In the Shadows of Dragons, Part 2: To Live and Die
“…seized again.”
“The fever broke…”
“…some kind of palsy…”
“I doubt he'll regain much use…”
Nishal supposed the healers thought they were doing him a favor, propping him up in his sickbed so that he could see out the window overlooking the courtyard. Working his jaw a bit, he watched his fellow students meandering their way across cobblestones to various destinations. He tried to be happy that he had feeling again in the left side of his face and that his tongue was no longer swollen where he had bitten it. But he could only stare at the healthy children and wonder why no one had shoved a pillow over his face yet. When he thought he saw Timri crossing by, he almost wished someone would. She, however, spared no glance for his window.
A servant silently adjusted his pillows while another brought a tray. Nishal closed his eyes. Maybe today half his meal would not dribble down onto the sheets. The slight girl deftly tucked a napkin under his chin and settled in at his bedside. Nishal could feel the spots of color on his face as the first spoonful came toward him. He found out earlier that there was no fighting. This tiny servant was far stronger than she looked.
And so he was being fed like a babe when she entered, a faint breath of air heralding her. Nishal suspected that was on purpose, to give him time to shove the servant away with his good arm and attempt to feed himself. Layli would know that he would not want her to see that. With a great deal of effort, Nishal lolled his head around to gain a view of the rest of the room. Layli smiled a smile he did not return and lowered herself to the spot vacated by the servant. “On the bright side, I don't think you are legion fodder anymore.”
“And I am saved that horrid song.” Nishal's voice came out slightly slurred, and that was an improvement.
“I would have come earlier, but it seems they conspire to keep me away. They say…without saying, of course…that I'm wasting my time.”
“Perhaps you are,” Nishal responded bitterly.
Layli snorted with a very unladylike sound. “If there is anyone who could figure out how to survive, it would be you. Your mind still works.” Nishal said nothing. “Unless, of course, you've already decided to lay there and take what has been given you like a cheap whore, in which case, my Nishal is dead.”
“It doesn't matter. My parents are coming. They will not stand for this…weakness.”
“Or is it you that won't?” She leaned over so that her burning bright eyes were a hand's span from his. “Unless there is another Cathak Bertram in the world, your father is missing half an arm, and Tulia can be handled. If it's pity you wish, you will not get it from me. I am willing to help you with all my resources, but you have to try.”
“I must be able to stand on my own!” The slurring got worse and he inwardly winced at the spittle that hit that lovely face. “A feat,” he continued softer, “that I cannot even physically manage.” And they have Timri, he thought, but didn't say aloud. Perhaps that's why he still drew breath. They were waiting for his parents to make the merciful choice.
Layli delicately wiped at her face as she pulled back. Her face was stone as she spoke with great control, “Fine. Contact me when you decide to live. Otherwise, I mourn my love.” And she was gone. Nishal stared at the ceiling, swallowing down a lump. Let her be angry. It will make it easier for her. Opening his eyes, he turned his head toward the window and into the eyes, for an instant, of a large, black bird.
Despite her words, Layli returned the next day. Nishal kept his face turned toward the window, saying nothing. He felt her weight on the side of the bed, felt the heat of her body warm against his side, and tried not to respond to the touch. “Nishal…” He tried to pull away, but he could manage little more than a flinch.
“Why do you insist on seeing me like this?”
“I have something to tell you. They asked me to.” Layli's voice was soft. “It's Timri.”
Nishal snorted. “What did she do this time, excrete jade and make the world spin?”
“She's dead.”
Nishal rolled his head around and blinked. “Dead?”
Layli nodded her pale head. “They found her this morning at first light, near the steps of her dormitory. It looks as if she fell from the top.” She frowned. “Don't look at me like that, Nishal. I certainly had nothing to do with it. No one has said anything, but I've heard she was covered in scratches and that something had pierced her through one shoulder. They think it was an animal.” Nishal tried to hold back his reaction, but it bubbled up from his stomach and broke through his teeth. He chuckled, and the more he chuckled, the harder it was to contain.
