Where Light Meets Shadow (10 page)

That evening, Alban mind-linked with
Kieran before the healing session without being asked. No point any more with
the pretense that they were only enemies thrown together by chance. No point
even pretending that they were just friends, not when he hid things from his
father to protect Kieran. Just what they were, he had no words for.

At Kieran’s request, Alban eased
him into sleep, leaving him with a silent wish of good night. It was early
still, but the day had taken its toll on them both.

Given that he had left Kieran
early in restful sleep, he was surprised when he brought in breakfast the next
morning that the Scathlan looked haggard, with dark circles under his eyes. To
Alban’s queries, Kieran would only say that he had not been sleeping well.

“Is it the ankle?” Alban asked.
“I can ask Father about increasing the dosage of herbs for pain.”

Kieran shook his head. “I don’t
think that’s it. I could ask you for herbs to achieve a deeper sleep, but I
think we both know how dangerous those can be.”

Alban could mix and measure the
herbs so they would be safe enough in the short term, but Kieran was right.
Such things could easily be habit forming. Alban did not want to send Kieran
back home with an unhealthy dependence.

It was a good thing he had taken
the book from Kieran. The bard needed to rest. Perhaps, with a few days’
respite from his obsession, he would sleep better.

Kieran was not in the mood to
harp that morning, so Alban read to him from a book of mortal folk tales. That
cheered him, and by afternoon Kieran asked for pen and paper to jot down ideas
on how the stories might be improved or combined and added to his repertoire.

Days passed and, even without the
book, Kieran seemed to get little rest, judging by his increasingly wan
appearance. Alban brought him lavender and heart’s solace cut from his mother’s
glassed conservatory. Both flowers were said to bring restful sleep. He might
have felt shy bringing blossoms to the Scathlan as though he were courting a
maid, but Kieran set him at his ease, thanking him and singing a mortal ballad
on the supposed origins of heart’s solace.

Like many ballads, it was
beautiful but sad, a story about a young woman dying from heartbreak after her
love wed another for the sake of the other’s dowry. According to the song,
heart’s solace first grew from her grave. Anyone who gathered it in her memory
and hung a sprig at the bedroom window would never be parted from true love.

“Silly, of course,” Kieran said.
“Heart’s solace has been around for as long as anyone can remember, and mortal
girls are still losing their true loves to another in droves, despite the
advice of the song. At least to go by the ballads and the public house gossip.”

Alban shook his head at the
cynicism. “I would offer to hang a sprig in your window and you could try it
out, but you don’t believe in true love.”

“You do.” Kieran broke off a
sprig and handed it to him. “If there is a true love for you, may you never be
parted.
”

The lavender and the heart’s
solace gave the room a sweet scent like the first of spring, but it didn’t seem
to help Kieran sleep. Kieran, who nightly shared the intimacy of the mind-link
with Alban, still refused to say anything of the dreams that disturbed his
sleep. Though tempted, Alban would not violate Kieran’s trust by trying to read
more through the bond than his friend willingly shared.

#

Kieran wondered if he was going
crazy, wondered if he would end up plunging to his death as his teacher had.
Every night Alban eased him into sweet sleep. That first little part of the
night was the only respite Kieran found. No matter how deeply he slept, he
always knew the moment Alban slipped from his mind and went to his own bed. And
then the dreams began, dreams in which he shared the suffering of his trapped
queen.

He woke shaking from it each
night, never soon enough for his sanity and yet too soon for his body, which
craved rest. Unable to return to sleep even if he dared, he stared at the dark
window for hours, the empty stillness pressing around him, waiting for the
first pale grayness that meant dawn, that meant Alban would be coming with
breakfast before too long.

Kieran thought he had known
loneliness in his life, but those empty hours lying awake while the rest of the
world peacefully slept and the dream hovered at the edge of his thoughts
waiting to take him should he fall, those empty hours taught him the true
meaning of being alone. Tempting, so tempting, to go to Alban, sleeping just in
the next room. Alban would be worried, would fuss and ask questions Kieran
couldn’t answer, but he would keep Kieran
company
.

