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Authors: Caitlin Sweet
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her after.”
“Maybe,” Bardrem said. “Maybe we should try to get in, try to ask someone.”
I shook my head. “Look at it—just at this part. We’ll never get in there. Perhaps we shouldn’t even want to.”
But I did. I felt the stone beneath my palm; I almost heard it, humming with danger and promise.
“Let’s go back,” I said, already turning away. “Now. People will be missing us.”
“Nola.” Bardrem spoke quietly; he sounded older than fifteen, suddenly. “It’s all right to want something you think you can’t have. It’s all right to say so, too.”
“No,” I said, to something, to everything, and pushed past him on the steep, sunny path.
It might seem as if the next part of my tale is something I created—or something real, but stitched onto the story in a place other than where it truly belongs. But it is true, and happened precisely in this way and at this time: The evening of the day of my walk with Bardrem, one of the girls came to my room. “Yigranzi wants you,” she said. “In the courtyard.”
I went. It was dusk; the spindly upper branches of the tree were burnished, the leaves bronze and gold over their spring green. The tree shadow was long, dancing a little on the ground in a wind I did not feel. There was a man standing with Yigranzi by the tree. He was tall, dressed in browns and blacks that made him hard to see until I was in front of him.
I try to remember now what it was I saw, that first time. Or rather—I remember precisely what I saw and try to convince myself to see more, all these years later. But I cannot. He was a tall man, dressed in a brown tunic and black cloak; a man with such a beautiful, sad face that I’m sure I stood and stared like a mouse before an owl.
“This is Master Orlo,” Yigranzi said. “He is an Otherseer from the castle, and he is here because of Chenn.”
He smiled at me, gently, sadly, and bent his head in the dying light—and that was all. That was all I saw.
CHAPTER SIX
The stubble on Orlo’s chin and cheeks glinted red, though the hair on his head was the colour of honey.
“Nola,” he said. His voice was quiet and grave. “Yigranzi tells me that you were Chenn’s friend. I am sorry you have lost her.”
His eyes were not quiet. They were the blue-black of Chenn’s, only the colour seemed to ripple, and their centres were a gold so bright that I looked away.
“Thank you,” I said, gazing at his mouth. His upper lip was thin and his lower one full, and the teeth behind them were even and white.
“I sent for you as soon as Orlo came to me,” Yigranzi said, “so that we could hear his tale together.” There was nothing strange about her words, but I heard hesitancy beneath them, giving them slow, blunt edges. “I offered to receive him in the Lady’s chamber but he refused.”
“Because I would rather stand by a seer’s tree than sit on an overstuffed chair,” he said, and I smiled. The chairs in the Lady’s chamber were all hard and lumpy.
“This tree must not be nearly so grand as the one at the castle.” Yigranzi was not smiling, so her words did not sound admiring.
Orlo did smile. “There are several at the castle, all very grand, but this one . . .”
He put his hand on the bark, flat, though his fingertips arched a bit. “This is a fine tree. So . . . delicately leafed.”
“Hmph,” said Yigranzi. She sat down slowly on the stone and twisted her head toward him. “Enough about trees, now. Tell us about Chenn.”
Orlo hesitated for a moment, his eyes cast down. He scuffed a foot, just as Bardrem often did. He said, “It is difficult . . .” and looked up at me. “It is a difficult tale to tell, because there are parts of it that cause me shame. But you must hear it.”
“Yes,” Yigranzi said, “we must.”
He nodded at her. There was no smile about him now. “I had just begun instructing child seers when Chenn was brought to the castle. This was nine years ago, and she was very
“Maybe,” Bardrem said. “Maybe we should try to get in, try to ask someone.”
I shook my head. “Look at it—just at this part. We’ll never get in there. Perhaps we shouldn’t even want to.”
But I did. I felt the stone beneath my palm; I almost heard it, humming with danger and promise.
“Let’s go back,” I said, already turning away. “Now. People will be missing us.”
“Nola.” Bardrem spoke quietly; he sounded older than fifteen, suddenly. “It’s all right to want something you think you can’t have. It’s all right to say so, too.”
“No,” I said, to something, to everything, and pushed past him on the steep, sunny path.
It might seem as if the next part of my tale is something I created—or something real, but stitched onto the story in a place other than where it truly belongs. But it is true, and happened precisely in this way and at this time: The evening of the day of my walk with Bardrem, one of the girls came to my room. “Yigranzi wants you,” she said. “In the courtyard.”
I went. It was dusk; the spindly upper branches of the tree were burnished, the leaves bronze and gold over their spring green. The tree shadow was long, dancing a little on the ground in a wind I did not feel. There was a man standing with Yigranzi by the tree. He was tall, dressed in browns and blacks that made him hard to see until I was in front of him.
I try to remember now what it was I saw, that first time. Or rather—I remember precisely what I saw and try to convince myself to see more, all these years later. But I cannot. He was a tall man, dressed in a brown tunic and black cloak; a man with such a beautiful, sad face that I’m sure I stood and stared like a mouse before an owl.
“This is Master Orlo,” Yigranzi said. “He is an Otherseer from the castle, and he is here because of Chenn.”
He smiled at me, gently, sadly, and bent his head in the dying light—and that was all. That was all I saw.
CHAPTER SIX
The stubble on Orlo’s chin and cheeks glinted red, though the hair on his head was the colour of honey.
“Nola,” he said. His voice was quiet and grave. “Yigranzi tells me that you were Chenn’s friend. I am sorry you have lost her.”
His eyes were not quiet. They were the blue-black of Chenn’s, only the colour seemed to ripple, and their centres were a gold so bright that I looked away.
“Thank you,” I said, gazing at his mouth. His upper lip was thin and his lower one full, and the teeth behind them were even and white.
“I sent for you as soon as Orlo came to me,” Yigranzi said, “so that we could hear his tale together.” There was nothing strange about her words, but I heard hesitancy beneath them, giving them slow, blunt edges. “I offered to receive him in the Lady’s chamber but he refused.”
“Because I would rather stand by a seer’s tree than sit on an overstuffed chair,” he said, and I smiled. The chairs in the Lady’s chamber were all hard and lumpy.
“This tree must not be nearly so grand as the one at the castle.” Yigranzi was not smiling, so her words did not sound admiring.
Orlo did smile. “There are several at the castle, all very grand, but this one . . .”
He put his hand on the bark, flat, though his fingertips arched a bit. “This is a fine tree. So . . . delicately leafed.”
“Hmph,” said Yigranzi. She sat down slowly on the stone and twisted her head toward him. “Enough about trees, now. Tell us about Chenn.”
Orlo hesitated for a moment, his eyes cast down. He scuffed a foot, just as Bardrem often did. He said, “It is difficult . . .” and looked up at me. “It is a difficult tale to tell, because there are parts of it that cause me shame. But you must hear it.”
“Yes,” Yigranzi said, “we must.”
He nodded at her. There was no smile about him now. “I had just begun instructing child seers when Chenn was brought to the castle. This was nine years ago, and she was very
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