Layli scowled faintly. “I don't see the humor in this. She may have been a horrid little girl, but she was still a child.”
“Ah, my friend, but you do not see the world as I do.” It was Tulia's face he saw. All she had was a broken son now. “Help me.” Nishal drug the words out of himself between chuckles. “I would like to be able to at least sit up.”
In the Shadows of Dragons, Part Three: An Education in Blood and Service
The fly buzzed softly around in spiraling circles, lazily making its journey downward. Kotari adjusted the cloth on his face and watched the black speck, just for something to focus on in the blood tinged twilight. The fly lit finally on the brown iris of what was once a young girl. The boy watched it crawl around for a moment before taking off again. He could scarcely credit that this thing that looked like a broken wax doll once laughed, or that she had valued a bright string of beads that lay flung from her right hand. With numb reverence, Kotari picked up the little string of beads and placed them in a cold hand. He always thought it a kindness to do such things. Standing, Kotari scrubbed the back of one grubby hand across his eyes and told himself the stinging was from the smoke of fires that still smoldered in the remnants of the town. He cradled the other arm for a moment, the one that was arrow pierced a few hours gone, then tried to go back to his dogcart. He forgot even to pat the poor creature on the head.
“What happened here!?” The noise caused Kotari to whip his head around toward the speaker. Though not addressing him, Kotari could not miss his master's voice. It was loud, deep, and crisp, all the better to be heard across a battlefield. This certainly qualified, though the young officer who was being addressed stood only an arm's length from the speaker.
“They came in the afternoon, Lord General, all wild and screaming. There was little we could do!”
“All I asked of you was to see the servants and slaves protected, and now we've lost half of them and three quarters of the supply carts. Not to mention one of the towns we were called to help protect. Explain yourself!” Kotari hitched the dog back to the cart with bumbling fingers and urged it forward toward the shouting. He felt a little better knowing his master was upset.
“I…Sir, no one attacks unarmed slaves and servants.”
“So you weren't prepared.” A dangerous edge creeped into the general's voice. “They teach you this in school?”
The junior officer ran a finger under his collar. “Of course.”
“This isn't a school, Teshar. Real warfare is not run by civilized rules. You will follow orders to the best of your ability, and your new orders are to replace what supplies were lost and be able to move them, if you have to pull the bloody carts yourself. Understood?”
Teshar's spine stiffened. “I am no slave. My mother…”
“I don't care who you are. You knew when you signed on with me what you were getting. You question me again and I will send your ashes back to her.” A surge of pride shot through Kotari despite everything. His master, the Lord General Cathak Daymar of the Eleventh Legion, was the fairest of men and never played favorites. He watched the young lieutenant scurry off. The feeling didn't last long, however, before the numbness settled in again. Kotari guided the cart to a stop a few feet from the general and stood to be acknowledged.
Without preamble, the general began to strip off the great jade breastplate and settle it into the cart. Kotari was large for his nine years, but not quite large enough to haul his master's armor to take it for care. With his shoulder hurt, it would still be a struggle with the dogcart. The animal whimpered softly as the weight settled into the cart, and this time, Kotari did scratch it behind its ears. “Take special care of the left, it's an awful…” Suddenly, the general saw Kotari. Few masters ever looked at their slaves, fewer still with any sort of care. “You look off, Kotari.” Something odd seemed to cross General Daymar's features, but before Kotari could think on it, his master asked, softly, “Your mother is among the dead?”
Kotari was glad of the facemask he wore, not because of the smells. Those he was almost used to. He was glad because it kept the general from seeing the lip the boy bit to keep from quivering. “Among the dying, my lord,” he answered, finally, in a soft, childish voice.
For a moment, the general had that odd, careworn, distant look again. Kotari even thought there was something of fear in that look, but quickly decided he had to be mistaken. It broke when Daymar put his hand to his forehead and sighed. He looked even on the verge of apology, but said, “You should go to her.”
