Across the Summer Sea (Book Two of the Phoenix Realm)

By Karen Nilsen

Book Two of the Phoenix Realm

One spring night under the scimitar moon, Princess Kelene of Numer and her mother frolic as mermaids in the ocean waves, unaware until it's too late that her youngest brother has followed them--and drowned. When this tragedy plunges her mother into grief-stricken shock, Kelene sets out to find Dominic of Landers, the only healer in the known world who can perhaps help. Her voyage west leads her to confront the ghost of her father, a ruthless pirate--and the vagaries of her own heart.

Meanwhile, across the sea in Cormalen, trouble brews in a cauldron of court intrigue, scandal, and royal secrets. A most unsuitable suitor pursues Dominic's sister: the immortal bird-girl Avreal, known for her stage dancing, her hot temper, her outrageous lack of convention--and the fiery, sometimes lethal power of her phoenix voice. But when past sins threaten the quietly budding romance between Princess Venessa and Wylan of Landers, not even Avreal's song can quell the unrest. The repercussions could level the throne and all the Landers and King Segar have built over the last quarter century.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Karen Nilsen
• Release date: Mar 18, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310411830

Karen Nilsen

As a child, Karen suffered frequent bouts of insomnia. The only way she could settle into sleep many nights was to imagine stories that played out like movies on the dark ceiling over her bed. Since her mean parents refused to replace the TV after the cat blew it up by peeing on the cord, all Karen had left to entertain herself in the lone wilds of the Minnesota wilderness were books and her own stories. As Karen grew, the stories grew with her. One day when she was fourteen, she told her mother one of these stories for probably the hundredth time. Her mother, who knew Karen very well, turned to her and said, “You know, Karen, you keep talking about these stories, but you never write them down. You keep saying you’re going to write a novel, but I don’t believe that you will.” This comment infuriated Karen so much that she started writing her stories down and hasn’t stopped since.

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ACROSS THE SUMMER SEA

A Novel by

Karen Nilsen

Copyright © 2015 by Karen Nilsen

All rights reserved.

Cover art © 1982 by Glenn Nilsen

Published by Karen Nilsen at Smashwords

Smashwords edition published 2014

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedicated to my own spirit dog Target (2001-2014), immortalized herein, and to my sweet, silly Maddie Lou (2005-2014), constant companion and tail-thumper in my office. You are both sorely missed..

Chapter One ~ Kelene

The shifting bright splash of Aesir's light across the white ceiling overhead, the rocking of the ship underneath, the pounding of my mother's heart. She clutches me to her chest, a tiny Kelene again, utterly helpless. A huge, laughing giant grabs us up in his arms, the wild swing of his movement leaving me dizzy and my mother in a breathless fury. She beats on his chest with her fist. But it is futile--I know from all the other mirages she has shared. The ice-eyed demon carries us easily, far too easily, out to the open deck of the ship, chuckling the whole way. I add my cries to Mother's yells when he heaves us over the rail. We plunge down to the water together, the hundredth time. Like all the other times, we do not shift when the water hits us. It is the afternoon, and water selkies like us, mermaids the barbarians call us, cannot shift under Aesir's daylight, only under the shine of his silver scimitar in the night. The water is not our friend in the daylight, no, it bruises us, burns our lungs as we sink below the surface. I am too young to swim in the vast ocean, fresh born. And my mother is too weak from childbed to fight against the inexorable currents pulling us down, drowning us. Just like little Helaku drowned, how he must have felt, swept away from us by vast forces beyond his control . . . the terror, the pain, the searing of the sea in his small lungs. How could Aesir let such happen . . .

Kelene, Kelene. Father shook my shoulder.

Father? I heard myself yawn, my body drugged with sleep, almost like he had pulled me out from the depths of the ocean to waken me.

Your mother is having the nightmare again.

I know. More alert now, I dragged myself out of bed, almost tearing the gauzy mosquito nets in my haste.

How do you know?

Because I had it too. I shrugged on a long-sleeved robe over my sleeping shift, then donned a veil, more out of respect for my mother than any real need for cover in the heavy warmth of the Numerian spring. Or modesty--very few would be awake in the palace to see me in the late night. But Mother would know, even in her madness. And it would upset her if I was not covered. She wore a veil and long sleeves at all times except when she was alone with Father or when she and I went out to swim as water selkies under the crescent moon. I had treasured the rare sensual freedom we shared then, cavorting through the gentle waves near shore. Putting aside our duties, our differences, and playing like two carefree girls, too innocent to know we swam naked, the only time I saw my mother act young.

I only wished I could remember it better, now I would never experience it again. Aside from a vague, wordless joy, a longing to return to the sea and stay always, the memory of my and Mother's selkie natures dried and vanished with the drops of water remaining on our skin after we emerged on the beach. When I tried to hold my mermaid self in my memory, it ran through my fingers like the surf, a silken, tingling coolness soon fading, all too soon fading from my pores. I could capture hints of its elusive bliss in the crash of the waves, the brine of the sea. But the experience itself remained a siren poised on a distant rock in my sea of memory, her song just out of my ear's reach.

My mother had sighed once when I asked her why we so soon forgot our lives as selkies. She said it was because our selkie minds had no words to grasp our experience for our human minds, so all we remembered when we became human again was the moment we shifted, the in-between place, she called it. And now, now after Helaku drowning and Mother's grief, would we ever know the in-between place again? Could we ever find our selkie skins again, now our joy would carry the sting of sorrow and regret? I could not imagine becoming selkie again, not after returning to my human self to find Helaku's small, lifeless body rocking on the waves beside me, my mother screaming her anguish to Aesir staring down silently from above. Aesir's silence, Aesir's distance, had driven my mother mad at last.

