The Earth Cave, Twenty-four Years Ago
Redden felt no fear at that dark cave. With his sword burning as bright as any lantern, he led the Cornelian prince, the soldiers, the mages, right into that gaping scar, that jagged wound on the South Cape's coastline. He felt nothing. He felt numb.
Even when the dead crawled up from the cave depths, surrounding them in the dark, he wasn't afraid. He focused on his sword, on the aether, on the systematic process of working through task after task. There was no thought here, only one spell, another, sword stroke, perry. Breathe. Survive.
That numbness carried him through the day. Every fight, every twist of the path: it was like they were happening to someone else, like Redden was watching, disinterested, through someone else's eyes.
The numbness insulated him. He should have felt fear. Part of him knew, deep down. Part of him, overwhelmed by failure, by dread, sat gibbering in a corner of his mind, unable to function. He kept that part securely locked away. Only by not thinking at all could he keep from screaming.
"This is as far as we've ever been," he said when they reached the end of the path. His voice sounded muffled, as if it came from far away. That detached part of him that was still paying attention pointed out that it was because his pulse was pounding in his ears, but he staunchly ignored it.
Cascius nodded. He addressed one of the white mages, a woman old enough to be his mother. "Alice, take point."
It had startled Redden to realize not all of the Cornelian white mages were true white mages. Two were red mages, like Redden himself. The third, this Alice, was a black mage, Cascius said. Able to read the aether but not to draw it, she had sworn the White Oath. She had dedicated her life to studying the structure of white spells; she'd been the one to make most of the changes to Bram's diagrams.
Beneath the edge of her white hood, Alice narrowed her eyes, peering into the darkness ahead of them. She held her hammer before her like a torch. The silver-chased steel glowed with an unearthly light, almost like a spellblade, but the spell it held wasn't one that Redden knew, a white spell of dazzling complexity. Redden had seen the blunt weapon rip through their undead foes like a letter knife through paper.
The cave twisted and turned, full of holes and dead ends and circular paths that led to hidden enclaves of the dead. They fought, they journeyed onward, gods knew how long. Time passed strangely in that dark abyss. It could have been hours or only minutes - it was impossible to tell.
The cave opened up into a cavern, musty and dry. Their footsteps echoed back at them, but the light of the Cornelians' lanterns filled the massive space, its smooth walls covered in their own dancing shadows, concealing nothing. No dead awaited them here.
"That's it," Alice said, gesturing with her hammer toward a flat, black stone at the cavern's center. "The source."
Carved perfectly square, covered with Leifenish runes, it looked a bit a like a giant headstone that had fallen over, or like a stepping stone in an ogre's garden. However, the corrupted aether curling from it like a poisonous gas hinted at something more sinister.
"But what is it?" one of the other mages asked.
"Doesn't matter," Cascius said. "Can you still do the spell?"
Alice nodded. "This simplifies things, actually. The spell's similar enough to a protective ward that having an object to cast it on instead of a vague area should strengthen it."
Cascius nodded. "Make your preparations." He turned to the old man, the foreigner. "Orin, take some lanterns up the passage a ways, to that narrow bit. Keep watch there. The rest of you, form a perimeter. Nothing gets past us until the ritual's complete, is that understood?"
"Yes, sir!" the men said, shuffling into position.
"My prince," Orin said, bowing respectfully, then he straightened and headed back the way they'd come in, motioning for a couple of the soldiers to follow him.
Redden, too, moved to follow the monk, but a heavy, gauntleted hand landed on his shoulder.
"Stay," said the prince, kindly but still an order. The man was clearly used to being obeyed, nevermind that Redden wasn't one of his subjects. "I'm told you've been part of this ritual since the beginning. You should be part of it now."
Redden shook his head. "I can't. Not with the changes they've made to it. I'm not skilled enough."
"You needn't participate," Cascius said. "Just see it done." He gave Redden's shoulder a squeeze and lowered his voice. "I know a broken man when I see one. I know what you've lost to this place. If you don't see this laid to rest here, today, it'll haunt you forever. Just watch. Just witness this."
What I've lost… Memories flashed: the ritual, men dying beside him. His brother's aura, so strong, being pulled farther and farther away from him, vanishing altogether. Cid… The grief sat like a heavy stone in the back of his mind, threatening to roll over him. He forced it back, forced back his thoughts once more, until he wasn't there, until he was someone else again.
He focused on the mages. He and Cascius stood side by side, watching as Alice arranged the white mages at intervals around the carved stone in the cavern's center, treating the ritual more like a black spell than a white one. Four of the mages were busily chalking sigils into the floor, another pouring a line of what appeared to be salt, encircling the altar and the white mages with it. One unpacked a bag containing copper bowls and bundles of dried herbs for burning.
Overkill, Redden thought.
He was surprised to hear Cascius's voice reflecting his own thoughts. "Is all this really necessary?"
Redden shrugged. "Not if even one of those mages is powerful enough to cast the spell. Wards either work or they don't. It's like filling a cup. Whether the water comes from one enormous pitcher or a dozen ladles, the cup can only hold so much."
"Then why all the pageantry?"
"Your mages didn't want to take any chances, I suppose, given what I told them. We haven't failed every time, you know. We've successfully cast the ritual a half dozen times over the past year and a half. It just doesn't stick."
"Alice said this is some variation of Protect?" Cascius said.
"In a way," Redden said. "Think of it as more of a shell, like a hermit crab wears. It holds back the corrupted aether brewing in this place, but the aether always outgrows the wards and spills out again."
The prince eyed him critically. "You think it won't be any different this time."
"I think-" Redden started to say, but he stopped, stunned, as the white mages began their ritual. The aether sang. "Actually, I don't know what I think…"
The ten mages - white, red, and black - spoke as one, chanting an incantation. It was not the one Redden had used. Indeed, Bram's spell was nearly unrecognizable, but Redden felt the familiar traces of it in this one, a slant of aether here, a pattern there, each mage handling a piece of the final product like players in a symphony. The changes they'd made were far beyond Redden's abilities to comprehend. He opened himself - his spirit, his senses - letting that part of his soul that was deeper and wiser than conscious thought observe in silent wonder as the altar stone began to glow.
He expanded his mind, trying to take it all in, trying to feel the spellcraft of all ten mages at once, when he felt movement in the aether, far away in the cave, but rapidly approaching.
"Call your men back," Redden said. Then he turned to the cavern's entrance, sword ready, and called them himself. "Orin! Fall back! Fall back now! Something's out there!"
"More of those dead things?" Cascius said.
Redden nodded. "They're moving this way, and moving fast," he said, his voice again coming from far away. "They've realized what we're doing."
"Then we must be doing it right," Cascius said, nodding firmly. He shook himself, rolled his shoulders, tilted his head to crack his neck. It was the same sort of thing Cid always did to loosen up before a duel. The prince smiled, eyes narrow with anticipation as though that's all this was to him: a duel, a casual bout with stakes no higher than a few drinks down at the tavern. He called, "Men! Be ready!"
Fearless, Redden thought. The man's fearless. The sudden realization jarred him, brought his own fear boiling to the surface. As Orin and the men with him returned from the passage, fanning out to take their places among the others defending the mages, Redden's heart sped up. I can't do this! he realized. Oh, gods, what am I doing here? I can't-
He forced it down again. All at once, muscle memory kicked in from all those mornings training with Cid. Redden fell easily into a ready stance. In a flash, he recalled a time when he had found the stances difficult, unnatural. Not so, now. Ahead of him, the dead surged in and he knew - Redden knew - that his stance was perfect. He was ready. There was no room for fear anymore.