“She would wish me to do my duty, and I will do it.” Kotari longed more than anything to run to his mother's side.
The general gifted Kotari with a slight smile. “You're a good boy, Kotari, and I do not want you to regret. Besides, you should let that arm heal a bit. I long took care of myself long before you came along, and think I can manage for a night.” He seemed to be teasing a bit. The smile disappeared to the general's usual sterner face. “I will need you in the morning, though. I will have to think, and I need you to read.”
“I will be there at first light, my lord.”
“Good. Don't forget to get that shoulder looked at again. I will not have you down from an infection that could be prevented.” Kotari nodded in response. “You may go.” For some reason, Kotari hesitated, despite the hard lump that was starting to form in his throat, or perhaps because of it. His master fixed him with a raised brow. “Is there something else?”
“You're going to get them, right? The men who did this?” Kotari hated that he sounded so meek.
General Daymar's face darkened. “I will see that they are run down to the last man.” Bowing his head, then the rest of him, Kotari scurried off. Truly the fairest of men, his master.
Kotari wound his way through the ruined town, feet fleet with sudden haste. He swept past still burning timbers, leapt over crumbled stone. He dodged men with faces covered like his own gathering spent arrows, gathering the dead, looting. Despite everything, the boy noted the last and resolved to tell the general. Daymar did not stand for looting, especially among his own people. Kotari did not need to mask the tears that started slowly coming up from within, not now. Part of it was from the smoke of the great pyres now being set outside the town. None of this was new to the boy. It seemed to him that his life was marked by time on battlefields. Such was the way of service to a great general. Finally, he approached the roped off area full of the wounded from the supply train. Moans and weeping filled the air, and even through his mask Kotari could find the subtle stench of corruption. There would be more dead soon. Slowing his pace, Kotari scanned the contorted faces for his mother. He almost walked straight into the plump, sandy haired healer. “I'm sorry, Aradi. Where is my mother?”
The matronly woman said, kindly, “Come with me. I will talk to you while I change your bandages.” Kotari complied, following Aradi off to the side. Aradi was a paid servant, some even said some lord's bastard, but she always helped, no matter who needed it. With practiced fingers, Aradi began unwrapping Kotari's shoulder after seeing him to a blanket to sit on. “It's very bad, child. Lada will not last.”
“You said so, Aradi. I am ready.” Kotari wanted to be brave. He did his best to keep from flinching when Aradi pulled off the old poultice from his wound. He didn't even cry out when the arrow hit him. But he needed his words to face what happened to his mother, to convince himself.
“Aye, so I said. But you must know that she is no longer awake for long, and when she is, the fever has made her delirious. You have seen this in others. She makes little sense when she speaks, and often mutters in her native tongue.” Aradi looked at the wound critically. “I don't think there is any festering. You should heal well.”
“Thank you, Aradi.” His voice was distant while steeling himself. Aradi finished putting pungent herbs and bandages back on the shoulder.
“Come then.” Kotari followed, but saw nothing, focused on what was ahead. After what seemed ages, Aradi stopped, and gently pushed him forward. Reaching to his face, Kotari pulled off his mask and went to his knees beside the red soaked blanket that thankfully hid the mortal wound Lada had taken early in the day. With a pale, shaky hand, Kotari reached out and carefully brushed a strand of brown hair from his mother's face. Her chest rose with shallow breaths still, but her softly darkened skin had taken on a shallowness and seemed to stretch over her lean bones. His fingertips brushed that skin and found it aflame with fever, as Aradi had said. For lack of anything else to do, he tried to arrange her white streaked brown braids over her shoulders in such a way as to not wake her.
Lada's eyes fluttered open. Snatching his hands back, Kotari whispered hesitantly, “Mosha?” He used her word for 'mother'. Glassy blue eyes found him, the same color as his own. In everything else, he took after his unnamed father. Some whispered in places where they thought not to be heard that he looked very much like the Lord General, a fact that normally made Kotari happy. This night, he wished he had more of his mother, so that her image would never fade from him.