Helaku had just turned three years old when Mother and I crept down to the shore to swim under the last scimitar moon. A quick boy, curious as a darting, bright-eyed lark, he laughed often and loudly. Mother thought Father must have been much like Helaku when he was young. My beloved baby brother, born when I was fifteen--the last of seven while I was the first, I had felt a special tie to him, felt it was my duty to watch him. And I had failed.

He had apparently woken up and climbed out of his crib while the nurse dozed. A clever little monkey, he had taken her key and unlocked the door, then found his way down to the beach. Maybe he had wanted Mother to sing him back to sleep. Maybe he had wanted me to rock him in my arms. Maybe the stories we had told him about water selkies had made him want to see one for himself. We would never know. Mother and I had been far out by then, frolicking under Aesir's gaze, only coming back to our human selves when it was too late . . .

Father went into their chamber before me. I waited in the doorway, watching the small flame of his oil lamp fade into the gloom as he went over to the bed. Then the flame swayed, beckoning me. I tiptoed to his side and gazed down at Mother through the scrims of my veil and the mosquito netting, her skin glazed dark bronze where the light touched it, the fuchsia glow around her slight as a closed flower bud. She seemed at peace now, deep in slumber, the nightmare long since galloped away to trample someone else's dreams. Where had I heard about the nightmares galloping? I pondered a moment . . . Sera Merius of Landers, one of his verses. Father and Mother's barbarian friend from long ago. The man who had mated with the fire selkie and then turned into a giant hawk himself. His life was a myth in the making, so strange I could scarce believe he was a real man save my mother had told me so. If Father had told me, I would have discounted it as teasing. But Mother was too somber to tease us.

Thank Aesir, Father whispered, his hand tangling briefly in Mother's black curls. His glow (or color, as Mother called it) sparkled gold, playful flecks of light I had seen far too rarely since Helaku drowned. She has rested so little of late, my water selkie. He kissed her forehead tenderly, then softly withdrew when she murmured Falken in her sleep. He pulled the mosquito netting closed with a gentle rustle.

We retreated from the chamber on winged feet, pausing outside the doorway. Did she speak during the nightmare? I asked. When he nodded, I said, I don't understand how she speaks in her sleep but cannot speak when she is awake. What devilry has stolen her tongue?

Grief, Kelene.

I know, but how? And why the nightmare of the ship, of me just born, of the giant, pale-eyed demon, over and over again? It would seem if her grief is from Helaku alone, she would dream of his birth, not mine. And why do she and I share the same nightmare when no one else does? Is it because we are both witches, water selkies? But then Inver is a warlock, and he doesn't share our dreams . . .

Father held up his hand, and my words faltered, then died away. The golden sparkle had vanished from his color, the glow dulled to the lifeless brown of a dead seal's pelt. Your mother suffered much before we met, he said after a long silence, staring down at the floor. Some you know, some you do not. And some it seems you remember, though you don't realize it. Young you might have been, but it is as much your story as hers, Kelene.

What do you mean?

Perhaps I shouldn't tell you, not with your mother unable to help me explain. But maybe if you know, it will help you understand your nightmares. And perhaps you deserve to know. After all, you are a woman now, on the cusp of leaving your tribe for Saul's. At my betrothed's name, I couldn't help a smile behind my veil, despite the gravity of what Father said.

So tell me, Father.

Not here. I need Jazmene's help. She was the only one there with you and your mother so long ago, he said, abrupt and mysterious like an assassin. He gripped my wrist and towed me along, taking me on his clandestine mission, his glow suddenly all golden-shimmery again. The seal had come back to life and dived into the sea, Aesir dancing over the water. Father could slip into different roles easily, like a selkie trying on different animal pelts in rapid succession and finding them all to his satisfaction. The vagabond king, Mother called him fondly. What had drawn them together, I often thought--Father the jester spending his whole life trying to make my serious mother laugh and lift her veil for him. He was one of the few who could.

Jazmene was not pleased when we invaded her chamber. She rose out of bed, all snarly, a skinny old gorgon. How dare you? she rasped, her glow stabbing the air like daggers made of diamond. Then she noticed me behind Father and settled down. She liked me, her most eager if not always her best pupil. My constant questions flattered her, assured her of her superior position and knowledge. But Father--she had it out for Father because she owed him her life. She was alive through Father's mercy, and she had never forgiven him. Too proud to be beholden to another, she was, so even though Father was her nephew, she had no use for him and often insulted him. Father in turn snickered at her, inciting her to a queenly fury fearsome to behold. Watching them, their glows together, I believed they both enjoyed themselves immensely during their spats.

Ghitana had the nightmare again, Father said.

So? What am I to do with it? Jazmene poured herself a little spiced wine from a flask on her bedside table and gazed at Father big-eyed over the rim of the glass.

Kelene had it too, and she has some questions.

Ahh. Jazmene motioned us into nearby chairs, a sovereign deigning to see her lesser subjects. Mocking her, Father claimed his seat with an exaggerated flourish and bow.

Jazmene wrinkled her mouth and nose like the wine had suddenly soured. Falken, your antics ill befit a king, especially a king of Numer. I am surprised the old tribes let you stay in power. You lack dignity.

What do you mean, my thorn-tongued aunt? The old tribes love me, worship me. I wrested a port for them from the web of the Sarneth spider king, and I didn't even have to go to war to do it.

No, you left us beholden to Safire and Merius, at a diplomatic disadvantage to a backwater of pale-eyed barbarians and their fiendish fire selkie . . .

Because of me and Ghitana, the fire selkie and her flock are Numer's allies. Do you not think the old tribes know such? If any have designs on my throne, they would not dare act, which includes you, Jazmene.

She ignored him with regal disdain, a sign he had won their latest spat. So, my dear, she said, her sudden smile gracing me, what seems to be the trouble? How do you know your nightmares and your mother's are the same, since she is unable to speak when she is awake?

