Howl's Moving Castle Fan Fiction ❯ The Kindred Cycle ❯ Chapter 3 ( Chapter 3 )

Ryden banked hard, struggling to keep his equilibrium.

A wall of frigid air hit him from below, surging up off the Teeth of the Wastes. His eyes watered behind his aviation goggles, teeth chattering even through his wore layers and layers of chill proof gear. But the sky was blisteringly cold, naked and ferocious with wind as he soared high over the endless planes, canyons and peaks covered in nothing but white, white, white.

He was a fast flyer.

The fastest the Guard had to offer save one.

Ryden struggled to keep up with the Captain of the Wizard Guard.

Peoter rocketed ahead of him.

A streak of blue and red against the monotony of white.

By the Wall that man could fly!

But flying brought neither of them any comfort today.

Three days since the crash.

The explosion left a crater on the side of Chimney Mountain the size of the Ingarian Palace. The crew had been lost. A couple of the guard too. He hadn't known them well, but it didn't matter. Loosing any one of the Reds was like loosing a brother. Only one had survived. Just barely. Poor guy was burned beyond recognition, tucked away in the safest corner of the Healer's Wing. The only reason he was still alive was because he was a flyer.

Which Nalir was not.

But he was with Theresa and she could fly like a daemon.

Then two days ago a snow daemon followed the stink of magic to the shattered remains of a garden hoe in the burrow of a rock sprite. The little creature said he'd found it buried in the snow and couldn't say where.

Still, they weren't about to give up.

Especially not Markl.

The Wallmaker's son begged Nox out of the Otherworld when efforts to contact Nalir via mind speech failed again and again. Between Calcifer and the Prince of Stars they managed to call up every amicable Daemon on the face of the Wastes to help with the search. The Wallmakers were most familiar with the Eastern steppes. Lord Howl, Lady Sophie, and even Akarshan were both combing over every nook and cranny from the Chipping Hills to Star Lake.

All eyes that could be spared were turned to the Wastes.

The shards of Suliman's orb were found in the crash. And the next best scry-tool in the Tri-Countries was the Amethyst Bowl of the Mardan Water Witch.

But Merra had couldn't find him.

Three days she'd remained awake, searching, scanning. Looking for any sign of her son or the Herbalist's apprentice. But time and time again the only thing that showed in her scrylass was darkness. And snow. No one wanted to admit what that might mean. He'd been in the room when the Water Witch finally gave up. The memory still burned his insides with anger. He'd always known Merra was an ice queen. The marks of that legacy could be seen in Nalir. But she hadn't shed a tear! Hadn't uttered a single word of consolation to any of them! She just let the scrylass go dark, stood up, and left the room.

That was when Lady Martha broke down.

In spite of her enormous presence, the Herbalist was such a quiet woman. He'd barely heard her speak more than a handful of words in the six years he'd served with Captain Peoter. And he'd never heard someone scream so loudly. Her unearthly keening had rattled him clear to the core of his bones. Barimus had to carry her out of the room. But he could still hear her even after she was gone.

He'd never forget that sound.

They were circling back now, passing by the ruined crumbled mass of the mountain peak where the airship had gone down. Hundreds of tiny red points milled over the burned out hull. It looked like a scorched bird carcass from high above. Lord Barimus was with them. Trying to piece together what happened. Ryden had been privy to a short report between the Royal Sorcerer and his Captain. And what he overheard chilled his heart to stone.

Sabotage.

The word still burned a hole in his chest.

Sabotage!

Who could do such a thing!?

Ryden came up into a hover, watching Peoter circle the crash sight, flashing a mirror pinned to his breast at the crowds below. One in the masses stopped, flashing back. Seran. Not a mind speaker in the slightest. But he and the Captain had worked that out. Apparently there was nothing new to report, because Peoter arced away from the site, heading back out over the open Wastes. Without hesitation he followed.

And Ryden's heart sank, turning so heavy he nearly fell from the sky.

Nalir was an insufferable, over-stuffed, sharp-tongued, ass of a Magi.

But still…

He was Ryden's friend.

They'd been through more together than anyone could imagine. True, they'd drifted apart after the end of the Daemon War. Ryden joined the Guard and Nalir'd taken an apprenticeship with the Royal Sorcerer. But they still saw each other from time to time at Royal functions. And over the years Ryden watched the changes in Nalir. If ever a problem occurred, he was one of the first to come up with a plan to fix it. Not some half cobbled plan either. Things he fixed stayed fixed. He knew exactly who to talk to. Who to bring in. Who to laud. Who to reprimand. But he wasn't very good at compromise. Nalir was right, even when you were so very sure he was wrong. And a lot of people hated him for being right all the time. To say it gave him a bit of an ego was an understatement. Something else people could hate him for.

But it went deeper than that.

Besides knowing about everyone and anything going on in the Palace, somehow Nalir'd learned to listen. Really listen. And if you came to him with a personal problem, you could bet your big gold Royal that his advice was worth taking. Unfortunately he was just too damned smart for his own good. And sometimes people didn't want to have the truth shoved in their faces.

Like right now.

And it was sad, but true. Magi, daemon, and country folk alike were really come out of the woodwork for Theresa. Not Nalir. The world would be cold quiet without her sunshine. Ryden was only just beginning to accept that admit the chances were slim. So they catapulted back out over the Wastes. And Ryden forced himself to fly faster, telling himself his eyes were watering because of the wind. He didn't want to think about it yet.

Because loosing her was close to killing Markl.

Although Ryden almost flew straight into Peoter as the Guard suddenly looped back, coming to a spinning, neck bending halt. Ryden caught a thermal beside him, trying to see what his teacher saw.

There is was.

A thin curl of black smoke winding its way out of a chasm below.

Peoter dropped like a stone.

Ryden followed, his heart thrilling up in his throat and not because of the fall. The sun winked out as they plunged by the lips of the narrow ravine. It was stuffed full of snow. Nearly brimming. Peoter crowed as Ryden's eyes picked out a speck of green.

Theresa!

She was covered in herbs, with all kinds of twigs and sprigs of sharp smelling medicinals tangled up in her hair. He could hear her screaming as they crashed to the ground, running at them waving her hands. And the former twin scooped her up, laughing and crying as he whirled her around like a rag doll. Ryden tackled them both, kissing her frozen red cheeks, only barely taking notice of the fact that the snow behind them was burning. Piled up in a metal bucket. Churning out a thick cloud of stinky magic saturated smoke.

But Theresa was anything but happy to see them.

She was franticly struggling, trying to break free of their hold.

“Nalir!” She screamed, pointing at a shallow crater in the snow.

It looked like something below the surface had caved in. Peoter's face went absolutely blank. Ryden caught up Theresa, wrapping her in his coat as his teacher's eyes went pale and far away. Within a heartbeat the air overhead shattered with something akin to a sonic boom.

A star fell from the bright blue sky

And they were knocked from their feet, thrown to the ground as it touched down in the snows banks not far away, setting off an explosion of magnesium sparklers, spraying them with ice and steam.

Nox stood up out of the icy basin, cloaked in indigo blue.

Shaking his starlight hair.

Blinking uncannily luminescent violet eyes.

Ryden bowed beside Peoter as the Prince of Stars stared at his hands in child-like awe, wiggling his fingers.

“NOX!” Theresa threw herself at the star.

