Pathways Read online

  Both had made every attempt to welcome their mother when Syrriah arrived, still stunned to be Chosen at her age, after the full life she’d led. But she didn’t want to get in their way. They already had friends, habits, lives here, and so Syrriah had gently declined invitations to sit with them at meals or otherwise keep company with them. She might be a fellow Trainee, but her age made socializing with the other students awkward for them and her.

  She reached the wide, double-doored entrance to the Heralds’ Collegium and filed inside with the rest of the students. The hallway echoed with the sound of snow being stamped off boots and called farewells as friends split to go into different classrooms.

  Syrriah and Natalli shared more than one class; this one was a review of the current political climate of Valdemar in relation to the neighboring countries as well the various regions within the kingdom itself.

  The bright morning sun streamed through the tall windows. The room was warm from a well-stoked fire, and students left their outerwear in relatively neat piles by the door, making the room smell faintly of sheep, sweet and comforting, and smoke, sharp and comforting.

  Syrriah’s curriculum at Collegium was different from the other students’, thanks to her age and circumstances. She didn’t need basic instruction in subjects such as etiquette, logic, or even history, except for the most recent history being touched on in this class, the events that had been happening in Valdemar since her husband had died and she’d stepped down from running Traynemarch Reach. She hadn’t ignored the news coming from around the kingdom, but she’d paid it less mind.

  Her studies now were more focused on the gaps in her education, the things she hadn’t needed as the lady of a manor: upper-level law, survival skills, weapons, some of the finer points of judgment as it related to a Herald’s job of handling disputes as the voice of the Queen. In some cases, she was allowed to do an independent study, mentored by a teacher and researching in the Library.

  But for now, politics.

  Syrriah’s head was bent over her notes when a rustle and murmur cascaded through the room.

  A third-year student, standing in the doorway, said the Dean of the Collegium wished to speak to Keliana.

  Two rows in front of Syrriah, Natalli, eyes wide, put a hand on Keliana’s arm. Syrriah watched as Keliana shook her head, gently touched Natalli’s hand, and pulled her arm away.

  Her face pale, Keliana rose, nodded to the teacher, and kept her eyes straight forward as she turned and walked to join the third-year, while the rest of the classroom sat in silence, watching her go.

  Waves of apprehension and concern poured out of Natalli, so much so that Syrriah had to raise her internal shields to block the emotion. Six months ago, she hadn’t known how to do that, and she was gratified that it came easily now, automatic and swift. The skill of blocking out emotions was almost more important than sensing them for an Empath.

  She knew Natalli and Keliana were friends, but the depth of Natalli’s concern surprised her.

  Keliana, an unaffiliated student well on her way to becoming an Artificer, was a whip-smart girl, from what Syrriah had seen. Rather serious, rarely laughing . . . although when she did smile, her blue eyes shone with light.

  Once Keliana and her escort were gone, the room buzzed with whispers again, until the instructor called for order and went back to the current lesson.

  Syrriah found it hard to concentrate, knowing her daughter was upset. Natalli clearly had known something was wrong even before the third-year had come to collect Keliana.

  And Keliana had walked out of the room as though she were being led to the gallows.

  • • •

  Syrriah’s Empath Gift was new to her, having broken free in her head less than six months ago, like a dam bursting, and only the support of her Companion, Cefylla, had kept her from being swept away with it.

  She’d learned to shield, but not with her own children. Never, she thought, with her children.

  She would never pry into their personal thoughts or feelings, but she would always be available if they needed help. She was, after all, a mother first and foremost, before she’d been Chosen, and being Chosen didn’t change her love for her children.

  It was a strange situation to be in, really: to have been Chosen when she was solidly in middle age, after a full (if unremarkable in comparison) life as the Lady of Traynemarch Reach, after all four of her children had been Chosen, after her husband had died, too young and much missed, just as they had been considering retiring and passing the work of running the manor and holdings to Syrriah’s sister.

  Strange—and wonderful—to forge the bond with dear Cefylla.

  Only the Companions knew how or why someone was Chosen, and that wasn’t information they shared or explained. If Syrriah was to have a whole new life as a Herald-Trainee and someday a Herald, it was not for her to question.

  Her Empath Gift might have had something to do with it.

  And now that gift, along with a mother’s intuition, showed her that Natalli was deeply unhappy. It didn’t take any special gift to know that her unhappiness had something to do with Keliana.

  Information traveled fast in a small, enclosed space like a school, and it took only a few hours for the gossip to solidify into fact: Keliana had been caught cheating.

  All students, whether Herald Trainees or unaffiliated, were held to a high standard of honor. Keliana likely would be expelled.

  • • •

  Syrriah knocked on her daughter’s door. The other students sitting on the floor in the hallway had fallen silent when she arrived. She knew some of them—a few even smiled a greeting—but they all watched unspeaking as Natalli opened the door.

  The fine blond hairs that had pulled out of her braid wisped into a halo from the static of pulling off her knit cap. That she hadn’t smoothed them down spoke volumes to Syrriah. Her pretty daughter, while practical and efficient and not prone to affectation, was normally fastidious.