Briefly, I recounted my terrifying mirage, the pale-eyed demon and his evil laughter, how he threw us over the ship rail into the sea. I can't explain how I know the nightmares are the same, I finished. I just know they are, just like I know both Mother and I can become water selkies, even though I don't remember our time under the waves.

Jazmene swirled the remaining wine in her glass and peered into its depths, then sighed. The nightmares are the same, child.

How do you know?

Because I was there when you were born. Because I saved you and your mother from being thrown overboard. By your own sire, no less. Jazmene laughed, short, sharp, her glow all glittery.

Dark clouds filled the horizon of my mind, the shriek of storm wind in my ears, my selkie senses all thrumming flee, flee, flee before the tempest swallows you up. I reached for Father, and he gripped my hand between his warm palms, a solid comfort. I had always been aware he was not my natural sire. It was public knowledge Mother had been a widow with an infant daughter when the king of Numer had fallen in love with her, so much in love he had set aside his small harem with generous provisions for their upkeep so she would be his only wife, so much in love he had asked his friends Safire the fire selkie and her mate Merius of Landers to use their influence to secure Numer a bit of coastline so his water selkie would be content and always have the sea nearby. When I had asked once, Mother, her usually generous lips compressed into a tight pucker, had said my real sire had died at sea before she ever met Father. Then she had changed the subject, the way Mother always did when she refused to speak any more about a particular matter. I had known, watching her glow shrink and twist into a scary dark purple hurricane cloud around her body, not to ask any more questions ever about my natural sire. After all, Mother loved Father and so did I, so why turn the hive over while the bees buzzed, all content, and made such sweet honey?

Why would my sire want to kill us? I asked finally, taking strength from Father's silent warmth beside me.

He was a bloodthirsty pirate who had bought your mother off the block to be his shipboard concubine. An infant, especially an infant girl, was not part of his plan, and when your mother refused to relinquish you to him, he picked you both up and would have cast you into the ocean had I not intervened.

My mother was a slave, his slave? I choked.

For almost two years. She and I had only each other on a ship crawling with violent, evil men.

Why were you there? Were you his slave too?

Her shoulders and glow jerked, blinding me. Of course not, she snarled. I couldn't be a slave like your mother--she is common-born, a SerVerinese fisherman's daughter. She didn't even know how to read until I taught her. I, on the hand--I am royalty.

Father snorted beside me, and I caught him rolling his eyes Aesir-wards. But he refrained from the many numerous retorts he could have used to cut down her overweening pride. We would get nothing more out of her if she felt insulted.

So you were his prisoner. He wanted to ransom you? I prodded her before she could notice Father's expression.

No, he wanted to use me and my connections as the former queen of Sarneth, particularly my connection to the phoenix. He longed to possess Safire, and his obsession was his undoing. Your mother used her talent as a finder to track down Safire . . .

The hurricane unleashed its full fury in my mind, the inside of my skull pounding. My father was Peregrine of Bara?

So you have heard the story, have you? Jazmene's dry tone blew through the thoughts whirling in my head, a counter wind to calm some of the storm.

Everyone knows the story of the phoenix and her hawk mate going after the pirates, I repeated, toneless in my shock.

You know the story of how Safire and Merius attacked Peregrine's fleet and killed him and most of his men, you just had no idea you were there, no idea you and your mother helped bring it about. Jazmene clucked her tongue.

So my sire was a pale-eyed demon, an infamous pirate who tried to kill me and my mother because my mere existence upset him?

Pretty much, Jazmene said, casually heartless. Oh, come, child, why the long face? If you start crying, I will turn you out of my chamber. I won't have weeping fools near me. Instead of crying, you should be thanking me for saving your life. And at least you know now why you and your mother keep having these nightmares. Her words offered a hard-edged, hurtful rescue, like having my fall broken by landing on a tile roof.

I suspect losing Helaku dredged up your mother's dread and terror from before, reminded her of how she almost lost you, how she almost lost her own life, Father said, his tone deeper and softer than Jazmene's. Your sire was a wicked man, Kelene. Such is true. But he also was quite resourceful and bold, a skilled seafarer who eluded Emperor Tetwar's pursuit long after all the other pirates had fallen. If he had turned his talents to good, he could have accomplished a great deal, but he chose an evil path. He has missed much, not seeing you grow up, never realizing you were the one beautiful miracle he left as a legacy despite his efforts to trample out your life. He did not deserve you. He did not deserve your mother. I am your true father, and I love you for all you are.

Yes, Father, I murmured, patting his hand. I knew he meant to comfort me with his speech, and I also knew he spoke truly. But I could never forget, now I knew, how I was in the world because of evil, an evil done to my mother. How my sire was a demon. My new knowledge made me even more determined to save my mother, to prove I had not inherited my sire's bad blood.

So I turned back to Jazmene. How can I save my mother? What must I do to ease her grief so she speaks again and has no more evil night mirages to torment her?

Kelene, it isn't on you to save your mother . . . Father started.

But, Falken, I think it is, Jazmene cut him off. The child is right. You are the king, you can't leave Numer. I can't leave, or the spider Rainier will send assassins after me. None of your other children have inherited Ghitana's water selkie nature and with it, her ability as a finder. Kelene is the only one.

What am I to find? I looked from her to Father and back to her again, girding myself for their answers. True, I was a finder like my mother. But I had only a small lamp flame of ability to light my way while she had a raging bonfire to light the whole world. She had even made maps of lands not discovered yet, lands to the west. Her grief had stolen her ability from her along with her words and her sanity.

A healer, Father said finally, his voice, his glow all heavy and mournful. He didn't want me to leave. Even if it would help Mother, he didn't want me to risk myself. I squeezed his hand.