Lithely he bent from his supple height, catching her up in an embrace of liquid grace. Following after her with unhurried serenity as she broke free, grabbing his arm, pulling him after her, all the while pointing

“He's still down there!” She was hoarse from screaming.

Nox's calm broke as he looked past all of them at the shallow depression.

“Move.” His voice sounded like the knell of a great golden bell.

And Ryden nearly jumped out of his skin as Peoter grabbed him, dragging him aside as the star put out a hand, making a scooping motion. The ground trembled as the snow heaved. Snarling and snapping angrily. As if loathe to give up its treasure. However begrudgingly, it belched up great mound of ice that lifted into the air, eroding in showers of fresh snow, uncovering at its heart a blot of black and red.

“NALIR!?” Theresa's wail touched something raw in Ryden.

It reminded him too much of Lady Martha. And he followed the Herbalist's apprentice as she tore past the star to catch the Mardan as he drifted down like a great black snowflake.

Ryden choked as he looked at his friend.

The thin man was pale and blue.

So very still.

Not breathing.

“We still have a chance.” Bent over him, she went cold as the ice beneath her, professional as the greens she wore, “Hypothermia may save him. But we have to be his heart and lungs until he thaws. Palpitate while I breathe!”

“W-what!?”

“Bloody black bricks, don't they teach you wizards anything!?” She snarled so furiously he lept back, “Peoter!?”

His teacher was opposite her in an instant, folding his hands into one fist, fitting these over the frozen man's chest. Waiting as Theresa turned back Nalir's head, fitting her mouth to his, forcing air into his lungs. Ryden marveled as his chest rose and fell like magic, but obviously not.

“Now!” She cued Peoter, who pushed down on Nalir's chest three times, hard enough to make Ryden flinch.

“What must be done?”

The lanky guard nearly jumped out of his skin as Nox touched his shoulder, appearing at his side like a dream in indigo velvet. The contact was an electric shock. Instantly he bowed, and in doing so saw that the inside of the Prince's cloak was filled with stars.

“We need get him back to the healer's wing. Now!” Theresa snapped.

Nox turned, looking at nothing as he sang out sonorously, “Deirdre!”

Magic surged from him, and Ryden yelped as a doorway lifted out of the snow, built from the ice itself, complete with a door and latch. The frozen bolt turned, opening out as the eerie breath of the Otherworld came creeping across the snow. On the threshold, two women stood linked arm and arm. Perfect copies save one had eyes of black and the other eyes of white.

They split apart, pulling a hole between them.

It snapped into place, filling the doorway.

Beyond was the view from the main entrance to the Healer's wing, and the cries of the startled Greenie filter out into the canyon.

“I need a stretcher!” Theresa shouted as she came up from breathing.

But her apprentice sisters ran screaming as Nox bent to peer through at them curiously. Ryden darted past the star, rattled by the surge of magic and the wall of warmth as he crashed into the waiting room. Pushing through the doors he ran right into a Green who looked capable. She had that look, a set to her chin that said she could do anything.

“By the Wall itself, what the blazes are you doing in here!?” She craned her neck and shouted into the distance, “Who left the windows open!? It's absolutely freezing!”

Ryden seized her arm, “I need a stretcher!”

Taking in his uniform and state she wordlessly hauled open a supply cabinet handing him a long canvas covered roll complete with poles. He was back through the double doors and out into the snow, vaguely aware of a scream behind him. Probably the Greenie discovering the Wastes outside her front door.

“Got it!” Ryden called as he came back to Theresa's side.

Only to feel the bottom drop out his chest.

Nalir was still blue and unmoving in spite of all the work they were doing.

“Lay it out next to him!” Theresa ordered as she surfaced.

“H-how?” Ryden stammered, uselessly shaking the device to no avail.

With a furious snarl Theresa jumped to her feet, seizing the poles. The fabric snapped open under her hand, unrolling with a drum-like thump as she shook it.

“Get his shoulders, Peoter!” She pointed up at Ryden, “You get his feet!”

Theresa positioned herself to continue breathing even as they moved Nalir, lifting him, carrying him through the doorway into the Healers Wing. A crackling pop behind Ryden announced the closing of the portal. And they barreled through the double doors, joined by the same Greenie from earlier. She was pale as her apron, but unlike her students, had recovered from her look into the north.

“Medics!” She shouted, waiting for Theresa to surface, “What's his condition!?”

“Buried in snow for about a half hour maybe more.” The red-head gasped for air, “Not breathing. No pulse.”

“Right. We'll take him from here.”

All at once the hallway opened up into a room full green uniformed country men and women. Ryden balked as they swarmed around him, taking the stretcher from his hands, yelling orders and moving with such ordered chaos he was utterly lost. And he thought Guard drills were difficult! Theresa and Peoter fell back as others took their places. And Ryden watched as Nalir was carried away by a green sea of capable hands.

“A-are you okay?” Winded, he bent to put his hands on his knees.

“I'm fine.” She whispered thoroughly unconvincingly.

Peoter caught her as her knees buckled, lifting her back to her feet.

Just as the double doors behind them burst open.

Ryden watched as Markl strode through riding a gale that gusted down the corridor. But the Wallmaker's son never lost momentum. His eyes were fixed on one thing. And one thing only. On his face was the look of a man who had crossed a dessert only to see water; nearly drowned in the ocean only to feel land beneath his feet. A man who'd lost everything only to gain it all back.

Theresa turned, looking over Peoter's arm just as he caught her.

Lifting her high into a hug so tight she actually squeaked.

Ryden went hot in the cheeks as Markl sat her down.

And kissed her full on the lips.

 

***

She could see the gardens from her chair.

But she wasn't looking.

Instead she was staring at the grain of the wood beneath her feet.

Markl was with her.

So were Peoter and Ryden.

But she didn't see them.

Didn't feel his arm around her shoulders. Holding her close in an awkward sideways kind of bear hug, making her back hurt. And it didn't feel good around her shoulders. It made her insides itch with all kinds of uncomfortable feelings. It got worse as she remember his kiss. Sloppy and rough. She's cut her lip on one of her teeth. But she could hear Markl's heart thumping away in his chest. Fast and strong. Making her remember what it was like to feel its absence.

No heartbeat.

No pulse.

Cold and still.

Lips blue.

Dried blood all over his face.

Dead for all intensive purposes.

But no one had come to make the announcement.

So there was still a chance the cold had saved him.

A door opened and Theresa was on her feet.

But it wasn't a solemn faced Greenie.

It was Martha.

The Herbalist looked like she'd come right from bed. She was wearing only a nightdress, so maybe she had. Long black hair half braided, pulling free in tangled loops. Sallow face raw and red with the tears bright in her darkly circled eyes. She choked on her name as her voice failed. Holding her arms open wide. And she was there, in her mother's arms. Martha held her, rocking her back and forth, smoothing her hair,

But she couldn't cry yet.

Her insides were too full of waiting.

There wasn't enough room for tears.

“Barimus is on his way.” Her mother whispered as if the act of speaking might somehow make her disappear, “So are Sophie and Howl.”

Still smoothing her hair, Martha steered her back to a seat, sitting beside her, becoming at once a solid wall of strength. Theresa leaned on her heavily as slowly but surely her insides tore apart.

Theresa didn't even notice Barimus until he was kneeling in front of her, his hands on her knees. His brown eyes became her whole world. All kinds of things were going on inside them.

