Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue

An unspecified location north of the Ice Wall Mountains

Farad, yanked out of his vague test-anxiety-flavoured thoughts, glanced up as the Work Room door creaked open and Ashra slipped out.

The instructor held the door open. “Next. Adept Teraki?”

Teraki, seated a few chairs over in the comfortably appointed waiting area, rose. Farad hadn’t spoken much with the swarthy Seejayan Adept; the only language they shared was trade-tongue, and the man kept to himself.

Ashra returned to her seat, one of the armchairs arranged around the same circular table where Farad was seated. She looked a bit pale, but otherwise composed.

“So?” Nalbat, Farad’s seat-neighbour, leaned forward, quiet anticipation in his eyes. “How was it?”

“I didn’t like it much,” the Jkathan mage said quietly.

Farad shivered. He had been trying not too think too hard about his own, upcoming turn in the Work Room.

“I should hope not! You passed, though?”

Ashra nodded. “Finished and powered nine of ten sets of camp ward-stones for him.”

Farad kept thinking that it felt - cheap, somehow, to burn a human life for that, but he supposed they had to do something, and it would be hard to deploy them for real infrastructure projects and still keep the controlled test conditions and measurement setup.

“Of course she passed,” Seliss said, without turning to look at them. “They would not be allowing any of you to test if there were more than a minute chance you would fail. It would be a waste of his resources.”

All the eyes in their group turned to Seliss.

“You’d know, wouldn’t you,” Nalbat said dryly. Native to Velvar, the mage came from further south than anyone Farad had ever met before this, though their cohort also had a woman from Acabarrin.

Seliss, for his part, was from the Eastern Empire. He hadn’t said much about the conditions under which he’d left, only hinted in some dark asides that leaving wasn’t something most people, especially mages, would ever be able to do even if they wanted. With what he had deigned to speak of, though, he had been a helpful guide through their recruitment and training, pointing out that even the steps that had seemed shocking and extreme to Farad, born and bred in the mountains of Rethwellan, were actually very mild compared to the day to day business of the Empire.

–Reminded, Farad found himself, yet again, poking at the newly-laid compulsion that sat on his mind like a patient spider. Seliss said it would be less obtrusive with time, you got used to it, and it was far more minimal than the net of compulsions he had been under, as house-mage to a district governor who he swore was only the usual level of corrupt. All of them had opted into it voluntarily, and been allowed to study the details and check each other to make sure it was implemented as promised. It was self-protective, to an extent, in that it blocked asking someone else to remove it, but it wasn’t meant to be entirely free of loopholes allowing betrayal, unlike the thoroughly involuntary, and much more extensive, compulsions required to compel loyalty from someone who didn’t want to give it. That wasn’t the point; it would be a stupid handicap to impose on your leaders and scholars, and their employer was anything but stupid. Everyone in their cohort wanted to be exactly where they were.

As of two days ago, Farad literally couldn’t tell anyone with lower seniority than him who he worked for, or what he was working on, or anything at all about upcoming strategic plans.

Given what he had learned next, it was starting to seem more and more reasonable. Also, it wasn’t like anyone would believe him if he tried to tell them; he could just picture it. I work for an immortal mage called Leareth, who’s planning to take over Valdemar and found the most functional and prosperous empire anyone has ever seen. People would laugh at him and call him a madman, however convincing the plans he’d seen so far were. His past self, recruited under rather vague terms for what he had assumed was a top-secret elite mercenary unit, would be among those people.

(Standard mercenary companies weren’t going to make their recruits pass ethics tests, but the specialist ones might, since a unit could demand considerably more coin if its members were unlikely to rape and pillage. It had been made very clear to him that looting and mistreating noncombatants was off the table in any future operations, which some of the mages he’d known would see as a downside, but Farad saw only as a plus. The excellent pay and working conditions were the draw, and for joining the higher levels, talented and interesting colleagues and extensive libraries on rare magical techniques.)

…There was more to the story, Farad could guess that already even if he wasn’t cleared to know it and might never be if he went with the combat-mage stream. Ashra was likely to join the scholars instead, who were doing…something…presumably related to running the most prosperous empire anyone had ever seen, but Farad couldn’t think what would demand such an absurd number of brilliant mage-scholars that the man, whose main base and army was north of the goddamned Ice Wall Mountains, was recruiting from the southern reach of the goddamned continent.

Seliss was settling into the posture that meant he was about to offer one of his periodic longer explanations of Eastern Empire policy, so Farad paid attention.

“The biggest problem with blood-magic as used most places and especially in wartime,” Seliss said, “is the waste. I mean, it is of course monstrous as well, but so is nearly everything about war, and many things about countries in peacetime too. But, a mage below Adept, or without the proper training, will draw far less power from a death than what is actually available, and the remainder will overflow and cause the usual sorts of problems with the weather and ley-line currents. Oh, and untrained combat mages will torture people because they think it gives more power, even though all of the experiments prove this false! This is entirely avoidable, if an army only allows educated, certified Adepts to kill for power. And using it for infrastructure projects is hard to justify in most places, but the Empire has a functional legal system – well, in theory – and convicts sentenced to death might as well fuel the building of an aqueduct, why not? Their names still go on a plaque, too, that one tradition has been kept.”

“Wow.” Alethra shuddered. “I wonder where he gets the victims we’re using here. There aren’t enough people up here to have us just using murderers, surely.”

Nalbat raised his eyebrows. “You could’ve asked yours?”

“Couldn’t have, he was unconscious for it.”

Seliss nodded, almost to himself. “That is standard. For the source, I heard a rumour he purchases convicts from other kingdoms. Then again, for this specific purpose, criminals from the north are probably sufficient. There are not very many of us in this training stream, most mages are not powerful enough and many are not, I think, trustworthy enough to meet his expectations here.”

They all fell silent, expressions somewhere between thoughtful and disturbed.

Eventually, Nalbat leaned in. “What do you all think of his backup source?”

“It’s horrible.” Ashra’s expression was faintly nauseated. “I hope there’s not a war, I’m not sure I could… Well, I could, I just proved it, but still.”

“It is certainly creative,” Seliss said, eyes distant.

That was one way of putting it. Farad would never have dreamed it was possible, since it was known that blood-magic barely worked at all with animals, killing a pig technically released some power but it was hardly worth the effort. According to their training guide, something something intelligence being related to both the metaphorical ‘size’ of a spirit, its distinctness as a unit, and the strength of bond to the physical body. Farad hadn’t interacted much with nonhuman races; neither had any of them, really, though he’d known vaguely of their existence. And that some of them, legend told it, were the creation of past mages who outstripped anyone in living memory.

The last part was apparently wrong, since Leareth had created species of his own, including new ones. He had, apparently within the last twenty years, bred a entire race of small doglike beings of just below human intelligence, and there was an entire city of them now. Like dogs, they reproduced in litters, and they matured a little more slowly but still hit maturity at about four years. Starting from a tiny founding population, their city already held a hundred thousand souls, and if the time elapsed for another of their brief generations, it would be three times that many. At some point the population would max out because the critters weren’t self-sufficient and couldn’t build houses for themselves, or effectively farm, which was presumably why Leareth had waited this long rather than keeping half a million of them on hand as emergency blood-magic fuel for the last few decades.

Despite having signed up expecting to fight, Farad too found himself increasingly hoping that there would be no war after all. Not that he knew what the alternative was. It wasn’t like Valdemar – a kingdom he knew very little of, but enough – was ever going to hand its land and people over voluntarily.

Then again, despite his new seniority, Farad still only knew a fraction of the story.

“We can hope there’s not a war,” Nalbat said, “but it sounds like if there is, he’s damned well going to be ready.”

Chapter Text

Savil shifted in the chair as Andrel lifted his hand from her forehead, his eyes coming back into focus.

“So?” she said dryly. “Am I dying?”

He laughed. “No! There’s nothing wrong with you that a bit of rest and food won’t fix.”

A day ago, Jisa had been packed off to k’Treva with her ‘Uncle Van’ and Bard Stefen. It was also the third morning in a row that Savil had found herself dizzy and weak when she rose from her bed; this time, she had come very close to actually fainting. Remembering that dizzy spells had been one of the first symptoms of Randi’s illness, she had contacted Andy with a Mindtouch that was only slightly panicked, and asked if he could come by before his shift started.

“Go back to bed,” Andrel said gently. “I’ll bring you breakfast.”

“I slept plenty last night.”

“Savil, you’re going to need more than one night to recover from the week we’ve had.”

I don’t have time. She didn’t say it out loud, because she knew exactly what Andy’s response would be, and she knew he was right.

Andrel yawned. “None of us are as young as we once were,” he said ruefully. “I’m worn out as well.”

It didn’t feel like Andy was allowed to complain about being old, given that he was almost three decades her junior – though it was true that his red hair showed more and more grey, and there were crow’s-feet around his eyes now.

“You’re quite lucky, really,” Andrel said. “You’re in very good health considering your age.” A pause. “Are your joints troubling you again?”

“My knee is acting up again,” she admitted.

He smiled, and knelt at her feet, rolling up his sleeves.

“You don’t have to–” she started.

“Please, let me pamper you a little. I can’t Heal the passage of time, but I can do something about aching bones.” He rested both hands on her thigh. “Just relax.”

Savil sat back, closing her eyes. Andrel was right; even after a full night’s sleep, she was still exhausted. I don’t have the stamina for this.

…How exactly was she supposed to handle a war?

:You could have paced yourself better, Chosen: Kellan pointed out, affectionately but with a hint of disapproval. :Cancelled some meetings, pushed forward more deadlines. And you didn’t need to keep lurking at the House of Healing all night. Van would have understood if you had ducked out to get some sleep:

It was true that she wasn’t a Healer, and hadn’t really been able to contribute, but there was no force in the world that could have pulled her away.

:You have to prioritize: Kellan pushed. :That’s the only way we can get through this:

It was what Lancir would have said, though he would have found a way to put it better, so that it felt wise and kind instead of irritating.

We’re in the endgame now.

They didn’t know how much time they had. Leareth might be willing to keep talking to Van for years. Still, it felt like they were approaching the end of a long, long road. In a few days, the Council would know, and there was a sense of finality in that.

I just want it to be over.

The thought drifted past, surprising her a little. Surely the thing they had wanted all along was more time?

Eighteen years ago, she had been in a room with Starwind and Moondance, listening to Vanyel relate his Foresight dream for the first time. Promising her nephew she wouldn’t let him face it alone. So much had changed between them, over the years, but not that part.

I’m still here, ke’chara. I’m waiting for you to come home.

Jisa opened her eyes to sunlight and greenery. The air in her nostrils was moist and smelled of flowers. There was birdsong.

I’m in k’Treva. She lifted her head, cautiously, and found herself in a bed, the one Brightstar had once slept in. The room was different, though; all of his things were gone from it, leaving the corners mostly bare.

How long had she been here? She wasn’t sure, everything was vague, but it must have been some time. She remembered half-waking and seeing Moondance there, playing his crystal flute, the music dancing in her head and soothing away the pain.

They had been worried that passing through the Gate would hurt her, but remembering what they had seen in Vanyel’s mind, she had relaxed into it and it hadn’t.

She missed Treven. She could feel the tiny seedling-tree in her mind stretching out for him even though he was much too far away to Mindtouch.

Her head only ached a little now. She didn’t try to reach for the new place that had opened, but she did stretch out, very carefully, with her Mindspeech. :Enara?:

:Chosen!: Her Companion’s mindvoice still hurt a little, but it was bearable. :I’m so glad you’re awake. Moondance is nearby – I’ll see if he thinks you’re well enough to come outside: A wash of joy. :I am so incredibly glad to be able to speak to you, Chosen:

Jisa cautiously tried to sit up. She was still weak and dizzy, but if she moved slowly, she didn’t feel like she was going to pass out anymore. There was a pitcher of water on the side table, with herbs floating in it, and she found she was strong enough to pour some of it into the cup they had left out for her.

There were new clothes draped across the wicker chair by the bed; the hertasi had clearly been busy overnight. Jisa smiled despite herself. I wonder how Aysha is doing.

Sitting carefully against the headboard, she sipped the water and tried to think about something other than her headache.

“Jisa?” Moondance’s voice, and she lifted her head in time to see him rolling up the screen over the door. “I am glad to see you awake. You feel better?”

“Much better, thank you. And I’m so glad to see you.” She frowned. “I still have a headache, though.” 

He nodded, and came to sit next to her. “Your mage-channels are not yet fully Healed, that is to be a task of many days, and so you must not try to use them as of yet. I think you have the control already to leave your Gift alone?” A crooked smile. “You are better off than my Wingbrother was.”

It was true. She already knew how to center and ground, and how to shield. As long as she stayed calm and nothing startled her, it was easy to steer away from the new door in her head.

“How long have I been here?” she said curiously.

“Two nights.”

“How long before I can start practicing?” She was almost bursting with anticipation. I’m going to be a mage I’m going to be a mage I can’t believe it I’m going to be a mage–

“So impatient! A week will be long enough, I think. You must needs recover your strength as well.” He tousled her hair. “For now, I would not have you tire yourself, but I think you might walk out to sit in the pool, and perhaps greet your new Companion. She is very eager to see you.”

“I’m very eager to see her,” Jisa confessed. “Could I go now?”

“Of course.” He rose, and offered his hands to her. “Come.”

She was weaker than she had realized, and very unsteady; she had to lean heavily on Moondance’s arm just to stay upright. Still, they made it to the pool without incident, and she dipped her toes with a sigh, then slipped in all the way. It felt good on her tender skin.

“I will bring you food to eat,” Moondance said, rising. Seconds later, he had vanished into the greenery.

It was wonderful to be in k’Treva again, Jisa thought, even if she felt guilty about the reason for it, and the work she was leaving behind. Melody was probably having a very difficult time keeping up without her; ever since Jisa had finished the last of the Collegium classes, at Midwinter, she had been taking patients by herself most mornings and then running nearly all of the tutoring for the other students.

…Oh. She had forgotten that Melody was probably very upset with her for breaking in and reading Vanyel’s notes. She hadn’t even had a chance to apologize or explain herself. Melody had visited a few times, she remembered it vaguely, but she had been too foggy to form sentences.

Well, they would sort it out eventually. It wasn’t like she had done it just for fun, and she did feel bad about breaking the rules – and how much it would have upset Vanyel – even if she still thought it had been worth it.

She was going to be a trainee again, this time at the Heralds’ Collegium. What a weird thought.

:You’ll be starting out ahead: Enara sent, appearing from the broader path. Clearly the children of k’Treva had helped her stay amused; there were flowers braided into her mane. Jisa giggled.

“I’m still going to have to learn a lot of Herald things, right?” she said. It felt easier to talk out loud than use Mindspeech.

:Some, yes: Enara nuzzled her hair, then settled gracefully onto the stone, reminding Jisa of a lady with voluminous skirts carefully sitting down on a picnic-blanket. :You’ll do very well, I’m sure:

“I know. I’m pretty clever.” Jisa usually tried not to brag, Mother said it was unbecoming, but it had to be fine with her Companion. She chewed her lip for a moment. “Enara… Do you think what I did was bad? Everyone was so upset. Are you angry with me as well?”

The mare hesitated. :It was very dangerous: she sent finally. :You frightened me badly. I…would not have willingly let you take such a risk, had you already been my Chosen:

“It wasn’t that risky,” Jisa said, defensive. “My mother is one of the best Healers in Valdemar, and she and Gemma both helped treat Van when it happened to him. They knew what to do. My mother even knew how to work with Savil’s Sight to fix my channels, she just decided it would take too long. And Stef could block the pain so they didn’t have to give me dangerous drugs all the time. I definitely wasn’t going to die.”

:Perhaps not, but you might have burned out your existing Gifts. Did you consider that?:

…No. She hadn’t. Was that possible? It made her feel cold and sick.

If it had awakened her mage-gift but shut down the others, would that still have been worth it? She wasn’t sure. Maybe. It hurt to think about not being a Mindhealer or Empath anymore, that would be awful, but still. There were more Mindhealers that mages now. It might have been – how would Van put it – a good trade.

Of course, it had been a gamble. Maybe it would have burned out her Gifts and not ripped open her potential, and then she wouldn’t have had anything. She hadn’t let herself look at that possibility, she had sort of on purpose not-thought of it, and it was terrifying.

Enara sent a wash of reassurance through their bond. :You were lucky. And I’m not saying it was likely to go that way. Still, I hope you see now that it was a risk, and why I was so frightened for you:

“I promise I won’t do anything like that again.” An easy promise to make now. She didn’t have to, because she was already a mage.

A mental snort. :You’ll need to be better at judging risks before I’ll ever be comfortable with you on a battlefield:

Jisa reached up to run her fingers through the Companion’s mane – it was so silky, she thought, not like normal horsehair at all. “I don’t think I would go to battle unless it was really, really bad. Because of Treven, I mean.”

:Oh: A startled pause. :I wondered if you knew:

“I’m not stupid. I know what lifebonds look like.” She hadn’t told Treven yet, which was maybe unfair, but it wasn’t like there had been any chance to speak privately. And she hadn’t told anyone else either. Not Mother, or Van, or Stef. It wasn’t that she had been intending to keep it secret, exactly, but she had been distracted making her plan, and then too ill to think about it.

