Chapter Nineteen

The next few days passed quickly for Tanitha. Every morning when she awakened, she found several new scrolls laid out for her in the study, and she took them to the garden to read. It was slow work at first— she simply wasn't familiar with very much of the terminology used in the study of elemental magic— but once she'd earned a solid grasp of that, she began to move through the works at a much faster pace. All the while, a quiet, burgeoning sort of excitement was rising up inside her. A soul-speaker. There was a path for her, a future. One where she wasn't destined to be such a small thing in the world that she was powerless to shield herself and the people she cared about from harm.

There were some parts of this path that tarnished the sheen of the future, of course. Although the thought of studying at Sarthen was an exciting one, she wasn't sure what, precisely, it would lead to. Soul-speakers had a number of functions in the support of the Ivory Throne. Some bordered on the mundane, but others were quite dangerous; she'd heard rumors of soul-speakers being sent to Sabria to subtly influence people there, guiding them away from courses that could endanger the demon-ruled cities. And some soul-speakers were trained specifically for battle, sapping the morale and discipline of enemy forces to soften them against Shadowborn blades.

She gave herself a shake as she opened the wardrobe to select a dress, a process which had become much easier over the past few days as she'd become more trusting of her host's intentions. She didn't have to worry about any of that; a sponsorship traditionally carried with it a promise of employment upon the completion of her studies. Though still unsure of the full truth of her host's motivations, she had enough faith in his interest in her well-being now that she didn't believe he'd be careless of her wishes or her safety when it came time for a role to be assigned to her.

There was something else that had darkened the shine of what the future might hold, of course. And that was the fact that she was finding herself more and more averse to the idea of leaving this place.

She closed her eyes as she pulled the deep green kaftan she'd chosen over her head. Once she'd arranged the fabric and chosen a sash, she wrapped her arms around herself, a slight shiver running through her despite the room's warmth. She wasn't a fool, and she wasn't one to lie to herself, even when the truth was hard. And the truth here was that, no matter what she'd initially thought, her feelings for her host weren't fading.

She'd thought that she was just in a heightened state, that perhaps that state had combined with the mystery and danger he presented to create feelings of attraction. And then when the fear and uncertainty had faded, leaving that excuse hollow, she'd thought that perhaps she was just experiencing an intense sort of gratitude; he'd saved her life, after all, so it would make sense.

But in the past few days, she'd had to admit what was happening. She'd managed to avoid it up until the moment they'd stood together in the moonlit field, when she'd heard the quiet awe in his voice at what she'd done, at the part of herself that she'd been able to free by deciding to trust him. The truth was that no matter how she tried to fight it, she was developing feelings toward him.

It was a painful realization, more bitter than sweet. She'd kept her heart well-guarded from tender feelings toward any man through her whole life. She'd simply been too afraid that the words from the old woman of her childhood were a pronouncement of fate. Heart snared by a monster . She'd thought she'd known what it meant. She'd thought that if she allowed herself to love a man, one day he'd hurt her, somehow betray the love and trust she'd given him. That she'd be snared by someone that would one day prove to be only a source of pain. She'd seen it happen to enough women, seen them trapped in partnerships that brought sorrow where there should be joy. She hadn't imagined that the words could mean something else entirely. For a withered prophetess in Sabria would of course call a demon a monster, and would of course sneer at a girl fated one day to love one.

A small shiver rife with emotion darted through her. It didn't seem possible, but she didn't have any other word for how she felt now. It was such a tender, gentle feeling that even considering it directly gave rise to such a fullness in her heart that it hurt to breathe. She'd fought the realization of how she was feeling initially, rejecting it as nonsensical. How could she be falling in love with someone so wildly different from her? Someone who hadn't told her so much as his name, someone she'd never even seen? It was absurd, unwise, and a thousand other things.

And yet, it was also true. She couldn't deny it. No, she didn't know his name. She didn't know his face. But she knew he was someone who would protect a stranger even when it would be safer for him to turn away. She knew he was someone who would shield her from danger even against his own self-interest. She knew he was kind, and that he cared for her happiness and well-being. That sort of person was no monster, whatever an old Sabrian seeress might call him.

