Chapter Seventeen

Guiding Tanitha with one hand on hers, Darius led her back out to the garden. Though he was trying to project calm, his mind was racing. He could only imagine what Kai would say if he could see them right now. She'd admitted to previous soul-speaking abilities. If she still had them, the level of danger she presented to demons in general— not to mention to him personally, while she resided here— had just risen by orders of magnitude. And here he was, making a conscious choice not only to not decisively eliminate the threat, but heighten it by encouraging her to develop the ability? It was a special kind of insanity, made all the more so by the fact that he could plainly see how unwise the decision was.

And yet… she truly didn't seem to bear him or his kind any ill will. She seemed, if anything, grateful for the safe haven that Diantha had founded, and she obviously recognized that she wouldn't be alive today without the policies of the City's demon rulers.

Besides, in a roundabout kind of way, he felt he was doing a fair job at lessening the danger. There hadn't been any reason for her to admit that she'd ever soul-spoken before. She could have just agreed to let him test her, and if she was successful, they could have both tacitly adhered to the fiction of her having no previous knowledge of possessing the ability. Her choice to disclose a secret she'd guarded her entire life was a pronounced change. She still seemed wary of him, but even so, that confession had been a display of trust. His earlier blunders notwithstanding, she didn't seem to be harboring the sort of feelings toward him that he'd feared. And that, frankly, was better than he deserved.

He looked sideways at her as they started down the stairs. Despite how vulnerable she had to be feeling, blind and in the presence of someone much stronger than herself, she was holding her head high and moving with confidence beside him. Although she clearly couldn't see in the darkness he'd summoned, her gaze was alert and focused. He wished for a moment that he could dismiss the darkness and simply interact normally with her, but he gave himself a quick internal shake at that thought, forcefully banishing the temptation. He wasn't even sure where it had come from; he didn't need to interact normally with her, or make any kind of connection beyond what he already had.

On second thought, though, being unable to see surely wasn't helping her feel comfortable, which made it an impediment for him as well as for her. It was perfectly reasonable for him to wish to remove that, and it had nothing to do with certain other feelings. And even if there were other feelings at play… he was protecting her. It was perfectly natural that feeling protective of her life might lead to wishing for a better understanding of her.

Though his reassurances to himself felt flimsy, he dismissed the matter from his mind firmly. Tanitha was, first and foremost, a problem that he had to solve. Her agreement to let him test her was a significant step in the right direction, because if he was right and she was a strong soul-speaker, he could put an end to all of this quickly, without any further danger to himself. He could find placement for her, then send her away and wash his hands of the entire situation except for perhaps occasionally checking in on her progress and well-being.

The thought, however, brought with it a stirring of discontent, which both perplexed and annoyed him. All right, yes, his evenings had been painfully solitary before her arrival; his life in general didn't lend itself to genuine connection with other people. Tanitha might be wary of him for his nature, but her ignorance of his identity meant that effect at least wasn't compounded by his rank. And the fact that he could interact with her without constantly wondering if her responses were guided by the need to garner a prince's favor was immensely refreshing. It was understandable that he'd feel some reluctance at the thought of sending her away.

He shook his head at himself once. Understandable or not, the reluctance was foolish. The longer she stayed here, the greater the risk, and besides that, she clearly didn't want to be here. The sooner he sent her on her way, the better. She'd already suffered enough.

He felt a dull pang in his chest at the memory of her barely restrained panic when she'd taken a sip of the wine. He'd tried to keep it from his voice at the time, but he'd felt an intense surge of fury at what had been done to her, which of course had morphed almost instantly into self-loathing for his involvement in it. She'd suffered enough in her life even before something as awful as that night atop the necropolis' hill, and he hated that he had played any part in that.

"Where are we going?" she asked as they reached the bottom of the staircase, starting down the garden's central path.

"The little meadow beside the lake," he said, scanning the ground in front of her carefully as they walked. "There's an exercise I want you to try that will be easier there. I'm going to have you blindfold yourself when you get there so the magic I'm doing to banish light doesn't interfere with your senses." Battling another surge of guilt for keeping her blind, he added, "For what it's worth, I'd probably recommend that you blindfold yourself for it even if seeing my face wasn't an issue. As an aid for concentration."

