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“He’s the sort of person who’ll boast about it.”
“Even better.”
“Also,” Aric said, “Em’s resting today, and tomorrow.”
“Of course—”
“I’ll be fine tomorrow!”
“And you’re paying us double.”
Caris drew up both shoulders to argue, but then pushed down those merchant’s instincts and sighed. “Agreed.”
“All right,” Aric said. “You can come in; Em wanted to talk to you.”
Caris looked at Emrys—at less human features, ears, sharp teeth—but to her credit said nothing, only climbed back into the wagon, folding her robe around herself.
“So,” Em said. “Peppermint tea, for your headache? Had you worked with water before, or was that new?”
Chapter 5
They were two days out from Sudgarth, even traveling somewhat slower. The wagons were intact but battered; the same might be said for the guards and Lady Caris and Em, Aric thought.
The rest of the guards looked at him differently, when he emerged from the wagon. He’d known it was coming, had expected it, and told himself it didn’t matter. They’d known who he and Emrys were.
But of course that didn’t matter. Not when Revna and Asni and Pedr and Ethlyn and Daisy and Ginevra had now seen the Shadow in action, up close, stopping a bridge-collapse, standing alone and holding up the world.
At least it was more awe than fear. That was something; and Aric sighed and tried to be friendly, and felt the weight of their stares at his back.
He stayed at Em’s side, providing food, brewing tea, being an anchor, rubbing the nape of Em’s neck to try to help with the headache. He went out to check on Ginger and Starlight, and came back to find Em napping, thin and depleted and lovely, in a nest of wildly expensive samite.
Lady Caris, sitting on the bench and wrapped in feather-soft furs, put down her book. “He…is it he?…he’s sleeping quite a lot.”
“Recovering,” Aric said, and bent to touch Em’s throat, checking. “And yeah, right now it is. It’s whatever Em wants.” Em’s pulse was reassuringly present and steady.
“And you want what he wants. Were you always a hero? Was it what you wanted to do, when you were younger?”
A traveling caravan, multihued dancing silks, carved rune-stones and jewelry for sale, for trade. The tokens of ancestors, the presence of family spirits. His grandmother showing him to make change for a customer. His mother singing in sunshine, setting up a market-stall. His father’s hands always in motion: whittling a toy, winning a knife-throwing contest just for fun, patiently teaching Aric’s younger brother to read.
Stones, a storm, a rockslide, a loss. His brother’s injuries, and the need for money, and Aric’s own size and strength, a commodity.
“No,” he said, and bundled a layer of heavy snowdrift cloth around Em more closely. “My parents were traders, coming down from the North for all the fairs, the markets. You’re overcharging for that cerise, by the way.”
“Of course I am,” Caris said, “the Duke wants it, or rather his new bride wants it, and he can afford it. Love leads to terrible irrational choices, sometimes regarding new servants’ livery. Is your Emrys all right? Is there anything I can do? I’ve never tried to heal anyone. I could try.”
“I’m fine,” Em said, up on one elbow, yawning. “I’m awake. And no, don’t try it on me for your first time; I’m complicated. We should talk about proper focus, centering, to start with.”
Aric settled in to listen, to be here in case he was needed, to keep an eye on Emrys. He hadn’t seen Em in exactly this role before, and he didn’t know everything about magic; he knew what he’d learned from Em, what he’d heard from stories, what he’d seen on jobs involving a sorcerer or two. He fit himself into the spot beside Em’s comfortable blanket-nest, adjusted shoulders and knees and sword and large boots as necessary, and paid attention.
Em wasn’t the most practiced teacher, and sometimes didn’t have an answer to questions about, for instance, how to foretell a storm or a curse; sometimes the answer was simply being born with that extra sense. But Em was serious and patient, and knew about training and practice; he pushed up both sleeves while talking, leaning in, explaining resonances and sympathies.
Caris knew about meditation, and understood focus; she had, it turned out, been taught reading and writing and prayer, as a girl, by the local priestess of the One-In-Three. Em, entertained by this, said, “So was I, once upon a time; did yours make you memorize the days of the week by counting fish?” Caris retorted, “Oh, the luxurious salmon!” which Aric figured was some sort of quotation he didn’t know, because it made them both laugh.
It was good, he thought, to hear Em laugh about that.
He watched Em make a tiny light, pulling fire out of air and desire to float above one hand. Em put it into Caris’s cupped palm, suggested that she feel it and learn to know it, and glanced over to say, “It’s small, and it won’t matter now; I’ve already used magic, recently.”
“Less worried about that,” Aric said, “more about whether you’ve had enough sugar; want more gingerbread?” That made Em smile.