But though the words might have a different meaning than what she'd thought since childhood, they were still a warning, a pronouncement of pain. He was a demon, impossibly high above her in status, power, and every other conceivable measure. And even if that weren't true, she was a condemned woman who could never again have a home in Karazhen. No matter what she might feel toward him, she could never be with him.

A prickling of tears came to her eyes, her chest feeling tight with frustrated longing. She'd been able to keep these feelings at bay for the whole of her life, and now, now they had to strike her? Now, with someone who had been ordered to kill her? With someone who was helping her reclaim parts of herself that she'd thought to be long since lost and yet meant to send her away, never to meet him again?

She'd warded off feelings of affection for her entire life. And now, in the moment that she'd failed at that, she couldn't possibly act on them. So now she was about to begin a new life, one rife with possibilities, with the pain of a heartbreak.

She couldn't tell him how she was feeling. She knew that. And she was practiced enough at stifling her own emotions that she thought she could manage for a few days more. And then… and then she'd be gone. When she was safely settled in Sarthen, when she wasn't in any more danger, she could let herself mourn the loss of something that could never be.

She strode from the bedchamber, making her way down to the dining hall. As there had been over the past few days, there were a number of new scrolls laid out on the table, and she settled down to begin studying them despite how much her mind wanted to linger on other things. Like the memory of the brief touches he'd given her, the deep, confident sound of his voice…

She closed her eyes tight. The feelings were real, and very powerful, but she couldn't give them any heed. She had a future to attend to, a path to walk, and it wasn't with him. All she could do right now to better her lot was to increase her skills in elemental magic. Exhaling slowly, she forced herself to untie the first of the scrolls.

Hours later, she went outside, trailing one hand over the tops of the flowers that bordered the path as she made her way toward the meadow where he'd first tested her. It looked very different in the late afternoon sun than it did under moonlight, but it still carried the memory of that moment, the memory of a sudden surge of realization that she could be more than she'd ever thought possible.

She stepped into the meadow, turning her attention to the geese she'd decided to practice on today. They were probably the most difficult thing to influence on the entire estate; she could obviously manage birds in general, but geese were stubborn, single-mindedly aggressive creatures the moment something annoyed them. The first time she'd tried to influence them two days previous, she'd earned several bruises on her shins from a few of them charging her with hisses and pecks. She was rather glad her host hadn't witnessed that, as she was sure her headlong retreat had been far from dignified.

Dignity shouldn't have mattered to her— the only point of importance here was that he was sufficiently impressed with her elemental potential to feel confident in his decision to sponsor her studies— but it did. She'd come to look forward to his nightly arrivals, to the meals taken together and the conversations about their respective days, and even his continued insistence that she not be able to see him didn't take away from that. Often, he'd lead her outside to have her demonstrate what she'd been practicing, and she took great pleasure in the quiet awe she often heard in his voice at her progress.

Of course, sometimes there was something else in his voice, too. A faint apprehension, a wariness that she couldn't begin to imagine the cause of. She was obviously demonstrating some innate strength, but she'd heard of and even witnessed some amazing feats of magic from demonkind in her life. She was nowhere near a level that should cause disquiet in one of them. Even so, she'd already decided that it would be more sensible to omit what she was about to attempt from her report of the day's doings when her host returned.

She shielded her eyes against the glare of the lake, eyeing the geese as they paddled placidly on its surface. She'd been thinking about the night he'd brought her here, the night atop the necropolis, despite how badly her mind wanted to shy away from those events. She put a hand to the side of her neck, remembering how frightened she'd been, and the gentleness of his touch when he'd laid the palm of his hand there.

She lowered her hand hurriedly, determined not to let her mind wander to the other times he'd touched her, or to the sensation that awakened in the moments when his hand brushed hers. That touch, full of gentle compassion and yet firm determination, was the last thing she could remember from that night; everything else was blank before she'd awakened here.

She took a steadying breath, forcing her mind back to her chosen task. Somehow, he'd put her in a deep enough slumber that she had no memory of being brought here, presumably in his arms as he flew.

She set her jaw, determined not to dwell on what that would have been like if she'd been in possession of her senses. He'd put her to sleep, and she couldn't think of any way that could be accomplished with any other elemental abilities. It had to have been soul-speaking. And that in turn meant that she should be able to do it as well.