  She had dark circles under her eyes, too, like bruises marring her naturally pale skin, and her mouth was thin, drawn. Syrriah wondered how much she noticed because of her Empathic Gift, and how much simply because she was, now and forever, a concerned mother.

  Natalli glanced past her to the common room, then held her door open so Syrriah could enter.

  Herald-Trainees’ rooms all had the same furniture: bed, wardrobe, desk, bookcase. Natalli had decorated hers with some pictures her older sister, a full Herald currently riding Circuit, had drawn. Syrriah had some of her own; Riann was a talented artist who frequently used her family as models in her sketches.

  A woven rug brightened the room with its reds, yellows, and blues. Syrriah had made it for her daughter when she was a baby, and she was glad Natalli had brought it with her.

  Natalli’s coat was a crumpled heap on the floor. Syrriah automatically picked it up and hung it on a peg by the door. When she turned back, her daughter said, “I’m studying; I have a logic test coming up. So . . .”

  “I just wanted to make sure you were all right,” Syrriah said.

  “I’m fine,” Natalli said, even though everything from her body language to her tone of voice said otherwise. Her chin was jutted, as if she was daring her mother to contradict her.

  “You’re worried about your friend; that’s not only understandable but commendable,” Syrriah said gently.

  “She’s innocent!” The words burst from Natalli.

  “The honor extends to everyone, including instructors,” Syrriah said. “You believe she’s being accused unjustly? Is there proof?”

  “They say there is.”

  “What does Keliana say?”

  Natalli scowled. “She isn’t saying anything. But that’s not your problem, Mother.” She gestured at the book open on her desk. “I really do have to study.”

  There was a time, not so long
ago, when Natalli would have poured her heart out to her mother. That she didn’t now, hurt.

  Or maybe it was something else—something more?

  “Natalli . . .” But no. She couldn’t say what she was thinking, because if she was wrong, her daughter would be devastated. So Syrriah pushed her fears aside and said simply, “You know I’m here if you need me. I want only the best for you.”

  “I know, Mother. Thank you.” Natalli submitted to a hug, but her entire body was tense.

  And Syrriah left, her heart heavy, more concerned than she’d been when she arrived.

  • • •

  Her next stop was Benlan’s room. He was in the common area with some of his yearmates, and unlike Natalli, he didn’t feel the need to speak in private. He also was more willing to hug his mother, although she felt a hint of embarrassment from him.

  His head was nearly at the same level as hers. When had he grown so tall? How had she not realized? He was still slender, lanky, the rest of his body not quite caught up with his height.

  It would soon, though, she knew. He wouldn’t be a boy much longer.

  “I don’t want to get involved,” he said, holding up his hands, when she asked. “Natalli’s business is her own. None of us really know Keliana, either,” he added, indicating the other boys sitting in chairs or on woven rugs in front of the fire.

  They were a year apart, but at this age, a year could be a chasm.

  “I know her sister, Keysa,” one of them said. “She’s nice, and she says Keliana is the best sister a girl could have.”

  “Keliana gave me good advice when I came here,” another boy said. “I was homesick, and she noticed and talked to me. I’m fine now,” he added when another boy scoffed at him, and he genially hit the scoffer with a pillow, no malice behind it.

  Boys expressing their friendship; Syrriah was familiar with it.

  “I’m just worried about her,” Syrriah said. “She seems to be taking Keliana’s situation personally.”

  “She’s a girl,” Benlan said, brushing the hair out of his eyes. “They take everything personally.”

  The others chorused their agreement of the blanket statement. They’d be men soon, yes, but for now they were still children, and girls—even their sisters and friends—were like a different species to them.

  “Does Natalli’s Companion have anything to say about this?” Syrriah asked Cefylla as she walked back to her own room.

  :Nothing he’s willing to share, dove,: Cefylla said. :It’s a private matter.:

  “Of course; I wasn’t prying,” Syrriah said.

  :No, you weren’t,: Cefylla agreed with warmth. :You’re understandably concerned about Natalli. I’m sorry I cannot help.:

  If there was an emergency, Syrriah trusted that the message would be shared; the Companions would never allow their Chosen to be harmed if they could help it.

  • • •

  Syrriah spent a restless night, the concerns tossing and turning in her head almost as much as she tossed and turned in her bed. She’d always told her children when they worried about something that the problem would seem smaller in the light of day, but when she finally slept, she woke still chewing on the problem.

  Keliana wouldn’t be sent home just yet; the weather was too harsh for her to safely travel.

  Syrriah told herself that if Keliana was innocent, as Natalli insisted, then she’d need an advocate.

  She told herself she was helping Keliana, even though she knew she also wanted to understand Natalli’s reaction.

  She soon found out there were quite a few people willing to advocate for Keliana.

  Although many of Natalli and Keliana’s friends were wary of speaking with an adult, the fact that Syrriah was Natalli’s mother helped pave the way for her. To a certain extent, anyway.

  Those students genuinely praised Keliana, swearing to her kind nature, her honor, her commitment. Everyone attested to her commitment to learning, her love of education, and Syrriah heard story after story of Keliana going out of her way to help other students, especially new arrivals.