“Daddy…” She whispered, not knowing what else to say.

His hands tightened on hers, brittle smile thinning to the point that it became a grimace. He yanked her against him. His beard rubbing roughly against her cheek. She didn't care. She loved it when Barimus hugged her.

And then she saw it at the threshold. Howl held the door open. She recognized the pink and grey triangles of his coat. But it was there, beyond the blue of Sophie's skirts, past the reds of Peoter and Ryden.

A flash of green.

Waiting patiently.

Theresa didn't know how she got there. She could have picked up and thrown Barimus for all she knew. All that mattered was she was next to the uniform of the right color, bent and gasping for air. No longer waiting. But she couldn't look up. Couldn't look at the Healer's face as the woman took her hand, squeezing it tightly.

“They revived him.” Theresa heard someone say.

“He's alive.”

That was all she needed.

All her body had been holding on to hear.

And her legs gave out: knees, ankles, thighs.

All of them failed as relief turned her to rubber.

She remembered swatting at someone's hands.

She was tired of being picked up and tossed about.

But they picked her up anyway.

And carried her out of the room.

 

***

It was warm.

Really warm.

Nalir twitched as he seemed to float above everything. Flying in the brightness that wrapped around him. Like the clean white sheets the servants used to hang in the fields behind his father's house. Billowing linen veils that smelled like sunlight. When he was little he used to run between them pretending they were clouds. Pretending he could fly.

Maybe he'd made up for something then?

Because this obviously wasn't hell.

Hell didn't smell like clean linen.

Although he certainly felt like hell.

Ever fiber of his body ached, felt twenty times heavier than it should. Nalir could barely open his eyes. And he moaned as some of the light slipped between his eye lids, piercing his head like sharp shards of glass.

“He's waking up, Lord Councilor.”

A woman's voice sounded somewhere above him.

Brisk and satisfied.

But not the one he wanted.

Was she alright!?

Where was she?

“Theresa? Theresa!?” Nalir's voice rasped between his lips that felt dry as sand shingles. And he flinched as someone took his hand and squeezed.

“It's alright, Nalir.”

At least he knew that voice.

“Master Barimus?” He croaked toadishly.

It didn't matter how many times Barimus asked him not too. Nalir insisted on calling him Master, as was befitting his status. To do otherwise was inexcusably disrespectful. But for once the Royal Wizard didn't scold him.

“Shhh… She's safe. Theresa's just fine.”

Nalir nearly dissolved with relief.

Red swam before his eyes and Barimus resolved out of the swallowing bright. And he looked anything but fine. His normally well cropped beard was getting shaggy, making the lines around his eyes seem deeper, more pronounced. His brown eyes suddenly soaked through with worry as they looked at him. And a thread of cold uncurled in the leaden weight that was his body. If Theresa was fine why did Barimus look so upset?

The Royal Sorcerer turned to the Greenie who hovered in his shadow.

“Are you sure he's alright?”

“Of course,” the young woman frowned, pushing past to replace Barimus at his beside, busying herself with peering into his eyes and prodding at his wrists. “Healer Yewin saw to that.”

Nalir's insides turned to ice, and with a great degree effort the young sorcerer pulled back his hands. “Yewin?” Nalir almost choked on the name.

“You owe him your life.” She gushed in the way women often fawned.

The Greenie didn't seem to notice his hands close into fists atop the sheets. It would be very poor form to verbally abuse a complete stranger in front of his master, but Nalir was sorely tempted as she smoothed the blankets over him, fussing over him until the very sound of her breathing made him ill.

“Clara, could I trouble you to leave us a while?”

Barimus had come around the other side of Nalir's bed, putting distance between them. The blond man was smiling at the healer, oozing charm. And the greenie paused, distracted from strangling Nalir's feet with a throw blanket.

“B-but he's only just woken up…” Already she was swaying, caught in his master's net, “Lady Martha wants him under strict observation.”

“Then I shall tell you the moment I notice something amiss.” Barimus replied with velvet cheerfulness.

“Oh… Well… I'll just be outside then.” Somewhat forlornly she wandered to the door, slipping out only to poke her head back in, “Call if you need anything?”

“Thank you, Clara.” He beamed.

Although the warmth never reached his eyes.

Finally the door clicked shut. Leaving them in tense silence. And Nalir finally took notice of the room. Light was streaming in the windows, permeating the gauzy beige drapes, making the bare white walls fluoresce with light. There was a ferny-looking plant on the table beside the bed. Potted in the same glazed earth ware as the sturdy mug in which Theresa'd brewed his tea.

Nalir flinched as a chair scraped the wooden floor.

Barimus sat beside his bed.

They both stared somewhere else.

Anywhere but at each other.

Nalir finally gathered courage to speak, struggling with great difficulty to sit up against the pillows. The very act left his heart racing.

“H-how long have I been here?”

“Three days. You've been in and out all today. Frankly, I'm a bit surprised you're awake.”

All the polite words Nalir could normally summon suddenly dried up. That shouldn't have surprised him all that much. Because when he locked Theresa into the herb closed he never really expected to open his eyes on this world ever again. As if sensing his thoughts, the false smile disappeared from his teacher's face, leaving him grim.

“You died, Nalir.” Barimus choked on the word, “Your heart was stopped for almost a full hour.”

That was difficult to wrap his head around.

Being dead.

Because he didn't remember anything after the dome smashed above him. Smothering him in icy teeth of frozen oblivion. Unconsciously he shivered. As if he was still buried in snow. And he felt jarringly empty. Devoid of any joy to find himself still alive. Because so many others weren't nearly so lucky.

“I wasn't about to let her starve to death.” He whispered distantly, “I promised Markl I would take care of her.”

Barimus' chair toppled over.

The Red wizard was on his feet.

Yanking him into a fierce hug.

Shocked. Nalir was utterly shocked.

His teacher often had words of praise. But never for him had he the pats on the back or the playful cuffs Barimus often gave the Wallmaker's son. Nalir'd seen Howl hug Markl and Barimus on many occasions. The raven haired man even hugged Lady Martha! But they were family. Such affection was common if not expected among family. Nalir was not part of the Wallmaker's family.

He should have been mortified.

But he wasn't.

If only for a moment.

He could imagine what it must be like to be wanted.

And if only for a moment.

He could imagine what it was like to have a father again.

All the joy that he'd been denied earlier suddenly came welling up as his teacher crushed the air out of him.

“You stupid little fool!” Barimus whispered hoarsely, still hugging him. “You stupid, stupid, little idiot! I thought I'd lost you!”

“Master Barimus!” Nalir squeaked, “I can't breathe!”

The red wizard drew back, still holding him by the shoulders, looking at him with a mixture of fury and helpless amusement, “Black, bloody bricks! Stop calling me that!”

“I c-c-can't help it, sir!” Nalir stammered, “Protocol demands it!”

“Protocol be damned! When we are alone you will call me Barimus.” He shook him for good measure, “That's an order!”

“Yes, Master Barimus…”

“Nalir!” His teacher thundered.

Oh, bloody hell, why couldn't he do anything right!?

“Sorry! Sorry!”

In a huff of green, Healer Clara burst in from the hallway, “What in the name of the Wall is going on in here!?”

“Out!”