Snarling, growling, they struck like a tidal wave, like a force of nature. The mindless army slammed into the first row of defenders, breaking through. Alice barked an order, and two of the mages on that side turned from the ritual to cast Protect while the others continued. The dead struck that white wall with a crunch of bones, the force of it knocking one of the white mages prone, but the defensive spell bought time for the soldiers to close ranks again.
The beasts roared, weapons clashed, soldiers shouted their defiance, and through it all the mages chanted their spell, a haunting, rhythmic song. The words, the noise, washed over Redden, becoming one indistinguishable rush of sound. He screamed as he swung his sword at a creature wearing a Melmond uniform, his own voice subsumed by the cacophony. His blade caught in the thing's ribcage.
He heard his brother's voice in his head, an echo of countless play fights and training sessions over the years. What are you doing, idiot? Quit pulling your strikes!
Redden screamed again, a battle cry, and called upon the aether, upon fire. His sword blazed, searing through withered flesh so that the creature fell shrieking to the ground, writhing as it burned.
Yes! That's it!
More creatures moved in to take the fallen one's place, coming from all sides, heedless of each other, not caring if they got in one another's way.
Don't stop! Sword up! Cid said, no more than a memory.
And Redden remembered. He remembered so clearly: in the training yard, fighting with his brother at his back, the two of them taking on a dozen foes at once. He could feel it. He could feel Cid with him, could hear his voice. But this wasn't the training yard. These foes were mindless, fighting on pure animal instinct, so Redden did the same, letting the aether guide him.
Even the white mages were fighting now. While half of them continued the ritual, the rest swung hammers and maces. Redden could see Protect spells rippling in the dim lantern light, could see the strange glow of the spellblade Alice used on her own heavy weapon.
He felt another creature come at him and turned to meet it before it struck. He'd used the aether to fight before, used spells, but never had he fought while he'd been so open to it, so aware, his senses stretched out like a spider web over his surroundings, catching the slightest movements. He could feel his enemies.
He could feel his brother. Cid was there! Not just a memory, not Redden's imagination. Cid was with him, fighting behind him, guarding his back. He felt it! He felt it! Redden's heart soared, a new confidence. Cid was back! He was back!
I won't fail you again, Redden promised, resolve strengthening.
A man fell. Another. Then one of the mages. Redden felt that too, but he fought on. He would not fail!
One of the dead plowed into him, getting past his guard. Teeth sank into his shoulder, ripping his coat. Redden cried out, punching the thing in the head, the face, breaking its teeth and jaw, knocking it back a few paces.
The creature snarled at him. Despite the dead-eyed glare, despite the broken teeth in that slack mouth, Redden recognized that face. Argus.
Redden froze. Argus. Argus killed Cid. But Cid wasn't dead! Cid was here!
As if it had read Redden's thoughts, the creature surged past him, focused on the figure fighting behind him.
No! Not this time!
Redden swung at the beast, injured shoulder throbbing. He pulled on the aether. More fire! Stronger! In a blast of heat and light, his sword's flame grew, but his strike was too slow. He severed the thing's leg, but its momentum carried it on, toward the armored figure at Redden's back.
"Cid!" Redden screamed, anguished. If he could spellblade his brother's sword in time… but he couldn't focus on it. He threw up his free hand, letting the aether flow out into every sword, every weapon his senses could reach, every weapon held by living hands, even the mages' hammers. He spellbladed all of them.
He couldn't hold it - it was too much. It lasted only a second, but that was all that was needed.
All around the cavern, creatures screamed, cringing back from the light. Argus stopped short, impaled on a flaming sword, jagged teeth snapping viciously on empty air inches from his would-be victim's throat. Redden brought his sword down on the thing's head, watched it fall motionless to the ground.
He looked up, not at Cid, but into the shocked face of Prince Cascius.
"No…" Redden whispered, stunned as the realization hit him fresh again. His brother was dead.
The mages stopped their chanting, their white-lit hands joined in a circle around the wicked altar stone. The stone burned, a blue fire that leaped up and then fell to simmer over its surface. The dead screamed. They fell to the floor, they writhed, smoking, and then they stopped moving altogether.
"It's finished," said Alice, breathing heavily as she let her hammer fall from her hand.
"We've done it!" another mage said, exuberant.
But as Redden looked out at the corpses, he felt no joy. Cascius stood there where his brother should have been. His brother was dead. Redden fell to his knees. His brother was dead. He couldn't let himself feel it, not again. He forced it back down until he felt nothing. He felt numb.
Cascius stepped up to him, clapped a hand to Redden's shoulder. "You saved my life."
The words seemed to come to Redden from very far away. As if he were someone else.
Melmond Manor, Present Day
Thad had been awake half the night. He didn't know why he couldn't sleep. There'd been that nap, but that had been short, he thought, and early enough in the day that it shouldn't have affected his night like this.
He thought of Orin as he'd last seen him, still asleep, still pale. The mass of bruises on his neck, the vampire's kiss, had faded under Redden and Lena's care so that only the two puncture wounds of those wicked teeth remained, pink and tender-looking against the monk's leathery skin, yet still he didn't wake. Unlike Thad, who sat alone in his room. In the dark.
There was nothing for it but to get up and wander the house. He avoided the guards, practiced his sneaking. He'd spent most of his young life thinking he was excellent at sneaking, but it occurred to him now that perhaps he'd simply been bending time to his advantage, moving too fast for people to catch. That bothered him - he prided himself on his sneaking - so he practiced, stubbornly refusing the aether's tug on him now that he recognized it for what it was.
He was far from the house, somewhere at the estate's northern border following one of the guards on patrol, when the sun rose, the daylight adding an extra challenge to his exercise. Slowly to avoid being seen, he snuck back.
He went straight to the dining room but the servants were busily tidying the remains of breakfast.
I missed it? he thought, dismayed. He'd lost track of time again there somewhere. He viewed the room through the aether. He could tell by the state of the fading auras at the table that he hadn't missed the meal by more than a few minutes. Leiden had only just left the room. Thad could also see that Leiden had been one of the only diners at the table, along with his daughter. Neither Redden nor Lena had been there that morning.
They're still with Orin, he thought, veering through the kitchen in search of leftovers.
He decided against sneaking in. That cook, Berta, had caught him swiping a sweet cake once before; her wrath had been swift, her aim precise as she lobbed her wooden spoon at his retreating back. He stood in plain sight in the doorway, waited for the scary old cook to stop ordering her underlings around long enough to notice him. One of the underlings saw him first, and when Berta followed the line of the girl's gaze to him, she pursed her lips in a sour expression.
"What?" the cook demanded.
Thad bowed. "Ma'am," he said, smiling politely. "Lord Redden - that is, Lord Carmine! - would like a plate please."
The cook nodded, though she made no move to prepare the meal herself, instead barking orders at two of her underlings who were quick to comply, scrambling to assemble a tray. Whether they were more worried about pleasing the legendary son of Titan or their own scowling mistress, Thad couldn't say.
He took his time heading to Orin's room from there, picking at the tray as he went. He hadn't lied to the cook, not really; he planned to give Redden the tray when he was done with it. But he stopped when he heard yelling. He hadn't even reached the hallway to Orin's room yet, but the angry tone had him frozen where he stood. Redden's voice, he realized. Redden's and Kane's. He eased forward, muscles reluctant to obey, until he could make out the words.
"-go gallivanting off to the countryside when I need you here?"
"For what?" Kane shouted in response. "You'll not have my help torturing your prisoners - you know how I feel about that!"
Thad breathed a sigh of relief. They weren't fighting about Orin, then. The old man hadn't suddenly taken a turn for the worst. Thad hadn't realized he had feared as much until he learned otherwise. He moved closer, peeking around the corner so that he could see the two of them facing each other in the hall outside of Orin's room.
"And your reasons for visiting the West Hills are… what, exactly? Sightseeing?" Redden said scornfully.
