The Theft of Sunlight Intisar Khanani (red seas under red skies .txt) 📖

will not voice. “Perhaps you require some time to consider your predicament. I will leave you here, and return within the hour.”

He departs quietly, his footsteps muffled by the carpet. I hear the far-off click of a door, and then all is quiet. I curl into my armchair, arms wrapped around myself. It is loud, deafening, this silence that folds me up. I’ve seen the Blessing, and while I know it doesn’t destroy the mind, it robs one of all recent memory. What will be left when this mage finishes? Will he take everything that has happened in the last few weeks—the whole of my visit to Tarinon, and even before that? Or can he truly only take those memories relating to the prince? How can he know which they are?

He can’t. I don’t believe it. And the king has given me this time to realize that. To understand the gravity of what might be done to me. Even if I were willing to give up everything I’ve learned—the whole investigation, everything we need to research Berenworth’s anomalies—I cannot give up Kirrana while she is still lost.

Nor can I betray Niya in her place.

Surely there has to be some other way.

The king wants a hold on me. Something real, something he can use. I wipe clammy hands over my skirts. His son is a mage. And he has access to a whole host of other mages. There’s no need for me to betray Niya when I can give him a closer hold on myself.

I rise, limp to the table with its double burden of silver goblet and opal. But this is a library, and on the shelf behind it waits paper and ink. I gather these and seat myself at the table, and draw out my bone knife.

When the king returns a half hour later, I am curled up on the armchair, absently playing with the end of a braid. I blink up at him as he pauses in the doorway and find him looking somewhat taken aback.

“Tarin,” I say, dropping my braid and rising to my feet, my ankle aching.

He raises a hand, stopping me before I can curtsy. “You have decided?”

“Yes.” I gesture to the folded paper on the table.

He crosses to it, unfolding it carefully, and then pauses. I watch as his eyes skim the paper, his fingers carefully remaining at the edges. When he turns to look at me, there’s a certain humorous gleam to his eyes. “Kelari.”

“You weren’t going to take my memories, were you, tarin?” I say, having reasoned this out in the calm after my decision. “Filadon would surely notice, and that would destroy his loyalty to you and to your son as well. I suspect the sort of loyalty he has toward your family is hard to come by. He wouldn’t betray you, of course, but you would have betrayed him, and he would likely depart to live in the country after that, unable to serve you so closely after such an injury to him and his family. Don’t you think?”

A faint curve of the lips. “It was a risk, yes.”

“Not one you would have taken,” I agree, encouraged by his reaction. “Your plan was always to frighten me into giving you a hold on me. There is your hold, tarin.”

“Your hair and blood are an interesting sort of hold.”

“Not at all. Hair and blood, given willingly? Zayyid Kestrin could easily find me with that, or it could be used by a mage in your service cast a curse on me. That should be incentive enough for me not to anger you.”

“True,” he agrees. “I’m impressed you considered all this, especially given the threat hanging over you.”

“You’re not getting any other hold on me,” I say firmly.

“There is no need. Your actions have convinced me he is quite safe.”

I blink at him, taken aback. He watches me, amused, and I find myself asking, “What would you have done if I’d given you my hold?”

“Used it.”

His words chill me to the bone. He is still very much a king, even if I’m being chatty with him. Still someone who uses power easily and dangerously. No doubt he can see the effect of his words.

I swallow and say lightly, “But this suffices, tarin?”

“Almost. Consider that even a trace based on blood or hair can be warded against.”

Light and shadow! I knew that, was only just reminded of it today. This hold I’ve offered the king won’t serve at all if a ward can block it.

He tilts his head. “To ensure that what you have given me will actually hold, you will need to allow a mage to, ah, create a connection, shall we say. One that can be drawn upon regardless of how well warded you may one day be. It requires a good deal of magic and a willingness on your part, but it can be done.”

I look up hopefully. I’ve never heard of such a thing, but considering the need for a mage to accomplish such a feat and the fact that there isn’t one within a day and a half’s ride of our town, that’s not altogether surprising. Niya wouldn’t have come up with it on her own. Still: “This connection—that’s all it is? It does not grant control over me?”

He is definitely amused, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling. “No, that I promise it won’t. We’ll see to it tomorrow.”

“Because you never intended to take my memories.”

A smile now, clear as day. “As you say.” He sets the paper with its burden of hair and blood down. “I am glad you’ve proven your trustworthiness, kelari. The service you have performed my daughter-by-law, in protecting her from her brother’s intentions two times over, and the work you have done regarding these slavers?” He dips his head in an approximation of a bow. “I am grateful to you. I hoped you would make the right choice here.”

“Thank you, tarin,” I say uncertainly. This unexpected honesty and forthrightness is almost