Brent Weeks - Beyond the Shadows

They were greeted as heroes, and the crazy sailors who had joined Solon first were now soldiers in truth. Sailors dropped their gear to greet them, captains forgot their shouting, and the shorebound traders and vintners streamed through the streets to greet them. The flood carried them to the castle, and Solon’s heart thudded with fear and expectation. Kaede, please, my love, don’t take my glory as an insult. Without you, it all means nothing.

The crowd brought him to Whitecliff Castle, shining in the spring sun. Kaede stood on the dais where months before she had almost been deposed. She wore an ocean blue nagika and a platinum tiara with sapphires. She raised her hands and the men and women quieted. “How fare the isles, Stormrider?”

“The isles are at peace, Your Majesty.”

The people cheered, but Kaede’s face was still somber. She let the people cheer, then raised her hands once more. “They say you are a mage, Stormrider.”

“I am,” he said.

The crowd grew quieter, noting the queen’s solemnity. That solemnity brought to not a few minds the questions people had asked when Solon had first been sent to school with the Midcyri magi: where would his loyalties lie?

“They say you are a god, Stormrider, to have defied the winter seas alone.”

“Neither a god, nor alone, Your Majesty. A loyal son of Seth who tracked the seas with men and women fearless as tygres, fiercer than storms, and hungrier than the seas. Not even winter seas could stop such from serving you.”

The crowd stirred with hope, and Solon’s Stormriders swelled with pride that he should share the glory so liberally, but Kaede cut it off quickly. “They say you were our prince, Stormrider. They say I’ve stolen your throne.”

Silence.

“A prince I was, of an ancient house that my elder brother debased and dishonored. He broke the holy covenant between king and country, and I stand a prince no more. Should you command, I will sail to the sunset or to death’s rocky shores. I am but a man.” He lowered his voice, but still it carried across the silent crowd. “A man who loves you, my queen.”

She stood silent and the crowd held its breath, but Solon could see her eyes shining. “Then Solon Stormrider, Solon Tofusin, come forward and receive your rewards as a mage, and a loyal son of Seth, and a man.”

He was in a haze as the crowd pulled him forward, laughing and cheering and shouting. Kaede first presented him with a pendant with a glowing ruby lit from within, burning with ancient magics. He’d never seen it before, never heard of such an artifact, but before he could consider it, she put a crown on his brow. It was his father’s crown, a circlet of seven golden grape leaves mingled with seven golden waves. “A ruby fit for a mage, a crown fit for Seth’s most loyal son, and—if you will have me—a proud and troublesome woman ill-fit for any man.”

“Except one,” Solon said, and he swept her into his arms and kissed her.

Vi didn’t know how Elene had explained it to Kylar, though she had known when by Kylar’s sudden burst of confusion and hope and longing through the bond. Tonight was the night. She’d gone over the magic a number of times with Sister Ariel. As Ariel had warned her, Vi wasn’t severing the bond, only partially suspending it.

First, it was only suspended while Vi was actively using magic against it. If there was any good news, Vi thought, it was that Kylar was a virgin. That embarrassed him, but Vi thought it was extraordinary and kind of cute, which embarrassed him further. Now, though, she simply hoped it meant his lovemaking with Elene would be brief. Vi had told Elene—and Elene had decided not to tell Kylar—that the suspension of the bond worked only one way: Kylar wouldn’t feel Vi, but Vi would still feel him.

Vi had her materials: an itchy wool robe that she hoped would distract her from whatever physical sensation bled through the bond, and a pitcher of wine for afterward to obliterate her thinking. Sister Ariel didn’t exactly approve, but she didn’t forbid it, either. Vi could only hope that Kylar was one of those men who promptly fell asleep after sex, because once she released the magic, he would feel her once more. If Kylar knew Vi was basically magically eavesdropping on his lovemaking, he would worry about it. Elene fully believed she would die by spring, and she deserved as much of Kylar’s attention as she could get.

Kylar was coming up the steps. He and Elene had finished a romantic dinner in the kitchen—of course they couldn’t go out where people might see them—and Elene was leading him by the hand. Vi felt his anticipation and disbelief. He probed toward Vi, but she made herself a stone wall and began chanting.

According to Sister Ariel, the weaves themselves weren’t that challenging; it was using them at the strength required for the time required that was difficult. Plus, Sister Ariel allowed, it was probably emotionally taxing. Ariel thought Vi could probably maintain them for twenty minutes.

Sister Ariel could probably withstand the emotional tax forever. The words Bitch Wytch made their way into Vi’s chanting, but they didn’t have the force they used to. After all, it was Sister Ariel who had done all the research to make this possible. Was that her way of saying sorry?

Layer upon layer of magic surrounded the bond, wreathing it like fog, and in moments Vi knew she was doing it right for two reasons. First, Kylar stopped, bewildered, as he was leaning forward to kiss Elene as they sat on the edge of their bed. Second, Vi could tell that he stopped leaning forward as he sat on the edge of his bed. Whatever Vi was doing to mute Kylar’s side of the bond, it seemed to be amplifying her own.

Panic hit her, making it hard to breathe, but Kylar didn’t feel it. She could tell he didn’t feel her. He wondered at the absence and then joy spread through him like a fire. He pulled Elene into his arms and kissed her passionately.

It was hard to breathe. Vi could only choke out a series of curses to keep the magic going. She’d kissed men, of course, and had dozens more kiss her. She’d avoided it when she could, wishing she could be as numb there as below, but it was part of her work to kiss convincingly. Feeling Kylar kiss Elene was something different. It was fresh and innocent and full of rejoicing. Then it deepened, and Vi felt Kylar’s surprise at the ferocity of Elene’s passion. He fell—was pushed?—back onto the bed, and she settled on his hips. Then he was kissing her again, fumbling with the ties of her dress.

Vi cursed desperately, locking her eyes open, rubbing the wool across her forearm. It helped, a little, but Kylar’s joy and free desire still lived in her head. Elene must have said something, because Kylar laughed. Vi could hear it through the wall, but as she felt it, she knew she’d never heard Kylar laugh like that. Maybe Kylar had never laughed like that in his whole life. It was playful and free and accepted and accepting, a joy wild and strong and content. This was the Kylar Elene had always seen, and with a pang, Vi knew Elene deserved him.

There was a tenderness so deep emanating through the bond that it ached, and Vi realized that of all things, Kylar was talking to Elene.

“Put him in a bed chamber with a naked woman and he talks? ” Vi said aloud, still working her Talent. “No wonder he’s still a virgin.” It was too bad the weaves weren’t harder, because she needed the distraction. Elene was scared, Vi realized, and embarrassed because she knew exactly what Vi was doing here in this room. Either way, Kylar was soothing her, lying by her side, his left arm under her head and his right arm embracing her, caressing her while he spoke soft assurances and slowly awakened her passion.