"Yes!" Kane barked. "To see them! To see where I come from! Is that so wrong?"
"You came from Cornelia!"
"But how likely am I to end up there, huh? What waits for me there?" Kane stormed out then, dodging past Thad in the hall without even acknowledging him.
"Kane!" Redden yelled, but he didn't give chase. He whirled around, stomping back into Orin's room.
Thad could see Redden standing by the window with his back to the door. Redden had never demonstrated any of the physical violence Thad's father often resorted to when he was angry like this, but Redden was angry enough that Thad feared being in that confined space with him.
Stupid, Thad thought. It's only Redden. Redden's my friend. He stepped forward, but slowly.
Suddenly, the man let out a frustrated roar, picked up the chair beside the bed, and flung it into the corner with a crash.
Thad squeaked, dropping the tray.
Redden whipped around, noticing him, and Thad noted the anger in his eyes. Thad turned and ran. He heard Redden call after him, but he didn't stop.
"Gabriel!" Kane called, hurrying to keep up as the sergeant strode westward through the forested area known as the Hornwood. "Come on, Gabriel! Talk to me!"
"I have nothing to say to you," Gabriel said. "Look, you wanted to make this trip, and Lord Leiden said I had to accompany you, but he didn't say I had to make polite conversation."
"I'd settle for impolite," Kane grumbled. They'd gone nearly three miles already without speaking to each other. He caught up as Gabriel carefully skirted around a large branch that had fallen across their path. "Can you at least slow down?"
Gabriel shook his head. "It's most of a day's hike to the West Hills."
"Yes, fine!" Kane said, reaching out and grabbing Gabriel's shoulder. "A hike! Not a jog!"
Gabriel shrugged him off with a growl and walked on, but he resumed at a much more normal pace.
They walked shaded beneath the thick canopy of the trees. The shade did nothing to alleviate the humidity, the way the air hung thick as a curtain, like the strange moss that hung from the branches. The sounds of insects and other small creatures filled the wood, a stark contrast to Gabriel's silent sulking, though they all sounded very far away.
Kane sighed in frustration as the two of them navigated past a downed tree in the middle of the trail. "You know, it's going to be a long day if you refuse to talk to me."
"Oh?" Gabriel said flatly. "And what shall we talk about? The way you betrayed my trust? Or are you going to tell me again that Jack isn't dangerous?"
"He isn't!" Kane insisted.
Gabriel said a rude word under his breath.
"I was under the impression you were sympathetic to mages!" Kane said.
"To white mages!" Gabriel said, raising his hands skyward.
"So I was right!" Kane said, scurrying ahead on the stick-strewn path so that he could look Gabriel in the eye. "You do know someone! You're friends with one of them!"
Gabriel kept walking, shoving Kane aside. "This line of conversation is over."
It was a light shove, but still Kane slipped, his boots slicking out from under him in a thin patch of mud. He went straight down, sitting down hard on the soft ground with a squelch and a curse. It was only after he stood and tried to wipe the muck off of his pants that he realized it wasn't mud. He looked back along the trail, at the fallen branches, the downed trees, really noticing them for the first time.
They'd come to the Rot.
Jack paced, rubbing his arms for warmth. He'd locked himself in his room again. The Melmond heat and humidity were gone here, replaced by a dry and brittle cold. His cold. The pacing helped, but still the cold rose.
"I don't get it," Thad said from where he sprawled across the bed. The locked door had been no obstacle to the insistent little thief. He lay on his belly on the huge mattress, knees bent and feet kicking merrily in the air as he flipped through a book he'd found among Kane's things. "You didn't tell her about the ice stuff because you thought she wouldn't like you?"
"Correct," Jack said, turning heel and walking the other way again. Back and forth. Back and forth.
Thad didn't look up from his book, an illustrated account of the Melmond civil war. "But she still likes you?"
Jack stopped, seized by a full-body shiver as he remembered the way she'd thrown her arms around him. She hadn't been horrified. She knew he couldn't control his powers and she hadn't minded at all. He fought for control now, resumed his pacing. "Apparently," he said in answer to Thad's question.
"So why is that a problem?" Thad asked.
"Because it-" Jack began, but he trailed off. Because it means she doesn't know I'm a dark mage. Dark mages lacked the same control of the aether that other mages had naturally. He had thought her education at White Hall would have covered that, but it seemed he'd been wrong. What comfort was it that she didn't hate him when she still didn't know what he was?
"Because what?" Thad asked.
"Just... just because!" Jack said. "It's a mage thing. I can't explain it to you."
"You could try. I've got time," Thad said, giggling as he subtly emphasized the last word. "And you owe me a magic lesson anyway."
"I'm busy!" Jack said.
Thad snorted. "No, you're not! You're just walking back and forth!"
"That's why I'm busy!" Jack said, motioning to the door. "Do you mind?"
"Not a bit! It feels great in here!"
Jack stopped pacing to glare at him.
Thad rolled his eyes. "Aw, come on, Jack! I missed breakfast because I messed up time again! I'm not even sure I slept through the whole night! Or, well, maybe I did, but I didn't take the whole night to do it, you know? Can't you teach me something to help me get the hang of this?"
Jack huffed. "If I could, it wouldn't feel like a frost giant's backside in here."
Thad shrugged, turning his attention back to his book.
Jack took a deep breath, ran a gloved hand through his hair, then resumed his pacing, lost in thought. The nature of dark mages wasn't common knowledge, of course. Most of the mages back in Crescent Lake hadn't known. Those who did had deemed the information of little consequence. Lack of control didn't automatically make one a dark mage, just as an ability to heal didn't make one a white mage.
But Crescent Lake was only a village, Jack had reasoned, a village with no other dark mages in it, cut off from the rest of the world by the mountains that surrounded it. Jack had been so sure that when he got away from there, reached a proper city with a proper school of magic, he would learn more about what he was. He'd counted on it. It was the reason he'd left the only home he'd ever known.
And yet...
Lena had been a student of one of those magic schools. She'd studied under true mages, masters of their craft, for seven years. And she didn't know what he was. Even Redden, who had learned both black and white magic through serious study, didn't seem to have found anything in those studies to make him suspect Jack was more than an ordinary black mage.
No one knows, he realized. He'd lived his entire life with powers he didn't understand, powers he feared. Others like him lived in exile, using their powers for evil. Was it any wonder that good people - his friends - didn't know how dark magic worked?
It's up to me, he thought. I'm the only one who can sort this out. There has to be something in that book I haven't found yet.
He went to the wardrobe, wrenching it open. "I can't stay here," he said, shoving shirts into a pack. "I need… I need to study this."
"You're leaving? Where are you going? Can I come too?" Thad asked, each question tumbling out in a rush with barely a breath between them.
"No!" Jack said sharply, thinking of the boy standing over his shoulder asking such questions as he studied Astos's book. He shuddered at the idea of having to explain himself, or the possibility that Thad - who was clever enough - would figure out on his own what Jack was hiding. He was forcing a pair of pants into his pack, cramming them in, when he realized Thad had grown quiet. He looked over his shoulder, sighing when he saw Thad's sad and dejected face.
"I'm sorry," Jack said. "I didn't mean to snap at you." He stood, shouldering his pack. "I'm going to Unne's. I need his library. I expect I'll be gone for several days. I..." He hesitated, groping for an excuse. "I... assumed you would want to stay with Orin."
"Oh," Thad said. "Right. Well, do you mind if I stay in here for awhile? The cold's nice."
It's not as nice on the inside, Jack thought, but what he said was, "Suit yourself."