Part of her wanted to confide in Vanyel, but at the same time, it seemed disrespectful to tell anyone else before she had even told Treven. He had the right to know first. 

:It was rather disrespectful of you to take this kind of risk without consulting him: Enara sent, tartly.

“I know, but he would have made me not do it.” She would apologize properly later.

A wash of disapproval. :Chosen, ‘sorry’ isn’t a magic word that fixes everything, and I’m not sure your apology would be sincere – you don’t exactly seem to regret it. He would be within his rights to be very angry with you:

“I don’t think I made a mistake, but I really do feel bad for scaring him.” Treven hadn’t been angry. He had been worried and solicitous, sitting with her for candlemarks even when she was in so much pain that she couldn’t string words together. He was so good. She had to be the luckiest person in the entire world.

:You aren’t at all worried that you don’t deserve him: Enara noted.

“No. Why would I be?”

A chuckle in her head. :Yfandes tells me that her Chosen feels that way about his Stef:

“Of course he would. He’s being silly, though.” Thinking about Vanyel made something in her belly tighten. “Enara, I need to apologize to him properly.” She had tried, before, but she had been so out of it, she honestly didn’t remember what she had said. “Um, can you help me figure out what to say?”

:…I suppose it’s good you’re not trying to put it off: She could feel Enara thinking. :Although the same problem might apply. Do you actually regret doing it?:

Jisa folded her arms. “Would you rather I’d gotten caught breaking into the Archives and arrested for treason?”

:I would prefer if you had asked an adult for help:

“You know they wouldn’t have let me do it.”

A heavy pause. :Perhaps not as the first test case, no, and honestly they would’ve had a point. Still, if you had suggested this method, and we had found a way to do it more safely – if it were truly what you wanted, Jisa, I would have backed you trying this, once it had been proven to work and not be too dangerous. I can see how much this matters to you, and I think you will be a very talented mage someday:

“Oh.” Why had that never occurred to her?

Enara snuffled at Jisa’s hair. :Chosen, what do you think Companions are for? I’m here to support you. To help you be stronger: A mental chuckle. :You. Not the well-behaved little girl your mother sometimes wishes you were:

Impulsively, Jisa twisted and flung her arms around Enara’s neck.

An amused whicker. :Care to explain why you’re getting me all wet?:

“Thank you,” Jisa mumbled thickly. There was a lump in her throat. “For understanding.”

:Oh, Jisa: A wash of affection. :I Chose you for a reason. You’re stubborn and willful and altogether too clever for your own good, you never stop to think before you jump – and you are so brave, you stand up for what you believe and you never back down. I love all of it. All of you: Enara playfully caught a strand of Jisa’s hair between her teeth and tugged. :Oh, I’ll still tell you off for being an idiot, but I’d rather you didn’t think of me as a stuffy grownup here to make you follow the rules:

Jisa was still boggling. She had always wanted a Companion, and yet she had only just realized that she had been expecting Enara to nag her about everything, the same way Mother did.

:Havens, no! Jisa, I couldn’t care less if you wear nice gowns or chew with your mouth closed. Or, honestly, if you sneak out and get up to mischief sometimes, as long as it’s not actually dangerous or hurting anybody. Seems that’s becoming something of a tradition at the new Collegium:

Jisa giggled. “Really? Do the trainees play pranks on each other?”

:All sorts. And on their instructors as well:

Jisa felt a thrill of anticipation. Maybe she could finally top some of Stef’s stories about his days at the Bardic Collegium.

Mental laughter. :They haven’t quite caught up with Bardic yet. Though it sounds like you have a few ideas?:

“I agree with Dara,” Savil said. “If we’re really going to go ahead and bring the Council in on this, we can’t justify not briefing Treven fully.”

Dara shot her a grateful look. They were, yet again, meeting in Randi’s bedroom. He was having a particularly bad day, and hadn’t even tried to make it out of his quarters. It had felt strange the first few times, having his Companion right there in the room, but Dara was used to it now.

Shavri was the only other one there; Tran was busy covering the meeting that Randi had been unable to make. Which shouldn’t have been scheduled in the first place, probably, and Dara had made a mental note to clear his schedule for tomorrow as well. The hectic week after Sandra’s accident had taken its toll, and Randi still needed time to recover.

…Or maybe it was time they recognized that this was the new normal. Randi could still eke out a reasonable number of candlemarks per day of work from his bed, if he was able to take breaks as needed, but leaving his rooms to sit through longer meetings was an exhausting ordeal even with the aid of his chair-contraption, and it was harder on Shavri as well. It seemed increasingly pointless to waste his limited energy on routine matters.

Randi had always been comfortable delegating, at least, and could do so even more. If they brought Treven in, Dara mused, he would be able to take on more of the load as well.

Which reminded her that once he was back from k’Treva, Stef would now be able to take Shavri’s place even in the most sensitive of meetings. That was going to help a lot, and it made her wonder if they should have told him sooner.

Dara was worried about Shavri. She hadn’t spoken at all in today’s meeting, and in general she had been more silent and withdrawn lately. Maybe she was just recovering from the frantic sprint of saving Sandra’s life, but it felt like it predated that.

“I’m not sure,” Randi said. “Is it really right to put that much on him?”

That’s not the point. Dara tried to smooth over her expression of irritation. We don’t have a choice. No, that wasn’t true. There were always other possibilities – it was just that the rest were obviously bad, at least to her.

“It seems to me like these are our options,” she said. “We tell him everything. Or we tell him exactly what we’re telling the Council, and no more.” Which led into another of their interminable unfinished debates, of just how much they ought to reveal to the Council, but now wasn’t the time to reopen that. “Or we don’t tell him, and we start shutting him out of meetings he’s already been attending.” Treven had been sitting in on Council meetings for a while now. To Dara, that was a knockdown argument.

“The latter is a terrible idea,” Savil added. “Randi, the whole reason we’ve delayed telling the Council is that we expect some of it to leak. How exactly do you think Treven will feel, being closed out – which adds up to being told we don’t trust him – and then hearing bits and pieces of it second-hand?”

Randi nodded reluctantly. “I agree. We shouldn’t tell him less than the Council. Still, since we’re giving them the sanitized version, it’s not clear to me that it makes sense to tell him more.”

Dara pressed her hands hard against her knees. “We have to at some point.” Almost certainly before the lad was of age, and she didn’t see why he would be readier for it at sixteen than fifteen, but that was the part they were all talking around – that Randi didn’t have very many years left. With Shavri there in the room, Dara wasn’t going to hammer on it. “At the very least, if we tell him the partial story, we also have to explain that we’re holding more back. He would accept that, I think, and he wouldn’t press, but I’m still not sure what we gain. Randi, we really should start giving him the chance to make real decisions, and for that he needs all the relevant information.”

“Maybe he’s not ready for it,” Savil said dryly. “It’s not like any of us were. I don’t think age is the problem there.”

Randi pinched the bridge of his nose. He was silent for a long moment.

“I know,” he said finally. “I just don’t want to admit it, because the idea of sitting down in a room with him and throwing this at him is terrifying. Still, it’s a bit late to be worried about snatching away his childhood.”

I could really use a desk, Vanyel thought with a sigh. Sitting cross-legged in bed wasn’t the best posture for writing, and his shoulders were starting to complain.

It was late afternoon, the third day they had been in k’Treva. He had spent the entire previous day lazing about, showing Stef all the best pools nearby and stuffing himself on the food that kept appearing everywhere they went; the hertasi were clearly trying to fatten him up. Occasionally he had felt guilty about wasting time, but Yfandes had pointed out that he was still recovering.

He had fallen asleep in Stef’s arms, slept in ridiculously late again, and woken feeling almost normal. Any strenuous mage-work was probably ill-advised, but he was restless.

Stef, who had been lying diagonally across the bed and absently playing his lute upside-down, suddenly cleared his throat. “Copper for your thoughts?”

“You’d be getting a poor deal,” Vanyel admitted. “I’m going in circles.” There was something bothering him about his last, no, second-to-last conversation with Leareth. Which he had no good notes on, because it had happened at such a spectacularly inconvenient time.

“Maybe I can help. Give me a piece and I’ll poke at it?”

Vanyel opened his mouth, and then stopped. He ought to raise a sound-barrier if they were going to talk about anything sensitive; he was very aware that Jisa had the room next door. Starwind and Moondance now had four rooms in the ground-floor part of their ekele, since Starwind still had difficulty with the ladder and it was easier for him to sleep below. Vanyel had watched him struggle with it the day before, Moondance carefully spotting him, and wondered vaguely if they could build some kind of harness that would make it easier and safer.

That’ll do. He lowered his hands. “Sorry. I was just thinking… Hmm. We were talking about Heartstones, as an example of…” He rubbed his eyes. “As an example of something analogous to an early-stage god, but there’s a lot of background material I haven’t had time to tell you. Anyway. Do you know anything about Heartstones?”

Stef shook his head. “I mean, I know it’s a Hawkbrother thing. Jisa mentioned it once. It’s like a node but more powerful?” 

“Right. Another difference is that they have…not really a mind, but something like memories, and some amount of volition. Meaning you can tie permanent set-spells directly to them. That doesn’t work with nodes.”

“Why not?”

“Because–” Vanyel broke off. Why doesn’t it? “Because the flow of energy from a node isn’t controlled. You need a mage – a strong mage – to channel it through themselves, in order to use it for anything. And…a node doesn’t really have internal structure, that you could attach spell-work to. It’s just a natural phenomenon, the magical equivalent of a pool of water forming on low ground. There’s nothing to tie a spell to.”

Stef was nodding along. “And Heartstones do have that structure. Where does it come from?”

“Partly from the ritual to create one.” Vanyel frowned. “But that’s really just a container. Like building a water-cistern to collect rainwater. It’s a complicated process, but it’s not that complicated.”

“Something from nothing,” Stef mused.

“Well, the Tayledras lore says that the Star-Eyed lends a fragment of herself, for every Heartstone.” Vanyel closed his eyes, thinking back. “Or…copies one, maybe. Like a template for a sewing-pattern. It worked for me, with the Web, and I’m not Tayledras, but I learned the full ritual for them and I followed it as closely as possible. Leareth was never able to make anything like that work.”

“So it’s cheating,” Stef said thoughtfully. “The Goddess was willing to help you out, but not Leareth. That makes sense.” A frown came into his voice. “So there’s a bit of the Star-Eyed in Haven. I remember Jisa took me to see the Web-room once, the one with the big crystal in it. She said anyone could talk to it, you didn’t have to be a Herald.”

“Really?” Vanyel hadn’t expected that, but maybe it made sense. The broader structure of the Web had been set up via the Companions – also the product of a god, with their own limited access to the quasi-Foresight of the blue place – but the Tayledras communicated with their Heartstones, and clearly Companions weren’t necessary for that.

…What did that theory predict? That non-Heralds ought not to be able to draw on the Web at a distance, but could maybe do so from the focus-room itself?

Stef shivered. “It was weird. Like it recognized me.”

Maybe it did. Had the Heartstone seen the earliest beginnings of a bond between Stef and the mage who had birthed it? Or, hells, recognized the spirit-kernel of a young Herald-trainee from decades earlier? Tylendel hadn’t been a Web-guardian, obviously, and he predated the extended version of the Web, but it might still have been aware of him.

“I’m pretty sure it’s right that the Web has a connection to the Star-Eyed,” he added. “I used it to speak to Her, once.”

Stef’s eyes widened. “That’s another story you haven’t told me.”

“It’s complicated. I’ll give you the quick version and you can ask me again later.” He didn’t want to lose track of whatever it was his mind was trying to hunt down. “I spoke to Her here in k’Treva, during the war. We had just moved the Vale and transferred the Heartstone, so I had been working with it in depth. I had a…dream, vision, something, where I spoke to ‘Lendel’s spirit. I was upset and confused and I wanted an explanation, so I took myself off to the Heartstone sanctum, somehow guessed that would give me access to Her. She said some things about why I was on the best path for Valdemar – according to Her goals, anyway, I’m a bit dubious of it now – and She showed me some, well, alternate pasts. Other ways it could have gone.”

Stef was boggling. “Wait. How? Other ways…what does that even mean?”

“…I don’t know.” Somehow he had never tried to unpack it before. “If I had to guess… The gods have something like Foresight, but at any moment, there’s more than one way the future could pan out, and they See all the possibilities. Maybe they remember them later as well? Anyway, that happened, and then I didn’t remember it afterwards, and I…sort of wasn’t curious. A few candlemarks later I got dragged back to Valdemar and fought a battle, so I was awfully distracted. Still, I would get a glimpse of it occasionally – these moments of flashbacks that didn’t make any sense – and it was, er, causing problems.” He didn’t feel like going into the details of Highjorune, although he ought to tell Stef eventually. “Right before Sunhame, Melody figured out there was a sort of distortion-pattern in my mind, that made it hard to think about anything related, and her theory was that the Star-Eyed had put it there. She suggested I go back in and ask Her nicely to undo it, so I did.”

Stef’s mouth was hanging open. He finally closed it. “Van, has anyone told you that your life is crazy?”

“I know.” He grimaced. “Anyway. I wasn’t in k’Treva at that point, and I used the Web. The fact that it worked does tell us something.”

Stef nodded his agreement. “You could use it to get Her attention.” He tugged at his hair. “Reckon it goes both ways? Is She using the Web to keep an eye on Valdemar? I guess She must be a little, to notice you poking Her, but how closely?”

Vanyel brought a hand to his forehead. “Stef. You’re brilliant. I think that’s exactly what I’ve been worrying about, but I hadn’t put it in those words yet.” A sinking feeling in his gut. “I never questioned it. I mean, back when I built the Heartstone in Haven, I still…I didn’t exactly trust Her, but I wasn’t thinking much about that question. I assumed the gods’ sense of the future was true, and I didn’t dig further. Since then I’ve had a lot of questions about whether She’s plotting towards an end I agree with, and my sense is…not entirely. I don’t take as given that whatever she’s steering me towards is the place I want to end up. But I never reevaluated whether that means having a Hearthstone right there in the Palace is a bad idea.”

“You’re worried she could somehow be meddling in Valdemar.” Stef’s eyes were distant, calculating. “Is there any sign she has?”

“No, not that I can think of.”

“Does it even matter? Gods are pretty powerful. Couldn’t She do whatever she wanted anyway?”

“Not clear.” He rubbed his eyes, which suddenly ached with tiredness. “The gods aren’t all-powerful, we think it’s inefficient for them to interfere directly in the material world, and it’s not really Her territory.”

“Does this mean you should destroy the Heartstone?”

The logical next question, but his mind hadn’t wanted to go there. “I don’t know. Stef, it would cost us a lot. The vrondi, for one – they’re sort of like a set-spell, the pact I arranged with them relies on having the Heartstone as a stable energy-source.” The same was true of their new technique for permanent Gates, which wasn’t as deeply tied into their planning yet, but would be a tragedy to give up. “The more nuanced alarm-settings as well. Most of my distance-work, which is the only thing that compensates for our serious lack of mages. Even the fact that all Heralds can boost their Gifts via the Web. It’s been almost a decade. We have an entire generation of new Heralds who are used to counting on that.”

Besides, he didn’t have the slightest idea how to shut down a Heartstone, as opposed to moving it somewhere else. Moondance might know, but asking him felt very fraught – would he ever be willing to act against his people’s Goddess?

And the Heartstone was alive, or something like it. Alive enough to be afraid of dying, and resist?

It was almost enough to make him wish he hadn’t thought of it at all; it felt like one more weight to juggle, on top of everything else, a growing stack of constraints and no way to win without losing even more.

All information is worth having.

Wordlessly, Stef reached for his hand.

There was a scuffing noise outside their screen, then a tentative thump. “Van?” The voice belonged to Jisa. “Can I come in?”

Vanyel raised his hand to dispel the sound-barrier; it was a clever technique he had learned from Starwind that was one-way. “Go ahead.”

She rolled up the screen and slipped through, barefoot in a robe. Moving cautiously, with none of the usual bounce in her step, but she seemed steady on her feet. 

He patted the bed. “Come sit. What is it?”

Shoulders drooping, she padded across the floor and lowered herself to the bed. Her eyes went to Stef, and a faint redness stained her cheeks, but she didn’t ask him to leave.

She swallowed. “Van, I – I want to apologize properly.”

Vanyel just looked at her, stonily silent. He knew he wasn’t making it easier, but his throat had locked up.

Jisa set her eyes on a point just above his head. “You have a right to be angry. It was wrong and disrespectful and I – there’s no excuse for it.”

Vanyel didn’t want to be angry. And he wasn’t, really, not anymore. The embarrassment was still there, and the hurt, unresolved and tugging at him, for all that he had tried to fold it away and ignore it.

Jisa stared ahead. “I tried to justify it. Told myself all the reasons why it was worth it – why I had no choice. But I had a lot of choices.” She shrugged, helplessly. “I…don’t even know how to think about whether it was really worth it. But it was a bad thing to do, and I’m sorry.”

Sorry doesn’t undo it. The ache in his chest rose closer to the surface. Jisa’s voice was flat, but there was something pleading in her eyes. She was confused, lost, and she wanted him to help her untangle those messy feelings until she knew what her guilt was trying to say.

