Spellbreaker (32 page)

Francesca peered through the crowd, looking for Leandra.

Dignitaries and officials were milling about the front hall. Francesca perceived their indistinct chatter as a muddy colored sound. Some had formed cliques to discuss the political developments. Others were calling for servants to carry messages back to Chandralu. Nicodemus was in private conversation with the Sacred Regent. But Francesca didn't mind; there was someone she wanted to see without her husband.

“Shall I ask if the twins need help with Lolo?” Ellen asked.

“No, I need you to make our offer as discussed.” Francesca looked over at her student. “Besides, if the twins couldn't handle Lolo, would you want to help?”

“Only if I could complain about it so bitterly that you would regret sending me.”

“Such a great help you are, Ellen.”

“It's not my fault that Lolo is a strange child. He gives me the shivers.”

“I bet you were a strange child.”

“Are you saying I'm not a strange adult?”

“If I lie to you, will it make you feel better?”

“Probably. By the way, who is the druid in your husband's service?”

“Rory of Calad? He's been with Nico a little over a year. Veteran of the White Forest Wars.” She looked at the other woman. “Why?”

“No particular reason. He made a few interesting remarks to me in the throne room. I should like to take his measure since we're likely to be working with him in the coming days.”

Francesca frowned at her for a moment, but then glimpsed Leandra's four-armed wrestling god … or goddess, rather. The divinity had changed genders between throne room and hall. On her daughter's other side stood the sea god who had to be Lolo's father.

Francesca held up a finger to silence Ellen. “Time for you to make our offer,” she muttered and then strode through the crowd and bumped into a man who had accidently stepped back into her way. The unwitting dignitary turned, angry words perched on his lips, but on recognizing Francesca jumped into anxious apologies.

When Francesca planted herself before her daughter's party, the wrestling goddess and the sea god eyed her with apprehension. Leandra was leaning heavily on the wrestler's arm. There was a tightness around her eyes and mouth that hinted at the agony of a disease flare. A florid rash now covered her cheeks, nose, eyelids. The sight formed something tight and painful in Francesca's chest. Her suffering daughter …

Time seemed to slow. Those around them became unusually still. Then Francesca said, “Leandra,” because despite having rehearsed a small speech about putting the past in the past, that was what came out.

“Francesca,” Leandra replied in the same tone.

Francesca felt a sudden pang that her daughter had not called her “mother,” but in the next instant she decided that she was being unfair. Hadn't she greeted her by name? Francesca cleared her throat. “You need to start taking the highest dose of the stress hormones.”

During Leandra's childhood, Francesca had desperately sought a treatment. After much research, Francesca had deduced that her daughter's symptoms were similar to rheumatologic diseases in humans.

One of the few pieces of medical knowledge that had survived from the civilization on the Ancient Continent was that such diseases were caused by certain aspects of a body attacking others. Francesca had discovered that women who had mild forms of rheumatologic disease might experience relief from their symptoms toward the end of pregnancy. Curiously, other patients with rheumatologic disease who sustained traumatic injury experienced brief resolution of their symptoms when recovering.

Extensive experimentation in Port Mercy revealed that a stress hormone produced by the adrenal glands caused reduced rheumatologic symptoms. Francesca had used her influence on the Council of Starfall and in Port Mercy to assign several hydromancers to research how to re-create this specific stress hormone with the hydromancer's aqueous spells.

The results had been immediate and encouraging. By giving Leandra high doses of the medication, she could stop a disease flare; however, they also caused increased risk of infection, muscle wasting, weight gain. It was both a vital and a horrible drug. Unsurprisingly, deciding when and how much to give Leandra had led to some of the fiercest clashes between mother and daughter.

That is why, as soon as Francesca mentioned the drug, she knew it had been the wrong thing to say. To Francesca, the stress hormone symbolized everything she had done for her daughter. But to Leandra, the drug symbolized a childhood of misery. “Thank you, Francesca, I am well aware of how to treat my disease.”

