Paulo was listening intently.
“In her term as Preceptor, S’Patra discovered how the Heir might cross the Bridge, even though it was designed to allow no passage. But indeed, in the ensuing months, the war went very badly. The Zhid captured much of the healthy land that remained outside the Vales, making it a part of the Wastes. But only a few months into her tenure, S’Patra fell victim to a wasting disease of the mind, a strange malady that left her in silence. Ustele, as you might imagine, was named to take her place. After the Prince called on me to help with the Lady, I searched through our archives and discovered this incident. A rare illness. Only a few similar cases occurred through the years. Another victim held a position of influence as a judge, a position Men’Thor took over when the man was stricken, thereby coming to great prominence in our community.
“So, you see, these stories make me wonder. I see no cause for the Lady Seriana’s condition. She is no frail creature to be confounded by adversity, but a strong woman, who has borne immense trials with fortitude. Ustele and his family have no use for the Prince as we know him, and perhaps they also know that if anything would transform the Prince in the way they desire, it would be harm to his wife at the hand of his son.”
It was when I mentioned the silencing that the boy remembered something. When I fell quiet, he sat thoughtfully, chewing on a knuckle. I let him be for a while, but the night was passing, and eventually, I spoke up. “Tell me what you remember, young Paulo. We are allies.”
He let out a slow breath. “There was something… a man Radele said was listening at our door in Montevial, and we were afraid he’d heard things to compromise the Lady and the young master… ”
Paulo told me the disturbing tale of Radele and his enchantment - surely the same silencing spell used on the Lady - and how the only way for the spell to be released was for the man to recite something in his head. “A list, you say, to undo the enchantment, but no hint of what list it might be?”
The boy shook his head. “None. Only that it was things the man had no means to know.”
A list could be anything - kings, flowers, stars - connected to Gondai, it seemed, if a man of the mundane world had no way to know it. Even so, I could not even begin to guess what it might be. I needed more information. “Paulo, I ask for your consent to read you. Something may be buried in your memories of Radele or of that particular event that can tell me what I need to know to unlock the Lady’s enchantment. I’ll swear on anything you wish that I’ll not probe beyond Radele. I’ll not pry into your secrets.”
“I give you no leave to do that!” His voice was steel, all his mistrust and wariness brought back instantly. “I won’t allow it.”
Swallowing my disappointment, I prayed that a night’s consideration would change the boy’s mind. I couldn’t blame him. He was in an unfortunate position.
“Then I’ll ask that you watch and listen carefully as you serve your Lady, especially when Radele is about.”
“I will,” he said. “I’d give most anything to help her.”
“I believe you.”
I had to leave the boy as I’d found him. Apologizing, I secured his wrists and ankles to the pipes again. Then I took myself through the dark and silent house to my rooms, thinking to steal a few hours’ sleep before returning to my post in the desert. If I was clever, no one need know I’d ever been away. But, of course, that was before I cast a word at the lamp that sat on the perennial stack of books by my bed. The white flame burst into life and revealed Radele lounging in my favorite chair. The sword and knife I had deposited on the bed upon my arrival were firmly in his hands.
“An interesting young man, is he not, Preceptor? Filled with secrets we would give our fortunes to know, yet he has no power, no talent, and cannot make sense of two words together if they happen to be written on a page. How far are the Dar’Nethi fallen when such a lump of ignorance is our Heir’s last spark of hope?”
“Or when a Dar’Nethi stoops to spy upon his Prince or his Preceptors?” What a fool I’d been not to take the simplest precautions. He must have heard everything.
“Spies are the tools of the enemy, Master Ven’Dar. The Prince has commanded me to watch and guard, and I do his will. You, on the other hand, have trespassed his express command that no one is to speak to the boy or attempt to learn what he has to tell.”
I wrestled with a balky latch and threw open the window, regretting my decision to choose a bedchamber on the second floor of the house. I was not decrepit, but my bones would not tolerate a two-story leap to the flagstone courtyard.
“We will not argue the definitions of spies or traitors, or even of enemies, Radele. I’ve come to my home to sleep for a while, so I respectfully request that you withdraw.”
“That is not possible, Master.” The young man stood and tossed my weapons on the floor, well out of my reach. Then he walked around me slowly, getting closer with each circuit, forcing me to turn if I wished to keep watch on him. Which I did. He shook his head as he eyed me. “We are at a dangerous pass. Your attempt to keep our Prince weak, encouraging his unhealthy attachment for people who are not our own, has become intolerable. It’s time for you - ”
“To be silenced?”
His expression did not change. “D’Arnath created the Bridge to maintain the balance of the universe, not to enslave our world to the other. I never appreciated it so fully until the Prince sent me there. We diminish ourselves by associating with the mundanes, Preceptor. You should see how they live - the noise and filth and ignorance, the violence they perform against each other. They do nothing but strengthen the Lords. Those who are so enraptured by them must be convinced to let go.”
“It must be marvelous to have so clear a vision.”
Radele quit his circling, opened the door, and motioned me into the passage. “Master, your meddling must cease. For now, I will escort you to safer quarters.”
“And if I insist on sleeping in my own bed?”
“That will not be possible.”
We Dar’Nethi were not accustomed to political dispute. Since the Catastrophe, our goals had been so singular and so formidable that we’d had little difference of opinion that could be translated into conspiracies or intrigues or struggles for power. The Preceptor Dassine changed all that, of course, with his belief that a dying young Healer named Karon, a descendent of our long-exiled brothers and sisters, held somewhere in his essence the secret of defeating the Lords and repairing the damage they’d done. Dassine had been stubborn, rash, not trusting his fellow Preceptors to believe a man born so far from our war and returned to life and power under such bizarre circumstances could untangle our predicaments. Yet time and circumstance now conspired against long debate, and our influential people were choosing up sides. I, who had spent my life in the study of those beliefs and practices that made the Dar’Nethi unique among the races of living beings, believed Dassine was right. I could not allow Ustele and his purists to destroy the prince Dassine had given us.
And so, as Radele raised his hand to work his silencing on me, I raised mine to cast a winding over him. My enchantment was formed of doubt, uncertainty, wavering… drawing the essence of the words to shape the spell. I overwhelmed him with questions and ambiguity, stuffed his belly with unnamed anxiety, bound his hand with indecision - a devastating fate for a young man so sure of himself.