Call of Kythshire (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 1) (12 page)

“Whoa,” he mouths when he sees me standing there in my gown.

“Out!” Mouli yelps, rushing past me to bat him out of the door, “out, out out!”

I’m a little annoyed with her for sending him away. There are more important things right now than this dress, or the ball. I wanted to tell him about Elliot’s note, and my latest game with Flit. I wanted him to be there when I tried to keep holding the sword as long as I could. Suddenly I find myself angry with Mouli for interrupting my game with Flit. I shift and fidget in the dress as the three confer with her about all of the work that needs to be done, and the short time they have in which to do it. They quote her an extravagant price that I know we have the means to pay, but I could never imagine spending so much on an article of clothing I’ll only wear once. Mouli glances at me with concern and I know she can tell what I’m thinking. Before I can protest, she agrees and signs the order.

“Yes, yes, that’s fine. Just fine. I’ll pick it up tomorrow afternoon.” The assistants carefully disrobe me of the gown and help me back into my familiar soft, plain dress. I scratch at my collarbones and give them all a half-hearted thank-you as they file out of the door.

“I’d better be getting supper started!” Mouli pauses and hugs me and then rushes out before I can issue a word of protest about the assault of the dress. Hoping that Rian went back to his room, I take the stairs two at a time and tap as I slide open the hatch. He has left his side open, and his room is empty. I groan and run back downstairs and into the guild hall. His books and notes are cleared from the table. I’m sure he’s gone to the Academy again. I’ll have to wait until he comes back. Sighing, I cross to the training square and choose a small dagger, which I pick up carefully by the sheath. I take a deep breath and start to close my fingers around the handle.

“You’re going to try it in here?”
Flit’s voice echoes in my mind.

“Why not here?” I murmur.

“Well, if it makes you black out, wouldn’t it be better to do it someplace more comfortable?”
She’s right. I decide to go back upstairs to my bed where I brace myself, take another deep breath, and close my fingers around the hilt. The deafening screams thunder in my ears and I resist the urge to clap my hands over them. I keep my resolve and squeeze my eyes shut as the blackness floods my vision and the room starts to spin around me. My stomach churns, and I’m grateful that I skipped lunch as I swallow the bile that rises in my throat. I remember Rian’s description of the stages of Rumination as the darkness and screaming slowly fade, and I find myself bathed in an endless white light.

Here, I’m floating inside of a gentle white cloud, and my awareness of my body slips away from me. I’m no longer in my room, lying on my bed. I’m here in this beautiful, peaceful place. My curiosity is piqued. I know the next stage will bring me to the field, to Kythshire. To my mother. Distantly, I feel my heart racing in my chest. I start slipping back into the black, spinning. I fight it, gripping the hilt more tightly and clearing my thoughts until the white claims me again.

I float in endless white and eventually I forget why I’ve come, what I’m looking for, who I was. All that matters is that I’m here in this wonderful place that I never want to leave. The sun is warm on my face and the wheat is fragrant around me as I emerge in the field, and soon the trees of the forest tower ahead. My feet find the soft carpet of moss at their base, and I grin. I have never left the field before, and yet here I am at the precipice. I turn to look behind me across the golden field, and in the distance the now familiar dark mountain stretches across the horizon, dwarfed beneath the black storm cloud. Gold and jewels of every color glint amid a strike of lightning.

I am not interested in stolen treasure, though, and the sounds of revelry within the cover of the trees is so enticing to me that I turn my back on the storm and the gold and instead step into the shelter of the trees. As I walk I find that I’m getting smaller, or the trees are getting taller, until I’m as small as a fairy.

In between the tree trunks ahead I glimpse flashes of color: red and yellow, blue and orange, purple and green streaks and glints and wavering lights. The spectacular show draws me closer and closer until I’m standing at the edge of a glittering meadow lined with pristine white mushrooms. Figures streak and dart past me, laughing and singing and dancing. Someone grabs my hand on the way past, and I am pulled into the whirling frolic.

My laughter blends with the beat of the drums, and my feet seem to know the steps without my bidding. I dance in circles as they play song after song. All around me are bright wings and colorful costumes and glittering light. The voices singing are the sweetest I’ve ever heard, even sweeter than Mya’s. They meld with flutes and strings and birdsong so perfectly that it’s impossible for me to discern one sound from another. My heart is light and free, and nothing matters to me except that I keep dancing and laughing and circling and spinning.