But every healer in Numer and the Carnith Mountains, every healer in southern Sarneth has already tried to help Mother . . .

We need a different kind of healer.

But there is only one kind . . .

No. I know of one who can ease grief. He has special skill.

He? My voice lowered in disbelief. I have never heard of a healer who is a man.

He lives far away, in Cormalen, the human son of Safire and Merius before they turned into birds, Father replied while Jazmene said with a lioness-like satisfaction over a juicy bit of prey, Dominic. Undene always said he would turn out powerful.

I ignored her and her strange gloating. If you know where he lives, he should be easy to find. Couldn't we summon him?

Father shook his head. He is on his own voyage, according to your mother's last mirage from Safire. He and his parents have sailed off to explore and discover new things, your mother didn't say where. She planned to review her maps to find where they went, but such was the night Helaku . . . Father didn't finish, his own grief and mine easily filling in the rest with unbearable mirages under the steely shine of Aesir's scimitar moon. The moon of selkies, now the moon of death.

~~~~~

The goldfish pond lay at the center of my garden, the center of my heart. The garden hadn't always been mine. When Father had the palace built, when I was yet an infant, my mother had overseen the layout of the garden. It was hers. She had often brought me here and later my younger brothers and sisters too, telling us tales her father had told her by the side of the goldfish pond, trailing her fingers through the water, then over her chambered nautilus shell, a gift from her mother. The whole sea lay in the shell, she had said, and when we didn't believe her, she had held the opening to our ears each in turn, smiling when we exclaimed at the rush-hush of the waves inside the shell.

The pond and the garden with it had become mine when I was five. One day, attracted by the brightly colored shapes darting hither and yon, I had dared dip my fingers in the pool, and instead of swimming away, the goldfish had swarmed around my fingers, nibbling gently at my skin until I laughed at the friendly tickling. My mother, her hands covered with dirt from the lily bed, heard me and came racing over, then stared down at the fish behaving in a most un-fishlike way. They even allowed me to stroke their fins and scales, just like cats or dogs or horses demanding I pet them.

My mother sank to her knees beside me, brushing the soil from her hands before she clasped my shoulder. Not smiling (Mother rarely smiled), she said, Kelene, you shall be a water selkie like me. Do you understand?

I gazed at her beautiful deep pink glow, so like the flowers she planted and tended, tried to determine if being a water selkie was a bad thing or not before I answered. Unable to discern any hint from her glow, I finally asked, I in trouble, Mother?

No, no, my Kellkell. Her lips at last dipped in a small grin, then she pulled me on to her lap and held me while she explained what being a water selkie meant. Then she also explained she had noticed my growing skill with plants and animals and my ability to see glows (or colors), so she knew I was a witch like her, but it was only today she had ascertained I was a water selkie too. How? I had asked. The way the fish came to me like I had called them, she had answered, for fish would only gather so closely, be so trusting, around one of their own. Then she said we would be completely certain at the next scimitar moon if I shifted in the salt water when she did.

The garden, the pond, will belong to you, be yours to tend, she had finished. I am queen now and have many duty. And you have special skill with plant, with animal, you need to hone. I will show you how. A poor fisherman's daughter, her first language had been the common dialect of Aesir's tongue, and despite Jazmene's mockery, she stubbornly persisted in forming her plurals and the rhythm of her speech in the old way. It gave her voice a lovely, unusual lilt, like the voice of the sea echoing in a shell. Aesir above, to hear her voice again. I would go to the farthest coast I could find if it would net the healer Dominic, if he could indeed cure her like Father seemed to think.

The light patter of paws on stones, and the stray dog Tegrat bounded into view, the dawn flaring behind him. He settled unto his haunches beside me, his tongue lolling out in harsh pants, his pointed ears on alert. I buried my hand in his white fur.

You have been rolling in the sand again, I scolded him. Though I suppose it is better than the mud, I added when he glanced over at me, his head tilted, his tail thumping the edge of the pond. He had the charming look of a rogue, with his one amber eye, all knowing, his proud plume of a tail. I had thought him an albino coyote when he had first appeared soon after Helaku's death. Then his eye had flashed golden at me, and I had realized he was a rare sort of creature, an all-white dog but not an albino, his other eye likely lost in a canine affair of honor. I had almost called him Cyclops for the one-eyed monster, but he was no monster, so I chose Tegrat instead. Friendly but untamed, he didn't seem to belong to anyone but himself. Most of the palace folk gave him a wide berth. They thought him a ghost dog, though for a ghost, he certainly had a good appetite. And he loved to play.

I picked up a short length of rope, and he grabbed one end in his mouth and tugged, his forelegs on the ground, his rump in the air, his head jerking from side to side. I laughed in triumph when I finally got the rope back and he lunged at me. I squealed, then slung the rope far down the path. Barking happily, he leapt across the black gravel and retrieved his prize, then came back to lie next to me. He held the rope between his paws and gnawed on it while I petted the spot between his ears.

There are days I envy him, came Saul's voice, the thundering timbre of my beloved. I turned my head toward the westward gate. He strolled toward us, such easy strength one would never have guessed he had spent the last ten hours on guard duty, his deep blue glow rivaling Aesir's night robes.

