Sharon Shinn - Reader And Raelynx

“Though I hope not,” Senneth added.

Lara’s attention drifted back to Kirra, down to Donnal, and over to Tayse-and then suddenly sharpened. She took in his stance, his weapons, the gold lions embroidered on his sash. “King’s Rider,” she said distinctly.

They all froze, and then Tayse said quietly, “Yes, I’m a Rider. How do you know of such as me?”

“Justin,” Lara said.

Now they were all astonished and having no luck hiding it. “You know Justin?” Tayse repeated.

“Cammon,” the strange woman added.

“Justin and Cammon ?” Kirra said. “Wait-are you the mystic they rescued last fall when Justin was on his way to Neft?”

Lara turned her attention back to Senneth. “I will help you,” she said, “if war comes.” Before they could recover from their amazement, she turned to Sosie, gave the other girl a quick embrace, and slipped out the back door, making no noise with her bare feet.

They all stared after her, though Sosie was choking on a giggle. “And that’s a fairly typical conversation with Lara,” she said at last. “But I thought you should meet her if you got a chance. She is-I think she’s very good. But she’s not like anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Can anyone else smell roses?” Kirra demanded.

“Sosie’s right,” Senneth said. “Her power is spring.”

“Well, spring is coming, and war might be coming with it,” Tayse said. “I would be relieved if it came wearing Lara’s face instead of Halchon Gisseltess’s countenance.”

Senneth gave a last glance at the door where Lara had disappeared and offered a sigh. “Maybe it will come wearing both.”

SHORTLYafterward, Jase dropped by for lessons. By the time Senneth had spent an hour with him, he was able to manufacture fire from his own body heat and keep a piece of paper from burning even though it was red with flame. “If you come to Ghosenhall, there’s a man who would love to tutor you,” Senneth told him, writing Jerril’s name and address on a piece of paper.

He pocketed it carefully but shook his head. “Probably not anytime soon. My folks brought me here to keep me safe and I don’t think they like the idea of leaving just yet.”

“And we hardly want to strip the place of all its magic,” Kirra added to Senneth after he’d left and they had settled back into the booth. “How strange to have a town of mystics if all the mystics have fled.”

Senneth grinned. “I’d guess only a handful will come to Ghosenhall now-the adventurous ones who are starting to chafe at the safe but dull existence they’re leading,” she said. “Well, think about it! Neither you nor I would have been able to live here more than a month or two without suddenly feeling the urge to wander off and explore the world again.”

“Mystics are restless,” Kirra agreed. “Hard to believe that this many of them could have settled down long enough to actually form a town.”

Senneth was watching two men enter the tavern, a younger one supporting an older one who appeared to be both blind and physically weak. “What I think,” she said slowly, “is that enough of them were in danger enough times that they were willing to trade their love of adventure for a sense of security. They’d had their fill of back-alley beatings and midnight escapes. Life in Carrebos might not be exciting-but excitement can sometimes mean death.”

The two strangers approached the booth and Senneth and Kirra both rose to show their respect for the older man. He looked to be in his mid-eighties, with thin white hair rather wildly styled and huge blue eyes that were cloudy with age. Brown spots dotted the wrinkled skin of his face and his mouth hung open as if he had found that was the most convenient way to breathe.

“Good afternoon, serras,” his companion said. The younger man might have been fifty, a little plump, a little weary, but his round face held a look of peace that Senneth instantly liked. “My uncle wanted to meet you. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Senneth said. “Is he a mystic? Would he like to offer us help in protecting the kingdom?”

Both men laughed, the younger one looking rueful and the older one delighted. “I’m afraid my uncle Virdon isn’t in good enough shape to travel so far as Ghosenhall,” he said. “But he does have power and you would surely find it useful.”

Senneth slipped around the table to join Kirra and gestured at the other side of the booth. “Sit. Tell us about your uncle.”

It took a certain amount of shuffling and guidance, but eventually Virdon and his nephew were situated. “I’m Chake, by the way,” the nephew said. “My uncle was most impressed with how you flung fire about last night. I’m not sure he would have come to see you otherwise, but the elemental magic appeals to him.”

“Can he call fire?” she asked.

Old man Virdon spoke up for the first time in a gruff and thready voice. “Water,” he said. “It speaks to me.”

“Really?” Senneth said politely.

Chake nodded. “It doesn’t just speak to him, it obeys him. When he was younger, he could call rain down on the sunniest day. I’ve seen him put his palm to dry ground and draw water up from some deep underground source. There was a boy once who almost drowned in a river. And my uncle waded into the water and put his hands down in the current and just pushed that water back. It stopped flowing, serra, long enough for the boy’s mother to rush out through the muddy riverbed and snatch up her child. There are other stories that my mother told, but those I saw for myself.”

“Those are quite impressive,” Senneth said. “You make me sorry that he is too weak to travel. Did you inherit any power?”

“None to speak of,” Chake said. He cupped his hand over Senneth’s glass and a drop of water broke free of the greater mass and leapt upward into his palm. He turned his hand over and back, over and back, and the droplet rolled like a pearl across the upturned surface of his skin. Then he wove it between his fingers like a coin that he had pulled out to do tricks for children. “This is about the extent of my skill. But my uncle is truly gifted.”

Virdon leaned forward, his blind eyes turned toward Senneth. “Ocean talks to me,” he wheezed. “Tells me a strange story.”

“And what story might that be?” she asked.

He waved his hands as if to indicate the sea not so far from the tavern door. “Boats,” he said. “Hundreds of boats. Lined up in the waters outside of Forten City.”

Senneth stared at him and felt every vein in her body turn icy. Beside her, Kirra grew rigid. “What else can you tell me about these boats?” she said in a soft voice. “How big are they? What’s their cargo?”

“Big,” he said. “Heavy in the water. Don’t know what they carry, but every day they’re fouling the currents with excrement and piss.”

“Troop ships,” Kirra breathed.

Senneth nodded slightly. “Do you know-can you tell where they’re from?”

Virdon shook his head, and his voice was a little petulant. “Usually the ocean tells me everything, talks about the wood in the hulls and the cargo in the holds. Tells me about the fish in the water, how many there are, where they’re swimming. But it’s keeping secrets from me, the ocean is. It only tells me that those boats are there and they’re waiting.”

“Foreign ships,” Kirra whispered in Senneth’s ear. “That’s why he can’t pick up much detail about them.”

She nodded and whispered back, “So, how can he know anything about them at all?”

The faintest smile crossed Kirra’s lips. “The water tells him. And the water isn’t happy.”

Senneth addressed Virdon again. “Do you know how long they’ve been there?”