She walked toward the lake, keeping her movements casual as she neared a knot of five geese that were waddling about near the shore. Two of them turned to eye her, and one flared its wings in menacing warning, so she stopped about ten paces short of them. She sat down on the dewy grass, ignoring how it dampened the skirt of the dress she'd chosen, even though it felt nearly sacrilegious to risk damage to something that was probably worth more than she'd earned in her entire life.

She closed her eyes, keeping her breathing deep and slow. It was a strange thing, achieving resonance, but not altogether a difficult one. She pulled back her own awareness of herself, quieting her mind to open its sense of the magic and living beings around her.

The minds of other creatures felt not dissimilar to constructs, seeming like points of light against an endless field of darkness. But while constructs were tightly coiled balls of magical energy and intention, minds burned more fiercely, with a roiling complexity that was almost blinding if she focused too closely. The minds of insects, like the moths of the field, were like pinprick stars across the vastness of space, with a strange and alien feeling to the ebb and flow of their light. The minds of the birds of the estate, from songbirds to geese, were brighter and more complicated, but also somehow more familiar, less foreign to the workings of her own mind.

The simpler and more suggestible the mind she was influencing, the easier it was to overlay it with her wishes. She was most effective when she could keep her own mind quiet, focused more on the feelings of what she wanted than on words that described them. In this case, she summoned up feelings of peaceful slumber, of the serenity of deep and much-needed sleep, and then allowed that feeling to radiate out from her.

In a strange, indescribable way, she felt it when her influence washed over the geese she'd targeted, jostling against their extant desires to remain alert and watchful against the human interloping on their shore. She smoothed over that instinct, pushing slightly harder on the desirability of rest. And then, one by one, she felt the resistance fade away.

Her breath caught, and she opened her eyes, sitting up straight. The geese on the shore were all clearly asleep, their long necks curled to tuck their heads beneath their wings. She retracted her influence, waiting, but they remained still and quiet. She wished she had a way to precisely measure the time the effect lasted, but for now, knowing that she could do it was enough.

She stood, then walked toward the geese. The memory of sharply pecked shins was enough to stop her from walking into the midst of the sleeping fowl without knowing exactly how long they might remain unconscious, but she still came much closer to them than she otherwise would have. She couldn't keep a smile from forming. There were soul-speakers who could make what she'd just done look like child's play, she knew, but there was nonetheless a joy to the progression. Even if she'd been treating her own abilities with utmost caution. She'd been treating everything with utmost caution since coming here.

Including her own feelings.

The thought brought her up short, driving the smile from her face. A gentle breeze blew back her hair and skirt, and she took a slow breath, trying to ground herself. Of course she was wary of her own feelings. She couldn't dismiss them, and so they were bound to grow until she left, when they'd bring her only pain. She'd simply never had someone who would stand between her and the dangers of the world before. And she was extremely loath to surrender the utterly unexpected feeling of safety she felt when he was near.

A part of her did want to go to Sarthen. She wanted to see what she could become, what she could learn, and that was the place to do it. Her host had once asked her if she was content with a small life, and she'd rapidly come to the realization that she didn't have to be. That she could have more in life than she'd ever previously dreamed. But she'd also never dreamed that she could let herself fall in love, and surrendering that in the moment she first began to understand what it felt like was an unimaginably bitter cost.

She took a shuddering breath, then looked back at the geese, folding her arms. Slowly, she sent her influence radiating outward, her focus different this time. The geese she'd put to sleep suddenly lifted their heads, letting out querulous and questioning squawks. She pushed out farther, catching the geese on the lake and the far shore under the wave of her intentions. The meadow and lake went suddenly quiet—

And then exploded in a flurry of wingbeats and feathers. The waters of the lake churned as the geese there suddenly took off as one, their wings flapping furiously to send them airborne. The ones on the shores took off as well, their cries ringing through the meadow.

Tanitha closed her eyes, filling her focus with the joy of flight, the elation she'd been longing for, her desire to rise higher and seize more than she'd ever previously thought possible. She opened her eyes again, and her breath caught at the sight of the flock suddenly taking flight. She raised one hand, keeping it in the air as she turned. The geese were circling above and around her with all the focused power and grace of a waterspout, and tears pricked her eyes as she continued her own small circle, the motion magnified a thousand times by the birds that flew around her. The setting sun glinted off their grey-and-white barred feathers, making them shine fiery red and black.

