Of Mortal Dreams: Chapter IX

Idabel

The great fortress of Dabdagan was so large and so enduring that Idabel had always given it the same, careless awareness that she would give to the northern mountains, or to any immovable landmark. Each stone, each rounded turret, even the arching halls and spiraling walkways, were so incalculably massive that it was almost impossible to observe them honestly. It was so large that a sizable grove of trees lay at the center of the fortress, hemmed by sprawling grounds—herbs, vegetables, and a cascading flower garden. One glistening arm of the Teverene River delta snaked its way through the greenery and, every time the breeze changed, a breath of crisp air wafted up to the dining pavilion, where Idabel had been sitting since dawn.

What a shame she couldn’t enjoy any of it.

Her stomach roiled as she flipped a coarse page in the spiralbound she held, not having read a word. Trying in vain to arrest the momentum of her careening thoughts, she methodically took a tasteless sip of now-tepid tea. Her fingers jerked as she set the cup down and its bottom met the plate a little too sharply. She glanced up, keeping her gaze light, to see if anyone had noticed. There were just a few people beneath the sweeping vined bower, scattered at different tables. Some sat alone, others in pairs, but they were all there for the same reason. Today, their children were being tested for dreams.

Idabel’s gaze met that of a woman several years her junior, a dark skinned beauty with thick, ribboning hair and large black eyes—hallmarks of the southern houses. An unassuming man sat beside her, holding her hand, his own face pale beneath the freckles. The fear Idabel felt was reflected in their faces. The young woman looked away blankly.

Those who sat alone were more relaxed. One father actually was reading a crinkled set of loose papers, while another mother had made significant progress on some kind of embroidery, to pass the time. Their smooth brows, quiet smiles and loose postures were a stark contrast to the visible strain and stress of those couples whose children might actually have the dreams.

Damn them. Damn all of them. Damn the calm ones for their peace and the others for the freedom to show their fear. Idabel had neither privilege.

As far as anyone knew, Edrianne and Edric were Trebor’s children, meaning the odds of them having the dreams would be—should be—incredibly low. Thus, by all appearances, Idabel had nothing to worry about. It was to maintain those appearances that she had kept Trebor from coming with her this morning. If Edrianne and Edric had been his children, he would have seen no need to attend. At least, she comforted herself, if they were fortunate and the twins failed the test, no one would suspect the truth.

It was a small sort of accomplishment.

The dining pavilion was situated at the southernmost section of the gardens, with the most impressive view of the fortress itself. Idabel had already counted the conical turrets—there were 64—but the rising of the day’s sun meant that the inhabitants of Dabdagan had also begun to wake up, and that provided a more worthy distraction.

She didn’t know how many mages, mortals and halfbloods in service of the Counsel lived at Dabdagan on a permanent basis, but she imagined it numbered in the several thousands. Though it was still early morning, the packed gravel walkways and open-air stone halls had begun to teem with people. Some walked slowly, others quickly and with purpose. Many wore either the pale green robes of novices or the golden-yellow of entrants, those who were determining their life’s work. Beyond that, Idabel only knew that the rarest shade of robe was black, that the mages in crimson never spoke, and that mortals or halfbloods in the Counsel’s service were not given colored robes as a rule.

“Why, Idabel—it’s good to see you.”

Idabel started as a hand came to rest on her shoulder. She looked up and, for a moment, thought herself back in another time and place—with stormy skies overhead and shale mountains in the near distance. The face had aged, but Idabel couldn’t possibly forget it, though she had often tried. It felt as though she’d woken from one dream and stepped into another. Somewhere, a bell tolled dully.

“Rhienne.”

A cultured, unreadable smile. “May I join you?”

Idabel gestured at the seat across from her. “Of course. Please.”

The roiling in Idabel’s stomach was abruptly replaced by the more immediate and overwhelming sensation of a pounding heart. It had been fifteen years since they’d parted ways, and Idabel had decided long ago what she would do if they met again. But she couldn’t remember now. She was too stunned.

She looks so much like Edrianne. It was jarring. Disturbing.

Rhienne’s hair was a darker red and her eyes a sharper blue, but she shared Edrianne’s unmistakably rounded, open features and full cheeks. Edric had inherited Idabel’s sharp brows and jaw, but anyone who saw her daughter and Rhienne together would assume they were cousins at least. That simple fact made Idabel feel even more exposed. Rhienne settled into her chair and began waving down one of the tea bearers.

“Have you been enjoying your time in the capital?” There was a coolness to the her eyes that hadn’t always been there. “So far, I mean.”

Idabel calmly leafed her spiralbound shut and slid it onto another chair. At the other tables, the father looked up from his papers and the embroidering mother glanced their way with mild interest. The nervous parents sat as still as stone, waiting.

“There’s nothing like Esset,” Idabel offered in admission. “I missed it more than I knew I would.”

From the deeply-shaded kitchen terrace, overgrown with blue wisteria and silvery isydenias, its doorways guarded by gauze to keep out the stray fly, a young girl appeared, wearing a long, white shift and no shoes. She carried a steaming bowl in one hand, a towel on her other arm, and wove between the dining clusters with exceptional grace. Her long hair was free, save for two pins that kept it behind her ears, and it was golden, save for a surprising streak of grey that started at her left temple. It shone so brightly in the sun, Idabel almost didn’t catch the difference in color. She had wistful, green eyes, and smiled widely, her teeth over-large for her face. She couldn’t be a day older than seventeen. Idabel wouldn’t have cared, except she also reminded her of Edrianne. The sickness in her stomach rose again.

