the clouds had lifted at last.
'Come and see,' Inurian told him, beckoning them to follow as he set off up the stairs.
They found Kennet standing in the middle of his bedchamber, frowning in concentration as he examined the fur of the heavy cloak he wore. He looked up as the three of them entered, and even in that first glimpse Orisian could see that his father had come back at least some way to himself. His eyes had a focus and life that had not been there for a long time.
'This cloak is not what it once was,' the lord of Castle Kolglas said glumly.
Anyara ducked under his arms and hugged him around the chest. Kennet swayed fractionally and for a moment seemed unsure what to do; then he returned the embrace.
'There are plenty of furs in the market,' Anyara said as she stepped back. 'We'll buy you a new one.'
Kennet smiled at his daughter and cupped her face for a moment in his broad hand. 'Very well, then.
That's what we'll we do.'
As Orisian watched him, he could not help but think how old Kennet looked. He might have hauled himself out from under the shadows once again, but there was a price to be paid. However much brighter his eyes were, the skin beneath them was dark, the lids above them limp and heavy. When Kennet smiled, as he did now, turning to Orisian, the expression had to work its way up from some deep place where it had been left, forgotten and unused, for many weeks.
'Orisian,' Kennet said, 'come here and let me see you.'
He regarded his son with gently appraising eyes.
'You look well,' he said.
'And you look better,' Orisian replied. He felt a familiar relief settling into him, tension easing. It was what he always felt when his father recovered from one of his dark moods: the lifting of the fear that one day the paralysing grief would not retreat, but would settle forever into Kennet's heart and bones.
'I am,' Kennet said. 'Perhaps it was those honey cakes you bought for me that did it, eh?'
'Or the promise of eating and drinking to wild excess tonight, perhaps?' suggested Inurian.
'Be still,' Kennet chided the na'kyrim. 'Just because you do not share our human failings is no reason to spoil our enjoyment of them, old friend.'
He cast an arm around Orisian's shoulder, and reached out to draw Anyara close on the other side.
'Will you forgive me my weakness this last little while?' he asked them softly.
'There's nothing to forgive,' murmured Orisian.
'And it is not a weakness to be sad,' Anyara added emphatically.
Their father squeezed them tighter for a moment and then released them.
'Whether it's a weakness or not, you should know I am sorry for it. I would spare you it if I could. I love you both dearly, and you deserve better . . .' His voice faltered, and for the briefest of moments a kind of anguish was in his face. He shook his head sharply, almost angrily. 'I must rest a little before the feast.
Just a little. But listen, first let us make a plan. Once Winterbirth is done, we will make a journey. It's been too long since we were outside these walls together, the three of us.'
'Where to?' asked Anyara. 'Anduran?'
'No,' said Kennet a fraction too quickly. 'There will be time enough to see my brother later. Just the three of us.'
'Let's go to Kolkyre,' Orisian said quietly. 'To the markets, and the harbour.' He had visited the seat of the Kilkry Thanes only a couple of times himself - he liked it for its vigour - but he knew his father loved it. Kennet had always said the winds there came clean from beyond the western horizon: the air you breathed there was new, without a past.
'Yes,' smiled Kennet. 'Kolkyre. That's a fine city.'
Far away in the north, beyond the Vale of Stones, a sprawling, gargantuan castle - a labyrinth of angular walls, towers and rough stone - lay across the bare rocky slopes of a mountain. Points of fiery light stood out where torches burned against the impending night, their flames tossed to and fro by the wind. Flecks of snow spun around the fortress.
'Come and see,' Inurian told him, beckoning them to follow as he set off up the stairs.
They found Kennet standing in the middle of his bedchamber, frowning in concentration as he examined the fur of the heavy cloak he wore. He looked up as the three of them entered, and even in that first glimpse Orisian could see that his father had come back at least some way to himself. His eyes had a focus and life that had not been there for a long time.
'This cloak is not what it once was,' the lord of Castle Kolglas said glumly.
Anyara ducked under his arms and hugged him around the chest. Kennet swayed fractionally and for a moment seemed unsure what to do; then he returned the embrace.
'There are plenty of furs in the market,' Anyara said as she stepped back. 'We'll buy you a new one.'
Kennet smiled at his daughter and cupped her face for a moment in his broad hand. 'Very well, then.
That's what we'll we do.'
As Orisian watched him, he could not help but think how old Kennet looked. He might have hauled himself out from under the shadows once again, but there was a price to be paid. However much brighter his eyes were, the skin beneath them was dark, the lids above them limp and heavy. When Kennet smiled, as he did now, turning to Orisian, the expression had to work its way up from some deep place where it had been left, forgotten and unused, for many weeks.
'Orisian,' Kennet said, 'come here and let me see you.'
He regarded his son with gently appraising eyes.
'You look well,' he said.
'And you look better,' Orisian replied. He felt a familiar relief settling into him, tension easing. It was what he always felt when his father recovered from one of his dark moods: the lifting of the fear that one day the paralysing grief would not retreat, but would settle forever into Kennet's heart and bones.
'I am,' Kennet said. 'Perhaps it was those honey cakes you bought for me that did it, eh?'
'Or the promise of eating and drinking to wild excess tonight, perhaps?' suggested Inurian.
'Be still,' Kennet chided the na'kyrim. 'Just because you do not share our human failings is no reason to spoil our enjoyment of them, old friend.'
He cast an arm around Orisian's shoulder, and reached out to draw Anyara close on the other side.
'Will you forgive me my weakness this last little while?' he asked them softly.
'There's nothing to forgive,' murmured Orisian.
'And it is not a weakness to be sad,' Anyara added emphatically.
Their father squeezed them tighter for a moment and then released them.
'Whether it's a weakness or not, you should know I am sorry for it. I would spare you it if I could. I love you both dearly, and you deserve better . . .' His voice faltered, and for the briefest of moments a kind of anguish was in his face. He shook his head sharply, almost angrily. 'I must rest a little before the feast.
Just a little. But listen, first let us make a plan. Once Winterbirth is done, we will make a journey. It's been too long since we were outside these walls together, the three of us.'
'Where to?' asked Anyara. 'Anduran?'
'No,' said Kennet a fraction too quickly. 'There will be time enough to see my brother later. Just the three of us.'
'Let's go to Kolkyre,' Orisian said quietly. 'To the markets, and the harbour.' He had visited the seat of the Kilkry Thanes only a couple of times himself - he liked it for its vigour - but he knew his father loved it. Kennet had always said the winds there came clean from beyond the western horizon: the air you breathed there was new, without a past.
'Yes,' smiled Kennet. 'Kolkyre. That's a fine city.'
Far away in the north, beyond the Vale of Stones, a sprawling, gargantuan castle - a labyrinth of angular walls, towers and rough stone - lay across the bare rocky slopes of a mountain. Points of fiery light stood out where torches burned against the impending night, their flames tossed to and fro by the wind. Flecks of snow spun around the fortress.
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