“Shailiha,” he said carefully, “will you please turn and look at me?”
Mechanically, slowly, the princess turned toward the wizard. As she did so the flier remained perched upon her arm. Shailiha had a faraway expression in her eyes that seemed to look straight through Faegan, rather than at him. She did not blink. Her only movement was her deep breathing, matched by the equally exaggerated rising and falling of her chest.
Faegan was now worried for her, since she had been so recently cured of the Coven’s spell.
“Please release the flier,” he told her calmly. “Just lift your hand into the air a little, and the butterfly will leave your arm.”
But Shailiha did not seem to hear him.
“Release the flier, Shailiha,” he said again, a bit more sternly.
“No,” she finally said in a monotone voice. “The flier does not yet wish to leave me.”
“And how do you know this?” Faegan asked, wheeling his chair a bit closer.
“It told me,” she said.
Faegan felt something inside of him slip. The blood drained from his face.
Beads of sweat had begun to break out across the princess’ brow. Her breathing had become quite irregular. The strain of whatever was happening to her was clearly beginning to show, and the wizard knew that he must somehow end this.
Reaching up, he gently grasped her arm. She made no attempt to shake him off. Faegan shook her arm slightly, and the butterfly flew off to rejoin the others.
Almost immediately the princess’ eyes began to regain their focus, and her breathing returned to normal. The wizard gratefully noticed that not only did the princess seem to be quite well, she had actually been refreshed by the experience. Her eyes were brighter; her demeanor was more serene.
“Your Highness,” he asked gently, “are you all right?”
For a moment Shailiha stood without speaking. She looked out at the fliers as they playfully soared and careened in the pale light of the atrium. Finally turning to Faegan, she said, “Yes, I believe I am fine.” She took a deep breath and stretched a bit, smiling as she did so. “In fact, in some ways I am not sure I have ever felt better. But what just occurred was an experience far beyond anything else in my life.”
“Tell me about it,” Faegan said, wheeling his chair closer to her, as if that might bring him deeper into the riddle he was trying to solve.
She pursed her lips as she thought for a moment, trying to find a way to put her feelings into words. “For some reason, when I saw the butterflies I was compelled to raise my arm. To this moment I do not know why. Something just told me to. And when one of the fliers came to me, something happened. I felt something change within me—in a way I have never before experienced.”
“And that was?”
“I began to hear voices,” she said softly, as though she did not believe it herself. “Many of them at once. Then the cacophony of voices died down, and there remained only one. Strong and clear.” She shook her head a little. “Somehow I knew that the single voice remaining was coming to me from the flier on my arm.”
“It spoke to you?” he asked.
“No, not exactly. Rather, it revealed itself to my mind.”
“What did it say to you?” Faegan asked, his intense curiosity growing by the moment.
“It told me that I was the one for whom they had been waiting so long,” Shailiha answered. “What does it mean? Am I going mad? Am I truly not healed of the Coven’s spell?”
Faegan took her hand in his. He did not completely understand what had just happened, but he felt that this phenomenon was a gift, rather than something to be feared.
“I believe you may have just discovered the beginnings of your personal destiny,” he said to her. “This is something to be treasured and refined, rather than an evil to be avoided. We must explore this further. But before we do I need time to consider it all. I also need to consult with Wigg. Promise me you will not come here without at least one of us in attendance.”
“I promise,” she said earnestly. “But I will find that promise difficult to keep. I now feel drawn here—as surely as I am drawn to both my brother and my child. I won’t rest until I have the answers to what has happened to me.” She turned from him again to watch the butterflies.
So much like her brother, Faegan thought at the sight of the determination in her hazel eyes. Had their parents lived to see these days, they would have been proud.
He suddenly felt the tug of Consummate Recollection upon his mind, telling him that there was something in the Tome that spoke of what she had just witnessed. Slowly, as was his custom, he closed his eyes and relaxed his intellect, letting the passage come to him rather than sending his consciousness to chase after it. And then the quote appeared to him, as though he could see it written upon the page of the great book.
“ ‘And each of the Chosen Ones shall be allowed certain gifts before their training in the craft,’ ” he said aloud. “ ‘These gifts shall be different, yet in some ways the same, and shall remain forever with them, even unto death.’ ” He opened his eyes and looked at her.
“What was that?” she asked innocently.
“I am able to recall with accuracy anything I have heard, seen, or read since the very day of my birth. The quote you just heard is from the Tome of the Paragon. I am the only living person, as far as we know, to have read the entire first two volumes.”
“Is it really true?” she asked, wide-eyed. “Can you really remember all of your experiences if you choose to?”
“Oh, yes,” Faegan said, smiling. “And I can assure you that it is as much a curse as it is a blessing.”
“And the section you just quoted—what does it mean?” she asked.
“Ah,” the wizard said, shaking his head. “That is always the difficult part. The speaking of a quote from the Tome is always far less difficult than the deciphering of it. The Ones Who Came Before certainly did not make it easy for us. Presumably they had some motive for being so cryptic. But I suppose we shall never be sure.” He paused for a moment, looking out at the butterflies. Their whirling, colorful wings continued to dart through the scented air of the atrium.
“As for the quote, it probably means just what it says—that you and the prince each have as-yet-unrealized gifts,” he resumed. “Some powers of which neither he nor you have ever been aware.”
“How is it that Tristan and I could have such powers without being trained?” she asked. “I thought our blood was still dormant. And what is Tristan’s gift?”
“How things are possible, I cannot say at this time,” he answered. “I am sure, however, that it must have something to do with the fact that your blood, and the blood of the prince, are both of such unsurpassed quality. And as for Tristan’s gift, we may have already witnessed it.”
“What do you mean?”
“When he destroyed the Coven, he did so by causing the Paragon to move. He did this strictly through the use of his mind. Such a feat had never before been accomplished by an untrained person of endowed blood. Even with the proper guidance, such a breakthrough usually takes years. This may be Tristan’s gift. That is, the ability to move objects. But then again, it could be something else entirely, something that has yet to reveal itself.”
Faegan could see that the princess was tired. “It is time for us to go,” he said, turning his chair away from the fliers and wheeling back through the door. “We will return tomorrow, and every day thereafter, if it pleases you. We must explore the mysteries of your bond with the fliers.” He paused, looking up at her beautiful face. “And what we find should be very interesting, indeed.”