“Ah, little one,” Lada spoke, faintly. “I may have a sweet in my pocket.”
“Mosha?” Kotari blinked back wetness.
“Remember what you see here.” She faded a bit. “I will get you an orange, for your studies. Remember that….brother. No, I cannot say that.”
Kotari realized she thought him another child. Perhaps she thought he was his master's son, Jiulan, but it made no sense. “Mosha, I'm Kotari.” He took her hand in both of his.
The glassy eyes blinked. “Kotari? I have a son named Kotari. He is an honorable boy and strong. He would make a fine warrior.” She blinked again as Kotari smiled, though his tears were now free. “No, you are my boy. Remember me, my little prince. Keep your promise.” With that, Lada fell into the language of her youth. Kotari wished he had learned more of it. He caught a few words and phrases, mostly things about moving the tribe away from danger or cooking over the fire spits. Yet every word was a gem, now that they were the last. Finally, she silenced and seemed to fall back to sleep. Sniffling, he bowed his head.
Suddenly, Kotari was thrown back with a sudden burst of strength from his mother. Despite her wounds, she half sat up, eyes wild. “I cannot stop it! It weeps, and will not be placated!” Lada fell back with her final sigh. Somewhere from high above, Kotari heard the screech of some bird. And then he fell to sobbing.
He was still sobbing when Aradi returned. By then, he had let go of his mother's cooling hand and was sitting on his knees helplessly. The healer coaxed him to his feet and guided him away. Behind him, Kotari was aware that two men were taking Lada's body away. She was a slave woman to everyone else, and would warrant no more than the general pyres. Remembering his promise of long ago, Kotari snuffled and wiped away his tears, thanking Aradi again for her help. He had something to do.
Quietly, Kotari crept away from the town, shoving down feelings of guilt and wrongness. No one could see him do what he was about to do, for even the good general would surely see him whipped or worse. Even at his age, Kotari was aware of what heresy was, but he could not and would not deny his mother the one thing she ever asked for herself. Therefore, he found a stand of tall trees outside of the town and turned his body round and round until he faced the direction the wind would blow the ashes of the pyre. It would have to do. The wind was blowing east, and Kotari stared off for a long time. Somewhere out there, the trees grew thicker and taller. Somewhere in those places Lada had grown up, free among her people. Under the full pale moon that had risen, Lada would be carried home. The thought gave him the strength to swallow back guilt, and Kotari raised his hands up out to his sides the best he could. He clapped them together once, twice and a third time, each time pulling his hands all the way back before clapping. The wind seemed to pick up a bit, shoving his raven hair into his face. “Wind that blows, wind that lifts the wings of birds and brings the rain, let Sensari Mehtar Lada live only in my soul and carry hers to the next life. Let the wings of ravens beat and carry her home.” He repeated the clapping, closing his eyes, and dropped to his knees to pray. After a time, he slowly hurried back to the main camp and his cot, close to the side of his master's tent.
Though Kotari slept little, he arrived right at first light to help his master dress. The general mentioned nothing of Lada, simply went on as if it was a normal day. Kotari found himself grateful for it, finding the routine comforting. A servant brought the general his breakfast, a boy Kotari had never seen. He supposed Teshar must be carrying out orders with alacrity now. As General Daymar began eating, he instructed Kotari to open one of the war journals his master always carried and start reading. It's how Daymar thought best, hands and mind open while someone read from various tactical books. Today, it was one of the general's own journals, and the topic was fighting among trees. Kotari would never say it aloud, but he was certain that he must know more about warcraft than some soldiers. He was halfway through the selection when one of the older officers entered. Kotari stopped reading and silently went about some of his other activities, completely unnoted by the officer. He did, however, note his master's surprise.
“How is it you're back so soon, Lieutenant?” General Daymar put down the piece of melon he'd been absently eating.
