A Bird of Sorrow Read online

  Wyatt stared at him. He honestly didn’t know if he was being toyed with. “Truly?”

  “Why not?” Malcolm looked a tad surprised by Wyatt’s reaction. “I would value your opinion on all things, truly. Father has a different agenda than I do, and perhaps that’s as it should be. He looks to keep things smooth and even, and now he has his impending war with the Fakir to keep him busy.” Malcolm picked up his goblet. “It has been left me to look to the future of Arravan. I have great plans, and I could use a seasoned young warrior such as yourself. Not some grizzled old veteran like Longshanks, but someone who has seen what is out there now. We need to put our house in order before these opportunities slip away.”

  Wyatt was about to speak when Captain Abel Jefs approached the table with his brother, who stood beside him like a stone pillar. Abel bowed his head. “Good eve, my Prince.”

  Malcolm got to his feet as he held his hand out. “Abel, it is good to see you.”

  “And you, my Prince,” Captain Jefs replied as they shook hands.

  “And you, Mason. I’m glad you could join us.” Malcolm set a hand on Mason Jefs’s broad shoulder and turned back to the table. “Wyatt, my dear brother, I don’t believe you’ve met the Solstice Champion.”

  Wyatt looked up from his seat and a slow smile moved along his lips. Mason Jefs had won the Solstice Tournament, it was true, but his real competition had not yet arrived in Lokey when he had swung his broadsword and taken the laurel of victory. “You have it wrong, Mal,” he said smoothly. “The Solstice Champion has not met me.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Darry walked beside Hinsa as they made their way along the edge of the Yellandale.

  The weather had turned cool, and it had been a full week since they had run free through the forest. She had been ill since their return, though in the past few days she had made a subtle recovery. Jessa’s relief had been profound, and Darry could feel it among her friends—she was on the mend and all would be well again. She had said nothing to Jessa, but she knew that something was still wrong. Her illness was not gone, but changing instead, and what that change might mean for her, and for Hinsa, she had no idea.

  There was a menacing ache in her very bones with the suppression of her majik, and she had no idea how long she could keep pushing herself. She could not shake her fatigue, and sooner or later Jessa would see it. She would feel it.

  Darry spied the lone oak tree that topped the hill, and it eased her heart. It was a thousand years old if it was a day, and she could feel the years even from a distance. It had become a favorite place, for the light was good, the shade was good, and the grass beneath it was soft. It felt safe, with its sweeping boughs, and heavy roots that arched into the air in curved seats of smooth wood before they returned to the earth. She had never seen its like before, and she had claimed it as her own. The view of the estate was magnificent, and now that it was their home, she wanted to know it as she had known Blackstone.

  As they topped the rise, Hinsa padded ahead of her and moved along the nearest arch of root, finding a place and stretching out several feet above the ground. Darry found her spot, as well, and leaned against the wide base of the oak.

  The manor house had grown in the past seven days, and she could see the smoke from two chimneys, one upon each end of Jessa’s new workroom. Much like Sebastian’s Tower, it was filled with tables and bookshelves and all manner of things that a beautiful young priestess might need. Bentley and Arkady had even made drying racks, which now hung from the beams of the ceiling, the smell of pungent spices, herbs, and dried flowers already drifting from the open windows. Its walls of whitewashed stone were a protection against all sorts of mishaps, and they had even moved a bed into one of the far corners, so that Jessa might rest without leaving her studies. They would complete the enclosed walkway that would connect the workroom to the house within the next few weeks.

  Raising the structure had gone quickly, and it had been done with smooth efficiency. Having a dozen men concentrating upon a single task had yielded a simple but wonderful result. Darry had helped when she was able, but mostly she had helped Jessa organize the many scrolls and books in their possession. She had bottled dried herbs and labeled them, and she had even managed to make a rather lovely shelf that would hold them. She had received an even lovelier kiss for her efforts, and she knew no better payment.

  The opening meal of the Seven Day Feast of Holy Men was to be the next evening, and it was to be a quiet celebration in the dining hall of the main house. She had spent her morning in the kitchen helping with the preparations, and she had been sent packing by Lady Abagail well before noon.