With a faint note of hesitation in her voice, she said, "My lord… I don't mean to be troublesome, but I had extremely limited dealings with demons before all this. I don't think there's any chance I would know you by sight."

"Perhaps," he agreed, though that was highly unlikely. "But there's also the danger to me to consider. I defied a firm order by helping you. I'd rather you not be able to give any identifying features about me to anyone after we've found a new place for you."

"Oh," she said quietly. "I'm sorry, my lord. I didn't consider that."

"I think you have enough concerns of your own right now for me to forgive the lapse," he said. He'd meant it to be a light deflection, but his tone came out a touch more somber than he'd intended. Her slim hand tightened slightly on his, and he gave what he hoped was a comforting squeeze.

"Don't worry," he said. "You're safe here, and I'll see that you're safe in the end as well. You have my word on that."

The instant the words were out of his mouth, surprise at himself shot through him. He didn't give his word lightly. How could he make a promise like that when he had yet to fully make his assessment of the potential danger she might pose?

At the same time, though, he couldn't make himself regret it. A part of him might be surprised at how seriously he took his self-appointed role as her protector, but he meant to hold true to it. Whatever happened tonight.

"Here," he said. "I'm leading you onto the grass now."

She allowed him to lead her from the path onto the ankle-length grass. Keeping a careful eye on the ground for any dips or hollows that might present a hazard to her, he guided her along until they stood at the center of the meadow. The grass shone silver under the moon, and the gentle whirring chirps of insects filled the air. Though they were several dozen strides from the lake's edge, its waters lapping against the shore still sounded with a calm rhythm. The estate's geese were asleep on the shore, their heads tucked beneath their wings.

Darius released Tanitha's hand, taking several steps away from her while firmly dismissing an unexpected reluctance to do so. On a sudden curiosity, he silently moved two steps to the left. Seemingly without consciously meaning to, she turned toward him, keeping her orientation such that she was directly facing him. His eyebrows rose slightly. He'd seen hints of this already, but that confirmed it; she was sensitive to elemental magic. Of course, he was a creature heavily steeped in it, so although that was a positive sign about any potential abilities she might have, it wasn't anything definitive in terms of strength.

"You can blindfold yourself now," he prompted her, ignoring the faint pang of regret he felt at the prospect of her obscuring her sea-blue eyes. He sent his gaze skyward, exasperated with himself at that. He did think her eyes were quite beautiful, but he knew better than anyone not to focus too much on physical qualities. Surely that wasn't what was at play here. No, he just wanted to be able to better assess her feelings and thoughts, and that was difficult without eye contact. It wasn't anything more than that.

Tanitha obeyed his instruction, pulling her sash loose from her waist. The kaftan rippled with the motion, its soft folds still curving around her body. As she tied the sash into place over her eyes, he released his hold on the darkness that surrounded them. Gradually, it faded back, and the moon and the stars came into view. He turned back to Tanitha, whose loosely braided hair shone pale in the moonlight that now bathed the entire garden in silvery light.

He forced himself to focus on what had brought them out here rather than on Tanitha herself.

"Do you know if you're able to sense elemental constructs?" he asked her. Establishing resonance with the elements themselves was necessary for the creation of constructs. Building them was also the most difficult application of soul-speaking, but he wasn't interested in determining if she had the potential to do that just yet. He only wanted to see if she possessed the ability to sense that it had already been done.

With slight reluctance, she answered, "I can sense them, my lord. I've been doing it since the day you brought me here." She gave a half-shrug, the motion just shy of defensive. "It seemed a useful skill, given the circumstances."

"Good," he said briskly, determined to keep his slight discomfiture from this answer from his voice. He wasn't about to undermine the fledgling trust she was exhibiting by letting her know that he might have cause to be wary of her. "Can you tell me how many are in this field?"

She frowned, then clasped her hands behind her back. He almost smiled; her posture matched that of a child performing a recitation for a tutor's examination, though she probably didn't realize she was doing it.

"Four," she said at last.

He blinked; the outdoor constructs had larger ranges than the ones that handled domestic work, so it was never quite as certain where they might be, but he'd only sensed three in a reasonable distance from them. Had she made a mistake, or did she somehow have a wider range to her sense of elemental magic than he did?