For hours, the forest streaks past me in splashes of green and gray and brown, until a glint of silver catches my eye. I try to focus on it as it blurs past, and catch a glimpse of yellow and blue. Golden hair tugs familiarly at my heart. I try to focus as we come around again, and see a boot as large as I am, tapping in time to the music. Around again, and I look up. Blue and yellow livery. Chain mailed sleeves. Things from a long time ago, important things. I try to remember, but my thoughts mingle with the music and are carried off into the tree tops, and then everything goes black.

“Azi.” I know this voice. It belongs to someone I love. It comes again, deep and full of concern, and something important is torn from my grip. My ears throb and my head pounds. Suddenly I’m aware of the bed beneath me, and my hands which lay limp and empty at my sides. I squeeze my eyes shut, and my hand feels foreign as I slide it around, desperately seeking the dagger. I need to get back. I saw something, something important. Something I was searching for. I don’t remember what. “Looking for this?” Rian’s voice booms in my ears. I wince in pain and force my eyes open just enough to see him towering over me, the sheathed dagger in his hand.

“Give it,” I croak as I reach out, but he holds it away.

“What’s going on, Azi?” His accusing tone sends a burning anger welling in my chest. Who does he think he is, pulling me out? How could he, when he knows how painful it is?

“What are you doing in here?” I’m as surprised by the fury in my voice as Rian seems to be as his brow raises. Still, I can’t control it. He has no right to pull me away from my field, my forest, and my dancing fairies. Then I remember...my mother. She was there. I grab my pillow and hurl it at him, “I don’t have to tell you anything! Leave me alone!” Rian ducks away from the pillow and blinks at me in disbelief. It hits the far wall next to the window and falls to the shelf beside Flit’s house. Outside, the silvery light of the moon cascades onto the distant rooftops. I close my eyes and press my palms into them to keep my head from splitting open.

“You’re back!” Flit’s voice grates on my ears. “And you’re throwing stuff at the stinky Mage! I’ll help!” I hear something whiz toward Rian and I peek between my fingers just in time to see my hairbrush stop in mid-air in front of him at his gesture and fall to the floor with a clatter.

“Great, just what I need,” Rian groans. The mattress dips down as he sits beside me and slips his arms around me. My instinct is to shove him away, but I stop myself. Rian hasn’t done anything but wake me up. There’s nothing wrong with that, I tell myself. My anger is raw and irrational and I know it.

“Aw, you’re not going to let him kiss you again, are you?” Flit makes a noise that sounds like choking. I take a deep breath and continue to try to calm myself, staring at my hands in my lap. The bandages must have fallen off while I slept, and the slices across my palms have healed to soft pink scars now.

“How long was I...?” I let myself trail off. My throat is too dry and sore, my thoughts too confused.

“All night and all day. I knocked in the morning but you didn’t answer, so I went to study. When I came back later in the afternoon, you were still asleep so I figured I wouldn’t wake you. I had to study again anyway. I don’t know why I bothered...” his voice trails off and he looks down at a note in his hand. I flex my own fingers, staring at the scars in my palms. A day and a half wouldn’t have been long enough heal them up so well.

“So,” Rian interrupts my thoughts, “I think I’ve figured out why you were in bed with a dagger, but how about proving me right?” He reaches for a cup of water on my side table and hands it to me.

“It’s a secret. Our secret, right, Azi?” Flit comes to light on my knee, a safe enough distance from Rian. I sip, considering her words. I do feel just as protective about this dream as I had the others, but it seems as if Rian’s already figured it out anyway.

“Rian’s clever,” I say to Flit. “And trustworthy. I’ve told you already he’s my best friend. I think it’s okay to tell him. But I think he has something he wants to say to you, first.” I look pointedly at Rian who blows out a puff of air and looks up at the ceiling.

“Fine,” he says and leans down so he’s eye level with the little fairy. “Flit, I am very sorry that I cast the Revealer on you. If I had known it would upset you so much, I never would have done it.”

“Really?” Flit eyes him. Rian nods. “Okay! We’re no longer enemies!” She dives at him and throws her arms around his neck.

“Get it off,” he mouths silently, and I laugh despite my aching head.

“Not friends, though?”  I ask. Flit wrinkles her nose at me.

“No, not yet. Maybe soon.” She darts to her house and comes back with a sugar cube, then sits beside me on a wrinkle in my blanket. When she’s settled, I turn to Rian and explain to him about the dagger, the Rumination, and the dream.

