“Perhaps, but would you trust just anyone with the kind of power she has over the dead?”
“It’s not all like that.”
“I know, but you know as well as I do there were reasons they were driven out. You can’t let your affection for one witch blind you to the rest. Lhel’s had her reasons not to show you the dark side of her power but it’s there, believe me. I’ve felt it.
“All the same, what you’ve accomplished here is marvelous.” Iya touched his cheek, and a hint of sadness crept into her voice. “And you’ll do more. So much more. Now, tell me about this Wythnir. You seem fond of him.”
“There’s not much to tell. From what Nari and I have been able to gather, his early life was about like that of those children downstairs. But you wouldn’t believe how quickly he takes to everything I show him.”
She smiled. “So, how do you like having an apprentice of your own?”
“Apprentice? No, he came with Kaulin. He belongs to him.”
“No, he’s yours. I saw that the minute he looked at you, down in the hall.”
“But I didn’t choose him, I just—”
She laughed and patted his knee. “Then this is the first time I’ve heard of an apprentice choosing the master, but he is yours, whether you and Kaulin have worked it out between you or not. Don’t let go of him, my dear. He will be great.”
Arkoniel nodded slowly. He’d never thought of Wythnir that way, but now that she’d said it, he knew she was right. “I’ll speak with Kaulin. If he’s agreeable, will you be our witness?”
“Of course, my dear. But you must settle it tomorrow morning.”
Arkoniel’s heart sank. “You’re leaving so soon?”
She nodded. “There’s still so much to do.”
There was no arguing with that. They finished their wine in silence.
To Arkoniel’s relief, Kaulin had no objection to giving over his bond on Wythnir, especially after Arkoniel offered a handsome compensation for his loss. Wythnir said nothing, but beamed happily as Iya tied his hand to Arkoniel’s with a silk cord and spoke the blessing.
“Will you swear the wizard’s oath to your new master, child?” she asked him.
“I will, if you tell me what it is,” Wythnir replied, wide-eyed.
“Don’t guess I ever got ’round to that,” Kaulin muttered.
Iya shot him a disdainful look, then spoke kindly to the child. “You swear first by Illior Lightbearer. And you swear by your hands and heart and eyes, that you will always obey your master and strive to serve him the best you can.”
“I swear,” Wythnir replied eagerly, touching his brow and breast the way she showed him. “By—by Illior, and by my hands and heart and—”
“Eyes,” Arkoniel prompted softly.
“Eyes,” Wythnir finished proudly. “Thank you, Master Arkoniel.”
Arkoniel was surprised by a wave of emotion. It was the first time the child had called him by name. “And I so swear, by Illior, and by my hands and heart and eyes, that I will teach you all I know, and protect you until you are grown into your own power.” He smiled down at the boy, remembering when Iya had said these same words to him. She’d kept her word and so would he.
Arkoniel was sorry as always when Iya rode out later that day, but the keep seemed a different house now, with so many people under the roof again. Wizard-born they might be, but they were still children and racketed about the hallways and meadow like farmers’ brats. Kaulin grumbled about the noise, but Arkoniel and the women were glad of the new sense of life they brought to the old house.
Their presence brought new problems, as well, he soon discovered. For one thing, they were much harder to hide than quiet little Wythnir. On tradesmen’s days he packed them all off into the forest with Eyoli and Kaulin to guard them.
The other children joined Wythnir at his lessons, and Arkoniel found he had a school, as well. Fortunately, Wythnir’s remaining shyness fell away around the others and Arkoniel watched with delight as he began to play like a normal child.
Pretty Ethni was a welcome addition to the household, too, but a disturbing one. She flirted with Arkoniel whenever they met. He was flattered, but saddened as well. Though twice Wythnir’s age, she had none of his promise. Even so, he encouraged her and praised every small advance. It was rather nice, the way she smiled at him when he did.
Lhel saw the true nature of his feelings for the girl before he did and told him the first time he came to her after the other’s arrival.
She chuckled as they undressed each other in the oak house. “I see a pair of pretty blue eyes in your heart.”
“She’s only a girl!” Arkoniel retorted, wondering what form a witch’s jealousy might take.
“You know as well as I do that’s not true.”
“You’ve been spying again!”
She laughed. “How else can I protect you?”
Their coupling that day was as passionate as ever, but afterward he caught himself comparing Lhel’s brown throat to Ethni’s smooth white one and tracing the lines around her eyes. When had they gotten so numerous, and so deep? Sad and. ashamed of himself, he drew her close and buried his face in her hair, trying not to see how much greyer it was now.
“You are not my husband,” Lhel murmured, stroking his back. “I am not your wife. We are both free.”
He tried to read her face but she pulled his head back down on her breast and stroked him to sleep. As he drifted off, it occurred to him that for all the passion they’d shared here in this oak house, neither of them had ever spoken of love. She’d never taught him the word for it in her language.
29
Tobin celebrated his fourteenth name day in Atyion, and Duke Solari saw to it that it was a grand affair. Far grander, in fact, than Tobin would have liked; he’d have been happier with a small hunting party at the keep, with just the Companions and a few friends, but Iya had warned against going there now. She wouldn’t say why and Tobin’s old resentments against the wizard boiled up. But in the end even Tharin had taken her side and Tobin had grudgingly given in.
All the same, he was glad to visit Atyion again. The townspeople turned out to greet him, and Tobin was pleased that he recognized so many faces among the crowd.
Even the castle cats seemed glad to have him back. Packs of them gathered wherever he sat down, winding around his ankles and curling up on his lap. Lytia’s orange tom, Ringtail, slept stretched between Tobin and Ki every night, and followed Tobin around the castle. The cat couldn’t abide Brother, though. When Tobin called the ghost in secret, Ringtail would dart under the furniture, growling and hissing until Brother was gone.
To Tobin’s great relief, the king did not come out for the name day feast. Solari was disappointed, but still managed to fill the great hall with guests. The high tables were packed with lords Tobin hardly knew—Solari’s captains and liegemen mostly—but farther out, soldiers wearing the colors of Atyion sang and yelled out toasts to Tobin’s health. Looking out over that sea of faces, Tobin was all too aware of who wasn’t there. Una had not been heard from since her disappearance, and Arengil was gone, too, sent home to Aurënen a few days after the embarrassment on the roof. Weeks later it came back to Tobin through palace gossip that the young foreign lord had been deemed a bad influence.
There were a great many gifts this year, and one large pile sent by the people of the town. Most of them were from merchants and represented the sender: a fine pair of gloves from the glove maker, kegs of ale from the brewer, and so on. Tobin gave most of it a cursory glance, until Ki pulled a large scroll from the pile and handed it to him with a grin. Unrolling it, Tobin found a beautifully illuminated ballad about his father, banded along the top and margins with intricate colored scenes of battle. A smaller scrap of parchment had fallen out and on it Tobin found a brief but effusive note from Bisir, who was very happy in his new profession.