“He always could disappear right under your nose,” Da said, looking down at me, worried.
“But I didn’t do anything,” I said. “At least not those times. It just happened.”
“ ‘Just happened’ happens a lot around you, lad,” Uncle Havram said.
“That’s true.” Da sighed. “It was why we allowed Kareste to convince us to apprentice Rabbit to him.”
“Raw talent can be capriciously unsettling, which is why those who are talent-born must be apprenticed,” Wyln said. “Drink your tea, Rabbit.”
“But sirs,” Jeff said as I gagged down the bittersweet tea, “I can see why he disappeared against the Magus, but why cause us to get lost in the mountains?”
“Not why, Trooper Jeffen,” Suiden said, now looking at Laurel. “Who.”
“Me?” Laurel’s ears flicked back as he refilled my cup. “What did you say?”
“I didn’t even know he was coming,” I said at the same time. I scowled at the tea.
“No, but your aspects did,” Wyln said, handing me the honey pot. “So they kept you where you were until the most propitious moment, when Laurel Faena crossed your path.”
I blinked at the thought of the elements thinking, and outthinking me. “They can do that?”
“They did with you,” Wyln said.
“What did they do?” Javes asked.
“Earth, wind, fire and water.” Wyln saw Suiden’s frown. “Illusion is of water, Your Highness. It’s the reflecting and bending of light, like the surface of a lake, where you don’t see what lies beneath it—even when you know it’s there.” He looked back at me. “Four aspects,” he said, his face once more smug, his look proprietary.
Laurel rumbled as he packed away his medicines. “And he was nearly in Kareste’s hands. Was in his hands for a short while.” He saw my father’s stricken expression. “No, honored Two Trees, it’s not your fault. Honor Ash told us—told me and none of us listened. Besides, Kareste should’ve been the best person to apprentice Rabbit to.”
He shook his head, his beads clicking. “I knew he craved power, but I didn’t know he had slipped over into the dark arts in his desire for more.”
“What will happen to him, Laurel?” I asked, setting my cup down. I sighed with relief as it wasn’t filled again.
“He will stay where he is until the Lady says otherwise,” Laurel replied, his tone implying that it would be as close to forever as possible.
The vice admiral looked at the Fyrst. “If I might be so bold to ask, Your Grace, what’s next?” Laurel, looking out the window, picked up my shirt and handed it to me, indicating that I should finish dressing.
“For now, Ilenaewyn and the rest have been placed in the dungeons,” His Grace said. “Except for Obruesk.” He watched me stamp into my boots and begin to lace them up. “Brother Paedrig asked for the Church elder so we lodged him with the brother and the other vicar.”
I paused in my lacing as I thought of the archdoyen in close quarters with both Brother Paedrig and Doyen Allwyn, and almost felt sorry for him. I moved to the other boot.
“If I may ask, is the doyen all right, Your Grace?”
The Fyrst looked at Laurel, who was packing away his medicines.
“Not yet,” the cat said, “but he will be. All he needs is rest and gentle care so that his injuries can heal.”
I stood up, pulled my tabard over my head, and sat down again so that Laurel could braid my hair. Apparently he’d found time to go back for the feather, for he produced it—bent and mangled, but still there—and attached it to my queue.
“Unfortunately,” the Fyrst said, “we cannot do anything to Ambassador Sro Kenalt.”
Suiden rumbled low in his chest, his eyes very green.
“No,” the Fyrst said. “We cannot do anything to him, Your Highness. Or others will feel free to abuse our own ambassadors.” He gave a faint smile. “So we will send him back with a strongly worded letter of protest, asking for an apology and for the return of all our folk who have been enslaved.”
“Do you think you’ll get either, Your Grace?” Uncle Havram asked.
“Javes Wolf Merchant’son has provided a letter of introduction to the head of his mother’s family,” the Fyrst said.
Suiden, Uncle Havram, and Esclaur looked at Javes, all frowning.
“She’s Qarant, of the Damas. A daughter of the line.”
The frowns wiped off, leaving blank faces.
“We will ask the Damas to intercede, to use their considerable influence for us. Of course, we’ll have to tell them the entire story, including Sro Kenalt’s part.” Suiden actually began to laugh, a basso rumble as his eyes danced.
“Well, now, I bet you do,” Uncle Havram murmured, his own blue eyes twinkling.
“Does Berle know about your mother, Javes?” Lord Esclaur asked.
Javes shook his head. “No. Even though she’s only a daughter of a governor of no particular House, a merchant’s son is still too plebeian for her tastes, so she never bothered to find out.”
Esclaur took a deep breath. “Can I tell her? Please?”
“Where is the chancellor?” Uncle Havram asked.
“With her diplomatic staff in our old chambers, under guard,” Javes replied. “Reflecting, as Doyen Allwyn said, on the folly of the sin of pride.”
“She will go back,” the Fyrst said, “with a representative who will outline in great detail what she has done, as she too is an emissary of another kingdom.”
“Aye?” Uncle Havram looked at Wyln. “Will it be yourself, Lord Wyln?” His voice was mild, but I could see a tinge of worry at the thought of an elfin enchanter with the fire aspect aboard one of his windriders.
Wyln, though, shook his head. “No, not I. It’ll be someone who has the authority to speak for the entire Border—most likely a High Council member.” He gently smiled. “Besides, I shall be with Two Trees’son.”
It had been a long day filled with all sorts of interesting things and my mind had started to drift. But suddenly I found myself paying very close attention. “With me? Uh, honored Cyhn?”
“Well, I am your Cyhn. It’s either go with you or you staying here with me.” After a startled look at Wyln, Laurel suddenly became very busy with tidying up while Javes, Esclaur and Havram all frowned at the Enchanter, then at Suiden. Suiden, however, ignored their accusatory stares. “But that’s supposed to end when the High Council declares Rabbit’s mastery,” he said.
“Two Trees’son’s mastery is something the Council will decide,” the Fyrst said before Wyln could answer. “But I determine his Cyhn.” His Grace’s dark eyes gleamed. “It’s an elfin house he belongs to, honored prince, and coming of age tends to be a little different for us. For one thing, it takes longer. Much longer.” Elves did live forever, barring fatal injury. I stared at the Fyrst, seeing myself as an old graybeard before I was deemed adult enough to be let out on my own.
“Don’t worry, Two Trees’son,” Wyln said, even more amused. “I will make sure you have playtime.” The Fyrst softly laughed at Suiden’s disconcerted expression. Then His Grace’s amusement faded as he gave, for him, a massive frown and looked out the window at Dragoness Moraina. “Speaking of things done and not done—Honored Moraina, did you really sign a treaty with the human kingdom?”
A shocked gasp ran through the courtyard.
“No,” Dragoness Moraina said.
“Of course she didn’t,” one of the Fyrst’s eorls called from the courtyard. His Grace’s bard, however, was staring at the dragoness wide-eyed. He pulled his lute off his shoulder and began to strum, apparently feeling an edda coming on.
“I used a scribe.”
It became very quiet, the only noise the soft playing of the bard. Even the wind lay low.