“Start with your own thread,” Mirda said, her voice a low chant. “Follow it outward until it crosses another strand. Test that strand, ask it if it will lead you closer to your friend. If so, follow it, if not, stay on your original path. At each crossing, test the strands again.”
“But how do I know that what the strands tell me will be true?” Aryn said, eyes still shut. “What about the illusion I just wrought with the Weirding?”
“You are the worker of the spell. Just as you knew what you saw in the mirror was illusion, so you will know what is a lie and what isn’t in the Weirding. Life cannot deceive you if your heart is true.” Aryn felt a gentle touch against each of her temples. “Now go, find your friend.”
Aryn gathered her will, then reached out with the Touch. Her own blue strand shimmered before her. She followed it outward and saw other threads: Mirda’s brilliant pearl-white strand, the threads of servants passing by outside the room, and the delicate gossamer of other creatures that lived in the castle—spiders and mice and doves. Then she was in the garden, a vibrant green tapestry of life.
She came to a crossing of threads. Which way? She tested one of the threads as Mirda said, probing it gently, showing it the picture of Grace in her mind.
This way,
the thread seemed to say to her.
Eagerly, Aryn followed the strand. Soon she came to another crossing of threads. She tested one of the threads, and words seemed to resonate in her mind.
Yes, this is the way.
Again she tested threads, and again. Each time they led her onward. Exhilaration filled her.
And then confusion. Why was she still in the garden? Shouldn’t she be outside the castle already? And why was it that at each crossing she was always lucky enough to test the right thread the first time?
She came to an intersection of many threads. She tested one.
Come this way,
it seemed to whisper to her. However, this time she didn’t follow the strand. Instead, she tested another thread, and another.
This way. Yes, this is right. Follow me!
They couldn’t all be the right strand to follow, but each one claimed it was. Only how could that be? Mirda had said life couldn’t lie.
No, that wasn’t exactly what she had said.
Life cannot deceive you if your heart is true....
The spell unraveled in Aryn’s hands, and her eyes fluttered open.
“Oh,” she said.
Sister Mirda gazed at her with sad eyes. Then the witch turned away. The door opened and shut, and Aryn was alone.
46.
That afternoon, Aryn went hunting for spiders.
She walked through empty parts of the castle, down dusty corridors, searching with both her eyes and her mind. No bells drew her onward this time, but she didn’t need them. Once she got close to her quarry, she would know he was there. For it was not an arachnid she wanted to find, but a man with a pointed blond beard and a gray cloak.
As she walked, thoughts crowded her mind. Never would she have guessed, of all witches, that Sister Mirda belonged to a shadow coven. Nor would Aryn have ever thought she would be deciding whether or not to join herself. Was Mirda leading her down a path to darkness? Perhaps. To danger? Most certainly. The shadow covens had all been banned by the Witches a century ago, and seemingly for good reason, for many of them had practiced evil magic, using their talents to bind and control others. Only it was difficult to believe Mirda could be leading her astray.
Was Ivalaine a member of this shadow coven as well? Aryn didn’t see how that could be; after all, the queen had joined her thread with Liendra’s faction in the weaving of the Pattern. Ivalaine had had no choice, not if she wished to remain Matron.
Then again, it seemed likely Ivalaine was aware of Mirda’s shadow coven, and if she believed the same as they believed, it might explain why she had told Boreas so much about Aryn and the Witches. Liendra and her cronies believed the Warriors were the enemy because they were destined to somehow aid Runebreaker in the Final Battle. But if Runebreaker wasn’t their foe, then neither were the men of Vathris. That might be why Ivalaine confided in Boreas, especially since Calavan and Toloria were historically close allies.
Aryn turned her mind to other matters. After returning to her chamber the previous night, she had finally realized what it was that had been bothering her since her first conversation with Mirda. It had to do with the missive she had sent to Ivalaine, the one she had written in Gendarra describing what had taken place in Tarras. Ivalaine couldn’t have gotten the missive; she had to have left Ar-tolor before it arrived there. So how had she and Mirda known about Lirith’s absence?
Maybe there really is a way to speak so far across the
Weirding, even though you couldn’t do it. Maybe someone in
Ar-tolor contacted Mirda or the queen.
But who was it? Who in Ar-tolor would have received the missive in Ivalaine’s absence?
With a sudden surge of dread, Aryn realized she knew the answer.
“Liendra,” she whispered aloud.
Yes, it made perfect sense. Liendra had a way of usurping power that didn’t belong to her. In the queen’s absence, surely she would have elevated herself above any other witches in Ar-tolor. Likely even Tressa, the queen’s advisor. Although Aryn guessed it was probably Tressa who had somehow contacted the queen over the leagues, letting her know about the missive.
However, there could be no doubt Liendra had seen Aryn’s letter, perhaps had even seen it first. And that meant she knew everything about Travis.
But Travis is lost, along with the others, I know you want to
see them all desperately, but maybe he won’t come back. That
way Liendra and her witches can’t capture him.
