Twenty-Three
Zidra
We spent the next hour reviewing all the information to put in the letter to Archon Aekyrdra and figuring out how to say everything more concisely. Once I was satisfied, I made two additional copies.
One letter I sent directly to Aekyrdra. The second I sent by a different messenger service to the headmaster at Harcos Academy, with instructions to read it and then deliver it to Aekyrdra. The third I sent by yet another messenger service to the Riverfront Haven in Laedresh, again with the same instructions. There was almost always at least one rengir at the Riverfront Haven, so someone would receive it sooner or later. Kyrundar teased me about being paranoid, but I wouldn’t risk the league intercepting a single letter.
Aekyrdra was smart enough to figure out why she’d gotten multiple copies. The Order hadn’t voted to retain her as archon three times in the last forty years for no reason.
By midafternoon, we had booked passage for three to Seath Inlet—according to the ship’s captain, the home of Old Frostbite. Unfortunately, the Tristan wouldn’t set sail until early the next morning.
Although it was early for supper, neither Sajen nor I had eaten anything since we bought muffins for breakfast. Kyrundar said he knew several excellent places to eat depending on what we were in the mood for. Sajen wanted fried fish and offered to buy our food, so Kyrundar merrily led us across the sprawling city to a restaurant at the end of White Gull Wharf. True to its unimaginative name, white seagulls circled and cried overhead.
The Sunbathing Seal, marked by a large sign with a painting of its namesake, stood at the end of a crowded row of shops built on the pier. I paused at the end of the pier, gazing out over the gentle waves of the Aizurgon Sea. A cluster of shapes stood out in stark contrast against the pale blue of the sky on the horizon.
The Wyveri Islands.
Shaking off an odd mixture of heartbreak and homesickness, I followed my companions inside.
Sunlight streamed through large windows, and chandeliers provided additional lighting. Despite how many tables and chairs crowded the space, the vaulted ceiling and warm glow made the place feel open and airy rather than oppressively cramped like many taverns. The tables and floor were clean, and I took a deep breath. No stench of sweaty patrons and spilled ale; just a slight lemony scent underlying the smell of cooking food.
Kyrundar grinned at me. “I thought you’d appreciate the ambiance, Zee. And the lack of patrons at this hour.”
I turned toward him, my eyebrows knitting.
Before I could formulate my question, he added, “I know sometimes the crowding, noise, and smell of restaurants overwhelm those overly keen wyveri senses.” He waved for me to follow and made his way to a table in the corner, positioned beneath a window looking out over the bay.
Kyrundar took the chair with its back to the window, and Sajen took the chair to his right. I slipped into the chair with its back to the room. I may not have been able to shift, but my senses were sharp enough that I’d know if an assassin tried to attack me from behind.
Still, I didn’t feel uneasy. The Sunbathing Seal was well-lit, and the few clients scattered around the room were well-dressed. This pier didn’t attract ruffians. Besides, from where he sat, Kyrundar could see the entire room, and I trusted him to notice anything concerning behind me. He wouldn’t let anything happen to me.
Thankfully, the window behind Kyrundar didn’t face the Islands. I wasn’t sure I could have stared at my people’s home while sitting across from the ice elf I was falling in love with and still kept my appetite.
A young man wearing a black apron over his dark clothing came and told us their selection for the day and took our order. Like Sajen, I opted for the fried cod with a side of peas. Kyrundar chose baked herring stuffed with herbs and a side of roasted asparagus, and I started to doubt my choice. Just thinking about the food made my stomach rumble.
While we waited, we sipped spiced light ale. None of us spoke, but the silence was comfortable. The silence of friends who don’t need to fill every moment with conversation to feel connected. It was a marked difference from the silence I had often experienced at home, where the lack of conversation often was a judgment that I wasn’t worthy of being addressed or a false sort of peace that was merely the absence of arguing.
