I understood. To protect our anonymity would be difficult in the bustling royal residence. The Dar'Nethi believed that the last direct descendant of King D'Arnath, Prince D'Natheil, had been killed in the final battle with the Lords of Zhev'Na five years before. And truly the last remnants of D'Natheil's soul had died that day. Only a handful of people knew that D'Natheil's body still lived, inhabited by Karon's soul and spirit as it had been for eleven years now. Karon, stripped of the Heir's powers when he abandoned D'Natheil's soul beyond the Verges, had joyfully yielded D'Natheil's office to the man he had anointed as his successor. Together they had chosen to let the people believe that D'Natheil had died to save them and that Gerick had remained the Fourth Lord of Zhev'Na, corrupted in childhood and executed by his father in that final battle. Unraveling the complex layers of deception that had been required to lure the Lords to their destruction would be far too distracting for a people who needed to remember what their life had been before the ancient Catastrophe had almost destroyed them. Our public reappearance could not fail to open old wounds and old fears. Karon needed peace and care, not to be the center of an uproar.
Ven'Dar scribed a circle on the floor of the chamber with a beam of light from his hand, stood in its center, and began working some enchantment. While I sat beside the litter, stroking Karon's brow, Bareil conversed quietly with Gerick and Paulo. Je'Reint stayed apart, leaning against the doorway, arms folded and eyes fixed on Gerick. Je'Reint knew our son's story, of course, and had expressed an eagerness to meet him, so his coolness was a bit surprising. To be fair, Gerick did not invite introduction. Our son's nature was anything but gregarious.
After a tedious half-hour, a wavering distortion hung in the air above the circle. The prince exhaled slowly, rubbing his forehead. “My apologies for the delay. I must be more tired than I thought.”
Gerick, Paulo, Bareil, and Je'Reint carried Karon's litter through the enchanted portal.
“Gar'Dena's house!” I said, when I followed them into a luxurious chamber, uniquely exotic in its decoration. Once introduced to the swathes of enfolding red silk draped from the ceiling to serve as seats, the elaborate fountains, the exotic plants and birds, the bells, the wind chimes, and the hundreds of colorful cushions scattered everywhere, one would never confuse the place with any other.
“Is this room not every bit a reminder of him?” asked the young woman who offered me an embrace as I entered the room. “Would my father lived to offer his own great heart's care in this terrible time.”
Aimee was the youngest daughter of Karon's late counselor and friend Gar'Dena. Five years had left the luminous Aimee more womanly than when I'd seen her last. Her sun-colored hair was coiled smoothly at the back of her neck rather than hanging in the girlish loose curls of the past, and a serene confidence imbued her every word and gesture.
“Your father's kindness and generosity live on in his children,” I said, kissing her flushed cheeks.
“Many thanks for your hospitality, Mistress Aimee,” said Ven'Dar as the young woman offered him the Dar'-Nethi greeting of respect, a graceful bow with hands extended, palms up.
“As always, it is my pleasure to serve you, my lord, and my honor to aid those who have given so much for Gondai.” Aimee's countenance expressed her sympathy, though her eyes reflected nothing of what they looked on. She had been blind since birth.
Aimee led Ven'Dar and me to a large, airy bedchamber with high ceilings. Late-afternoon light spilled through its tall windows. The four men had settled Karon on a wide bed, where he lay as pale as Aimee's sheets, and so thin and still he might have been an image graven on a stone tablet.
“My lord prince, I've summoned T'Laven as you commanded me,” said Bareil. “He will arrive within the hour.”
“Thank you, Dulcé,” said Ven'Dar. He stroked his short beard thoughtfully as he gazed down at Karon, rare uncertainty clouding his face.
Aimee, who was stacking extra blankets and pillows on a nearby chest, lifted her head and raised her eyebrows. “But, my lord, have you not asked for the Lady D'Sanya? I would have thoughtâ”
“No! I've sent for T'Laven. You understand, young woman, that no word of our guests is to be spoken to anyone unless I give you leave.”
“Of course, my lord.” Aimee wrinkled her brow as she moved to the hearth and blew gently over her fingers toward the fire. The flames snapped and flared high.
