Laurell Hamilton - Nightseer

Bellenore offered Keleios a hand up and she accepted. “What was of such interest over there?”

Keleios touched her neck and her fingers came away crimson. “I am not sure.”

Keleios went back and sat beside Belor. The healer attending the practice session this morning knelt and pressed an herb mixture into her face cut. He began cleaning the blood from her face. She contacted Belor by mind. *Belor, is Lothor wearing anything new, different? A ring, a piece of rope, a necklace?*

*Yes, a silver chain with a large ball cage. It’s magic of some sort.*

The herbs absorbed the blood, and the healer began salving cream for pain and to speed healing.

*Belor, I can’t see that necklace.*

*So a charm for, or against, you.*

Keleios did not answer; there was no need. Belor stood and walked to Carrick. Carrick gave the prodding stick to Bellenore and went to speak quietly to Lothor. Belor resumed his seat. Lothor protested. Keleios watched him from across the circle, gripping the silver charm, still invisible to her.

Reluctantly, Lothor moved to undo the unseen chain. He handed it to Carrick, and it became visible to Keleios’ eyes. The two fighters had sat down, and the circle was empty. The weapons master strode into the circle and said, “Our visitor here was wearing a magical charm, which is against the rules for my practices. He claims it to be a charm against the unusually cool weather of our island.” He let the chain slide into his big palm—a pool of silver chain. “Keleios, what is this?” And he tossed it through the air. Lothor sprang forward and the guard’s reflexes took over as they covered him.

Keleios caught it and nearly choked with its closeness.

Until Belor knelt beside her, she didn’t realize she had fallen to the ground in a near faint. He had to pry her fingers from the chain.

Carrick knelt beside her, all anger forgotten. “Girl, girl, are you all right?”

She managed to speak, “Yes, master, I am ... fine.”

Belor was carefully dissecting the ball of herbs. The empty metal ball lay near at hand. Keleios allowed Carrick to help her sit and watched Belor tear the woven herbs apart and place them in neat piles. When all else was cleared away, two locks of hair remained. One was the white of fresh snow; the other a golden brown.

Lothor stood very straight, anger bringing a flush to his death-pallor cheeks. He was ringed round by guards, uncertain yet if he was to be prisoner. No one had been comfortable with a black healer in the school; they were quite willing to believe he had done something evil.

Keleios got to her feet, shaking off the well-wishing hands. She walked through the ring of

guards to face Lothor. “I suppose I should ask where you got it, but only three people in this keep could have made such a charm. I didn’t do it; Poula wouldn’t do it. That leaves Fidelis.” She stood very close to him and said, “You wanted my answer, well here it is—no. No, not if you were my only chance out of the seven hells.”

His voice was low, calm with menace. “Do not say in anger what you will regret later.”

“Don’t caution me.”

Carrick interrupted, “Keleios, what is that thing? Is it a magic weapon of some kind?” “Not in the way you mean, Carrick. It was a charm of lust.”

He half-laughed. “Then how did it harm you? You fell when you touched it.”

“It was that powerful, too powerful. It gave itself away.”

Carrick waved the guards back. “Many a man’s turned to magic to acquire a lady’s favor. ’Tis no crime.”

Keleios was forced to agree with him, “No, but it is grounds for a refusal.”

Lothor stood isolated, alone. He bowed slowly. “You have refused me, very well. I challenge you.”

“To what?”

“The arena.”

Someone gasped. “If that will satisfy you, Lothor, you have it.”

He smiled, his gaze roaming over her body, stripping her in his mind. “It will not satisfy, but it will do.”

She stepped close and nearly hissed. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Looking at me like I’m something to eat.”

His smile broadened. “I wasn’t aware of it. So sorry.”

“Insincerity becomes you. As the one being challenged, I choose tonight, just after dusk, and magic.” She turned, picked up Luckweaver, slipped the bracers on, and strode up the main steps of the castle. Belor and Tobin caught up with her in the corridor outside one of the classrooms. The murmur of voices floated into the hallway. A sharp snap of magic and a burst of childish laughter said a spell had gone awry.

Belor jogged to catch up with Keleios, “Where are you going?”

“The stillroom.”

Tobin caught up with them. “You aren’t going to challenge Fidelis as well?”

She smiled, but her eyes remained dark. “What a marvelous idea.”

Belor laid a hand on her arm, but she would not stop. “Keleios, do you think it wise to make two challenges in one day? By law you could end up fighting both today. You’d

surely lose the second.”

She stopped and turned to them. “I am almost certain that Fidelis nearly killed me last night. I’m tired of waiting for proof while she plots behind my back. I want my enemies in front of me across the sands.” She shook off Belor’s hand and started walking again.

Belor tried reasoning with her as they passed through the south arch into the keep’s gardens. “This is not wise. You are letting your anger best you.”

“Perhaps, but it is my mistake to make, not yours.”

Tobin said quietly, “Keleios, don’t do this,” His usually mocking grin was gone; his face was sober.

The herb garden was a thousand shades of green, from the silver-grey of lambsquarter to the pine dark of rosemary leaves. Keleios led them through the white-painted trellis and into the rose garden. The scent of roses was a close sweetness that clung to the summer air. The white gravel paths formed a cross round the fountain, each path leading to a boxwood hedge and a gate.

Belor said, “You know I don’t agree with the council rule about waiting for proof. I’ve said before that it would get you killed—but two challenges in one day, Keleios. It is madness.”

The far gate led into the healer’s garden. The plants stood alone in their circular patterns, knotted and bordered by stone paths. The white marble and gold sundial stood in the center of the garden, a reminder against wasted time. Digging tools lay discarded along the path as if the tenders had left in haste. The far gate opened, and a trio of apprentices entered, Melandra among them.

Keleios took time to notice the dark circles under the girl’s eyes. Then the ever-masking hair fell over the scarred face. “Keleios, what is wrong?”

The other two, a girl and a boy, stood silent and round-eyed. Something was up. One master and two journeymen straight from practice—it was news.

“Is Master Fidelis in the stillroom?”

Melandra hesitated, then nodded, feeling that she had done something vaguely wrong. The apprentices parted like frightened birds to let them pass. They followed at a discreet distance.

Keleios turned and said, “Don’t follow us.”

The apprentices stood very still. Melandra said in a small voice, “As you wish, Keleios.”

By the time they came to the door, Belor and Tobin had fallen back to either side. They jumped her from behind, knowing that the bracers made pinning her a lost cause.

Belor spoke through gritted teeth as they struggled. “Keleios, think, think, control your anger. Behave like a master, not a journeyman.”

She froze for an instant, staring up at the sky. Her breathing came harsh, but she stopped fighting them. “Let me go.”

They rose slowly and offered to help her up.