The White Road - Lynn Flewelling [58]
"It's sad, losing his mother before he even knew her," Alec murmured. Another thing we have in common.
"The time for childbearing is short for Aurenfaie women compared with their long lives," Akaien explained. "She was too old when she carried Seregil, and died giving birth to the son they both wanted so badly, after having four girls already. Korit never forgave himself."
"But if that's true, why didn't he love Seregil for being like her?"
"Seregil thinks his father blamed him for his mother's death. Korit didn't, but that didn't bring her back, and his heart never really healed. Seregil would be no different if he lost you. I could see that the minute I laid eyes on you two."
Just then they heard Seregil's voice, and Micum laughing at whatever he'd said.
"Thank you, Uncle," Alec said, emboldened by the confidences Akaien had shared, "I love Seregil more than I can say. I promise you, I'll always take care of him."
Akaien gave him a grin much like Seregil's. "I know that."
When the tools were finished, Seregil turned tailor, sewing the canvas rolls with thin pockets to carry the tools in a small, compact bundle.
Alone in their room, Seregil rolled and tied one set and tossed it to Alec. "Now we're ready for anything."
The following afternoon Mydri sent word that she wanted to speak with Alec--alone.
She had a small house of her own on the south side of the clan compound. With Sebrahn at his side, Alec knocked softly at her door.
She apparently had no use for servants, for she opened it herself. "Don't stand there gawking on the mat. Come in," she ordered brusquely, although she was smiling.
The front room was given over to cots for the sick, bundles of herbs, and other accoutrements of her art. She led him through to a pleasant room overlooking the valley. He caught a glimpse of a tidy kitchen through an open door and smelled something sweet baking there.
"May I look at the wounds you received in Plenimar?" she asked.
Alec pulled down the neck of his tunic, showing her the faint scars on his chest and throat where the slave takers' arrows had struck.
She ran her fingers over them, feeling carefully through his skin to the vessels and throat beyond. "You have no trouble swallowing or talking?"
"No."
"Weakness in your limbs?"
"No, I'm fine, really!"
"I'm glad to hear it."
"So, what do--"
"Not so fast, little brother. This is a civilized house. Tea first." Leaving him, she went to the kitchen.
Alec sat down in a rocking chair. Sebrahn went to the window overlooking a snowy herb garden and gazed out. Mydri returned a few moments later with a tray loaded with a steaming pot, mugs, a cream pitcher, and a plate of round spice cookies, still warm from the oven.
She set the tray on a little table between his rocker and a sagging armchair and poured for them both, adding cream without asking. Alec sipped his tea and was glad of the slaking; she brewed it even stronger than her brother did.
She popped a cookie in her mouth. "Go on," she urged when Alec shyly kept to his tea. "They're not poison."
Alec took one, wondering why he was always so nervous around the women. The cookie was delicious, laced with anise and honey, and he took a second more eagerly.
"That's better. Now, I want to talk to you about Sebrahn, and I want you to listen closely."
"Of course, older sister." He still felt awkward using the title, but knew it pleased her.
"I use magic in my healing," she told him, running a finger over the lines under her right eye. "But I also rely on my simples and tinctures, and a hot knife when necessary. It's a skill, healing, not a trick."
"Sebrahn's healings aren't a trick."
"Of course not. But you must understand that they are nothing but magic, and sometimes magic doesn't last. Why do you think I keep checking your wounds, and Seregil's?"
That had never occurred to him. He thought of the first person Sebrahn had healed, revealing his power. What if that girl's leg had gotten worse again, after they left? What if the gash high up on the inside