said.
I frowned. “So are you. Just because you’re mad at her doesn’t make her the bad guy.”
“That’s easy for you to say. Half the Guild is looking for Nigel, and I’ve got him illegally imprisoned in my attic.”
I scanned the surface one more time, then held my hands up in apology. “I got nothing.”
Briallen let out an angry sigh and walked away. I followed her downstairs to the kitchen. She poured herself a mug of coffee, then gestured with the pot to see if I wanted any. I always wanted coffee. “You must have some kind of fail-safe to open the sanctum.”
“Of course. It was predicated on, you know, having a door that opens,” she said. I chuckled. I couldn’t help myself. Briallen glared at me. “I fail to see the humor in this.”
“It’s nice not to be the subject of your frustration for a change,” I said.
She took firm swipes with a dishcloth at the counter. I watched her without speaking. Briallen cleaned when she was angry. Back when I was her student, I was usually the one forced to clean. When the counter was shining, her face softened, and she sat at the island counter with me. “Do you really think that?”
“Well….”
“You don’t frustrate me, Connor. The world does.”
I snorted. “Tell me about it.”
She touched my hand. “Through all these years, I’ve always wanted the best for you. If I could have saved you pain, I would have.”
“I know. Half the problem is that neither of us can mind our business,” I said.
She laughed. “True. I wish I could give you better answers, but I haven’t been able to scry.”
Briallen had a talent for perceiving the future. Through chants and spells, she used the surface of calm water to catch glimpses of what might be. Her preferred instrument was the fountain pool in her back garden. The process wasn’t exact because so many variables changed from moment to moment. Sometimes, though, outcomes became inevitable, the various potential strands of events converging into a few and sometimes one. Those times were rarely positive and never good.
“Still?” I asked. When major events became so uncertain, no amount of fey ability was able to penetrate the veil of the future. It had happened a few weeks ago when the Elven Kingattacked the Guildhouse. Once past the crisis point, the ability returned.
“Not since before the Guildhouse. What about Meryl?” she asked.
Meryl’s talent was druidic dreaming. Her ability came on its own, in her sleep. Hers was a True Dreaming. The things she envisioned came to pass. She didn’t always understand the details because the images often came in metaphors that she had to interpret. Sometimes she did. Sometimes she failed.
“I haven’t thought to ask,” I said. Any type of scrying hurt my head enough to cause me to pass out. The reaction came from the dark mass in my mind. It hurt like hell, and I avoided coming in contact with scrying whenever possible. Now that the faith stone was embedded in my skull, I had my full body shield. It kept out the pain as long as I didn’t try scrying myself.
“Could you? I’ve found no one who can scry,” she said.
“Sure.” She didn’t move from the window. “Briallen?” She faced me. “It isn’t good, is it? I mean, really not good.”
She shook her head. “Something as huge as the death of Donor Elfenkonig should have set everything in motion again. It didn’t. Whatever is happening is still happening, Connor. It’s not over, and if Donor’s death was only the beginning, I’m afraid of what comes next. Truly afraid.”
The hair on the back of my neck went up, and I shuddered. Briallen ab Gwyll was not afraid of anything.
“If it’s any consolation, I want that door open more than you do. I need answers that I think Nigel has.”
“So now you’re willing to talk to him?” she asked.
Once I lost my abilities, Nigel abandoned me as a friend. I took it personally. We were no longer on speaking terms. “Question him. He
I frowned. “So are you. Just because you’re mad at her doesn’t make her the bad guy.”
“That’s easy for you to say. Half the Guild is looking for Nigel, and I’ve got him illegally imprisoned in my attic.”
I scanned the surface one more time, then held my hands up in apology. “I got nothing.”
Briallen let out an angry sigh and walked away. I followed her downstairs to the kitchen. She poured herself a mug of coffee, then gestured with the pot to see if I wanted any. I always wanted coffee. “You must have some kind of fail-safe to open the sanctum.”
“Of course. It was predicated on, you know, having a door that opens,” she said. I chuckled. I couldn’t help myself. Briallen glared at me. “I fail to see the humor in this.”
“It’s nice not to be the subject of your frustration for a change,” I said.
She took firm swipes with a dishcloth at the counter. I watched her without speaking. Briallen cleaned when she was angry. Back when I was her student, I was usually the one forced to clean. When the counter was shining, her face softened, and she sat at the island counter with me. “Do you really think that?”
“Well….”
“You don’t frustrate me, Connor. The world does.”
I snorted. “Tell me about it.”
She touched my hand. “Through all these years, I’ve always wanted the best for you. If I could have saved you pain, I would have.”
“I know. Half the problem is that neither of us can mind our business,” I said.
She laughed. “True. I wish I could give you better answers, but I haven’t been able to scry.”
Briallen had a talent for perceiving the future. Through chants and spells, she used the surface of calm water to catch glimpses of what might be. Her preferred instrument was the fountain pool in her back garden. The process wasn’t exact because so many variables changed from moment to moment. Sometimes, though, outcomes became inevitable, the various potential strands of events converging into a few and sometimes one. Those times were rarely positive and never good.
“Still?” I asked. When major events became so uncertain, no amount of fey ability was able to penetrate the veil of the future. It had happened a few weeks ago when the Elven Kingattacked the Guildhouse. Once past the crisis point, the ability returned.
“Not since before the Guildhouse. What about Meryl?” she asked.
Meryl’s talent was druidic dreaming. Her ability came on its own, in her sleep. Hers was a True Dreaming. The things she envisioned came to pass. She didn’t always understand the details because the images often came in metaphors that she had to interpret. Sometimes she did. Sometimes she failed.
“I haven’t thought to ask,” I said. Any type of scrying hurt my head enough to cause me to pass out. The reaction came from the dark mass in my mind. It hurt like hell, and I avoided coming in contact with scrying whenever possible. Now that the faith stone was embedded in my skull, I had my full body shield. It kept out the pain as long as I didn’t try scrying myself.
“Could you? I’ve found no one who can scry,” she said.
“Sure.” She didn’t move from the window. “Briallen?” She faced me. “It isn’t good, is it? I mean, really not good.”
She shook her head. “Something as huge as the death of Donor Elfenkonig should have set everything in motion again. It didn’t. Whatever is happening is still happening, Connor. It’s not over, and if Donor’s death was only the beginning, I’m afraid of what comes next. Truly afraid.”
The hair on the back of my neck went up, and I shuddered. Briallen ab Gwyll was not afraid of anything.
“If it’s any consolation, I want that door open more than you do. I need answers that I think Nigel has.”
“So now you’re willing to talk to him?” she asked.
Once I lost my abilities, Nigel abandoned me as a friend. I took it personally. We were no longer on speaking terms. “Question him. He
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