ONLY THE HINT of red where there should have been nothing that color warned Shana that there was something wrong in the valley below and behind them.
And suddenly she had an uneasy feeling, a feeling that it might be better not to try a mage-sight scan of the valley. Kalamadea had something to say about that, too.
If the elven lords know that someone might be “watching” for them with inner eyes, they invariably lay spell-traps for those with mage-sight. Such traps lie completely dormant until the touch of a probe activates them— then a spell of coercion seizes the watcher in bounds few have been able to break, holding him entranced and unconscious until the elven lord can retrieve his prize at his leisure. Of all our number, only a handful can successfully spring these traps or break the coercion-spell in time to save the victim— or themselves. And that was only accomplished with much study and practice. I hope that I never need to put my knowledge of these things to the test.
:Keman?: she said urgently. :What was that flash of red down in the valley? Can you use heat-sight to see if it was just animals or birds ?:
The young dragon was perched on the rockface above her, shape-changed just enough to look like rock. With the elven lords following them, Shana had deemed it a good idea to check their backtrail from time to time. :Is that what I think it is ?: she asked, hoping he would say “no.”
:-It’s elves, Shana,: Keman replied. :At least, I think it’s elves. They have horses, and most humans aren’t allowed to ride .:
She closed her eyes and tried to remember if she’d muddied the trail down there in the valley enough to confuse their pursuers for a while. Was there a stream down there?
Yes, she decided. There had been. And since they were all already soaking wet, she’d elected to have all of them walk upstream for a good long way to break the trail. So they had a little time.
But not much. And not enough for the bit of a rest she craved…
:I think we should get out of here,: Keman offered. .-Fast .:
:I think you’re right,: she said grimly.
Valyn reported another hunting party close behind them—but not the one Shana and Keman had spotted. This one had an elven mage with them, it seemed… one who was using his limited powers to “read” their trail. Valyn had only detected him by “feeling” the magic behind them, and going personally to see what it was.
A foolhardy move, or so he knew now . At the time, it had seemed sensible.
“Are you sure they didn’t see you?” Keman asked, while Shana tightened her lips and looked annoyed at him. He knew what she was thinking. If he’d been spotted…
But he hadn’t been, he thought with annoyance of his own. He was a better mage than the underling on their trail. In fact, now that he thought about it, she should have been glad he took the initiative like that.
“I wasn’t seen, and I wasn’t close enough to be seen,” he replied crossly. “I’m not an infant. I’ve hunted before—”
“But you’ve never been the quarry,” the girl interrupted. “How far behind us are they?”
“Not by much,” he muttered uneasily. “But I covered our trail. He’ll never read it through what I laid down.”
“But he’ll read the fact that someone muddled it with magic,” she retorted. “I just hope he won’t find it again for a while.” She looked up at the leaden sky, and rain dripped down her face from the continual drizzle. “And I hope this stuff takes care of any other kind of trail we leave.” Then, without another word, she shoved a dripping branch aside and turned down a game trail that was heading mostly north. Valyn hesitated a moment, then followed her, Shadow right on his heels, Keman bringing up the rear, his feet shape-shifted into deer hooves to confuse their tracks. And hopefully, their trackers.
He had wanted to protest that they needed to rest—but that was two sets of hunters they’d eluded now, and he wasn’t sure how many more might be out here. Neither, evidently, was Shana.
This was not just for hunting children. Cheynar would never have committed more than one party for that. This was for wizard hunting—Cheynar knew, or guessed, that the children hadn’t escaped on their own. And if he assumed there were wizards in their full powers out here—
Valyn’s blood ran cold. There would be no quarter, and no escape, if Cheynar could help it.
Cheynar already disliked humans; where wizards were concerned, “hatred” was not an adequate term for what the elven lord felt. And as for what he’d do when he caught them—
Valyn tried to move a little faster.
Shana closed her eyes and thought of the harsh, scorching heat of the desert sun, of the soothing warmth of her bed at the Citadel, trying to conjure up a little of that to ease her wretchedness now. She failed completely.
