Angel of Storms (Millennium's Rule, #2)(122)

It was impossible to focus on one person so she withdrew her mind. Frustrated, she turned to find Valhan watching her.

He smiled faintly, took her arm and the sensation of cold air ceased. They slipped over the edge of the wall and her mind supplied a giddy feeling of falling as they descended. It didn’t help that they’d withdrawn from the world at such a small distance that she could see no sign that their surroundings had faded except in the darkest of shadows.

They plunged towards the rooftops, then between two and into a narrow gap. The walls on either side were brick, and a damp smell filled her lungs as they arrived. The alley turned left at one end and met a busy, wider street. Valhan looked towards the other thoroughfare but did not move. Rielle wondered what would happen if he emerged. Would the people recognise him? She reached out for their minds to find out.

Though she jumped from one person to another, all were too busily concerned with the task they were involved in to think about the ruler of worlds. When she did finally encounter one who did, it was a wood-shaper thinking wistfully that the drudge work his employer always gave him would never attract the eye of the elite, let alone the Raen. But at least I’m paid for it, he added, not slaving for the Koijen–though on these wages I’m not much better off.

A noise close by dragged her attention back to the alley. Into the narrow space a woman strode carrying a basket of dirty clothes. She pulled up short in front of Rielle, frowning in annoyance.

“Sorry,” Rielle murmured, stepping aside.

The woman shifted the basket onto her other hip ready to squeeze past, then froze as she saw that someone lurked behind Rielle. As she recognised the maleness of the stranger her annoyance turned to apprehension, but at Rielle’s lack of concern she relaxed again. Strange clothing, she thought. Fine clothing. A rich foreigner or Other-Worlder. She gave Valhan another look. Him too. But he looks familiar… And then she gasped as she realised where she’d seen that face before.

In the museum. In the voting hall. The museum’s statue was a much better likeness, she noted before a different thought overtook it.

Ask him! her internal voice shouted. Ask, before he goes and it is too late!

The words, forced past fear and awe, gasped out of the woman.

“My daughter!” she said. “She has a bad leg. Will you heal her?”

Rielle looked at Valhan. He held the woman’s gaze until she lowered her eyes. There would be a price, the woman knew. There was always a price.

“What can you offer in return?” The different language sounded strange coming from him. He spoke slowly. The woman’s mind automatically supplied words she expected he might use, and he chose those he needed.

“Anything!” She held her hands out palms upwards, but her confidence was waning as she realised she had nothing to offer. Nothing one such as he could ever want or need.

“A favour,” he said. “In the future.”

Rielle had not seen those words in the woman’s mind. Perhaps he’d drawn them from others nearby. The woman nodded in agreement. “I’ll do it. I, Semla, swear it.”

“Where is your daughter, Semla?”

“At my home.”

The route flashed through the woman’s mind. Valhan reached past Rielle and held out a hand. Semla stared at his hand in disbelief, then before she could lose courage she grabbed it. Fingers encircled Rielle’s arm and then the alley brightened. The woman’s eyes went round as they slid through the wall.

Bleached walls, doors and windows, people and animals swept past. Rielle watched for the reactions of the people they passed. Few saw the passing half-visible trio. Mostly children, she noted. Everyone else was too busy.

They stopped and returned to the world in a small room. In the centre was a brazier, a conical hood suspended above it funnelling smoke through the roof. A bed fitted snugly between three of the walls, a window and open door pierced the wall on the opposite end of the room. A child sat in the doorway, her back to them.

“Oerti,” Semla called.

The child twisted around and stared at them in astonishment, wondering how her mother and these strangers had slipped past her unnoticed. Had she fallen asleep? Then a spot of brightness appeared above the brazier and expanded to form a small, glowing ball. Mother and child gaped at the magical light. The child recovered first, her eyes moving from Valhan to Rielle. Sorcerers!

“Come here, Oerti,” Semla said.

The girl stood, grabbed a crutch leaning near the door and approached cautiously. Her right foot was twisted and smaller than her left.

“Who are they?” she whispered.

“A healer and…”–her mother glanced at Rielle–“his friend. Go lie on the bed.”

The girl obeyed, setting the crutch down on the bed beside her. She was frightened, but trusted her mother, who everyone said was sensible. It was her father who was the fool. Yet the way her mother looked at the man worried her–afraid and excited. Not much scared her mother.

Valhan moved to the bedside. The girl watched him with wide eyes, thinking she would hit him with the crutch if he did anything wrong to her, or her mother. His gaze was fixed somewhere inside her, moving slowly down to her leg. She winced at his scrutiny of the ugly, twisted thing that was her right foot.

Pain ripped through it with no warning. She gasped and sucked in a breath to yell, but as quickly as it had come, the pain vanished. Her mother had grabbed her hand and was murmuring reassurances. Oerti slowly relaxed. She could feel bones and more moving around in her leg. The sensation was disturbing, but it brought a flood of hope. Can this really be happening?