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THE NEXT TWO DAYS PASSED in a flurry of activity. I spent most of my time interviewing potential hires to accompany me on my upcoming trip.
After the Rosemary fiasco, I had sworn — to my friends, if not my family — that I would never take another seeking commission again. My regular team had taken me at my word and had moved on to other work, and were now unavailable. And, if they were pressed into honesty about the matter, they would have admitted that they, too, had had their fill of my commissions. Since my jobs tended to start and end in heartbreak, my crew also tended to have high turnover. Very few people had the stomach to handle all the sadness, even if they were well paid in the end.
My final interviews were two friends who apparently had extensive experience in the field. Rhyss was a tall, gangly redhead who claimed to be the muscle of the duo. Farrah, a half fey, half human woman with dark skin and striking purple eyes and hair, had some magical ability to heal and also claimed to be good in a fight.
“We need something to do, now that the Seeker we usually support is out of commission,” Rhyss said.
“Out of commission?” I repeated, horrified. “Do you mean he or she died? Or worse?”
Since Seekers had to use their gift once they came into their powers, or eventually go mad, it was important for those in a Seeker family to ensure that those powers were either active or dormant in their respective hosts. An unchecked Seeker ability would prove catastrophic, given enough time. When Seeker children came of age and were ready to take on the family responsibilities, the previous generation would pass down the Seeker mantle in a formal ceremony. Usually it was a parent, but sometimes a grandparent, aunt, or uncle, who transferred responsibility. While some parents were sad to release their duty, others were relieved to be free of that lifelong burden. Their gift remained intact, but they no longer had the compulsion to use their ability all the time, or live under the fear of the consequences if they resisted using it.
Rhyss laughed at my horrified expression, but Farrah poked Rhyss in annoyance. “Don’t scare the man,” she said. “We actually want the job, remember?”
She turned to me. “Our friend — and former employer — moved to Calia,” she said, naming another kingdom in the Gifted Lands, our closest neighbor just to the north of Orchwell. “He rarely takes on seeking jobs anymore. He has other duties that take up his time, and he doesn’t really need the money.”
“But how does he avoid the madness?” I asked, curious. “Unless he’s already entrusted his duty to his children?”
“No, he doesn’t have children,” Farrah said.
“Yet,” Rhyss chimed in.
Farrah, seeing my confusion, explained further. “We used to work with Beyan, the dragon Seeker. When he married Jennica, the Crown Princess of Calia, that seemed to keep the madness at bay. I think, somehow, the marriage satisfied his compulsion to seek out dragons. He hasn’t had any issues for, I believe, close to a year.”
I nodded, now understanding. I had heard of the events in Calia the previous year, including the unexpected news that Calia’s princess was also a dragon shapeshifter. Privately, I envied Beyan’s neat solution to the problems that came with being a Seeker.
Farrah seemed pretty sharp. Maybe she would know ...
“That’s fascinating,” I said nonchalantly. “Do you know, is that the only way one would be able to ‘get rid’ of the Seeker gift? As it were.”
Farrah looked thoughtful. “I’m not sure. We’d worked with Beyan for a long time, and since I grew up with him, I was invited to attend the formal ritual that transfers the official Seeker role within families. It’s usually passed from a parent to a child — in this case, from father to son. The strength of the Seeker gift can vary from child to child or between generations.” She bit her lip as she concentrated harder. “From what I know, there are times when a worthy individual, not in a Seeker family line, has been granted a Seeker’s gift. But it’s very rare, and it’s dangerous. I don’t know all the details, but if you can become a Seeker that way, then by the same logic, you could lose your Seeker status by doing the opposite of ... whatever that spell or ritual entails.”
I leaned back in my chair, impressed. “It sounds like you both know exactly what you’re doing, and how to handle yourselves. Are you able to leave tomorrow morning?”
Rhyss and Farrah exchanged satisfied looks.
“We’re always ready to go,” Rhyss said. “We could leave tonight, if you wanted.”
“Tomorrow will be just fine,” I said, smiling at his enthusiasm. “Meet me at the gates just after sunrise.”
“You don’t want a reference?” Farrah said. “It’s a tight deadline, but if we send word immediately to Calia, we might get a letter back in time before we leave tomorrow ...”
“No need,” I said, trusting my instincts that these two were reliable. My instincts rarely failed me ... usually. “If our travels take us to Calia, you can see if your friends would put us up for the night.” I laughed. “Sleeping in a palace ... that would be a more than adequate recommendation.”