Done with being urbane, Barimus stabbed an angry finger at the door. But Clara planted her hands on her hips. And a stab of weakness went through Nalir's chest. It conjured a memory of Theresa's angry face looking up at his.

“Royal Wizard, or not!” The little woman answered back, “I will not stand for you upsetting my patient!”

“The Lord Councilor upsets no one, dear lady.” Nalir cut in frostily, “Do leave us. We have important business.”

Clara stared, flabbergasted before puffing up like a little green bird. “Well!” She slammed the door.

“Are all the Greens this insufferable!?” Nalir muttered under his breath.

“I am fond of my wife and daughter.” Barimus was smirking, “But I'm quite sure they have similar things to say about the Magi.”

Finally Nalir couldn't stand decorum any longer.

He drew back the blankets, throwing his legs over the side of the opposite side of the bed before Barimus caught his arm. Anger brewing in his brown eyes like a storm cloud.

“And what do you think you're doing?!”

Nalir curbed his tongue, stowing the hot reply he held waiting. Wordlessly, and not without a hint of heat creeping into his cheeks, the young wizard pointed at the door to the adjoining bathroom.

“Oh…” Barimus flushed, coming around the bed. “Let me help you.”

“T-thank you, sir, but I'm q-quite sure I can manage,” Nalir stammered in embarrassment as he slid out of bed onto his feet. And then down to the floor. Like a closing book his knees buckled, leaving himself in a pile of exasperation for his teacher to gather back up.

“Being stubborn is only good for so much, Nalir.”

The Red Wizard gently hoisted him upright. With his teacher's help he managed not to fall again on the way to or back from the privy. But by the time he did make it back to bed he was utterly exhausted. Too exhausted to protest as Barimus covered him up as if he were a child.

“I'm so useless…” Nalir muttered despondently.

“Quite the contrary,” Barimus he picked up his chair, settling beside the bed. “The Guard depends on you. I depend on you.”

Nalir shied from the open praise, not sure what to think of it, “All I do is relay orders, sir… I mean… er… Barimus.”

It was incredibly awkward to not call his teacher by his proper title.

“Will you please be quiet so I can thank you properly?!” The blond man leaned back with a gusty sigh, scrubbing at his face.

Still he managed to somehow exasperate his teacher.

And Nalir's cheeks burned with shame until he was trembling with it.

“Thank me? Thank me for what!? Nothing! Nothing!” He hid his face in his hands as his sight blurred, “I couldn't do a thing as I watched that ship come crashing down!? I could hear them… I could hear them all in my head as it came down… And there was nothing I could do to save them! All my magic was useless! Useless!”

Barimus was quiet so long Nalir's insides began to crack.

Then he put his teacher put his hand on Nalir's shoulder.

The contact was as overwhelming as it was comforting.

“You did save one life. For that I cannot begin to thank you.”

True. He had saved one life.

And to save that life he would gladly die again.

“Well…” Nalir muttered between his fingers, “She saved me first.”

Barimus squeezed his shoulder, and Nalir dared not look up. Because his master was smiling at him. The warmth finally reached his eyes.

“For six years you've been my student. Only now am I really beginning to see you. For that I am sorry.” He cleared his throat as his voice thickened, “I… I am very proud to have you as my apprentice.”

It was as if a hole had been pricked in his side.

All the despair came flooding out.

Slowly trickling away.

Leaving him tired.

But no longer sad or angry.

And he wilted against the pillows as an unfamiliar peace touched him.

“Thank you… Master Barimus...”

Before the Royal sorcerer could scold him for his momentary lapse, the door to the hall jerked open without so much as a knock. Lady Martha loomed in the threshold: pale, grim, and twice as terrifying. She wore green the way the Guard wore red, like a uniform. And her tight black braid wound in a silver streaked crown around her head. She carried a covered tray of what might as well be torture implements judging from the look on her face, which she directed entirely at her husband. Looking more than guilty Barimus was on his feet as she hooked the door closed with her foot, shrinking from the displeasure in her dark eyes as she replaced him at the chair.

But she gentled as her attention moved to him.

It was an emotion Nalir'd rarely seen in the Herbalist.

Placing the tray on his lap she uncovered it, revealing a steaming bowl of rich brown broth, buttered boiled rice, and stoutly brewed tea that instantly set his mouth watering. Nalir's stomach growled ferociously, nearly kicking its way free of his gut.

“Eat.” She commanded softly.

No need to tell him twice. Bending over the platter, Nalir abandoned all decorum and drank directly from the bowl.

“Now the rice.” Martha practically put the spoon in his mouth.

“Don't forget your tea.” She murmured encouragingly after he decimated the rice, smoothing back his hair as it strayed into the cup.

“Thank you.” He mumbled, pausing for a gulp of the hot beverage. It melted its way through his insides like quicksilver fire, making his aching body go absolutely weightless as he sank into the pillows, “Oh… Thank you…”

Nalir wasn't sure why he was thanking her for drugged him.

But whatever it was made him feel all fuzzy and relaxed.

“You're welcome.” Martha answered. And then smiled.

Nalir couldn't recall if he'd ever seen her smile before.

“You're so beau'iful when you smile, Lady Martha…” Nalir mumbled as the left half of his brain checked out, giving his mouth leave to run. “You shoul' smile more…”

Barimus choked on a laugh as she went flame red. And she took the cup from his hand, before turning a disapproving frown at her husband.

“He's far too skinny. They both are.”

“'M no' skinny…” Nalir objected drunkenly.

Barimus snorted, “What did you give him?”

“Rest.” She answered faultlessly. “Now leave him be so he can take it.”

The clouds were back before he could protest.

Wrapping around his head.

Until it was too bright to stay awake.

***

Someone was singing. Singing for him.

Cold hands brushed his forehead.

Far to cold to be Theresa's.

Nalir jolted awake only to find it dark save for a single candle across the room. Merra yanked back her hands, sitting bolt upright in the chair beside his bed. He had a feeling no one knew his mother was with him. Why else would she be skulking in the dark? This was the first time in six years that she'd come to see him.

And Nalir stared for a long moment.

Trying to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

But the rage boiling in his stomach was too strong for this to be a dream.

“Tell me you had nothing to do with this.”

“I… I did not.” His mother's agonized whispered slipped out so quietly he could barely hear her. “I swear it on your father's name!”

She was trembling, outlined from behind by the tiny flame. But something in her voice betrayed her. He heard it because he was used to listening for it. Something withheld. Something hidden. And his insides cracked apart as hate filled him.

“I don't believe you.”

“Nalir…” Merra reached for him.

“No.” He shrank from her cold hands.

“Nalir!” She hovered pleadingly, reaching still.

And he almost relented.

Almost reached back.

But then again Merra never begged for anything.

She could be manipulating him as she had so many times before.

“Little bird… Can you forgive your mother?” He could hear the tears in her voice even if he couldn't see them. They tore him to shreds, destroying his resistance. “I couldn't find you. I couldn't see you. These past days all could think ever thought of was you!”

But then her words rekindled the fury inside.

Igniting him like a brand held to dry tinder.

And all the bitterness he'd withheld for so long came pouring out.

“Me? Me!? You've never once thought of anything but yourself! Coming to Ingary! Enrolling me in the Academy! Taking me from Elder Tirut's! You've always used me to better your standing. Used me to create more lucrative opportunities. But this… No ambition is worth such a price!” He grew hushed, feeling sick with outrage and disgust, “I don't know you anymore… You are not my mother.”

