Son of the Shadows (Sevenwaters, #2)

by Juliet Marillier

For me, there is enough excitement in helping to deliver a new lamb, or seeing small oaks grow strong in spring rains. In shooting an arrow straight to the mark, or curing a child of the croup. Why ask for more when what we have is so good?”

I believe you are somehow outside the pattern, Liadan. If this is so, it could give you great power, dangerous power. It could allow you to—change things. In these visions, it was not foretold that Sean’s birth would bring forth a second child. That sets you apart. I have believed, for a long time, that the Fair Folk guide our steps. That they work their great plans through us. But you are not in their scheme. Perhaps you hold some sort of key.”

I didn’t ask for much. The security and peace of Sevenwaters, the chance to use my craft well and be warmed by the love of my family. I wasn’t sure if I had it in me to do more than that. I could not see myself as one who might influence the course of destiny.

This was a face such as I had never seen before, even in the most fanciful of dreams, a face that was, in its way, a work of art. For it was light and dark, night and day, this world and the Otherworld.

“Where did you learn of life?” the raven man asked me in the bleakest of tones. “In some fairy tale? We live by the code. We have no names, no past, no future. We have tasks to perform, and at those we are the best. There is no life for this man, nor for any of us, outside that. There can be none.

I regarded him levelly. “No man is a monster,” I said. “Men do monstrous things, that is certain.

“You see my death? This concerns you? It should not. I do not fear it. There are times when I would welcome it.” “You should fear it,” I said very softly. “To die before you know your true self, that is a terrible thing.”

I was suddenly overtaken by the most profound sadness. Arrogance, scorn, indifference I could deal with. Quiet competence was just fine. Arguing with him was almost enjoyable. It was the unexpected words of kindness that threatened to shatter me in pieces.

The stars were like bright jewels on a cloak of deepest velvet. But you could never sew a cloak so wondrously lovely.

“What if I told you the name I was given is forgotten?” His hand grew tense in mine. “That I came to believe my name was wretch, scum, cur, filth, that I heard these names so long I could remember no other? A name is pride; it is a place. A worthless creature has no name but a curse.”

Your image is before his eyes through every battle, through every flight, through every subtle knife stroke, through every long, dark night. You bound him to you with your courage and with your tales. You hold him to you now. You captured a wild creature when you had no place you could keep him. He cannot escape you, however hard he might wish it to be otherwise.”

If hope is gone, the future becomes barely worth contemplating.

But if you could not trust, you were indeed alone, for neither friendship nor partnership, neither family nor alliance could exist without it. Without trust, we were scattered far and wide, at the mercy of the four winds with nothing to cling to.

“I was wrong, I see that,” Bran observed after a while, “when I called this a burden. It is no burden, but a priceless gift. Such a gift should not be squandered on a man like myself.” “Ah,” I said softly, “but gifts come unsought.

Father. I do not seek to make these wounds vanish as if they had never been. I know he will always bear the scars. I cannot make his path grow broad and straight. It will always twist and turn and offer new difficulties. But I can take his hand and walk by his side.”