  She shifted her back against the oak and pulled her long jacket tighter about her chest as she stretched her legs out and crossed her ankles. She felt a tightness in her throat as she looked down at all they had accomplished in the months since their arrival, and her pride and affection was greater than she had expected.

  The leaves would turn soon and wane, and so would her blood, Darry could feel it. Not only did her bones ache, but her flesh, which seemed to diminish somehow with each passing day. Her reasoning and instincts told her there were but three options at this point. Either Jessa would find something in the scrolls she poured over late into each night, or Darry would give in to her Cha-Diah blood and disappear into the ferocity of its call. Or, she would not live to see the spring. She knew it as certainly as she knew anything.

  Sudden tears slipped free and ran down her cheeks as she closed her eyes and gave in to her exhaustion. She felt the warmth of Hinsa’s body move against her own and the safe, familiar weight of Hinsa’s head upon her thigh as she fell asleep.

  * * *

  Jessa pulled her dark green cloak tight about her shoulders and made her way up the small rise, her gaze keen as she approached her lover.

  The air had turned cold as the afternoon sun fell from its zenith and the clouds rolled in, hinting at rain but unable to deliver on the promise. The spell she had attached to Hinsa after the autumn moon was working well, and she followed the faint splash of runes through the grass. She was fairly certain that Hinsa understood what she had done, and she wondered yet again, what the panther’s voice might sound like when spoken deep in the mind.

  She could see the runes of their Cha-Diah majik and they grew warped and fainter with each day as Darry fought to contain her power. For her part, Hinsa did nothing to stop her child from hiding, and for that, Jessa’s love and respect for the great cat could not be measured. It bought them precious time, and no price could be put upon such a gift. Darry’s fever and weakness had passed, it was true, but Jessa could feel the ebb of Darry’s strength with each passing moment, no matter how hard Darry tried to hide it from her.

  She had found something, though, in Radha’s many scrolls. She did not know all that it contained, but the hope it gave her was strong, and it was something that Darry needed to be a part of. Something wonderful and altogether amazing.

  She stepped close and went to her knees beside them. Darry’s cheek was hot beneath her touch. “Akasha.” Darry opened her eyes and Jessa smiled at her sleepy gaze. “My love, it grows cold. Come inside with me.”

  Darry’s grin was slow, but it lit in her eyes. “You’ve found something.”

  Jessa laughed in her throat and leaned in, kissing Darry’s lips. “I’m not sure I like this thing you do, this knowing me so well.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you have secrets?”

  “Of course.” Jessa was unable to keep the tease from her voice. “I am a Priestess of the Vhaelin. What good would that be without a few surprises? That is half the fun.” Darry’s laughter was wonderful to hear and she leaned in once more for a second, deeper kiss. “Come back to my workroom and see what I’ve found. I think you will like it.”

  “Is it pastries?”

  Jessa laughed at once, rising to her feet with an easy push and holding out her hand. “Yes. Yes it is.
Baked with cream inside and buttered icing on top.”

  Darry took Jessa’s hand. “Splendid.”

  * * *

  Darry walked beside the long table with interest, noting a pattern to the scrolls that were laid out, with smooth stones at the corners to hold them open. There were wells of ink, and new sheets of parchment where Jessa had written her translations thus far. The workroom was well lit and warm against the evening air that swept in through the open windows, and all of it, every small part of it, made Darry extremely happy. She didn’t know if Jessa had ever had such a place for herself before, but she did now, and it was the best of things in every way.

  She watched as Jessa eyed a sprig of dried sweet leaf, her dark curls tied behind her head with the scarlet ribbon Darry herself had worn the night of the autumn moon.

  “I just need to put this in the kettle.” Jessa pushed onto the tips of her boots. “And then I will show you.”

