Читать книгу Echoes in the Dark - Robin D. Owens - Страница 14

The Singer clicked her tongue and one of her attendants hurried in and curtsied. “Singer?”

“The map of Lladrana,” the Singer said.

The Friend in dark blue hurried across the room, grabbed a stand that held a cloth tapestry stretched on a square frame, rolled it back toward the Singer and Jikata. It had four wooden balls as rollers, but they moved so easily they could have been the best steel, each machined to exactly match the other. Could something be carved so precisely?

With magic it could. More and more Jikata was believing in it.

The Friend set aside the tea table, put the map in front of them. It was about two and a half feet square. Then Jikata’s gaze was caught by the map of the green country in front of her. This was not any place on Earth.

“Lladrana,” the Singer said impatiently. She lifted a hand and the servant left quickly and quietly. Jikata shifted slightly at the power of this woman.

“Look!” the Singer demanded.

Jikata did.

“The map is shown here as straight up and down, but in truth the ‘northern’ border is angled northeast on the planet Amee, you understand me?”

“Yes.”

The Singer scowled.

“Ayes,” Jikata amended.

Stabbing a well-kept finger with age lines at the map, the Singer said, “My valley is here.”

There was a tiny three-dimensional conglomeration of buildings on a mound ringed by hills. The old woman drew her finger to the left, the west. “Here is Brisay Sea.” She tapped a spot below it. “This is the city of Krache, a city belonging to both Lladrana and our southern neighbor, Shud.” Brows low, her inflection went up. “This is what you sensed?”

She sounded as if she didn’t believe Jikata. Jikata straightened. This was like when producers or voice trainers asked her range. Four octaves, and she could prove it. “Ayes.”

With a sniff, the Singer gestured and the map rolled back to its spot. The tea table moved—lifted—back into place. Why hadn’t she done that earlier?

She’d just proven to Jikata that she held two types of power—the power over people as the ruler of the Abbey, and magic. Neither of which Jikata had.

Her stomach clenched at the realization that she was entirely in this old woman’s hands. Jikata could barely swallow. She could disappear, totally and completely, and no one…wait, there was that attractive man in white leather. She hadn’t heard his personal Song this past hour, had she? She sent her thought questing, shooting around the Abbey, weighing each person. Her throat closed with nausea at the effort. She thought she sweated but her dress absorbed it.

She didn’t feel the man. So he wasn’t at the Abbey, but he knew she was here, had arrived last night. The Singer might have to explain to someone if Jikata vanished. Relief trickled through her and she found that she’d shut her eyes again. When she opened them she saw the Singer watching her, as if the old woman knew she used Power but not how.

The Singer shuttered her gaze, curved her lips and relaxed back in her throne. “Your talent is raw, but I can train it and shape it and free your Power. Power like you’ve never experienced.” Again she raised her little finger, touched her shaped fingernail. “The Power you used today is like this to what I can give you.”

What Jikata already had, she knew. Like her voice, the Power was hers. But like her voice, it could be trained. That the Singer could do, she could train, but what was inside Jikata was her own. She’d had plenty try to suck it from her.

She studied the old woman. Yes, power and Power cloaked her like a queen’s huge and enveloping state robe. Innate and developed, as well as given to her by the people of this land.

Jikata sensed the Singer had sent her own mind to the city with the merest effort. Everything Jikata had done this morning had left her exhausted, using unaccustomed mental skills. The Singer looked as if she’d had no exercise at all. She placed her hand on her cup of tea and hummed a note. Steam rose and Jikata was sure it was the exact temperature the Singer preferred.

Jikata’s own tea was cold, and the woman had not warmed the teapot that they both used, only her own cup. The lesson smacked Jikata in her gut. She, herself, had begun to get used to stardom, to flatterers, to people around her wanting to please her. That was heady and lovely. But to be so very Powerful that her own wishes were preeminent—that notion caused Jikata deep unease.

She didn’t want to be like that. She’d have to beware of becoming so selfish, so arrogant. This woman might remind her in some ways of her great-grandmother, but Ishi would have been shocked at the Singer’s hubris.