They huddled together in soggy misery under the meager shelter provided by a fallen tree and a lean-to of pine boughs. All of them except Keman, that is; he had shape-shifted to something very like a small dragon, while Valyn had watched in fascination. Shana was used to seeing him shift; Valyn and Shadow had only seen it once—and at the time, they had been too overcome by shock to think about the mechanics of shape-changing. Neither of them had realized that Keman’s “clothing” was part of him until he reabsorbed it this second time, just before the shift itself. They had gawked while she had gathered material for a shelter, and for a little bit her resentment at being the only one working had been enough to keep her warm.
Now Keman lay along the top of the log, watching for predators, keeping a mental eye out for their pursuers, perfectly comfortable, with his metabolism adjusted for the cold, and the rain sliding off his scales. And the three of them huddled together on the ground beneath him.
Wistfully, Shana wished for the same power. As the last into the shelter, she had gotten her clothing completely soaked; she shivered despite the nearness of the other two. In fact, she was too miserable to appreciate Valyn’s proximity. She rubbed a nose that felt numb, and coughed, an ominous tickle in the back of her throat heralding more misery to come.
Mero sneezed, and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.
“Are you all right?” Valyn asked his cousin anxiously. Shana suppressed another cough and a glower. But her annoyance rapidly melted beneath her general misery, and she had to fight back tears of self-pity. She didn’t want to give way now . She had spent a great deal of time and effort on appearing tough and capable. There was no point in destroying all that work by resorting to weakness and leaking tears—
Even though she really wanted to break down and cry right at the moment; she was freezing and wretched and she had the feeling she was about to come down with something awful—and Valyn was worried because his stupid cousin had sneezed once.
“I think I’m getting another cold,” Mero replied in a gluey voice; and under other circumstances Shana might have felt some sympathy for him, for he sounded as if he felt just as awful as she did.
“Shana—” Valyn said without turning (mostly because he couldn’t; they were wedged in so tightly that none of them could move). “Shana, can’t we do better than this? We can’t afford for Mero to get sick, not now, not with Cheynar practically on top of us.”
That again. As if she wasn’t fully aware of it every waking moment and most sleeping, with a feeling of claws and fangs closing in and ready to rend her in pieces if she once closed her eyes. Fear was such a constant presence at her shoulder that she tasted the metallic flavor of it in her food, and her heart raced every time she heard a noise she couldn’t readily identify. The equal fear in Valyn’s voice was not enough to mollify her—he wasn’t thinking of anyone but Mere, he wasn’t even paying any attention to the fact that she was sick, too.
“No,” she said shortly, her temper finally shattering and falling to bits. “No, we can’t. This is the best I could do. Everything I’ve learned has had to do with attack and defense. I’m sorry, but nobody ever taught me how to conjure up shelter out of nothing.”
She would have said more, but a coughing fit interrupted her, and Valyn craned his head around to look over his shoulder at her, his expression of annoyance turning to concern.
“Are you all right?” he asked. She shook her head, and shivered even harder as a trickle of cold water ran through the pine boughs and down the back of her neck. Despite her determination to show no weakness, to her complete mortification, she did start leaking tears out of the corners of her eyes.
Maybe they’ll look like rain, she thought hopelessly. “I’m probably coming down with the same thing,” she said around the lump in her throat. “And I don’t think the weather is going to break for a while.” Now she couldn’t keep resentment out of her voice. “You elves are to blame for that—every time you muck around with the weather patterns somewhere, it throws something else off. This place has no business turning into a rain forest, but that’s what’s going on, and we’re stuck in the middle of it.” Valyn looked startled at her sudden outburst; she recollected herself, and softened her voice, putting an effort into sounding a little less accusatory. “At least Cheynar’s not going to get around very fast in this mess.”
She managed a tremulous smile, and got the tears stopped. Valyn frowned as she coughed again, her chest tightening painfully.
“We can’t afford to have you sick either,” he pointed out, gently. “Cheynar’s not that far behind us. If you’re sick, who’s going to hunt, find the camps, and guide us through this place?”
“I don’t think anybody’s going to have a choice,” she retorted. “And if I could magic up a big house with warm beds and hot drinks, don’t you think I would?”
The thought started another tear down her cheek—its path was the only part of her that felt warm.
