Disclaimer: The Black Jewels Trilogy and subsequent novels were written by Anne Bishop. Although I own all the books, I do not own, nor make money from, the copyright.
A/N: I promise, I will do my best to explain everything as the story goes along, except for things that were covered in the books. The fact that these two have mothers with the same Jewels wasn't planned. I picked the Jewels for one, my dad picked the Jewels for the other. I own all the books, and I have Daughter of the Blood beside me every chapter I write. This is set about fifty or so years after Tersa tells Daemon that Witch is coming.
"Greetings Trickster," the Guardian said as he dropped from the Winds onto the darkened landing court.
"Greetings Guardian," the Trickster replied, watching her cautiously as she stepped out of the doorway to the mountain tower. Torches lit up, illuminating the rounded base, and giving them both just enough light to fully identify each other.
"Is it done?" She asked finally, in her soft, age roughened voice. They both winced slightly at the reminder of the Trickster's job. She because she hated using another to do the work, and he because of the history behind the job.
"It's done," the Trickster said as he reached to slip his fingers through his hair, intending to straighten the strands misplaced by a windy night. As he touched the short, spikes he sighed, "Would you take this off, Lady?"
"First," the Guardian said, "there is someone I would have you meet. I wish him to see both faces." She turned and headed into the tower, clearly expecting to be obeyed and followed no matter the Trickster's true feelings on the matter.
The Trickster bowed, reluctant but obedient, "As my Lady wishes." Then he followed behind her, sending a burst of Craft to dim the torches and shut the doors behind them. The tower was isolated, but that didn't mean they shouldn't take precautions, after all.
He followed her through the tower's guard room to the rooms buried in the mountain that served her as a home. The guest waited for them in the smaller waiting room, and the psychic scent that the Trickster could detect made him uneasy. While the Guardian walked calmly into the room unannounced, the Trickster hesitated. Eyriens and Warlord Princes in general, didn't always appreciate strange males appearing out of nowhere. "Come on," the Guardian said, "nothing is going to happen under my roof."
The Trickster stepped into the room as the light from the fireplace flared. The Eyrien stood next to the mantel looking like every other Eyrien the Trickster had ever seen. Only the Red Jewel on the pendant around his neck marked him as different. "He's a child," the Eyrien said, stunned, pulling the Trickster out of his private contemplation.
"I'm not as young as I look, Prince," the Trickster replied with a dangerous smile. He gestured to his body, "Besides, who really notices a kid." He'd lost count of how many times had he gone into a Territory looking not unlike this, a boy of a short lived race, barely into adolescence. Nobody really noticed children, even when they saw them doing something unusual. As long as no one caught him setting the pretty traps and the death spells, nobody ever thought of him as more than a mischievous child.
"Be easy," the Guardian snapped as she deliberately stepped between them. "Prince Caylenar, this is the Trickster."
"Prince," the Trickster said finally, and accepted Caylenar's grudging nod. "You worry about me being a child, but I'm not. My Lady trusts you, there for I will trust you as well." He bowed slightly to the Guardian, "If you would, my Lady?"
The Guardian gestured and the short, red haired boy with fox like features shimmered and became the refined features of a young Hayllian. "Who are you?" Caylenar demanded with all the distrust of a person who has seen the dark side of Hayll and none of the good.
"Rowan," the Trickster replied, settling his black hair with a restless hand. "My name is Rowan, Prince." He kept his face neutral, unwilling to admit how much the automatic distrust and hate grated on his nerves.
"You are still a child," Caylenar said after a moment, the distrust still there but somewhat muted by contempt.
"No more than you are," Rowan replied, wondering if he'd have to beat sense into the Eyrien.
"Boys," the Guardian snapped, "take a walk. Rowan, explain what you do, no riddles."
"Yes Lady," Rowan said with a slight bow. He kept his face and voice as neutral as he could.
"Yes Aunt Kyra," Caylenar ground out a moment later. Rowan hid his sudden curiosity, not many of the long lived races could claim the Guardian as family.
The two were silent as they left the room, Rowan in the lead. He headed for the tower without a second thought. "Where are you going?" Caylenar demanded from behind him, hurrying to keep up.
"The tower," Rowan replied, trying
not
to think how easy it would be for the Eyrien to decide that a quick blast of the Red and an Eyrien war blade would deal with the Hayllian intruder. "It's private and the Lady keeps a room for me there when I'm in this part of Terreille."
They took the stairs up and Rowan lead Caylenar onto a balcony. "Who are you?" Caylenar demanded as soon as the doors swung shut.
"My name is Rowan," Rowan said quietly, "my mother was a Summer-Sky Queen with more balls and sass than sense. She was broken by my father at Dorothea's request. When she found out about me, Mother went looking for help. Her brother had married the Lady's niece and the Lady took us in. Mother died a few years ago, but she never recovered from being broken. Since Mother died, I have been one of the Lady's eyes and ears in Terreille. I am called the Trickster by the Family and I often taken on the appearance of a child, usually of the shorter lived races, to achieve my goals." He let his Opal ring flash, "I wear Birthright Opal and I am a Warlord." Leaning on the balcony's rail he looked at his companion, "So who are you?"
"My name is Caylenar," Caylenar said, "My mother was a Summer-Sky Witch and a Half-Breed. My Grandfather was Hayllian, and a son of the Lady. My father was a sixth circle guard to an Eyrien Queen. The Queen took offense to a Summer-Sky Witch and a Purple Dusk Warlord giving birth to a Warlord Prince when she'd had two children, neither of whom wore Jewels, especially when I walked out of the Birthright Ceremony carrying the Red. My father was killed fighting the Jhinkas and my mother was forced into service as a serving witch while I was in the Training Camps. There were some rumors that I would be Ringed, but it hasn't happened yet."
Rowan nodded, "That makes you Family. I can understand why the Lady wanted us to meet."
"It's more than that," Caylenar said. "My mother has a half-sister in Hayll. I have a cousin, a Black Widow cousin."
"One day, we'll meet," Rowan said.
"You don't know that," Caylenar replied.
"Of course I do," Rowan replied, "the Lady wouldn't have brought us together if that wasn't part of our future."
The doors opened, "Trickster," the Guardian said.
"Guardian," Rowan turned, blinking in the light that spilled outwards.
"Word has arrived from Dena Nehele. It's time." The Guardian said.
Rowan nodded, "I'll leave immediately."
The Guardian handed him a pendant and Rowan slid it around his neck quickly. In moments, his form twisted and he became a dark haired, dark skinned youth with clear green eyes. "Keep them safe," the Guardian admonished him.
"I will," the Trickster replied and ran for the landing web.
"What's going on?" Caylenar asked.
"Rowan is going to see a witch through her first childbirth," the Guardian replied. "If the girl lives, her daughter will be a key to saving Terreille."
"Do you trust him?" Caylenar asked after a long moment.
"I trust him with our Queens," the Guardian replied, "because he has proven worthy."
"I should go," Caylenar said after a long moment of thought, "Mother will worry."
"Go," the Guardian said and kissed his cheek. "Take care, Caylenar."
"You too."