"Can you point them out?" he asked, still carefully keeping any hint of discomfort from his voice.

She tilted her head slightly as if listening for something, then made a quarter turn to her left, away from him. She pointed ahead of herself, toward the trees that edged the meadow. "About twenty paces that way," she said. He nodded to himself— that one was a purger, designed to prevent insect infestations in the trees' bark.

"Yes," he said. "What else?"

She turned away another quarter turn, her back to him. He caught himself admiring the curve of her waist where it met her hip and hurriedly pulled his gaze away. "There," she said. "Maybe ten paces away?"

"Yes, that's the one that keeps the geese from ransacking the rest of the garden," he said, still keeping his gaze over her head and firmly directing his thoughts toward anything other than… well, her . He forced himself to focus on the construct she'd just pointed out. He'd sometimes wondered why the original builders hadn't just contented themselves with a fence, but he supposed that solution would have necessitated more maintenance in the form of clipping the birds' wings, not to mention of the fence itself.

He cleared his throat, finally allowing himself to look back at her. "And the other?"

She pointed toward the geese. "Near the lake," she said. Right again; that one was for keeping the surface of the water clean and clear of debris. "And the fourth…" She made a final turn, this time pointing at Darius.

"That's me that you're sensing," he said gently, though actually he was relieved that she hadn't managed full accuracy on this initial attempt. She lowered her hand, and he added, "But the others were correct. Which is impressive."

She bit her lip, then shook her head. "No, my lord. Behind you, about thirty paces."

His brow furrowed, and he glanced behind himself despite not needing to use his eyes for this. He reached out mentally, then straightened in surprise. There was a construct there. It was the one that kept the grass from growing too tall, but it was dormant right now, having recently cut the meadow's grasses down. The elemental magic it radiated in its inactive state was subtle enough that he would have had to have applied full concentration to sense it if he hadn't been told where to look.

He turned back to Tanitha. "That's…" He trailed off, not sure what to say. "That's very good," he said at last. "You're right, there was a fourth. I didn't expect you'd be able to sense a dormant construct."

A slight frown pursed her lips. "It's dormant?"

"Yes," he said. "That one only activates every ten days or so." He considered for a moment, then said, "You said you've been practicing sensing them since you came here. What about before?"

"Before coming here?" she asked. She shook her head once. "Very rarely, my lord. Just often enough to occasionally check if I was still capable."

"All right," he said, still trying not to be disconcerted by this. What exactly did he have on his hands here? That sort of sensitivity wouldn't be surprising in a child or someone many years his elder, but a young human adult? An untrained young human adult? He'd never encountered it before.

But then… soul-speaking was an ability that occurred when the essence of one's being was woven more tightly than most through the fabric of the world and the elements that comprised it. Demons, direct descendants of elemental creatures, were thus universally able to do it. Perhaps it wasn't so surprising that a human who was mantled with prophecy would have similar connections of the spirit to the world around her, and especially to manifestations of elemental power.

"Well, obviously there's no need for me to instruct you on sensing elemental radiance," he said briskly. "We could do some more exercises to determine the limits of your range, but that can wait for another time. Can you tell me…" He trailed off, suddenly aware that he might be about to ask her to relive some unpleasant memories. Gods, he couldn't even imagine what she'd gone through as a child. The plague that had ravaged Sabria was the stuff of nightmares.

Carefully, he continued, "You haven't done any soul-speaking as an adult? At least, not deliberately?"

"Is it even really possible to do it accidentally?" she asked, frowning slightly.

"It's rare, but yes, it is," he replied, a hint of question in his voice as he continued, "I've told you that."

A faint rise of color came to her cheeks. "I… I assumed that you were just trying to give me a more palatable way to admit to having the ability, my lord."

"Well… I was," he confessed. "But people do occasionally manage accidental use." He decided to ignore what the possibility implied for the moment. A panicked burst of soul-speaking in extreme circumstances should have been easy to sense, but he hadn't picked it up on either occasion when he thought she might have done it. There were two possible explanations. The first was that she simply hadn't done it, but he was becoming less convinced by the second of the likelihood of that. The other was that she'd never really stifled the ability, but had instead somehow relegated it to unconscious control. He'd heard of that happening to gifted people in areas where supernatural abilities were feared rather than nurtured.