She drew herself up as though he'd struck her.

He might as well have hit her.

The words seemed to do as much damage.

“How dare you speak to me…” She choked on her own venom, casting about for words. “You have no idea what you are saying.”

“I'll speak as I please!” Nalir hissed back.

He turned his back to her. And he didn't recognize his voice. It was so distant and cold it almost sounded as though it hadn't come from him.

“Leave. I don't ever want to see you again.”

It was cruel. Crueler than she deserved.

But he didn't care.

After what seemed like hours he heard the floor creak.

A door opened and shut.

And he was alone.

The hate holding him up thawed in a heartbeat, melting into utter despair as he bent his face in the pillows. Sorrow flooded out of him uncontrollably.

And Nalir cried.

Like a little boy.

Like he had on the night his father was killed.

And again when Tirut died.

She was his mother. She was all he had left in the world. He'd followed her halfway across the world. He believed in her. Trusted her. Only because of her had he come to live in the very kingdom responsible for his father's death. All for love of her. He loved her still. With all his heart. But even that love wasn't enough to stand for what she had done.

Because it changed nothing.

Hundreds were dead.

He could still feel the weight of their passing on the fabric of his soul.

It was monstrous!

It was unforgivable!

Never had he felt so completely lost.

And he stilled as his mind suddenly started up like a whirring top. It did not matter than he had been the one on the Airship. The attempt had been intended not only on the life Royal Sorcerer's daughter but also the Wallmaker's Son. High treason. Punishable by death. Nalir's insides chilled at the thought, emptying him of anything but terror. Because he could not utter a word of this to anyone. Not even his Master.

Then a knock sounded from the inside of the bathroom door.

Nalir froze further still as the knob turned.

Theresa slipped into the room. Wearing a nightdress and shawl, feet bare and her mass of red curls tucked up under a kerchief. The Herbalist's apprentice remained looking at the floor as he hastily turned away, wiping his nose and face on his sleeve.

“Hi… I, uh… I'm not supposed to be here…” She scratched the tip of her nose, folding her hands behind her back, “I snuck in… I didn't want you to be by yourself. But then Merra came in when I was getting a glass of water…”

It took Nalir a moment to find his voice. It sounded harsher than he intended. “How much did you hear?”

She started visibly, “N-nothing! I promise you I wasn't listening at all!”

“You swear it?!” He demanded tersely.

“On my life!” She colored in the dark, hands going to her hips as she scowled at him furiously. But her keen eyes went to his face, seeing what he so desperately tried to hide. And she paused. Softening.

“Are… Are you okay?”

“No…” He breathed, barely a whisper.

Her eyes flicked to the door, a worried crease forming on her brow.

“Is it your mom?”

“Yes.”

Once again the truth went slipping between his teeth, but that much was alright to admit. Nalir stared at his clenched hands, realizing he was trembling violently. Duty and honor demanded he tell Master Barimus immediately. But the consequences! The fear was beyond him, all consuming, the weight of it growing too much to bare.

Because he held his mother's life in his hands.

“Nalir?” He started, looking up to find Theresa at his beside. Her green eyes were for him. Only for him. And he felt his insides crack apart as the sorrow seized him freshly.

“I said awful things to her… My mother…”

He crumbled.

And she was there, as if she had been waiting.

“It's okay…” Theresa murmured, smoothing his hair.

But it wasn't.

It never would be ever again.

After a moment she drew back, lifting up the covers so she could climb into bed beside him. He made room, collecting her onto his shoulder. Oh, but it was wonderful to have her there. His insides came alive with warmth and lightness, as if he'd had another swig of Martha's tainted tea. The emptiness dried up, taking with it the fear and the shame. As if a missing piece of himself had been returned. It was wrong. So very wrong. But if it was wrong then why did it feel so right? It was difficult to tell who was holding who they were so tangled in one another. So he could feel her shoulders knotting

“You were dead…” She whispered.

“So Master Barimus tells me.”

“You're not allowed to die.” Her hands tightened on his shirt.

“Yes, ma'am.” He smirked, although only half in jest. She let out a ragged sigh, burying her face in his chest as he turned his face into her kerchief.

“I can't stay long.”

“Just a moment longer.” He pleaded, “I've been dreaming of this.”

He shouldn't have said that.

Because she stiffened. And he could almost hear the thoughts racing through her head. Judging from her tense shoulders, it was related to the question weighing heavily on his conscience.

“Did you tell him?”

“No.” It was barely a whisper. But he heard her all the same.

“Don't. It will destroy him.”

Already he could feel the secret smoldering in the back of his head. One more for his pyre. But he was currently keeping far worse things. Theresa let out another gusty sigh, at once sad and frustrated. Probably because she knew he was right. All the same, there was more to it.

“What?”

Theresa fidgeted, growing more and more exasperated.

“Out with it, woman!”

“It's Markl…”

“And what of him?”

“He's an awful kisser!”

Nalir stifled a surge of jealous, redirecting it through a brittle laugh, “Really… Surely it can't be that bad?

“I might as well be kissing Heen!” She shot back, picking at the hem on the coverlet.

“Ouch…” Nalir winced, “That's pretty bad.”

“It's not just the kissing. It's everything I told you about before. Ever since we got back, Markl just assumes we're together! But Markl never asked me! I don't think he thinks he has to. He kissed me in front of Ryden! Thanks to that loose tongued-bean pole the whole bloody palace is buzzing over it. Everything thinks we're a couple. And the worst of it is nothing's changed. We're exactly where we were before. The only difference is I get beard burn from his slobbering.”

This was not the conversation he expected to be having.

Nor did he expect the pang of hope it kindled in his chest.

He stamped it out. Like grinding an ember beneath his heel. Ignoring the pain it caused him. But the spark refused to die. Glowing within him brighter and brighter, in spite of the words of encouragement he offered.

“It's been what, three days. Give things a chance to settle. Perhaps he'll court you properly when things have settled.”

“That's just it, I'm not sure I want them to settle. I'm not sure this is what I want! But everyone, even Martha and Barimus, assumes it is. They all seem so happy about it. I feel like I'd be letting them down. All of them, not just Markl.”

She tapered off, getting lost inside her own head. And he could feel her scowling. Reaching up, he smoothed her brow, trying to ease away the lines as she heaved another heavy sigh. And Nalir didn't know what else to say except the truth.

“You need to talk to him, Theresa. Tell him what's bothering you.”

She shifted angrily, “I already did! In the supply room!”

“No. You didn't. You may have been alluding, but what came out was about work. He's sensitive but not that sensitive. Trust me. He still has no idea. You need to be blunt with Markl. Tell him what you're telling me.”

“I can't talk to him like I talk to you.” She muttered into his shirt, “He doesn't listen the way you do.”

“Then make him listen!”

“Ha! Easier said than done!”

“And why do you think I'm such an ass? It gets his attention!”

She heaved another sigh, turning into a tight knot under his hands, “Sorry… I shouldn't be telling you this. You should be resting. Here I'm soaking your shirt when you've got your own problems.”

“I assure you I have plenty of shirts. Soak away.”

“Goose!” She snorted, jostling him playfully. But she stilled after a moment, hands still closed over the front of his shirt. They were dozing. Until Theresa jerked awake.