  Jessa’s elegant fingers bent the sprig of leaves as she walked to the hearth. She grabbed the cast iron hook from where it hung upon the stones and snagged the open kettle. She pulled it out with care and dropped the crushed sweet leaf in the steaming water before she pushed it back above the flames and replaced the hook. She turned with a smile as she wiped her hands upon her homespun skirt.

  There were other things that clung to the faded blue material, and her dun colored shirt as well, with its sleeves rolled past her elbows. Ink and a bit of soot, and the dust of other herbs and roots. A few stray curls had escaped her ribbon and hung forward against her right cheek, bringing out the softness of her sable colored eyes.

  “What is it?” Jessa asked.

  Darry felt her desire stir deep in her belly and a shiver of pleasure spread deep into her thighs. Jessa’s smile changed slowly as she stared back at Darry down the length of the table.

  “I do not know about other lifetimes, Princess Jessa-Sirrah de Cassey LaMarc de Bharjah, daughter of the Red-Tail Clan and Shaman to your people. Scholar and Priestess of the Vhaelin, and Blooded Princess of Lyoness. Woman within the Shadows, and my own Nightshade Lark…”

  Jessa was taken aback as Darry quietly named her titles.

  “But as you stand now, in your boots and homespun, with your hair just so and the smell of sweet leaf filling the air as you walk…You are the most joyous love my heart has ever known in any one of them.” Darry grinned at the lovely blush that rose in Jessa’s cheeks. “I would imagine your face as I lay high up in the crow’s nest, sailing upon the Sellen Sea, abandoned to all the world but the blue deep…You would hide among the stars, and my dreams of you would be reflected in the glass of the still night waters. Forever out of reach, but always the very essence of my heart, as you are right now.” Darry could feel Jessa’s pulse from across the room and though Jessa didn’t speak, her eyes wove a spell that caused Darry’s heart to skip. “Will you show me what you’ve found?”

  Jessa blinked and moved. “Yes!” she replied. She pushed at her loose curls as she rounded the work table. “Yes, of course.” She grabbed several scrolls and then set them on the table before them both. “I think you will…”

  Jessa was silent for a moment and then she turned, stepped in Darry’s arms, and pushed onto her toes. Her kiss was open and full, and Darry tightened her arms as she returned it with all of the love she felt. She tasted deeply of Jessa’s lips and tongue, and Jessa’s scent filled her nose.

  Jessa’s arms were about her neck as she moved her face against Darry’s. “Akasha,” she whispered beside Darry’s ear. “I will fix this. I swear it upon my life.”

  Darry considered the temptation of Jessa’s neck. “Give me a quest.”

  Jessa laughed in her arms, softly but with genuine feeling as she pulled back. Darry did not release her, however, and so she could only go so far. Her touch was like a familiar breeze upon Darry’s face, the fingers of her left hand moving along the tenderness of her healing wounds. “Just hold on, my love. I command it.”

  Jessa had spoken with great effort, and the raw emotion held in her words wrapped about Darry like a warm blanket on a cold night. “Yes, my Lady.”

  Jessa pushed lightly against her shoulders. “Let me show you, please.”

  Darry let her go and Jessa returned to the table, pulling Darry with her. She took the first scroll and laid it upon the covered table, grabbing at the stones scattered about and placing them at the corners. “The biggest problem has been my lack of books. But my Radha has always been a trickster,” Jessa glanced at Darry with a rueful smile. “She left me her spells, yes, but she would not leave me without the tools I would need to read them, and books are heavy upon the road. She would’ve been prepared. I’ve gone through her scrolls and spells hundreds of times, but the new ones she left me? The scrolls we discovered with the truth of Zephyr Wind? I have been breaking them down, one by one.”

  “And?”

  “And they are different.”

  “How so?”

  “She uses proper speech… Look at this, please.”

  Darry leaned over the table, their shoulders touching.

  “Radha never writes more than she has to. Her hands ache, and she would rather be doing than playing the part of a scribe.” Jessa’s fingers moved along a block of text. “But this is High Vhaelin, and High Vhaelin is nothing if not exact. Each curve and stitch of the pen, the length and the thickness of the ink, it all means something. It is incredibly difficult.”

