Daughter of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 4) (10 page)

He took a deep breath. He could
no longer listen to her words; every one stabbed him.

"Madori," he said
softly.

". . . and did you see how
long Professor Yovan's beard is? Idar! Down to his feet! I wish I
could grow a beard. Maybe I can grow a magical one. Why don't you
grow your beard too? I—"

"Madori," he said
again, "I can't let you stay here. You have to go into Eloria
with your mother."

". . . and they asked me
about mathematics, and—" She paused and tilted her head. Very
slowly, she placed down her fork. She spoke even slower. "I . .
. what?"

Torin figured the best approach
was to blurt it all out at once. "It's too dangerous. Radians
are rising across the land. There's a Radian professor here at
Teel—one Atratus—and Lord Serin holds sway; apparently he built a
good chunk of the university. It's too dangerous for you here. It's
too dangerous for you anywhere in Timandra right now. I'm moving to
Kingswall to help Cam deal with this threat. You will go to Eloria
with your mother."

Madori leaped to her feet,
letting her chair crash backwards. Across the tavern, patrons froze
over their meals and stared.

"Like the Abyss I am!"
she shouted. "Are you crazy, Father? Are you absolutely mad? Go
home—now? After all this?"

He reached out to her. "Madori,
please. Hush. Sit. Listen."

"I will not!" Tears
budded in her eyes. "You always do this to me, Father! You
always let me . . . let me build up my hopes, and then you destroy
them. It's like when you told me we'd go visit the desert, and you
changed your mind at the last minute, and we went on a damn fishing
trip instead." The tears were now streaming down her cheeks. "I
can't believe you. I can't! I wish Mother had taken me here instead.
I'm going to Teel and you can't stop me."

She turned and ran, making a
beeline for the door.

Torin cursed. He slammed coins
onto the tabletop and made to run after her. He stumbled over a
chair, cursed again, and steadied himself in time to see Madori bolt
outside. When Torin finally made it to the door and stepped onto the
street, she was gone.

"Madori!" he cried
out, seeking her.

People on the street—shoppers,
villagers, students and their families—turned to stare at him.

"Madori!" he shouted
again, but she didn't answer. He couldn't see her anywhere.

Well,
that went splendidly,
he thought.

He began to trudge down the
street, peering into shop windows, seeking the damn girl. Why did she
have to make things so difficult?

"You used to be easy to be
around," he muttered.

What had happened? Madori used
to be his best friend—the girl he'd rock on his knee, tickle, laugh
with, spend so many wonderful hours fishing, playing, and reading
with. And now? Now Madori always found some other reason to think him
the most horrible troll this side of darkness. He only wanted to
protect her. How could she not see that?

He kept walking down the streets
of Teelshire, seeking her. Where would the damn girl go? Would she
have run into the university grounds? Perhaps into another tavern, or
maybe she hid in an alleyway somewhere?

He groaned. Of course.
She
went where she always goes when she's angry at me,
he thought.
To
read.

While Torin found comfort in
gardening and Koyee in music, Madori's escape was reading. She spent
many hours in Fairwool Library, delving into hundreds of books. Torin
enjoyed reading books on botany on occasion, and Koyee enjoyed old
tales of Qaelish lore, but Madori consumed books of adventure so
quickly she had to order more from Queen Linee every year.

Torin spun around and walked
toward the town's bookshop—an old little building whose sign bore
the words, "The Bookworm's Banquet." He stepped inside,
entering a dusty, crowded chamber chock-f of books. The
leather-bound volumes stood upon shelves, rested on tables, and rose
in tilting towers. Beams of light fell through stained-glass windows,
gleaming with dust.

Madori sat between two
bookshelves, her knees pulled to her chest, her head lowered.

Joints creaking, Torin sat down
beside her. She would not budge.

He took a deep breath and spoke
softly. "You know, I lost my parents when I was only a child."

She said nothing. She wouldn't
raise her head.