Valyn’s jaw clenched, and he stared at her closely. “You look awful,” he said. “And my guess is that Shadow’s fevered. You’re both going to be ill before nightfall.”
And just what am I supposed to do about it? She retorted in thought. And what difference is it going to make ?
Apparently it made some difference to Valyn. “That’s it,” he said decisively. “We don’t have a choice, we need to get out of here and back to someplace civilized.”
“Right,” she replied, with an edge of sarcasm to her voice. The rain increased marginally; just enough to send another cold spill down through the branches onto the back of her neck. “I’ll just stroll up to Lord Dyran’s door and ask him if he’ll please take us all in. After all, he should be overjoyed to see us; his renegade son, two halfblood wizards and a dragon.”
To her surprise, Valyn half smiled. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind,” he said, his sweetly reasonable tone setting her teeth on edge. “But it is close. There’s an old saying about the best place to hide being in the enemy’s territory. So—let’s try it.”
“You mean—double back on Cheynar and try to hide with the slaves on his estate or something?” she asked, aghast. “We’d never get away with it!”
He shook his head. “That’s a little too much of enemy territory—and besides, Cheynar has too many experts in detecting wizards. I think we ought to drop in on a friend of mine. The estate is within flying distance for Keman. If we went by night, he could ferry us one at a time without being seen. She’s just the kind that’s likely to take us in and hide us, just for the sheer thrill of harboring fugitives.”
“A friend?” Shana replied, her voice rising until it caught on a cough. She wondered if Keman was listening to all this, and if he thought it as suicidal as she did. “What kind of friend would take us in? Or are you not going to tell her what we are? I’ll warn you, after talking to Shadow I don’t think Keman and I are going to pass close inspection as either humans or elves. You’ll never pass us halfbloods as elves if we’re sick, because you elves don’t get sick that often, and if we’re fevered you can bid farewell to any deceptions that we’re human. We won’t be able to hold the illusions—and your magic can be dispelled, and will leave telltales.”
“Well—she’s not precisely a friend.” He flushed, and Shana got an odd feeling that there was more about this “friend” than he would ever tell anyone. “But—well—I can almost promise Triana won’t turn us in to the rest. She’s not what I’d call a conformist, and she doesn’t treat her humans the way most everyone else does. She’s not exactly in good graces with any of the elders—the only reason they don’t come and confiscate the estate is because she never meddles in politics.”
She wasn’t a conformist? Which probably meant she did things she shouldn’t. Ah ! That might explain the flush. Shana’s mouth twitched involuntarily, and she fought down a surge of jealousy.
Valyn paused, as if searching for the right words. “Let me see if I can make this clear to you. The elders opposed her becoming the head of the Clan so much that she’s never forgiven them, and she hates the Council as much as they are contemptuous of her.” He paused again to think. “I don’t know exactly how she’s going to react to seeing halfbloods, but I do know this much; she socializes with her humans, everyone in her personal household is young, and I’ve never seen her mistreat or condition a slave. Yet most of them are fanatically devoted to her, at least the ones I’ve seen.”
“She sounds too good to be true,” Shana said dryly. The ones you’ve seen — one wonders about the ones you haven’t seen.
Valyn coughed and flushed again. “I have to admit that I’ve also never seen her really bestir herself for anyone or anything except her own pleasure. The truth is that she spends most of her time thinking up pastimes. And her parties are—ah—notorious. I’ve—been to a few. The reputation doesn’t even begin to cover the reality.”
That told her all she needed to know. She didn’t think she was going to like this Triana much. But she didn’t see what other choice they had. Shana clenched her jaw so hard her teeth ached, and tried to think of an innocuous question instead of one of the dozen she wanted to ask.
Shadow raised his head from his arms. “So how are we going to get there, again? I must have missed it. And how are we going to get past Cheynar and his merry band?” Mero asked thickly.
“I think Keman can fly us over one at a time,” Valyn said. “He might be able to take all of us at once, if I dare to take the chance of Cheynar detecting my magic and make us all much lighter temporarily.”