“We found them. They didn't get far. All of those that attacked the train are dead.” The woman sounded a bit uneasy.
The general clapped his hands together, pleased. “Good work. Though I sense there is something you're not saying.”
“That's just it, Lord General. I can't take credit for any of this. Most were already dead when we found them.” Even Kotari could feel the sudden tension in the tent, though he forced himself to keep working and not watch.
“What happened?” The officer's unease was reflected in her general's voice.
“Most were already dead,” she repeated. “It looked as though birds had gotten to them. The rest…they fell on our mercy, begged us to protect them. Before we could do anything, they were attacked. Just them, none of ours. It was birds, a whole murder of stormcrows. I don't like it, not at all.”
General Daymar dismissed the officer shortly, with orders to get ready to move. When Kotari dared to turn from his darning, he saw that his master had gone pale. The great general was afraid.
In the Shadows of Dragons, part 4: Secrets, Lies, and Everything In Between
With leg cramping and heavy breathing, Nishal collapsed back into his sickbed. One circuit of the infirmary was quite enough to leave him physically exhausted and frustrated, but he did see that his left leg was getting stronger. However, he didn't believe that he would ever be able to walk again without dragging it, though he had something to try. Not so hopeful was his left arm. No matter what he tried, his hand stayed clawed against his chest, elbow bent. The muscles simply refused to cooperate. It was the right, then, that he used to wordlessly shove away the miraculously strong servant girl when she tried to cover his thin, sweating frame with a blanket. She bowed her head and made her way out, but not before opening the window next to him. Perhaps, Nishal thought, the girl did have a brain.
Closing his eyes, Nishal calmed his breathing and searched for the blessedness of sleep. Sleep meant no pain, no cramping, but such things also kept it from him. Nor did the heat help. He loosened the belt on his robes to try to catch some of the scant breeze on his skin. For a bit, there wasn't much relief, but slowly, the breeze picked up. He was floating on the edge of unconsciousness when he realized the bulk of the soft breeze was coming from the wrong side. A small, tired smile crossed his face and he opened his eyes again, and found himself looking into Layli's face. Her fingers were dancing about a foot above his body, stirring the air to cool him. She smiled back at him. “Sleep, if you need. Don't mind me.”
Nishal made a move to pull his robe back over himself and sit up. “Quite impossible, really.”
Layli chuckled softly. “Oh, come now, it's nothing I haven't seen.” As if to prove a point, she took a good long look at him. “Though I say you've gotten thin. I will see that you're fed more.” She made no reference to Timri or the conversation, and Nishal was grateful for that. He was even more grateful that she seemed his same old Layli. He also had no illusions as to why he'd gotten so much attention from those that staffed the infirmary in the last two days.
“You are much too good to me,” Nishal responded, with real warmth.
“Nonsense.” She brushed a bit of damp hair from his forehead with soft fingertips. “I'm told you're surprising everyone, and you're working very hard to recover.” She dropped her voice to a soft purr. “Perhaps I should reward you, yes?”
Nishal blinked. “Maybe later. I'm quite…” He cut off with a groan. Layli was hearing no protest. Suddenly, the cramps in Nishal's leg seemed much less all of a sudden. It occurred to him briefly that perhaps she was feeling lonely, but he didn't really care, especially when she hiked up her silver-gray silks and carefully straddled his hips.
Nishal had no choice but to let Layli do what she wished, and whatever she did, it sent sparks through him, making him feel more alive than he had since the night on the roof. He sucked his lower lip in to cut all sound to a whimper, conscious of the fact that anyone could walk in at any time. She ran her tongue along his jawline to his ear and whispered, breathlessly, “I am going to miss you terribly when you leave.” He could only whimper in response.
“CAW!” Both Nishal and Layli jumped at the noise and turned their head toward the window as one. They had an audience of one giant black bird. It cried again, and Nishal thought that its oddly intelligent eyes were studying Layli as if trying to make some sort of decision.