“I think Mum was there,” I sigh. “I was about to get a good look when you pulled me out.”

“No wonder you were angry,” he says. “I’m sorry. I was worried. I had no way of knowing.”

“And yet you poked your nose in anyway,” Flit mumbles around a mouthful. “Typical.” An awkward silence fills the room. I feel as if I should scold Flit, or defend Rian, but I find myself agreeing with her. If he hadn’t pulled me out, I might have actually been able to talk to my mother. The silence stretches to an uncomfortable length, until Rian finally clears his throat.

“Azi, did you send word of my test to my father?” I try to think back through the haze of dancing and colors and flashing armor, and vaguely remember the songbird flying off with my note. I press my hand to my throbbing forehead and nod.

“I told them your test was tomorrow.”

“Today. It’s past midnight now. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d try to eat something and practice a little before the trial. Not that it matters. This came for me while you were sleeping.” He shakes his head and hands me the note he’s been holding. Two words are scrawled on it in Uncle Gaethon’s handwriting, written in the scholar’s language. One of them is familiar enough. I’ve seen written across my own work in the same hand plenty of times.
Fail it.

“Fail it,” I whisper. I look up at Rian, who suddenly seems to have found the ceiling very interesting. His jaw is clenched tight. He swallows, and I know he’s fighting tears. I read the words again. “But, why would Uncle order you to fail?” My voice catches, and I clear my throat, “Rian, you’re not really going to, are you? You’ve worked so hard for so long. You’ve never missed a mark in any of your trials.”

“I don’t know why he’d tell me to fail, but of course I’m going to. I have to. As his Apprentice, I can’t ignore a direct order from him. I need to trust him. He has to have a good reason.” His shoulders rise and fall in a half-hearted shrug, “I can retest next year. It’s not a big deal.”

“Couldn’t you bow out instead? Delay it? Say you need time to come up with the fee? I’ve heard of other students who declared they weren’t ready and their trial was set back.”

“That won’t work. They know we have the money. Anyway, it’s too late,” he says, “Viala posted it public today. So I get to fail before an audience.” 

“There’s got to be some way—“ I start, but he holds up one hand to stop me.

“Azi, this is bigger than my turning a Circle. Something is going on that I’m just beginning to understand. If Master Gaethon wants me to fail, then I don’t care who’s watching. It isn’t just about me anymore.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. Rian’s arms slide from my shoulders. He goes to my window and closes the shutters, and then he crosses to my door and closes that, too. He gestures his hand across both openings and murmurs a spell. All at once I feel secure, as if we’ve been wrapped in a cocoon of quiet, and I know that anyone who might be outside listening in on us would never be able to hear our voices. He comes back to sit beside me and his eyes rest on Flit.

“Ooo, stinky Mage’s secret time.” She licks her fingers and smacks her lips and grins up at him with a sticky smile.

“Flit, maybe you should...” I start, but Rian stops me again.

“It’s okay. I think she knows more than she lets on.” He watches her lean back and wipe her sugary hands onto my coverlet while she blinks up at him innocently. “I found another log in the library yesterday,” he starts and turns to me. “Do you remember two years ago when Prince Eron chose to journey on his 16
th
birthday?” I think back. It’s common for the royal children to take an expedition on that milestone. It’s meant to symbolize their maturity and desire to learn of distant cultures and strengthen alliances.

“He went to Ceras’lain,” I say, nodding. At the time, I remember that Rian and I thought it was an odd choice. Ceras’lain is our next door neighbor in terms of countries. He could have chosen to travel across the green channel to Cresten to explore the deserts of Elespen, or visited the Stepstone Isles which are filled with colorful birds and hospitable people with dark skin and bright smiles. He could have gone north to The Haigh and trekked the snowy mountains and glorious caverns where Bryse’s culture of stony-skinned goliaths boasts of impossible strength and an immeasurable bounty of raw metals. He could even have chosen to go as far away as one of the Three Sunteri, the great island continents where the people have sleek black hair and exotic slit eyes, and are known for their skills in meditation and subterfuge and extravagant magic. Still, he chose Ceras’lain, land of the elves.

“Ceras’lain, where he spent several weeks exploring the countryside,” Rian nods. “Then he came home, and that was when the books began to find their way to the palace, courtesy of Mistress Viala.” Rian glances at Flit, “Based on the records, it seems he suddenly became very interested in curses and fairies after that trip.”