“Absolutely not,” Shana vetoed immediately. “Cheynar doesn’t actually know for certain that you’re with us, and I don’t see any reason to let him find out.” She thought for a moment, though with the pounding headache behind her cheekbones it was growing increasingly hard to do so. “There is something I would like to do, though, before we get there. I want arrow-shafts for those claw-trimmings of Keman’s. Just in case this friend turns out to be less than friendly.”
Valyn shuddered at the reminder of those claw-trimmings; she felt him shaking, though he tried to conceal it. She didn’t much blame him; when she’d wistfully said one day that she wished she had some of the elf-shot the chronicles had mentioned, Keman had offered the tips from his claws. Valyn had been skeptical of the efficacy of those claw-bits, until an accidental scratch with one of the points inflamed immediately and sent him into a state of shock that kept them bound to one spot for days. That was what had enabled Cheynar to catch up with them.
Though the claw-tips seemed ill-omened to Valyn, Shana was convinced they’d prove an important weapon against the elves, and she had no intention of giving them up.
:Tell the young elven lord that I can fly two of you in tonight, and you and I can probably come in by dawn if we stay above the clouds.: Keman sounded perfectly confident, which relieved Shana. She had not been certain if he could carry one of them and still fly.
:You weigh no more than a large two-horn, or a small deer, little sister,: he chuckled. : I think I can manage.:
She relayed the information to Valyn, who sighed with relief equal to hers. “Then it’ll be all right,” he said.
Mero said something inaudible, sneezed, and tried again. “Valyn ought to go first,” he said thickly.
“But you’re sick—” Valyn began.
“And you’re elven,” Mero retorted. “And she knows you. Her servants won’t dare interfere with you, and you can get us explained.” He sneezed again, and Shana had to stifle a coughing spasm. Mero smiled weakly, and said, in what was probably an attempt at a joke, “If she won’t take us in, just kill me, all right? It’d be better than being sick out here in the mud.”
Shana lost her fight to control her coughs, and her body shook with the violence of the fit. When she finished, she croaked, “He’s right. But there’s an alternative.”
“What’s that?” Valyn asked anxiously.
“The desert,” she told them. “Keman and I can live there, and if we can, so can you.”
“If we can get across country. If we can get across my father’s land without him sensing I’m there,” Valyn replied gloomily. “If we can avoid him and his hunters.”
His gloom communicated itself to her, and she snapped, “Well, it’s better than no plan at all!”
He made no reply to her outburst, but then she really didn’t expect one. She just huddled back against the trunk of the tree, tried to arrange herself so that the least number of drips hit her, and settled down to wait until sunset.
It seemed to be the longest wait in her life.
Valyn clung to the spinal crest of the dragon and tried not to look down. He’d done so once, and had nearly lost his grip and what little he had in his stomach.
While clouds blanketed the sky, they were low-lying clouds, and Keman had quickly climbed above them, even with the added burden of Valyn on his back. The moon shone brightly down on the mounds of white below as they climbed and headed southwards to elven lands; the full was a day or two away, and it was particularly bright up here in the clear air. It wasn’t so bad while they flew above the wilderlands; the cloudscape below didn’t look real, and Valyn could convince himself that it was all a very skillfully wrought illusion. But when they reached Cheynar’s lands and beyond, the cloud-cover finally broke, and Valyn had made that fatal error of looking down…
He finally kept his eyes tightly closed, and hoped he wouldn’t disgrace himself too badly.
He had thought that Keman would have him sit over the dragon’s shoulders, just behind the neck and in front of the wings—but instead, Keman had him position himself behind the wings and just in front of the hindquarters: He saw why, now—the muscles of the forequarters were constantly in motion, and he might well have gotten unbalanced or even tossed off by a sudden movement—while here, the muscles scarcely moved at all.
Which was just as well, because there was no way for him to strap himself on. No saddle, no straps, nothing but his own legs and the stiff spines in front of him.
His legs were clamped to the dragon’s torso as tightly as he could manage. He had the feeling that when he reached the ground, his legs were going to ache for a week.
Triana’s lands were west of Cheynar’s, west and a little south. There was a swamp between her lands and the wilderness that bordered Cheynar’s—a swamp that not even Keman had wanted to venture into. Then to the south was Dyran’s land, and the desert that bordered his property and Lord Berenel’s. And to the west—beyond the desert—
Dragon lands. Real dragons. I’mriding a real dragon… sort of . He thought for a moment about all the children’s tales he’d been brought up on, the stories of dragons and the stories of taming one to ride.