“I have seen this bird before. I wonder why it's here?” Nishal mused, softly. “It has odd timing, I think.”
“This is no bird.” Nishal blinked up at Layli, who was studying the bird right back with drawn brows. “Speak, spirit.”
“CAAAAAAWWWWWW!” The great black stormcrow lifted from the sill, feathers ruffled, and Layli gasped.
“Nishal, your parents are here!” She scrambled off of him, straightening her silks.
Fumbling one handed with the ties of his robe, Nishal asked, “But what did it say?”
“That I do not command it.” Layli raked her fingers through her pale mane. “But I get the feeling…” She waved her hand. “Later.”
Fear belatedly seized Nishal's stomach and he wildly grabbed out for his old friend. Inwardly, he cursed himself for this, but he did it anyway. “Don't leave.”
Layli took his hand in hers and smiled softly. “Don't worry, I won't let them harm you if I can stop it.” Her look turned puzzled as she shot a glance at the place the bird vacated. “And I don't think it will either.”
“What do you mean?”
“Later.” She kissed his fingers and went to the other side of the room, making herself unnoticeable.
Nishal's heart beat hard for what felt like an eternity, yet he managed to prop himself up and put on what he hoped was a calm demeanor. Finally, the infirmary door opened. Tulia stalked in, alone, pale face full of venom and every ounce directed toward Nishal. The dust on her travel clothes spoke that she'd hurried, and her hair was wild. She obviously did not see Layli.
“Where's Father?” Nishal winced even as he blurted out the question. It showed Tulia he was afraid of her. Nishal struggled to pull himself together. He was far too out of practice in dealing with his mother.
“Getting Timri's belongings and making arrangements.” Nishal gathered some strength from the fact that his mother's voice broke, though a voice in his head told him that emotion would make her dangerous. “I wanted a word with you alone.” Tulia closed in on the bed and towered over it, wind ruffling Nishal's sheets in her rage.
“I'm touched,” Nishal returned, dryly.
“What did you do to her?” Tulia spat. “How did you do it?”
Nishal blinked a couple of times. “Really, now. I believe I was just past fever dreams, and I can't recall wasting a single one on Timri. Do you really think I came to, dragged myself over to her dormitory with one arm and one leg, broke in, overpowered her and threw her off a roof? You're not being rational, Mother.”
“My only child is dead.” Nishal narrowed his blue eyes as Tulia bent down over him. “You're not worth half of what she was. And now look at you, broken and useless. I should have kept the pillow and left you with your slave whore mother. I can't believe I gave you my name.”
“What?” Nishal hissed the word in shock, but something in the back of his head started turning. He couldn't finger it just then, but he knew Tulia had just made a mistake.
“Now, what did you do to my child? I know you have friends. I know how you think. Perhaps you convinced your little sorcerer-spawn pet that I'd let you live if Timri was gone. ” Tulia planted both hands on either side of Nishal's head.
Whatever else Tulia might have said was cut short by the sound of a clearing throat. Tulia snapped her head around and Nishal let out a breath. Layli was pure ice as she glided back over, spine straight and chin slightly raised. Despite age and practice, Nishal wouldn't have given half a spit for Tulia's life at that moment if Layli decided to lash out. “I will assume, my lady Tulia, that you speak out of grief and therefore will take no offense for myself or Nishal,” she said, smoothly, every inch a daughter of the Dynasty even at fifteen. “And I will pretend I heard nothing. However, I do suggest you say nothing further that you may regret. Grandmother does not take insult lightly, and neither do I.” Nishal didn't think he could have loved her any more than he did at that moment.
Tulia's rage, however, was such that she did not take the out she was given. “Your grandmother should be ashamed of you. Why do you waste yourself? Surely this creature can't bed you that well.”
Nishal recognized the look on Layli's face and felt his own smirk forming. “I wouldn't know,” Layli began, shrugging languidly, “I've never had him in a bed.”