I'd never heard Ven'Dar speak so abruptly to anyone. And for the recipient of his rebuke to be Aimee, who had served both Karon and Ven'Dar in many matters where discretion was required . . . Why would Ven'Dar doubt her? As soon as the thought blossomed, I dismissed it. He'd never have given us into her care if he doubted her. Something else was bothering him.
The prince took his leave before I could question him. “Have no doubt, my lady,” he said, meeting my gaze only briefly as he squeezed my fingers. “T'Laven is a superb Healer. I'll return this evening to see what he has to report. I have charged Mistress Aimee with your comfort and Je'Reint with your safety. Bareil has offered to assist you with anything you might need.”
Je'Reint took his leave at the same time, bidding me a kind farewell and Aimee an even kinder one. “You will soon completely overwhelm me with your talents and mysteries, mistress,” he said to her, bowing deeply and extending one hand in invitation. “Every day I seem to learn of another.”
She flushed and dipped her knee, laying her hand in his. “Good sir.”
Je'Reint kissed her hand, and as he straightened from his bow, his fingers seemed reluctant to allow hers to slip away.
Bareil excused himself. The prince and Je'Reint followed him out, pausing at the doorway to confer quietly.
Je'Reint's gaze flicked several times to Gerick, who sat on the gleaming wooden floor with his back against Karon's bed, elbows resting on his drawn-up knees, the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes.
Aimee ran her fingers along the edge of the tabletop and set a glass of wine on the curved-legged table between my chair and Karon's bed. “Here, refresh yourself, my lady,” she said. “You must tell me what you need. I'll have rooms made ready for you and yourâ” Her voice dropped to a polite whisper. “Is it your son here with us, my lady? He has not spoken. And someone else with him, I think?”
With skill, experience, and some wondrous working of her Dar'Nethi gifts, Aimee could read some enchanted books, find her way about her house and the city, and pursue her talent as an Imager, using her power to create exact images to match the ideas in another's mind. She used this same power to connect an individual's presence with an image in her own mind, that is, to “recognize” the person, but only if the individual had spoken to her. It was easy to forget she couldn't see everyone in the room.
“Oh, Aimee, please excuse my rudeness. Yes, my son is here, and his friend Paulo, who stayed here with me so many years ago.”
Poor Paulo looked as if a brick had fallen on his head after witnessing Je'Reint's obvious attentions to Aimee. Karon and I had not failed to note our young friend's casually placed inquiries after Aimee's well-being over the past years.
“Welcome, my lord and good sir,” said Aimee, bowing her head and extending her palms in their direction. “May I offer you some refreshment?”
Paulo crouched beside Gerick and whispered a few words, then stood up again after Gerick shook his head slightly.
“If we could just have a bit of ale or tea for the young master. He's had a roughâBut he'll be fine if he could please just have a sip. Or if you could tell me where it is, I could get it.” Paulo's eyes darted between the young lady and the floor, and his freckles pulsed in a sea of scarlet.
Aimee's smile had the brilliance of raindrops in sunlight. “Of course, I should have thought to bring in ale and water, too. We must fetch Andeluthian ale for Master Karonâit is so nourishingâand a bowl of fresh water to soothe him. And it is very kind of you to offer to help. Though I can carry quite a lot, I do have a problem getting it all set down safely.” Much to Paulo's discomfiture, she beckoned him to accompany her through the doorway that Ven'Dar and Je'Reint had just vacated. “Would you prefer ale, also, or water or wine? Or saffria, perhaps? I've some newly brewed.”
Paulo's color deepened, if possible, but he was saved from the desperate chance of having to speak to the lady again in public hearing by the return of Bareil with a slight, dark-haired Dar'Nethi man of middle years. The stranger's floor-length tunic was scarlet, trimmed in yellow, and his left arm, bared by the silver brooch that held his draped sleeve, was covered with a network of uncountable white scars. This man was a Healer of extensive experience.
Bareil introduced the stranger as T'Laven, recognized for many years, the Dulcé said, as the finest Healer in Avonar.
T'Laven flushed at this introduction. “No man can hear himself called the finest of Healers when in the presence of Prince D'Natheil. I am honored beyond all telling to be entrusted with the knowledge Prince Ven'Dar has shared with me today and with the care of my noble lord. If it comforts you to know it, my lady, I am one of those who followed your husband when he lived among us, studied his work, and listened to his words as he demonstrated talent not seen since the Catastrophe diminished all talents. Every day of my life I strive to emulate the grace with which he practices our Art.”
