Cynna was tall and buff, with strong shoulders, shapely arms, and long, muscular legs that Lily envied. She was also stacked—at least, Lily assumed that somewhere beneath the shapeless dress and mound of nearly due baby Cynna’s usual shape lay waiting to reassert itself. Her blond hair used to be short and spiky. It was still short, but lately she’d been leaving off the gel and letting it frame her face more softly. That face, like much of her body, was decorated by lacy whorls and patterns drawn in spiderweb-thin ink.
Well, not exactly ink. Cynna wore her magic on her skin. Beneath that filigree, though, she looked pale and tired.
“You don’t look full of vigor and vim yourself,” Lily said when Cynna reached her. “You okay?”
Cynna snorted as she bent to give Lily a hug. “I’m pregnant, for God’s sake, not ill.”
“Grouchy, too.” Lily hugged back quickly so Cynna could straighten. It wasn’t easy for her to bend these days. “But I was thinking about the memories, not your pregnancy. You’ve been … what’s the right word? Assimilating or absorbing them awfully quickly.”
“Oh.” Cynna grimaced. “That. I’m … this was the last batch from the early days, you see. The Great War and just after. Those are really important memories, and really awful.”
“A lot of death,” Rule said quietly.
Cynna nodded, a crease between her brows, her eyes unfocused. As if she still saw something terrible that had happened three thousand years ago, though from what Lily understood, the memories were supposed to be packed away somehow.
“That’s the last of them until after the little rider makes his appearance,” Cullen said firmly, coming up behind Cynna and slipping an arm around what used to be her waist. “Cynna’s got one hell of a good elevator—”
“She what?”
“It’s symbolism for how I store the memories,” Cynna explained.
“But she has to live the memories before she can put them away, which leaves her exhausted and heartsore. She needs distraction, which you have thoughtfully supplied with your mind-reading trick.”
Lily frowned. “It was not mind-reading. I’m no telepath.”
“Whatever.” He waved that aside. “Admittedly, you probably couldn’t have done it if Arjenie weren’t a broadcaster.”
“Is that what that was—broadcasting?” Lily looked over at Arjenie, who’d been oddly silent. Lily didn’t know her well, but silent wasn’t an adjective she associated with Arjenie. “It felt like you’d turned the volume up to sonic boom.”
Arjenie spread her hands apologetically. “The broadcasting happens all the time, whether I want it to or not, but normally it doesn’t matter. The extra boost—I thought I was supposed to do that. Of course, I also thought the only person who could hear me was Eledan.”
“I’m getting this scattershot,” Lily said, and looked at Benedict, who still sat at the table. He was good with reports. “Can you give me a summary?”
For some reason that made Arjenie giggle.
NETTIE didn’t join them for the summarizing. She was tired and wanted her bed, she said, and Lily didn’t need her, so she’d head home. Since the combination clinic and cottage where she lived was only a mile away, she left on foot.
Everyone else gathered at the table. Lily decided she liked it there. With everyone sitting, she could almost forget what kind of chair she sat in. Not about her arm, though. She couldn’t make notes left-handed. It bugged her intensely.
It was interesting to see how everyone grouped themselves. Isen sat at the head of the table. The chair to his right was for Rule, who’d gone to the kitchen to make coffee. Lily’s chair was wheeled into place next to his. Isen motioned for Cynna—the Rhej’s apprentice had high status—to take the spot on his left. Cullen sat next to Cynna, of course, and Arjenie took the seat on his left. Benedict sat next to Arjenie, leaving Lily and Rule alone on their side of the table.
What does Arjenie know? Lily wondered. Not just about those potions and Robert Friar, but about why Benedict stayed close to her, why he kept watching her. Did she know about the mate bond? Lily was pretty sure she didn’t. But they were all speaking openly in front of Arjenie, as if she were already clan, and trusted.
Was that wise? Something—someone—had bound her. They were assuming it was her father, but they didn’t know that, did they? Lily tapped her fingers on the table, thinking.
“Ready?” Benedict said.
“Go for it.” Rule would be able to hear just fine from the kitchen.
“All right. Arjenie possesses half of an ability the sidhe call by a word that translates as kinspeech. Though it is mind-to-mind contact, they don’t consider it mindspeech because of its limitations. Kinspeech requires physical contact and occurs only between close kin, most often parent and child. It’s common among middle sidhe; less common but not unusual in low sidhe. Her father can both send and receive. Arjenie can only send, like a radio transmitter without a receiver.”
Lily glanced at the woman who’d been her favorite researcher at the Bureau. She was watching Benedict as closely as if she’d never heard any of this before. She must have felt Lily’s eyes on her, because she turned a wry smile on Lily. “It took me thirty minutes to say that. I don’t know how to boil things down.”
“It’s a learned talent,” Lily said. “Is that true for this kinspeech?”
She shook her head, but it was Benedict who answered. “No, it’s an innate ability. Though she did have to learn how to put more power behind her thoughts for her father to ‘hear’ them.”
“He wanted her to yell like that?” Lily asked, startled.
“Essentially, yes. When she realized you were picking up her thoughts she boosted the output, as she’d been taught. This was apparently too much power for the form of mindspeech you use.”
“No kidding,” she said dryly.
“I didn’t know,” Arjenie said earnestly. “I had no idea it would hurt you.”
“No, you couldn’t have, could you? Why didn’t you mention this ability?”
She shrugged. “I never think about it. I mean, the only time I ever experienced it was when Eledan visited me years and years ago, and I didn’t really experience anything then. He did, because when he touched me he could hear me, just a little, so he taught me how to turn up the volume. But I’ve never heard anyone’s thoughts, and as far as I knew Eledan was the only person in all the realms who could hear mine. Well, except for dragons, but that wouldn’t be me doing it. That would be them.”
“If you … ah.” Lily broke off with a smile.
Rule entered bearing a thermos-style pot and a fistful of mugs. He set the mugs down and poured one of them full of hot, fragrant coffee and set it in front of Lily.
“Thanks.” She grabbed the mug and inhaled the scented steam, then sipped, gesturing for Benedict to continue.
He did. “The first question, obviously, is why you were able to receive what Arjenie broadcast. Clearly it has to do with your potential for mindspeech. Beyond that, our various experts disagree—though they do all believe that kinspeech must require a good deal more power than the dragon form of mindspeech you’ve inherited.”
“You’ve explained to her that I can’t actually use mindspeech yet?”
“Several people explained,” he said dryly. “Frequently all at the same time, on different topics. But yes, that was touched on. The second question is whether and how you can repeat the event or connection. The third question is whether it would be safe to do so.”
Lily glanced at Rule, who’d poured his own cup and was sipping it. His eyes met hers over the rim of the mug. They were about the same color as the coffee he sipped. About that revealing, too. “It didn’t hurt until Arjenie turned the power up. I don’t see a problem.”