She sent her influence questing out yet farther. She felt it brush against smaller minds, simpler minds, and moments later, she'd drawn in the smaller birds from the trees that edged the meadow. The sound of hundreds of tiny wingbeats filled the air between the mightier rush of the powerful thrusts from the wings of the geese. Wind from the combined motion plucked at her dress and hair, both gusting around her.

Suddenly, something else prickled at her consciousness, and she quickly recognized it as the presence of something radiating elemental magic. Or some one , most likely. She opened her eyes, not retracting her influence. With all the motion around her, it took her a few seconds to pick out the form of a tawny hawk that had joined the swirling whirlwind around her, something gripped in its talons. Its easy grace and the intent way its dark gaze was focused on her told her that it had joined the fray of its own volition. With a jolt of recognition, she raised a hand in greeting, a bittersweet sort of happiness rising inside her at her host's arrival.

Slowly, she began to retract her influence, letting the birds pull out of the spiral in small groups to go where they would. When she'd released them all, the hawk remained, circling in a wide loop. She pulled the sash from her waist to reluctantly place it over her eyes instead, wishing as she often did that the precaution wasn't necessary, that she could see the face of her rescuer. But perhaps right then, anything that created distance between them was a blessing. And at least this way, there was no risk of him seeing her feelings in her eyes.

From her sense of his elemental radiance, she tracked his motion as he landed in front of her, a sudden flare against her senses telling her he'd shifted form.

"That was incredible," he said, the clear astonishment in his voice sending a flutter through her heart. "You've been experimenting with that through the day?"

She shook her head. "I was reading the scrolls you brought earlier," she said, feeling very pleased with herself, though she tried to keep it from her voice. "I only came out here to practice about an hour ago."

There was several seconds of silence. "You… managed that with less than an hour's practice?" he asked.

She blushed. "Well… yes," she said.

He lightly took her hand. Tanitha swallowed, the warmth of his hand on hers sending a thrill through her that she stifled with a quick breath.

"That really was incredible to watch," he said quietly. "I've seen soul-speakers train for years before they build the strength and precision for something like that."

The lingering blush on her cheeks deepened, and she wished she knew if that was an honest statement or encouragement gilded with flattery. She cleared her throat as he relinquished his hold on her hand.

"Actually, I attempted to influence the geese yesterday, but it didn't go well," she admitted. She pointed at her own shins, though they were covered by the dress. "I think there's still some bruising."

He chuckled. "I had that happen once, though I wasn't trying to soul-speak at the time. I was maybe eight or nine years old, and my brother told me that there was a charm for invisibility that could be made with fresh-plucked tail feathers from swans. I learned the hard way that perhaps I should satisfy myself with summoning darkness, if I needed to go unseen," he said dryly. "And also that my brother is willing to stoop quite low to puncture my pride if he thinks I need it."

As undignified as Tanitha had felt fleeing the birds herself the day before, the thought of a mighty demon doing the same was so at odds with her lifetime of being taught to hold them in fear and awe that she gave a quiet laugh, unable to help herself.

"You have a brother?" she asked, though she almost immediately regretted the question. She should be keeping herself as aloof as she could, not trying to learn more about him. Not deepening the sense of connection she was feeling.

"Yes," he replied. "We're close in age, but he still thinks it's his solemn duty to stop me from building too high an opinion of myself," he said with another chuckle. "It's probably a good thing, even if I always find it aggravating in the moment." He lightly touched her shoulder, turning her toward the house, and she accepted his hand in hers again as he began to guide her that way, determinedly ignoring the warmth that rose in her at the touch. "He thinks I'm being completely insane, harboring you like this," he added ruefully, gently pulling her to one side to presumably help her avoid some unsteady footing as they walked.

Though still blindfolded, she reflexively turned her head toward him in surprise. "You told him what you did?" she asked.

"Yes. He's been helping me with arrangements. We have different positions, and his affords him a little more ability to go unnoticed if he's careful," he replied. "You can trust that he'll be discreet, I promise. And he's highly motivated to arrange things quickly."

The assurance that her time here was drawing to a close caused a sharp pain in her heart. She took a slow breath. This was good, she reminded herself, though even telling herself that gave rise to an acute sensation of misery. The sooner she left, the sooner she could let go of what she was feeling.