“I really should go.”

It was the third time she'd said it.

“I know.”

And every time she did it felt like she was asking him to tell her otherwise. He couldn't. Not out loud at least. But he was still holding her tightly. He very much needed her right now. The same seemed true in reverse.

Stalemate.

***

Dawn came fluttering in through the windows.

Creamy and diffuse.

Blinking through the gray light, Nalir saw flakes falling beyond the curtains. Licking curls of white. No one could blame him if he chose to develop a healthy aversion to frozen water for the rest of his life. But no such dislike stirred in him now.

“Wake up Theresa.” The cough stirred in his chest as if in anticipation of the coldly biting air outside. But he ignored it.

“Mmmm?” She stirred against his chest, blinking rapidly.

“It's snowing.” He pointed out the window.

“Pretty.” Her bleary eyes focused on the fat fluffy flakes.

He wasn't looking at the snow anymore. He was looking at her. Her green eyes were puffy and darkly circled, nose red and raw from rubbing. But she was still beautiful. So very beautiful.

“Happy birthday.” Nalir smiled absently.

Her attention snapped back to him like iron to a loadstone. And she was frowning, surprise drawing her features stern. “How'd you know it's my birthday?”

He looked back for a moment, “Because it's my birthday too.”

Then Theresa's eyes went wide, and not because of that revelation.

“Shit!” She exclaimed, rolling out of bed, leaving an increasingly familiar hole in his chest, “Shit, shit, shit!”

He knew why.

In spite of her protests she'd fallen asleep beside him.

It was nearly morning. The Healer's Wing was probably already bustling with nosy, busy-bodied Greens who would spread the word all across the palace if Theresa was seen creeping out of his room in the wee hours.

“I didn't mean to keep you,” He sat up, watching in dismay as she cracked the door to the hall, peering outside only to close the door.

“I stayed `cause I wanted to, Nalir. Nobody to blame but me.” She didn't seem that upset, “Not to worry. I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“Pardon?”

She was at the closet now, baffling him as she opened the door and went inside like it was an elevator of some kind. But it was completely empty.

“I'll come back later… Thank you, by the way. For everything.” A hint of color crept into her cheeks, her eyes oddly soft, “I mean it.”

Everything? He wondered just what that word encompassed. But Nalir didn't have the courage to ask just yet. Then she shut the door. Nor did she emerge after a moment of patient waiting.

“Theresa?”

No reply. And a thread of annoyance ran between his shoulders.

“Surely you don't intend to stay in there all day?”

Still no reply.

Frowning, he climbed out of bed. And his knees bobbled infuriatingly as Nalir slowly made his way to the closet, using the footboard and chair for support. Opening the door. To find it completely empty.

Theresa was gone.

“And just what do you think you're doing out of bed?”

Nalir nearly fell in surprise as Clara bustled in from the hallway carrying a tray of what could only be breakfast. Putting the platter on the side table she looked him up and down as if he'd committed some mortal sin. He became very aware of the fact that she was taller than he was. Round faced, strong bodied with the dark hair and eyes of Ingarian farm stock. She could probably pick him up if she wanted to. Between her heavy gaze and his exposed shins, it was hard not to feel like a guilty five-year-old beneath her stare.

Instantly be bristled, barely checking his temper as he drew himself up, “I would like to request some proper clothing. I do not desire to be wandering around in a nightshirt like a senile old man.”

“And where do you think you'll be wandering off to?” Her lips quirked.

“Just bring me some clothes!” He snapped back irritably.

With all the refinement he could summon, making a show of ignoring her, Nalir tucked the chair against the table and turned to breakfast as hunger struck him weak. There were boiled oats laced with honey and cream. Delicious! And toast with butter and strawberry jam. He steered clear the tangy smelling black tea, in spite of the fact that there was obviously milk in it. Probably sugar as well. But he laid out his napkin like a gentleman, unhurriedly stirring his tea.

“Well!” Again she left in a huff.

Shortly after a knock sounded on the door as he was shoveling the hot cereal into his mouth. It opened as he turned to scowl at the doorway, expecting a horde of greens ready to restrain him in some way.

Markl stood in the doorway.

A parcel of black cloth tucked under his arm.

And a spark of gladness went through Nalir at seeing him. There was no way to get around the fact that in spite of the fact that they were constantly at odds, they were friends. Good friends. It was impossible to do otherwise after spending so much time working together.

Nalir could count his friends on three fingers.

Markl. Ryden. And now Theresa.

But his apprentice brother was staring at him the way someone looked at a daemon. With awe and disquiet. Instantly Nalir's insides were burning with shame. Because he had betrayed him Betrayed his brother. It didn't matter how accidental or unplanned. It remained a betrayal. The lanky fellow loitered in the doorway awkwardly until Nalir waved him in, standing gingerly.

“One of the greens said you wanted some clothes.” He set the stack of robes on the foot of the bed. “I brought you some things.”

“Thank you. I do hate this night shirt.”

“Yeah… I did too. They put me in one when I was here during the Daemon War.” Markl was still frowning at him, looking away hastily as Nalir caught him staring.

“What?”

“You've got a black eye.”

“Have I?” He put a hand to his face. “No mentioned that!”

“How'd that happen?”

Markl was pale and solemn faced with worry. It was beginning to wear on Nalir's nerves to have everyone gawking at him fearfully as if he were a ghost. He didn't want to think about the fact that he had apparently died. It wasn't the kind of thing you got used to.

“Eat this.”

He handed Markl the toast, waylaying anything poetic or tender his apprentice brother might feel compelled to speak aloud. Markl was very skilled at putting his foot in his mouth. So Nalir saved him preemptively. Besides, there was no need for thanks. Picking up the robes, Nalir shook them out. They were wrinkled but they would do.

“Theresa punched me after the avalanche buried us. Apparently she's a claustrophobic.”

“She is?” He chewed the toast absently, talking with his mouthful, spraying crumbs, “I didn't know that.”

Nalir bit back words as a wick of anger lit up on his tongue. He scolded instead. Better than chew him out for being an unobservant idiot.

“Don't talk with your mouthful.”

Ducking into the bathroom, Nalir changed hastily, trying to shed the nightshirt like the chill that clung to him. Going faint as he straightened. The world spun and the floor went soft beneath his feet, forcing him to turn and grip the sink. As the ringing in his ears subsided, Nalir stared at the glass. His father looked out at him. Just like in the painting over the fireplace. Except for the brilliant purple ring around his right eye. Apparently Theresa was left handed.

It took Nalir a second to see her standing behind him.

Looking over his shoulder.

Playing with the end of her thick silver braid.

Smiling.

The bathroom door flew opening behind him as he fell backwards.

“Nalir!?” Markl had him by the arms, hoisting him upright.

Still weak in the knees, the pale faced Mardan pointed back the way he came. “Y-your sister's in there…”

“Drie?” He peered thru at the empty mirror, nonplused, “Nox probably asked her to check in on you to make sure you're okay.”

Nalir came up short, “The Prince of Stars?”

“Yeah. He's the one that pulled you out of the snow.”

The floor tipped again.

“Whoa!” Markl dragged him to the chair, “You okay?”

“Tell me what happened.” He gripped his brother's arm, “Now.”

“Y-you died, Nalir.”

“I know that! What happened after that!?”