But that wouldn’t do, would it? Travis had to come back to Eldh because somehow he was going to save the world in the Final Battle. And if he didn’t come back, then neither would Lirith and Sareth. Or Durge.
Thoughts flitted about in Aryn’s mind like agitated bees. It was all so confusing, and in just three days she was supposed to make a decision that would at the very least change her life, and which could even cause her thread to be cut off from the Weirding forever. If only there was a way she could discover more before she had to decide, something that would help her know what to do.
But there was a way she could learn more, and that was why she had come there. At that moment she felt it: a ripple in the threads of the Weirding. Something—someone—was near.
“Spider!” she hissed on the dusty air. “Spider, I know you’re there. Show yourself!”
The solid stone to her left seemed to melt, and suddenly the slender blond man stood beside her.
“Why were you hiding from me? I’m certain you knew I was looking for you.”
Aldeth smoothed his gray cloak. “Just as I’d know if there were a herd of cattle walking down the corridor. But I’m a spy, my lady. Hiding is in my blood.”
Aryn was quite certain she hadn’t been
that
loud, but in the spirit of goodwill she opted to ignore the insult. “So, have you found out anything spying on the king?”
“If I did, I would have to be a drooling half-wit to tell his ward and soon to be daughter-in-law.”
“Interesting,” Aryn said, tapping her jaw. “You know I’m to marry Prince Teravian. So that’s one thing you’ve learned so far. Is there anything else?”
He scowled. “Don’t ask me, my lady. Go talk to that Witch Queen of yours. She’s the one who’s been meeting with Boreas every night in the council chamber. I’m certain she can tell you everything you want to know about this little war they’re planning.”
“So they’re making plans for a war?” Aryn chewed her lip. “But of course, it makes sense. All the signs point to the Final Battle. They must believe it’s coming soon. You’re full of all sorts of interesting facts, Spider.”
Aldeth shook a fist at her. “Stop it!”
“Stop what?”
“You know very well what. You’re reading my mind with some sort of spell, aren’t you?”
“No, but we could try it if you’d like. It could be fun. You see, I’ve never done that sort of spell on a human before, just mice. And all they ever seemed to think about was cheese. Until their brains oozed out of their ears, that is. And after that, they were no fun at all.”
The Spider backed away from her, mouth open.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m kidding.”
“Well, it’s not funny,” he said in a wounded voice. “Some of us are rather attached to our brains. They provide us with hours of joy and entertainment, and we’d really prefer to keep them inside our skulls.”
“Fine. No mind reading. I promise.”
“Good. I’m glad we’ve got that settled. Now maybe you’ll tell me why you’ve come here. Unless it was just to bother me, in which case you can consider the mission a rousing success.”
Aryn took a step forward. “It’s about our conversation the other day.”
“And here comes the extortion part.”
“Well, it was
your
suggestion.”
The Spider gave her a sour look. “Get on with it. You’re cutting into my valuable skulking time. What onerous favor do you want in exchange for not revealing my presence to the king and having my head put on a pike?”
Aryn could hardly believe she was really going to say the words. “I want you to spy on Queen Ivalaine.”
Annoyance left the Spider’s expression, and he raised a single eyebrow. “It seems you’ve taken to heart my lesson about the importance of spying on one’s friends. What do you want to know about the queen?”
Aryn drew in a deep breath. “Everything.”
Minutes later, feeling less than good about herself, Aryn walked back toward more frequented parts of the castle. It was wrong to ask Aldeth to spy on Ivalaine, but it seemed like the only choice. Ivalaine knew something that was causing her grave distress. It had to do with the shadow coven, and what they believed about Runebreaker, Aryn was certain of it. If she could learn what Ivalaine thought, it might help her to make the right decision. Still, she felt vaguely ill. Despite Aldeth’s admonition, she was fairly sure that true friends didn’t spy on one another.
“Well,” said a sneering voice, “did you have fun talking to your little spy?”
Aryn’s heart skipped a beat in surprise. He had no mistcloak to hide him from her eyes, but his black attire served almost as well in this dim corridor. She had been walking briskly, head down, lost in thought, and so hadn’t seen him until he spoke.
“Prince Teravian!” she gasped.
A smile cut across his face. Clearly he enjoyed having startled her. “You aren’t going to fall over from fright, are you? Not that it wouldn’t be funny...”
Her cheeks grew warm. “Is that so, my lord? No doubt you’d laugh even harder if I was so lucky as to crack my head open and bleed. Well, when you are my husband, you may order me about as you wish. I can perform a pratfall for you anytime you like. Perhaps the prince would prefer it if I wore not a gown at our wedding but a jester’s motleys.”
He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Gods, I was only joking, Aryn. Don’t you have any sense of humor at all? You witches really are a grotty boring lot, aren’t you? I don’t know how Lirith can be one of you. She knew how to laugh once in a while.”