What he hadn't heard of was someone with unconscious control being strong enough to influence a demon, let alone showing that level of strength while still being subtle enough that the demon didn't notice it happening.

He shoved away the return of that nagging sense of wariness. His mother might be prepared to take deadly action on the slightest sign of someone else's strength, but that was not him. Whatever Tanitha's abilities, she was still in clear need of his help. He wasn't going to let himself be afraid of her, no matter what he might uncover here. Besides, he might be worrying over nothing. Sensitivity wasn't necessarily an indicator of strength.

"So, in the past, when you've achieved resonance with sparrows," he said, "what did that feel like to you?"

She tilted her head slightly as if in consideration. "It was… strange," she said at last. "We were starving, and I was just desperately wishing for food." She swallowed, and he once again found himself regretting the need for the blindfold, wishing he could meet her eyes and understand the full breadth of what she was feeling, if only so he could tread gently when there was pain.

"That day," she said slowly, "The first time I did it, I mean… I'd fallen half asleep, just in a sort of haze from hunger and exhaustion. I was half dreaming about being a bird so I could just fill my belly with little seeds." She gave a quiet, sad laugh. "And then I woke up to sparrows hopping all over me, carrying grains of wheat in their beaks. So… I tried it again, this time thinking about bits of bread."

He nodded to himself. He'd been wondering how a small child could manage it without being taught, but being in a vulnerable state of consciousness could easily explain the initial event.

Trying not to allow himself to be distracted by how strongly the story was reawakening his desire to protect her, he said, "Do you think you could reach that state again, if you tried? Or something like it?"

"I can try," she said, a bit dubious.

He stooped down quickly, capturing a moth that was fluttering its wings as it alighted on a bowed blade of grass. "May I have your hand?" he asked.

With far less trepidation than she'd shown the first time he'd made that request, she held out one hand. He carefully transferred the moth to her, keeping his hand lightly cupped over hers to contain it. She twitched in surprise as it fluttered in the confined space.

"It's just a moth," he assured her, steadfastly ignoring how pleasant he found the warmth of her hand on his. "Insects are of low enough intelligence that they don't resist resonance, so they're common for beginning practice. Can you calm it, get it to stand still on your hand?"

She frowned, and he held still, focusing intently on her. Although her forehead was creased in concentration, he could only sense the barest stirring of elemental magic from her. But did that indicate the absence of strength, or the presence of subtlety?

Slowly, the moth's fluttering against his palm petered away to nothing, and he separated his hand from hers despite a strange reluctance to do so. The moth was standing in the center of her palm, poised to take off and yet perfectly still. The entire meadow seemed to have gone very quiet.

Darius reminded himself to breathe. All right; she could soul-speak at a basic level with miniscule instruction, he thought, refusing to allow the thought's occurrence to bring any anxiety with it. Humans with the ability had always discomfited him, but he reminded himself that this was a good thing. It was the first clear sign he'd seen of power in her, and it provided some idea of what path her fate might follow. And this was a path that didn't have to mean danger for him and his, so long as he was cautious.

Not wanting to break her concentration, he said quietly, "That's very good. Can you direct it to do something else? Fly away from you, perhaps?" It was a bit of a jump between those two things, but he suspected she wouldn't find it difficult.

She stood almost unnaturally still, and again, he could only detect the barest radiation of magic from her. He leaned forward, frowning. Then—

The entire meadow exploded with movement as thousands of moths suddenly burst into the air, their wings shimmering white in the moonlight. Darius leapt back from Tanitha, startled. Like pale leaves caught in a river's eddy, the moths fluttered away from her, thousands of them flying away in all different directions.

Tanitha lowered her hand. "Did it work?" she said, totally unfeigned innocence with a hint of anxiety coloring her voice.

Darius looked at her in astonishment for a heartbeat, then waved moths from his face as he stepped close to her. The moths continued to flutter away from them both in waves of white and blue.

"Stay facing forward," he said, then stepped behind her and gently tugged the blindfold from her eyes, resisting the urge to let his hand linger.

Tanitha straightened slightly, clear shock in her posture as she looked around. The insects were starting to settle again, but it was still very clear what had happened, moonlight shimmering off their wings as they arced around her.

