Nothing at All
“He says he is coming here.”
Ilesin poured himself another cup and tossed it back.
“Tell him to come. I fail to see why the head of the house’s husband should need his son’s permission to walk in.”
He filled a third cup to the brim and drained it in one swallow.
“Go.”
“Yes.”
Once the servant had gone, every eye turned to the door. The wait was not long. Light showed through the crack, and then the door burst open with a bang and a man came in—tall, slender, and, unexpectedly, handsome.
“Ilesin!”
He spread both arms wide, beaming. Ilesin smiled just as brightly. To Artila’s eye, his mouth was smiling, but his eyes were cursing whatever fate had let the man into the room.
“Beni has done well in my absence. She is to be the head of our house, so of course she must.”
Beni said, quietly, “That’s our father.”
“Ah. Yes… I see.”
The man looked at Artila.
“And who is this young lady? Some new ally of yours? Or—is this someone I ought to receive with courtesy?”
“Her name is Artila,” Ilesin said.
“Let me see. Southern, are you? Your coloring runs dark. You’ll stand out here like a crow.”
When the man drew closer, Ilesin caught his shoulder and pressed him down. He could not so much as twitch.
“You should not push your face so close to a guest’s. Unless some new rule of etiquette was added in my absence, step back.”
Ilesin let go. The man tugged his clothes straight, doing his best to look unbothered, and said, “And where does this guest come from?”
“She is a mage from abroad. She is my colleague, so I ask that you treat her with respect.”
“Then that castle has two mages in it. Fortune, in an age like this. The whole world’s in an uproar trying to secure even one.”
“I give thanks for the favor of every god. I would be glad if Father, too, would congratulate his son on that fortune and welcome our guest.”
“I am deeply grateful for your hospitality.”
Artila answered with perfect courtesy, then poured a cup and offered it to him.
“By a guest’s courtesy, I return to the master the wine I was served by his honored family.”
Beni’s mouth fell open. It was the sort of fussy, skin-prickling etiquette one encountered only in the preening courts of the south. Caught off guard, the man hastily took the cup and drained it. He was plainly no drinker; he grimaced like a child swallowing bitter medicine.
Ilesin filled his own cup to the brim and held it out to his father.
“For Father’s health, I offer a cup as well.”
“Ah—th-that’s—yes.”
It occurred to Artila that forcing that much liquor on a man rather defeated the point of toasting his health. Unable to refuse what Ilesin offered without losing face, the man swallowed hard and drank it down at once. Worried he might spray it straight back out, she shifted a little aside. If he did, she was sitting squarely in the line of fire.
“I heard it from Beni. Something happened in Mokram village.”
“Nothing to worry about. I heard it was demons and went running, but aside from a few monsters they were all men. I killed most of them and brought one back as a prisoner. He won’t last long, though. His face is perfectly sound, and yet he’s dying in the strangest way. I’d like you to have a look.”
“So Father dealt with those strange intruders yourself?”
“Yes. They were nothing. Very easy.”
“If you say so, then it must truly have been easy. I’m glad you met with no difficulty.”
A few of the retainers who caught his meaning coughed, embarrassed. The man shot Ilesin a glare and went on.
“When I arrived, the villagers were strewn about, hacked to pieces. The bastards were human, and still they were tearing off human limbs, splitting bellies open, and dragging out the guts.”
“Dear me.”
Ilesin cut into a length of intestine stuffed with blood and minced meat. From the sliced face, the red filling spilled. Bram’s expression crumpled. This was clearly a dish he did not merely dislike—he loathed it. He looked as if the sight alone might make him sick. Artila had eaten that very dish a little earlier, full of admiration. The set blood was rich and savory, and the meat’s flavor was excellent. Beni had even boasted that it was one of the famous dishes of the region.
“Then shall we go and see him now… Father?”
Before Ilesin could rise, Bram was already out the door. A moment later, the sound of retching carried in from outside. When Ilesin stood, Artila quickly caught his sleeve.
“I’m coming with you.”
“You stay here.”
“No. The day I appeared, people like that appeared too. I think I ought to see them.”
“Must you?”
“Yes. And Ilesin… you’re drunk. You know that?”
“I know.”
“Why did you drink? It isn’t as if you mistook it for water.”
“Even I have times when I can’t manage it sober.”
“Is that pretty gentleman of yours what’s wearing you down?”
“Pretty—pfft.”
Ilesin swallowed the laugh, then said, “He’s a flower long gone to rot now, but there was a season when he bloomed. Mother was taken in by it too. He isn’t difficult, exactly… Sober, he just grates on me, so I thought I’d endure him for the time being.”
“Don’t most people use drink as an excuse to throw a punch?”
“Fortunately, I tend to grow more generous instead.”
“And how generous are you at the moment?”
“I’ve held back a great deal. Look—these two hands are still innocent.”
He clenched his fists and shook them. Uneasy that they would not stay innocent for long, Artila caught his hands, drew them down, and went out with him.
The prisoner Bram had brought was bound in a corner of the rear courtyard. A servant lit the place with a lantern. The man’s eyes were unfocused; he looked like an unpleasant doll molded from gray clay. Both arms had been severed, leaving only what remained above the wrists. Ilesin studied the dried scraps of flesh stuck thick along his jaw. Human flesh, no doubt.