What, you want a rope to chew on too? I teased, glad I had left the veil in my chamber.

You know what I mean. His deep-set gaze smoldered over my skin, and I dropped my eyes to the path, a shy smile hidden behind my palm. We had kissed a few times and held hands, the only caresses allowed between us until we wed. I would have risked more, but I feared what he would think of my hot blood. Maiden princesses were to be untouched, unspoiled, modestly hidden behind their veils, and I was (for the most part). But I was more than ready for Saul to claim my body . . . Then I remembered what Father and Jazmene had said about my mother, how my sire had forced her to be his concubine, the violent circumstances of my conception, how ill it had made me, so ill I had been unable to sleep and had come out here hours ago, seeking comfort while Aesir's many wives still winked in the sky. Suddenly all my lust drained away through the pit in my stomach, a chill taking its place and leaving gooseflesh down my arms. I patted Tegrat and tried not to look at Saul.

What is it? he asked in his simple way, sitting beside me.

So I told him, staring at the path the whole time, about my mother's and my nightmares, about what I had learned from Jazmene and Father, about how I planned to search out the barbarian healer. After I stopped, all we heard for a long while were the birds' sleepy chirps, each others' breathing. Tegrat had fallen into a twitchy slumber by the time Saul spoke.

I should have been there. His Majesty your father should have thought to include me.

But . . . Finally, I looked at him. His face appeared carved from a handsome mountain, all granite edges and sharp shadows.

I am your betrothed, Kelene, soon to be your husband.

I stood and bound myself tightly in my arms. Yes, you are, and so I expected more . . . more solace, I choked. Tegrat raised his head and looked at me.

Kelene, I am not your father. I do not have his skill for fine speeches. Saul fisted his hands together. You tell me first a pirate bought your mother to be his concubine and you were conceived not in wedlock as I had assumed but in base depravity. Then you tell me you plan to go off alone, on a voyage, to search out an unnatural warlock healer . . .

I whirled on him. Do you not love me at all?

He blinked at me, befuddled, his glow a dark cloud. I love you. I am still sitting here, aren't I? It is just a lot for me to take in all at once.

Perhaps I should leave you alone then, since it is such a lot to ponder, I said, my tone biting. Aesir above, one would think he was the one who had discovered his sire was a wicked brigand, he was the one who had lost his small brother to the sea's caprice, he was the one who must leave his tribe to find a distant healer who might not even be able to restore his mother's sanity.

He half rose and gently rested his giant hand on my forearm, the warm power of his touch soothing me. I am sorry. I didn't mean to offend you, I just don't always know how to speak to you. You have much pride for a woman, as you should . . .

Even though I was conceived in depravity?

He heaved a rumbling breath. I shouldn't have said it so harshly. It just surprised me, such is all.

Me too. I reclaimed my seat on the tile beside him.

It has naught to do with you, what your sire did to your mother. It doesn't change my feelings for you-- here his dark eyes smoldered at me under lowered brows --but I don't think I will tell my tribe. Some of them, my father especially, won't be so understanding.

I nodded at the straightforward truth of what he said. Saul and I had come together by our own wills, not our tribes', but even so, because of our positions, it was impossible to escape the political ramifications of our union. Father was only half Numerian and illegitimate besides, in power because he was the last of his line and had the support of Sarneth and the fire selkie. The old tribes would never have accepted his rule if he hadn't had such powerful allies. Since ascending the throne, he had accomplished much, such as garnering landlocked Numer a port and opening up free trade with the outside world. But some of the old tribes still eyed the throne with speculation and mirages of revolt. My marriage to Saul, a scion of the Galaz tribe, would help tighten Father's hold on Numer. Saul's father, an aristocrat and a warrior, had assumed (along with everyone else, including me) my sire was an honorable merchant lost at sea. He would be even less pleased than I at my true parentage. I sighed and hoped he never found out.

I must say, I don't like you going off in search of some healer. I am surprised at His Majesty, allowing such. Why must it be you? Saul scowled at a crack in the tile and tugged at a weed sprouting there.

Because it requires someone with a finder talent, and aside from my mother, I am the only one who has even a prayer of locating the man we need.

A barbarian warlock, Aesir knows where? It sounds dangerous. I would go with you but my duties to my tribe won't allow it. He paused, and I knew something bad would follow since he wouldn't look at me but instead stared down at the exposed roots of the weed. You should consider where your duties lie before venturing forth.

My mother is ill, Saul. I am the only one who can help her. Tell me, where do my duties lie?

His burning gaze cut in my direction again, a blade of volcanic glass. You know I love you. I even gave up having a harem as is my right as the oldest son of my tribe without a murmur because you refused to share your husband. What have you given up for me, Kelene?

I bounded to my feet and started down the path away from him. He caught up with me near the gate, his hand on my arm again, not so gentle now. I glared back at him, and he let go of me. Tegrat padded up between us and looked from me to Saul, then sat at my side, watchful.

Perhaps if I could have a harem of men to match your harem of women, your argument would be fair.

Saul's set face broke, softened in a sudden grin. I smiled back, then we both laughed. And joined in a long, twining kiss, Tegrat leaping around us with excited yips.