Such thoughts turned my mood sour, so instead I pondered our upcoming journey. I’d never been on a ship before. Every time I’d had to cross the sea, I’d flown. Even the wyveri merchant caravan I’d traveled with had all flown—we’d carried the hyzli dogs in padded kennels and the other goods in crates. It was exhausting and required crossing the sea only in fair weather, but it was faster and cheaper than a ship. Wyveri merchants would rather take multiple trips than bother with ships. How much of that was simply irrational pride that we didn’t need ships, a practical concern because of how difficult it could be to find safe harbor on the rocky shores of the islands, or a paranoid defense because having no ships meant we built no docks and no one could land on our shores, I wasn’t sure. It was probably stubborn pride and how reluctant most matriarchs, like my mother, were to change how things were done .
Realizing I’d failed to keep my thoughts off the wyveri and my family, I searched for a conversation starter. Anything would be better than brooding.
“Sajen, have you decided if you’re going to take a new partner?”
As soon as I asked the question, I wished I’d thought of a better one. The human firemage who’d traveled with Sajen had retired from the Order a little over a year ago due to a combination of injury and old age. While I knew Sajen wouldn’t be offended, the subject of rengir companions came too close to my strange situation with Kyrundar.
Sajen sighed. “I teamed up with other rengiri before I met Lars, and I’ve partnered with a few since he retired, but none of them have been the same. I know I’m being picky. Lars and I fought side by side for three decades. We knew each other’s habits and quirks and could communicate without a word. It takes time to build that kind of rapport.”
“Indeed.” Kyrundar raised an eyebrow at me. “When you find someone you work well with, it makes sense to keep working with them if nothing is stopping you.”
“A shame humans age so much faster than us. Without a heartbond, at least.” Sajen chuckled. “But do you know what the rusty old suit of armor did? He got married.”
I blinked at Sajen. “He what? At his age?”
“I know! Hasn’t got half his hair anymore and what he does have has faded from black to the same white as an ice elf’s.” He nodded in Kyrundar’s direction. “Seventy years old, but he met a human widow a little older than him in the rural town in Neaston that he retired to. They got married a few months ago. I said that seemed fast, and they said life is too short to wait, especially for humans.” His wide smile faltered. “I wasn’t able to attend the wedding. A downside of traveling so much is it’s hard to reach a rengir in a timely manner.”
But then Sajen shrugged. “Ah, well. I met the lucky lady when I stopped by on my way to Laedresh. I tell you, the way those two carried on like youngsters on a honeymoon nearly had me blushing.” He lifted his tankard in a mock toast. “You two aren’t half as bad.”
My cheeks heated, but I was saved from answering or listening to some flirtatious comment from Kyrundar by the arrival of our food. Kyrundar’s herring was still sizzling, and the herbs smelled amazing. Sure, just about anything was delicious fried, and my own food did look tasty, but his looked better. If only I could have both.
“Eyeing my food when you have your own, Zee?” he teased.
“Wondering if I made the right choice,” I admitted.
“Well then.” Kyrundar grabbed my plate and pulled it over in front of him.
“Excuse you?”
He laughed. “Let’s share. Half of each?” With his knife and fork poised about the plates, he looked to me for confirmation.
“That…sounds good.”
“Hmmm.” Sajen ducked his head over his plate to hide his smile. I decided to ignore him .
The fried cod was excellent—Sajen praised Kyrundar for his choice of restaurant—but the herb-stuffed herring was delightful. I had just scraped the final bit of lemony sauce onto my last bite of asparagus when Kyrundar sat up straighter. His sharp gaze landed on something over my shoulder.
My hand went to my sword’s hilt, and I turned in my chair. A man with tan skin and wavy brown hair that hid his ears approached us. But I didn’t need to look for further signs of his race. I knew him.
And there were only three people I wanted to see less. Based on the way his gaze fixed on me and his mouth had pinched into something near a scowl, he wasn’t happy to see me, either. I’d rather have been approached by an assassin.
I pried my fingers from my sword’s grip and stood. My joints felt wooden as I faced him and inclined my head in a small bow. “Artur.”
Kyrundar stepped to my side. Rather than feeling a reassuring presence, I wished he weren’t there. “Friend of yours?” he asked amicably.