And he thought about how his arms and legs already ached from holding on, and how one of the flattened spines of Keman’s crest was digging into—
Never mind.
And the way Keman moved was not exactly pleasant, either. Valyn had always assumed that flying would be smooth.
Hah.
Keman’s normal movement—in completely still air—was with a series of lurches as his wings beat. This was complicated with sideslips and drops as he hit turbulence and thermals—and punctuated by a few—’very few—blessedly smooth moments when he glided for a bit, resting his wings. If Valyn had been inclined to motion sickness, the trip would have been an unmitigated disaster. And if there had been a real storm instead of the rain-drip they’d been getting, Valyn would have been torn off the dragon’s back before they’d flown a league.
If they’d had any idea how much dragon-riding hurt —and how little it would take to induce him to take to a horse with a proper saddle. Or a grel. Even a bad-tempered grel…
No one would ever be tempted to make a romance out of dragon-riding, once he’d tried it for himself.
Valyn risked a look ahead—and saw a sprinkling of multicolored lights against the dark of trees and tree shadows. More, he spotted a slender, pink-tinted finger of light rising gracefully from the dark bulk below. That could only be the illuminated tower Triana had erected for her last party, the one with the enormous, cushioned platform at the top that was little more than one gigantic bed, surrounded by windows and roofed with a skylight…
Valyn flushed, even though there was no one here to see him. Things had happened at that party he hadn’t even told Shadow. In many ways, Triana and Dyran were a great deal alike.
But that tower alone showed how unlike Triana was from the rest of the elven lords in the ways that counted. Nearly every other lord Valyn knew lived in manors entirely closed off from the sight of the natural world. It was as if they were trying to create their own little worlds, untouched by the reality outside their doors. Triana’s villa was glass from floor to ceiling, and she often went up in the tower even when she was alone, to watch a storm, the stars, or the clouds float peacefully overhead.
Or so she told me.
Keman stopped lurching, and began a long, gliding descent; his goal, that same tower, or near it. He would land outside the manor, and Valyn would walk in, talk to Triana—
Hopefully she was between parties—
—and that would settle once and for all whether or not they had a sanctuary. Hopefully, they did. He hadn’t lied when he said Triana might well offer them shelter out of sheer spite, or just for the thrill of it. What he hadn’t said was how unpredictable Triana was. If she was in a bad mood—their arrival might well lighten it, because it would alleviate her boredom.
On the other hand, she might just have Valyn thrown out without even listening to him.
Valyn emerged from his thoughts when he realized that the ground was coming up very quickly—and he hadn’t the vaguest idea of how a dragon landed. He ducked his head desperately, and clung on with every fiber, as Keman suddenly backwinged like a falcon at the end of a stoop, huge membranous wings flailing the air with a sound like thunderclaps, blowing dead leaves and other debris in front of him.
He landed with a lurch that threw Valyn forward; and unable to stop himself, the elven lord rolled over Keman’s shoulder and landed on his rear in the grass, with a thud that did very little for his pride or dignity.
Before he could say anything, though, there was a writhing next to him that made him turn away—for, in the shape his stomach was in, watching Keman shift forms might well be the final insult. When he turned back, there was a large—very large—cow gazing at him with dark, solemn eyes.
“I’ll be right back,” he assured the youngster, as the cow joined a herd of her sisters. The cow looked over her shoulder and nodded, before putting her head down to gorge on grass as fast as she could pull it up.
He hadn’t known the dragon could switch sex, too. Was it all external, he wondered, or—
Never mind.
Melody drifted towards him on the sultry breeze, with a hint of exotic perfumes and a breath of flower-scent. Triana’s home was always surrounded with music; it was one of her abilities, the conjuring of sounds.