“Oh!” Flit giggles and claps, “You
are
clever!” We watch her dart back to her house and rattle around inside for a moment. She comes out carrying the diamond, which she drops in my lap. “Hold on to this today, will you? I’ll be back later!” I close my hand over it.

“Wait, Flit, I wanted to ask you—“ Rian starts, but in the blink of an eye, she’s gone. Rian groans, “She’s really irritating, you know.”

“I know,” I say.“But her occasional usefulness makes up for it.” He quirks a brow at me and our stomachs grumble in unison. “What do you think happened? Why did Eron suddenly become so interested in fairies?” The creatures are considered the ravings of madmen. It’s unseemly for a prince to be so interested. Sometimes, even with Flit right beside me crunching her sugar cube in my ear, I worry that I’m losing my mind. Rian glances at the window and the door before he ventures a reply.

“Think about it. Before his journey, Eron never missed an opportunity to show off with his sword. Remember at the games the year he turned fourteen? How he insisted on showing off in front of the crowd before the squires began their trials? Everyone was so awed by his skill.” I remember that day well. His fighting had even impressed my parents, who have always been overly critical of anyone’s technique, especially those still in training. He fought like a seasoned swordsman. It inspired me to work harder.

“I remember.” I massage my temples and Rian hands me the cup of water again.

“Drink, you’ll feel better.” He goes on. “After his journey, do you remember ever seeing him fight again? And there are reports in the conclave of a dark mood that overcame him for several months after his return.”

“Rian...are you saying you think Eron is cursed, too?” I think back over the past two years and realize that it all matches up.

“If he is, he’s spending a good deal of time searching for a way to break it, and covering his tracks while he does.” He frowns, “I think he’s behind Viala’s prodding to change the laws. If he can’t fight by sword, he wants to learn magic.” I nearly drop my cup.

“Rian, you can’t say things like that. That’s...it’s treason to even think it. Everyone knows it’s forbidden for royalty to study the arcane. Nobody would stand for it.” King Tirnon is the fourth king in the Plethore Dynasty, which has come to be known as the Age of Peace. His ancestor, King Asio made the declaration over a century ago at the start of his rule, that no king or member of the Royal family would be permitted to practice or study magic. This came after a terrible time in our history, ending with the Reign of Diovicus, who was said to be a Mage of the Forty-Fifth Circle. His cruelty and oppression melded terribly with his thirst for power and immortality.

Since then, the palace keeps Mages at arm’s length. Their skills are allowed and appreciated, but never depended upon or flaunted. In Cerion, we’re only just now beginning to feel completely recovered from those dark times. There are some cultures who still find it hard to trust us in the wake of our dark history. “We all know the risks that come with our rulers having too much power. His Majesty would never allow it.”

“His Majesty wouldn’t. But we know who his heir is, don’t we?” His stomach growls again, and I notice the soft lavender light of pre-dawn through the slits of the shutters.

“Eron.” I shiver. Even if the king stands his ground and refuses to change the laws, it’s only a matter of time before his son takes the throne and does it anyway. “You have to eat and go,” I say reluctantly. It seems as though a full conversation is a luxury that won’t be ours any time soon. “You can’t be late. Or maybe you can...if you’re going to fail it anyway.” Rian pushes himself to his feet and stretches his arms up over his head.

“Will you come and watch?” He asks, “If I’m going to fail, I might as well do it with a flair.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” I come up on my tiptoes and kiss him. In this moment, everything falls away and it’s as though nothing in the world exists but Rian and me. I wish we could stay this way forever, locked together, his lips soft and warm on mine. Eventually and reluctantly we pull away from each other and each of us sighs in unison, which gets us laughing. I wonder if it will always be so sweet between us. I hope it is.

***

Mouli insists on accompanying me to the Academy to watch the trials. We make a colorful show together as we make our way through the winding streets to the southernmost corner of the city, she in her yellow dress and I in my blue and gold surcoat. Mouli chatters hopefully about Rian as we walk. She’s as proud as a mother hen of his accomplishments, and completely unaware of his plans to fail. From time to time, we’re stopped by a passerby or an acquaintance, and they get to chatting for so long that I have to remind her we’ll be late to watch the trial if we don’t hurry.

My hand frequently slides into my pocket to find Flit’s diamond. I’m so paranoid I’ll lose it that I’ve tucked it into a pouch and tied that pouch to a hidden loop sewn into the lining of my tunic. Occasionally, someone calls my name from their window or doorstep and I wave, and more than once a child runs up to give me a ribbon or a flower or some small trinket. When we finally arrive at the Academy, I’m blushing profusely. I’m also crestfallen.