“This is Artur Eposeth.” I motioned toward the intruder, wishing I were anywhere else. “My cousin. Artur, this is Rengir Kyrundar Ilifir and Rengir Sajen Hargren.”
Artur bowed his head to each man in turn.
“What are you doing in Gamnica?” My question came out strained, revealing more of my discomfort than I’d hoped.
“Filling in as an extra guard for Thesian. He’s taking a caravan to Fairow. One of his men fell ill at the last moment.” Artur’s dark eyes flicked toward Kyrundar and back to me. “We heard about the Emperor’s Merit.”
My heart nearly stopped. What did my family and clan make of it?
“We’d assumed the stories claiming you are close with the ice elf were exaggerated or confused, perhaps lies originating from the elf himself. I see we were wrong, or you wouldn’t be having such a friendly meal with him.”
I wished my tankard were full of water instead of a couple sips of ale. Not that I could turn around and retrieve it without being rude.
“Do you have a problem with ice elves?” Kyrundar asked in a tone as cold as his magic.
“Not particularly,” Artur said with an equally icy stare. “Simply disappointed to see that the firstborn daughter of one of our matriarchs abandoned her birthright only to be unable to make a name for herself without the aid of an elf.”
“Lying is against our vows,” I said, belatedly grasping at the only accusation for which I had a response. “Kyrundar Ilifir is an honorable man, a devout rengir, and a recipient of the Emperor’s Merit. Do not disparage his character, and certainly do not do so within my hearing.”
Artur grunted. “Your mother will be disappointed to hear that the rumors are true, regardless of his character. Your clan expected more of you than to let someone else carry you to renown.”
“Renown is hardly the chief concern of a rengir.” Sajen’s chair scraped across the floor. He stood and moved to stand on my other side. “Zidra earned the Merit, but even without it, she is a fearsome and cunning warrior, a kind soul, and a dedicated and pious servant of Iskyr. She deserves your pride and respect, and if all you have to offer is scorn, you may go and leave us in peace.”
Artur took in Sajen’s bulk, appearing unimpressed. “A wyveri who requires others to defend her is hardly deserving of my respect.”
“She requires no defense,” Kyrundar said. “We defend her simply because we care about our friend. Perhaps you have no friends and so cannot understand.”
My companions’ words both bolstered and crushed me. Nothing they could say would change Artur’s mind. Wyveri treasured their superiority too much.
Artur shook his head, his expression sad. “You are weak, Zidra. And your weakness harms the clan. The Merit gave us hope, but you’re just as inadequate as we suspected. It’s unfortunate your nephew is too blinded by hero worship to see that.”
The building panic in my chest came to an abrupt halt. “What about Zarik?”
“You haven’t heard?” Artur’s eyebrows leaped up. “He broke your brother’s and sister-in-law’s hearts and left last winter for Harcos Academy. He wants to be a rengir.”
“Because of me ?”
“Because of you,” Artur confirmed, but the way he said it made it sound like I’d convinced Zarik to become a criminal .
“At least Zidra isn’t the only wyveri with any sense,” Kyrundar muttered, plenty loud enough for shifter hearing.
“How could Zarik have decided to become a rengir and I didn’t know about it?”
Artur wrinkled his nose. “Zarik doesn’t want you to know because he doesn’t want any special treatment at Harcos or from the Order. I imagine your parents and sister didn’t tell you because aside from the difficulty of getting a message to a rengir, when Zarik made his announcement, your mother declared she’d never speak to you again. If you’d achieved the Emperor’s Merit without the accomplishment weakened by your partnership with an elf, perhaps she would have changed her mind, but I don’t see that happening now.”
Some fragile hope in my chest cracked with a physical pain that threatened to bring me to my knees.
“That is quite enough,” Kyrundar snapped.
“May Iskyr treat you with the same regard with which you treat his servants,” Sajen declared—a blessing turned curse that sounded particularly ominous in his deep voice.
Somehow, I found my voice. “Excuse me.”
