"Speaking in Rakahi"
"Speaking in Common"
Hart wasn't one to argue over circumstances, but... "At the moment I almost wish I had your schooling, though I don't envy sitting in a classroom all that time," he said. "Up until this point I haven't much needed to use my mind." And he was realizing now that perhaps that was to his detriment."Speaking in Common"
Was it bad to feel relieved, then, when it turned out Tristan didn't know the exact mechanics of alchemy, either? From what Tristan said, most magic didn't seem to be about science and math. It seemed alchemy was an outlier.
But apparently it didn't matter. Magic was banned in Rynmere, and that raised a whole new set of questions. "What about the magic that Zanik gave you?" Hart asked. "Are the immortals' magics outlawed as well?"
"And would you practice magic if it wasn't banned?"
"I don't know if I would. Practice magic, that is," he said. Then he looked thoughtfully at the oven, which had begun to stink as the items --reagents, Tristan had called them-- inside all melted together. "Then again, if alchemy is magic I might be interested in using it. To make art and other wonderous things. Like..." He considered, leaning back against the cabinets. He screwed his face up from the burning-metal smell. "Like a sculpture made of ice that never melts," he said. "You think that could be done with alchemy? Or a metal ship as light as wood. Or a wood ship as hard as metal!" Interesting.
"A piece of stone that gives off light like the sun. Or one food that is crossed with another! Is that right?" he asked suddenly, looking to his half-brother for confirmation, "Is that what alchemy is... you take one thing and make it sort of like something else? Like the cloak that is like a mirror?" Up until this point Tristan hadn't explained what alchemy was. What you did with it, what it was used for... besides to make things.
After a while Tristan lapsed into silence, and Hart took that as his cue to try to read the other's mind. So as Tristan looked inward, Hart looked outward. Concentrating on his half-brother.
A few trills passed, maybe a bit, and Hart said, "I see." Trying to figure out what he saw, if anything.
Nothing. He blew out a breath. "Well, I don't see anything," he said, sounding not quite disappointed. It was silly to think he could read minds. He hadn't ever been able to before.
Well.
That was not quite true.
"When Quio and I were boys," he said, and felt a pang go through his chest at the name, feeling much as Tristan might have felt when Faith first left him, "I found him in the woods outside Ne'haer. Did I tell you this before? Well anyways, I won't say that I read his mind but maybe," he shrugged, "maybe something like that. He was very quiet in the trees, and I shouldn't have known he was there, but I think I could feel him. I could tell that he needed my help." He paused a moment. "Do you think that's the same sort of thing?"
Come to think of it, he had a knack for telling when something was wrong. But certainly it wasn't a preternatural ability. He had always been good at reading people.
Still... "And once. Before the civil war here in Rynmere," he said. "I remember very well. We came up to the docks and got out of the ship and I went to talk to some guys. Quio," there was that pang again, "He wanted to leave because of the war. Just turn around and sail away. But there was something..." Hart had felt like someone needed help. Maybe a lot of people. He remembered clearly because soon after he had gotten very sick for a very long time, though Tristan hadn't known about that. "Well, I don't know," he said.
"Oh and then that time with the jacadon," he muttered. Not showing it really, but becoming more agitated as he spoke. Remembering more. "I saw something out in the water on the ship. And I just knew..." He'd known it was something living. Something that was hurt. "I knew that whatever it was, it was alive but close to dying. And we stopped and saved its life."
He looked up. "But everyone has feelings like that, right?"
And the time with Jovy--
And he had felt that something was wrong with Quio, too, before Quio had left--
But he didn't want to think about that stuff.
"It's just instincts," he said after a moment. But he was frowning, and suddenly he felt oddly exposed. Right? he wondered. Glancing to the side he noticed that the cook, over at the pantry, had stopped moving, as if he might have been listening in. Hart looked quickly away, back to Tristan. He crossed his arms as if he was cold.
"So," he said weakly, looking for another topic, but he didn't know what to say.