Kane hadn't accounted for the widespread devastation of the Rot. He followed Gabriel out of the Hornwood, through the expanse of farmland they called the Reach, his muscles screaming from the extra effort of trekking through the ankle-deep sludge, his mind overwhelmed by the extent of the destruction. He'd seen the Rot before in Elfheim, but that had been a forest, a natural if blighted landscape. Here in Gabriel's homeland, there were homes, fences, tiny farming communities, all crumbling as the ground failed beneath them.
"I'm so sorry," Kane said when he saw those things, repeating it over and over as the day went on. "Oh, gods, I'm so sorry."
Gabriel said nothing, seething with a quiet rage.
It was late when they passed out of the Rot at last, later still when, exhausted, they reached Quincey House, a small though lavish structure surrounded by barns for livestock and barracks for fieldhands. The barracks bustled with activity, as many of the families displaced by the Rot had fled there for shelter, turning the house grounds into a makeshift village, brightly lit by several bonfires and by torches on pole stands.
A few men stood watch along the perimeter, each with a torch, some with dogs. The dogs barked when Kane and Gabriel drew nearer, but a man on the roadway called a friendly greeting. "Ho, there! You alive then?"
"For now, at least," Kane said.
"You've had trouble with the dead?" Gabriel asked.
"Only one, a few days back, out in the fields. Still, better safe than sorry." The man stepped closer, regarding Gabriel's muck-stained uniform by the torchlight. "Is that you, young master?"
"It is," Gabriel said with an exhausted sigh.
The man smiled broadly. "Run and tell the house," he said to one of his companions, who nodded and took off at a jog. The man went on, "We weren't expecting you, master Gabriel, or we'd have a better welcome prepared, but your lady mother will be thrilled to see you, I'm sure."
"Thank you," Gabriel said with a gracious nod, his manner suddenly more lordly than Kane was accustomed to. He led the way through the circle of cook fires, walking with a dignified, straight-backed posture, but slowly, both of them tired and sore. Though the evening was warm, people still congregated around the fires. Some looked warily at the two of them, but most only glanced their way briefly before dismissing them, going back to their hushed conversations or their meager bowls of food.
When they reached the house, however, a woman waited for them there, standing on the edge of a wide porch, watching them with weary eyes above a hawkish nose. She bore the disheveled look of a working woman at the end of a long day. Her clothes, though well-made, were wrinkled, and her auburn hair had nearly escaped the pins that held it up.
"Mother," Gabriel said, stepping forward.
Mother? Kane thought with surprise, for he had assumed from her appearance that this was only a servant come to greet them. He looked more closely at her and noticed, yes, they had the same nose, the same coloring.
If Kane had had any further doubts, they would immediately have vanished when the stately woman squealed like little girl who'd been handed a kitten. She leaped down from the porch, catching Gabriel up in an embrace. "My baby!" she cried, kissing him loudly on both cheeks.
"Mother!" Gabriel protested, squirming to escape her. "Mother! I'm filthy!"
"You're home!" she said, kissing him again.
Kane grinned, but he turned away, letting them have their moment.
Redden's head ached before he'd finished his first cup of tea. He sat at the breakfast table, neck stiff, as Ruby's useless chatter scraped his nerves raw.
He hadn't meant to sleep the whole night in that chair in Orin's room but he'd nodded off after his last healing spell and hadn't woken until sometime before sunrise. He'd gone looking for Jack. Preoccupied with thoughts of the Brotherhood and lacking Orin's counsel, Redden wanted another opinion on how they might proceed with their investigation. Even if the young man couldn't control his own powers, he was still an educated mage; Redden thought he might have something useful to say.
But Jack had been gone.
"And, of course, the Brookshires have planned their luncheon for the same day and time, as if they couldn't possibly have planned it for next week!" Ruby sighed, looking between two invitation cards resplendent with calligraphy. She sat at the end of the table, in her usual place opposite her father, and had pushed her plate aside, meal hardly touched, in order to spread out her varied correspondence. "Honestly, what do they hope to gain?"
"Clearly, they're hoping to prove their superiority to the Winstons by turning it into a popularity contest," Lord Rook said, chuckling. He sat across from Redden, between Leiden at the head of the table and Lord Pollendina. The secretary and undersecretary were there to report on their progress implementing checkpoints throughout the city's White Quarter, but so far their conversation had focused on Ruby's casual gossip. Now that the vampire was defeated and no one had gone missing or suspiciously died the past few nights, people were beginning to think the danger was over. It seemed every noble and socialite in Melmond was planning a party.
Redden stretched his neck this way and that, subtly trying to Cure his headache without attracting too much notice. Maybe he would get Lena to help him later. She sat to Redden's left, seeming preoccupied with her thoughts, her fingers idly sketching pictures in a bit of water left by the condensation of her glass of chilled juice.
Pollendina snorted. "Yes, but the rivalry between the Brookshires and the Winstons goes back more than twenty years. One tea party will hardly make a difference."
Ruby turned to Thad, who sat beside her, as far from Redden as he could get and still be sitting at the same table. "What do you think?"
Thad froze with his mouth full of omelette. It wasn't the first time Ruby had asked Thad's opinion that morning, and Redden appreciated her including the boy, but as far as Redden knew, Thad's understanding of the subtleties of social etiquette extended only as far as knowing he shouldn't answer with his mouth full. The boy chewed the over-large bite quickly, though Rook still made a disapproving face when he audibly gulped it down. "Can't you just choose the people you like best?" Thad asked.
Rook's face turned purple, but Ruby only giggled. "You're so cute!" she said, smiling warmly and genuinely. "But I'm afraid that would cause all manner of problems! Even if Lady Brookshire is intolerable - though don't you tell her I said that. Perhaps if I declined both of them, but sent them each a bottle of wine with my regrets?"
"That would be an acceptable compromise," Leiden said, nodding.
Rook nodded his own agreement, then turned his gaze on Redden. "And where are your sons this morning, Lord Carmine? Have they taken to sleeping in like our young lord Leiden?"
Redden picked up his steaming cup of black tea, hid his frown behind it. "No. They're both away," he said, taking a slow sip.
Rook seemed skeptical. "Away?"
"Kane's on a tour of the West Hills. He thought he should get a feel for them," Leiden said.
"How very responsible of him," said Rook, nodding approvingly in a way that made Redden grimace. "And the... other one? Did he go with his brother?"
The bastard, Redden thought, filling in where Rook had hesitated. The undersecretary had what seemed to Redden to be an unnatural hatred of Jack. Everyone in Melmond thought poorly of bastards, but Rook's tone seemed to imply he suspected Jack was off torturing animals or stealing babies or whatever it was bastards were supposed to be guilty of.
"I've no idea," said Redden, keeping his voice low, but unable to disguise his anger. "I found him gone this morning."
Rook, who'd been sipping his own tea, spit it out in surprise. "Gone?" he sputtered, scandalized. "Gone where?"
Definitely stealing babies, Redden thought, rolling his eyes at the man's discomfort. Out loud, he said, "How should I know?"
"He's your son!" said Rook.
"He's hardly a child," Pollendina pointed out, calmly.
"It's about responsibility!" Rook said, shaking an accusing finger at Redden. "If you insist on keeping your bastards around, giving them your noble name, then it falls to you to keep track-"
"He went to Unne's house," Thad said. He slouched his shoulders, almost as if trying to make himself look smaller as both Redden and Rook turned to look at him. "He... he told me. Yesterday."
"Why didn't you mention this before?" Redden growled, though he knew the answer. As much as it had surprised Redden to find the boy sleeping in Jack's bed when he'd gone looking for the mage that morning, he knew Thad had been more surprised to see him. Redden hadn't meant to frighten the boy with his show of temper the day before. Knowing the boy was scared of him still, Redden had turned and left the room when his anger threatened to bubble over again. He hadn't seen Thad again until they had both arrived for breakfast.
"I trust you have more than his word for that?" Rook said, voice dripping with skepticism.
