Duskfall (18 page)

He doesn’t have to worry about me
, she thought.
No one has to worry about me anymore
.

The frost was barely present in her veins, but she could feel it, echoes of the raging flood. Just as Kali said, Winter was beginning to feel cold.
She said this was just a small dose
, she thought excitedly,
diluted with water
. She dared to imagine what she might do with more.

“Winter,” Lian said again, touching her shoulder. “Are you all right?” She realized that she still hadn’t answered him.

“Yes.” She smiled. Or perhaps she had already been smiling. She wasn’t sure. “I’m wonderful, actually.”

“You don’t
look
it,” he muttered, sitting beside her. “Wasn’t for that stupid grin on your face, I’d say you’d contracted the red plague. You look awful.”

“Thanks,” Winter mumbled, “just what every girl wants to hear.” She wasn’t sure if he understood her, if she was even speaking coherently. But she didn’t care. Let him talk. Let her look awful.

Things were different now.

Slowly, Winter laid herself back down so she could look up at the sky. Nash and Kali were whispering excitedly on the other side of the fire. Winter wondered, briefly, what they were saying, but dismissed the thought. It didn’t matter.

“Listen,” Lian whispered. “Be careful, Winter. We don’t know anything about what they’re giving us. Don’t even know if they’re telling the truth about all this.”

Winter let him talk. She stared at the stars. They were so beautiful, perfect diamonds in a sea of darkness. How long had it been since she had just looked up at the stars?

“I don’t think you should take any more of it,” Lian said. “Neither of us should.”

Winter let out a giggle. She couldn’t help it.

“We don’t know anything about them,” Lian continued. Was he repeating himself? Winter wasn’t sure. It was difficult to concentrate on anything but the memory of the
faltira
.

“Oh, Lian,” she said, looking up at him. She reached up and ran a hand across his face. She felt clumsy; her hand barely brushed his skin, but that just made her giggle more. “Everything will be fine. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

“I’m worried about you
now
. I don’t know what I just saw, but—”

“I
have
it, Lian, it’s
inside
me. I can feel it, I can still feel it, just barely… it’s wonderful.”

Lian didn’t reply. Winter let the silence envelop her.

Later, when the frost had completely worn off—it felt like hours, but hearing Nash and Kali still whispering nearby, and seeing Lian still sitting near her, she didn’t think it had taken long at all—Winter finally sat up.

“Welcome back,” Lian muttered, staring into the fire.

He was being sullen. He was always sullen when he didn’t get his way. Ever since he was a child. Winter used to think it was endearing.

Not tonight. Whatever euphoria the frost had given her was gone.

“I need to talk to you about Knot,” Lian said. Winter glared at him. The last thing she needed was another lecture about how they shouldn’t be out here.

“I need to tell you what happened the night we—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Lian. I know you don’t like why we’re out here, but I don’t care. It was your choice to follow me. You didn’t have to come.”

“It’s not about that, it has to do with—”

“No, Lian. I’m sorry.”

Lian glared but Winter didn’t care. He was being foolish. And stubborn.

“Fine,” Lian mumbled. “Still don’t think you should take any more of that stuff.” He nodded towards Nash and Kali. “We can’t trust them.”

“It doesn’t
matter
whether we can trust them or not,” Winter whispered irritably. Now that the bliss was gone, she felt alone, cold, and irritated. “What matters is that they’ve given us a tool. This can help us, Lian. We can use it to help us find Knot. We can use it against them if we have to.”

Lian stared at her. “What have they done to you?”

Winter didn’t answer. The question was stupid.
They
hadn’t done anything. They had only shown her something that had always been a part of her. But seeing Lian’s face, his eyes so vulnerable, made her think again of that night in Cineste, in the alley. She shivered. It was her fault. She had put them in danger.

But now she had the means to stop anything like that from happening ever again.

She looked around at the other two. Nash appeared to be checking the perimeter of the camp. Kali was near her tent.

