Given Page 28

  “A pleasure to meet you,” said Yenni, bowing her head.

  Genevieve took Yenni’s hat and gloves and led them into the dining room.

  Sylvie, Montpierre, and Maman stood at the back of the room as if posing for a portrait. Weysh caught Sylvie’s eye, gave her a smirk, and bowed to them. “Mam’selle Yenni Aja-Nifemi ka Yirba of the Moonrise Isles,” he said again, as if announcing the empress herself.

  His maman glided forward and slapped him lightly on the shoulder in reprimand. “I know you’re mocking me,” she said as she hugged him, then turned her attention on Yenni, and they greeted each other palm to palm. “Welcome to our home. I am Bernadette Nolan and this is my husband, Montpierre, and my daughter, Sylvie.”

  Sylvie curtsied—curtsied—while Montpierre acknowledged Yenni’s nod with one of his own.

  “Please call me Yenni Ajani,” she said.

  “Oh, Weysh, but she’s lovely!” his maman exclaimed. “Come, come let’s sit!”

  Weysh and Yenni sat together on one side of the table, while Sylvie and Maman occupied the other and Montpierre took the head.

  “Your hair is beautiful, Yenni Ajani,” said his maman. “Where do you get it done?”

  Her hair hung on either side of her face in her signature mini-braids, though they were getting longer now, well past her chin.

  “I do it myself.”

  “Oh! Truly?”

  “Yes, it’s a common skill among women on the Moonrise Isles. My mother was forever telling my sisters and me that a proper lady must know how to braid her hair—unless she prefers to wear it shaved, of course.”

  “That’s quite wise. What I wouldn’t have given to be able to do that growing up.” His maman’s own loose curls were currently corralled into an updo.

  “I can show you some simple styles, if you’d like,” said Yenni.

  Genie arrived with the precourse: slices of peppered mango and pineapple.

  “So, Mam’selle Yenni Ajani,” said Montpierre as he fluffed out his napkin, “what are your plans once you complete your year at Prevan?”

  Thrice-damned Montpierre, could they not have just a few minutes of polite conversation first? Weysh breathed deeply through his nose and focused on Yenni.

  “I’ll return home,” she said simply and took a dainty bite of mango. “Oh, delicious!” she exclaimed.

  “Hmph.” Montpierre turned to Weysh. “And do you intend to return with her?”

  “Montpierre!” his maman whispered. Sylvie watched Weysh with interest.

  “I have no plans to move,” he said truthfully. In the days since their reconciliation, Weysh and Yenni had danced around the subject of the future. For Weysh’s part, it was enough that they were finally getting along. But he knew they would eventually have to figure out how to make a life together.

  And apparently so did Montpierre. He raised an eyebrow. “So you plan to live leagues apart? What will you do, visit each other on holidays?” he asked skeptically.

  Yenni put down her mango and raised her chin, meeting Montpierre’s eye. She gave him a charming smile. “We have not yet decided the details of our future. I know how concerning this must be to you—as a parent—but I assure you, messer, you will be among the first to know when we do.”

  She said it so perfectly, with just the barest hint of sarcasm, so that to anyone who didn’t know her she would seem sincere. Byen above, he loved her.

  Yenni let her gaze sweep over his maman and Sylvie. “Thank you so much for inviting me to your home. The food is wonderful—oh!” She lightly touched Weysh’s hand. “But you cannot taste it.”

  His maman frowned. “What does she mean you can’t taste it, Weysh?”

  He winced—apparently while Harth had gone against his wishes and informed Yenni about the attack, he hadn’t told Weysh’s family. Weysh gave them an abbreviated story of what happened at the chapelle.

  “Oh my goodness! Weysh!” Sylvie cried.

  “How could you not tell this to us?” his maman cried. “Montpierre! You must book him an appointment with Healer Veronique.”

  “I’ve already been to a healer,” said Weysh.

  “Whomever you went to see, Healer Veronique is better,” said Montpierre. He paused to cough into his handkerchief. “If it’s money you’re worried about, I’ll pay the fee.”

