Aryl’s eyes filled with tears. She hunted for words to send back, to tell her mother how proud she was, but Taisal withdrew her hand too soon. She looked angry again. “Don’t think that I approve of what Yorl did, Aryl. Or for that matter, of your coming here without permission, then interrupting a Council session instead of going home as you were told!”
“I knew something was wrong,” Aryl said truthfully, clamping down her shields. She could only hope Taisal had been distracted enough by the afternoon’s events to overlook the discrepancy between her daughter’s sending and her daughter’s arrival. The knowledge of one’s place granted by sensing other Om’ray didn’t involve counting one another. Not usually. But she had no idea what her mother, as an Adept, could do.
“Something was wrong,” Taisal admitted. “The moment I saw Yorl today, I knew he was in trouble.” She looked up at the canopy as if hunting something, then her gaze dropped to Aryl again. Her mouth turned down at the corners. “He hides it, Aryl, but he can barely climb anymore. He should be living here all the time, yet won’t. But today, this—it was the worst I’ve seen him. He denied it; refused to listen to me, refused to admit weakness before the others. When he started self-healing, I felt the drain on his body grow beyond his control.
“It’s a trap, Aryl, using your Power to heal yourself. It’s like trying to make a ladder from one rope. You can unwind the braid and make two ropes from the one, but the ladder’s only half as strong. Stealing strength from one part of the body to help another weakens the whole. No Adept would attempt it unless there was no other recourse.”
“So Yorl stole strength from me instead,” Aryl concluded. She still felt weak, though not as much as before. The sense of betrayal was worse. The head of their family was supposed to care for her, protect her . . .
“You said he asked for your help,” Taisal said gently.
“I thought he needed help to get out of his chair!” Having made her protest, Aryl gestured apology. “It’s all right,” she admitted. “He knew I’d give what I could to him.”
“You gave him his life.” Her mother sighed. “You’re young and strong. What you gave him—what he took—you’ll replace with a night’s rest.” This last with distraction, as if Taisal’s mind was worrying at other, more difficult topics. “Go home. And this time stay there.” She touched the door and closed her eyes briefly.
The massive curve of metal sighed away from its partner, leaving a gap sufficient for Taisal’s hand to wrap around the edge and turn the door open. Aryl peered down the empty bridge. If Till was at his post, she’d have to explain the still-full bag. . . .
Aryl sighed and pulled it off her shoulder. “I brought these for you,” she confessed.
Taisal took it and looked inside. Her mouth quirked, then she closed the bag. “My room here is bare. Thank you. Reminders of home are welcome.”
“I—” hadn’t thought of that, Aryl almost said, torn by unexpected guilt, but stopped herself in time. The result was what counted. “—I’m glad you like them.”
“I always have,” her mother commented lightly.
There was an ease between them, and Aryl finally knew what to say. “In the meeting. I may have saved Yorl,” she told her mother, “but I think you saved all of us.”
Taisal’s smile faded. “I prevented a vote,” she corrected. “Today. Tikva’s not going to give up—and she’s not alone in her belief that Yena should have greater use of their Power. All we can do for now is keep Forbidden Talents secret. Imagine the temptation, if all Yena knew abilities like mine existed.”
“I wanted breakfast in bed,” Aryl admitted ruefully.
That drew a chuckle. “That I can arrange without breaking the Agreement—granted I get home tonight. Which is where you belong, youngest.”
Then, as if Aryl was a baby, her mother kissed her on the forehead and pressed two fingers over the warm spot, sending her love.
Aryl was halfway across the bridge when she realized her mother’s sending had contained something else, something Taisal hadn’t intended her daughter to share.
Dread.
Interlude
THE OUD HAD LEFT THE TUANA village as they’d come, their vehicles etching a second set of lines through the dust. There’d been no more surprises.
One had been more than enough, Enris thought, kicking a tread mark.
“Hey!” Ral jumped sideways. “These are—were—clean boots, cousin.”
Enris gestured apology. “I’m in a foul mood,” he admitted. “You shouldn’t bother with me.”
Ral laughed and clapped the other on his shoulder. They’d had breakfast in the meeting hall, a usually lighthearted gathering to host those taking Passage. Tradition abounded during Visitation. “How can you be grumpy today?” he protested. He spun about, holding his hands from his sides to show off his new shirt. “Do I not look fabulous?”
Enris’ lips twitched involuntarily as he considered his cousin. It was, to be fair, a fine shirt and Ral looked ridiculously blissful in it. Still . . . “She hasn’t Chosen you yet,” he cautioned. Gelle Licor was one of Naryn’s ilk, in his opinion, full of her own Power and herself.
“A mere detail.” This with an airy wave. “She filled my cup twice!”
“Well. That says it all, doesn’t it.” Enris somehow managed a straight face. Besides, what did he know of Choice? No Chooser-to-Be had offered to fill his cup. “Congratulations.” And he meant it. Several couples had left the meeting hall last night with soft looks at one another. All during breakfast, Traud and Olalla had touched fingertips under the table when they thought no one could tell. Mind you, she’d hiccupped each and every time.
He should be grateful this morning had been calm and civil. There’d been a threat to the look and feel of Mauro Lorimar and his friends at the end of last night. They hadn’t taken Irm’s being picked for Passage well; they took Enris being “spared” as a personal insult. Only the watchful eye of the Speaker had kept them from saying what they felt.
Or worse.
“It’ll be my turn to congratulate you soon, Enris,” Ral said magnanimously. “That is, when you . . . when there’s more . . . next time . . . I mean—” He coughed at some dust and then laughed. “You know what I mean.”
“Not a clue,” Enris grinned. “But if it has anything to do with letting me get to back to work sometime today, I’m happy.”
The two stopped outside the shop. It was locked against the night; Jorg hadn’t arrived yet.
Enris wasn’t surprised. The Chosen weren’t expected to attend the breakfast and they’d stayed up late, he and his parents, trying to make sense of the Oud. Jorg wanted to go to Council even if it meant revealing they’d had commerce with the Oud earlier. Ridersel wanted the strange object away from her family and forgotten. Returned to the Oud. Tossed in a field, if need be.
He’d—Enris sighed. He’d wanted to keep it a while longer, to puzzle at it in secret. Maybe not the best or wisest course, but his mother had given him that too-keen look, the one she used to see right through him, and agreed.
“I’d help you fetch the leavings, Cousin, but . . .” Ral indicated his new shirt. “Gelle would never forgive me.”
Enris laughed and waved him on. “See you later.”
To save time, he didn’t bother unlocking the shop but went around to the side where he parked the cart each night. It was a long, thin alleyway, protected by the overhang from the potter next door. Enris was in its cool shadow before he noticed something wrong.
The cart had been turned upside down.
He ran the rest of the way, stopping with his hands on the wheels. They were priceless, virtually irreplaceable—and intact, he discovered after checking them carefully. He let out a sigh of relief. Whoever had done this hadn’t been thorough fools.