Winter wanted to demand another
faltira
crystal from them. She wanted to feel the power and elation again.
Don’t be a fool
, she told herself. Kali had been very clear about the addictive properties of the drug. She couldn’t risk it, not when she was so close.

With an effort, Winter quelled the urge. Things were working out better than she could possibly have hoped. She just had to be patient.

K
ALI RAN HER HAND
through her hair. She did not like having short hair, or brown hair, for that matter. She glanced at Elsi, sitting alone near the tent, envious of the thing’s shining blond hair. And how short the girl was. Kali had thought she would like being tall, but she had been mistaken; it robbed her of subtlety.

On the other side of the fire, Nash was teaching Winter the first elements of telesis. Kali had heard it all before. Once chosen as a candidate for the Nazaniin, she had been taught the details of both telesis and acumency. Clairvoyance remained a mystery to most. Kali suspected it was similar to the other two cognitive arts, considering how similar telesis and acumency were to one another logistically, but that was speculation. Voyants could predict future events, though their accuracy varied greatly; that summarized Kali’s knowledge of clairvoyance. The other two forms of psimancy were much more familiar to her.

Nash would begin with the basics. A telenic used
tendra
—an Old Khalic term meaning “arms,”—to manipulate objects. A
tendron
was invisible to the naked eye; when a telenic released a
tendron
, no one—psimancer or otherwise—could see it. A telenic could not even visualize their own
tendra
; he or she would be aware of them, but the awareness was tactile rather than visual.
Tendra
functioned as ethereal limbs, allowing a telenic to manipulate an object in whatever way they wished. But telenics were limited to moving inanimate objects; they could not manipulate living things. In Nazaniin experiments,
tendra
passed through human, tiellan, and animal subjects with no visible effect.

A telenic measured power in three ways, namely by the quantity, strength, and range of their
tendra
. The weakest telenics Kali knew could only release one
tendron
that was no stronger and could reach no further than their own physical arms. Nash, one of the strongest telenics Kali knew, could consistently access nine
tendra
at once, although once or twice he’d tapped into a couple more. Each of Nash’s
tendra
could lift objects heavier than Nash himself, and reach thirty or forty rods in any direction—many times Nash’s own reach. The further out a
tendron
reached, the weaker it became, but in general the strength was consistent.

Kali sighed. She was deliberately distracting herself. She was trying not to think of what she had just discovered.

Winter was the Harbinger.

Rune had refused to verify it, but he was always loath to admit anything he hadn’t foreseen himself. Winter’s psimantic ability, especially as a tiellan, all but confirmed her as the Harbinger. She had lifted that boulder like it was a pebble, and with only
one
tendron, according to Nash. Such strength was unheard of among telenics.

Kali’s discovery would create ripples within the Nazaniin that could not be called back. Many who studied the prophecies, Kali among them, had long dismissed the idea of a tiellan psimancer. Some feared the idea; if one tiellan could access the Void, then perhaps all tiellans could learn to do so. It was a slippery slope from there to tiellans returning to the power they had possessed during the Age of Marvels. Revenge for centuries of captivity would surely follow.

Kali did not fear a tiellan psimancer. She had believed that such a thing was impossible. Until now.

She thought of the glory she would receive for being the Nazaniin agent to discover and bring in the Harbinger. Many agents devoted their entire lives to the quest, although Kali had never been that devoted. She would take the credit, of course; it just wasn’t an honor she’d ever sought. Nevertheless, Kali tried to focus on it, if only to keep her from going mad. She had been excited at Winter’s ability at first, until she realized the implications. Twisted irony. If Kali believed in Canta, she would have thought the Goddess more fickle than ever. For the Harbinger to be a tiellan, and for Kali of all people to be the one to find her. A volatile, petty goddess indeed.

Kali placed her hand on her chest, feeling the parchment she kept in the hidden pocket there. She rarely unfolded it anymore, but she was always aware of its presence. She would never forget what happened to her family, and she would never forget the tiellans who had caused it.