And when the music wasn’t mage-born, she had an entire staff of humans trained as minstrels, both vocalists and instrumentalists, enough so that she had music night and day. Valyn hurried towards the lights and music in the near distance, and as he drew nearer the manor, he recognized two things that filled him with mingled relief and apprehension. There were no signs of guests, which meant Triana was not having one of her parties. And there were lights blazing in the top of the tower, and a single moving shape up in the room at the top—which, since only Triana went up there alone, meant that she was there , in a reasonably good mood, and awake—and probably bored.
Probably very bored, since most of her usual companions were—if their fathers were anything like Dyran—out on various attempts to solve the mystery of “dragon-skin.”
And Valyn’s friends might just be exactly what she needed to relieve that boredom. But what she’d do with them was anybody’s guess…
V’dann Triana er-Lord Falcion paced the narrow edge of walkway that rimmed the inside of the windows of her tower, and stared at the lights of her manor below her. A restlessness was on her, and she hadn’t stopped pacing since she came up here. She’d hoped to walk off her nerve-born energy, but the exercise wasn’t working.
Damn, I’m bored. I need to do something.
Maybe she just ought to call down and get Rafe sent up—
Ancestors. She was not only bored, she was losing her memory. She’d broken him yesterday, and Mentor hadn’t finished training a new stud for her.
Now not only bored but frustrated, she considered the options before her, as she twisted a silken strand of her hip-length, pale gold hair in one hand.
Not another party. Not until people stopped sending their children off to chase lizard-skins. Right now the only ones free to come to the party were the ones she’d rather not see. At least, not without plenty of more amusing people around at the same time. There was a limit to how much stupidity she was going to endure for the sake of entertainment.
For a moment she considered joining the hunt; after all, there weren’t too many elven lords with her resources out looking for the things. One rumor and the scrap of skin that verified it weren’t important enough to rate the attentions of a Clan head—but it was significant enough if true for the Clans to put subordinates and younger sons on it. Now if she found them—
No, it was a stupid idea. If she found these so-called “dragons,” what would she do with them? Hunt them herself? She wasn’t the kind of fool who thought risking her life was a good way to combat ennui. Send her underlings in to hunt them? Then what? Make a fortune?
She didn’t need a fortune. She had one. As long as her people kept their skimming within reason, what more did she need? Father had picked the best possible people to run things before he fell off that horse—she’d put them in the best possible position for her . As long as she did well, they did well. If one of them found the stupid things on his own, fine. Otherwise, why bother with it?
She had the suspicion that it was all a hoax, anyway. And she mentally congratulated the author, whoever he was. Everyone seemed to have forgotten that the skins could have been made magically. After all, the one-horns, the grels, and plenty of other animals had been made that way. All it took was patience and the proper root material, and a very powerful magician.
She stared down at the illuminated water-garden below her, and chuckled a little at the thought of someone spending all that time on a prank.
It sounded like something she’d do.
It would have taken years to set up, with the “wild” girl and all, but who cared? If it was a hoax, it was brilliant. She wished she had thought of it herself!
Now that was an intriguing idea…
She wouldn’t be able to pull it off if it turned out that this was a hoax—but if the whole thing just fizzled, or it actually turned out to be the real thing, maybe she should try pulling a similar trick. It would be no end amusing to watch those stiff old elders chasing their tails over something that never existed! She could do it, too, if she could lure one of the few youngsters who was a strong mage over to help her set up something like the dragon-skin scam…
Someone like—oh—Valyn.
The faint, musical sound of a bell rang from the speaking-tube near the entrance to the staircase.
The message bell? She gathered up her amber-silk skirts in one hand and crossed the cushion-covered floor to reach it, interest piqued. The slaves knew not to disturb her when she was up here unless it was something or someone special.
Maybe it would be something exciting.
“Yes?” she said into the tube.
“Lord Valyn is here to see you, lady,” came the echoing voice from below, rendered anonymous by the distortions of the tube. “He says that it is very urgent.”
Valyn? How convenient! First she thought of him, then he appeared…
She was tempted to think she was getting wizard-powers!
Triana knew Valyn well enough—he was like most of the others who came to her parties; she knew he found a certain fascination in simply associating with her. She hadn’t even allowed him into the inner circle yet, and he was still one of the most prompt at answering an invitation—being even remotely involved with someone of her reputation seemed to be enough of a thrill for him.