I barreled past him and out of the Sunbathing Seal. Kyrundar fell into step beside me before I made it far down the pier, but he didn’t say anything as I tore through the city and back to the Haven. More people filled the streets as evening approached, and focusing on not bumping into anyone provided me with a distraction from my bruised emotions.
But once the door shut behind us in our room, there was nothing to keep my mind off Artur’s words.
Kyrundar watched me, his expression strained, like he wanted to speak but had no idea what to say.
My thoughts crashed into each other, tangling together. “I was right,” I whispered. “My people are ashamed of me. A shared Merit is a failure, not an achievement.”
“You deserved the Merit, Zee,” Kyrundar said. “And they may not all think that. He’s one person, and your family seems a bit…harsh. They don’t speak for every wyveri. They certainly don’t speak for every Laedreshian citizen. Those townspeople we saved didn’t see you as inferior. I don’t see you as inferior.”
I only half heard him. My cousin, my parents, my brother and sister-in-law, presumably also my sister, all of them saw me as a failure and blamed me for losing Zarik, too. Could I ever do anything that would change their minds?
Kyrundar eased closer and lightly grabbed my shoulders. “He was cruel. He chose to be cruel, knowing his words would hurt you. And your parents and sister—they’re wrong to treat you as they have. They’re wrong to disdain you for having a different set of skills than they wanted or a different career than they envisioned. You are not in the wrong here. It’s not your fault they can’t appreciate you for who you are, for the person you were made to be.”
My throat tightened. I blinked rapidly, determined to remain strong and in control.
“Artur is a fool, and worse, a mean-spirited fool. Your parents and sister are shortsighted and selfish. Their behavior and words hurt because they’re designed to, and because they’re based on lies. Do you understand?”
I stared at the ends of his white hair lying against his blue tunic. Perhaps he was right, perhaps he wasn’t. I wasn’t certain I understood the point he was making, but I couldn’t respond. If I tried to speak, I’d break.
Kyrundar placed the side of his forefinger beneath my chin and tilted my head up until I unwillingly made eye contact with him.
“You’re allowed to be in pain, Zee,” he said softly. “You’re allowed to admit it hurts. That doesn’t make you weak or make your family’s cruel and stupid opinions right. It means you’re a person with a heart that can bleed, like you’re supposed to be. And neither Iskyr nor I will judge you or turn away from the tears you have every right to cry.”
His eyes glistened as if he, too, were barely holding back tears.
A shudder went through me. “Artur didn’t even know…” My words turned into a choked cry. A sob wracked my chest, and the tears I had locked away no longer obeyed my commands but fell hot and fast down my cheeks. But I had to say the rest.
“What if he learns I’m wounded?” I wasn’t even certain Kyrundar could understand my keening words through my sobbing. “That I can’t shift? What if I have to quit being a rengir? What if he realizes you’re half light elf, and that I’ve always known and don’t care? And if Zarik is training at Harcos, why didn’t he visit me? He had to have attended the ceremony, but he didn’t seek me out. Is he ashamed of me?” The last word was drawn out on a hiccuping wail.
All ability to speak abandoned me, and I could barely see.
Pressure on my shoulders tugged me forward, and then I collided with Kyrundar’s chest. His arms encircled me. Usually someone touching me while I was crying would have been overstimulating, but Kyrundar’s embrace felt right in a way I couldn’t explain.
“Let it out,” he whispered.
I broke.
Sagging against him, I grabbed fistfuls of his tunic and buried my face in the soft fabric. My body shook with my weeping. Some distant part of my mind was embarrassed of my gasping wails muffled against his chest, but I couldn’t stop. Years of suppressed hurt and the last several days of fears and doubts had built pressure, and like water that had found a crack and burst through a dam, the flood couldn’t be stopped.
Kyrundar squeezed me closer. His hand stroked my back.
By the time my crying subsided and I could breathe enough to pull away and wipe my face, my head ached. Exhaustion pulled at my limbs. I backed out of his arms and stumbled to my pack, from which I retrieved a handkerchief. My cot squeaked as I sat heavily on it. I turned away from Kyrundar to blow my nose. Embarrassment at last caught up to me.