From the head of the table, Leiden chuckled. "We do, actually. Jack had the good sense to take his guards with him, and Clyne reported to me before they left."
"You've put him under guard again?" Redden said, slamming his fork down, splattering eggs.
"Responsibility!" Rook said, nodding.
Redden ignored him, addressing Leiden. "I thought your men had more pressing duties!"
"Mind your tone," Leiden said mildly, sipping at his tea. "But, yes, since you mention it, I could use those men elsewhere. Only, you're the one who keeps reminding us the Brotherhood is still out there. Is your son's safety not important to you?"
"Don't even pretend you have him under guard for his protection! You think I didn't notice you sending Gabriel off with Kane? What more do we have to do to convince you we're not here on some Cornelian plot to seize the city?"
"Please," Leiden scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Do I look like a fool? We've arrested my own guard commander as a traitor! And you, 'son of Titan', were responsible for taking him down!"
"If you think that was-" Redden began, but Leiden spoke over him.
"The men are saying I should appoint you to Malcolm's place."
Redden stopped. Everyone at the table was watching him now: Rook, the secretary, even Ruby and Thad. "You know that's not why I'm here," he said lamely.
"Yes, yes," Leiden said, waving a dismissive hand. "So you keep telling anyone who will listen. But your intentions are irrelevant. Even if you never could have planned for this, the chain of command is still in shambles."
"Morale is at an all time low," said Pollendina nodding. "Have you considered my proposal?"
Leiden shook his head. "I have, but it seems too simple. Malcolm was well liked. The men have taken his betrayal hard. You really think a few medals and promotions will be enough to boost their spirits?"
"Everyone thrives on a bit of recognition for their efforts," Pollendina said, shrugging. "Besides, it costs you next to nothing."
"Yes, exactly!" said Leiden. "It's an empty gesture. Those men faced a score of undead led by a vampire and I can't even scrape together the funds to offer them hazard pay! I could just as easily hand out pats on the back."
Pollendina smirked. "You could do that, too. Present the medals yourself, some sort of formal ceremony?"
Rook scoffed. "Come now, Vince. No one really enjoys those pompous displays."
"Don't be silly!" Ruby said from across the table. "People love those ceremonies! What if you made a party of it?"
"Everyone likes parties," Thad said, nodding.
Leiden pursed his lips, tapping a thoughtful finger to them. "An officer's ball, of sorts? Invite all the city's nobility and let the common soldiers rub elbows with them, all dressed up in their uniforms? It would certainly be more affordable than bonuses for the same number of men…"
Ruby quivered in excitement. "Oh, can I plan it, father? Can I? It would be such fun to organize something like that!"
"You've never planned a party on that scale before," Leiden said skeptically.
Ruby nodded emphatically. "I can do it!"
"Very well," Leiden said, chuckling. "Plan it out on paper with a proposed budget and we'll discuss it at dinner tonight. If it looks feasible, we'll plan it for the night of the new moon. That gives us four days to prepare."
Ruby squealed, leaping up from her chair. "I'll get started right away!"
"Your breakfast!" Leiden said, his concerned tone a stark contrast to his usual stern demeanor.
"Quite finished!" Ruby said, barely glancing at her nearly full plate. She pushed back from the table, jostling Thad as she went. "Gilbert! I need you!" she said, calling to the elderly manservant who hovered at the edges of the room as she fluttered out the door.
Leiden smiled at his daughter's retreating back, a smile of genuine fatherly affection. The smile vanished instantly when Redden said, "Can we get back to more important matters? There's still Lord Pollendina's mage hunt to discuss." Leiden turned to Pollendina, his expression all business once more.
The thin secretary rolled his eyes. "'Hunt' is rather a derogatory way of putting it, Lord Carmine. I prefer to think of it as a 'recruitment'."
"And how is your 'recruitment' progressing?" Leiden asked, taking another bite of his omelette.
Pollendina smiled a thin-lipped smile. "Very well."
Redden listened as Pollendina discussed the four black mages his inspectors had already located in the city. Of course, you knew where they were all along, Redden thought, but he said nothing. He listened as Rook told Leiden what his scribes had learned from interviewing the mages' neighbors about their character. He watched Leiden's face, the way his expression never once changed throughout the conversation, but there was a glint in his eyes that betrayed his discomfort, his distrust in these unknown mages. He asked Rook more questions, and the two of them went back and forth for a time, discussing how the mages might be put to use.
Throughout the discussion, Pollendina, too, said nothing. The man ate slowly, like Jack did, taking small and deliberate bites. Most of his food was still on his plate, though it was clear to Redden the thin secretary had moved it around a bit to make it look like he'd eaten more than he had. He seemed to be looking at Lena's plate, but when Redden followed the line of his gaze, he saw that what had really captured the man's attention was Lena's hand on the table.
She was still drawing, her slender finger tracing a design in the water at the base of her glass. There was no picture to speak of - the droplets weren't a perfect medium - but Redden thought he could see a hint of a pattern as Lena's finger slid over the moisture. Writing something? Redden thought, but, no, that wasn't it. The shape was familiar, though.
Aether diagram, he realized all at once. Something almost like Cure, but not quite.
And Pollendina was watching her.
Redden reached over, closing his hand over hers.
She started, looking at him, confused, but he only flicked his eyes pointedly toward her drawing. She looked at it blankly, then flushed. Nodding, she put her hands in her lap.
She must not have realized she was doing it, Redden thought. "You seem bored, Lena," he said pointedly. "Why don't you go and help Ruby plan her party?"
She nodded, hardly glancing at her unfinished meal as she stood and shuffled from the room.
Redden watched her go then turned back to the table, catching Pollendina's eye. The secretary shrugged, a gesture implying it was all the same to him whether the girl stayed or left. Redden watched the man, wondering what he knew - had he recognized Lena's drawing? - but Pollendina only looked down at his plate, returning to his meal with meticulous concentration as if the goings-on at the rest of the table held no interest for him.
I never thought to ask her where Jack was, Redden thought. Even if the other lords were meant to think Lena was little more than a servant, she was also supposed to be Jack's betrothed. Would Pollendina have noticed that Redden hadn't asked her? Did Arthur? I'm supposed to be better at subterfuge than this, he thought, silently berating himself as Arthur and Lord Rook resumed their conversations.
He was still lost in thought when Leiden stood, signaling the end of the meal. "Very well," Leiden said as a pair of servants scurried into the room to gather dishes. "Until tomorrow, gentlemen. Send word if anything changes." Then he left, Rook and Pollendina following after him, exchanging pleasantries as they parted ways. None of them said anything to Redden as they left.
Redden was alone with Thad and the servants, but then the servants left as well, carrying off every plate except Ruby's - which had somehow ended up in front of Thad - and Redden's. Thad looked over at it hungrily, then he looked up at Redden and his eyes went wide. "Only just noticed you were alone in the room with me?" Redden asked, careful to keep his voice quiet. "You need to pay more attention to your surroundings."
Thad nodded, looking down at his plate. In contrast to his earlier behavior, the boy ate slowly, intently, his movements stiff and controlled as if he were trying not to attract Redden's attention.
"You don't need to be afraid of me, you know," Redden said quietly. "I lost my temper yesterday, but I'm not so brutish that I'd take my anger out on you."
"I know," Thad said quickly, without looking up from his plate. "I was just… um…" He stopped. Redden watched the way Thad's hand shook as he took another careful bite. He chewed, swallowed, then said, "It's just… my father-"
Redden waited, but the boy said no more. Eventually, Thad looked up at him and Redden said, "I know, lad. But I'm not like him."
Thad looked down at his plate again, picked up his fork, speared himself another piece of omelette, but didn't eat it. Finally, he said, "But you're still angry about something."