Markl relayed a very succinct explanation of how he'd come to the Healer's Wing, sparing no detail. Right up to how Theresa kept hope alive by breathing for him and Healer Yewin restarting his heart with a shock of electricity that might as well be magic.

Yewin.

Nalir's blood boiled at the man's name. Because his hand was in this. Nalir could see the shadow of it in all the possibilities he'd worked through his head while trapped in the herb closet buried beneath a mountain of snow. But he'd get to that soon enough. And he dwelled on darker thoughts.

“How many?”

“I'm sorry?” Markl stammered.

“How many died in the crash!?

“Everyone.” The Wallmaker's son whispered, “Everyone except Theresa and Theodrick.”

The last words yanked him back from the brink, keeping him afloat in the sea of despair that threatened to drown him.

“Theodrick?” He repeated the name, trying to put a face to the man. And found himself remembering the young Guard who had saluted him at the mouth of the Airship loading bay. His jaunty blond moustache tweaked into splinters by the wind from the engines.

“Where is he?”

“H-here…” Markl was staring at him strangely.

“Take me to him.” Nalir demanded, standing in spite of burn in his chest.

“I'm not sure if Martha wants you up yet.”

“Black bricks, Markl! Just take me!”

Wordlessly his apprentice brother stood and Nalir followed. In the hallway the Greens divided around Markl like water flowing around a stone, and the thin Mardan followed in his shadow as they wound through the various wards and corridors of the Healer's Wing. Things quieted as they ducked down a narrow hallway, entering into the Intensive Ward, as advertised by a plaque on the wall discouraging noise of any kind.

Nalir's insides cringed from the smell in the air.

Suffering and fear.

They stopped at a doorway towards the end.

And Nalir grabbed Markl's arm again as he reached for the latch.

“Is it bad?”

“Yeah…” The tall wizard looked away, his brown eyes more than troubled, “He's burned all over. Even inside his lungs. Martha an' Yewin've done all they can. But some things even magic can't do.”

Nalir's insides went blank as he pushed in front of Markl, knocking quietly. Sad and drawn, Ryden opened the door. He filled the frame with his height, although three of him shoulder to shoulder could have easily squeezed past the threshold.

“Shit Bricks!” Ryden whispered, still staring, “You're awake.”

His friend looked at him the same way Markl had.

Like he was a ghost.

He had good reason. The last time Ryden'd seen him, he was dead.

Dead.

Nalir was getting tired of that word.

It seemed to be chasing him around a lot since he'd woken up.

“How is he?” Nalir was looking around the Guardsman at the be-curtained bed. It was swathed with netting. Ryden waved them in, shutting the door, following his gaze as his dark eyes filled with trouble.

“Sleeping. They're keeping him heavily drugged. Even breathing hurts.”

Nalir could hear the rasping drawing beyond the curtains.

His heart clenched cold with dread.

“Hey, Nally…” Ryden shuffled next to him like an anxious scarecrow, dropping a huge hand on his shoulder, “I just wanted to say thanks…”

“Don't!” Nalir cut him off sharply, although he let the hand remain, “Please, don't... I would have done the same for you or anyone with me. The way people keep thanking me for saving Theresa, it makes me feel like they're surprised that I did anything at all… Do people really hate me that much?”

Markl and Ryden exchanged uneasy glances over the top of his head.

“Nobody hates you, Nalir.” The Guardsman answered as if appalled, “You're a hero, you know.”

“No… I'm not.” He muttered, fighting the ghost of a cough.

He brushed past them both before the sting in his eyes got any worse. Going to the chair beside the bed. Sitting. Otherwise his legs would have folded. Because Theodrick was completely covered with bandages save his mouth and eyes. Red and yellow stains touched the white gauze on his chest and face, lips blistered and bloody. But the poor man was anything but asleep.

“Who's there?” Theodrick's voice sounded like the rubbing of dry sand. And his blue eyes turned towards him, whites almost red with ruptured capillaries.

“Nalir.” It was all he could manage to say.

“S-sir!” The white of his teeth showed as he grimaced in pain, “Glad... You're alright!”

“You honor me with your concern, Guardsman.” Nalir fell back on propriety. Sometimes it was all that held him up, “I am glad to see you again.”

The grimace turned to a grin if only for a moment, “Likewise, sir.”

It was becoming too much for Nalir.

All this man's suffering. All his pain.

It was all his fault.

“I… I'm sorry, Guardsman. I'm so very sorry…” Elbows on his knees, the Mardan leaned towards the man, “What can I do for you? Name it and it will be done.”

“Sir?”

A bandaged hand uncurled, reaching for him. Nalir parted the curtain and took it, surprised by the strength of Theodrick's grip as he grinned in agony, forcing the words free of his scalded lips.

“Lord Barimus… Tell him… Not a malfunction. Not the engines… Was in storage! I saw! I saw! Not a malfunction!”

“It's alright, Theodrick! Calm down!”

“Tell him!” The burned man nearly pulled him from the chair, growing increasingly agitated.

“I will! I will tell him!”

“Thank you… Thank you…” Theodrick released him, collapsing back onto the bed, wheezing heavily.

“S-should I get a Green?” Markl was at his side, pale as the snow outside. So was Ryden. Although the Guardsman looked far more troubled than the Wallmaker's son. His dun eyes far too knowing for Nalir to pass over

Nalir towed them both out of the room, giving Markl a push down the hall, “Go. Find a Green”

“R-right!” His apprentice brother went striding away on his long legs, kicking up a wind in his wake. As soon as he was around the corner, out of earshot, Nalir rounded on his reedy childhood friend.

“What did Lord Barimus and Captain Peoter find in the wreckage?”

Ryden gaped at him like a catfish, “How the hell do you know…!?”

“Never mind that, just tell me. Was it sabotage?”

“Y-yes…” Ryden was still staring at him like he'd sprouted a third eye, “There were mundane incendiaries. Someone damaged the magical secondaries just in case all three didn't go off.”

Nalir blinked, “Three?”

He'd never seen Ryden so serious, “One in the engines, one in the room directly beneath the Royal King's Chamber, and one planted beneath the table in the conference room where you and Theresa were. That bomb didn't go off. We found it intact beneath what was left of the table. According to Peoter and Seran, if it had gone off you'd both be dead.”

Dead. The word haunted Nalir.

And his mind began to run like the gears of a clock.

It didn't add up. The whole scenario just described was far beyond his mother. She didn't know the slightest thing about chemistry let alone machinery. And she could hardly kill a spider let along commit mass murder.

And a chill touched his insides.

Because he may have made a grave mistake.

Perhaps she had been telling the truth?

Perhaps she hadn't known!?

But then who had planted the bombs?

And his insides lurched, because he had an idea.

“Do you have any leads on who planted the bombs?”

“No…” Ryden pulled at the bottom of his uniform, straightening his jacket, “But the Wallmaker is working on dismantling it. Master Barimus says Wizard Howl might be able to get something out of the components. He thinks…”

Nalir threw up his hand, cutting off his friend as someone came back around the corner. It was Markl. And in his wake came the Herbalist herself. That was not quite what Nalir intended when he sent his apprentice brother looking for help. Martha came up short as she saw him, her green eyes widening in shock. And she towered up, filling the hallway as she stormed towards them, her gaze fixed on him with ferocious intent.

“You!” Her finger stabbed at him, “Back to bed!”