  Weysh stiffened. “This really isn’t necessary—”

  “Weysh!” said Maman. “What is more important, your pride or your health?”

  “How far do you think you’ll make it up the ranks as a dragon with no sense of smell?” said Montpierre.

  That jolted him. In his bliss over his progress with Yenni, he hadn’t considered how his injury could affect his career. Panic began to spark and sputter in his chest, and he did his best to hide it as he answered. “Very well, you make a valid point, Montpierre. I’ll visit your healer. Thank you.”

  Montpierre simply grunted.

  Despite the initial unpleasantness, the rest of dinner went remarkably well. The women did most of the talking, with Maman and Sylvie asking Yenni questions about the Moonrise Isles. She answered skillfully, gracefully dodging the questions that would out her as a princess by asking questions of her own.

  As Genevieve cleared away the last course Sylvie excused herself, and Yenni continued to make conversation with Maman.

  “I do hope you’ll visit us again,” Maman told Yenni as Genevieve served dessert—a summerberry pie with the crust so perfectly browned it reaffirmed Weysh’s decision to see Montpierre’s Healer Veronique as soon as possible.

  “It would be my pleasure,” she said, and Weysh could tell her smile was genuine.

  They were almost done with dessert when Weysh realized he’d seen no sign of Sylvie. Her pie was getting cold.

  “Maman, Sylvie’s been gone a while,” he said.

  She blinked. “Oh! Yes, where has that girl gotten to, I wonder?”

  Weysh had a bad feeling. “I’ll go find her,” he said. He felt a slight pang of guilt for leaving Yenni alone with his parents, but she could more than handle herself.

  “Sylvie?” he called, making his way toward the main staircase. “Sylvie?”

  As he paused on the first landing he heard sniffling. The landing gave way to a small powder room, and the door was slightly ajar. Through it he saw Sylvie standing in front of the looking glass, dabbing at her eyes. Frowning, he pushed the door open.

  “Sylvie?”

  She spun around. “Weysh!”

  “What’s wrong? Who do I need to roast?”

  “You weren’t supposed to see me,” she said, her voice wavering.

  Weysh crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow as if to say Out with it.

  But Sylvie shook her head. “Today is going so well. Even Papa is being good. I didn’t want to ruin it. I’m so happy for you, Weysh, happy you’ve found your Given, but—” Fat tears started rolling down her cheeks again.

  “But?”

  “You’ll definitely follow her to the Islands.”

  “Sylvie, as I told Montpierre, I have no plans to leave—”

  “Oh, don’t give me that!” she cried. “Yenni Ajani is incredible. The way she talks, and eats, even the way she moves! She’s like a princess or something! I can’t see you convincing her to stay here, and I can’t see you letting her go without you.”

  “If we were to move to the Moonrise Isles,” said Weysh slowly, “what’s to stop you from coming with us, even for just a while?”

  “And leave Maman alone?”

  “She’s not alone, she has Montpierre.”

  “Papa is dy—” Her voice hitched and she broke down into gasping sobs.

  Weysh’s heart just about broke as he wrapped his arms around her. “Byen, Sylvie,” he whispered against the top of her head. “You’ve been under a lot of stress latel
y, en?”

  “I know I’m being selfish, but I can’t help it,” she whispered.

  “No,” said Weysh. “I haven’t been here for you like I should. I can only imagine what you must be going through.”

  “Weysh, are you sad that Papa is sick?”

  Weysh was silent for a minute. “I suppose he’s the closest thing I’ve had to a father since Grandpapa died. I’m not happy to see him suffer,” he said diplomatically.

  “I’m scared,” she whispered. “I don’t know what’s going to happen when—” She closed her eyes and gulped. “And then to lose you too? It’s too much, Weysh.”

  “You are not going to lose me, Sylvie.” But even as he said it, Weysh knew Yenni would not want to live in Cresh indefinitely. Not when she was a princess of her tribe, and not after the ignorance she had experienced here. Weysh’s cheeks burned with shame at the realization that he had been a big contributor to that ignorance.