~~~~~

The following week was one long good-bye. Aside from my infancy on a pirate ship, I had never been away from Numer during my nineteen years. I perceived the larger world through my mother's maps, her and Father's stories, Jazmene's hard-nosed instruction about all manner of subjects. Now I would perceive it through my own senses, and like Tegrat, I could hardly contain my excitement. At first, I felt guilty for being so high-spirited about voyaging off on such a serious mission. Certainly I would miss Saul and my tribe, and my task should not be taken lightly. So I had tried to compose my face into somber lines until Father grabbed my elbow and whispered in my ear, Kelene, you can't fool me. You always have been adventurous. Why do you think I agreed for you to go? You may smile once, even twice, and no one will think less of you.

After his half-jesting words, I acted more naturally, smiling when I wanted, shedding a few tears when I couldn't help it. Like when I went to see my mother. I stood beside her chair on the balcony where she sat out in the afternoon on fine days, my face buried in the creamy, sweet cloud of an astaris blossom, putting off the moment I would bid her farewell. Even though she stared straight ahead and didn't acknowledge me with word or gesture, it still pained me to part from her. Pained me more perhaps than if she had been able to respond.

Seralaza Kelene, your ship must depart with Aesir. Father's seneschal spoke from the chamber doorway.

I nodded, kissed the flower's ruffled petals, hoping my good-bye traveled through the trembling vine to my garden below, hoping the plants and fish understood I would be back. Then I lifted my veil, the lingering cinnamon scent of the astaris wafting away on the sea wind.

Mother. I touched her shoulder. I must leave now. I will return and bring someone to help you. Father says you know him, the son of the fire selkie and her hawk husband. Dominic, his name is--you met him when he was very young. When he was Helaku's age I thought to myself but didn't say out loud. Aesir knew what pain it would cause her in the depths of her self-imposed prison. Besides, I doubted I could choke out my brother's name without sobbing myself.

Barely touching the slippery edge of her veil, I slowly brought my fingers upwards so her face would gradually drift free of its curtain, so she would not be startled at the sudden sharpness of Aesir's light over everything. A long intake of breath, a sigh out of the same, then she turned to regard me. I almost dropped her veil in astonishment. It was the most she had responded to me, to any of us, while she was awake. She would still feed herself if one pressed the bread into her hand, still clean and clothe herself and take care of her basic needs if she was left alone. But otherwise, nothing, no action to show she still knew she was in the world. Her spirit seemed gone, perhaps on an endless search of Aesir's sky palace for her lost son while her body remained here. Until now.

Tear drops stinging my cheeks, I leaned down and pressed my lips to her forehead. I will return before you even have a chance to miss me, Mother. Dominic will be able to help you, Father and I am certain of it. No matter my assurances to her, I was far from certain of anything except my love for her and Father, my siblings, Saul, my home. Suddenly, my excitement at the impending sea voyage faded. Maybe Saul was right. Maybe I shouldn't leave . . .

Then Mother's head swayed forward in a small nod, her veil sliding against my fingertips with a tingle, and I knew then she had heard me, wherever she was. She had heard me. And trusted me to find help for her. I slid my arm around her shoulders and hugged her with strengthened resolve, feeling better than I had felt since before Helaku's death.

When I finally set foot on the gangplank, Aesir sinking fast to the horizon in a coral and gold bed of cloud flowers, there came a familiar pitter-patter behind me. I turned to see Tegrat. He pranced to a stop on the gangplank and winked up at me, his plume-tail waving boldly.

Before anyone else could remark on such coyote audacity, Father yelled from the pier, Better take him. He will try to swim after you otherwise. Perhaps he is your familiar.

I frowned back at his teasing grin. A water selkie should have a turtle or dolphin for a familiar, not a stray, one-eyed pirate of a dog, Father. But I couldn't deny Tegrat would try to follow me and perhaps perish in the attempt if I forced him to go back to shore. He loved only me, would miss me like my garden and fish would miss me, not understanding why I must leave him for awhile. Besides, it would be good to have an animal friend with me, familiar or not. So I patted his head and let him race up the gangplank ahead of me. He let out several joyous barks when the crew lifted anchor and the ship sailed west with the tide, perhaps saying good-bye along with me while I waved at the beloved faces we left on the shore.

Chapter Two ~ Wylan

It started because my horse Trig, a competent bay gelding, was still recovering from an infection in his hoof (the farrier thought he needed another day or two), and the only other available mount in our stable that day was a lazy good-for-nothing who liked clover more than he feared me. Of course, I didn't realize that at first as I rode through the streets toward the palace to join Her Highness Valkira's hunting party. Grover seemed adequate then, a bit plodding perhaps, but then beggars couldn't be choosers. There was no clover growing in the city, save on the main green, and we didn't go by there; hence, I didn't discover Grover's fatal flaw until we were well into the hunt.

Her Highness Venessa and I rode near the back of the group as we trotted down the path under the ancient trees. There were twelve of us in all, counting the two guards and Avreal winging along somewhere overhead. The silly flitterer only liked to hunt in her bird form. At least she made herself useful that way. With all the foliage of the forest canopy, I almost forgot she flew above us until she spotted a deer or boar or other beast with her heightened phoenix-hawk senses. Then she would dive down and alert us which direction to ride next, or if we were quite close to our quarry, then she would direct us with a few motions of her beak to dismount and proceed on foot. Valkira also had her hawk Saber-Talon, who did essentially the same thing as Avreal except on a smaller scale. Rabbits and that sort of prey were Saber-Talon's specialty.

I never get over how huge some of these trees are, Venessa murmured beside me. If that one were hollow on the inside, it could be the northwest tower.

It's not quite that big, I scoffed, then quickly added, but it certainly looks it from this perspective, Your Highness.

How do you know it's not big enough? She swatted my shoulder with gentle mischief.

Because the old mathematics master measured the circumference with a rope.

Why would he do that?

To determine the age. See, if you have the circumference and the relative distance between the growth rings, you can figure . . .

Shh! hissed Rorric of Welscension, twisting around in his saddle to glower at me. You'll startle all the game for leagues around, Landers.

As I narrowed my eyes at him, preparing a retort, Venessa rushed to my defense with simple dignity. I want to hear what he has to say, Rorric.

Rorric went all shame-faced. Sorry, Your Highness.

Perhaps if the hunt interests you more than the company, you should ride on ahead, she suggested, quite gracious. You know my royal sister is much more the huntress than I.

He nodded, then spurred his horse forward, leaving Venessa and I to grin like fools at each other. Some of these trees are 2000 years old, Your Highness, I whispered, using the excuse of not startling Rorric's precious quarry to lean closer to her. Her glossy black curls tumbled down her back, tantalizing inches from my lips as they bounced with the movement of her horse. I caught a whiff of tea and lemon and honey, her scent. Her breath quickened before I hastily drew away and settled myself firmly back in my saddle. My far too eager hands and mouth had been about to commit an indiscretion before my rational brain had saved us.