Vanyel was tempted to accept the apology and shoo her out – let her seek advice from Moondance, or her Companion, or really anyone except him. Still, it felt like there was something important here, and he wasn’t sure anyone else would be able to help her draw it out.

He swallowed. “So you made a tradeoff. Well? What were the considerations – what were you thinking, at the time?”

Jisa licked her lips. “I was scared. No one would tell me what was going on, but I knew it was bad, and I had to do something. I thought if I was a mage, I would be able to help.” Her eyelids flickered. “That wasn’t the only way, was it? I could have talked to someone. To you.”

“Yes.” He glanced away from her earnest face. “I understand why you didn’t,” he went on, gently. “You expected we would tell you that you were too young and it wasn’t your problem to worry about yet, and that wasn’t the thing you wanted. And you’re right – it’s not actually on anyone else, to give you permission to walk away. You wanted to help, and we weren’t giving you any avenue to do so.”

Had that been a mistake? He had already known, two years ago, how badly she longed to be allowed in. Shavri wishes she could give you a little more time to just be a child, but you know what you want, and I can’t blame you.

Jisa folded her hands on her lap. “I know I was too young to help when I was eleven, but I’m thirteen now! I’m not a baby.” Fierce, stubborn, a frown-line between her brows. “You wouldn’t have just waited for the grownups to fix it.”

Vanyel clamped his lips together. Don’t laugh. It did sound comical, but he knew it was deadly serious to her. Not the time or place to explain that at her age, he hadn’t yet cared about anything outside his own head.

“We put you in a position where you had to choose between doing nothing and breaking the rules,” he said. “You made a choice about which rules to break, and where to pay that price. Do you think it was the right one?”

A surprised breath. “Oh. I thought about just asking you, but…it seemed really hard, and I wasn’t sure if you would be suspicious. Then I thought about breaking into the Heralds’ Archives, but I wasn’t sure I could do it without getting caught.” For the first time, she made eye contact. “I wasn’t ever planning to lie about it! I was always going to tell someone, even if I got in lots of trouble.”

Vanyel nodded. “Right. You planned on telling us after you had carried out your plan, and it was too late to stop you. I am glad you came clean, and I agree, it’s unlikely you could have gotten in and out of the Palace Archives without being seen.” And getting in much worse trouble. No one outside the tiny Mindhealers’ Collegium knew or cared what Jisa had done, but if she had been caught in the Archives, Randi would have had no choice but to punish her severely for it.

“It feels like it would’ve been better in some way,” Jisa said heavily. “I don’t know why.” Her brown furrowed.  “Cleaner, somehow.”

“I think I can make a guess at why.” He forced himself to meet her eyes. “You were abusing your power, in a way. Taking advantage of your position at the Mindhealers’ Collegium, and the trust that Melody puts in you.”

Jisa bowed her head. “I know,” she said miserably. “And I hurt you. If I’d broken into the Archives, you’d have been angry, but it wouldn’t be like I’d betrayed you personally.”

“Right. You did more than break a rule here.” It felt like something was pressing down on his chest, squeezing out his breath. “You caused me pain, and you damaged my trust in you. You knew how I would feel, and you did it anyway, because it got you something you wanted. Now I have to wonder in what circumstances you might do it again.”

Jisa covered her face with both hands, sniffling. “I wouldn’t ever do it again! I’m sorry!”

“No.” His voice came out harsher than he had intended. “You would do it, if the fate of Valdemar was at stake. You’ve given me that information about what sort of person you are, now.” He shook his head. “I’m not even saying you’re wrong – refusing to consider a path because it would hurt a friend’s feelings can be a kind of selfishness. Jisa, I know my feelings do matter to you. Just, that if you’re choosing between that and, in your mind at least, the fate of Valdemar, one of those outweighs the other.” What was he trying to say? “You chose this with your eyes open. Weighed up the cost and paid it, willingly. You could have tried to wriggle out of it, by not telling anyone what you did, but you never even thought of doing that.”

There was an odd relief in saying the words. He hadn’t been able to lay it out so clearly even in his own mind, before, and it had untangled some of the knot of pain and confusion. Jisa hadn’t tried to lie to him, and she hadn’t demanded his forgiveness either.

“There’s another cost, though,” he said. “One that I’m not sure you weighed before you went in there, and I’m not sure you see it now either. Hmm. Imagine that instead of reading the notes about me, someone close to you, it was a case study of a patient you had never met. Someone who was dead now, even. Would that still have been wrong?”

Jisa’s eyes cleared a little, her expression shifting to thoughtful. “It would still be against the rules. Melody would’ve been really mad.”

Still, the prospect clearly bothered her less. It felt like there was something she was missing – what? It was still vague in his mind.

“Jisa, I think there are two pieces here,” Vanyel started, “and that’s confusing it. Another example. Imagine if had nothing to do with Melody or her notes. Say you had, oh, broken into my room and taken my diary. Can you see how that would be an invasion of my privacy, and I would be in my rights to be very upset and trust you less, but you wouldn’t have exactly broken a rule? At least, not an official one where Melody had any grounds to discipline you.” 

Jisa bobbed her head. “It’s not a rule that you can’t take your friends’ things. It’s just that you’re a bad friend if you do. And anyone could take their friend’s diary. I wouldn’t’ve been abusing my position in the same way.”

“Exactly.” Vanyel leaned forwards. “Jisa, Melody is angry because you crossed a line.” Like Sunhame. A cost that was vague and nebulous, compared to the visible, short-term benefits, but that didn’t make it less real. “You didn’t just damage your own reputation – you sacrificed a tiny piece of something precious that belongs to all Mindhealers. A kind of sacred trust, held in common. Melody is trying to build a new institution right now, and it’s going to matter a lot, that people can trust Mindhealers to follow certain standards.” Melody had actually sought his opinion a few times on what those standards ought to be. “There are some interesting ethical dilemmas, actually, when it comes to deciding what the rules are – if a patient tells you in confidence about a murder, say, how far does your obligation to keep it secret go – but yours isn’t one of them. Regardless of the final goal, you abused your position for personal gain. That bright line exists for a reason, and you weakened it.”

Jisa whimpered. “But I–”

“I’m not saying the harm was significant. Only a few people know, and let’s hope it stays that way. Still, have you imagined what would happen, if it somehow becomes public that you did this?”

Jisa went very still. “That would be bad. Wouldn’t it?”

“Yes. Melody would basically have to punish you, openly, because that’s one of the ways she could mitigate the damage, prove that her Collegium takes its own rules seriously and enforces them, so future patients will trust that if their Mindhealer does that, they’ll be punished too. I think it would be overkill to expel you and burn out your Gift, and I can’t imagine that would ever happen, but it might be the only way to avoid harming the reputation of a lot of people other than yourself. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes.” Jisa shivered, hugging herself.

He might have been ramming the point home a bit too hard. I’m not really talking about her anymore. Thanks to a tradeoff he had chosen to make, the Heraldic Circle had been faced with their own decision. Shutting down his Gifts and casting him out had been an option, one that might have been taken if he had been anyone except the most powerful mage in the entire Kingdom. Instead, they had chosen to exonerate him, spreading and absorbing the damage across everyone. Much more tenable in the short run, but the final cost was unknown, and it wasn’t one he had walked into with his eyes open. He had failed to consider that perspective at all, until Savil pointed it out to him.

“I don’t know if you made the right choice,” he said heavily. “Jisa, you have to judge that for yourself. In my opinion, you should take some time to think very hard about it. Not just the outcomes, but the process you were following to make the decision.” Could she absorb any more bitter truths today? He wasn’t sure, but he pushed ahead. “For one, you told yourself you were doing this for Valdemar – because it was the right thing – but it was something you selfishly wanted as well. It’s easy to get tangled up when that’s the case, end up trying to morally justify the thing that’s most convenient; it can be grounds for a lot of dangerous rationalizations. If you want to be trusted with power, you have to be very, very good at navigating that, Jisa, and I could be wrong, but I’m not convinced you’re there yet.”

Her only answer was another silent sniffle.

Vanyel let her stew in it for a minute or two, then reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Jisa.” He waited until she had raised her reddened eyes to his. “Listen – it’s not actually on me to forgive you for all of it, but I do forgive you for the hurt done to me personally. I was pretty upset. It feels kind of humiliating, knowing what you read, even if it was exactly one page of eighteen-year-old notes on my history. Most of which I would have told you anyway if you’d asked. I still wish you had asked, rather than going behind my back, but…” Sigh. “It’s in the past, now, and we can’t change it. I do trust you a tiny bit less, with that exact bright line, but I love you and I’m not angry anymore.”

“I think we should include it,” Dara said firmly. She folded her arms, and waited.

She and Tantras were in one of the small meeting-rooms, even though it was late, because Dara had set a hard rule against discussing Circle business in their shared quarters. It was too easy to end up never talking about anything else.

Tran set down his notes. “Dara, it’s been centuries since Valdemar brought in foreign mercenaries. You know why Randi wants to avoid it.”

“I’m not sure I do, actually.” They were going in circles. She ran her fingers through her short-cropped hair. “My best guess is he’s worried it’ll look like admitting we’re in a bad position, but I don’t think that’s true. We’re in the fortunate position where we can afford to exchange gold, which we have plenty of, for trained soldiers. Which we also have plenty of by any reasonable standard, we just want to be extra prepared, because we know Leareth will be.”

Tran frowned. “Maybe. I don’t understand why you’re so adamant we propose it now, though. A few weeks won’t make a difference.”

It might. She kept that pessimistic mutter to herself. “Tran, it seems like you’re seeing this as a concession we’ll need to wrangle out of the Council, and that doesn’t seem like the best way to frame it. We’re going to stand up there tomorrow and give them some absolutely terrifying news, and I think they’ll be scrambling for any actions that feel like progress. We’re not giving them a lot of options there, and I’m worried that if we don’t propose any reasonable ideas, some of the lords are going to start tossing out bad ideas.”

“Oh.” Tran leaned back in his chair, eyes going to the ceiling. “I…still don’t think that’s right…but it does sound plausible.” He smiled wryly. “And you are the King’s Own. I suppose we could do it your way and see which of us is right.”

Dara grinned. “We could bet. I’ll put down five silver that the Council is going to jump on the idea like hunting-dogs on a rabbit.”

Tran chuckled. “It’s a deal.”

It wasn’t the first time they had laid wagers on a question like this, some attempt to guess which way the political tides would tug. Dara’s intuitions weren’t always right, but she had been keeping track, and it did come out her way more than half of the time. Actually settling their bets meant she noticed when she had been wrong, since she paid for it in hard coin rather than the more nebulous cost of a less-than-perfect future outcome for Valdemar, and she could hone her intuitions.

It was probably a habit she had picked up from Vanyel.

Thinking of Vanyel led to poor Sandra and Kilchas, and a twinge in her chest. She had visited that morning. Sandra was still bedridden, but at least she was lucid and not in too much pain.

Four days since Vanyel’s departure with Stef and Jisa, and her life was finally, finally settling back into something like an ordinary routine. Dara wondered what the Heralds who weren’t in the know about Jisa’s ‘injuries’ thought of the whole thing. No one had asked very many questions.

I hope Van’s doing better. She had visited him once, the day before he left – she felt a little guilty that she hadn’t made more time for it, but the Healers had been strictly minimizing visitors for the few first days, and with Shavri dropping everything else to work with the Healers on Sandra, Dara had picked up a lot of the extra load. She was still catching up both on sleep and on routine tasks.

Some routine tasks, like mage-work, were only going to fall further behind. With Vanyel convalescing in k’Treva, they were left with Savil as the only able-bodied Herald-Mage above Master-potential. It was an unpleasant reminder of just how vulnerable they were.

Dara had wondered if they ought to send Sandra and Kilchas somewhere other than Haven, once Sandra was stable enough for travel, just in case there really was an assassin. Tran had pointed out that neither of them was likely to recover enough to be much of a threat, and any assassin would know that and probably wouldn’t risk trying to get past the Healers undetected.

Karis had dragged out her spring visit even longer so that she could be present at the Council meeting tomorrow; she would be Gating back to Sunhame the day after. Randi had been tempted to send Savil with her, to start building a Sunhame Gate-terminus, but that would leave them with no Web-coverage at all. Not an option. They would have to wait until Vanyel was back in Haven.

We’re running out of time.

Dara wasn’t sure when the feeling had started creeping up on her so intensely. She hadn’t felt that way at all on her long journey with Vanyel, and even in the last year, it had rarely kept her awake at night. Maybe it was just the sheer chaos and urgency of the week after Sandra’s accident, lingering with her even though the emergency was over, and coinciding with the end of their internal deadline.

They had come within a hair of losing Vanyel, the one person who had any hope of preventing a war. Or of winning one, for that matter. If it had been Leareth’s plot, did he know that he had nearly murdered the closest thing he had to an ally in Valdemar? Surely it would be stupid of him to do that on purpose…

Tran reached for her hand. “You’re worrying, aren’t you?”

Dara pulled her arm back, softening it with a smile. Not being affectionate when they were meeting in a work context, even if it was just the two of them, was another rule she tried to stick to; she wasn’t sure it was the right policy, but she needed some way to manage being colleagues as well as lovers, and it helped her keep the habit of propriety for when they weren’t alone.

“We’ve got so few mages,” she said. “Tran, this is a major problem, and I don’t know what we’re going to do about it.”

He nodded, serious. “I know.” A pause. “Well, have you talked to Need about awakening mage-gift in others?”

“No.” She had been wondering if she ought to, but…it somehow felt disrespectful to start that conversation behind Shavri’s back, and she’d had the sense it was too soon for Shavri to even think about it. “Tran, do you think we should do that? I mean, it’s a big risk for anyone who volunteers.”

“It’s hardly more of a risk than sending someone out to fight a border war,” Tran pointed out. “And, well, sooner or later we will have to send our people out, and at that point the risk will be less if they’re mage-gifted.”

Not if our assassin gets them in the meantime. Dara considered the thought and then tried to let go of it, reminding herself that they didn’t know for sure there was an assassin at all.

“We should talk about it,” she admitted. “One issue is that given how ill Jisa was, I don’t think we can do it without Moondance’s support. I’m reluctant to start planning without confirming that he’s willing to help. We’ve asked an awful lot of favours lately.”

“They signed a treaty with us,” Tran said.

“I know, but it’s polite to check something like that with one’s allies, if it’s not an emergency.” She squirmed. “And it’s one thing with Jisa; she’s a Wingsister, Starwind owes her a life-debt. It’s a different matter to ask Moondance to spend weeks Healing a Herald he’s never met. Also, I’m not sure we can persuade Need to do it again, given how the first time went. Still, you’re right that we should consider it.”

She made a face. “Rolan is being weirdly negative about the whole thing, but he won’t actually say anything.” It was driving her up the wall.

A raised eyebrows. “Damned Groveborn Companions, right?” Tran’s voice held only a hint of bitterness.

“They’re impossible.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway. Is there anything else we were supposed to go over?”

“Not for the meeting-agenda. At some point we do need to talk about the White Winds contact, that was meant to be on our schedule for the spring talks, but now is an even worse time than usual.”

“Is it?” Dara reached for her slate. “We’ve said we might send Van or Savil, but I’m dubious that will ever happen, given the timeline. I know that sending anyone below Adept-potential won’t buy us as much, but if it’s that or nothing…” She traced the note she had scribbled down earlier; it had been on her mind as well. “One of our hopes here is just making contacts with some reliably-vetted foreign Adepts and persuading them to settle in Valdemar, or at least consider signing onto the Guard as a temporary stint. I don’t see why Nani or Tamara couldn’t do that.” Her lips twitched. “If I thought there was any chance they would let him in, I would argue for sending Arkady Mavelan. He’s not doing much for us where he is.”

Tran’s eyebrows rose. “That seems unlikely to go well. Though there is the argument it would get him out of Savil’s hair for awhile. You don’t think they’d accept him?”

“It wasn’t a serious suggestion. From what I heard, they have very high standards, especially for ethics. And, well, I don’t especially want him to be their first exposure to Valdemar. We want them to like us.”

“I see. Well, we can talk about sending Nani or Tamara.” Tran’s eyes went to the time-candle. “If that’s all you have for now, I would propose we call it a night.”

Dara smiled. For once, she was going to be asleep before midnight – hells, there might even be time for certain other activities. “Yes, let’s.”

Chapter Text

Slowly, Moondance lowered his hands from his temples to his lap. “What a strange and wonderful thing. Did I not know you would never lie to me, brother, I would not believe it.”

“I know. It doesn’t sound like it should have worked.” Vanyel shifted his weight, and glanced sideways at Stef. His lifebonded had been hearing the full tale of Urtho’s Tower for the first time as well, but if he was particularly shocked by any of it, it didn’t show now. The pulse of unmistakeable worry and consternation along their bond when Vanyel spoke of his injury had been his most obvious reaction.

They were in the new ground-level room that belonged to Starwind and Moondance, seated on cushions, except for Starwind, who was leaning back in Moondance’s lap.