“I’m sorry— ”
“Don’t you dare be ashamed of crying.” Kyrundar sat next to me on the edge of my cot. He wiped his eyes, and his voice was hoarse. “The holy texts would not say that Iskyr keeps a record of our tears so that he may comfort those who mourn and execute justice for the afflicted if we were not meant to weep over suffering or injustice. And your family has treated you unjustly. Every wyveri who has judged you for being a rengir and every person who has judged you for being a wyveri has hurt you. You can cry as much as you need to.”
I was already tired of crying, yet listening to the raw emotion in his voice, I nearly began again. Instead I took deep breaths and massaged my forehead as if that might help my headache dissipate.
After a few minutes, Kyrundar slid closer, so his leg brushed up against mine. Despite the layers of fabric between us, the gentle pressure of his knee against mine felt oddly intimate.
“Zidra,” he murmured. “Are you ashamed of being a rengir? Ashamed of how well you did at Harcos, or of how many people you’ve protected and monsters you’ve slain? Do you think you’ve failed to honor Iskyr as you vowed to do?”
I took a few slow breaths and tried to ignore how much I wanted to lean against him. “No. Perhaps I could do better, but—”
“That’s not what I asked.” He chuckled softly. “Do you honestly believe you’re doing anything wrong?”
“No,” I whispered. “But— ”
“Do you think Iskyr is ashamed of you or displeased with you? Or do you think he smiles on your efforts to protect his people and follow your vows?”
I swallowed. Everything I had been taught told me that Iskyr cared and would not be ashamed of my honest efforts. Iskyr? Is that true?
“I’m certain Iskyr is pleased with you,” Kyrundar said. “If you know you’ve done nothing wrong and Iskyr approves of your actions, then the blatantly wrong and vicious opinions of people like your cousin aren’t what matters. Right?”
A reassuring calm tinged with pride brushed across my consciousness, so quiet and still I almost missed it, yet underlain with the power of Iskyr that I sensed whenever I had a premonition.
My heart still ached, and I felt like a wrung-out rag, but Kyrundar was right. I nodded and whispered, “Thank you.”
He placed a hand on my shoulder, firm enough to be comforting but light enough I could have easily shrugged him off if I’d wanted to.
I didn’t want to, and I refused to examine why too closely.
“Do you need to talk about it more? Or do you want some time to yourself? Or shall we do something to distract you?”
A weak laugh emerged shakily from my lips. “I tend to avoid comforting people. I never know what to say or do.” It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Kyrundar knew what to do. He was good with people—even sobbing wyveri, apparently. “How did you get so good at this?”
“I had parents who believed in allowing emotions, even uncomfortable ones. My father often rants about human men who speak as if they have no emotions. They do, of course; they simply don’t know how to handle them, and then most often they misdirect them into anger, and then they can’t handle someone else expressing an emotion they’ve always denied. My parents did their best to ensure I didn’t grow up to be like that.”
“Your parents sound wonderful.”
His shoulders caved. “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be. I don’t want to let my hurt over my own family cause me to resent others for having a good family.”
“Still.” He rubbed my shoulder. “What do you need?”
My head ached, my eyes felt puffy and itchy, my nose was still stuffy, and my limbs dragged on me like heavy weights. “Sleep.”
“All right. Sleep. I’ll go out so I won’t disturb you—”
“No!” I grabbed the edge of his tunic in my fist. He stared at me, taken aback by my loud outburst. “I…” My mind caught up to my actions, and horror at my weakness shoved my fear aside. “Never mind.” Slowly, I released my grip on his tunic. “I’ll see you later.”
“Zidra,” Kyrundar murmured. “If you want me to stay, you need only ask.”
I swallowed. His piercing gaze held mine, as if compelling me not to look away. “Will you stay?”
He didn’t ask why. Didn’t force me to admit to my fear of an assassin finding me while he was gone or the aching loneliness that filled my chest at the thought of being alone.
“Always.”