Apparently the same indiscretion was on Venessa's mind as well, for she flicked the ends of her reins in sudden irritation, then glanced around, taking in the measure of our party, the hulking chaperones of guards always alert for any danger. Do you think it'll be 2000 years before they finally tire of watching me? she muttered. That's how it feels when you're so close, yet so far away because we don't dare touch each other. All these eyes, Wylan . . .

She must really be upset, to go on so about it. Soon as they spot prey, we'll have our chance, I said. You know how they are.

She rewarded me with a curve-up of her mouth. Very true. You're like Valkira, always so logical. It comforts me. Then, a little louder, she continued, How do you like being the new mathematics master?

I shrugged. If I'm to have a position at court, it's the most interesting one I could have. And the most suitable to my particular gifts.

But? she prodded gently. Somehow she knew there was a but, even though I hadn't intended to speak about it. She wasn't a witch, so she couldn't be some damned aura spy like Avreal or Dominic. If she couldn't sense my aura, then how did she know? How did she always seem to know? A bit spooky, that was what she was. Like Father. He couldn't sense auras either, but he sure knew when I was up to something. Usually something I didn't want him to know about. I side-eyed Venessa. Of course, she wasn't Father. I could tell her things, one of the few I could.

I just don't understand why I can't be on the council too. My voice was low, fast. Dominic's gone on another voyage, Father's almost ready to retire, Evi's married now. She's not even a Landers anymore but a Rankin . . .

And you think Evi and your mother could use your help? she continued for me. Not exactly the words I would have chosen--I didn't particularly want to help Evi, the usurper who had sailed into the council chair meant for me three years ago, but I couldn't phrase it that way to Venessa. She liked Evi, God knew why. It was Venessa's biggest fault, her only fault really--she liked everyone.

I just think the Landers position could stand another council seat now that Evi's married.

But the Houses of Rankin and of Landers have always been allies . . .

It's not the same. Evi's primary loyalty is to her husband's House now, not ours.

Wylan, this is Evi we're talking about. Though we'll never know, I bet she proposed to Tomas and he didn't dare say no. No matter her surname, her loyalties lie just where she wants them to lie and no where else.

She is a bossy wench. Mean too.

Now you're all grumpy, Venessa observed with a cute dip of a grin she tried to hide when I glared at her. Did it ever occur to you that your parents figured the council would take too much time away from your mathematical pursuits, that they put Evi on the council as an acknowledgement of your special abilities?

No, they did it because Father hates me, I said without thinking. Then I wanted to jam the words back in my mouth when I saw her jaw drop.

She pulled back on her reins, her horse halting, and I followed suit. Grover didn't need much persuasion--we had been riding through a meadow, and he had already spotted a bunch of clover to munch on. The others had paused near the edge of the forest, Valkira releasing Saber-Talon to perform all manner of maneuvers. They must have figured there would be prey close at hand. I noticed the guards glance around. Their gazes lit on Venessa and me, and then, ascertaining all was well, they quickly turned back to survey what Saber-Talon did next.

Venessa gaped at me. How can you believe your father hates you? I never thought I'd hear you say anything so irrational, but you just did . . .

What do you know about it? I asked, sounding sullen even to myself.

Your father's proud of you--he just doesn't know how to say it, so he shows it by securing the mathematics master position at court for you . . .

I interrupted her nattering with: I got that by my own talents. I was the only valid man to pick, no matter what Father thought about it.

That's true, but court doesn't always work logically. You weren't the only contender for that position, Wylan. When any position opens at court, there's political scrambling involved, and Valkira said your father and Lord Rankin made the most persuasive arguments that you should have it despite your youth. Your father even challenged Sir Hen River to a duel over it to secure the last vote.

Oh. I didn't know what else to say. Venessa just didn't understand my father, that was all. She always tried to see the best in people, but I knew better. The only reason he would have fought for my position at court was to advance the Landers en masse, not to help me specifically.

I glanced toward the hunting party. Saber-Talon dove down at the far end of the meadow then, and Valkira dismounted and stalked through the grass, arrow poised at the string, all our other companions, including the guards, in tow.

We should probably rejoin the hunt, Your Highness. I wonder why there's a meadow here? Fire from lightning maybe? I pondered aloud to myself as I tightened my knees, urging Grover forward. He ignored me and continued tearing up clover at an amazing clip. At this rate, the fool would founder. I snapped my reins and dug my heels into his sides. Still no response, save an impatient head toss, as if he shook off a fly that niggled him.

Then it happened. Venessa leaned over, the warm leather of her glove sliding over the back of my neck as she pulled my face to hers, my mouth to hers. I forgot about everything else, forgot about Father, the council seat, my position, forgot about everything except the softness of her mouth, how she tasted refreshing as a long swallow of honey-sweetened tea, how I longed to tumble down with her in this meadow of sun-warmed grass in the midst of this giant forest and wile away the afternoon in each others' arms. One plus one equaled far more than two. The kiss that would break a nation. The kiss that would break my heart, the heart I hardly knew I had at that point.

The whispered flutter of wings, then a tremulous coo, entered my ears. At first I waved my hand at these vague nuisances, far too concerned with gentle curve of Venessa's jaw, the arc of her small chin, the way her lips angled eagerly under mine. Then Venessa's hissed Wylan! swiftly dissipated the illusion that we were the only two beings in the forest at that moment.

We broke apart and both turned to regard Avreal, who had landed behind our horses and now blinked at us, shifting from foot to foot like the ground burned her, her feathers all a-ruffle.

You nasty little sneak. How long have you been spying on us? I demanded.

Avreal backed away, cooing again. She sounded apologetic, but I knew better. She had it out for me, had always had it out for me from the time we were children and she tried to catch me cheating at cards by spying on my aura.

Wylan, that's not fair. She can't help flying up on us like she did, Venessa scolded, and I subsided, contenting myself with glowering at my bird niece.