Kali looked at Winter. The tiellan psimancer. The girl feigned innocence, but Kali had her suspicions; she might not be as innocent as she appeared. Lian had been uncharacteristically silent since the testing. Lian feigned nothing; he hated humans, and apparently did not care who knew it. Kali knew his type. She had seen the atrocities of which elves like Lian were capable.

And yet, here Kali was, having to pretend they were her equals.

Having to admit that one of them was the Harbinger.

She needed to stick to her orders; emotions would only cloud her judgment. And if her orders required tolerating the company of two tiellans—even befriending them—Kali would do it. It was her duty, and Kali was nothing without that.

“You can’t control her,” said Lian.

Kali looked up and glared at him. What gave him the right to interrupt her thoughts?

“What are you talking about?”

“Winter,” Lian said. “You’ll try to control her, her new powers. But you don’t know her. Winter could never be controlled.”

“You’re mistaken.” Kali wanted to say a lot worse—how dare he challenge her?—but she kept calm. Pettiness did not become her.

“How do you know? You reading my mind?”

Kali shook her head. The boy’s understanding was pathetic. “You’re not worth the effort. And you aren’t difficult to read, with or without psimancy. Best stop talking before you get yourself into real trouble.”

Nash glanced at her, across the flames. He was still talking with Winter, but he knew. Perhaps he had overheard, perhaps he sensed her mood, but he knew.

Kali sighed. She risked a lot being so rude to the boy. And yet she couldn’t help herself. The familiar rage was rising.

Kali stood.

“Where are you going?” Lian asked.

Kali didn’t respond. She needed to get away from him, from them all, before she did something she would regret.

C
INZIA REACHED FOR A
towel, shaking water from her hands. She and Kovac were washing dishes after eating dinner with her family, an image that Cinzia found both amusing and strange. For one, her family had always had servants for such tasks. Cinzia had never washed a dish in her life until she left for the Ministry, where she quickly learned that Canta’s disciples did not live in quite as much comfort as a noble family—at least not until they were ordained priestesses, anyway.

Secondly, Cinzia was washing the dishes with Kovac. The act felt oddly intimate. He scrubbed with water and soap, his shirtsleeves rolled up, revealing his scarred, sinewy arms. Cinzia dried with a threadbare towel. She felt good accomplishing something with visible, immediate results.

“You are unique, my lady,” Kovac said after a while. “You are not like other priestesses I have known.”

“I do not see how I am so different,” Cinzia said. “I do what every priestess does.”

Kovac shook his head. “When it comes to Cantic duties, yes. That is as it should be. But who you are away from the chapel is different.” Kovac smiled. “Most priestesses would not condescend to wash dishes at all, let alone with their Goddessguard.”

Cinzia frowned. She had noted the aloof relationship most women in the Ministry had with their Goddessguards. It seemed a waste of a good relationship. She hadn’t found it practical either. What use was a Goddessguard if he did not care enough about you to protect you when it mattered?

“There is no reason for me not to help,” Cinzia said. “This is my family. As our guest, you are the one out of place, if either of us is.”

Kovac smiled. “I am only doing my duty, my lady.”

Cinzia listened to the soft swish of water in the basin as she dried another plate. Her thoughts turned to what seemed inescapable: Jane’s vision.
Visions
, Cinzia corrected herself. Plural. Jane claimed to have experienced more than one, each accompanied by a messenger, and each messenger with its own name, story, and personality. Which was outrageous. Anything from the Praeclara was of the same mind and will as Canta Herself.
Children
knew that… and still Cinzia felt drawn to the story. Despite all that she had learned, all she
knew
, a part of her wanted to believe Jane’s ludicrous claims. But Cinzia’s faith in the Cantic Denomination—her faith in
Canta
—had not developed overnight. She had cultivated it for years. Considering leaving something like that behind, let alone thinking it might be false, incited a plethora of emotions that she could not handle.