“What do you make of him? Is he the same as the ones who showed up at your castle?”
“Similar.”
“And what did you do with them?”
“A knot that can’t be undone has to be cut with a blade.”
Ilesin rested a hand on his sword hilt.
“The same applies here.”
Bram started and leapt backward. Ilesin drew the sword and drove it through the prisoner’s heart. The man’s eyes clouded at once. Bram clenched his teeth against a surge of nausea, then pointed at Artila.
“You. Mage.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. You, you. I heard the m-mage lost her memory then, too.”
Ilesin wiped the blade clean and stepped in front of Bram.
“And how does Father know that?”
“I can read your letters too. I am the master of this house, am I not?”
“You are the master’s spouse. Let us be precise about rank.”
At the smiling words, Bram flared and shouted.
“Damn it, I know that! Listen, mage. Weren’t you caught by the same magic as this bastard?”
When Bram tried to approach her, Ilesin raised an arm at once, set a hand on his shoulder, and pushed him back.
“Her memories were destroyed. That is all. And Father—she is under my protection. If you have something to say, say it to me.”
“She’s neither a fool nor a slave. Are you telling me she can’t answer for herself?”
“I am saying she is under no obligation to answer simply because you asked. Is that not the way of Findrak?”
“I wonder whether that way applies to outsiders as well.”
“Outsider or not, I took her in.”
“No. I’m talking about you. You’re an outsider too.”
Ilesin smiled wide. A bad feeling crept over Artila. The drink is wearing off. Any moment now he’ll drive a fist into Bram’s face and kick him for good measure. Bram, who had no way of knowing that, jabbed a finger into Ilesin’s chest.
“You have no rights in Findrak.”
“Father.”
Ilesin was still smiling.
“That is for Mother to decide. It is not yours to decide.”
“And why can’t I?”
He caught Bram’s wrist between two fingers and lifted it. Bram tried to pull free and could not move an inch.
“The highest elder of this house is Mother. And Mother alone is my true blood. You have no rights, Father. You are neither. Not an elder of the house, and not blood.”
Bram had no answer.
“Even if you wish to name me a stranger, you cannot. You have no right to name me one.”
When Ilesin opened his fingers and let go, Bram snatched his hand back and retreated. The wrist had flushed an angry red.
“Tomorrow I will ask Mother myself. Father must be tired, so please go in. Laken, Erison—see Father inside.”
“Yes.”
Two sturdy men appeared and led Bram away into the house.
“Let’s go in as well, Artila.”
“Ah—yes. All right.”
Ilesin took her inside. For a while neither of them spoke. He was the one who broke the silence.
“You’re not asking.”
“About what?”
“What just happened.”
“I made my guesses.”
“How?”
“That your younger sister is the heir of the house, and not you. That you became your uncle’s heir even though you were the firstborn. And everything just now. They laid it out so plainly that it can’t be a secret.”
“Most people know. And as you’ve worked out on your own… Bram is not my real father.”
“Did your mother remarry?”
“Mother is my aunt.”
“…Your aunt? Then—your father’s sister?”
“Yes. My birth father was banished from his homeland, and he married a woman from abroad. When my birth mother died, he brought me back and gave me to Mother as her adopted son. Years of marriage had passed and she still had no heir, so she took me in. Bram agreed to it. Then Beni was born, and everything changed. It was decided Beni would be the heir, and I went to Pobern, where my birth father was.”
“Rather a lot of upheaval for someone of fourteen.”
“No. If anything, it felt like a weight off me. Nazares and Zeldia left with me then. Hisnil joined later. And a few years after that, we all set out adventuring together.”
“The way of Findrak,” Artila said.
“It means the people you’ve taken in. The people you’re responsible for.”
She laid a hand over her heart.
“And I’m one of them.”
“That’s right. Whatever happens here, I’ll handle it, so don’t worry. If anyone picks a fight with you, you come to me first. No exceptions. Understand?”
“Yes.”
Ilesin nodded toward the stairs.
“Now let’s get some sleep.”
When they reached the guest room, he went in first, looked over the bed, and drew the window curtains to shut out the draft. Once he had finished setting the room to rights, he spread his arms, bent at the waist, and said,
“Is that a sleep spell?”
“A wish for sound sleep. Good night.”
Artila kissed his cheek.
“This is a wish for sound sleep, too.”
Ilesin went still. Artila smiled.
“Good night, Ilesin.”
He let out a short breath of laughter.
“No wonder Beni was appalled.”
“Why?”
“That soft, courtly etiquette of yours. Beni grew up wild as a foal in a field. She’s never heard of such a thing, let alone seen it.”
“I’m a swineherd myself, you know.”
“I wonder.”
He set a hand on her shoulder and gave it a light pat.
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
He left the room and shut the door with his back still turned. Once that back vanished beyond it, regret tugged at her—but telling him not to go would only have left her with nothing more to say, so she decided to let the ache be. She took off her clothes and boots and lay down on the bed in her underclothes. Now the hour Sekiana had spoken of would come. The hour when the shards of memory returned like a storm.