Avreal, you'll not tell anyone, will you? Venessa said softly, and Avreal shook her head back and forth, her crest rippling, her crazed eyes wide and innocent. It was a wonderful act, it really was, but it didn't convince me. Venessa just didn't understand my family, the festering resentments, the many secrets, the constant jockeying for position, the shifting alliances. She'd been too sheltered by Valkira and their parents to understand such base ambition, which was why she needed me to keep her safe. And kiss her. Oh, yes, a thousand kisses and then a thousand more until not even I could devise the formula to figure out how many we'd shared.

~~~~~

That night after dinner, Avreal, human again, stopped me in the hall. What? I demanded. You have a performance to prepare for, and more importantly, I have a number of formulas to work out.

You and Her Highness Venessa--you're in love. Her mad eyes shined.

What, you saw us share one kiss, and you assume that's love? I would think you were more experienced than that.

She ignored my dig at her status as an unwed mother, of course--she only paid attention to insults if she had an audience to witness her blow up and make a big scene. I saw a lot more than kissing. I saw your auras together. You're in love with each other--it's plain as the nose on your face. She clapped her silly hands together, like the child she still was.

So, what if we are?

Wylan, you should make a formal suit. I've never seen your aura so bright as it was today when you were touching her . . .

Be quiet! I almost put my hand over her mouth and would have if she hadn't shut up, for I heard footsteps on the stairs. Though, really, what was the point? Whoever was on the stairs had probably heard everything. Why did Avreal have to be so loud--and giggly? Because she had no sense . . .

Mother paused on the landing and regarded us with her speculative cat gaze. I was grateful it was her at least and not Father. Father made pronouncements and expected us to obey without question. Mother, on the other hand, could at least be reasoned with. Besides, Father was the one several years ago who had forbidden us to court the princesses for some reason known only to himself, secretive blackguard that he was.

Avreal, don't you have a performance at the palace in an hour? Mother asked coolly.

The stage is already all set up, and I'm going to fly there! The batty bird whirled off down the hall like a brightly colored cyclone, arms flapping like wings.

That may be, but Muriel and Jukar still need to be put to bed, don't they? Elsa could use a break, and you're the only one who can get them to sleep.

Avreal halted at the sound of her spawns' names, suddenly all business. That they do. If I don't see you later, good night, Wylan, Eden, she trilled before she vanished into the nursery, Muriel and Jukar's ear-piercing squeals at her appearance mercifully cut short by the door shutting behind her. A moment later came the muffled notes of her singing them to sleep in her phoenix form. At the soft rise and fall, numbers began to parade through my brain, the urge to write them down inescapable.

If you'll excuse me, Mother, I need to work on my formulas. I started down the hall toward the library, only to be stopped by her firm hand on my arm.

Not so fast. Given what I just overheard, we need to talk.

You were eavesdropping? I demanded.

She shook her head, even rolled her eyes. One hardly has to eavesdrop when it's Avreal. I'm surprised Birdley didn't hear her in the kitchen. And as for you being indignant about me inadvertently overhearing your secret, here she swatted the back of my head, that's some hypocrisy, considering you're the worst eavesdropper of them all. Now, come on, before your father's done playing chess downstairs with Lord Rankin.

So rubbing my head, I followed her to my chamber. She stole a candle from the hall table and lit several tapers in a row down my mantelpiece, throwing my bed and desk and graphs of parabolas into sharp relief. Then she set the candle back in the hall and closed the door, the resultant bark of air fluttering all the graphs and flames.

I propped myself against a bedpost, my arms crossed as I watched Mother pace to and fro before me, neither of us speaking for a long time. It was odd, her being so obviously agitated, not like her at all, and unease began to itch between my shoulder blades. I scratched my back against the post, but the itch persisted.

Finally Mother stopped and turned toward me. Wylan, there's no easy way to say this. I wish there was, but there's not. You must immediately put all thought of courting Her Highness out of your mind. It's impossible for you two to wed.

My heart gave a queer lurch, straining against my rib cage. Why? I demanded. Politics? Mother, that makes no sense. You and Father are King Segar's two closest advisors, Safire, Merius, and Avreal Cormalen's deadliest weapons, I the court mathematics master . . . it only seems logical that our House unite with the royal House in a marriage alliance, an official, contractual consolidation of the power we already share unofficially.

Mother stroked my cheek, her eyes gleaming. An earthquake of shock trembled through me as I realized she was on the verge of crying. I had never seen my mother cry.

Trust you to use such a cool-headed, rational argument to buttress your heart against breaking. If it was just about politics, you would be exactly right, and I'm sure we would all celebrate such a union. But as it is . . . my poor boy . . . God, I wished I'd realized it sooner, how you feel about her. Maybe I could have nipped it in the bud before it went this far.

I jerked away from her, strode over to the window. So I'm just to give her up like that, with no explanation? So why, if it's not politics? I asked the night past the window, witnessing Avreal streak across the sky in a rocket of bright blue, orange, and purple sparks on her way to the palace. A white-hot blade split my ribs apart at the sight. This was her fault, the loud-mouthed little sneak. If she had just kept her trap shut . . .

Mother drifted up behind me, hovered there, rubbed my shoulder. I almost shrugged her away, but remembering that telltale gleam of tears, I couldn't quite bring myself to brush her off. I can't tell you why, Wylan. It's not my secret to reveal.

Then I did shrug her away, twisting around to glare at her. What the hell? If it's a secret that has such huge bearing on Venessa's and my future, then I damn well think we have a right to hear it, no matter whose secret it is.

Mother nodded. I agree, and I would tell you if it would only affect you and Venessa. But it doesn't. You're going to have to trust me on this. If you don't, I'll have to involve your father.

Is it his secret?

No, was her answer, but