"Would you pass my thanks to him as well, then?" she asked, forcing her voice to remain free of the emotions rising inside of her.

"Gladly. Maybe he'll stop telling me that I've obviously lost my senses." She felt his position relative to hers shift slightly. Though she couldn't tell for certain, she thought he'd turned to look at her directly. "He's not a bad sort," he said, his tone low and earnest. "It's not that he thinks that you don't deserve the help, it's just that he hates the thought of me being in any danger. I think I've mostly convinced him that I'm managing the risk appropriately, though."

She wasn't sure why her opinion of his brother should matter to him, but she found that she appreciated the clarification regardless. Still, it was far from the most salient question on her mind.

"Is he right that there is danger to you?" she asked, trying not to let her worry on that subject sound too clearly in her voice.

He sighed. "Some," he said, faint reluctance coloring his tone. The terrain underfoot had shifted from dirt to the stone path that ran through the garden beside the house, the scent of flowers growing stronger as well. "But as I said, I'm managing the risk. I've put a number of precautions in place." As if she didn't know that, she thought, her mind turning ruefully to darkness and blindfolds.

"My brother has put some additional in place as well, actually," he added. "But none of the concerns in question have any bearing on your safety, so please don't let them trouble you."

"It's not…" She hesitated, hoping she wasn't overstepping, but the thought of seeming ungrateful or uncaring was worse, so she continued, "It's not only my own safety in this that matters to me."

She felt the muscles of his forearm tense slightly as if in surprise as he turned toward her before quickly turning back to the front. She felt warmth rise in her cheeks, hoping he hadn't read anything more than basic concern for the well-being of another person into the statement.

"It's going to be all right," he told her quietly. "I promise you that." To her intense relief, there was nothing in his voice suggesting that he thought she'd said anything strange. "On an unrelated subject," he said, "I brought you something that you might find interesting. Here, we're close to one of the benches, if you'd like to sit."

She nodded, letting him lead her across a stretch of grass, the hem of her kaftan making a gentle hushing noise as it swept over the short blades of grass. He put a hand on her hip to guide her as she sat, and she was intensely grateful for the fact that the setting sun would make the rise of color in her cheeks less apparent.

The stone of the bench was warm through the fabric of her dress, and he sat beside her, the feathers of one wing brushing her shoulder as he placed something cylindrical in her hands, its texture that of finely cured leather.

"Angle yourself to face away from me," he said. She obeyed as she lightly ran one hand over the scroll case, intensely curious. He'd brought her plenty of scrolls over the past few days, but hadn't seemed to feel the need to be present or explain what it was he'd brought previously.

He gently untied the blindfold, his hands resting against her hair as he did, and her breath hitched slightly at his touch. The blindfold dropped away, and she blinked several times, her eyes adjusting to the light of the setting sun.

She looked down at the cylindrical scroll case on her lap, acutely aware of her host's presence behind her. He was sitting close enough that she could feel his warmth beside her, and she forced down a desire to turn to him.

"Go ahead," he said quietly, lightly touching her shoulder. "I hope I'm not being presumptuous by bringing this to you, but I thought you might appreciate it."

Curious, she untied the case, letting the scroll inside slide out. It was vellum, its edges gilded, and she carefully unrolled it. She sat up in surprise as she recognized the shape of the script's characters.

"Can you read Ibalian?" he asked. She shook her head; a part of her had wanted to learn, but she'd always been afraid to express that interest for fear of seeming to have questionable loyalties to the city that had sheltered her as a child.

"This is a funerary chant," he said. "I did a little research today, and I think it's most likely that you're from the southernmost part of Ibalia, which is where this type of chant is from. It's sung toward the Fields of Light—similar to what we call the Ashen Halls—calling for blessings and peace on the name of the deceased." He cleared his throat. "I lost family in the Sabrian War," he said. Her heart, already aching, panged at that. It wasn't surprising; although the demons certainly made use of human soldiers, they had never shied away from putting themselves on the front lines as well. "And… I may have taken something of a dim view toward a lot of ritual and ceremony as I grew, but when I was younger, it did help." She heard his wings rustle as he gave a quick shrug. "I just thought… I know you said you don't remember your family, but it's still a loss. I thought being able to memorialize them as you would have if you hadn't been far from your homeland might offer you some comfort."

