He thought of her on the altar, begging for help.When did she cease to need me?No longer a servant of the Grey Lady.If not Siwan’s guardian, then what am I?
Siwan’s eyes fluttered; she whimpered and moaned, but slept soundly enough.Afanan sat close by with quartz ready to soothe the fiend if it tried to break free again.Fola’s magic—whatever that circle of runes scorched into the carpet had done—seemed to have settled and bound it for now.
As the night progressed, other members of the troupe joined them in the backstage tent.Ayden eased his old bones into a camp chair in the corner and began to strum a light, comforting melody on the gittern.The sound of it seemed to draw Tula and Trick, who, though bruised and visibly exhausted, set about putting the jumbled mess of toppled prop barrels and scattered costumes in order, fighting back against the chaos and horror of the night in what simple way they could.
Mirelle appeared, her flute exchanged for a tea tray, the white cloud of her hair pulled back in a grandmotherly bun while she brought around cups of chamomile.Llewyn took one, but didn’t drink it.Mirelle patted his hand and smiled reassurance, but her warmth—so often a comfort to Siwan as she grew from troubled child to confident, skilled young woman—could not ease the tension that rooted him to the earth, able neither to move towards Siwan, nor to flee from the pain he had caused her and the hatred she must still feel.
Next came Damon, who hesitated in the entrance to the tent for a moment.Llewyn could not understand why.The boy had no reason for guilt.He had not let his fears overwhelm his better sense, lost sight of the kindness Llewyn had begun to cultivate in the company of these good, honest people.The first people Llewyn had really known, and who had opened themselves and welcomed him, despite his strangeness, his violent history, and the terrible purpose he had been created to serve.
Even now, they formed a nest around Siwan.Gentle music; warm tea; a soothing touch: things alien to Llewyn’s life, before.Things his parents might have offered in the dim past before his first memories, before they gave him away.Things he could never give her.And his effort to do what he could—to offer violent protection—had shattered everything good in her life.
‘Come,’ Afanan said, patting the ground by Siwan’s side.‘Sit with her.’
The invitation tugged at Llewyn, though it was not for him.
‘Will she be all right?’Damon asked.He knelt at Siwan’s side and cradled her left hand.
The sorceress Fola took Damon’s place at the entrance to the tent, wiping blood from her hands, as though she belonged in the circle of care around Siwan.Llewyn’s fear of her was like a knife at the small of his back—no longer prodding, perhaps, but no less sharp.
‘In time, yes,’ she said.‘She might be a bit scatter-brained for a few days.But the fiend will have a harder time stirring than before, and with a bit of rest she’ll be just fine.’
She paused, her brow furrowed as she looked to Ayden, Mirelle, Tula, Trick, then Damon and Afanan, and Llewyn last of all.
‘She is fortunate to have you,’ Fola said, a new softness to her voice.An expression almost like pain crossed her face, though at what, Llewyn could not guess.‘To take care of her, I mean.’
Words that stung Llewyn.Damon nodded, watching Fola carefully.He was a sharp young man.Discerning, and unwilling to let a performance of charity and kindness convince him that this strange sorceress from the heart of the world was as benevolent as she claimed.
‘Just as fortunate to have you,’ Afanan said, looking up from Siwan’s side.‘You didn’t have to help us, or those people out there.’
Fola dipped her head and smiled.‘No onehas todo anything.I was in the right place at the right time with the right skills to help.’Then, as though recalling the dictates of common courtesy a moment too late, she stammered out a hasty, ‘But you are welcome, of course.’
Llewyn took a long sip of his tea, letting it wash away fatigue—he was still drowsy from whatever spell Fola had sprung on him, to say nothing of a night without sleep—and watched her.‘I wonder, though, how you came to the right place at the right time,’ he said.
‘I wonder that, too,’ Damon said.‘Once the horrors began, you seemed to know where their source would be.How did you know that, without already knowing what Siwan was?’
‘And what is she?’Fola said.
Damon chuckled.‘I’d appreciate your answering our questions, mistress, before replying with your own.You seem to know more about us than we know about you.’
‘Reasonable,’ Fola muttered.She leaned on her silver staff.‘As your sorceress here has deduced, I am from Thaumedony, sometimes called the City of the Wise.You have heard of it?’
Llewyn had not, though Damon nodded slowly.‘I’ve read of it,’ the boy said.‘And heard rumours flitting about in taverns.A city built by the First Folk, full of untold wonders, where none go hungry or suffer?Sounds far too good to be true.’
‘There issomesuffering,’ Fola allowed.‘Though not nearly so much as here.No one starving to death, or fighting in wars—unless warfare suits your fancy—or getting ripped apart by ghosts.Suffice to say it is the nearest thing to a paradise imaginable, but that paradise is maintained by magics we little understand.People like me—librarians and archivists—spend our days trying to learn more about those magics, to defend against the possibility that they might fail and all the wonder of the City with them.’
‘Then what are you doinghere?’Llewyn demanded.
Fola pointed at Siwan with the tip of her staff.‘Looking for something like her.A strange new phenomenon uncatalogued by the City, which might further our knowledge of magic.I wasn’t looking for herspecificallywhen I came to Parwys, just chasing rumours and following clues that eventually led me to your stage.’
‘You’ve found her, then—your “phenomenon”.’Llewyn stepped forward, his grip tightening on the mug.He felt the tin buckling under his hand and took a deep breath, trying to relax.‘What do you intend to do with her?’
‘I don’t intend to do anything, beyond invite her back to the City,’ Fola said.‘Where she will be safe, and where the nuances of her unusual nature can be studied, and potentially help us to reach new depths of understanding.That’s all.’
‘What if she doesn’t accept your invitation?’Damon asked.
‘I can’t imagine why she wouldn’t,’ Fola said.
The cup crumpled.Hot tea sloshed over Llewyn’s hand, but he hardly felt it.‘We appreciate your help, but you need to leave,’ he said.‘She isn’t a “phenomenon” for you to study.She’s a girl.’