“Yes, of course,” Francesca said automatically even though she had the powerful urge to remind her daughter to taper the dosage over several days to prevent withdrawal. “Of course. I am sorry.”

Leandra's expression did not change.

Francesca noticed that Ellen now stood next to the sea god. Ellen flicked her wrist at the god and a golden sentence arced between them. The sea god looked at Ellen, his eyes narrowing.

Leandra had not noticed the exchange, but even so Francesca cleared her throat more loudly than before. “Is there anything I can do to help with your investigation in Chandralu?”

“No, thank you.”

“You're sure?”

“Quite sure.”

Ellen and the sea god were now whispering. Francesca kept her eyes on her daughter. “Maybe you will think of something later. I can check in on your party in a few hours.”

“That won't be necessary.”

“But perhaps you would reconsider that…” Francesca paused as her frustration rose. She had imagined this reunion so many times, and now she was spoiling it. “Lea … I'm sorry.”

Her daughter's face remained stony.

“Lea, everything that happened … all those years ago in Port Mercy … I'm sorry.”

“There's no need to revisit the matter.”

“I just wanted … to say that I am sorry.”

Leandra let another moment stretch out before she nodded. “The Sacred Regent has given me quarters in the Floating Palace, and I need to rest before returning to the city.” She paused again. “But perhaps we'll talk tomorrow.”

Frustration grew hot in Francesca. She had apologized, hadn't she? But with great will, she kept her face neutral and nodded. “I hope we do.”

Then Leandra nodded to her wrestling goddess and they made for the other end of the hall. The crowd cleared a path for them as they went.

“Well?” Francesca asked.

Ellen held out a dim green sentence. Francesca took it and translated it into “
He's a shark god named Holokai from a large island in the Inner Chain. His requisites are to destroy—and by that I assume he means “eat”—divinities that might threaten his island and to produce a son who will lead the islanders to glory.
”

Francesca chewed her lip for a moment and then handed back a reply. “
Lea must have refitted his requisite to her purposes as Warden. But how could the Trimuril allow a deity who does such horrible things to women to exist? Forces should have been exerted on his cult to change that requisite. Is Lea aware of his requisite for a son?
”

Ellen replied. “
He claimed that she is, but neither he nor Leandra seem to know about Lolo. He had apparently been trying for a very long time to produce a child … with Lea.
”

Francesca shuddered as she remembered the teeth within the uterus. What was Lea thinking? “
And a meeting on the balcony?
”

Ellen took the question and flicked back the answer: “
He agreed but demanded that we give him Lolo right away.
”

Francesca snorted and was about to reply when someone approached. She looked up to see Rory of Calad. “Lady Warden,” the redheaded man said with a bow, “the Lord Warden has just emerged from the throne room and asks you to join him.”

Francesca nodded. “Lead the way, Druid.”

They found Nicodemus on the throne room steps with his hydromancer, Magistra Doria Kokalas, and his Lornish highsmith, whom Francesca had not yet met. She took a moment to examine her husband. Their previous reunion had been so brief, so urgent. He was standing straight, his expression controlled, and yet something had changed.

He was still beautiful. His skin was still a smooth dark olive, his eyes still bright green, his long vest still outlined his muscular arms and shoulders. There was more silver in his long black hair. And his still beardless face had become more careworn. But there was something else—around his eyes perhaps—that suggested a deep weariness. Francesca felt a thrill of fear for her mortal husband. How much longer did she have with him?

On seeing her, the tension around Nicodemus's eyes lessened. He walked down the steps and when she held out her hands he took them and kissed her cheeks. They began walking toward the end of the hall, arm in arm, as they would have at a reception in the Southern kingdoms. It was only after a few steps that Francesca realized it would have been more in keeping with Ixonian custom to bow to each other and walk side by side.

“Have you talked to Lea?”