“Nothing could reassure me so well,” I said. “But you must call him Karon now. He no longer answers to your late prince's name.”
T'Laven dragged a green-cushioned bench up beside my chair. “Now, lady, if you would please tell me the course of his illness. I see how heavily it lies on him, and I would not rouse him from Prince Ven'Dar's enchantment just to tell me what another might report as well.”
The Healer shook his head gravely when I finished my description of the past three months. “So long . . . unfortunate . . .”
“I understand the cost of the delay, Master T'Laven, and I'll not hold you to account for the workings of fate any more than a Dar'Nethi would do.”
“I'll do everything I can for him, madam.”
As T'Laven stood up and unpacked a small silver knife and a strip of white linen from a leather case attached to his belt, Gerick at last took his hands from his eyes, unfolded himself from the floor, and came to stand behind my chair. The Healer bowed and extended his palms, his expression politely neutral.
“T'Laven, may I introduce our son Gerick. Gerick, this is T'Laven, a Healer sent by Ven'Dar.”
I could not see Gerick's expression or whether he offered any greeting in return. The Lords had taught him that the Dar'Nethi were greedy, conniving, and cowardly, unworthy of the great talents they hoarded and constrained. His only experience of the Dar'Nethi beyond his father and Kellea had been as the master of Dar'Nethi slaves during his cruel childhood in Zhev'Na and as their reviled prisoner in Avonar. Knowing that half the population of Avonar would put a spear through his heart and the remainder recoil in horror at the first hint of his identity, one could not expect him to have endearing thoughts of his father's people . . . his own people.
“If my father falters while you do this work”âGerick's words were soft and coolâ“give me a sign. I can sustain him. I don't think it will interfere with you.”
T'Laven's sharp gaze told me how dearly he wished to ask how Gerick might do such a thing, but no note in Gerick's chilly offer invited him to make the query.
So the Healer nodded and turned back to Karon. T'Laven made an incision in Karon's arm and his own, and bound the wounds together to mingle their blood. Whispering the Healer's invocation, he stripped away the barriers of Ven'Dar's winding and created his link into Karon's mind and body. Karon stirred restlessly but did not open his eyes.
The evening birds whistled and chittered in the flowered grotto just outside the tall windows. As the daylight faded, Aimee returned. With a touch of her finger, she caused an ivory globe painted with delicate brushstrokes of green to cast a soft light across the expanse of floor. Paulo accompanied her, carrying in a tray laden with a crystal carafe of water, three stemmed glasses, a pewter pitcher, and several mugs. He set the tray quietly on a small table, filled a mug from the pewter pitcher, and gave it to Gerick.
As Aimee drew Paulo out of the room once again, whispering of a light supper for later in the evening, Gerick sat on a footstool beside my chair and took my hand. Callused with his work in the Bounded, scarred by his years in Zhev'Na, his strong hand unraveled the knots inside me. After a while he closed his eyes. Frown lines about his eyes told me he was not asleep.
More than an hour later, a pale T'Laven, his narrow face glazed with a sheen of sweat and his skin showing the transparent aspect of a Dar'Nethi Healer who has expended every scrap of his gathered power, untied the strip of linen that bound his scarred arm to Karon's. I knew better than to question him right away. He had lived with Karon's disease for every moment of their link, delving deep into nerve and muscle and tissue seeking out the cause of the illness and the possible remedies for it. Dar'Nethi healing was a formidable calling.
After a short while, the slim Dar'Nethi sighed and raised his head. “It is as he has surmised. To heal such disease is beyond my skill and beyond my judgment. I do most sincerely wish I could say otherwise. With Master Karon's consent, I have temporarily severed the sensory pathways that cause him such distress, so that for the moment he may rest in comfort. He sleeps even now, and will do so for another hour or two. But you must know, my lady and good sir, that as long as I maintain this remedy, he will remain paralyzed, unable to move, unable to speak save with his mind. Only heavy enchantment keeps him breathing. He has no wish to sustain his life in this fashion, as I am sure you understand better than I, and so, at his sign, I will undo what I have done.”