Tempting, too, to beg Alban to
stay the night with him, to not leave his mind. But would Alban’s presence keep
the dreams away? Or would he expose the queen’s pain to someone who was still
her enemy, even if no longer his?

More stopped him than concern for
his queen’s sanctity. The mind-link was primarily a Leas talent, but he still
knew a little about it. Enough to know that the compatibility of their minds
and the casual frequency with which they linked was not common and implied a
level of intimacy beyond their true situation. To the outside observer, the
moments of—should he call it cuddling? Embracing?—that they shared would speak
of a romantic relationship or at least a sexual one. Despite his inexperience,
Alban had to know this too.

Were it not so utterly
impossible, Kieran would have tried his luck a long time ago. Pushing the
boundaries further by asking Alban to guard his sleep or keep him company
through those sleepless hours would threaten to destroy what they already had,
forcing it to a point where they had to acknowledge and discuss it.

He had a lot of time, in those
lonely, dark hours before dawn, to contemplate the inadvisability of even their
current relationship. Despite his reckless nature, he prided himself on never
playing with another’s heart.

What did this all mean to Alban?
More, what did it mean to him?

Kieran liked Alban. A lot. He
enjoyed his company. Love? He couldn’t even swear he knew what the word meant,
for all the pretty ballads he sang.

What he did know was that Alban
kept him sane.

#

When Alban brought in breakfast a
week from the day that he had taken the book from Kieran, he found the bard
standing by the window. The open window with cold air rushing in. He set the
tray on the table.

Kieran turned at the sound. “It
still amazes me that sometimes we are actually above the clouds here.” He
smiled. “The sun is so bright on the clouds today, and the clouds look so soft
and thick, like you could just walk across them.”

“Well, you can’t,” Alban said
sharply.

Kieran laughed, some of his old
spirit shining through. “Of course not. I may be the Fool, but not that much of
a fool.”

“Why is the window open?”

The quick flash of humor slipped
away like the sun behind the cloud. “I needed fresh air.”

Alban stepped closer, evaluating
Kieran with a healer’s eye. “Did you sleep last night?”

“I was asleep when you left me, O
Prince of Light.”

Alban frowned. “Did you sleep
well? Or did you dream again and wake?”

“I slept enough.”

“For one who makes his way in the
world by telling stories, you are a terrible liar.”

“Only when I am not trying.”
Kieran closed the window, then hobbled over to the table to join Alban for
breakfast.

“Will you tell me about the
dreams?”

Kieran studied his plate.
“There’s nothing to tell. They’re just dreams.”

“It’s not healthy to go so long
without sufficient sleep. It’s hard on your body. And on your mind.”

Was it his imagination or did
Kieran just flinch?

Alban took a deep breath. “I’ve done
everything I can for you to the limit of my skill. There are drugs that bring
sleep, but they can be dangerous. I would have to consult with my father.”

“No.”

Of course Kieran would object.
Father wouldn’t give a courtier’s smile and dance politely around Kieran’s
evasions. Which might be for the best. There were reasons why tradition
cautioned against having friends as patients if a healer could avoid it.

If Kieran didn’t start doing
better, Alban
would
have to go to his father.

He reached across the table,
placing his hand over Kieran’s. “I want to help you. Tell me what I can do to
help.”

“It was better when I was working
on the book.”

True, but Alban hadn’t forgotten
Kieran’s preoccupation with its contents nor the day he had lost control of his
magic.

“You said I should take a break
for a few days. It’s been more than a few days,” Kieran pressed.

The book might not have had
anything to do with Kieran’s loss of control. Perhaps Alban had made a mistake
by taking the book from him.

He wished he could consult with
his father, but that would mean confessing things that he had so far withheld.
His father would be angry and disappointed. Kieran would feel betrayed.

Alban would muddle through for a
while longer and hope for the best.

“I have the book in my room. I’ll
get it for you when I go down to have dinner with my family. If you let me get
you out of the room today.”