Redden sighed, looking down at his own plate again. "It's like they've forgotten that the Brotherhood is still out there." He stood, not quickly, but Thad still flinched at the motion, and Redden was ashamed that one violent outburst on his part had damaged his relationship with the boy to this extent. The boy flinched again when Redden stepped toward him on his way to the door. He didn't flinch when Redden stopped beside his chair and placed a fatherly hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. He didn't flinch because he'd tensed up, likely too scared to twitch a muscle.
We'll have to work on that, he thought. But not today. Today, he had to do something to...
"Redden?" Thad called before Redden reached the door. His voice quavered with fear. Still, when Redden turned back to face him, the boy met his gaze. "You're going out there, aren't you? To look for them?"
Redden nodded. "I am."
Thad licked his lips nervously, then said, "Can I help?"
"Pardon?" Redden said, surprised.
"I want to help. It's what Orin would do if he was... if he was better."
He was still terrified, Redden could see, and yet he held Redden's gaze. Perhaps repairing his relationship with the boy wouldn't take as much work as he thought. "Alright," Redden said. "Come on."
The boy pushed back from the table, joined him at the door. "You mean you're not just going to tell me I'm a kid and leave me behind?"
Redden shook his head. "I need you. You're a Warrior of Light."
"Only a little one," Thad said.
Redden shrugged. "Given the circumstances, a little one's better than nothing."
Thad scoffed. "If you say so."
"I do," Redden said.
Kane woke sore, but rested. The light came in bright through the window, which was on the wrong side of the room. He grunted, unsure for a moment where he was - this wasn't the room at Melmond Manor that he shared with Jack - before he remembered he was at Quincey House, staying in Lord Hugh's room. Gabriel's brother was away with their father, overseeing emergency plantings at the north fields, the south fields having fallen to the Rot. Gabriel's mother had explained it to both of them the night before as she saw them fed. She'd ordered baths prepared for them as well, before she had the rooms made up for them.
By the light, Kane judged it mid-morning. No one had come to wake him, but he could tell that someone had been in the room. There was a set of folded clothes that hadn't been there the night before, beside the wash basin, which was good because his own Rot-caked clothes were nowhere to be seen, save for the underclothes he still wore. His own boots sat on the floor nearby, cleaned. Whoever had come had also filled the pitcher and left him a washcloth.
He freshened up, headed downstairs. He found the dining room quickly enough, but it was empty. He heard voices, though, and he followed those to a doorway past the kitchen, to a room that seemed part workroom, part office, likely used by the housekeeper to run household affairs. Lady Quincey was there, sitting behind a desk, glaring down her hawkish nose at a disordered mess of papers. Despite the joyous energy with which she had greeted them the night before, she now spoke with firm authority, her words articulate and precise.
"-send Sheila and her sons to lay snares. She's had those boys hunting rabbits since they could walk. They have it down to an artform. And the stews will go further if we can get more meat into them."
"But Mistress," said one of the two servants across from her, an older man, bony and balding with a West Hills accent. "Meat won't be enough. We're still going to run out of food. If the Rot takes the hamlet on the south downs, those people will come here as well!"
"Then they can help us harvest the sweet pepper patch on our western border. My husband tells me it should be ready soon." She rubbed at her forehead, looking at one of the many papers in front of her. "Remember, if Hugh's math is correct - and it's always correct - if the crop in the north fields comes through, we'll be alright. We only have to survive until the harvest."
The other servant, a plump woman in a cook's apron, nodded agreement. "Miss, if I could make a suggestion? Why not send Sheila's boys to the north fields for their hunting? The more varmints they kill up there, the better our crop should be in the fall. They could see that the fieldhands get more meat on them, and send the rest back to us."
"Brilliant," Lady Quincey said, nodding sharply. "Fetch Sheila at once. I'll explain it to her."
"Yes, Mistress," the older man said, turning for the door. He started when he saw Kane looming there, crying out so that Lady Quincey looked up from her papers at last.
"Aw, you're awake! Shannon, see to Lord Carmine's breakfast."
The plump woman bowed her head in acknowledgement then slipped past Kane toward the kitchens.
Lady Quincey smiled at him, motioning him to sit in one of the chairs the servants had vacated. "You slept well?"
"Yes, ma'am," Kane said. "Where is-"
"Gabriel?" she said, finishing his question. "I think you're up before him. I take it the roads have worsened? The two of you looked falling-down tired when you came in last night."
Kane nodded. "They were pretty bad. Mind you, I don't know what they were like before." He flashed a disarming grin that had Lady Quincey chuckling.
"Melmond isn't known for its infrastructure," she said. She pointed at his shirt and pants. "The clothes fit?"
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you." Kane flexed his feet, stretching leg muscles still sore from wading through Rot that in some places had come up over his knees.
Lady Quincey nodded. "My husband's. Yours should be clean by now, though you'll smell of a cookfire, I'm afraid. I wanted to be sure they were dried before you left."
Kane shrugged. "I've smelled of worse. My squad commander in Cornelia always said our barracks smelled of... well, I'm sure a cookfire is an improvement, anyway."
The lady barked a laugh, gathering up her papers into a tidy stack. A few fell off the edge of the desk as the others moved, and Kane bent to pick them up, glancing at their contents: planting charts and mathematical figures, calculations that Kane assumed were aimed at solving the problem of feeding the citizens of the Reach through the winter with half as many crops as they should have had.
"You seem very, um, hands-on. For a Melmond lady, I mean. I was under the impression they didn't usually do... stuff like this," Kane said, handing the papers over.
"I've always preferred math," she said. "And a good thing, too, as I doubt any of a lady's usual occupations would be much use in these circumstances. My husband and I have been running this estate together since his own father retired." She arched an eyebrow at him. "I hope you're not one of those men who takes offense at such things."
"Not at all," Kane said. "It's different in Cornelia. My-" He stopped. He'd been going to say, "My princess," had almost begun talking about how often Sarah butted into her father's affairs, how in Cornelia a noblewoman could do such things without ever acquiring a husband. Sarah would one day run her kingdom with or without one. Without me. Instead, he said, "My own mother was the same way. She managed a shop before she died."
"A commoner?" Lady Quincey said, a simple question, her tone nonjudgmental, only curious.
"Yes, ma'am."
"What manner of shop?"
"A millinery."
"Hats?" Lady Quincey chuckled, patting her hair which was exquisitely done up with silver combs. "I've never been much for hats."
"My father is," Kane said, smiling. "Luckily for me, I guess. That's how my parents met."
"I bet he's sensitive about that white hair," came Gabriel's voice from behind them.
Lady Quincey looked to the doorway and smiled. Kane turned just as Gabriel came into the office, plopping down into the chair beside him. "You didn't wake me for breakfast," he said, not accusing, simply stating a fact.
Lady Quincey waved dismissively. "I stopped by your room this morning, but you looked as if you needed more sleep. Food awaits rest. Ah, perfect timing!" she added, as the cook came in with a plate for Kane. "Shannon, bring another plate, if you would be so good."
The cook nodded. "Pembrook says we'll need more wood for the cookfires, my lady."
"I thought Ollie and Pete were seeing to it?"
"Ollie's mending the south fence. The Rot's got one of the posts. No one's seen Pete this morning. Folks is saying he might've give up and gone to town."
"I wish him the best of luck with that," Lady Quincey muttered, rubbing her temple.
She means it, Kane realized. Whoever this Pete was, Lady Quincey cared for his well-being. Does she know all their names? Kane looked again at her stack of papers, at the careworn expression on her face. This was what nobility meant; this was what a good lord did for the people in his care. Or a good lady, Kane thought. He thought again of Sarah, imagined her bearing the weight of caring for not just an estate like the Reach but a whole kingdom.
The lady sighed. "Very well. Bring that plate. I'll see to the wood."