  Darry could hear it in her voice. “You like it.”

  Jessa leaned over and kissed her slowly. “I do. I like it very much. But these are the spells for simple things that I have known since I was a girl. Witchlight.” Jessa held out her hand and a small ball of witchlight formed and then popped. It showered her hand with sparks. “Or the fire.” The flames in the far hearth behind her flared up briefly and then returned to normal. “There was no need for these to be copied down in High Vhaelin, and yet here they are. She has left me a translation so I might learn.”

  “And the stag’s hide?”

  Jessa’s eyes were bright. “That is so much more, I cannot even tell you, but I have built upon what Radha has left me and I am now deep into the heart of what I need. I have already begun to translate several spells, though…before I try the next one, what I found, Darry, you must see it.” Jessa stepped along the table and gathered up two more scrolls, her expression filled with excitement. “Do you remember the night we spoke of Senesh Akota?”

  Darry remembered, and then she remembered the darkness of what had followed. The echo of Joaquin’s vile words in the Circle of Honor cut through her thoughts and her jaw clenched. She felt a tremble in her muscles that was not exhaustion. It was a memory she had not yet managed to find a place for.

  Jessa laid a hand upon the center of Darry’s chest. “No, my love, not that,” she whispered. “Never that, Akasha. It was a lie. His tongue was poison. It was a lie.”

  Darry felt the heat of Jessa’s touch through the soft homespun of her tunic until the echo moved past them both. “Yes, I remember. The spells from Radha’s trunk.”

  Jessa’s expression filled instantly with a quiet sort of wonder. “Yes, but I do not think they were ever hers.”

  Darry reached out and touched the rolled edge of the closest one. It was very old, but it was light and still supple. “Whose were they then?”

  “I think they are yours.”

  Darry stared at her. “Mine?”

  “In a way, yes,” Jessa said gently and turned back to the table. She unrolled the first scroll and set the second one to the side, still closed and tied with a long but thin braid of golden hair. She touched the open scroll with great care, despite that it was empty but for several lines of writing. “This here, it is High Vhaelin, all but for this part…which is written in the runes of Hinsa’s portal. It’s not a spell and so I set it aside. But I came back to it earlier, for I was tired. I thought it would be good practice. I made it through but the first few words before I came to find
you.”

  Darry pushed the stray curls of Jessa’s hair behind her ear. What she really wanted to say did not find her tongue. “You are not sleeping enough, Jess.”

  Jessa’s expression changed in a subtle manner, and Darry could tell that she was searching for the truth of things. “I’m all right, Akasha, honestly.”

  Darry’s heart was beating a bit too fast, and though she tried, she could not slow it down.

  Jessa touched Darry’s face. “Akasha, do not be afraid, please. There is nothing here that will hurt you, or Hinsa. I swear it, and if there is, by the Blessed Vhaelin I will not let it.”

  “I’m not afraid for me, Jess,” Darry admitted. “How can scrolls so old they smell of another time altogether, be meant for me? It makes no sense. And if they do not hold what you’re hoping to find, I can do nothing.”

  “If I do not keep looking, are you saying that everything will be all right? That you will be all right?” Jessa’s tone held sudden challenge.

  Darry had no response other than a lie, and so she held her tongue.

  “Do you think I cannot feel you slipping away, Akasha?” Jessa demanded as she pulled her hand away and turned back to the table. “I will see you run wild through the bloody Yellandale first, and not remember me at all, before I will let such a thing happen. And I will not let you run wild through the Yellandale, at the mercy of a majik neither one of us understands yet. And I most certainly will not let you forget me. I will hunt you down and make you remember, if it comes to that, and then we shall have a fine mess.”

  Darry laughed in her throat, unable to stop it.

  Jessa smoothed at an edge of the scroll as her frustration turned. “I am more powerful than even you might think, Darrius Lauranna.”

  “If you pull these pretty new walls down with a wayward spell, the Boys will never forgive you for it.”

  Jessa let out a surprised laugh. “That was not a wayward spell.”