“I did. It could have gone … better. She is in a bad flare. I tried to talk to her about her medications, but…”

“It could have gone better?” Nicodemus finished.

“You could say that.”

He sighed. “Did you make things worse?”

Francesca tightened her jaw. “I did not … You know, it is not entirely my fault that things are rocky between us. She is not the most reasonable daughter.”

“Yes, of course,” Nicodemus replied wearily.

“And it is not as if you are always able to make her see sense.”

“I'm sorry, my love; I misspoke. I should have asked if the two of you were on better or worse terms.”

Francesca balled her hands into fists and then relaxed them. “She did say that we might speak again. Once she gets settled in, I'll see if she'll let me talk to her about the stress hormones and—”

“Don't you think it would be better if I went?”

“Oh, so you want to manage her medication?”

“She's been managing her own medications for ten years now. If you think it's important that she see a physician, I can take Doria.”

Francesca glanced back at the old hydromancer, who bowed. Frustration again boiled through Francesca even though Nicodemus's idea was a good one. Doria was an excellent physician and a hydromancer besides; using her aqueous spells, she could forge more of the stress hormone or change its potency. And yet … and yet … “How are Lea and I supposed to make peace if you keep us from seeing each other?”

“I'm not keeping you from seeing each other,” Nicodemus said as they came to the bottom of a stairway and stopped. “I just think that when she is dealing with a disease flare, it might be hard for her to have a productive conversation with you given … given your history.”

“Without that ‘history,' as you put it, Lea would have died.”

“I don't doubt it.”

“You don't doubt it, but you never took part in it. If I had been as nonchalant about Leandra's disease as you were, she'd be dead.”

“I'm not a physician; I couldn't have done what you did. I am fortunate to have you. I was just trying to support both my wife and my daughter.”

You mean you wanted to be liked, Francesca thought. You wanted to be the lenient parent. You left the bitter task of treating her disease to me. And when the moment of crisis came in Port Mercy, I was the one who had to make the hard decision and now our daughter hates me but not you.

Somehow Francesca managed to keep silent, in part because she had already made these complaints to her husband. Also she knew that Nicodemus had been telling the truth, that he was doing his best for wife and daughter.

“Let me go to her,” Nicodemus said. “Please. You can see her afterward.”

She looked at his haggard expression and then felt a confusion of emotions. There was again a premonition of the grief his mortality would bring. There was her continued frustration and bitterness. But now there was also regret for something lost. Not an hour ago, at their reunion, he had looked at her and seen the beautiful, dangerous creature with whom he had fallen in love. His face had been alive with desire. Now he stared at her with exhaustion. Now he saw only an angry, unreasonable mother. She had been meaning to tell him about Lolo, but now she changed her mind. She was sure that he would object to her plan or insist that he join it.

Slowly she exhaled. “Very well, you can go see her. And now that I think of it, perhaps you should let her rest for a bit beforehand.”

“That sounds wise.”

Francesca nodded. “I have to meet with my two druids and tell them what has happened. I'll see you in our quarters afterward.”

He gave her a slight smile and squeezed her hand. “Thank you, my love.”

She felt something loosen in her chest.

“There is something else…” Nicodemus said hesitantly and then glanced about. “Lea is in some kind of trouble we don't know about. That's why the Trimuril played that little game; she wanted Lea to be indebted to someone so that she would accept help.”

“That was clever. Lea's too proud to ever have accepted help otherwise.”

“Maybe, but there is something I didn't tell the Trimuril. When I took down the River Thief, she was wearing Leandra's face?”

“Her what?”

“Her face. The neodemon was wearing Leandra's face.”

“But why would she do that?”

“I don't know, and we need to find out. That's another reason you should let me talk to her first.”

Francesca looked into her husband's green eyes. “Very well, talk to her and I'll tend to my business.” She let go of his hand and started up the stairs, but as she went she noticed that beside her Ellen was talking to Rory.