He kept speaking. "I
remember my father's last words to me. As he lay dying, he spoke not
of himself, not of fearing death. He spoke of me. He was afraid, he
said, that he wouldn't be here to look after me. When I had you, I
finally understood his words." He smiled wistfully. "When
you're a parent, you never stop worrying for your child. Being a
parent is to always worry. Even when you're afraid for yourself, it's
because you're afraid of abandoning your child."

Finally she raised her head. She
looked at him, her eyes rimmed with red, tears spiking her lashes.

"Well, maybe you have to
finally let me grow up." She wiped her eyes. "I'm sixteen,
Father. Mother was my age when she sailed off to war. I think I can
handle a university."

Torin sighed.
If
it were only handling a university,
he thought.
But war
again threatens to engulf Moth.

"If
I let you stay here," he said slowly, "you must promise me
you won't pick fights with Serin's daughter."

"I never pick fights."

Torin snorted. "I've seen
you beat up Kay Chandler's boy a dozen times back home."

She bristled. "He keeps
touching the library books with greasy fingers!"

"And
if I let you stay," he continued, "you must promise you'll
stay near Tam at all times. At
all
times
.
He'll look after you, and I will talk to him, making it clear that if
anything
dangerous happens, he's to take you to Kingswall at once."

"Father!" She rolled
her eyes. "I'm not a damn child."

"You are. You always will
be. To me at least." He glared at her. "Promise me, Madori
Billy Greenmoat. You make a promise now, or I swear
I
will enroll at Teel University myself so I can watch over you."

"Father!"

He pointed at her sternly.
"Promise me. If you think your mother is the evil parent, you
haven't seen me in action. Promise or you will."

She groaned so loudly she blew
back both strands of her hair. "Fine! I promise. I promise I'll
stay away from that pretty little toad. I promise I'll stay near Tam.
I promise I'll hide away in the corner and barely squeak so that no
trouble can find me."

"And . . ."

She rolled her eyes. "And I
promise that if any trouble does find me, Tam and I will join you at
Kingswall. Fine? Now will you please stop latching onto me? I swear
someday you're going to sprout an umbilical cord and try to lasso me
with it."

He wrapped an arm around her and
pulled her close. She objected at first but gradually relaxed in his
embrace.

"I don't need a lasso,"
he said. "I just need to hug you."

She leaned her head against his
shoulder. She spoke softly, a tear on her cheek. "I love you,
Papa."

He kissed the top of her head.
"I love you too, Billygoat. No matter what happens, I always
will, and your mother and I are always somewhere out there for
you—even if we're half a world away."

She nodded and her voice was
choked. "I know."

He closed his eyes.

And
so I leave her in a viper's nest. And so I will always worry. Perhaps
that's the price of letting your children fly.
He sighed.
Cam will
call me a fool, but haven't we always been foolish?

He rose to his feet. "Now
come on, let's go buy you some school uniforms. You can't walk into
class dressed like a purple scarecrow."

They left the bookshop together,
his arm around her.

* * * * *

Madori stood under the tree,
gazing at the road that wound south through grassy valleys, heading
toward misty plains. She waved, watching the cart roll into the
distance.

"Goodbye, Father," she
whispered. "Goodbye, Hayseed. I'll miss you."

She thought she could see Torin
twisting in his seat to face the town, waving at her too. But with
every wave he grew smaller, and soon the cart, horse, and rider were
but a speck upon the horizon, and then they faded into the mist.

Madori blinked, her eyes damp.
She had always thought her father infuriating, but now she missed him
already, and her throat tightened. She longed to race down the road,
to hug him one last time, to pat Hayseed, to beg them to stay, maybe
even to go home with them.

She rubbed her eyes.
But I won't do that. I'll stay. I'll become a mage.
She nodded.
I'll be
strong and I'll be amazing.

She turned away, facing the town
again and the university that loomed above it. A gust of wind blew,
whipping back her two strands of hair and fluttering her robes. She
looked down at her new garments. Instead of her old leggings and
shirt—items she had sewn herself—she now wore flowing green robes.
It was a color she detested—she detested all colors other than black
and purple—but all first years were required to wear the green. At
least she kept her boots; the leather creaked as she walked, and the
many buckles jingled. Her pack hung upon one shoulder, full of the
scrolls and books her father had bought her along with her new robes.
She wasn't sure how Torin had been able to afford all this; a
gardener, he had never been a rich man, and parchment cost a small
fortune. She suspected that Tam's father—King Camlin himself, come
in disguise to see off his son—had footed Madori's bill.

