The treaty. He was talking about the damned treaty geas.
It is good that someone here has sense, said the familiar cool mental voice.
Grandmother gave a regal nod. Lily’s nod was reluctant. It wasn’t that she objected to Rule taking charge. Well, not only that. She hated the reason for it.
“Very well. Sam, can you . . . Yes, that will work. Thank you. Jason,” he said, turning to the tall blond nurse, “I must ask you to leave the room for now. Sam will let you know if you’re needed. He’s able to monitor Cullen’s condition.”
Jason didn’t argue. Most lupi didn’t when their Lu Nuncio told them to do something. As soon as the door closed behind him, Rule turned to Lily. “Earlier I told Cynna and Cullen about the Chimei and her pet sorcerer, so everyone remaining here already knows. Perhaps this will allow you to speak freely.”
“Let’s find out.” She looked at Grandmother, but mentally directed her comments to Sam as well. “At lunch I couldn’t speak of the Chimei or the sorcerer when I talked to T.J. Then all of a sudden I could mention the sorcerer, but not the Chimei. Something changed. What?”
The sorcerer acted on his own, without his name-mate’s knowledge or consent.
“Ah,” Rule said. “Yes. That’s what I suspected. Does this mean the treaty doesn’t protect him?’
Grandmother shook her head. “The treaty is seldom so simple. The sorcerer loses protection as far as his acts today are concerned. This means Sam and I are now able to speak of him, within limits. But the treaty heeds intention. When Lily spoke to Mr. James, she did not intend the sorcerer’s death. If she had, it would have held her silent.”
“Wait,” Lily said. “I’m confused. I don’t get why the sorcerer is protected by the damned thing in the first place.” She frowned at Rule. “You aren’t. Why would the Chimei’s lover be?”
Grandmother’s gaze flicked up, as if she were consulting heaven, but more likely it was Sam. Her lips thinned. She shook her head.
“I think I can answer that,” Cullen said.
Lily’s head swung. “You?”
“I didn’t put it together before.” Cullen’s voice was weaker than normal, but steady. “But when Sam said ‘name-mate’ the bell chimed.”
“What are you talking about?”
Rule answered first. “Your grandmother traded for a spell of Cullen’s. In return, she told him about the Chimei. I’m guessing,” he said to Grandmother, “that your intentions were, ah, pure? You didn’t intend for Cullen to go kill the Chimei or the sorcerer, so the treaty allowed you to talk about them?”
She lifted a hand and tipped it this way and that. “Intent matters. Mr. Seabourne’s intentions were pure—he wished for knowledge. Mine . . . not so pure, so I could tell him only a little. The timing of things also matters. The Chimei was not in this country then, not a threat. Perhaps she had not found a lover to suit her. Perhaps she would not find one for many years, and I would be dead before any of this mattered. To the degree I believed this, I could speak.”
“She didn’t tell me much,” Cullen said. His eyes glittered with excitement. The man could get worked up about magical matters even with a half-beating heart. “Not even a name. Not enough for me to realize the Chimei Rule described was the being she’d told me about, not until Sam used that phrase. Name-mate.”
Lily found herself glancing up, as if she could see through a couple floors to the roof. Sam hadn’t used that phrase before. It probably wasn’t an accident he’d used it now.
Cullen had paused to get his breath. “That’s the part Madame Yu told me about. We got to talking about true names. I’d run across a scrap that purported to describe a ritual for investing oneself with a true name, and wanted to know if that was possible. Some of the adepts were said to have . . . Never mind. Point is, she told me about an out-realm being who did something similar. This being was very long-lived and had a habit of taking human lovers, who she kept alive by sharing a portion of her true name. She marked them with it in some way.”
Lily tapped her fingers on her thigh. “You’re saying that the treaty affects this sorcerer because he’s got the Chimei’s name?”
“Part of her name, and I’m guessing here, but that sounds likely. A true name . . .” Cullen’s voice was fading. He took another careful breath.
I will assist, Sam said. I am unable to offer my own knowledge on the subject, but if Cullen Seabourne will think as clearly as he is able about what he knows . . . yes. Cullen Seabourne suspects there are two ways of acquiring a true name. One is to understand in the deepest ground of one’s being that which will remain true of one’s self in all times, in all situations. He believes this to be true of me. He suspects that adepts have such knowledge, that this may in fact be necessary to become an adept.
Once one has such knowledge . . . his thinking grows muddy. He recognizes that words have magical significance, yet he does not see how to apply that to the possession of a true name. He is correct about his lack of perception.
He says, “Never mind that.” He suspects it is possible to magically invest a living being with syllables which . . . His thinking is muddy again. He is confused about the relationship between true names and sound. He suspects there is a way to impose a name or . . . he chooses to call it an essence . . . upon a living being. An essence whose name is known. This is a way of acquiring a true name instead of learning one’s own, personal name. He is aware of tales which claim that adepts did this and applies this to speculation to the treaty. He wonders if it is a named artifact which speaks to and is intertwined with the essence of those who carry it.
This is not wholly inaccurate, but it is not applicable to our current problem. He—ah, I perceive that he requires additional oxygen. I believe your tech includes a device which . . . yes, Sam said as Cynna fitted the oxygen mask over Cullen’s face. That will help. I have instructed the healer to return. Cullen Seabourne is reluctant to be put back in sleep, but will require that shortly.
Cynna’s face creased with fresh worry. “He could rest now.”
I observe his physical functions, Cynna Weaver. He tires, but he does not fail.
He directs his thoughts to the Chimei once more. He believes the Chimei has surrendered a portion of her name to her lover, or somehow shares her name with him, or perhaps imposed a portion of it upon him. He remembers that Li Lei spoke of the Chimei marking her lovers. He sees differences between these variants, but believes any of them might create a bond that allows the sorcerer to use some of the Chimei’s innate abilities. He thinks this must work both ways—the Chimei must need or desire the sorcerer’s abilities as well. He speculates that the Chimei may be too instinctive in her use of magic to craft spells without such a bond.
He speculates on the sorcerer’s desire for his death. He believes the sorcerer fears that another sorcerer might discover the name with which he and the Chimei are bonded. Cullen Seabourne considers it unlikely that anyone other than a sorcerer—or possibly, he adds, a dragon—would be able to use a true name effectively. He is wrong.
Cullen glared and dragged the oxygen mask down. “Better . . . explain.” Cynna glared back at him and replaced the mask.
It wasn’t Sam who explained. It was Grandmother. “He is wrong on two counts. First, it is not sorcerers who are best able to use a true name. It is those who possess one themselves.”