So not only was Jikata at the Singer’s mercy, but all the lovely things the Singer tempted Jikata with were also part of a sharp, double-edged sword. Talent was like that. To follow her heart, her destiny, she’d had to be more public than her great-grandmother had wanted, had to forsake tradition. Had broken with her great-grandmother. Her child-self still hurt from that, from disappointing her great-grandmother, and perhaps always would.

“You might have questions,” the Singer said, and Jikata wondered how long she’d been musing. She thought she caught a flash of satisfaction in those long, dark eyes, that Jikata was not and never could be the Singer’s match.

Thin eyebrows raised, the Singer repeated, “Questions?”

Jikata did, but with the Singer’s complacent half smile, Jikata decided she should surprise the woman. Since that lady hadn’t hesitated to make rude comments, a personal question wasn’t out of order. “Why are you so small?” Everyone else she’d seen was larger than Jikata herself.

The Singer looked startled, then her face became expressionless. Her brown eyes darkened and burned coal-black. When she audibly inhaled, the quaver was back. “There is a price for everything. You understand?” Her accent was so strong that Jikata was finally able to place it—Bostonian.

“Ayes.” Jikata didn’t like being treated like a rude pupil.

“My Power was understood from when I was a child. I was brought here to the Abbey.” She lifted a hand and her fingers showed a fine trembling, then she put them back on her lap. “The old Singer had had prophecies, of course. I would be one to Summon an Exotique.” She breathed through her nose. “Not once, but twice. I would be an extraordinary Singer, at the cusp of a great age. Whether I did my duty would ensure whether many people would live or die, would—” She stopped, shrugged. “I was told, and given to experience Songs and visions of my own. I could grow large, as large as my people and have less Power. Or stay small and have greater Power. I chose to say small.” Her lips curved in a travesty of a smile. “The decision was made when I was passing from child to woman. Not many Singers have a consort. Few men or women can match the Power of a Singer, and most of us want a partner, bondmate. More visions came and I knew if I stayed small, I would have a chance for a consort, a man from Exotique Terre. He would find me more attractive if I were small. At the threshold of womanhood, I longed for the love of a man, dreamed fantasy dreams of a mate.” She shrugged again. “I Summoned him, my Thomas. He came, taught me English. Left with the Snap. He did not love me enough to stay.” Her gaze shifted from the distance to bore into Jikata with a penetrating spear of disapproval that she actually felt.

Jikata’s mind whirled at the strange words: Exotique, bondmate, Snap. “What are—”

“We will discuss other concepts later.” The Singer leaned back and closed her eyes. “I am tired.” She snapped her fingers and an attendant sidled into the room. Obviously snapping the fingers was an indication of a bad mood. “Send the medica to me. I promised that the Exotique would be examined.”

Oh. Fun.

A tall, strong woman wearing a red tunic with a white cross over a long red robe entered and went to the Singer, gently took her hands. The old woman didn’t open her eyes. The medica began to hum in an excellent voice, head cocked as if listening to responses only she could hear. Then she placed the Singer’s hands back on the arms of the chair. “You are doing well, Lady Singer. As we anticipated, the new Exotique has help—”

“Examine her for Bri,” the Singer said.

Jikata wondered what bri was.

The medica dipped a deep curtsy, turned to Jikata. She’d stretched out her legs and crossed her ankles in a casual pose. She would not act like a scolded puppy. She’d asked a simple question. But she was sure, now, that all of her simple questions would have complex answers, and her blood thrummed in her veins at the thought of duty and prices to be paid.

But the medica made a curtsy almost as deep to Jikata as she did to the Singer, and her eyes were curious and kind, not condemnatory. “You will please sit up straight, feet on the floor.” Her language was simple and accompanied by gestures. Jikata sat, realized that with her feet flat on the floor, the chair was too deep to support her back, and stood.

The medica nodded and moved in front of Jikata, smiling. “I at Marshalls’ Castle last year. Know Exotiques.” Was what Jikata heard.

The Singer sniffed.

The medica let out a little breath and held out her palms, obviously for Jikata to take them.

Reluctantly, recalling the nastiness of the ordeal the night before when chords were painfully plucked inside her, Jikata put her fingers in the other woman’s larger hands. They were unusually warm. The woman Sang and it was as if pulses within Jikata warmed and glowed and vibrated almost pleasurably. “You healthy, more rest and good food,” the woman said. “Potatoes—”

“Potatoes?”

