Nice word choice. I gave him a thumbs-up. “Okay, Kiki, you’re in charge.” It seemed weird talking out loud to her after years of silent communication.
“What does that mean?” Hale asked.
“It means Kiki will decide the route we take to Fulgor,” Leif supplied. “And she’ll stop when the horses are tired or hungry or thirsty. We’re just along for the ride. Oh, and hold on tight. It’s a ride like no other.”
“You mean because of that gust-of-wind gait you talked about?”
“Yep.” Leif grinned.
As if on cue, Kiki broke stride and, with a hop forward, launched into the gait I’d dubbed her gust-of-wind gait. It felt as if we rode on a river of wind. That was the easiest way to describe the feeling. Kiki’s hooves didn’t drum on the ground. I didn’t have to match my movement to hers. We flew, covering twice the amount of ground as a regular gait.
The magical gait only worked in the Avibian Plains and only Sandseed-bred horses had the ability. Handy, considering the plains, which were located southeast of the Citadel, stretched east to the base of the Emerald Mountains and south to the Daviian Plateau. A nice chunk of Sitia that we used as a shortcut on many occasions.
Kiki stopped to rest a couple of hours later. We collected firewood and Leif used his magic to start a fire. With Hale in charge of cooking dinner, Leif and I groomed the horses as they munched from their feed bags.
Leif broke the silence. “If the Council didn’t find out from Mara about your...ah...condition, how did they?”
“The only possibility that makes sense is the assassin or the person who hired the assassin told one of the Councilors or one of their aides.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Well, would you like the sound of Irys, Bain, Healer Hayes or Fisk betraying my trust better?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“No need to be snippy.”
“Leif, word is spreading. Fast. I need to find a cure before all my enemies come after me.”
Hale called that dinner was ready.
Leif tossed the currycomb at me. “Good enough.”
I caught it, then finished brushing the knots from Kiki’s tail. He might be satisfied with “good enough,” but my Kiki deserved perfection.
When I finally finished, Leif was asking Hale what he thought of the gust-of-wind gait between slurps of a bread-and-cheese soup.
“It was...incredible,” Hale said, smiling for the first time since I’d met him. “Like nothing else.”
“Not many people have experienced it. You’re in rare company, Skippy.”
His smile dimmed and Hale focused on his bowl.
“Leif, how old are you?” I asked.
He creased his brow in confusion. “You know my age. I’m two years older than you.”
“Then act like it. Stop calling Hale names.”
“Do you know how many names Mr. Hale called me while we were in the Keep together?” Leif asked. “Dozens.”
“And you were an annoying teenager who hated the world,” I reminded him.
“Doesn’t mean I deserved it.”
“No one deserves it. There just comes a time when you need to forgive and move past it. We’re going to be together for weeks. Can you try to be civil?”
Leif pouted, reminding me of Janco. “I guess, but only if I can have another bowl of the soup.”
If only smoothing relations between Sitia and Ixia was this easy. I could retire.
“Since we will be traveling for a while, perhaps this is a good time to share with you the extent of my magic,” Hale said.
Leif opened his mouth, but I shot him a look and he wisely kept quiet.
“That would be helpful.” I encouraged Hale to continue.
“It seemed only fair, considering I’m very familiar with Leif’s powers and your...er...current situation, Yelena.”
Warning signals rang in my head, and I moved my hand closer to my switchblade without thought.
If Hale noticed, he didn’t react. “You see, while I’m able to construct null shields in record time, light fires and communicate with my mind, I’m also able to hear.”
“Hear what?” I asked.
“Hear with my magic, meaning I heard your whispered conversation with Captain Romas and your discussion with Leif by the horses.”
“Whoa, I didn’t know you could do that,” Leif said.
“After the Ixian takeover, the Master Magicians decided not to advertise all their students’ powers in case the Commander attacked us or another one of our own attempted to overthrow the Council. Since spies are always a concern, it was a sound strategy.”
I agreed, but if Hale had this ability, could he be the one who’d informed the Council about me?
“I only use it when necessary,” Hale said as if he’d read my thoughts. “I believed the encounter with the captain might not go in our favor, so I listened to be ready to act.”
Smart.
“And what he said made sense. I’d already determined something was very wrong. Why would you need to be protected by a null shield? You’re the most powerful magician—”
“That would be Bain,” I said.
He shook his head. “Who else calls Master Bloodgood...Bain?”
“Uh, Irys?”
“And who calls Master Jewelrose...Irys?”
Only Bain and me. “Okay, you made your point.”
“Face it, sis. You’re in elite company.” Leif bumped my arm.
“You call them by their first names all the time.” I swatted his shoulder.
“Not in their presence.”
“This is a pointless argument. I’m no longer a magician.”
“For now,” Leif said.
“How did it happen?” Hale asked.
He had the right to know. We could be attacked again and both Leif and Hale could lose their powers. I explained about the arrow.
“Never heard of a substance with that ability.” Hale worried his bottom lip.
“If you wish to return to the safety of the Citadel, go ahead. I wouldn’t blame you. We should have been up-front about it from the beginning, but I was too...” Terrified.
“I think I’m safer with you than at the Citadel,” Hale said.
“I’m not so sure about that, Skip...er...Hale. She seems nice now, but wait until you’re part of one of her crazy schemes,” Leif said.
Here we go.
“One time, I was bait for a necklace snake—”
“What is it with you and that story?” I demanded. “You survived, didn’t you? We rescued our father, didn’t we? And as I recall, I was the one who ended up wrapped in the coils of an amorous necklace snake.”
Leif huffed. “It’s a good story if you don’t ruin it with all those little details.”
I gazed up at the stars, seeking patience with my brother. Moon Man, my Sandseed Story Weaver, was up there in the sky probably laughing his deep laugh. Despite the six years since his death, I missed him just as much now as I had then. He’d probably spout some cryptic advice on how to solve my problem. But this time, I would welcome it.