When she had crossed the town
and stood at the gates of Teel University again, she paused and took
a deep breath. Only last turn, she had stepped through these gates
for the trials, but somehow now this seemed an even greater boundary
to cross.

"Once I step through now,"
she whispered, "my old life is gone. Father. Mother. Hayseed.
Home. Once I enter these gates now . . . this will be my new home for
four years."

She stood for a moment,
hesitating, fingers trembling, resisting the temptation to run after
her father. Finally, with a deep breath, she took three great paces
forward and entered the Teel cloister.

The first time she had entered
this cobbled courtyard, she had seen thousands of applicants. Now
only two hundred stood here, the lucky new class. Four columned
walkways rose around them, enclosing the cloister within a square,
and the four Towers of Teel rose at each corner. An elm tree rustled
in the center of the cloister, and clouds drifted across the blue sky
above.

As always, Lari stood with her
group of cronies, all wearing their Radian pins. A jeweled tiara
topped Lari's head, and golden embroidery adorned her green robes.
While Madori's robes were secondhand, shabby, and shapeless, Lari's
robes were obviously custom-tailored, fitting snugly and sporting
golden hems. The young noblewoman was busy telling a story while her
friends laughed, and Madori caught snippets about how "the
mongrel burst into tears . . ." and how "her gardener
father had to save her." Ignoring the group, Madori looked at
the other students, her new classmates. A couple dozen Elorians stood
under the elm, seeking the shadows, their hoods pulled over their
heads; unlike Madori, who had inherited Timandrian skin that could
tan, these pure-blooded Elorians had pale skin they dared not expose
to sunlight. Finally, between the Radians and Elorians, sprawled a
mass of unorganized students. Most were local Magerians, but many
were from other sunlit kingdoms, their eyes more hesitant, their
hands clasped together nervously.

Madori wasn't sure where to
stand. Certainly not near Lari and her friends, but neither did she
crave Elorian companionship; if she aligned herself with the
Elorians, she would forever be an outsider here. If she embraced her
Timandrian blood, perhaps she could still find a larger group of
allies—obviously not among the Radians, but perhaps among the
largest group, those Timandrians still unaligned.

She saw Tam stand in the middle
group, and Madori felt some relief. The brown-eyed prince, now
wearing green robes, was a welcome sight, a little bit of her old
life, of comfort. She walked forward and stood beside him.

"Hullo, Billygoat," he
said.

She raised her fist. "Don't
make me punch you."

He rolled his eyes. "Fine!
Greetings be upon you, Lady Madori Billy Greenmoat the First."
He bit his lip. "Better?"

"No. But you got lucky.
Punching your thick skull would probably cripple my hand, and one of
my hands is already injured."

Tam grimaced. "Save your
fists for you-know-who." He glanced aside. "I have a
feeling you might need them."

Madori followed his gaze and saw
that Lari and her friends were tossing a doll back and forth. The
doll was a crude, ugly representation of an Elorian—its fingers
ending with claws, its mouth sprouting fangs, its large eyes red.
When the effigy fell into the mud, Lari made a point of stomping onto
it. The young noblewoman raised her eyes, saw Madori, and gave her a
little wink.

"You're next," she
mouthed silently.

Madori was about to rush forward
and attack the weasel. Before she could take a step, however,
Headmistress Egeria emerged from the southeastern tower and marched
toward the new students, her robes swaying. The elderly woman's hair
was collected into a neat bun, and the sigil of Teel—two silver
scrolls—hung around her neck.

"Students of Teel!"
the headmistress announced. "Welcome. Welcome to the
university."

The students all turned toward
the woman. Lari gave Madori another wink before kicking the doll
behind the elm tree. When everyone faced her, the headmistress
continued speaking.

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