For her part, she found his idealism and earnestness rather charming. Not for the long run, of course, but as an occasional thing, it was quite refreshing. So she had cultivated a special image of herself just for his benefit, an image some of her intimates would have found most amusing.
She wondered in startlement just what kind of a predicament he could have gotten himself into that would require coming to her for help.
Only one way to find out. “Send him up,” she ordered, and waited for him, spending the time it took him to climb all of the four hundred steps to the top of her tower in carefully composing her pose, leaning out over the window to watch the lighted gardens below.
It never failed to astonish her that someone as innocent and—well— gullibleas Valyn could be so elegant. So much naivete should accompany gawkiness, not grace. It was the grace she always saw first—
The fact that he was a threadbare, disheveled mess only dawned on her after he’d entered the room. It surprised her so much that she rose to her feet, quite involuntarily.
“Ancestors and Progenitors!” she exclaimed. “Valyn, where in the name of reason have you been? What have you been doing to yourself?”
“I’ve—been busy,” he said hesitantly. “It’s what I need to see you about. I’ve gotten into a bit of trouble.”
“I would say you have, just from the look of you,” she replied dryly. “I suppose it’s too much to expect that this’trouble’ hasn’t followed you to my door?”
“I don’t think it has, at least not yet,” Valyn said, as he allowed her to draw him down to the cushions beside her, although she took care not to touch him in any other way. She didn’t really want him, anyway. He was already conquered territory—and just like every other callow youngster she’d seduced. But this trouble of his—that could be worth getting involved with.
“Why don’t you just begin at the beginning,” she suggested, leaning back in her place, and assuming a properly attentive expression.
Shortly after he began, she no longer had to “assume” the expression. By the time he had finished, her head was buzzing with excitement.
“I’ll help you,” she said, quite sincerely, as he faltered to a close. His eyes didn’t so much light up, as ignite. She interrupted him before he could start thanking her. “Go get the rest of your friends and bring them here, and I’ll strengthen up the wards and shields. I may not be a master magician, but I’m not bad, and no one is going to be able to find you here without actually breaching my protections. I doubt they’ll look here, actually,” she added thoughtfully. “They’re so used to thinking of me as a sybaritic nonentity that I doubt any of those old fools would even take me into account except as a joke if they were considering a list of possible troublemakers.”
Valyn flowed to his feet, and extended a hand to help her up. She waved it away. “I want to stay up here and make some plans,” she said truthfully. “Here, take this—”
She closed her hand briefly, and concentrated on the summoning-spell; when she reopened it, one of the bloodred stone signets she kept in her desk was in the palm, still a little warm from the journey. Like all her signets, this was a simple seal carved of sardonyx, her Clan crest, a rampant cockatrice.
“Here,” she said, handing it to him. “Give that to my seneschal and tell him to take care of whatever you ask for. There’s no one here but me, just now; take however many rooms you need.”
Valyn smiled at her, a perfectly ingenuous, dazzlingly beautiful smile, and bowed over her hand, kissing the back of it lightly as he took the signet. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough—” he began.
She waved him away, playfully. “Go on with you. Get out of here—and don’t be such a foolish boy. You know very well how much I enjoy tweaking the old ones’ beards. This is just one more chance to enjoy myself at their expense.”
She noted with a certain pleasure that Valyn had learned enough of her to know when to withdraw gracefully before he began to annoy her. Once he was gone, she settled back into the softness of her cushions, caressing the fabric with a languid hand, and changing it from cream satin to deep black velvet with the touch and a few whispered words. With another word, she dimmed the lights to nothing, and watched the stars blazing through the glass of the skylight as she thought.
Wizards and halfbloods—and here she was, giving them safe harbor. What a magnificent jest! She remembered that “Shadow” now—lurking in the background the last time Valyn visited… he never left Valyn’s suite once during the entire visit. Of course, now she understood why.
She chuckled, and stretched luxuriously against the velvet of the cushions. Oh, Ancestors and Progenitors! How the Council would love to get their claws on this little group! Three halfbloods, all with wizard-powers, and a renegade elven lord who’d been helping them for weeks!