“I brought copies of all the translated entries that I took with me,” Vanyel said. “You’re welcome to have them. You read Shin’a’in?” He had copies in Valdemaran as well, and he knew Moondance could read and write their tongue, but it wouldn’t be of much help to the other Tayledras. At least Shin’a’in had a similar if not identical script. Why are there so many languages in the world, anyway?

Moondance ducked his head. “Not well. I can make do. Other elders are more fluent.”

“I can help. Anyway, there’s a lot more we didn’t bring. It wasn’t relevant to Leareth, but it might be to you. There are full records in Kata’shin’a’in.”

Starwind was almost misty-eyed, a strange look on him. “Urtho. The Mage of Silence. I had not thought so much would be remembered.”

Not nearly as much as had been forgotten, Vanyel thought wistfully. “I did have a question,” he said. “We think that most of Urtho’s records, his spell-research in particular, were successfully evacuated from the Tower. The Shin’a’in memory tapestry doesn’t tell us where they ended up. Given that the Shin’a’in had just abandoned mage-craft, I had wondered if they went with the clans who ended up becoming the Tayledras.”

Moondance looked down at Starwind. “Ashke?”

Starwind thought for a long time, and then shook his head. “If so, we no longer remember which of our lore was his and which our own discoveries. Our knowledge is not kept mainly in writing. Perhaps…” He closed his eyes. “There is the Lost Clan.”

“The Lost Clan?” Vanyel said blankly.

Starwind took a moment to visibly gather his thoughts. “Legend says there were ten. K’Leshya was one. It is said they went a different way. West, with the gryphons.”

Vanyel sat up straighter. “You know where the gryphons…?” He trailed off. The Lost Clan. “What happened?”

“They did not rejoin our people. No word, no sign. Perhaps their Gate was damaged.” The corners of his mouth turned down. “Many centuries ago. Had they survived, we would surely have heard.”

Vanyel closed his eyes. Gods, why does that make me want to cry? Maybe it was silly, but he really had hoped that Urtho’s gryphons, his pride and joy, had made it out safely from the destruction.

He felt Stef’s hand covering his, a pulse of reassurance along their lifebond, along with curiosity. Right; he hadn’t spoken of the gryphons at all to Stef. His current reaction must have been very confusing.

Focus. “There are a few pieces I think are particularly relevant,” Vanyel said. “One, what these records actually tell us about Ma’ar, and Leareth by extension.” A lot less than he would have liked. “Two, the Cataclysm. Leareth is worried about something very bad happening in a few centuries, as a result of some kind of ‘ripples’, somehow echoing back from it. He hasn’t said much more,” though, to be honest, Vanyel hadn’t pressed that hard, “and it’s never felt like the highest priority to figure it out, but I think it’s important even if it’s not urgent. I could try to get more out of him, but…I sort of want to see how much progress we can make independently first. It could give us a way of verifying some of what he’s told me. And I did learn some things about how the Cataclysm happened – it feels like we should be able to take that and come up with some theories.”

A thoughtful nod from Moondance. “It would be my pleasure to help with this, if I can.”

“Thank you. I’ll come back to it later.” There had been a third point, what… “Right. I also wanted to talk about permanent Gates. We found a damaged terminus in Urtho’s Tower, like I mentioned, and Savil separately got access to some books from the Eastern Empire. It seems they gained the technique separately. Or possibly never lost it, if I’m right and they originate from a group that evacuated from Tantara via Urtho’s Gate-network – I forgot to explain, we noticed their language is similar to the one Ma’ar used in his letters to Urtho. We thought it must have been a trade-tongue spoken in both Tantara and Predain, so I suppose it’s also possible that a group from Predain survived and fled east – oh!” He froze. “Gods. I just realized that’s another place that Urtho’s spell-records could have ended up.”

“The Eastern Empire.” Moondance’s eyebrows rose. “You think…?”

“It would explain why they’re so goddamned advanced.” Though that could also be thanks to Leareth’s work when he had founded the Empire. “Anyway. Savil made some amount of progress trying to copy the technique from their textbook, and once I got back, we put our heads together and we were able to figure it out. It’s presumably not the same method, since it relies on tying the set-spell to a Heartstone, but we built a test-terminus in Haven. I brought all of my notes, so I can show you the technique.” He hesitated. “And it’s up to you, of course, but from our perspective it would be very helpful to have a terminus here in k’Treva.”

Silence. Both of the Tayledras were staring at him.

Moondance licked his lips. “You have truly done this thing, brother?”

He squirmed a little. “It was mostly Savil, not me.” He didn’t think he had ever seen Starwind look so impressed, and it made him feel strange. “And like I said, we got a lot of help from other sources.”

“Nonetheless.” Moondance’s eyes shone. “It is a thing to be very proud of.”

“One difficulty,” Starwind said. “K’Treva Vale does not stay in one place.”

“…Oh. That’s true.” How could he have forgotten? “How much longer are you going to be here?” They had moved the Vale in, what, 799? Nine years ago now.

“Perhaps as little as five years,” Moondance said. “Not more than ten.”

“Unclear if it’s worth building a fixed threshold here, then, although you have enough Adept-class mages that you could do it a lot faster.” He rubbed his chin. “I wonder if it would be possible to alter the technique and make a portable terminus? One you could take to the next k’Treva when you do move.”

Starwind’s eyes widened. “No one has ever done such a thing.”

“We don’t know that for sure. Besides, just because no one’s ever done something doesn’t mean it’s impossible. I’ll give it some thought.” There was another thing he had meant to ask, and he tried to retrieve it. “Oh, right. I wanted to know – do you think we could build a Heartstone in Karse, and tie a Gate to it? Savil and I weren’t sure whether to expect Vkandis to interfere.”

Moondance stared ahead for a long time before answering. “Perhaps. You might ask one of their priests to seek guidance.”

Why hadn’t he thought of that? “That’s true, I could.” It sounded kind of ridiculous, but so did the idea of Vkandis possessing Karis and giving her miraculous powers, and that had literally happened. “I almost wish Dara’s leshy’a Kal’enedral friend was still visiting her. I could get her to ask.” He could theoretically do the same, going directly to the Star-Eyed, but he had no intention of risking it for something this minor. 

Another shocked silence.

“You had not spoken of that part,” Moondance said finally. “Dara. The young Monarch’s Own, no? I am very surprised, that a leshy’a would choose to speak to her, an Outlander.”

“She was surprised too,” Vanyel said. “You know what leshy’a Kal’enedral are, then? I wasn’t sure. Er, do you have any kind of equivalent here?”

“Not as such. There are legends that speak of the Goddess’s avatars, mortal spirits that She chose to become something more. To act in Her name. This has not happened in living memory, and I have never spoken to an Avatar; I have only tales for you.” Moondance shook his head. “It is true that just as sometimes a mage-gifted child of the Shin’a’in will feel a call to join our people rather than become a shaman, so it will sometimes happen that one of our children is drawn to leave our land and travel to the Plains to become a shaman. I have heard it spoken that sometimes these children will receive teachings and guidance from a leshy’a Kal’enedral, while still in our land.” A shrug. “If so, it must be rare. I have not heard that it has happened in k’Treva in many generations.”

So there was considerable overlap between the Shin’a’in and Tayledras traditions – well, it made sense, they had been a single people once, even if that had been almost two thousand years ago.

“Brightstar,” Starwind said suddenly. His lips moved silently for a moment, and then he cast a helpless look at his partner. “Ashke, will you…?” It was a gesture Vanyel was familiar with, when Starwind was stuck on finding words, though it hadn’t been as frequent on this trip.

Moondance blinked. “Yes. I suppose I ought.” Fondly, he caressed Starwind’s hair, and then shifted his eyes back to Vanyel. “For a time, we thought our son might feel such a pull. About one year ago, a shaman came to k’Treva – it happens sometimes, that they will travel with our long-range scouts for a time. Brightstar could speak of nothing but him.” His lips twitched. “He was quite enamoured of the last shaman who visited our Vale, also, but he was very small at the time. In any case, the shaman stayed a time to offer teachings and guidance, and Brightstar chose not to accompany him and join our Shin’a’in brothers – though we are not sure he has concluded that his place is here.”

“He is restless,” Starwind said.

“It is to be expected for a youngster of his age. He wishes for adventure. Perhaps he is old enough now that we ought let him go with one of the long-range scout missions, and sate that thirst.” He nudged affectionally at Starwind’s shoulder. “My shay’kreth’ashke will say it is too dangerous, but I think perhaps he ought remember the days of his own youth.”

Starwind scowled, and Vanyel swallowed a chuckle. “I was about to get around to asking how Brightstar was doing,” he said, smiling. “I’m hoping to get a chance to talk to him more on this trip, so maybe don’t encourage him to go off on a scout mission just yet.”

Moondance smiled as well. “Of course.” Then his expression turned serious. “Brother, there is a thing we wished to ask.”

“Yes?”

The Healing-Adept closed his eyes for a moment, running his fingers through a lock of Starwind’s hair – soothing himself as much as his lifebonded, Vanyel thought, though both of them had tensed visibly. “Brightstar is nearly grown,” Moondance said finally. “I wish that we might tell him of your dream, and of what is coming.”

Like a kick to the sternum. Vanyel felt the breath rush out of him. A moment later, Stef was gripping his hand again.

Starwind didn’t look any happier about the idea than he felt. Still, he could see Moondance’s point. Brightstar wasn’t a child; he had been taking on adult responsibilities in the Vale for years. If Moondance thought he could be trusted with their secret, Vanyel was inclined to agree.

“I agree,” he managed, faintly. “He has a right to know.” Something tickled at the edge of his mind – oh. “Featherfire. If we’re telling Brightstar, it seems unfair not to include her.” It felt a lot more awkward, somehow, maybe just because Brightstar’s main parents were two of his best friends, whereas Snowlight was a nice woman he had bedded once but didn’t know especially well.

“Then we ought ask her mother,” Moondance agreed. “Since we are catching up, I should also speak of Highjorune.”

“The Heartstone?” Vanyel looked blankly at him. “Why? I haven’t heard about any problems.”

“Neither have I, but young Tashir approached me on our last visit to Haven. I think he will rest easier knowing one of our Healing-Adepts has checked it. When our Wingsister raised a Gate to Highjorune, Brightstar and I took a moment to explore. Either of us might Gate there now, if need be.”

So could I, Vanyel thought, but even now he would rather not if he had a choice about it. “You’re right, it’s a good idea to check. Maybe it’ll satisfy some of Brightstar’s longing for adventure at the same time.” He shifted his position, easing the pins and needles that threatened. “You want me to come?”

“I think it would be best. We are strangers to their land, and even if young Tashir knows us, I would prefer not to cause his advisors discomfort.”

Vanyel nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

Silence.

What else had he wanted to cover? I should have made a list. Oh, right. “I, er, wanted to ask about something as well. Jisa. In particular, the way she activated her Gift.” He squirmed, unsure why he felt so uneasy – was he expecting disapproval? “I didn’t have much of a chance to discuss it with the others, before we left, but…it’s a technique we could use again. We have such a shortage of Herald-Mages right now, and we’ve been looking for a way to awaken potential for years – one that doesn’t involve taking down the vrondi. This method isn’t as safe as I might have preferred, but we have to consider it.” Privately, he thought the risk was almost certainly worth it, and Randi ought to agree, but it wasn’t his decision alone. He swallowed. “Is that something you would be willing to help with?”

Moondance’s face had gone blank. He looked down at Starwind.

His partner frowned. “It is not natural.”

“I know that,” Vanyel snapped. He took a deep breath. “Sorry. I know it’s not how you do things here, and it’s a lot to ask. Just, we really do have a problem, and I don’t see that we can afford not to consider all our options.” He could feel Stef’s frustration and impatience as well, but his lifebonded staying tactfully silent.

Starwind and Moondance shared a long look. Finally, Moondance squeezed his partner’s shoulder. “I am not entirely comfortable with this idea,” he admitted, “and yet, you are Wingbrother to us, and you have earned the right to ask our aid. I will think on it.”

Another, more strained silence fell.

Stef was trying to catch Vanyel’s eye, and he could feel a sort of tug through the lifebond as well, but his partner hadn’t signaled that he wanted Vanyel to slip into his mind, so he held off. Instead, he nodded encouragingly. Go on, say it. We trust them.

Stef cleared his throat. “Moondance, Starwind. I had a question. Van and I talked about this earlier and he thought you could help.” Stef already spoke fluent Tayledras; he had agreed to let one of the other Tayledras imprint the language directly onto his mind. Vanyel had half-expected him to resist the idea, but instead he had been disappointed that he couldn’t do it for more languages. “Er, do you have contacts with any kyree clans?”

Oh. Vanyel tried to send a note of apology through the lifebond; he and Stef had talked about it, and he had intended to bring it up and apparently forgotten. He really ought to have made a list.

Moondance’s eyebrows rose almost into his hairline. “Why?”

Stef squirmed, looking more visibly self-conscious than Vanyel had ever seen him. “I have a message I need to pass to a clan up north. I, uh, think they might be near the pass Leareth made, and I want to ask them to look for it. I have a talisman to call them, but I think it’s only meant to be for emergencies, and it seems silly to make one of them come all this way.”

Vanyel clamped down on a smirk; he was greatly enjoying Starwind’s half-awed expression.

Moondance found his voice first. “Of course, young singer. The White Rock Clan is on the edge of k’Treva’s range, and our scouts can leave a message that we wish one of their Rangers to come by.”

“I would appreciate that, thank you,” Stef said, very politely.

Vanyel rubbed his eyes again. It had been a very useful conversation, and there were a lot of threads to follow up on, but his head was already spinning.

Stef noticed, of course. “Van, I think you should take a break.”

“But–”

“We are in no rush,” Moondance said. “Rest. We can pick this up on the morrow.”

Vanyel made a face at him – he hadn’t missed the conspiratorial wink that the Healing-Adept had shared with Stef. :’Fandes: he complained. :They’re ganging up on me:

:They’re also right: She felt more amused than disapproving, though. :And you’re not the only one who needs a break. You covered an awful lot. Give them some time to digest:

Starwind did seem to be drooping. :Fine: Vanyel sent. :I’ll do the sensible thing:

If Treven was at all anxious, Randi thought, he was hiding it well. His expression was carefully solemn, his hands still.

They were in his sitting-room, which felt a tiny bit more official than meeting literally from his bed, and maybe the informal air would work in his favour to put the boy at ease. Randi had made an effort to dress properly; even that was an ordeal in recent months. Sitting up against the padded sofa-back, with Shavri’s hand on his shoulder, he felt as ready for this as he would ever be.

“Treven,” he said. “You remember what I told you, two years ago? It’s time you learned the rest.” He should have known better, but some part of him had quietly hoped he would be able to resolve it before Treven ever had to worry about it. Silly or not, it stung, admitting to himself that he had failed.

Treven’s blue eyes cleared. “Oh. Is that what the Council meeting is about, then?”

He was quick. “Yes,” Randi admitted. “We need to move ahead with some plans. However, there are some pieces that we intend to keep back from the Council, but which you should know. I’ll make it clear which is which.”

Vanyel had been the one pushing hardest for keeping some pieces back, and not for the reasons Randi would have expected. Some kinds of information are hazardous to spread, he had said, in arguing for why they ought to leave Leareth’s plan at ‘trying to build an empire’ and not ‘birthing a god.’ Randi had been leaning towards the same decision, but more because it strained the limits of plausibility, and he didn’t want to give the conservative lords another reason to doubt his sanity. Bringing up Leareth’s immortality was weird enough, and that was a lot more relevant, in terms of making a case that he was a greater threat than any they’d faced before.

It seemed silly to worry that Leareth’s plan would give the Council ideas, but Vanyel was right that once the knowledge was out there, in the hands of more than a dozen people, it would be impossible to take it back.

Focus. “We’ve learned more about Leareth since we last spoke,” Randi said, “and Vanyel is still trying his best to keep talking. We’re fairly confident that Leareth would prefer a path other than war. However, the details of exactly what he’s planning – which are highly sensitive, and won’t be discussed tomorrow – mean that we may not be willing to accept an alliance even if he offers one. So I’m going to start from the beginning, and tell you everything that we know about him.”

The explanation was almost rote, now. Randi could go through the points without feeling anything in particular. He hoped Shavri was keeping an eye on Treven’s reactions; there were a lot of details to get right, and he didn’t have the attention, or courage, to spare for it.

“I think that’s all the facts,” he said finally. “I do want to encourage you to form your own opinion – I’ll give you our translations of Urtho’s diary and Ma’ar’s letters to read for yourself, and I would suggest you speak to Vanyel directly once he’s back.” He rubbed his temple. “And take the time you need to absorb it. You won’t have to do any talking in the Council meeting, and we’re not expecting you to make any of the final decisions on this yet.”

Treven ran his blond tail of hair between his fingers. He licked his lips. “I… Thank you. For trusting me with this.” There was turmoil behind his eyes, Randi thought, but his voice was steady.

“We’re trusting you with the future of Valdemar,” Randi pointed out.

Treven’s shoulders straightened. “I’ll…do my best to live up to it.”

“May I?” Stef said.

Jisa looked up from the pool where she was soaking. Based on her rosy cheeks, she had been there awhile. “Mmm-hmm. Where’s Van?”