  But then what of his plans? His whole life’s ambition had been to make something of himself in the Imperial Army, prove Montpierre wrong, and support his family without having to run Montpierre’s business. How was he to do that and live with Yenni?

  Kindly Watcher, show me mercy, he prayed. Sometime soon, he and Yenni would have to have a very difficult discussion.

  29

  Yenni had much to think about over the five-day break after midyear exams, and she had come to a few decisions.

  First, she would not to mention the Watatzi rune to her family. After endless deliberation and prayer, she’d decided it was not her place. If the Sha intended for the Yirba to have the rune, they would reveal it to the Yirba Masters. If she mentioned it, she was sure her mother would only push her for more information, especially as it had already fallen into the hands of the Creshens. She might even be able to coax the rune from Professor Devon, if she changed her tune, but she was loathe to do so. It just didn’t seem right. Though she couldn’t completely shake a nagging sense that she was being disloyal to her tribe, she was confident that she was following the will of the Sha.

  Furthermore, she had to find a way to warn the Watatzi about Gilles Desroches. They were not necessarily an ally of the Yirba, but neither were they an enemy, and Yenni felt that if it was her tribe’s runes being pilfered she would certainly want to know. Perhaps she could write them in Creshen; someone must be able to understand it if they could communicate with Desroches. And perhaps Weysh could fly her to their Island at the end of the year, when she was free to leave Cresh.

  As for Weysh, after much deliberation and prayer she had made no decisions regarding Weysh.

  For the moment, her most pressing resolution was that she could no longer work with Professor Devon if he insisted on teaching the deception rune. She knew it could jeopardize her chance to stay at Prevan, but she couldn’t in good conscience enable Devon’s thievery. Her father was well, and surely the Sha could not punish her for boycotting sacrilege. If resigning from her position affected her status, she would simply have to find another way to stay, because Mother Shu knew she wasn’t yet ready to leave, to say good-bye.

  Professors normally returned to their offices the day before classes resumed—with the exception of Mainard, of course, who seemed to need no break at all. So on the last day of the hiatus, Yenni made her way to Devon’s cramped office in the basement of the administrative tower. From the doorway she spied him frowning over some text, mumbling to himself and scratching notes on a piece of paper. She knocked on his open door.

  “Yenni Ajani!” Devon cried, and gave her a relieved smile. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. Come in, come in!”

  Yenni was about to sit when she felt the air vibrate with ach’e.

  “Ab-alfar by source’s path,” pronounced Devon.

  He suddenly appeared on the other side of the desk, a few paces away from Yenni. She pulled instinctively on her speed runes and darted back.

  “Oh, my apologies,” said Devon. His face was red with exertion and his chest heaved slightly. “I take it you’ve yet to see a demonstration of Yasna’s Teleportation, en? Advanced magic, that.”

  Advanced indeed! The Yirba had a rune to do something similar, but only her parents, her brother Dayo, trusted lieutenants, and of course their Masters knew how to draw it. Yenni had begged Dayo to teach her, but he had never relented. It was up to their parents or the Masters to decide if and when she ready to learn a royal rune.

  “You said something I did not understand in that spell, Professor. Aba . . . abala . . .”

  “Ab-alfar,” said Devon. “It means through space in San-Uramaik.”

  “San . . . what?”

  “The ancient language of incantation,” said Devon. “Advanced spells contain words in San-Uramaik. There are even powerful spells that can be cast only in San-Uramaik. It was the language they were born in after all. So Yasna’s Teleportation makes use of ab-alfar, through space, because it’s a means of using otherspace to move instantaneously from one place to another.” Devon leaned against his desk. “How went your break?”

  “Very well,” said Yenni.

  “Excellent to hear!” said Devon. “And I’m thrilled to see you this afternoon. I must admit—”

  Yenni held up a hand, cutting him off.

  “Before we continue there is something I must say.”

  Devon blinked. “Oh?”

  “Yes. If you insist on supporting the proliferation of the stolen Watatzi rune, I will have to resign as your teaching assistant and leave this class.”

