If Kellen had loved his father and that love had been returned—if Lycaelon had been someone else entirely, or if he had died, and Kellen been raised by another, kinder Mage family—might not the same thing have happened, only to a Kellen devoted to his family, to his studies, to the City? Wouldn't that have been an even worse disaster for him than what had actually happened? Only imagine a Kellen who had wanted to become a High Mage, who was trying to be the best son he could be, to please his father, or foster father… then coming upon the Books, tempted by them, called to experiment with them, to read them, terribly torn between the two paths, agonizing over his divided loyalties…
'Even cruelty can be kindness, if we can only see it clearly.' So said The Book of Moon. If Kellen had been fated to become a Wildmage, perhaps Lycaelon was the best of all possible fathers for him to have had.
But Idalia knew it would be many years before she would ever dare to suggest such a possibility to him.
AT last they reached the clearing and home. Kellen slid his heavy pack from his shoulders with a grateful sigh and stretched, working the stiffness from cramped muscles. He glanced toward his neatly stacked tools. They were tucked beneath the same weatherproof covering that kept the building logs from warping.
'I'd better get back to work,' he said curtly. 'I've lost almost two days, and winter isn't going to come any later because I've had other things to do.'
Idalia shot him a considering glance, but she didn't answer him directly.
'Master Eliron was right about one thing, you know—I should be spending more time teaching you Wildmagery than I have.' She smiled and shrugged. 'I hate to admit it, but that's my fault entirely; I've been selfish. Granted, it has been very good for you to do the work you've been doing here, both because it is turning you from a soft City-boy to a strong and resourceful fellow with many new skills. And I want you to finish the addition because I want my bedroom back—but what I want is not what you need and certainly not what you deserve. I should be teaching you both the skills of the hands and of the spirit. I apologize for neglecting the latter.'
He looked at her in surprise; never, in all of his life, had any of his teachers (or his father, for that matter) apologized for anything. He wasn't entirely certain what to make of this.
Idalia seemed to take his silence for assent, though. 'Come on. Help me get this stuff stowed away. We'll get some cider, and I'll show you how to do another one of my party tricks.'
Kellen hesitated, still staring off in the direction of the unfinished addition to the cabin. Idalia came and draped an arm around his shoulders.
'Kellen… you don't think I expected you to build it all by yourself, did you? I know you could. I know you could do most of it, by now, but that's not the only thing you're here to do. The villagers helped me put up the original cabin, and once their harvest is in, they'll come to help us finish the work you've started here.' She gave his shoulders a little squeeze. 'For one thing, we'll need the help of the thatcher—I certainly can't thatch the roof, and I rather doubt that was one of your lessons under your tutor! Meanwhile, you have other things to learn that no one else can help you with.'
She might have told him. She might have let him know. Here he'd been worrying about it, and all along she'd had plans to get him some help. Or had she expected he would be able to build it, then discovered that he couldn't, and only then arranged for the help? That was probably it.
'Like what?' Kellen asked, not caring just now that he sounded like a sulky child.
'Come and see,' Idalia urged with a mysterious smile.
Kellen was really irritated now. Did she enjoy being so maddening? But—he thought back to the young City- men he knew who had sweethearts, and how they tormented and teased their willing captives. Maybe it wasn't just Idalia. Maybe all women were really like that.
First they went into the cabin, where they emptied their packs—leaving the heavy kegs of nails outside. Idalia hung the coils of oiled flaxen thatching line on a hook from one of the rafters where they'd be out of the way until needed, then carefully unpacked the rest of their treasures.
A new whetstone, and a set of small paring knives for cooking (Kellen had managed to break one of the others in his attempts to learn to peel root vegetables, and besides, frequent sharpening wore down the soft steel with time). Hairpins and straight pins and needles for Idalia, the sugar candy for Shalkan, several small paper packets of spices. Real tea for Kellen, who missed the taste, and a thick roll of velum, drawing charcoal, and a sponge. Cleaned carefully, the velum could be reused again and again.
'I didn't know you'd bought that!' Kellen exclaimed, startled out of his blue funk by the discovery of the drawing material.
'Winter is going to be long,' Idalia warned once again, tucking everything carefully away into the cabinets and chests scattered around the room. 'You need things to occupy yourself when the snow is halfway up the shutters. I do fancy beadwork and embroidery on shirts and ribbons and take it to trade in the village in the spring, but I don't think that method of passing the winter would suit you, little brother. I find that the hours can grow very long without something to keep you busy. It gets very quiet and lonely here once the snows close us in.'
Then why don't you go live in the village? Kellen wondered again, biting down hard on the thought for fear she might be able to hear what echoed in his thoughts so loudly.