“Gone for a ride with ‘Fandes. He wanted some time by himself.” Stef slipped out of the embroidered robe that Moondance had given him, and sank into the pool with a sigh.

“He does that sometimes.” Jisa smiled brightly. “I haven’t had a chance to ask. How are things with you and Van?” A pause. “I know you’re lifebonded. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, but that night, I was using my Empathy  so I wasn’t shielding so much…”

“I’m not upset.” He couldn’t remember if Vanyel had brought it up explicitly, but he had assumed she knew. Stef pulled his knees into his chest, letting the water slosh around him. “Speaking of that. When were you going to tell me that Van is your father?”

Jisa’s face went an even deeper shade of red. “Oh. Er…never? Sorry, but it’s really secret. I guess he told you though?” Her eyes narrowed. “Stef. He told you about the Problem, didn’t he?”

Stef looked away. “Jisa, I can’t tell you. I’m sorry. Just, I made an oath to Randi…and Van is trusting me with this…” Damn it, three sentences in and this conversation was already a disaster. “It’s not that I don’t trust you! Only, I did promise.”

Silence.

“I understand,” Jisa said finally, only a little sullen. She cleared her throat. “Stef, is it as bad as we thought?”

It’s so much worse than we thought. His throat caught on the words.

She squirmed. “It’s fine if you really can’t say anything.”

“I shouldn’t say much.” In her position, though, it would be driving him up to wall to be shut out so thoroughly. “It’s big, Jisa. Bigger than I could’ve imagined, and it’s terrifying, but there is hope.”

She nodded. Solemn, unflinching. “I’m glad you know. I know you won’t be stupid about it, and you won’t let Van get away with being either.” A quick, sad smile. “Van is really smart but he’s still an idiot sometimes.”

“I’d noticed,” Stef said dryly. He was almost tempted to spill everything to her, recent fights and all – she was his best friend, after all – but on reflection, it wasn’t the most appropriate. Even if he still had some trouble predicting what would or wouldn’t embarrass Vanyel, he could guess that sharing a private conversation with his daughter would.

At least Jisa, like Medren, didn’t seem to find their relationship particularly awkward or weird.

On Stef’s side, though, there was a sense of…not quite awkwardness, but distance. There’s so much I wish I could tell you. Leareth. The meeting in Vanyel’s sickroom. Heartstones. Nearly everything that had been bouncing around in his head, lately, was something he couldn’t tell Jisa.

He did know how to talk around a secret. Medren might have derided his tendency to spread gossip, claiming no one ought to tell him anything they didn’t want all of Bardic to know, but that had been deliberate. As far back as he could remember, Stef had been able to easily keep track of what the people around him did and didn’t know, and reveal precisely the things he wanted to without making it obvious he was holding anything back. Katha had taught him more – how to react when sensitive topics came up and avoid raising suspicion, how to bluff in more useful ways than keeping his face neutral, how to maintain plausible deniably when he was speaking with someone who already knew he knew more than they did. He had the skill to balance it.

Still, he had never had real secrets from Jisa before. Not ones that mattered. He wouldn’t have expected that to hurt as much as it did.

“We’re doing well,” he said lightly. “I could wish it was easier to convince him to ever stop working and have fun, but, well…” Jisa probably didn’t want to hear the details of all his attempts to entice Vanyel into amorous activities, only to find that apparently maths was more engaging. Stef was trying not to take it personally. 

“That’s just what he’s like,” Jisa agreed. “It’s sad, but I think it makes sense, given the life he’s had. I mean, a lot of Heralds are already kind of like that. Feeling guilty for needing to rest. I don’t think it’s very healthy, but Savil is just as bad. And Van is the strongest mage ever, he can do things no one else can. That’s a lot of pressure.” She splashed a handful of water over her face, then eased herself up and out of the pool. “After he lost Tylendel, I think maybe it made it easier, having a goal to focus on.”

Stef twitched, remembering. She doesn’t know. He wanted to tell her – maybe she could help him make sense of it – and at the same time he flinched from the idea. Didn’t want her to look at him differently.

“Stef?” Jisa swung her legs, not quite looking at him. “I didn’t have a chance to say this, but I’m really glad for you and Van. He’s happy with you, and – and I can’t even say how grateful I am for that.”

“Quit being sappy, Jisa.” Medren had said something like that as well, and Stef didn’t know what to do about it. He was glad as well, but it was a reminder that Vanyel had been unhappy for so many years, and it was stupid to feel like that was in any way his fault but he couldn’t help it.

Change the subject. “Do you happen to know what sorts of things he enjoys doing?” he said hopefully. “I tried to ask but it was like pulling teeth.”

Jisa frowned. “He likes music a lot. I think that might be the only thing he does that’s actually just for fun. Savil was always wishing he would make more time for it.”

Stef nodded, smirking. He had noticed – dropping some aside about music theory was one of the most reliable ways to distract Van into a conversation that wasn’t about work – but it was good to hear someone else confirm it.

Do we have the time to spare? An unwanted thought, creeping in from who-knew-where. Knowing what he did now, he could sort of understand why Vanyel put his work first. If there might not be a Valdemar in five years… From a certain perspective, he could see why it made sense to set everything else aside.

And yet. Maybe Vanyel could live like that. I don’t think I can. It was his goddamned life, and if there was a chance Van was going to die – hellfires, there was a risk they might all die – he didn’t want their last few years to have been nothing but grim work. Of course he would throw whatever schemes he could at avoiding that outcome, but in the meantime, he wanted to squeeze in as much living as he could.

Silence.

The babble of side conversations had hushed the instant Randi raised his hand, and it had stayed that way the entire time that he was speaking. Shavri hadn’t really followed the words – there was nothing new there for her – but some part of her mind had been tracking the room at large, noting down the reactions, flagging the expressions that surprised or concerned her. Exactly the sort of political awareness she had spent years fleeing, and now she couldn’t help doing it even when she was half in trance. Painblocking for Randi took less of her complete focus now; she still couldn’t really hold a conversation, but she could listen.

Savil, in her cups, had reminisced on her work with Queen Elspeth, and the deference that even the most recalcitrant lords on the Council had granted her. Shavri knew it hadn’t been like that for Randi at first, and it still wasn’t, but it meant something, that no one had even tried to interrupt.

“I know this is rather shocking news,” Randi finished. “Dara will review our future plans in a moment, and the proposals to vote on today. At that point, I’m hoping to hear some other ideas. First, any questions?” He tipped his head to Dara, silently offering her control of the room.

It was amazing how much a measured tone and level expression could set the tune of a room. Randi had been speaking of an immortal mage marching on their Kingdom, but his mask had never slipped, and the roomful faces around her showed no panic.

It was a full meeting, which meant it wasn’t just the lords representing Valdemar’s various territories – though every single one of them was there, including Lord Sevrat, currently speaking for the entirety of the new Northern March. Archpriest Everet was present, standing in for the main temple orders in Haven. Lord Marshal Reven and Seneschal Arved sat with Keiran and Joshel respectively. The trade-guild representatives had their seats as well, and the deans of the various Collegia. Including, to Shavri’s suppressed amusement, Melody. She had fought tooth and nail with Aber about it, and he had declared that Mindhealers’ was its own Collegium even if it consisted of ten people, and he wasn’t in the loop enough to speak for their affairs. Melody had made a show of complaining, but Shavri thought that some part of her was secretly pleased.

Despite herself, Shavri found her attention tugged back towards Lord Ashkevron’s seat. He had more reason than most to be alarmed, and she could see a vein pulsing in his forehead, but even he was taking it with surprising calm.

Lord Lathan, to her surprise, wasn’t immediately trying to force his way in with some incredibly irritating side tangent. For once, he seemed to have been shocked into silence.

Lord Preatur was the first to find his voice. “King Randale. I gather that you’ve known about this for some time. Why exactly didn’t you bring it forward sooner?”

Right on time. Dara had been trying to set wagers with people on whether that would be the first question, but no one had been willing to bet against it.

“I understand why it’s frustrating,” Randi said. “There were a number of considerations, and foremost was keeping Leareth from finding out about our planning or preparations. It’s not that I don’t consider all of you trustworthy, but all of you understand the principles of secrecy.”

Shavri kept her face carefully controlled. Randi didn’t consider all of his Council to be fully trustworthy

“Partly on the advice of the Groveborn,” Randi went on, “we kept the knowledge of this contained within a very small group at first.” He ran a hand over his hair. “Of course, this limited what sorts of preparation we could make, and at some point we had to take the leap.”

Lord Kathar spoke up. “Why now? I’m not clear on what changed.”

Randi shook his head. “It’s not in response to anything new we learned. More that we had set a time to reassess, that time arrived, and on balance it seemed worth the risk of information leaks. As I said, we don’t think war is the only possible outcome here. Herald Vanyel judged that his negotiations with Leareth are on solid enough ground that if the man is acting in good faith at all, a few spy-reports that we’re moving troops aren’t going to spook him. Though we do have some new pieces – in particular, a lead we’re following up on the location of this pass.”

“Herald Vanyel’s known about the pass for decades,” Lord Leverance interrupted. “I’m shocked you haven’t found it yet.”

Randi acknowledged the point with a dip of his chin. “It’s possible we didn’t prioritize it highly enough. Vanyel was able to pinpoint the pass with his Farsight early on, and has been checking it regularly for any activity on Leareth’s part, but Farsight isn’t a map, and it was at extreme range for him even from the old northern border, which meant he didn’t have much energy to spare for exploring the surrounds. There were agents sent out to search even back in Elspeth’s time, and we’ve had quite a lot of Katha’s people hunting for it in recent years, but it turns out to be rather non-obvious to recognize the landmarks as Vanyel sees them in the dream, since we’re coming at the mountains from the other side.”

Lord Leverance nodded, apparently satisfied.

“Why didn’t you send him north to search for it himself?” Lord Lathan interjected. Shavri tried not to make a face.

“Herald Vanyel’s time has been rather precious to us,” Randi said, unruffled.

“You say that, but you sent him on that trade-mission to Jkatha that lasted a goddamned year–”

“Lord Lathan.” Randi’s voice was silky. “As I imagine some of you can now guess, Vanyel’s journey was related to this matter, and it gained us some key information and resources. I’m afraid I can’t share further details – we promised secrecy to some outside parties.”

Lord Leverance still looked mutinous, but he subsided in his chair.

A moment later, Lord Sevrat finally found his voice. “King Randale, this is worryingly close to my people’s territory. If this Leareth brings in a surprise attack, it’s going to hit us first. What can you do for our security?”

Shavri, still painblocking, felt a moment’s satisfaction. I win that bet. Dara had put down five coppers that he would be one of the first three people to speak, but by her count, he was number five.

Randi glanced sideways. “Keiran, would you like to give an overview?”

A brisk nod. “To start, I would like to double the number of Guard-posts along the new Border…”

The discussion drifted past her, into minutiae that Shavri struggled to focus on. Dara was taking notes, and would remind her of anything she actually had to do.

Gods, how much longer? She didn’t want to be here – she would have preferred to be in the House of Healing, working with Sandra. Or with her daughter, but that wasn’t an option. Shavri hadn’t been apart from Jisa for so long in many years, and she missed her bitterly.

I want it to be over. The thought floated past, and it wasn’t just about the Council meeting. Tomorrow morning she would get up and do it all again – sit through endless meetings that should have bored her to tears, except she had run out of tears to spare a long time ago, and all she had to offer now was the dregs of her reserves, to pour into her lifebonded partner and buy him another day.

She was an empty vessel, squeezing out a few drops from who knew where, desperately trying to make it last – and at the end of it all, even if Valdemar somehow won, she, Shavri, was going to lose. Randi was dying, and it wasn’t going to matter if Vanyel somehow finagled an alliance with Leareth. Even in the implausible dreamworld where Leareth was right, and telling the truth about everything, and he and Vanyel worked together and found a way to bloodlessly birth a god who could fix everything, forever – even in that distant fantasy, it wasn’t going to matter to her. It would be too little, too late.

Shavri caught at the thread of thought. Don’t be morbid. She was just tired, that was all.

Maybe she should have asked to have Need for today, but she was still angry with the sword, and avoiding her was the only punishment she had available. Need was with one of Lissa’s Guardswomen today, she thought. The blade had made a halfhearted case to be sent to k’Treva along with Jisa, but Shavri had closed that down very quickly.

She was so tired, and it felt unescapable. Crushing. How was she supposed to find space to recover when Randi needed her every single day? Sandra’s accident – and Jisa’s actions – had made everything a lot worse in the short run, but she had already been close to her limits.

It felt like the worst kind of race. Valdemar was running out of time, and she was running out of the will to keep going.

Withen swirled the brandy in his glass, staring as though he might see the future in its pattern. It was his third, and his cheeks were ruddy.

“And Father Leren?” he said.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Savil sipped from her own glass. She didn’t actually like brandy, but the mood felt right for it. “It sounded like he was a contingency plan that Leareth set up very early on and, er, forgot to cancel.”

“Oof.” Withen grimaced. “Seems careless of him.”

It should have been funny, at all, but she still had to choke down a giggle. “The man does have rather a lot of plots to keep track of.”

They were in her brother’s study. Withen had invited her there after the Council meeting ended, and gone on to prove, again, that he might occasionally be thickheaded but he was far from stupid; he had immediately started going through the major incidents of Vanyel’s life, in order, confirming which ones were in some way related to Leareth.

Now he leaned back in his chair, bringing a hand to his forehead. “Can’t believe it. All these years…” A flicker of wistfulness in his eyes. “And I never knew. At least he had you.”

He didn’t, she thought. Not really. Withen didn’t know that for fifteen years, Van had shared part of his secret only with Yfandes. That was one of the parts that the announcement to the Council had quietly elided.

Strange, how much of a relief it was to have some of it in the open between them. I never expected Withen to feel like a confidante. Their childhood at Forst Reach had been a mixture of barbed remarks, wary competitiveness, and trying their best to avoid one another, and it hadn’t improved once they were older – if anything, it had been at its worst the year Van was Chosen. In a fit of pique, she had refused to answer any of his letters for six months after their return from k’Treva.

He had been in Haven for two years now, and she hadn’t noticed exactly when their weekly suppers and the private conversations in his study afterwards had stopped feeling like navigating a battlefield, and become…comfortable. A routine that she didn’t quite look forward to, but she would miss it if it stopped. Spittle-flying arguments over taxes and all. 

He’s changed. Remarkable, that. Surely most people were set in stone by the time they hit fifty.

She had changed as well, and in ways that felt an awful lot like growing up. Which was ridiculous. The last two decades of her life had bent and warped around the ominous warning of her nephew’s Foresight, but she had already been almost sixty when Van came to Haven. A mature woman. She ought to have gotten her growing up out of the way by then, especially since it already felt like she had crammed several lifetimes into those years.

Strange how her recollection of meeting Starwind for the first time, almost half a century ago, felt sharper and nearer than the far more recent memories of serving on Elspeth’s Senior Circle with Justen and Deedre, Lancir and Jaysen… Gods, there were so few familiar faces in Haven now, and none at all that dated back to her youth – even Kilchas hadn’t gained his Whites until she had already spent twenty-five years in the field.

The last relic of a dead generation…but the phrase didn’t exactly feel morbid, now. It felt like an honour. I’ve beaten the odds for so long.

…A flare of the old suspicion. Coincidence, or not? She let the thought rise, considered it, and set it aside – there wasn’t much point in wonderful whether some meddling god was responsible for her unlikely survival. Whether it was thanks to chance or divine intervention, she had lived long enough for Vanyel to reshape her entire world around her. She could think about a mage in the north building a literal god, hold up that hypothetical in her mind, and feel only a mild desire to run away screaming. That was maturity if anything was.

“Savil?”

She blinked. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was woolgathering.” Completely lost in sentimental rambles, more like.

“So was I. It’s an awful lot to think about.” An embarrassed twitch of his shoulder. “Savil, I…” Withen swallowed. A vein stood out in his forehead. “Savil, tell me straight. Are we going to make it through this?”

She resisted the temptation to press him on exactly what he meant by ‘we’. “I don’t know.”

Withen was staring determinedly into his cup. “Reckon there’s any real chance Van can work out an alliance?”

Savil opened her mouth, closed it, and dragged her eyes to the window. There was so much she couldn’t say… “The chance isn’t zero,” she said finally. “It depends on a lot of factors, and, well, there are offers the man could make us that we wouldn’t be willing to accept. But Van hasn’t given up yet.”

Withen shook his head, wonderingly. “Figure he can do it if anyone can. Gods, seeing him speak in front of the Council… Never imagined it. My own son.”

Not particularly coherent, but Savil thought she understood the sentiment behind it. You underestimated him.

“Savil.” Withen, with clear effort, shifted his eyes back to her face. “If it does come to war, can we – is it something we can win without, I mean, without him having to…”

“Without Van’s Final Strike?” Savil finished, and watched him flinch with quiet satisfaction. Yes, brother, I can say it out loud. Like Vanyel would say, she had to be able to look at reality. “I don’t know. To be honest, with our current resources, I think not.”

Withen’s jaw worked for a moment. “Right,” he said tightly. “But, if we could find enough allies…”

“Maybe.” It was hard to imagine, but it wasn’t impossible.