Kane set the plate on the desk in front of him, between himself and Gabriel. He placed a couple of slices of bacon on a piece of toast, folding it over so he could eat with one hand. Suddenly thoughtful, he gestured for Gabriel to help himself. They needed to eat, both of them; they had a long day ahead.
Lady Quincey looked down at her papers again, shaking her head, then set them aside and focused on her visitors. "You'll be on to the West Hills, then? The rest of the road'll be easier - there's no Rot west of here yet. When will you head out?" She smiled, but it was a tired smile.
"We'll be-" Gabriel said, but he was interrupted by the return of the manservant.
"I've brought Sheila, my lady," he said.
Lady Quincey cocked her head in confusion, then nodded. "Oh, right! Rabbits! Show her in." The servant shuffled off. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask you boys to relocate to the dining room. Promise you won't leave until I've finished this up? I'd like to see you off properly."
Gabriel frowned. He started to reply, but Kane talked over him. "Of course! We're in no hurry." He picked up the plate and pushed Gabriel along to the door. He stuck his head in the kitchen on the way to the dining room, telling the cook to bring Gabriel's breakfast there instead, and in short order they both sat down to eat.
Yes, Kane thought, resolved now. He had a plan. He heard a low rumble of thunder in the distance, another summer storm. Would it be a drizzle or a downpour? "Eat quickly," Kane said. "We should get started before the rain sets in."
"You just told my mother we weren't in any hurry," Gabriel said, still frowning.
"Not to leave," Kane said. "But if we're going to chop wood for these people, we'll want to get it stowed somewhere before it gets soaked."
"Chop- What?"
"Though first we'll go help... Ollie, was it? Go help Ollie repair that fence."
A gentle rain rolled in that afternoon. Lena sat in the plush parlor chair, her legs tucked up beneath her, feet bare, and she watched the drops spatter against the window. At the table behind her, Ruby and Beatrix discussed party menus. Ruby had invited her country friend to help with the planning. Despite her casual manner, Beatrix Hornwood, Lady Heir of her father's estate, had a good head for figures. She'd already scrawled up several ideas in disordered lists, her fingers stained with ink around a filigreed pen chased with silver. Their happy chatter blended into that of the rain, little more than a pleasant distraction until Ruby spoke to Lena directly.
"You don't look well, Lena. Are you alright? Do you need to go lie down?"
"No, I'm fine," she said. "Just a slight headache."
Beatrix smiled, narrowing her eyes, looking a bit like her sister when she'd uncovered a juicy piece of gossip. "Is this headache tall, slender, and blue-eyed by any chance?"
Ruby rapped the taller girl over the head with the sheaf of papers she held, but Beatrix only waved her off, focused on Lena.
Lena cast one last longing look at the water outside before turning to face her companions properly. "Well… yes, actually."
"Oh, no!" Ruby said, eyes wide. "You and Jack aren't fighting, are you? You seem so well together!"
"No!" said Lena. "Not… not fighting. It's just…" She sighed. How could she tell the truth about what bothered her without letting on that they weren't actually betrothed? "Jack sometimes has trouble expressing his feelings."
Beatrix barked an unladylike laugh. "Well, he is a man. That's true of the whole species."
Ruby whapped her with the papers again, then turned large, sympathetic eyes on Lena. "And you need more… expression than he's giving you?"
Lena's face grew warm. "I mean… I…"
Beatrix laughed again. "Are you 'expressing yourself' back to him?" She raised a hand to defend her head from another whap and rapidly said, "Ruby, if you hit me with those papers again, I swear to Titan you will eat them," before focusing on Lena once more.
"I… well, no. Not really. Jack isn't comfortable with displays of affection."
Beatrix rolled her eyes. "Yes, well, clearly you are. And as shy as he is, he'll never be comfortable with such displays without proper encouragement. If you need more of that sort of thing to be happy, and if you insist on getting it from him, it will have to start with you."
"Oh, don't badger her, Bea!" Ruby said, impotently waving the papers at her without making contact. She faced Lena. "But I do agree," she said gently. "If you're not often showing him how you feel, he might be under the mistaken impression that you're the one who's not comfortable with such outward demonstrations! After all, it's not as if he can tell how you feel if you don't show him."
Ruby's words hit her at an angle, as if she'd been slapped with a whole crate of papers. He can't tell how I feel, Lena realized. She'd been so wrapped up in her own ignorance - she couldn't tell how he felt! - that she hadn't stopped to think that that was what other people lived with every day. That was normal. All she said, though, was, "Hmm."
"Anyway," Ruby went on, shaking her head. "Don't worry about that now! We have a party to plan! Just relax and enjoy it."
"And show Jack how worried you were when next you see him," Beatrix said, grinning mischievously.
Lena could feel herself blushing, but Ruby and Beatrix smiled encouragingly at her. She could let the two girls' happiness buoy her up for now and untangle her feelings for Jack later. "Alright," she said.
Ruby nodded sharply. "So what kind of budget are we looking at, Bea?"
"That rather depends on what sort of party you intend to throw," Beatrix said, pulling forth one of her lists and gesturing at a column with her pen. "If we look at what your father spent for that ball last spring, it gives us a good starting point for a figure we can assume he'll approve. But we can't go all froufrou like he did for that party. This is for common soldiers, after all. We need to make it elegant and posh, but masculine."
"Neutral colors?" Ruby said. "Straight lines?"
From the doorway, a deep voice asked, "Have you considered asking a masculine opinion?"
Beatrix sat serenely in her chair, seeming so intent on her lists that she couldn't be bothered to face the man at the door, but Lena felt dark emotions swirling from her, filling the room like ink through water: annoyance, disappointment, challenge.
Ruby's bright excitement offered a jarring contrast. "Logan! What are you doing here?"
Logan Quincey smiled rakishly, leaning against the doorframe, a casual front over a storm of affection for the uninterested Hornwood girl. "Lord Pollendina sent me to assist you with your party plans. He said he loved your idea but thought you could use someone to keep you within a reasonable budget."
Ruby laughed. "Vince knows me too well!"
"Yes, but clearly you know yourself better. It looks like you already have enough help. I'll see myself out," he said, bowing respectfully, handsome smile masking disappointment. Did he know how much Beatrix disliked him?
A sharp sense of relief from Beatrix was quickly squashed by Ruby's cheerful, "Nonsense! I need all the help I can get! The more, the better! Isn't that right, Beatrix?"
Beatrix grimaced, her hand curling into a fist around her expensive pen. "Of course," she said, her voice pleasant, if strained.
Logan smiled, hurt by this casual greeting but not showing it. He stepped into the room, pulling a ledger from under his arm and passing it to Ruby with fingers as ink-stained as Beatrix's. "I've written up a few ideas already."
Ruby chirped something in reply. Beatrix said something else, her voice low and even. Lena didn't hear any of it, listening instead to the unspoken conversations happening around her, the emotions only she could hear.
She has no idea, Lena realized. Beatrix - confident, competent Beatrix, who knew she could run her father's estates as well as any man - was vain enough in her own way. Surely she wouldn't have disliked Logan so if she knew how much he admired her? He liked her as more than a title to be won. But Logan was far too respectful of Beatrix to ever put himself forward unless she gave him an opening. It seemed so clear to Lena. Could it be that simple?
This is what normal is, she thought again. This is what it's like for everyone. She couldn't feel Jack, Jack couldn't feel her. If she gave Jack an opening, would he take it? If she put herself forward, would he push her away? Dare she risk the beautiful friendship they had on that chance?
Logan and Beatrix sat across from each other at the parlor table, civil and polite. Beneath those calm exteriors, emotions churned like a storm-tossed sea, pulling Lena under. She needed out.