Just the thought of defying the elders so completely gave her a thrill of pleasure equal to anything she’d experienced all summer. But it couldn’t hold her for long—and she couldn’t help but think of other possibilities.
Then she wondered—if these wizards really could read minds, could she trick any of them into doing a little mindreading for her? It would be nice, having a tame wizard of her very own. Think of all the things she could learn that way—
Perhaps she should go to work to captivate Valyn’s Shadow. It shouldn’t be too difficult, especially if she began while he was still a little sick. Humans were so easy to manipulate when they were young. Shadow should be no exception.
And as she remembered him, he was quite handsome. Definitely different from the late Rafe. Not in her usual line, of course—but it might be quite piquant to be the one doing the courting, instead of the courted, the dominant instead of the submissive.
In fact, she might even be able to separate him from Valyn’s little entourage. She knew Valyn; he was too soft-hearted ever to condition a slave, and he indulged this one to a degree that was quite incredible. If she won Shadow over to her, she might be able to get Valyn to part with him.
Then she’d be able to subject him to her own conditioning—and she would have a wizard all her very own.
Now that had possibilities, indeed. She wondered how far his mind could reach. It would be worth his keep if he could only read thoughts in the next room—but if he could go farther than that, it opened up an entire realm of possibilities.
She’d never been willing to play politics before, because she never had the kinds of holds over some of the elders that she thought were necessary. But with a wizard to worm out their secrets, politics could prove a very rewarding arena indeed.
And a last thought—a sobering one, but the answer to a problem that had been plaguing her for years.
Shadow managed to escape detection for years without Valyn’s help—and then with it, never was uncovered until Valyn was caught scrying out the other wizards. She wondered how many other halfbloods there were out there, hiding under illusions?
It didn’t have to be an illusion of full humanity, either. It could be an illusion of full elven blood. She’d bet Valyn had never thought of that.
She played with her hair and considered the idea from all possible angles. It made perfect sense. How many elven ladies, afraid that they would be discarded by a powerful spouse, resorted to their human servants for the fertility their lords lacked?
What elven lord would ever argue with being presented with the male heir he needed so desperately?
The halfblood would not even need to feign mage-powers; he would have them…
For that matter, now she wondered how many elven lords thought of as being powerful mages were actually halfbloods, or the sons of halfbloods?
Now that was a startling thought.
Not Dyran, though. She was sure of that. He’d never have hounded that concubine of his to death if he’d been a halfblood himself—
Unless he didn’t know it; unless his mother had kept that a secret even from him.
What a thought!
A wicked smile played about her lips, as she considered every illusion-dispelling incantation she knew.
Imagine casting the spell on him at the right moment— in Council, say— and proof there stands Lord Dyran, the halfblood!
She played with the idea for a while, then gave it up, regretfully.
Really, she doubted very much that he was. He’d made more than enough enemies over the years that he had to have had something like an illusion-breaking spell cast on him at least once. And Valyn showed every mark of pure breeding, and if there had been any illusions cast on him, she’d have noticed. It was an entertaining idea, but there wasn’t much chance of it being more than amusing entertainment.
But there was another, equally interesting idea.
The problem for a woman Clan head had always been to find a mate that wouldn’t try to take over the Clan seat for himself, and produce an heir that was unlikely to challenge her as he grew older. And yet she couldn’t produce an idiot or a weakling, either. That would be just as much a disaster. If she mated with an elven lord of much inferior powers, her offspring was likely to have inferior powers, and either the heir or the Clan would end up being challenged. With a weak heir, they would wind up with a cadet line in charge of the Clan seat, or they would be forced to ally themselves with a Clan that was likely to eat them alive.
But what if she mated with a human—no one asked the Clan heads who the fathers of their children were if they didn’t choose to reveal an alliance marriage or mating. What if some of them were mating with humans?
It would be easy enough to cast illusions then! And easy enough to keep them in place.
And all the while the child was growing up, the Lady had herself a budding wizard, bound to her by the strongest tie there was, of mother to child. If that tie stopped working as a controlling factor, the threat of exposure for what he was would keep him in his place.
What an outrageous thought!
And what an intriguing one…
And as Triana stared up at the stars, the most intriguing thought of all occurred to her.
I wonder if I ought to try that …