it. “It wasn’t entirely selfless. Your fear gave me nightmares.”
“My … what?” Apparently, he was no better with accepting thanks than I was at offering it.
“Part of Shantel magic is our tie to the land and the people on it,” Shane explained. “The royal house has a stronger tie than most, and I have always had a particularly strongability, even when it comes to outsiders. I can tell you if an intruder crosses the boundary of the Family Courtyard, or if a woman goes into labor … or if a child in the healer’s hut is terrified.” He shrugged. “It took years of study in the temple before I could master that magic, and back when you came to us, I was still a child myself. I couldn’t block your nightmares from my mind, but music made them go away.”
The fact that the act had been partly selfish didn’t make it mean any less to me. I was about to say so when another thought crossed my horrified mind.
“Is that ability limited to Shantel land?” I asked. “Or will it happen anywhere you go?”
“To varying degrees, it is the case with any land I am in. Beyond my own people, it happens the most with the serpiente, since they are a somewhat empathic race themselves,” he explained. “I sense almost nothing when I visit avian land, because their people are very guarded with their emotions. I have never been to Midnight.”
He said the last bit flatly, but it was clear he knew why I had asked, and that the thought had already crossed his mind—probably repeatedly.
I tried to imagine what it would be like to sense the emotions of the scores of slaves inside Midnight’s walls. So much pain, terror, and despair.
“Isn’t there any way for you to fight?” I blurted out. “One of your witches used Vance to nearly kill every trainerin that building!” His eyes widened, and I saw the warning in them, as if discussing this—even here—was too dangerous. I lowered my voice, but pressed on. “You’re acting like you’re helpless, but everyone knows how powerful Shantel magic is. You—”
I broke off, realizing that if the Shantel
did
have some plan to fight Midnight, they probably wouldn’t want to tell me about it.
Shane shook his head. “Our magic isn’t well suited for battle. Even a bladewitch weighs every action against the balance of natural life and death when he hunts for meat in the forest.”
“What about a deathwitch?” I asked. The witch who had poisoned Vance’s blood had implied that he had power over the vampires because of their strange un-life.
“Among our people, deathwitches prepare the dead for burial,” Shane said. “They help souls find their way to the next world, and comfort those who remain behind and mourn. They aren’t warriors, or assassins.”
“But one of them
did
find a way to fight,” I pointed out.
“Ask Rachel about her craft if you wish,” Shane suggested. “She is our current deathwitch. Perhaps a child of Obsidian can find a way to plot treason where we law-abiding fools are blind.”
If there was a secret plot, I decided, Shane didn’t know of it either. Did I dare pursue such a dangerous task myself? The alternative was sitting back and doing nothing.
I had to at least ask the question.
Shane gave me directions to a clearing at the edge of the courtyard, where a woman was sitting, playing a flute. Her eyes seemed focused on the fire before her, which burned inside a circle of stones whose outsides were milky white, in stark contrast with the soot-black sides facing the flames.
The tune was melancholy, which matched my mood, and the serpent in me could not resist watching the hypnotic movement of the fire, the woman, and the instrument swaying. I sat beside her and waited to be acknowledged, watching the way her fingers danced on the flute. Black marks decorated the backs of her hands.
“Who are you mourning?” she asked me as the song came to a close.
“Mourning?” I asked. “I’m sorry. Is this some kind of memorial?
“My … what?” Apparently, he was no better with accepting thanks than I was at offering it.
“Part of Shantel magic is our tie to the land and the people on it,” Shane explained. “The royal house has a stronger tie than most, and I have always had a particularly strongability, even when it comes to outsiders. I can tell you if an intruder crosses the boundary of the Family Courtyard, or if a woman goes into labor … or if a child in the healer’s hut is terrified.” He shrugged. “It took years of study in the temple before I could master that magic, and back when you came to us, I was still a child myself. I couldn’t block your nightmares from my mind, but music made them go away.”
The fact that the act had been partly selfish didn’t make it mean any less to me. I was about to say so when another thought crossed my horrified mind.
“Is that ability limited to Shantel land?” I asked. “Or will it happen anywhere you go?”
“To varying degrees, it is the case with any land I am in. Beyond my own people, it happens the most with the serpiente, since they are a somewhat empathic race themselves,” he explained. “I sense almost nothing when I visit avian land, because their people are very guarded with their emotions. I have never been to Midnight.”
He said the last bit flatly, but it was clear he knew why I had asked, and that the thought had already crossed his mind—probably repeatedly.
I tried to imagine what it would be like to sense the emotions of the scores of slaves inside Midnight’s walls. So much pain, terror, and despair.
“Isn’t there any way for you to fight?” I blurted out. “One of your witches used Vance to nearly kill every trainerin that building!” His eyes widened, and I saw the warning in them, as if discussing this—even here—was too dangerous. I lowered my voice, but pressed on. “You’re acting like you’re helpless, but everyone knows how powerful Shantel magic is. You—”
I broke off, realizing that if the Shantel
did
have some plan to fight Midnight, they probably wouldn’t want to tell me about it.
Shane shook his head. “Our magic isn’t well suited for battle. Even a bladewitch weighs every action against the balance of natural life and death when he hunts for meat in the forest.”
“What about a deathwitch?” I asked. The witch who had poisoned Vance’s blood had implied that he had power over the vampires because of their strange un-life.
“Among our people, deathwitches prepare the dead for burial,” Shane said. “They help souls find their way to the next world, and comfort those who remain behind and mourn. They aren’t warriors, or assassins.”
“But one of them
did
find a way to fight,” I pointed out.
“Ask Rachel about her craft if you wish,” Shane suggested. “She is our current deathwitch. Perhaps a child of Obsidian can find a way to plot treason where we law-abiding fools are blind.”
If there was a secret plot, I decided, Shane didn’t know of it either. Did I dare pursue such a dangerous task myself? The alternative was sitting back and doing nothing.
I had to at least ask the question.
Shane gave me directions to a clearing at the edge of the courtyard, where a woman was sitting, playing a flute. Her eyes seemed focused on the fire before her, which burned inside a circle of stones whose outsides were milky white, in stark contrast with the soot-black sides facing the flames.
The tune was melancholy, which matched my mood, and the serpent in me could not resist watching the hypnotic movement of the fire, the woman, and the instrument swaying. I sat beside her and waited to be acknowledged, watching the way her fingers danced on the flute. Black marks decorated the backs of her hands.
“Who are you mourning?” she asked me as the song came to a close.
“Mourning?” I asked. “I’m sorry. Is this some kind of memorial?
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