She stood so suddenly that the other three turned to her curiously. She blushed. "You know, Ruby, I think I might need to go lie down after all."
Ruby nodded. "You should, dear! You look so pale! I'll come check on you before dinner."
Lena curtsied, stepping to the door. She was in the hallway before she remembered she'd left her shoes beneath her chair, but she couldn't force herself to go back for them. Nor could she force herself to go up to her room, the room next to Jack's empty one, the room everyone thought the two of them shared.
Instead, she wound through the house to the back door, out into the rain, and she walked through the rain to the frog pond. Water on water to wash her confused feelings away.
The shack leaked in the storm, the rain beating at the tin roof with a fury that made Sedium whimper. It smelled of mold, and damp, and of the piss pot in the corner. He could smell himself as he huddled on the narrow cot, three days without a washbasin, without a change of clothes, without so much as a cloth to wipe himself.
They'll kill me, he thought, shivering despite the muggy warmth. Oh, gods, but this wasn't how someone treated a prisoner they intended to let live.
There was a crash that could have been thunder, but it could also have been someone hammering at the door, someone come to kill him at last. The white haired man... Sedium whimpered. His aether sight rose unbidden, searching the area around his prison. He could see his guards posted off of the shack's corners, still others off in the distance patrolling, but the blood-red aura of the white-haired man was nowhere to be seen.
Sedium cried in relief. Oh, gods. Oh, gods. He couldn't do this, couldn't handle more questioning. Lord Eldieme will kill me himself if I- He couldn't go back to the Brotherhood after this. If he ever got away, he'd have to go... somewhere. It didn't matter where. Away. Away from people. He could never live near people, not with his... problem. They'll still find me, he thought, weeping. They'll find me wherever I go.
The sight had nearly faded - Sedium couldn't hold it long - when he noticed the figure, the aura, small, green, of someone skulking about outside the shack. The guards hadn't moved. Hadn't they seen? It was moving slowly, slowly toward the door. There it waited, the aether of it curling like green smoke in the rain - a mage's aura. Sedium's heart beat faster, harder. One of his Brethren, come to kill him? He could scream. Would the guards help him if he screamed?
Another clap of thunder and the door opened, the owner of the green aura sidling in and shutting it silently behind him. At least, if he made any noise, the thunder covered it. Sedium nearly screamed then, except that the figure was only a boy. Hadn't Porter said something about a boy?
The boy crouched there, ear to the door, finger to his lips for silence.
"Who-"
"Shh!" the boy said. "There are guards outside. They might hear."
Sedium shook his head. "They aren't close enough." He could see that they still hadn't moved. He himself could barely hear the boy over the sound of the rain on the roof. "Why are you here?"
"I heard they'd captured a mage. A black mage. I wanted... I wanted to see..."
Sedium sat up, and the boy shrank back against the door, eyes wide. "I won't hurt you," Sedium said. "We're the same, you and I."
The boy shook his head. "You don't know me. I bet you never spent a night on the street."
Sedium shrugged, remembering what it had been like for him as a child, realizing other people couldn't see the things he could see. "Do you ever... see things? You look at the world sometimes and it's full of mists of light that weren't there before? Swirling colors? Do people glow?"
The boy said nothing, only watched him suspiciously.
"It's the aether you're seeing. You're a mage."
The boy didn't move.
"But you knew that already, didn't you? Is that why you're here?"
The boy watched him. Rain fell outside, a constant susurrus against the shack's roof. Then the boy nodded. "I want to learn."
Sedium shook his head. "You should leave. The white-haired man- If he found you-"
The boy flinched.
"You know of him?"
The boy nodded quickly, clearly afraid. "But what if I got you out of here?"
"The guards-"
"I can do things," said the boy. "I don't know how I do them, but I can. I can get past the guards."
Sedium stared, too shocked to speak. Was it possible? He couldn't teach the boy - that was out of the question - but he wasn't above using the child to escape. He could lose him somehow, or kill him if it came to that. Or… No, it was ridiculous. The boy couldn't possibly help. Sedium lifted his wrists, rattling the chains there that ran down to his ankles and back again, chains that would allow him to walk but never to run. "And these?"
The boy held up a key.
Sedium eyed it hungrily. Then he nodded. "Get me out of here."
The boy stepped closer, reaching for the chains at Sedium's ankles, his small hands briefly bumping against the skin on top of one of Sedium's bare feet. The touch triggered Sedium's powers, and his soul drew from the boy's, a snap of power that made Sedium wince. The boy cried out, leaping back.
"Shh! Don't!" Sedium hissed. "I'm sorry! It was an accident! Shh!"
"What was that?" the boy demanded, gripping the key in his fist.
Sedium sighed. "It's a quirk of my powers. I can't control it."
The boy stared at him suspiciously. He made no move to approach again. Finally, he said, "How can you teach me if you can't control your own powers?"
"I can!" Sedium said, but his voice sounded desperate. "I can still teach you!"
"You're lying."
"No!"
The boy reached for the doorknob.
"Wait!" Sedium cried. "Yes, alright! I lied! I'm useless! But I know others! I can... I can take you to them!" Would they forgive him if he brought them the boy?
The boy arched an eyebrow, assessing. "You don't know anything." His hand was on the knob now. Sedium saw it turn.
"It's true! There's a cave - on the south cape! - an old mine!"
The boy looked at him over his shoulder, disgusted. "Everyone knows about that cave. It's full of monsters. You think I'm stupid?"
"No, no, no! Not that one! There's another - north of there, nestled in the hills. The first mine, the spent one. They'd closed it off when they started mining farther south, filled it in, but our earth mages opened it again."
The boy cocked his head. "And... there are more mages there? More... of us?"
Sedium nodded. "They'll take you in. They'll teach you. I can take you to them. Just free me!"
The boy smiled, stepping away from the door, key in hand, when suddenly the knob turned and the door slammed open. Lightning flashed outside, outlining the figure waiting there, the unmistakable silhouette of the white-haired man. Sedium cried out, choked out a strangled, "Run!"
But the boy didn't turn. The white-haired man stepped behind him, reaching for him, and patted him approvingly on the shoulder. The boy smiled, reaching up, passing the man the key. The white-haired man smiled back wickedly, pocketing it.
"Did I do good?" the boy asked.
"You did well," the man said. "Now, run along. I need to have a word with our guest."
The boy seemed about to argue, but the white-haired man stopped smiling, and he looked at Sedium with eyes hard as flint. The boy cast one last pitying glance back at Sedium, then fled out into the rain.
The white-haired man calmly shut the door.
"No!" Sedium moaned, crying again. "No, please! I've told you all I know!"
"No, you haven't," the man said simply. "I can see I haven't questioned you thoroughly enough. Now, tell me more about this cave."
Author's Note: 2/1/19 - Finally - FINALLY - I am starting to feel well. I wouldn't say I'm completely recovered, but I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. It's been almost a year since my doctor diagnosed me with depression. Most people in my life have no idea; they describe me as sunny and cheerful and they compliment me on my positive attitude and good humor. They have no idea how much effort it was taking me to get out of bed in the mornings or how exhausted I was when I got home from even the most mild days at work.
It's been a struggle. It's been effort. Forcing myself to eat proper meals (on a schedule), to get out and get fresh air and exercise (the dog helped), to get off the couch and do basic self-care like keeping up with the dishes and laundry. But it's FINALLY paying off. I FINALLY feel almost normal. I wrote more words in January than I've ever written in a single month. I can confidently declare that the next four chapters of this story will be posted on time (because they're done).
I know I've had it easy compared to some. I have a great support network and a job I adore. My depression came from prolonged exposure to constant stress, not from real trauma. And still I lost a year to it. If any of you out there are dealing with depression, know that my heart goes out to you. I accept your struggles. I support your victories.