"A real mage?" Illidian asked when she hesitated.
"I’d rather not put it like that."
"Much as you’ve tried to qualify it, it’s how you and Sebastian regard yourselves."
She sighed, and went to climb into the bed because she was starting to feel too tired to stand. "Full mages, perhaps. Real is the wrong way to look at it, though there’s no way I’m telling Kendall and Sukata that non-Thought Mages always seem so…half-made to me. I don’t want anyone to consider Thought Magic a mandatory part of being a mage. So many shouldn’t even make the attempt at basic manipulation: they’re just not suited. To take the step beyond that really can be dangerous, and I can’t even be sure that any of my three can manage it. Sukata may do it—she has that combination of confidence and intuition. And any of them could kill themselves in the process. And I will hate myself a little if that happens, and every time I hear that some child has died trying to be me. I’m working on not dwelling on it too much."
The impact of her family’s casting techniques on mages in general was something she had not anticipated. Her life-long focus on killing Solace had left little thought to spare for what came after. A rise in Thought Magic should have been obvious—but she had not foreseen it any more than she had imagined that she would so completely link her future with the Kellian.
She was fortunate to have a husband who knew how useless it was to tell her not to feel guilty for existing. Better still that he chose to distract her with several long kisses. The time on the ship had shifted their relationship, the aspect of patient and nurse receding rapidly once Illidian had decided it was safe to touch her. That he chose to match his day to hers, to break it in half and stay with her when she went to bed after lunch, was something she appreciated so much she doubted she could put it into words. She was not good at enduring her complete lack of stamina, and the matter-of-fact way Illidian adapted to her limitations lessened her sense of being a dreary burden.
The limits of her physical health never went away, and when she was tired the hurdles in their immediate future seemed insurmountable. There was no guessing how much chasing about they would need to do to locate the Black Queen’s son. And would these missing mages of the Emperor’s be a clue or a distraction?
Looming large in the list of things Rennyn wished to be distracted from was the visit to Aurai’s Rest, the settlement the Kellian had established in the massive forest north of Kole. Those who waited there troubled her even more than her apparent career killing her relatives: the Kellian descendants who chose not to serve in Tyrland, and the nine surviving originals. A different set of relatives.
"When was the last time you saw your mother?"
"Five years ago. Most of us will visit the Rest at least once every decade. Often more frequently."
Illidian had made clear that he doubted his mother would be enthusiastic about their marriage, and so the best approach to meeting her was exercising Rennyn’s mind a good deal. "Does she ever come to Tyrland?"
"Never." Propping himself on an elbow, he traced a stray lock of her hair, a favourite gesture. "Mother feels we should manage our relationship with humans more strictly. That living as a minority among them will inevitably create a situation where we are driven out and hunted." His eyes were shuttered, grey as the clouds. "Events may yet prove her correct."
"What was worrying you when you came in?" she asked, abandoning the vexing issue of Darian Faille for the moment.
"A sense of unease with no focus. As if the future was overcast. Nothing useful." Illidian’s voice was wry. The refined senses people called Kellian instinct were excellent for dealing with direct attacks, but tended to plague him when the threat they were responding to wasn’t so easily defined. "Knowingly bringing you closer to Prince Helecho is not an easy matter."
"If he does still have my focus, it’s probable he intends to lure me or hunt me at some point," Rennyn admitted. "Our best chance is to catch him unaware. Even then—" She paused. "We can only guess at how much strength he’s gained while I’ve been recovering. He may have grown into a threat that will require armies to combat. And how we deal with that without looking like an official Tyrian expedition I can’t guess."
"The hunting of Eferum-Get is something that should not, and usually does not care for borders. But this is a monster that could be a political tool, or pursue its own ambitions. Queen Astranelle would prefer him dealt with quietly. I—" Illidian shifted, the muscles in his back bunching. "I just wish him dead."
"Everyone does," Rennyn murmured, and hoped it could be done without her ever having to even see her Wicked Uncle again.
Chapter Ten
"It never ceases to amaze me how sitting on your rear all day is so tiring and leaves you feeling so grubby," Lieutenant Meniar said. "Since this Waystation is on Kole’s border, I’m hoping it has Kolan style baths. And that they live up to their reputation."
"What are Kolan baths supposed to be like?" Kendall asked, sliding down the shutter of the coach window despite the damp wind outside.
The twitch at the corner of Lieutenant Meniar’s mouth let Kendall know his answer was going to be entertaining, but not entirely true, so she turned her eyes to grey fields fading to blackness, and only half-listened to talk of naked people sitting around steamy pools together. They were travelling one of the Imperial Ways, so the coach ran smooth and straight, but a broken wheel had delayed the caravan and they weren’t going to reach the next Waystation for at least another hour.
Lieutenant Faral leaned forward and touched her knee. "Faille would know and wake Her Grace if any life-stealers came close."
"I guess." Kendall shrugged, sharper than she’d meant to, but it wasn’t as if she’d said anything about being worried.
"We’re travelling too fast anyway," Lieutenant Meniar added. "Moving slower than walking pace is part of the reason life-stealers prey on the sleeping."
Kendall looked out the window again. She could see a few specks of light in the far distance, and supposed there was a farmhouse there. A few months ago, she’d never gone further than the nearest village, let alone swanned about in fancy carriages, and she’d always watched with envy as the mail coach passed. The Kolan Wayporters travelled in groups for safety, and sped at great speed along the roads they kept boasting about, and Kendall couldn’t help but be pleased to have come along, despite certain unshiftable annoyances.
Wondering how much of the gab about the baths was true, she pulled the window shutter closed as the endless rain picked up again. At least there were plenty of light and heatstones to make wet autumn days bearable.
"Why don’t life-stealers, or any of the Night Roamers, just hunt animals instead of people?" she asked. "No-one’s ever been able to explain that to me."
"Possibly because no-one’s ever been able to do more than guess," Lieutenant Meniar said. "Though I must remember to ask the Duchess what the Surclere view is."
"The most common theory ties to the popular idea for the origin of the Eferum-Get," the pest said, because the gods forbid a day went by when Fallon DeVries couldn’t show off. "If Eferum-Get are created by our nightmares, then reciprocally we are what they need to feed upon."
"In parts of the west you will see depredation on animals," Lieutenant Meniar added. "The Empire doesn’t manage Eferum-Get as efficiently as Tyrland. They rely on strong circles, often bolstered by walls, and periodically sweep regions. Eferum-Get who can’t prey on humans usually die after a time, but some adapt. Their magical aspects fade, and so does their dependence on humans."