He balked a moment, half expecting to be struck by lightning. Risking life and limb, Nalir drew himself back into the most graceful bow he could summon, and told the Herbalist no.

“With respect, Lady Martha, I cannot. I must see Master Howl at once.”

Stymied, she stared at him, transfixed. As though he'd turned into a bird or a fish. She shook herself, but her hands had yet to go to her hips. If anything a hint of gentleness has unpinched her features. So there was still hope.

“It can wait.” She pronounced heavily.

“Again, Lady Martha, I apologize for being contrary.” He smiled his most disarming smile, rewarded as a hint of red crept into her cheeks, “It must be now.”

A shadow passed across her eyes, which Nalir immediately saw and recognized. And intuition flashed inside his head like a freshly opened window. She knew. Knew it was no accident. Knew he must know as well. And the Herbalist's eyes went flinty as she turned to her nephew.

“Take him.”

“Y-yes, Aunt Martha.”

Markl went back the way he came, fleeing as if for his life.

Nalir followed before the Herbalist could change her mind, half running to keep up with Markl's long legs. Wordlessly they flowed through the Healer's Wing, bursting out into the Palace halls, weaving among all the rushing servants carrying train loads of gaudy garlanding and trim. A whole forest of freshly cut conifers burst from an elevator followed shortly by buckets of red waxy holly. The Royal Winter Ball was swiftly approaching and all of Kingsbury was preparing for the annual celebration. The back corridors would be a shuffling madhouse for nearly another week. But they weren't going anywhere near the Grand Hall. They were headed for the Royal Sorcerer's suite.

“Slow down!” Nalir gasped as he bent in half. “I can't keep up!”

He was forced to sit on the rug in a quiet corner as a fit of coughing seized his chest. Markl paced back and forth as he hacked, anything but sympathetic. As soon as he was able to breathe again, his apprentice brother rounded on him, brown eyes as fierce as his aunt's.

“You want to tell me what's going on!?”

Still wheezing, Nalir scowled as Markl loomed, resisting the urge to kick his shins, “Master Barimus… hasn't said anything… to you?”

That was a complete surprise. But then again Barimus hadn't mentioned anything to him either. Unfortunately that meant finding some way of keeping it from Markl until he figured out why.

“No.” Markl put his hands on his hips. It was hard for Nalir not to laugh. The motion didn't work for him the way it did for Martha or Theresa, “He's been as tight lipped as Howl since you got pulled from the ice. But apparently you know something I don't, so out with it!”

“Not here,” Nalir shook his head, “Who knows who could be listening.”

“Fine. At the castle then. But you will tell me.”

The Mardan brindled at his brother's overbearing attitude, “Keep this up and you're not getting anything from me but a swift kick in the pants.”

“Tch...” The Wallmaker's son grinned down at him, “With those stubby legs? You couldn't reach.”

“You're being an ass. That's my job. Now get me off this floor. My legs aren't working.”

“You sure you're okay?” The look was back in Markl's eyes as he hoisted him up off the runner.

“I'm fine.” Nalir lied, because he was more than a little dizzy. There just didn't seem to be enough air. He kept his hand on the wall as they continued towards their master's office, determined not to have to sit down again. Diverting his apprentice brother as best he could, “Lady Martha wouldn't have let me go if she thought anything otherwise.”

“Dunno about that.” Markl looked a little bewildered, “She's got a soft spot for you. I've never seen her let anyone tell her no before.”

Another reason to see Howl and Barimus as soon as possible.

He had to know exactly what his Masters' knew.

His mother's life depended on it.

They were just outside their teacher's office now.

“Oh, by the way, don't let the mess upset you. Things have been hectic while you were gone.”

As he opened the door Nalir stopped dead in his tracks, appalled. Mounds of papers spilled across the great desk. Missives, letters, orders, and decrees all mixed in utter turmoil, dumping onto the floor without. Ringed with tea stains and… And crumbs! Everywhere there were crumbs! Asking him not to be upset was like asking fire not to burn or water not to flow!

“Did it never occur to you to stack these neatly? Or possibly sort them by type or task?” Nalir choked, trying not to have a fit.

“Why?” Markl scooted a few pages with the toe of his boot, “They'll just get too high and fall over anyway.”

“But these could be important!”

Scooping one off the floor, his apprentice brother cleared his throat and read aloud in his best impression of courtly annunciation, “Minutes from the Tri-Council committee for the advancement of Uniform Ingarian Dress Codes. Present topic of discussion, the height of ladies' hats.”

Nalir blinked. Ladies hats?

“Never mind!” He snarled, pushing past his grinning apprentice brother, snatching the papers out of his hand, gathering them up off the floor, dumping them back onto the table.

Then Nalir slapped his hands against the surface.

The pages jumped. Shocked upright like sleeping soldiers called to muster. They danced midair, shuffling, sorting, and gathering in a myriad of whispering voice. And as the flurry subsided, neat piles graced the table's surface with perfect order.

“The ones here are urgent,” Nalir instructed, indicating the shortest stack before turning a disdainful finger at the largest pile, “I usually put the ones about ladies hat's into the fire.”

“Did you make that charm?” Markl was impressed.

“Yes. I did,” Nalir preened, “It's embedded in the table. So you have no excuse.”

Markl snorted as they faced the adjoining doors, turning the adjacent dial to blue. Like gears turning, it clicked mechanically, dinging as if it had successfully toasted a piece of bread. But Nalir felt the surge of magic go shivering up his spine, tiny nipping sparks that set his senses on fire.

This was real magic.

Not some trifling enchantment to sort missives.

His apprentice brother set and reworked the portal magic monthly.

He had to. Because Nalir couldn't.

Markl pulled open the door, revealing familiar stone steps. The distant burn of charcoal tickled in his nose. Daemon's breath. But a flurry of activity was going on in the front room of the moving castle.

“Shit!” Markl slapped his hand over his mouth and then grimaced, “I totally forgot… Today's Theresa's birthday!”

Before he could protest Markl pushed Nalir through the portal and shut the door behind them. The world snapped like a rubber band. And the Mardan's senses reeled for a moment as the closeness of the Castle's interior suddenly became real. Markl never seemed to mind the transition, but then again, he'd grown up on portal travel.

“Go on in.” The lanky wizard waved him up the stairs as he turned the dial to yellow. There were far more colors on the Wallmaker's dial; a testament to their mastery of the craft. “Howl's probably up in the shop. Be back soon.”

He yanked the door open on a bricked courtyard that definitely was not Kingsbury. Snow piled at least three inches thick outside. Nalir shivered as the cold wind blew right through him.

“I still need to get her a present! And I saw a perfect pair of muck boots just around the corner from Ceasari's.”

“No, Markl!” Nalir called after him as his apprentice brother went striding off through the snow and around the corner, heedless to his cries, “Flowers! Not muck boots!”

Closing the door against the billowing draft, Nalir turned slowly, only now aware of intense scrutiny on his back.

At the top of the stairs stood three blondes.

Girls of cascading size and age: 13, 9, and 7.

Perfect replicas of their mother, all the way to their perfect pink pinafores.

And he shrank from them as though they were daemons.

He would have preferred daemons to Milly, Tilly, and Lily.

Markl's cousins.

“NALIR!” They screamed in perfect unison, rushing down at him in a flood of petticoats and sweet perfume.