The medica beamed. “New wonder food.”

Jikata narrowed her eyes.

A chiming filled the room and she followed the sound to a round lump in the medica’s pocket. The sturdy woman took out a crystal, and Jikata stared at moving wisps of mist within the orb. “Apologies, Lady Singer, third time Bri—”

“You may report to Bri somewhere else,” the Singer said.

The medica left hurriedly. So Bri was a person.

“‘Jikata’ is how you are called,” the old woman said.

“Ayes,” Jikata said. The Singer still had her eyes closed. Not vulnerable, showing that nothing and no one could assail her defenses. Ishi had been like that, had refused to let anything bother her.

“We will have lessons. Stretching for the body, our instrument. Then voice lessons both in range and in Power. Then, training in prophecy. We are done for the day. You may go.”

Jikata’s mouth dropped open. Training in prophecy!

She had a hunch that all the previous hunches in her life had been true.

And her life had taken another unexpected twist.

Castleton/Marshalls’ Castle

Raine had tinkered with the latest design of the ship at her pretty house in Castleton, then left her drawing board. Before she made a model, she liked it to simmer in her head.

Restlessness claimed her and she found herself walking the two miles up to the Marshalls’ Castle. It was good exercise and she never did it alone. There was always a guard or two, or some Chevaliers who’d been in town for one reason or another, or even Bri and Sevair, who’d accompany her if she didn’t fly on Blossom. Today she walked with some Chevaliers who let her brood.

She hadn’t gotten much sleep, she’d been so churned up about the Summoning and Faucon that she couldn’t settle.

Then one of the recurring nightmares had come. She’d awakened in a cold sweat, thinking for long, confused moments that she was back to being a despised potgirl at the rough tavern, The Open Mouthed Fish.

She’d dragged herself out of bed late when the daily housekeeper had come in to leave food and tidy up. Not that there was ever much out of order. Having slept in a corner for six months and not had any place to call her own, Raine now prized the exquisite furnishings of the lovely house. She certainly took nothing for granted anymore.

Enerin, her companion, the baby feycoocu, was with her parents, being schooled in magical shape-shifter business.

Raine was at the front gate of the Castle when the alarm sounded and everyone tensed. The monster invasions of the north had diminished in frequency if not in ferocity. But the siren blared a pattern requesting folk gather in Temple Ward.

An announcement about the Summoning last night. Of course Alexa would do something publicly and to anyone who wanted to hear—merchant folk at the Castle, guards, Chevaliers, not just the Marshalls. Raine didn’t know a lot about how the Castle had run before Alexa became Lady Knight Swordmarshall, but knew things had changed.

Since the great round white stone Temple continued to tug at her, Raine shuffled along with a crowd through Lower Ward to Temple Ward to listen.

Alexa beamed at Raine, giving her mixed emotions. The other Exotiques were good with their support and not putting pressure on her, but their unspoken expectations were weighty. Raine spotted Calli, the Volaran Exotique, first, the sun glinting off her blond hair. Raine blinked. Most of the summer days had been cloudy and cool. Sunshine today would please the Coloradan Exotiques since they were all used to more sun than she. Then Marian and Jaquar, the Circlets, joined Calli. They’d just flown in from Luthan’s southern estate, Raine realized. Calli held the hand of her adopted son. Marrec had their toddler, also adopted, sitting on his shoulders. Raine felt a wave of dread as she walked toward them with a false smile that wouldn’t fool anyone.

No wonder she was dragging her feet about the ship. Once she was done, everyone, including Calli and Marrec, would be committed to destroying the Dark that had sent monsters from the north for ages. Raine had little hope that they’d kill it, or any of them would survive.

Calli, the nurturer, wrapped her free arm around Raine, and they listened to Alexa, who fully believed that leaving the new Exotique with the Singer was important and right, and that relieved Raine. No one should go through what she had.

When Alexa was done, the crowd stayed, discussing the news. They all approved of Alexa’s actions, of course. Reluctantly, Raine went with the other Exotiques to hash over everything again. The guys had made themselves scarce. Before they entered the keep, she scanned the crowd one more time.