Aryn felt her anger cool. Maybe Teravian was right. It wouldn’t harm her to laugh a bit more. “Maybe it would help if you made better jokes.”
He snorted at that but said nothing.
Now that Aryn had caught her breath, the prince’s first words registered on her. A needle of fear pierced her heart. “What do you know about a spy?”
“Don’t try to act all coy. I saw you talking to him. The spy from Perridon.”
“How—?”
“It was easy. I knew you were going to come to this part of the castle. So I just waited in an alcove until you passed by. It was simple to sneak after you without being noticed. You made more than enough noise for both of us, so the spy never knew I was there.”
Aryn felt rising indignation. “I am not loud,” she said, then winced as her voice echoed all around.
“Suit yourself,” he said with a smirk.
Aryn turned away, her mind racing. This was very bad. The prince enjoyed nothing more than to make trouble for her. What if he told Boreas about her meeting with Aldeth? How would she explain to the king that she had discovered a spy in his castle but had not seen fit to tell him about it? Even worse, what if he told Ivalaine about Aryn’s request to have Aldeth spy on the queen? Ivalaine had fostered Teravian for years. And while Aryn wasn’t certain the two were close, surely he felt some degree of loyalty to her.
She could feel Teravian’s gaze on her. Aryn turned around, searching for something, anything to say that would convince him not to give her away.
It was too late. Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Aryn swung her gaze around, searching for a place to hide, but before she could move, her worst fears were realized, and Lord Farvel ambled around a corner.
“Lady Aryn, there you are!” the old seneschal said. “And Prince Teravian, you’re here as well. This is a glad sight. It’s good to see the two of you getting along.”
Teravian grimaced. “Oh, we’re getting along all right. Just like a weasel and a—”
Aryn quickly moved forward before the prince could complete his analogy. “Good day, Lord Farvel. Is there something I can aid you with?”
“My lady, it’s quite the other way around.” The seneschal clasped his hands together. “I haven’t had an opportunity to speak with you since the happy occasion of Prince Teravian’s arrival. Now that he’s here in Calavere, I’m certain you’re anxious to start planning your wedding. The Feast of Quickening will come sooner than you think, and I’d like to begin making preparations. I was wondering if there is anything you’ve decided upon that you’d like to tell me.”
Teravian stepped away from the wall, a sharp smile on his face. “Oh, I have something I’d like to tell you. You see, Lady Aryn has definitely been scheming something of late, and I think everyone in the castle will want to hear it.”
Farvel tilted his head, directing his good ear toward the prince. Panic surged through Aryn. She fought for breath, grasping for something to say, but she was too slow. Teravian spoke first.
“It seems Lady Aryn wishes to—” The young man hesitated, then cast a furtive glance at Aryn. “It seems Lady Aryn wishes for orange to be the primary color for her wedding. Is that clear, my lord? Everything is to be in orange.”
The seneschal bobbed his head, white hair fluttering. “Yes, Your Highness. If Her Highness desires it, orange it shall be. I shall get the dyers working at once. We shall have yards and yards of orange. Thank you, Your Highness.”
Seemingly greatly relieved to have something to do at last, Farvel bowed stiffly to each of them in turn, then hobbled down the corridor and out of sight.
Aryn stared after the steward, hardly believing what had just happened.
“Well, aren’t you going to thank me?”
She forced her gaze to focus on the prince. “Why?” she managed to say.
He glared at her. “Isn’t it customary to thank the person who just did you a favor? Or are witches conveniently exempt from courtesies like that?”
“No, Your Highness. I mean,
yes
. Of course, I thank you, from the depths of my heart. What you did, it...” She drew in a breath, forcing herself to stop babbling. “It’s just that I don’t understand why you did it. I didn’t know that you could do something—”
“That I could do something nice?” He turned away, gazing out a window. “I’m not evil, you know. I don’t know why everyone thinks I am.”
“Maybe you should try wearing something other than black on occasion.”
He glanced at her in surprise. “That’s exactly what she said.”
“Who?”
“Lirith.” He crossed his arms. “We spoke that last night you were in Ar-tolor. Talking to her was fun, the most fun I’d had in ages. She’s the only one I’ve ever met who didn’t treat me like an object or some kind of monster. She said she’d talk to me again. Only I knew she wouldn’t. I knew she would be leaving, and she did.”
His words stunned Aryn for two reasons. First, a warm light shone in Teravian’s eyes as he spoke, and a tenderness she had never heard before stole into his voice. His countenance relaxed as he spoke, and a faint smile touched his lips, not mocking, but longing.
By Sia, he has a crush on her. On Lirith. You’ve never heard
him talk about another person like that. That’s why he keeps
bringing her up.
It might have been sweet and amusing. After all, Lirith was beautiful in body and spirit; that a young man might fall madly in love with her was hardly a surprise. And that Teravian could feel such feelings for anyone was reassuring. Aryn had feared he was incapable of caring for another. However, something else about his words had struck a dissonant chord in her.