A massive crowd has gathered near the entrance to the public audience hall. I can’t recall ever seeing such a gathering to watch an exam. Poor Rian. As we near, I realize that people are being turned away. A harassed-looking yeoman is standing on a platform near the door and gesturing emphatically.

“No more room, no room. Clear out!” He shouts. My heart sinks at the thought of breaking my promise to Rian.

“I never saw the likes of it,” Mouli says, and a dejected looking passerby stops.

“Should have expected it,” he says. “Considering. The youngest to try for Sixteenth in more than forty years, he is. Of course everyone would want to see it.”

“Protégé of Gaethon himself,” says another, “You know that though.” He nods at my livery, “Azi, right?” I offer the man a half-hearted smile and a nod. Of course everyone would turn up to see Rian’s trials. It’s just as they said. He’s the youngest from Cerion to reach this Circle in decades, and rumors have been flying for years that Master Gaethon is molding him to take his seat one day. The thought of it makes his order to fail that much more of a puzzle to me. My eyes scan the crowd of disappointed would-be onlookers. Are they all here just to see him? My Rian? There’s a tap on my shoulder and I turn to see a page in purple livery. He bobs his head.

“Squire Azaeli Hammerfel?” he asks. I nod. I recognize this page and I know he recognizes me, too, but of course we have to observe the formalities. “Your presence is requested by Her Highness Princess Sarabel and His Highness Prince Eron. Your chaperone is welcome as well.” I nod again, stunned. Though the palace keeps the Academy at arm’s length, it isn’t unheard of for its members to attend an exam from time to time. Naturally, a trial of such high profile would pique their interest.
Especially Prince Eron
, I think to myself, knowing what I know now. I try hard to keep my expression neutral as Mouli and I follow the page through the parting crowd and up into the narrow corridor that leads to the viewing area. It’s difficult, considering. All I can think of is my dear Rian having to throw away his chance to shine, and not just in front of an audience, but in front of royalty, too.

The royal viewing area is dimly lit and cozy. It resembles a theater box about one story up from the floor of the exam ring. It’s set into a recess in the wall, and as Mouli and I enter, I can sense the same spell Rian used in my room earlier has been cast between us and the floor below. We’ll be able to hear what goes on in the ring, but we won’t be able to distract him with our comments.

The ring itself is small, about the same size as our training square at home. It’s set in a circular stone room with a domed ceiling about seven stories up. A section of the dome has been opened so the early morning sun casts a single beam of light across the floor. Rian sits cross-legged in the center of the beam, his head bowed. I swallow nervously and tear my attention away from him to the princess who is waving me over. I offer the assembly of royal siblings a respectful bow before taking the offered seat beside Sarabel. Princess Amei and Prince Eron are seated on her other side. The prince leans away from his new bride, his rapt attention on a conversation with the stunning woman seated beside him.

Her sleek black hair falls like a curtain as she tilts her head to talk to him. Her dark almond eyes flick to me and away quickly. She’s dressed in long, wine-red robes with the high styled collar commonly worn by a master. An intricate black design weaves across the fabric of the robes, meant to echo the lines of Mage Mark. I recognize her almost immediately as Mistress Viala, and my hands curl into fists in my lap. It’s her fault Rian is being put through this.

“Thank you for the invitation, your Highness,” I tear my attention from the two and whisper to Sarabel, who giggles and bats my arm playfully.

“No need to be so formal, Azi. Can you believe the turnout?” She flicks her eyes to the ceiling where I can hear the thumping and creaking of dozens of feet. “The common seating is standing room only, Viala says.” I try to keep my expression neutral as I look down at Rian. He seems so small and alone, kneeling there in his wedge of sunlight. “He’s awfully handsome, isn’t he?” Sarabel says, making me shift uncomfortably. “I never realized how good looking he is.”

“Poor Sara,” Amei says with a singsong accent from beside Sarabel, “Anyone looks good after Prince Beaky.” She pinches her nose and pulls her fingers outward, miming a bird’s beak.

“Or Prince Eyebrows,” Sarabel furrows her brow dramatically, and the conversation dissolves into the two of them lightheartedly teasing about the line of suitors who’ve recently come calling for Sara. They go on as I watch Rian sit in perfect serenity, and I wonder if it’s possible that I’m more nervous for him than he is for himself.