Faucon was there, ignoring her. Though her gaze lingered because he was so darn handsome, she looked for someone else.

“Where’s Koz?” she asked Marian, his sister.

“Around, he’ll see us shortly,” Marian said.

Raine sucked in a deep breath, “Really?”

Marian linked her arm with hers. “Ayes, we’ll talk of the mirrors for your family.”

Swallowing hard, Raine said, “Thank you.”

“Welcome,” Marian replied absently. Then they were climbing the stairs to Alexa and Bastien’s suite.

To keep anticipation from eating her alive, Raine, too, thought of the newly Summoned one. She’d heard of Jikata, though she hadn’t listened much to her music or bought her albums. Raine had liked industrial. Past tense here in Lladrana. They did have some of Marian’s and Bri’s music. But Marian preferred longhair and Bri had strange things like atonal chants by Tibetan monks or African women clapping and singing. Not a jammin’ track in the bunch.

“Jikata.” Alexa rubbed her hands with glee as she paced the sitting-dining room. Raine hoped the munchies would arrive soon, eating usually kept Alexa still for a few minutes.

“It was obvious that we all knew of her,” Marian said. “That made it easier for everyone to accept her being in the hands of the Singer.”

“How on Earth did she get here?” Raine asked.

Alexa stopped and put her hands on her hips. “One name, or maybe two. The common thread among us, I think.” She studied Raine. “I don’t know that we asked you about them.” She cleared her throat. “Trenton Philbert the third, U.S. District Court Judge in Denver.” Alexa waggled a thumb at herself. “I was acquainted with him during my very brief legal career. Brief, ha!”

Marian winced. “Really, Alexa.” The Circlet rose when the doorharp sounded and took a loaded tray from Alexa’s maid. The scent of French fries—“twin fries” as they were called here for the two women who introduced potatoes—filled the air, making Raine’s mouth water.

“Marian had a significant encounter with them,” Alexa said.

Marian put the tray down on a large round dining room table and they all took chairs. “Yes, I did. Juliet Philbert is the owner of a Denver new age shop called Queen of Cups. She gave me the Lladranan weapon knot book.”

Calli added, “The Philberts have had a ranch next to our spread for generations.” She took a ham and cheese sandwich on a croissant. “And you, Bri?”

“Dad’s roomie in college,” Bri said around a fry. “Elizabeth’s and my godfather. Only met his wife once, though.”

They all looked at Raine. She nodded. “Yes, they commissioned a seagoing yacht from my family last year after buying some oceanfront property. Big gossip in Best Haven.”

“So anyone know how they got Jikata?” Alexa asked.

“Think so.” Bri wolfed down another fry. “When I last talked to my folks in the magic mirror they said something about planning to attend the grand opening of a rehab project Uncle Trent funded.” She raised a fry dramatically. “The Ghost Hill Theater. The jewel of the opening gala was a performance by one Jikata, local girl made good.”

“Little did we know that Jikata would be our new Exotique,” Marian said, cutting her sandwich into smaller rectangles. “The opening would have been last night, I presume.”

“Probably. By the way, the Singer’s medica has reported that she’s in good health,” Bri said.

Calli frowned. “Bert, I mean Trent, is sure throwing a lot of money around.” She shrugged. “But he has it.”

This whole talk of Summoning was too much. Raine pushed her plate away. It had smelled good and she’d eaten some fries and a bit of sandwich, but the conversation had dried her taste buds. “When do you think Koz—”

Her impatience was stopped by the strum of the doorharp.

“Bet he hasn’t had lunch.” Alexa drew her plate close. “He’ll want our fries.”

“He can have mine,” Raine said.

“I’ll cut half your sandwich for him,” Calli said, “but you should try to eat the rest.”

Alexa swallowed a fry then called, “Entre.”

Koz strode in, a big man with big bones. He was roughly handsome but nothing to compare with Luthan or Faucon. His face was animated, showing a lively mind behind the dark brown eyes. An Earth mind. The Lladranan body carried an Earth soul.

He greeted them, pulled up a chair and looked at Raine.

“Salutations, Koz,” she said belatedly.

Nodding, he said, “Hey.”

She found her fingers had twined together tightly. “Mirrors for my family?” was all she could force out.

He hadn’t brought anything with him.