Kieran frowned. “I have been
practicing with the crutches in the room—”

“This is not just about exercise,
though I think just moving about the room isn’t enough. You need to get outside
these walls. I don’t think it’s been good for you to stay here days on end.”

“It didn’t turn out so well last
time.”

“I’ll be with you.”

“I don’t want to cause you
difficulty with your own people.”

Alban sighed. “You were almost
easier to deal with when you thought we were enemies.”

“We are enemies. Only now it’s
complicated.”

Complicated
didn’t begin
to cover it. Alban crossed his arms over his chest and held Kieran with his
stare.

Kieran was the first to drop his
gaze. “You aren’t going to give up on this, are you?”

Alban smiled, tasting victory. “I
am not.”

“You’re a bully, you know.”

“Only when it’s in my patient’s
interest.”

They decided to venture down to
the stables, so Kieran could check on his mare. Alban assured him that she was
fine, if a little over-plump from lack of work, but he understood why Kieran
would want to see for himself.

“It’s a lot farther than the
library,” Alban cautioned.

“Good thing we have all day,
then.”

Indeed, it was a good thing, as
they had to stop several times for Kieran to rest on a bench or window seat.
Kieran apologized repeatedly for his own weakness. It couldn’t be easy for one
used to riding and walking all day from town to town to struggle just to get to
the stables.

Occasionally they met with a
courtier or servant going about their business. Alban tried to keep between
Kieran and the other Leas, shielding him from the hostility of their glares. He
realized that only respect for his person and his father’s command kept the
Scathlan safe, and was disappointed by his people.

“Don’t worry yourself.” Kieran
read him far more easily than he should have. “It would be much the same for a
Leas in my home. Worse, for I doubt we’d shelter and heal one of your kind to
begin with.”

Once, Kieran might have spoken in
defiance. Now, his words echoed with a sorrow that reflected Alban’s own.

#

Kieran’s mare whickered at him in
greeting. He scratched her neck, finding the itchy spot under her mane. She
brought her head around to breathe against his face.

 She was, as Alban had
promised, fat and happy and clearly well-cared for. He hadn’t really doubted.
The Leas were, after all, elves. Whatever their feelings toward Scathlan, they
wouldn’t take them out on an innocent animal.

 It did feel good to get out
of the castle proper, to breath the fresh, cold snow-scented air that blew in
through the stable’s open doors to mingle with the combined aromas of horse,
leather, and sweet hay. It reminded him of many days that began with a stable
yard and the anticipation of fresh adventure and ended with a warm fire and
appreciative audience.

The throbbing in his ankle and
the ache of muscles now unused to even a climb down the stairs told Kieran that
those days were not anywhere in his near future. And that the journey back up
the stairs would not get any shorter for delaying it.

The clatter of hooves and the
yapping of hounds in the stable yard warned him that maybe he had delayed too
long already. A Leas hunting party returned from its morning hunt, faces
flushed with exercise and cold and boots splattered with mud. Kieran shifted on
his crutches, ready to leave as quickly as he could to avoid confrontation, but
Alban had already called out a greeting to the newcomers.

What was he thinking? Likely he wasn’t
thinking, and these were his people, his friends.

“Alban, I think we should go
back.”

“Are you tired? Of course, just a
moment.” Alban turned back to the Leas who had handed off their horses to the
grooms and now swarmed into the stable. “Cousins, how went the hunting?”

“Well enough,” replied the
foremost elf. “Though we have not yet found ourselves a prize to rival your
stray.”

Kieran flinched back. Would Alban
not get them out of there? He dared not leave alone, not with armed Leas all
about.

“Sheary!” Alban reprimanded with
a laugh, before turning to Kieran. “He means to tease me, not to insult you.
But my cousin could learn to choose his words more wisely.”

“Indeed,” said Alban’s cousin
with a slight bow. “I would not insult the guest of my prince. Nor insult a
bard, for fear that my name be immortalized in a way that would make my
descendants blush in shame. Alban has much to say of your skill.”