  Devon’s mouth dropped open. “But isn’t that a bit extreme?”

  “No, it is not,” said Yenni.

  “But you can’t leave! Please! I beg you to reconsider!”

  “You will not change my mind, Professor Devon. I will be honest: while I am grateful for your quick thinking in finding a way for me to stay at Prevan, my gratitude will not preclude me from doing what is right. I do not need this class—there is nothing you can teach me about runelore.”

  Devon clutched the desk, frowning in thought. After a long, uncomfortable silence he finally answered.

  “Perhaps not, but there is still much I can learn from you.” He turned earnest eyes on her. “I apologize. Please don’t leave, Yenni Ajani. I have no say in what Gilles Desroches and the High Magus Council may or may not do, but you’ll hear no more about the deception rune from me.”

  “Truly? Do I have your word, Professor?”

  He nodded. “Yes. Whatever it takes.”

  “Good. Then I will stay on.”

  He exhaled, long and relieved. “Thank you. Now let’s put all this ugliness behind us, en? We’ve still got the second half of the school year to get through.” His brow furrowed once more. “Just four moonturns left to us. Is there nothing I can to do tempt you to stay on a year longer? I really do enjoy having you here.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Professor, but I’m needed at home.”

  “I see,” he said sadly. “Well, we must do what we must do. I’ll simply have to learn what I can from you in the time we have left.”

  “I’m happy to be of service, Professor. And thank you for your understanding. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  Yenni left Professor Devon’s office in high spirits. Perhaps her initial assessment of him was true after all. He was one of the few Creshens she’d met who even attempted to hold the runes of the Sha in the proper esteem.

  She went straight back to her suite, intending to spend the next few hours reading ahead in her magic texts. Weysh was coming that evening to take her on one last flight before classes started. She was looking forward to a semester of learning, free of the stress of her father’s illness and the confusion of politics back home.

  Until the post arrived an hour later.

  Yenni was out on her little balcony, cur
led up as best she could be on the wooden chaise longue the school had put there. She longed for the soothing sway of a softgrass hammock, but she’d thrown the bed cushions—which she never used for sleep anyway—on the outdoor lounge and done her best to make do. The fresh air and view of the green, drooping trees lining the southern walkway were worth the mild discomfort. She was deep into lesson twenty-two of Defensive Spellcasting: A Modern Overview when a metallic creaking from inside alerted her to the arrival of the post.

  Yenni grinned with excitement: perhaps this was finally news from home! What had those devious sisters of hers been up to? And Dayo, he must be so relieved now that their father was well and could resume his normal duties. And her younger brother, Jumi—was he taking good care of Ofa? He’d better not be flying the poor creature here and there every day, tiring him out. And what of her mother? At the thought of home Yenni opened her palms, happily examining the runes her mother and father had drawn.

  A moment later that happiness was leaking from her like blood from a mortal wound. Yenni blinked and brought her hands right up to her face, her eyes darting between each palm. She was mistaken. She couldn’t be seeing this, not now. It couldn’t be true.

  It was.

  Her father’s rune was as strong as ever, but the rune on her right side, her mother’s rune, had faded.

  How long ago had this happened? She hadn’t been paying much attention to the linking runes since her father’s recovery, and she certainly hadn’t been comparing them, but clearly she should have been.

  “Why?” Yenni gasped as she scrambled up from the chaise longue. “Why, Almighty Sha? What have I done wrong?”

  She dashed through the open balcony doors and came to kneel before her letter box. Yanking the door open, she found it—at long last—stuffed with brown papua rolls. Yenni plopped down on the hardwood in front of the door, frantically opening and scanning each message to find the one from her mother, until she tugged on the twine holding one of the rolls and it resisted. She tugged and tugged, but it held tight. Confused, Yenni held up the roll and inspected it, and found a strange rune painted there, one that was oddly similar to the calligraphy for Yirba. She pulled ach’e to her fingertips and sent it into the rune. It glowed, and the twine fell away.