“Not true.” Nishal drawled at last, drawing on Layli's insolent tone. “What were we doing before my lady mother…I mean, Tulia…came in?” He didn't even have time to consider that provoking Tulia might not have been smart before the woman's grip clasped around his throat.
Everything happened in the brief instant before Tulia had time to squeeze. Nishal futilely gasped for a breath, aware that Layli had raised her hands and started muttering. He put his hand on Tulia's wrist. And then the bird was on her. Taking a breath of sweet air, Nishal coughed it out, watching Tulia fall back, arms trying to protect her face from the stormcrow spirit. In turn, it attacked with beak and claw relentlessly. Layli came to his side and started muttering softly, a different speech than before. “Dragon of air, lend me your scale…”
“Now you sic it on me!” Tulia screamed out as a talon raked her cheek.
“STOP!” Another voice entered the fray. Still gasping for air and rubbing at his bruised throat, Nishal saw the slender, muscled form of his father charge into the room. He didn't go for his sword, however, just struggled to interpose himself between the spirit and Tulia. “I keep the promise.”
The bird backed off as Layli's arching shield of air glimmered into place around Tepet Tulia and Cathak Bertram. Cawing loudly, it gave Bertram a baleful look. “You have failed once. Do not do so again.” Layli translated, softly. Yet the bird did leave, swooping out of the window with a great whoosh of its wings.
“Bertram!” Tulia whined. “Did you see that? That's how your son…”
“Shut up, woman, and leave us.” Tulia's petulant mouth opened and snapped shut with pure outrage. “I'll speak with you later. And for the sake of all sacred, get hold of yourself in the meantime.”
Tulia finally seemed to halfway pull herself together. “Forgive me,” she said, sounding almost sincere. “These are trying times, and I lost myself.” She left in such a way as to make people believe it was her own idea. Layli let the spell drop.
Cathak Bertram then took a chair near Nishal's sickbed. Dropped into it really, looking old and tired despite not having a single hint of gray in his raven hair. His slender body was the very image of physical perfection, lean and well muscled, save for the fact that his right arm ended right above where his elbow should be. Nishal studied his father, testing his throat by swallowing before even thinking about speaking. Bertram beat him to the first words, however, directing a much softer voice toward Layli. “I'm afraid you've been caught up in things that should never have been your business, and I'm sorry for that. You are Ledaal Layli, yes?”
Nodding, she said, almost faintly, looking pensive. “Nishal has long been a loyal friend, and I owe him my friendship in return. I will do what I can to help him and his f…blood. There is nothing to forgive, and nothing that I will hear or have heard, honored one.”
Bertram let out a breath and gave her a tired smile. “Thank you.”
“I'll go, then, and make sure you are not disturbed.” And Layli glided out of the room.
“Father, ” Nishal said, hoarsely. His mind had been spinning the whole time, trying to make sense of the whole strange scene. “What was that thing?”
Bertram sighed and rubbed his forehead. “The simple answer is that that is the creature that took my arm. I dare not say more than that.”
“I thought you lost it on a Wyld Hunt.”
“I did.”
“Layli said it was protecting me.” Nishal tried to recall every story he heard about the hunt. None were ever from his father. Tulia had been a horrible, hulking presence in his life, but his father was a stranger, often absent.
“It probably was, though I thought not to see it again. Something must have happened.” Bertram sighed deeply and leaned back.
Nishal took a leap. “Does this have to do with my mother…my birth mother?”
Bertram squinted his dark eyes at his son. “She told you, did she?” He shook his head and waved his hand a bit. “I guess there's no putting that wine back in the jug. You are far too clever for your own good, you know that don't you?”
“So why don't you tell me, then?” Nishal swallowed a few more times, throat still sore from Tulia's gifted strength.
So Bertram began his tale, and as his father spoke, the pieces started falling into place. And finally, Nishal remembered something he promised he'd never forget, the raven-haired baby. His own blood sibling.