Her brother drained the rest of his glass and set it down with a thud. His shoulders squared. “Then we’d better try goddamned hard to bring in some of those foreign mages.”

Savil blinked. It wasn’t the response she had suspected, but she wasn’t sure why not. “I suppose we’d better,” she said, and found herself smiling.

You’re on my side.

Chapter Text

“That’s everyone,” Dara said, as Savil settled into her chair. “Treven, get the door?”

The trainee was already on his feet, unasked. He was doing a good job of hiding any excitement or nerves behind a mask of poise, Shavri thought, but there was even more energy behind his usual eagerness-to-please. It was the first time he had been included in a truly private meeting.

She rested her hand on Need’s hilt. :Well?:

The only response was a mental grunt. Need wasn’t looking forward to this conversation any more than she was. Still, she only grumbled a little as Shavri carefully unsheathed her and laid her on the table.

Randi was absent; he was spending the day in bed, recovering from the ordeal of yesterday’s Council meeting, which had run for almost four candlemarks. Tran was missing as well, busy running an audience. The meeting-room felt quite empty, but this was the sort of discussion better held in a small group.

“Let’s get started,” Dara said briskly. “I want to clarify that we’re not here to make any final decisions. On that premise – Need, could and would you be able to use what you did with her to activate others’ mage-gifts?”

:Is everyone going to be bloody furious with me again if it goes poorly?: Need sent, sharply.

Shavri rested a reassuring hand on her hilt. :It’s all right: she sent privately.

:You’re one to talk. You’re still mad at me: Need shot back before addressing the group again. :It’s a terrible idea. Jisa’s Companion pointed out that we could just as easily have burned out all her Gifts by mistake:

“I don’t think that was likely at all,” Savil said. “If she put it that way, I imagine it’s because she was trying to shock some sense into the girl. Locking herself in someone’s Work Room and doing it without anyone’s knowledge or supervision was ill-advised. That doesn’t mean it’s impossible to do it safely.”

:Can’t see how to make it safe to rip someone’s mind open: Need barked back.

The Herald-Mage shrugged. “Well. Safer. We have to be willing to take on some risk.”

:There’s risk and then there’s insanity. I won’t do it:

“We won’t pressure you to do anything you’re not comfortable with–” Dara started.

:Damn well you won’t: A snort. :I’m not in the habit of being forced to do anything. By the Twain, I should’ve let her throw me down the bloody well rather than succumbing to blackmail. I won’t be making that mistake again:

Silence.

Need…wasn’t wrong. And Shavri was still angry. It was too early, too fresh, for her to be thinking about this rationally, and she knew it. And yet. They didn’t have time to waste.

Don’t be a coward. Once upon a time, Need had praised her courage. Was she going to let her pointless fear and hurt get in the way of doing the right thing?

Shavri took a deep breath. “Listen,” she said. “We’re all still raw from what happened – at least, I know I am. Can we at least consider some hypotheticals? Need, it’s like Dara said, we’re not here to make final decisions and we won’t force you to do anything. No one is going to attack you for tossing out ideas, I promise.” :I won’t let them: she added privately.

She saw the carefully-hidden surprise in Dara and Savil’s eyes, and hated it. Did they think so little of her, that she couldn’t push past her own pain and reason calmly about it. I’ve been practicing half my life. It was one of a Healer’s most fundamental skills.

Treven, at least, didn’t seem surprised, just smiled gratefully.

Savil stroked the tip of her nose. “We don’t have to use the same protocol. I agree, what Jisa did was awfully risky, but we might be able to find a less, er, violent method.”   

:She was already considering safety: Need sent. :She used your miniature short-range Gate setup rather than a full-size one:

Shavri…hadn’t actually known that, or at least had forgotten. Jisa had been more sensible about it than she’d given the girl credit for.

Maybe it was why her mage-gift had ended up so much weaker than Van’s.

“There’s still a lot of energy tied up in a Gate-threshold of any size,” Savil pointed out. “A big reason it takes so much more to build a full-sized threshold is that the process is inefficient – it’s not stable until it’s complete, so you lose more than half of the energy you’re putting in. And the range doesn’t influence the amount of energy locked up in the Gate itself, just how much it takes to find the destination.”

:I don’t see how that helps us, then:

Dara was the one who spoke up. “I mean, do we know it has to be a Gate-spell? Savil, any kind of spell structure will backlash on its creator if it’s taken down improperly, right? Even a shield or something?”

“Oh.” Savil leaned back in her chair, clearly surprised. “Yes, that’s true.”

Something was rising in Shavri’s chest. “You can make a barrier-shield with any amount of power, right?” she heard herself say. “Whereas I’m guessing there’s a minimum threshold for a Gate.”

“Yes.” Savil’s glance was startled and impressed. “It needs to be solid enough to hold the terminus steady while we literally twist space through the Void.” She was looking very thoughtful now. “I hadn’t considered it, because even very new trainees have the control to take down a spell as basic as a shield by dumping it into the earth rather than collapsing it on themselves. But, I mean, it does happen, and it should be straightforward if you’re actually trying to do it on purpose.”

“Wouldn’t it result in a weaker mage-gift?” Dara interjected. “Doing it with less energy, I mean.”

Exactly what Shavri had been fearing, and hadn’t dared bring up.

“Hmm.” Savil’s fingers played with the edge of the table. “I imagine yes, initially, but Gifts don’t awaken naturally at full strength. Honestly, that’s a lot of what made it so hard on Van and Jisa. Even if it did just rip the channels partway open, actually training and using the Gift would tend to strengthen it.” A pause. “At least, I imagine that would happen if we used the technique with a youngster. I’m not sure it would still work that way if someone was already full-grown, but it might.”

Shavri flinched. “Savil, we can’t do this to children.”

The older Herald-Mage looked apologetic. “I didn’t mean to imply we should. At least, not unless we’ve tested it thoroughly and come up with a protocol that’s definitely safe.”

Need, despite her lack of a body, was giving off the strong impression of someone squirming. :I think there might still be an energy-minimum: she admitted. :Any concert-spell is going through my mage-channels, so I would absorb most of the backlash from a low-powered shield even if I wasn’t trying to:

“Mmm.” Savil sat back. “Well, we could experiment. Start small, and gradually work up until it overflowed you.”

:It’s an idea: Need still seemed very uneasy. :Listen – it’s one thing for my future bearer to do it of her own free will, and it’s another thing to ask one of your Heralds to volunteer. I don’t care if you’re claiming it’s their choice. They’re going to feel pressured, and I won’t be complicit in that:

Her future bearer. Somehow, Shavri managed to hear it without flinching. The life you had wrenched away from you may not be the same one that she wants to live, Melody had said. She had to remember that – and remember that Jisa was plenty strong-willed enough to turn down a bond with Need if it wasn’t precisely what she wanted.

Dara nodded. “I am worried about that, and I’m not sure what to do about it. I guess the best we can suggest is to give them a lot of time to consider it, and permission to back out at any point – I would want them to really and truly understand what they’re getting into. It’s maybe even the sort of thing where we would want them to speak to a Mindhealer about it. I trust Melody better than anyone to notice if someone is feeling coerced.”

That was a good idea, Shavri thought.

:You haven’t brought up the fact that I need to be bonded with someone in order to do this: Need sent. :Not just weakly, like I am with Lissa’s Guardswomen. I can’t do that with just anyone, and I can’t do it at all with men:

“That is a constraint,” Dara conceded. “We would let you decide, of course, once we have a sense of who our possibilities are.” She turned. “Savil, do we actually know which Heralds carry mage-gift in potential?”

“I wouldn’t say we know of everyone,” Savil said slowly, “but we do have a list of the ones who are also strong Mindspeakers, since that’s the pool Van was able to do distance-work with. And we ought to be able to ask the Companions.”

“I don’t know.” A flash of petulance in Dara’s expression. “Rolan is being weirdly unhelpful about this.”

Treven twitched in his chair, and spoke for the first time. “That’s…not a good sign. Right?”

“I mean, he’s not vetoing it.” Dara ran a hand through her hair. “Could be one of those times the Companions don’t want to intervene to help with something but are fine with us figuring it out on our own.”

The room fell silent while everyone mulled over that.

“Another point,” Shavri said. “I don’t think we can risk experimenting on this without support from k’Treva. In fact, the safest way would be to do our tests over there in the first place, so we don’t have to fuss with taking a very ill new-awakened mage through a Gate.” Jisa apparently hadn’t suffered from Van’s Gate-sensitivity, and surely a Herald whose mage-gift had been partly activated by some other spell like a shield would be at even less risk, but it had still been hard on her; Gates were tiring even for healthy people.

“I should’ve thought to discuss it with Van before he went.” Savil rubbed her chin. “Unfortunately, this really isn’t something I want to pass over the communication-spell, given the lack of security. I imagine he’s thinking the same things we are, though, and he’ll bring it up with them. We’re not in a rush; it can wait until he’s back.”

Dara scraped her chair back. “Think we’re done. Our next step is to make a list of possible Heralds, and start considering how to ask them without being coercive about it.”

“Van look! Look look look!”

Vanyel lifted his head from the book he had been reading. “What, Jisa?” He had been deep in thought and hadn’t heard or felt her coming.

She was standing in front of him, arms raised, a shimmering barrier just visible in the air around her. “Throw lightning at me!” she urged.

Are you sure, he started to protest, then shrugged and leaned into his mage-sight. The shield looked solid enough.  He carefully measured out his strength, and flung a very underpowered levinbolt in her direction.

Jisa staggered a little, but the shield held. “You weren’t even trying!” she accused him.

Sighing, he let his hand fall. “Jisa, you know I’m more powerful than you. Obviously I’m being careful.”

“That wasn’t even hard at all!” Wounded pride in her eyes.

“Yes, well, I’d rather not risk hurting you.” He tried to soften it with a smile. “Care to show me any other tricks?”

“Ooh!” Successfully distracted, she let the shield fall. “I can do a mage-light, look – and I can make it all sorts of colours…”

Jisa went on to demonstrate a range of techniques that, given she had only been training for a week, was really quite impressive. Vanyel said as much, and she glowed.

“So you’re liking being a mage?” he said, when he noticed that she was starting to tire.

“So much! It’s so amazing!” Jisa dropped down onto the bench next to him, pushing a lock of sweaty hair out of her eyes. “I just want to Look at everything with mage-sight all the time. It’s so pretty! I’m really glad I’d done concert-Seeing with you and Savil before, it made it a lot easier even though everyone’s Sight is a bit different. Oh, oh, and Moondance says my mage-gift is a bit stronger than Brightstar’s! He’s a Healing-Adept as well, but still. Brightstar is allowed to touch the Heartstone and I’m not yet, so he always wins when we spar, but Starwind says I can try once I have the basics down…”

Vanyel let her delighted chatter wash over him. I’m glad you’re happy, pet. He had the sense she was still chewing over her decision, unsure if she had done the right thing, but she wasn’t at all conflicted about the result.

“Van?”

He refocused on her face. “Yes, Jisa?”

Her expression was suddenly serious. “Are the Heralds going to use Need to make more mages?”

Vanyel frowned. “‘Making more mages’ isn’t the most sensitive way of putting it. And…I’m not sure. It’s a conversation we didn’t have time to cover before I left. The upside is pretty big, but it’s still risky.”

Jisa seemed undeterred. “I think lots of Heralds would volunteer for it. That’s part of what it means to be a Herald, isn’t it? That you’re willing to take risks like that, if they might be worth it.”

Vanyel nodded. “Which is why we need to think very carefully about whether it’s the right choice to ask that of them.”

“I think I see that.” Her solemn, thoughtful expression was so unexpectedly adult, it made him dizzy. “Even if Randi didn’t order them to, they would feel like they had to because it was the right thing to do.”

“That’s it exactly.” He shook his head. “I do feel like a bit of a fool. We did ask Need years back if she knew a way of awakening potential, but I never thought of this particular experiment.”

“Well, it was a really bad thing that happened to you, so it makes sense you wouldn’t want to think about doing it to anyone else.” A butterfly danced past, and Jisa held out her hand to it. “It did hurt a lot. I knew it would and I still wasn’t ready for it at all. I don’t know how to actually warn people how awful it is. They didn’t even have painblocking when it happened to you, did they?”

“No. And it was weeks before Savil had the thought of taking me to k’Treva. At that point she wasn’t even sure if Moondance could Heal the damage.”

Jisa was busy enticing the butterfly to step from one of her hands to the other, but she spared a glance at him. “That must’ve been scary. Did you think you were dying?”

He shrugged. “I wanted to die. Which you know, since you read Lancir’s notes.”

She flushed. “I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t sure if it was an apology for her recent actions, or that the events had happened to him at all. “It was a long time ago.”

Awkward silence.

The butterfly launched itself from Jisa’s knuckle, vanishing into the greenery. “How are things with Stef?” she said, still not quite looking at him.

“Fine. Good.” Stef was currently entertaining some of the Tayledras youth – he had unsurprisingly proved to be very popular. “He’s really helpful for talking things through.” 

Jisa smiled. “I’m glad. And he’s making you stop working sometimes to go have fun. I saw you went to the dance.”

“It was nice,” Vanyel agreed. “Though I could wish he didn’t have quite so much, um, youthful exuberance. Or was more understanding that I’m not eighteen anymore and can’t handle staying up until sunrise.” Stef had an incredible, insatiable appetite for a lot more than just dancing. If he had his way, I’m not sure we would ever get out of bed. Moondance hadn’t been very sympathetic when he complained, and it definitely wasn’t appropriate to mention to his thirteen-year-old daughter. At least he had soundproofed their room first thing. Starwind and Moondance wouldn’t care, but Jisa slept on the other side of a not-particularly-thick wall.

Jisa didn’t seem sympathetic either; she was grinning. “I think it’s good for you.”

He stuck out his tongue at her.

Her grin only broadened. “See? You can be silly now. You’re not like this–” she pulled her cheeks down into an exaggerated expression of glumness, “–all the time.”

“Jisa, please.” Vanyel could feel his face growing warm.

She giggled, but lowered her hands.

Gradually, her smile faded. Vanyel couldn’t tell at all what she was thinking about.

:Father?: Her mindtouch brushed against his shields.

Even now, she never called him that except in private Mindspeech. :What is it, pet?:

The nickname had slipped out again, but she didn’t seem to mind, or maybe she hadn’t noticed. Her face was intent. :Father, Brightstar and Featherfire know about the thing that’s happening, don’t they? The secret I’m not allowed to know yet. And Stef too:

He shouldn’t have been caught off guard. Of course Jisa was perceptive enough to notice the undercurrents around her. :Yes: he admitted.

:I know I’m younger than them: No sign of defensiveness; her face was calm. :And I haven’t proved that you can trust me, yet. I understand. I mean, it hurts, but I really do understand why: She took a long slow breath, let it out. :Just…whatever I can possibly do to help, please let me: 

:I know: He held out his hand, and waited until she laid her fingers over his.

She stood on a road.

Not much of one – it was narrow, made of packed gravel. Clouds of summer dust hovered in the air, catching the sun that blazed from the east. It was hot. She couldn’t see anything at all, not even the signpost she knew wasn’t far ahead.

“I think we’re here,” she heard her own voice say.

Squinting, she released her grip on the pommel of Rolan’s saddle and took a step. This part, she had to do without him. On her own.

No. Not alone.

“Are you coming?”

–Dara snapped awake. Where am I – oh. The dream-afterimage was fading now, giving way to the familiar contours of the room she shared with Tran, dawn light creeping between the curtains. She could hear his deep, even breathing beside her.

That was Foresight. She recognized the feel of it by now, at the same time simpler and far more vivid than her ordinary dreams.

:Rolan?: she tried.

:I am here, Chosen: He must have already been up; his response was immediate, with no sign of sleepiness.

Dara sat up, cautiously to avoid making the bed creak. :Rolan, I think I just had a new Foresight vision: She opened her shields fully to him, holding up the image.

Not much to go on, really. A road, facing east. She had been about to leave Rolan behind, and someone else had been with her, but she hadn’t seen who. She hadn’t seen much of the scenery either; she had the vague sense that there had been fields on either side of the path, but not having seen the type of crop growing, it could have been anywhere in Valdemar.

Well, not quite anywhere. The road was unpaved, which ruled out any of the main trade routes, but it had been a lot more than just a local goat-track. There had been a signpost ahead, which likely meant it was a major enough road to be marked on a map. And she had known she was in Valdemar at all, which did narrow it down somewhat.

It would have been awfully convenient if her Foresight had deigned to show her the lettering on said signpost. Was her Gift being mysterious on purpose?

:Did you recognize it?: she sent hopefully.

:I am afraid not: She could feel that he had committed the image to memory, though.

Dara swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, silently enough that Tran didn’t stir. :Well, if it’s important I’m sure I’ll have it again: The Foresight dream of Urtho’s Tower had kept bothering her until she figured out what it meant.

Long-range Foresight wasn’t like short-range – most short-range Foreseers had visions frequently, at intervals of days or weeks. Dara had noted down a few dreams that could have been Foresight in the last year, and in hindsight, she was fairly sure one of them had been about the Council announcement. It had even been helpful; in the dream, Lord Sevrat had been shouting, and so Dara had paid a lot of attention to his demeanour and turned her attention to him as soon as he started to look agitated. It had hardly been critical, though.

