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LUCA DRUMMED HIS FINGERS as he stared unseeing at Isen’s desktop. Surely in Alham there would be someone who needed an accountant or bookkeeper. And with Cole’s additional forty pias a month, they would be able to afford a small set of rooms.
Cole was seated in another room with a needle and thread, repairing his torn shirt more properly. Luca didn’t know what work the slave would find, but he would do his best, working toward his freedom.
Isen glanced up from his book as Marla entered. “You didn’t need to bring anything, but thank you.”
“I included some willow bark with yours,” she explained, offering him a steaming cup. She turned to Luca. “And this is for you, my lord.”
“Thank you.”
She turned back to Isen. “If we’re going to Alham... That’s not so far from where I was born, just a day or so. Could I go and see my mother? And see if there’s word of Demario?”
“Of course, if it’s so close.”
“Thank you!”
Isen glanced to Luca. “Have you decided, yet?”
He didn’t know how to admit he was deciding solely by his friends’ residency. “Alham’s the place that makes most sense. I don’t know any villages other than Fhure, and I don’t—”
Marla’s eyes widened. “How do you know Fhure?”
“My former master’s home. Well, not his home, his seat. He lives in Alham, but after he was made a count, he was given Fhure.”
Isen looked interested. “What is Fhure, Marla?”
“It’s where I was born.” She seemed to be struggling for words. “I was raised there, I married there, I lived there until I was sold and eventually went to Master Thalian.” She focused on Luca. “You’ve been there?”
Luca stared at her, realization dawning. “Are you Marta’s daughter?”
“Yes!” Marla beamed. “Yes! You know her? Is she well?”
“She keeps the estate’s books. She’s the one who taught you the number games.”
“Yes!”
Isen closed his book. “What a striking coincidence.” He looked at Luca. “So, it’s Alham, after all? Then we’ll be neighbors.”
Luca glanced up at Marla’s smile, and for the first time since leaving Alham, he felt he was making choices for himself, and they would be good choices.
TAMARYL CUPPED HIS fingers about the stubby candle and concentrated. Ordinarily he would not need both hands to guide the magic, but he had little power to command now. Beside him Maru sat very still, watching intently.
Below them, they could hear the pleasantly off-key wordless singing of Mother Harriet as she worked downstairs. They had to be quiet while she was in the kitchen; if they could hear her, so she could hear them. The bedrooms would have been less audible, removed so the family would not be disturbed by the servants in the kitchen, but Mother Harriet serviced them as well and they did not want her walking in on them with an armload of linens.
The candlelight flickered and darkened—not weakening, but changing color. The flame’s orange deepened to red. “Nice, Ryl,” whispered Maru.
Tamaryl nodded, trying not to let the color ebb as his concentration shifted. There had been no further reports of Ryuven raids. If they were to go home, they had to find their own way. That meant practice.
“It is not so difficult,” Tamaryl replied haltingly, “to color fire to red. Let me see if I can take it the other direction.” The flame wavered and lightened to fiery orange again, then yellow. Tamaryl took a slow breath and adjusted his fingers about the little candle.
Pale green streaked through the yellow, spreading gradually until the flame was a uniform grassy color. Maru held his breath. The green deepened and sank into blue, a darker blue, until the flame danced bright at the wick within the gem and a lovely sapphire hue at the edge.
“Beautiful.” Maru reached a finger toward the tiny fire. “I wish I—”
The flame guttered and burned its ordinary orange. Tamaryl sighed and looked at Maru. “You wish what?”
Maru looked sheepish. “It was foolish. I can’t do even simple things, now.” He shrugged. “What good to turn a candle flame colors when you can’t heal a broken wing or go home—no, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
Tamaryl gave him a wan smile. “I know you didn’t. And a caesious fire isn’t terribly useful, is it?”
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and they fell silent. There was no reason for Mother Harriet to enter the little storage room, and they would give her none. She went humming down to Ewan Hazelrig’s chamber.
“But when we go home,” Tamaryl continued softly, “we’ll have Nori’bel see to you. She’ll take care of your wing and your power.”
“Can Subduing be reversed?”
“Sometimes. Often enough to be worth trying.”
“But what if it—can’t be done?”
Tamaryl closed his eyes. “If we stay, there will be no magic for either of us,” he said quietly. “Let’s get home.”