"I…" She started to turn toward him, then caught herself and returned her gaze to the front. "Did I do that?" she asked, her voice a tight whisper.

"Well, I certainly didn't," he said, though he was still blinking in rapid astonishment. How did someone bring a thousand more minds than they'd intended under their sway accidentally ? They were just insects, yes, but… it hadn't cost her any effort at all.

She swayed slightly in place as if to belie that thought, and he reached out instinctively before she steadied herself. He drew back just before touching her.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "It can be draining."

"It's not that," she said, her voice faint. "I just… I didn't really believe that I could do it." She wrapped her arms around herself tightly, and he found himself wishing that he could do the same, a thought that startled him. She shivered once, still gazing over the meadow despite the fact that the flurry of moths had all but settled.

"What does this mean?" she asked. "What does it mean for me, that I can do this? You said you could arrange passage to Sarthen, to the academy there? When?"

The question brought him up short. Although that had certainly been the plan, he found himself curiously reluctant at the thought of sending her away immediately.

"We'll need to create a false history for you," he said slowly. "And yes, I'll need to arrange passage." What was wrong with him? He should be delighted at the prospect of being able to place her at Sarthen. When it was done, he could finally rest easy knowing both that he'd preserved her life and that she no longer posed a threat to him.

"How long?" she asked, a faint hint of urgency in her voice. He closed his eyes for a second. Of course it was a matter of urgency to her. However he might be feeling at the moment, she had no reason to want to stay here. And any wishes of his to the contrary were somewhere between foolishness and pure madness.

Unless… "I could arrange it in a few days," he said. "But it just occurred to me that I could also arrange to sponsor your studies. It would make things more comfortable for you, and make it easier for you to secure better positions when your studies are completed."

She went still. He knew he couldn't let her turn to face him, but a part of him wished otherwise, that they could simply talk face to face. That he could look into her eyes and better understand what she was feeling at his words.

He continued, "The trouble is that I'd need to work through an intermediary, since it would have to be done anonymously. So it might take some time to arrange. About two weeks, I'd imagine." As a very generous estimate.

"You'd… you'd be willing to do that?" she asked softly.

"Of course," he said. A sponsorship like that was a small matter for him.

"Why?" she asked, her voice strangely timid.

"I…" The question brought him up short. Why, indeed? It wasn't at all necessary to take the extra step. And as a matter of fact, even if he was determined on the point of the sponsorship, he still didn't technically need to delay her departure; he could just as easily send her on her way and contact the academy on the matter after her arrival.

He gave himself a shake. There was good reason to do it this way, even if it hadn't been the first reason to occur to him; however her fate manifested, he wanted her to feel warmly toward him. Simple self-preservation dictated that much. That was the reason, he reminded himself firmly. Nothing else.

Of course, it was probably best not to tell her that. He cleared his throat, casting around for a way to answer the question.

"It's no real sacrifice for me to offer the support," he said, which was true enough. "And… I think you deserve some good fortune, after all you've been through."

Still facing away from him, she bowed her head slightly, raising one hand to her mouth. "Thank you," she said after a moment, a depth of gratitude softening her voice. She hesitated for another moment, as if debating something, then spoke again. "My lord… I've been thinking about the last time we spoke. When you said you thought I had soul-spoken that night, atop the necropolis?"

"Yes?" he asked, though he was extremely reluctant to revisit that conversation. The self-disgust he'd felt from it still hadn't really abated.

She took a breath. "I don't believe I did," she said. "What I did just now… I could feel myself doing it. And there was none of that on that night." She paused, then said, "That night, I truly didn't think there was any chance I'd survive. I was only thinking that I might be able to ensure that Lithra was safe. So I don't believe that I could have unintentionally influenced you to spare me." She gave the slightest turn of the head toward him before checking the action and returning her gaze firmly to the front. "I suppose I just wanted to say that the decision was yours," she said. "You wouldn't have harmed me."

The quiet confidence and simple trust in her voice warmed him much further than it had any right to. He reached forward, taking her hand in his for a brief moment. She couldn't possibly know it, but those words had been every bit as much a gift to him as his offer of sponsorship had been to her.

Reluctantly, he pulled away from her, then placed the blindfold into the palm of her hand. "I'll take you back to the house," he said.