No time to ruminate on it now. Now that she was fully awake, she remembered why she had been hoping to rise early today. Conveniently, the dream had woken her slightly before the first morning bell.

Randi had reduced his regular commitments even further, and Dara’s daily meeting with him was now with Treven instead. She didn’t bring everything to him, still preferring to save up the gnarliest problems for her rarer sessions with the King. Tran hadn’t been happy about the change, but Dara didn’t mind; Treven was friendly, clever, and very energetic, and she liked spending time with him.

More than she did with Randi, if she was completely honest with herself. They were so much closer in age, and Treven looked up to her.

I was always meant to be his King’s Own. A thought that drifted up from nowhere in particular, and Dara wasn’t sure she believed it, but it sort of made sense. She had never felt all that close to Randi, personally; she was fifteen years his junior, and she hadn’t been Chosen at all until fairly late in his reign. Even after she had been granted her Whites and formally taken her place a year ago, it had still felt a bit like Tran was Randi’s real King’s Own.

But Rolan, reappearing in the Grove five years ago, had already known of the King’s illness, and that he had less than ten years left. He was planning for the future.

In any case, she was meeting with Treven before lunch, and she wanted to bring up the matter of the White Winds mages with him, which meant she really ought to speak with Savil first. She would have preferred to discuss it with Van as well, but it wasn’t clear how long he would be away, and she wasn’t sure they had any time to waste.

:Savil is in the Web-room: Rolan sent, along with a wash of affection. :Her Kellan suspects she has forgotten about your meeting, but she would certainly forgive an interruption if you were to bring her tea and breakfast:

:Thanks for the advice: After retrieving a clean set of Whites, Dara had carefully closed the bedroom door behind her, and was now dressing with much less attention to being quiet. Tea and breakfast sounded excellent to her as well, though maybe she had better stick to bread and cheese and avoid the sausages and delicious pastries that the Heralds’ dining-hall tended to have out. It was hard to find time to exercise lately, and she was a little worried about putting on weight.

Half a candlemark later, she was knocking on the heavy oak door to the room where the Web-focus lived, the tray she had begged from the kitchen balanced on her hip. Usually she would have reached out with a Mindtouch, but the walls were just as well-shielded as those on the main Palace Work Room.

Muffled footsteps, that seemed to come from a very long way off, and then the door opened. “…Oh. It’s you.” Savil nodded to her, a little vaguely.

Dara didn’t bother to speak, just held up the tray.

“Oh, wonderful.” Savil’s gaze cleared a little, and she ducked her head, smiling apologetically. “I was supposed to meet with you, wasn’t I?”

“It’s fine.” Dara peered past her. “We could do it in here, if you want.” There was a bench to set the tray on, and if they managed to make a mess, well, bare stone was easy to clean.

“I would appreciate one less trip up and down the stairs,” Savil said dryly. “These old bones feel it more every year.” She ushered Dara in and pulled the door shut. “I’m very sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t remember what we were meant to talk about?”

Savil had been more forgetful about her schedule in the last year, Dara had noticed, though she seemed no less sharp when talking about mage-craft. “White Winds,” she prompted. “Who we might send. I guess are options are just Nani or Tamara – or both, but that leaves us even more shorthanded here in Haven.” She set the tray down on the ledge and reached for the pot. “Tea?” Savil, like Dara herself, was a holdout when it came to chava, claiming it gave her an upset stomach.

“Yes, please.” Savil accepted the cup with a smile. “Nani or Tamara… Too bad we can’t just awaken some other mages for it, that would be an excellent way to kill two birds with one stone. You were right, though, we mustn’t rush that, and I’d rather not wait on it for this. Especially given that we don’t know we can pull it off at all.” A pause. “Hmm. I just had a thought.”

Dara raised her eyebrows and waited.

“It’s probably a bad idea.” The older Herald-Mage was actually looking a little self-conscious, now. “Just… Jisa is Adept-potential. And in need of training, unlike Van or myself – or the other two, we might’ve rammed them through the curriculum in a bit of a rush but they did get all of it. They certainly don’t need any more training in ethics, which White Winds is supposed to be very strong on. Jisa, though…” A thin smile. “I’m not sure we want her training as a mage in Haven anyway. Shavri’s pushing hard for us to keep that particular Gift a secret even after she’s back. Seemed a little ridiculous to me at first, but…I can see the value in having a trained Adept that our enemies don’t know about, even if we’re wrong about the supposed assassin.”

Dara blinked. It all made a great deal of sense, but even so she was struggling to catch up.

“Another upside,” Savil added, “is that Jisa isn’t currently responsible for any mage-work that would need to be covered, unlike the other two. She would be ecstatic to go on an adventure to Rethwellan, whereas Nani and Tamara would find it a burden. Plus, she’s incredibly charming and loves to make friends; she might have a better chance of recruiting for us. Nani and Tamara are very nice young women, but they’re both a bit shy.”

Dara rubbed her eyes. “Will Shavri allow it?” she said finally.

“I can talk her into it, I think, if I push hard on the secrecy angle. Rethwellan is hardly dangerous; we’ve been allied with them to one degree or another for our entire history. We obviously wouldn’t send her alone. I’m not sure who would most make sense as a chaperone, but there are plenty of excuses to send a Herald over. Our public story for sending Jisa is going to be more complicated – maybe we can wrangle something about her meeting other Mindhealers. Presumably they exist over there as well.”

Presumably, though Dara had never considered the question. A sudden idea lit up her chest. “Oh!” She nearly dropped the biscuit she had just picked out into her tea. “Savil, we need to send someone to Jkatha anyway. Since the Council approved contracting with one of the mercenary companies I met down there. What if we tacked that onto a diplomatic mission to Rethwellan? Send a Herald or two and some of the Guard with Jisa, they spend a bit of time in Petras, Jisa gets dropped off at White Winds and the caravan keeps going, and retrieves her on the way back. I expect they’ll need a few months for travel and negotiations.”

Savil was nodding along. “That does seem to work out. My impression was that the standard White Winds training is several years, but we honestly don’t have time for that, so we’d better hope they’re willing to accept her for an accelerated version.”

Dara, personally, didn’t think there would be any problem there. Not for a young girl as obviously talented as Jisa. They’ll be jumping at the chance to have her.

“Who would you send?” Savil said. “For the mercenary negotiations, I mean.”

Dara chewed and swallowed her bite of biscuit and washed it down with a gulp of tea. “Sorry. I don’t have a strong pick among the Heralds, but I do have an idea for the Guard-representative. Your niece.”

“Lissa?” A slow smile grew. “Yes, actually, I think she would do rather well. Though you’d be best off picking a Herald with a delicate touch for diplomacy, to balance it out. Liss can be rather…blunt.”

Dara smirked despite herself. “I know. She’ll do brilliantly down there.” Assuming she was better at haggling than her brother, which seemed likely. “Anyway, all of this is on the premise that I can pry her loose from Lord Marshal Reven.”

“Shouldn’t be an issue if Randi orders it.” Savil stroked the tip of her nose. “Lissa’s never really found a place to slot in here in Haven. I’m sure Reven will miss her, but she’s hardly indispensable.”

Dara nodded. “Keiran said that’s the problem with a born war-commander,” she mused. “You never know what to do with one in peacetime.”

Savil grimaced. “That’s one problem we might solve soon enough.”

Blowing snow across a silver-grey sky–

“Herald Vanyel.”

“Leareth.”

In parallel, they both began to walk.

(It was an unsurprising dream-interval – about two weeks had passed. Vanyel was relieved to find that, again, he had sufficiently reinforced his shields before falling asleep, and hadn’t accidentally pulled Stef in along with him.)

They met in the middle, and worked silently, almost companionably, to raise a wall of snow-blocks, hiding the silent army at Leareth’s back.

Leareth sat, and waited.

(It seemed like the onus was on him today, Vanyel thought. Fair enough. He had pressed Leareth quite hard in the previous dream, and it would be obvious to the man that something had changed between them.)

“Have you thought any further on possible compromises?” Vanyel said finally. “What I gave you is only an example I came up with in five minutes. There’s a wide range of possibilities that my King might accept.”

Leareth’s black eyes settled on him, unreadable. “I have given it thought. I will need to consider it for longer before I am ready to give you a more thorough answer.” A pause. “There are some things I will say now.”

Vanyel nodded, watching expectantly.

“As I have said before,” Leareth started, “if you wished to come north and speak, I would welcome you. I am not willing to come south, not because I distrust you, but because I distrust the work of the gods here, and expect more interference to be possible in Valdemar.” A fractional dip of his eyelids. “I do think that perhaps we ought not meet face to face.”

“Because of the difficulties with trust?” Vanyel raised his eyebrows. “Fair enough. I’m sure we could figure something out.”

(Leareth had to be worried that Vanyel would agree to meet him in person only to have an opportunity to call Final Strike. Vanyel, for his part, was very aware that Leareth might be skilled enough to lay a compulsion right through his shields, without his even noticing. No – probably better that they keep their distance.)

“Yes.” A faint smile. “I would accept precautions that limit both of us equally. On the other questions – I will tell you now, I do not think there is any world in which I would accept a bond with a Companion of Valdemar. That is one binding I do not with to risk.”

Vanyel nodded. “Understood.”

(He hadn’t expected otherwise, even on the assumption that it was possible to find a Companion who would go along with the plan – in fact, in Leareth’s place he would probably flat-out refuse as well. His own connection with Yfandes might have eventually worked out for the best, but at points in the middle it had been very unclear.)

“In terms of changes to my plan,” Leareth went on, “I am not prepared to make promises at this point, but I am very interested in your input.” He spoke deliberately, choosing each word with care. “In the fullness of time, if I were satisfied that you and I were working toward the same aims, I would show you all aspects of my plan – and if you were able to name a part that seemed to you unsafe, I would take that very seriously. You are an ally I very much wish to have, Herald Vanyel.”

“As an equal?” Vanyel said, surprised.

A thin smile. “Perhaps not yet. It is still the case that I know more than you and have a deeper understanding. This is not your fault, Herald Vanyel, and does not reflect poorly on you at all; if anything, it is to your credit that you have mastered so much so quickly. Given another fifty years, I expect you would catch up.” His voice was still level, but his eyes gave away the slightest hint of…pride?

(Fifty years. Leareth put no particular emphasis on the words – to him, Vanyel thought, it must not seem like very long at all.)

“Noted,” he said. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to swear an oath that if I do agree to learn from you for the next fifty years, at the end of it you’ll accept any part of the plan I still want to veto?”

(It was probably moot, because he doubted Randi would accept that ‘compromise’; Tran definitely wouldn’t. They both had to fear that Leareth might corrupt him fully, given that time.)

There was a long silence. Vanyel waited, unperturbed.

“It is not an oath I would take lightly,” Leareth said finally. “I will think on it.”

(That was probably the best he could hope for, and more than he had expected.)

“On the matter of a power source,” Leareth said, “I doubt there is a workable replacement, and I am not willing to give up my current plan on the premise that one exists. However, if you were to discover an alternative, I would be eternally grateful.”

(Eternally. Leareth, Vanyel reflected, was one of the only people who could use that word literally.)

“I’ll do my best,” he said, smiling. “Anyway, I think that covers all the points I had brought up. Do you have any to add?”

A long pause.

“There are certain actions you might take,” Leareth said slowly, “that I would see as a strong show of good faith.” He waited for Vanyel to nod.  “One. There is a little-known technique for swearing an oath that is truly binding, with the aid of mage-compulsions. I would not ask that you bind yourself to aid in my plan, or even not to interfere; I do not wish to compromise your free will any more than necessary. I would request only that you swear not to cause my death by your own actions.” A pause. “Two. If you were to give up your bond with your Companion.”

Vanyel froze, locking down his expression. Trying not to reveal the shock and churning horror in his gut – though, really, he wasn’t sure why he bothered to hide it.

“You are distressed by the idea.” Leareth’s voice was matter-of-fact. “I understand your hesitation. This is not a necessary condition of our working together, Herald Vanyel. You claim your Companion has weakened the fetters of her god, and will no longer hold you back.” A barely-noticeable flicker of an eyelid, there and gone. “Perhaps you are even right. I had no expectation you would agree to this, Herald Vanyel; I propose it merely in the spirit of honesty between us. It would allay my concerns that your mind is not entirely your own, but that is not the main reason. It is because it is so costly to you that it would provide such a powerful sign of your alignment with my goals.”

(Of course. Vanyel still felt sick at the thought of it, his heart pounding in his ears, but the quiet voice in the back of his mind could still acknowledge that Leareth had a point. Yfandes might have broken loose of the blocks on her thinking, but that didn’t mean she was entirely free – and Leareth couldn’t afford to take Vanyel’s words on faith anyway.)

“I appreciate your willingness to share it,” he forced himself to say. “I’ll…have to think about it.”

(There was a sort of trust in it that was almost touching; it was hard to put his finger on why, exactly, but it was a sign that Leareth thought well of Vanyel’s maturity and reasoning ability, to expect he could consider the hypothetical without taking offence or feeling betrayed. Taking that as a given, Leareth could simply offer it as information – just like Vanyel had done in their last conversation, listing examples of possible compromises without expecting Leareth to accept any of the particulars.)

Leareth’s response was a fractional nod, and respectful silence.

Vanyel took a deep breath. “Moving on, then. What was next on your agenda?”

Chapter Text

A knock. “Healer Shavri?”

Shavri blinked, her thoughts scattering. “Who – oh, it’s you.” The voice was muffled, but easily recognizable. She shoved together the stack of papers spread across her dining table; it wasn’t like she had been making much progress; and rose with a groan. “I’m coming.”

Unbolting the door, she found Treven standing on her threshold, shifting his weight from one foot to the other – it was the closest she had seen him come to fidgeting. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and nodded deeply to her, almost a bow – as always, he was painfully polite with her. “Good evening, Healer Shavri.”

“What is it, lad?” she said warily. And why had he come all this way to find her? She was in her own quarters, rather than Randi’s suite or the room next to the office of the Monarch’s Own where she sometimes worked in the daytime.

“Healer Shavri, I–” His throat bobbed. “May I speak with you?”

She had never seen him tongue-tied. What’s got you, boy? Whatever it was, it seemed like it was probably her duty to find out, rather than sending him away and going to bed like she wanted to. “Come on in,” she said, hoping her reluctance wasn’t too visible.

Treven seemed to find his footing a little as she ushered him inside and gestured for him to take a seat at the table. She thought about offering him tea, but putting the kettle on felt like too much effort. Instead, she sagged back into her own chair.

“Well, go on,” she said.

Treven laid his palms flat on the table, leaning forward slightly; it was a mannerism he must have picked up from Randi. “Shavri, have you heard any news of how Jisa is doing?”

It had been about three weeks. “No,” she said, suspicion rising. “Though we weren’t expecting to. K’Treva is awfully long-range for the communication spell, and Van would only try to contact us if something was wrong. No news is good news. Why do you ask?”

Treven licked his lips. “It’s just, I was worried about her.”

“I’m sure she’s fine.” Shavri had been trying to tell herself that for weeks. “Moondance will have gotten her Healed up in a couple of days. I bet she’s having a wonderful time.”

Treven nodded, but there was still something restless in his eyes. His jaw twitched; he seemed to be torn on whether to say more.

Shavri felt her eyes narrowing. A boy hopelessly in love, Melody had said. “Treven. What, exactly, are your intentions towards my daughter?”

Treven squirmed in the chair. “I…well…that’s something I wanted to talk to you about, actually.”

“Talk, then. I’m listening.”

He took a deep breath, and let it out through his nose. “Shavri, I – I like her. I really like her. She’s so brilliant and funny and brave and, and – and so everything.” A flash of pure longing in his eyes. “And I haven’t – I don’t even know why I’m coming to you, I wanted to talk to her about it first, but she’s not here.” His face crumpled. “I…miss her. A lot. I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“I see.” Even though it was exactly what she had been afraid of, Shavri felt, but with a pang of sympathy. She had once been young and in love, bursting with it; she could recognize the signs.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” she heard herself say. “Even if you know she’s fine.”

Treven nodded, shoulders drooping. “She’s probably happy,” he said dully. “I know she loves it there, she’s talked about…” He trailed off. “Shouldn’t begrudge her that.” He sat up straighter. “I mustn’t hold her back, I know that. She’s too…I don’t even know, but she’s too much. Sometimes I’m amazed the whole world is big enough to hold her.” The words tumbled out, urgent, impassioned, and then he subsided. “I, just…I hope she’s thinking of me as well.”

“I’m sure she is.” Suddenly she was, even though she hadn’t thought about it until now. I didn’t want to see it. “Treven, I can’t speak for my daughter, and she hasn’t confided anything in me, but…I’d be very surprised if she didn’t feel the same way.”

“Oh.” Relief, dawning hope. “Shavri…” Treven cleared his throat. “I don’t want you to worry. I want to do right by her – I don’t ever want to hurt her – I won’t ever pressure her into anything, I swear.” He swallowed. “I know you’re probably not happy about it. I’m the heir and that means Valdemar has to come first, and – and I know she deserves better. But I’ll try to be good to her, I promise. I’ll try really, really hard.”