A tear streaked down her cheek, and she put a hand to her eyes, bizarrely wishing she still wore the blindfold, though it wouldn't have fully hidden the tears. She took a shaky breath, trying to still the swirl of feelings inside her, but to no avail. She only rarely allowed herself to think on some of the pains of the past, determined to move beyond them. She hadn't spoken of any of that pain to her host. And yet he'd still detected it, and still wanted to offer some relief to it.

Gods , she thought, fighting the confused, frustrating blend of gratitude and pain. Tears were streaming down her face. He was already protecting her from danger, and she'd been trying to guard against the tender feelings that had come from that. Why did he have to also be kind?

"Are you all right?" he asked, a hint of alarm in his voice. "I'm sorry; I should have thought that this might be a hard thing for you, and—"

She shook her head once. "It's not that," she managed. "This is…" She wiped the heel of one palm across her eyes, still blinking away tears. "Thank you, my lord. This… this is very kind of you." She sat up straight, though she knew she was far from composed.

She felt him shift his position behind her slightly, the feathers of his wings rustling in a gentle whisper with the motion.

"I only understand basic Ibalian," he said. "And I don't know the tune. But I'm told my pronunciation is good. Perhaps…" He trailed off, but then, sounding unexpectedly tentative, he asked, "Would you like me to read it to you?"

She bit her lip, surprised but warmed by the offer, then nodded. Still facing forward, she passed the scroll back to him. He gave her hand a brief, comforting touch as he accepted it, his palm pressed against hers for just a moment.

He began to read, and she closed her eyes, letting herself lean into the steady strength of his voice. Some of the words were familiar, but it was more the cadence and flow of the language that drew her back to a different time, a time she barely remembered but for feelings of warmth and safety. The tears began anew, silently streaming down her face as the barest edge of memories she'd thought lost began to brush against her consciousness. A father's hands lifting her from the wooden seat of a trader's wagon. A mother's voice, gently humming as she braided Tanitha's hair.

Her host finished reading, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Tanitha took a slow, unsteady breath, using the blindfold to dab at her eyes.

"Thank you," she said softly. "For… for everything."

He laid a hand on her shoulder but withdrew abruptly, as if he'd suddenly checked himself. "Of course," he said quietly.

For a time, they simply sat together, the silence feeling surprisingly companionable. For Tanitha's part, she simply allowed herself to exist in that moment, keeping thoughts of the future firmly at bay. She couldn't have everything she wanted. She knew that, and that hurt. But she wouldn't let it detract from the beauty of this moment.

"May I ask you something?" he said softly, after several minutes. "Perhaps this isn't the time, but…"

"No, it's all right," she said, though she was reluctant for the moment to end. "What is it?"

"You said that you showed some inclinations toward manipulating air, light, and fire as a child, didn't you?"

"Yes," she said, puzzled by the change in subject.

"If the soul-speaking remained, the others may have as well," he said. "It's common for soul-speakers to be able to reach across the Rifts to work with other elements. You might be able to reclaim those gifts, and perhaps even others that you never realized you could access." She tilted her head, a little surprised that possibility hadn't occurred to her before he'd mentioned it. "It might take a little time to determine if that's the case. But if it is…" He paused for a moment, sounding almost tentative when he continued, "Perhaps… if you're interested, I could help you develop those as well, before you go to Sarthen? Of course, I understand if you're anxious to leave," he added abruptly, suddenly speaking faster, though she hadn't had a chance to respond. "But it might smooth your path somewhat if you could demonstrate a wider range of abilities upon entry. I imagine it would take some time, but… you've already proven yourself to be remarkably intuitive with this. If you're interested, you'd be welcome to stay for a little longer."

Tanitha's heart leapt, and she quelled the feeling instantly. She should decline, she told herself firmly, ignoring the pain the thought brought. That was the only sensible path. She had every reason to want to leave quickly. But… it could surely only help her to be able to present herself well to the entry proctors at the academy. A little more time here wouldn't hurt anything. Surely there was no fault in wanting to prolong the time spent somewhere she'd unexpectedly found some peace. And if there were other reasons that she might be interested in delaying her departure… well, what of it?

"I'd like that," she said.