knuckles shone white. "Your mistress needs your assistance, girl."
As the maid rose to her feet, Nour reached into his pocket. When she passed by him, he grabbed her arm and blew a small cloud of somulus powder into her face. Her frightened blue eyes went blank. "You came in this morning to discover that Lady Jiarine has had a run-in with a rather…brutal…nobleman. You know what harm he will cause if rumor of his habits gets out. So you will tend your lady and you will keep silent, for her sake as well as your own. Now go."
The girl walked with dazed, slow steps into the adjoining bedroom.
"Come, Brodson." He waved to the butcher's son. "The day's half-gone, and we've much to do."
Eld ~ Boura Fell
Elfeya v'En Celay lay upon her sel'dor-laced bed, exhausted and aching and filled with self-loathing after the last several bells she'd spent healing the High Mage of Eld. Hatred was a dark emotion no shei'dalin should ever clutch to her breast, but over the last thousand years, it had become as much her companion as the constant acid burn of the dread Eld metal against her flesh. Gods forgive her, but she did hate. She hated with every ounce of flesh and every drop of blood in her body.
And if it were not for her shei'tan, Shan, chained in the lower levels of Vadim Maur's dungeon fortress, she would have done what no shei'dalin ever did.
She would have killed.
If not for Shan, she would have twisted her shei'dalin powers and used them to slay the evil Mage who came to her for healing. And she would have wept with joy as the torment of taking a life struck her dead.