Gods forbid. The girl set the bowl down, lay the towel beside it then bowed.

“What can I fetch for you, my lady?”

“The full order,” Rhienne said. “And another flask of tea, thank you.”

“Honey or sap, and pulp or no pulp?”

Rhienne looked a little irritated. “Sap and pulp. As always.”

The girl flitted away. The bowl of water smelled of rosemary, lemongrass and a light oil, likely lyndees. Rhienne dipped her delicate, pale hands. Only when she had finished washing did the girl return, bringing with her a tray of different bowls and plates. Idabel caught the scent of onions, garlic, fig mash, and red beans even before she set the tray down.

“A stew of root and grains, cucumber and onion chop, mixed jam with flatbread, and a sap-flavored tea, with the pulp,” the child recited confidently, gesturing at the plates, each item more colorful than the last. “Will you need anything else?”

“No,” Rhienne sighed, waving a hand. “You may go.”

The girl swept the towel and washing bowl away and disappeared. Idabel poured herself more tea, the steam rising from her cup as she sipped. It was soothing and, most importantly, something to do. The way Rhienne moved and spoke, and the way the girl reacted to her, told Idabel that she had become important here.

Tread carefully. She forced her brow to smooth.

“I’m afraid you’ll find food here to be rather light,” Rhienne murmured, arranging the bowls to her liking. “You have to go as far as Mor-Garial to find meat like what we have in the north. Hungry?”

Idabel shook her head and smiled. “I did notice.”

Rhienne wiped a beet-red paste on a piece of flatbread. “It’s my one complaint.”

Her one complaint, really. “How long have you been in Esset? Or Dabdagan.”

The young woman sat up a little straighter and eyes wide. “Goodness, I suppose the crop-houses are as isolated as they say. At least one rumor is true,” she observed, almost to herself, then: “I’ve been here thirteen years.”

Idabel could only stare as she began to eat. “Thirteen years? But…why?”

One of Rhienne’s brows arched. “True, a house like Vulfbane hasn’t historically been desirable to the Counsel—”

“You mistake my meaning,” Idabel offered.

“—but things can change,” Rhienne went on, ignoring the correction. “After Rogar’s death, our house would have collapsed but I was, thankfully, blessed with the gift of dreams. So I now work for the High Hand of Dabdagan, Cazagar, and we are in favor.”

A moment of silence. Rhienne chewed slowly, eyeing Idabel’s face.

“Your shock surprises me—I remember you having a talent for the game,” she mused blandly, swallowing. “My family certainly was granted first row to your performance.”

Oh gods. The regret had dulled with time but a blunt blade could still bruise.

“Rhienne,” Idabel said, suddenly and in a low voice. “I am sorry.”

The young woman looked up, blinking with apparently genuine shock.

“I am sorry for marrying so soon after Rogar’s death. I know it hurt you.”

Rhienne’s gaze narrowed slightly, her voice even when she spoke again. “My brother’s death has nothing to do with this. And your marriage is of no interest to me.”

“Perhaps not but even so—even if I had tried to explain, you couldn’t have really understood,” Idabel finished. “You were a child.”

Rhienne leaned back in her chair. “A child. Like Edrianne? Like Edric?”

Idabel’s fingers tightened around her cup. Rhienne’s eyes flicked down at the movement then up again. For a moment, the young woman seemed to consider her own thoughts, her chin cocked slightly. She took a sharp breath.

“But then, they’re older than I was,” she mused, leaning forward slowly. “How old are the twins?”

A wave of nausea almost threatened to undo Idabel just then. Her mouth had long since gone dry. Her thoughts were spinning. She swallowed.

“Thirteen.”

A cruel, cultured smile this time. “No.”

The pavilion had added to its numbers, as visitors and residents ate their breakfasts and chatted energetically about the day’s events. It suddenly felt like a chaotic, macabre festival with the wretched young woman across from her at its center. Idabel’s vision shook. If she could just stand up, she could leave and not listen to this horror anymore. But she couldn’t make herself move. She was frozen in fear.

“This is hardly the place to call an old friend a liar,” Rhienne offered lightly. No one who heard her tone would guess the seriousness of their conversation. “Frankly, I’m not supposed tell you before the trials are done, but the results are quite conclusive—and I thought you’d want to hear it from a familiar face.”

No. Please, gods no. This was why she had come. To destroy me.

“It is with both personal and professional delight that I can say Edrianne’s dreams show immense promise, and that we look forward to her development,” she finally announced, ending the needless stalemate. “Edric seems to lack them entirely, so you may take him back to Orrendale just as soon as you recover your ability to speak.”

Idabel set her shoulders, willing her voice to be level. It still trembled. “When my husband’s work here is done, my son and my daughter are going with us.”

Rhienne’s eyes sparkled vilely. “No. She’s not.”

It was her fears made real. It was the worst thing that could have happened. That Rogar’s sister was the one to do it only pushed the knife deeper. But Rhienne had to have known that. She had wanted to do it.

Breathe. If Idabel didn’t breathe she would faint.

“Smile, dear,” Rhienne said, standing. “I’ve already drummed up a fine explanation for this most interesting result. But you should know that I know the truth.”

She put a hand on Idabel’s shoulder and leaned close enough to whisper.

“I always did—child or not.”