Read Online Thornlost (Book 3) by Melanie Rawn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Melanie Rawn
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hundreds of years.”
“But wouldn’t their bloodlines have thinned out by now? Look at Albeyn. With every generation, the mix of races loses a bit of magic—”
“Who told you that? That ‘Sagemaster’ of yours? I never did like him.”
“You didn’t? Why?”
Once more she ignored the questions. “There’s no Troll would touch a Caitiff woman. The enmity goes too deep.”
Knowing she wouldn’t tell him the why of that, either, he said, “Even so, after all that time, with only Human and Caitiff bloodlines—”
She capped the pot of salve and began extracting the bottles and vials from her pockets, replacing them on the shelves. “If this is a bit of Elf, and that’s Piksey, and the others are Wizard and Gnome and Goblin and Troll, and mayhap a bit of Fae—you mix them all together in proportions nobody can foresee, and you never know what will happen.”
Like with him. What particular combination within him had worked with his Fae heritage to cause his Elsewhens?
“Mayhap you get nothing more powerful than a weathering witch,” she went on. “Mayhap a Master Tregetour. Or mayhap nothing at all. But with just the two bloodlines, and mixed together who knows how, with only the women inheriting the magic—the plain fact of it is that even after all this time, every stitch coming from the Durkah Isle is inspected by a Troll.”
“Fortyer!” he blurted. “Is that where it comes from?”
“Oh, it’s a right bright lad after all, isn’t it?” She turned from sorting bottles and regarded him with her fierce little eyes. “ ’Tis not the fear of plague that sets apart each Durkah ship for forty days in every Albeyni port. ’Tis the danger of their weavings and sewings. It’s one turn of the moon they last, but the inspectors wait another ten days just to be safe.”
“But the spells can be renewed? Of course,” he said, answering his own question this time. “Still—why would theCaitiffs bother? If they know about the fortyer, then why—?”
“What might happen after a month sleeping under that?” She pointed to the counterpane. She bit her lips together, then went on in a low, furious tone, “The third thing is this. My sister’s only son commanded the inspections for thirty years before they killed him with a thread mixed in with the salad greens. Sickened the instant he swallowed, vomited it all up—but the working was done and the yellow thread was there as evidence after he died.” She reached over to test the counterpane for moisture, her thick strong fingers squeezing a corner. A few drops of water plunked to the floor. “A single thread! So you’ll forgive me, Your Lordship,” she finished bitterly, “if I take precautions when it comes to gifts from Caitiffs!”
4
E veryone knew there would be no surprises at Trials this year. Touchstone would move up from the Winterly to the Royal, bypassing the Ducal Circuit entirely. But, as Mieka discovered on the journey to Seekhaven,
everyone
did not seem to include Cayden. Snug in their new wagon with Dery’s map on one side and touchstone on both, the tregetour anguished himself at irregular intervals over what they’d draw at Trials and what they’d play at performances for the ladies and the Court—or if they’d receive invitations for those performances at all.
After a while, the rest of Touchstone began to find Cade’s frets annoying. Mieka was all for tying him up and stuffing a gag down his throat. Jeska wanted to banish him topside to the coachman’s bench so he could fuss to his heart’s content without bothering anybody except Yazz. Mieka agreed to this plan, but only if he was tied up and with a gag stuffed down his throat, because why should poor Yazz suffer? All Rafe did was look up from the book he was reading, fix Cade with a humorless glare, and say, “Shut it or get out and walk.”
After this Cade sulked. He did it in silence, praise be to all the Old Gods. Still, Mieka had learned on their very
“But wouldn’t their bloodlines have thinned out by now? Look at Albeyn. With every generation, the mix of races loses a bit of magic—”
“Who told you that? That ‘Sagemaster’ of yours? I never did like him.”
“You didn’t? Why?”
Once more she ignored the questions. “There’s no Troll would touch a Caitiff woman. The enmity goes too deep.”
Knowing she wouldn’t tell him the why of that, either, he said, “Even so, after all that time, with only Human and Caitiff bloodlines—”
She capped the pot of salve and began extracting the bottles and vials from her pockets, replacing them on the shelves. “If this is a bit of Elf, and that’s Piksey, and the others are Wizard and Gnome and Goblin and Troll, and mayhap a bit of Fae—you mix them all together in proportions nobody can foresee, and you never know what will happen.”
Like with him. What particular combination within him had worked with his Fae heritage to cause his Elsewhens?
“Mayhap you get nothing more powerful than a weathering witch,” she went on. “Mayhap a Master Tregetour. Or mayhap nothing at all. But with just the two bloodlines, and mixed together who knows how, with only the women inheriting the magic—the plain fact of it is that even after all this time, every stitch coming from the Durkah Isle is inspected by a Troll.”
“Fortyer!” he blurted. “Is that where it comes from?”
“Oh, it’s a right bright lad after all, isn’t it?” She turned from sorting bottles and regarded him with her fierce little eyes. “ ’Tis not the fear of plague that sets apart each Durkah ship for forty days in every Albeyni port. ’Tis the danger of their weavings and sewings. It’s one turn of the moon they last, but the inspectors wait another ten days just to be safe.”
“But the spells can be renewed? Of course,” he said, answering his own question this time. “Still—why would theCaitiffs bother? If they know about the fortyer, then why—?”
“What might happen after a month sleeping under that?” She pointed to the counterpane. She bit her lips together, then went on in a low, furious tone, “The third thing is this. My sister’s only son commanded the inspections for thirty years before they killed him with a thread mixed in with the salad greens. Sickened the instant he swallowed, vomited it all up—but the working was done and the yellow thread was there as evidence after he died.” She reached over to test the counterpane for moisture, her thick strong fingers squeezing a corner. A few drops of water plunked to the floor. “A single thread! So you’ll forgive me, Your Lordship,” she finished bitterly, “if I take precautions when it comes to gifts from Caitiffs!”
4
E veryone knew there would be no surprises at Trials this year. Touchstone would move up from the Winterly to the Royal, bypassing the Ducal Circuit entirely. But, as Mieka discovered on the journey to Seekhaven,
everyone
did not seem to include Cayden. Snug in their new wagon with Dery’s map on one side and touchstone on both, the tregetour anguished himself at irregular intervals over what they’d draw at Trials and what they’d play at performances for the ladies and the Court—or if they’d receive invitations for those performances at all.
After a while, the rest of Touchstone began to find Cade’s frets annoying. Mieka was all for tying him up and stuffing a gag down his throat. Jeska wanted to banish him topside to the coachman’s bench so he could fuss to his heart’s content without bothering anybody except Yazz. Mieka agreed to this plan, but only if he was tied up and with a gag stuffed down his throat, because why should poor Yazz suffer? All Rafe did was look up from the book he was reading, fix Cade with a humorless glare, and say, “Shut it or get out and walk.”
After this Cade sulked. He did it in silence, praise be to all the Old Gods. Still, Mieka had learned on their very
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