  Yet they all hesitated about . . . something. Something that apparently had to do with Natalli—and that was where being Natalli’s mother was a hindrance rather than a help.

  Syrriah had trouble believing Natalli could have anything to do with the cheating, but the tiniest hint of concern crept in, no matter how hard she fought to keep it out. Concern . . . and guilt for even thinking it.

  But if not that, then what was Natalli and the other students unwilling to talk to her about?

  There was only one with whom she could share her fears: Cefylla.

  “I feel as if I’m betraying her even by thinking it,” she fretted. Even as a small child, Natalli had taken the concepts of right and wrong very seriously. Syrriah remembered Brant, her husband, having to teach Natalli the idea that nobody was perfect all the time.

  :There’s something, clearly,: Cefylla said. :But you know Natalli’s Companion would never stand for her cheating.:

  Syrriah felt a glimmer of hope. “That’s true,” she said. “But if not that, then what?”

  Even at a distance, she sensed Cefylla’s shrug. They both knew Syrriah hadn’t expected an answer to her question.

  What bothered her most, really, was that she felt more distant from her children than she had when they’d been Chosen and left Traynemarch Reach for Haven. Her loving, trusting daughter had pulled away from her, hiding her misery instead of asking for help or comfort, and her son . . . she barely recognized him now.

  She hoped they knew she would do anything for them.

  • • •

  The only physical thing Syrriah truly missed at Collegium was her loom.

  When she was the most homesick, she’d go down to the weaving studio where they made the cloth to clothe the Heralds and students—gray for the Herald-Trainees and white for the Heralds, rust-brown for the Bardic-Trainees and red for the Bards, pale green for the Healer-Trainees and dark green for the Healers, and blue for unaffiliated students.

  The looms were larger than the ones she’d had at the manor at Traynemarch Reach.

  Syrriah’s old looms had been only wide enough for her to pass the shuttle from one hand to the other. Here, the looms were so wide that younger students were employed to shoot the shuttle through the shed—the separation between the two layers of thread created when the weaver raised and lowered the heddles.

  This created wider fabric, which in turn meant patterns were easier to cut out and assemble.

  Syrriah missed weaving the intricate tapestry designs she’d been known for in her area, but she still found the simple repetition of weaving the plain fabric soothing, meditative. It was her best time to think.

  The clunk of the heddles, the swish as the shuttle slipped between the threads, all created a peaceful rhythm. The threads were fine, soft, expertly spun without slubs, the random thick areas that could occur if the spinner wasn’t proficient. Syrriah was equally impressed by the dyers, who managed to create the same shades of color every time.

  She let her mind wander as she raised and lowered the heddles, as she tamped down each row of weft. The more she pondered, the more she was sure she was missing something.

  She was probably missing something because her mind kept circling around to her own children, rather than focusing on Keliana.

  The threads that wove everyone together, one tapestry. She loved her children. Benlan loved his sister, even if he chose not to get involved in whatever was going on. Natalli cared for her friend Keliana. And Keliana . . .

  Syrriah gradually became aware of silence in the room. The two children who’d been shooting the shuttle back and forth were staring at her, patiently waiting for her to continue. Without being aware of it, she’d stopped weaving.

  She thanked the children as she rose from the s
tool.

  She had to talk to the Dean of the Collegium.

  • • •

  It was another brutally cold and bright day. The sun glinted off the snow to a degree that made Syrriah’s head ache. She squinted as she moved carefully between the buildings of Collegium. The icy air bit through the layers of clothing she wore.

  At her knock, Dean Elcarth rose from his desk and came around to greet Syrriah, telling her to hang her coat on an already overflowing rack by the door. A crackling fire warmed the room, and she stood by it for a moment, savoring the feeling of the heat returning to her bones.

  Elcarth’s office seemed small because it was crowded with a large desk, piles of books, a large slate board and bowl with pieces of chalk, and several chairs. A row of herbs in pots on the windowsill gave a fresh scent to what would have been an otherwise stuffy room. Syrriah had been here once before, to present her project to help the solitary students who eschewed crowds, a project the Dean had endorsed. She suspected that was why he’d agreed to speak with her on the current matter.

  He was a tiny, gray-haired, elderly man with a surprising energy; he reminded her of a bright, observant bird, taking in everything around him through bright black eyes and processing it swiftly. He was also, in her experience, patient and thoughtful.

  “Yes, I’d heard you were asking questions about Keliana,” he said when she’d broached the subject. “If it had been anyone else, we might have put a stop to it, but given your other work with the students, I was rather curious to see where you were going with this.”

  “I appreciate that,” Syrriah said sincerely. “Everyone has said Keliana is intelligent, kind, helpful—a model student.”

  “Other than this incident, I agree with you wholeheartedly. Her parents frequently write to ask about her progress—almost too frequently.” He rolled his dark eyes ever so slightly. “But it’s always been my pleasure to tell them how well she’s doing and that they should be proud of her. I can only assume they are, given their attentiveness.”