He sounded so desperately earnest, Shavri had to bite down on a giggle. If she started laughing, she was going to be crying soon enough, and besides it would probably hurt his feelings. “You want my blessing. Well, Treven – all I’ll say is, I don’t think it’s ever a good idea to get between Jisa and what she really wants. And…it’s not my right to do that. So I won’t try. The rest is up to her.”

She closed her eyes. It’s your life, pet. I never owned you. Just, please, make the right choices.

“Father?”

Brightstar’s voice at the door dragged Vanyel out of a loop of thoughts that, honestly, hadn’t been particularly productive. He was stretched out on one of the benches in the clearing behind Starwind and Moondance’s ekele, a book in his lap that he hadn’t been reading. Stef, bored, had wandered off some time ago.

Vanyel smiled, sitting up and shifting over on the bench. “Join me?”

Brightstar nodded and sat, sweeping his waist-length white hair over one shoulder. His silver eyes were very solemn. A moment later, he reached out with a Mindtouch. :Father, I wished to speak of...: A long hesitation. :Of Leareth: The ragged edge to his mindvoice revealed just how raw the topic still was for him.

Nearly three weeks had passed since Moondance had summoned Brightstar and Featherfire to the upstairs ekele and Vanyel had given them the basics while they listened in stunned silence. If either of them had had questions, they must have taken them to Moondance. Featherfire had been spending more time with him since – when she wasn’t outside the Vale scouting, she would often drift over to the ekele and sit with him, weaving baskets or stringing necklaces while he read or scribbled notes – but they hadn’t actually talked about it, and Vanyel hadn’t pressed.

:Of course: he sent.

Brightstar dragged a hand over his jaw, clean of stubble – like most of the Tayledras, he didn’t really need to shave. :Father, I want to help. I thought perhaps…: He took a deep breath. :My da and pa spoke to you of Shaman Va’liran shena Pretera'sedrin?:

Vanyel hid a smile; Brightstar had clearly joined the venerable tradition of youngsters deciding that their childhood names for their parents were too, well, childish. :Yes: he sent. :Well, not his name, but that a shaman had visited. They said you spent a lot of time with him, and they thought you might be interested in becoming a shaman, but you decided not to go with him:

Brightstar nodded. :Some part of me wished it, and yet…I was not ready: He reached for Vanyel’s arm. :Had I followed his path, Father, I might never have seen you again:

Or any of his friends and family in k’Treva. That was a good point, one Vanyel hadn’t considered. :I’m glad you stayed: he admitted.

:So am I: Brightstar bowed his head for a moment. :Father, there are many things I learned. Secrets of their people, that ordinarily only an apprentice shaman would hear, in Kata’shin’a’in. Shaman Va’liran told me he would make an exception. That he thought I might need this lore, though he was not sure when or why: His silver eyes were intent. :Since then, I have had dreams:

Vanyel had been holding his breath since the first sentence, and he felt his back stiffen. :Dreams of the future, you mean? Like Moondance?: Maybe that wasn’t so surprising, given that Brightstar was a Healing-Adept as well, but it still unnerved him a little.

:I believe so. They are…not very clear: Brightstar frowned. :My da says it is like that. I see the edge of a pattern, mostly in darkness: He shook his head. :I felt I knew you would come, Father, and I now believe this is why Shaman Va’liran taught me as he did:

Vanyel felt the breath gush out of him. :You think the Star-Eyed wanted me to know?:

:Perhaps, or perhaps more than that: Nothing but sincerity in Brightstar’s gaze. :It seems the Goddess wished for you to visit Kata’shin’a’in and learn from the shamans there, and even to witness the ruins of my forefather Urtho’s Tower: Awe in his mindvoice.

Vanyel shivered. Yes, the Goddess had clearly approved of his mission – and that was all the more reason to be suspicious of what he had learned there.

:And I ask myself: Brightstar went on :what might I teach you that their best shamans could not? Nothing. I am an ignorant child next to them, on those matters: His shoulders rose and fell. :And yet, I am a Healing-Adept, and perhaps there are things I might do that they cannot. Father, I believe there is something I must needs help you with:

Vanyel tried not to shiver. The light in Brightstar’s eyes… Faith. His son deeply, truly believed that the Goddess was on his people’s side. Vanyel had seen that same expression in Karis’ face – most vividly, when she had knelt and prayed for ten minutes on the night Arven had been conceived – and it had been just as unsettling then as it was now.

Still, did it matter what his motivations were for passing on the shaman’s lessons? All information is worth having.

Brightstar’s eyes were still clinging to his. :You brought me into this world: he sent, impassioned. :I owe you my life, Father. Every breath I take: A shudder. :And now you are in danger. If there is even a chance that I might help… I would offer you anything: His long fingers curled around Vanyel’s hands. :Please, Father, let me pay back this debt:

:Brightstar, I–: Vanyel had been about to protest that that definitely wasn’t how parenthood worked, and besides which, he had done much less of the work than Snowlight, let alone Starwind or Moondance.

He stopped himself. Brightstar looked so earnest and proud to help, and he might actually :I would appreciate any help you can give me: he finished instead. The gods knew he needed it – probably literally, in fact, though he would have preferred it was just a turn of phrase.

Brightstar beamed. :Then I will tell you of what I learned, and perhaps together we will see a way. First. I learned to walk the Moonpaths: A shrug. :Not such secret lore. All Shin’a’in can learn it, though it is not commonly known among my people: He waited, expectant.

:Right: Vanyel rubbed his eyes. :I’ve been to the Moonpaths – er, by accident a few times, in dreams, and I was able to do it twice by Mindtouching a Heartstone. And a Shin’a’in shaman took me there to ask one of the leshy’a Kal’enedral a question:

:Oh: Brightstar’s eyes had gone very wide. :The Heartstone… Yes, I see the path, though the link is not direct. Was it very difficult?:

:I have the impression I was mainly getting the Star-Eyed’s attention, and then she brought me there: Vanyel grimaced. :Not a method I would recommend. Anyway, you’re saying there’s actually a trick anyone can learn?:

:Not anyone: Brightstar admitted, :but I am told that any of my people can learn it, because of our bond with the Goddess, and I think you are Tayledras enough:

Vanyel gritted his teeth. :Would you teach me?: It might be useful, even if the idea terrified him, and the concept of being Tayledras enough to be at all bound to the Star-Eyed Goddess was very uncomfortable.

A quicksilver smile. :Of course: Brightstar’s hands tightened around his. :You know of the leshy’a Kal’enedral, then:

:Yes: Probably more than he was supposed to. Vanyel ducked his head. :I’m told they’re the spirits of those Swordsworn who chose to serve the Goddess after death, and they’re meant to be guardians and advisors: At the time, Karna had compared them to Companions, and he hadn’t understood – and then, many months later, he had made the connection. Yfandes too was a guardian spirit, one who had once been human.

Brightstar bobbed his head. :That is what Shaman Va’liran said to me. Only the bravest and wisest. They act as our Goddess’ eyes and hands in the world, to bring about Her will: His eyes shone; clearly it seemed wonderful to him, rather than creepy and horrifying.

:Right: Vanyel sent.

:And of course: Brightstar went on, :they do not age and die. Your Leareth is immortal, no?:

Vanyel winced. :He’s not my Leareth. Er, and he does age, I think. He just switches bodies when his old one dies, takes over someone else’s. Not always immediately, so I think he must have some way of keeping his spirit housed without a body at all. I don’t know how:

Brightstar didn’t flinch at all. :Oh. That must mean…: He closed his eyes, brow furrowing. :His spirit must leave the dying body and pass first through the Void, on its way to the spirit realm – but something catches it first: A frown. :It would have to be in the Void itself. A spell of some kind, though I have never heard of such a thing. How could one hold it stable? The void is a place of chaos and change, no structure to build upon…: He trailed off, lips moving silently, eyes moving beneath closed eyelids.

Vanyel let him think for a while. :Brightstar: he sent finally. :How do you know that a dying spirit always goes via the Void?:

Brightstar’s eyes popped open. :I have Seen it, of course:

:What?: Vanyel could feel his jaw sagging open. :How?:

:Winterstorm died this past autumn: Brightstar shrugged, radiating a youngster’s matter-of-factness in the face of death. :I sat vigil with him, and…I might have followed a little, to watch. I was curious:

:Followed?: Vanyel sent blankly.

:Not with my body. To project my mind only… It is not so different from the step onto the Moonpaths: Brightstar clearly didn’t think it was a big deal at all.

:Wait: Vanyel sent. :Brightstar, where are the Moonpaths, relative to the Void?: Maybe it was a stupid question, but it wasn’t like anyone had ever explained it to him.

:The Moonpaths are in the spirit realm: Brightstar explained. :The paths are simply those areas that our Goddess has made safe – safer – for mortals. It is possible to leave the path, but Shaman Va’liran did not recommend it:

The flash of guilty pride in his eyes told Vanyel that his son had almost certainly done some exploring anyway.

:The mist you see to either side of the Moonpaths is made of spirits: Brightstar added, like it was completely obvious, the sort of thing any child would know. :Those of humans and other thinking races - and also animals, I am told, though theirs are much simpler and one cannot tell them apart from each other at all:

Vanyel rubbed his eyes. :I see: He wasn’t sure he did – in fact, he wasn’t sure he believed the last bit – but he could catch up later. :And the Void? I know Gates cut through it, because distance isn’t the same there, but that’s all:

:The Void is simply what lies between and connects all planes: Brightstar sent, simply. :To send my body there – or any object from the material plane – I suppose I would have to build a one-sided Gate. Projecting my spirit alone is much easier: Another furtive sideways glance. :If I were to tell you a thing, might you promise not to share it with my da and pa?:

Vanyel tried not to roll his eyes. :Is it something horribly dangerous you did? I guess if it’s done it’s done. I’ll keep your secret:

Brightstar tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. :I sent my spirit to the Abyssal Plane:

Vanyel choked on his own saliva. Sputtering, he fended off Brightstar’s attempts to thump his back. :Gods. That sounds like a terrible idea. You’re lucky you weren’t eaten by a demon: If the Abyssal beings could possess humans even when they were stranded outside their native plane, it didn’t bear thinking about what they could do with the home-ground advantage.

:I would not care to repeat it: Brightstar made a face. :What a strange place: Then his eyes brightened. :Oh! Could I show you something else?:

:If it’s not a way of nearly getting yourself killed, sure:

Nodding eagerly, Brightstar held his gaze. :Use your mage-sight, Father. Watch me center and ground:

He was lightning-fast at it; gods, Vanyel was slower even after two decades of practice. Something was odd, different, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He frowned. :Sorry, I might’ve missed it – oh!:

Brightstar was grinning ear to ear. His aura, gold veined with silvery-blue, blazed against Vanyel’s mage-sight, perfectly aligned, and he was solidly grounded, but not in the rippling mage-currents that lay in the earth beneath them.

:You’re grounded in the Void: Vanyel sent, dizzy. :You can’t do that!:

:It is risky: Brightstar admitted, a note of strain in his mindvoice. :I must be perfectly in control, or else the Void will drain my reserves. Yet, if you were to throw a strike at me…:

He looked so hopeful – and unlike Jisa, he was fully-trained, and Vanyel knew the exact limits of his Gift. He raised his hand, and flung a bolt of pure mage-energies, at close to the maximum power he could manage from reserves alone.

Brightstar’s aura swallowed it. Not deflected from his shields, or even absorbed into his reserves; the energy was just gone.

:That was not even very difficult: Brightstar sent, smug. :I simply redirected it through to the Void. I might take such attacks all day:

:Until you get distracted and the goddamned Void drains you unconscious: Vanyel sent tartly. :Brightstar, that’s very impressive, but can you drop it now? You’re making me nervous:

:If I must: A very teenage sigh, and Brightstar’s aura rippled and re-settled. He was smiling serenely, but Vanyel was watching closely enough to notice the pulse jumping at his throat and the beads of sweat around his hairline. His little trick was a lot more tiring than he was trying to let on.

It wasn’t like he could blame Brightstar for hiding any sign of exhaustion or weakness behind bravado; he had done the same thing himself a hundred times. Like father, like son.

:The Void is not so dangerous: Brightstar sent. :It is simply empty. My spirit is safe there as long as I am careful:

Right. That little tangent had entirely thrown him off track. :You watched a dying spirit move through the Void as it left the body: Vanyel summarized. :And you concluded that Leareth must have constructed something there, but you’re not sure how:

A slow nod. :Perhaps…: Brightstar’s hands moved in the air. :Not built in the Void, but…with it. The passage of a Gate distorts the Void, and opens the tiniest of cracks to all the adjacent planes – I have watched that as well, it was very interesting. With enough power, one might distort it further, fold it into a new shape, and then there would have to be some way of holding it steady…:

Vanyel had been close enough in the Mindspeech link to catch some of Brightstar’s thoughts – holding up the pure concept of a plane in his mind, the structure that was reality, playing with it – and he was half-awed. How did I never realize he was so clever? Brightstar, unlike Jisa, had never been bookish at all – but he had mastered any and all magical techniques intuitively, with near-effortless ease.

:Can you walk me through that again?: he sent, leaning deeper into the mindlink and simultaneously reaching for Yfandes. She had to see this. :Slowly, please. Your old father isn’t as quick as you:

Content, exhausted, and very full – the elusive hertasi, he had never glimpsed one despite Jisa’s insistence that they were friendly, had kept sneaking more plates of incredible food under his nose – Stef wandered back towards the ekele. An excellent afternoon, in his opinion. The Tayledras scouts of his age were friendly and welcoming, especially to a talented Bard.

It had, overall, been a good few weeks. As promised, Starwind had spoken to the other elders, and word had gone out with the scouts. The kyree delegation had visited a day ago. Their FarRanger hadn’t been nearly as welcoming as Aroon, but Stef had showed them the talisman, and passed on his message for the Hot Springs Clan. Stef still wasn’t sure how he was supposed to hear back from them, exactly – he wasn’t going to be in k’Treva forever – but that was something he could figure out later.

Vanyel had been in one of his quiet moods all morning, turned in on himself, and Stef had eventually gotten tired of trying to engage with him. It was bad enough when Van was having a head-down-working sort of day, and would fend off Stef’s kisses, protesting he was busy and needed to focus. Somehow, the times when Van was lost in thought and didn’t even notice his affection stung worse.

Hopefully he had snapped out of it by now. He usually did after a few candlemarks; Stef just hated waiting around in the meantime, like he had nothing better to do with himself. It felt pathetic. And it wasn’t true – he was very popular here, he had plenty to do, whether or not Van felt like doing it with him.

It was going to feel good to lie down. He hadn’t used his Gift all that much, but it had been a long day, and the exhaustion had hit hard along with the sunset.

Approaching the clearing behind the ekele, he heard voices. One voice, at least – it sounded like Brightstar. “Father, please rest a moment.”

A murmured answer, too low for him to catch.

Stef sped his pace, shoving through the greenery. Gods, Van… He hadn’t paid much attention to their bond all afternoon; all right, maybe he had been piqued with Vanyel; but he reached for it now, diving into his sense of Vanyel.

No sign of pain or distress, except for a touch of embarrassment, but there was a sucking emptiness.

“I feel better now, actually,” he heard Vanyel saying, hoarsely, a moment before he staggered out into the small courtyard-clearing.

“Van!” he said, frantically looking around. “Van-ashke, are you – oh.” His lifebonded was huddled on the same bench where Stef had left him, head in his hands. Brightstar was beside him, a mage-light hovering above the two of them. Yfandes was standing nearby, but she seemed calm.

As he approached, Vanyel lifted his head. “Stef?” A pulse of relief-joy-guilt through their bond.

Stef crossed the courtyard in five paces and dropped to his knees in front of Vanyel, reaching for his hands. “Brightstar, what happened? Is he ill?”

“I’m fine,” Vanyel interjected. “I was just being stupid. Stef, calm down, I’m not hurt.” A crooked smile. “Even escaped without a reaction-headache this time. You’re right, Brightstar, there’s a technique to it.”

“Van, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” His partner’s hands were trembling, and very cold between Stef’s fingers. “What did you do?”

“Brightstar took me to the Moonpaths,” Vanyel explained. “We stepped in and out about ten times until I got the hang of it, and then we explored for a while. Couldn’t feel my body over there, so I didn’t realize how drained I was until we came back. I really do feel a lot better though–” Sudden suspicion. “…Stef, are you sending me energy?”

So that’s what it is. “Not on purpose!” Stef protested. “I mean, I would anyway if I knew how, you clearly need it, but I don’t.” It just seemed to be happening.

“Right. I didn’t think of that.” Vanyel was frowning. “You don’t know how to shield the lifebond, do you? I usually shield it if I’m planning to do mage-work and I don’t want to drain you as well. Sorry, I forgot this time.” Pulling his hands free of Stef’s grasp, he stood up – and then wobbled for a moment before half-falling back onto the bench with a grunt.

“Put your head down,” Brightstar said firmly, pushing between his shoulder blades. Vanyel resisted for a moment and then gave in, laying his forehead on his knees. “Good,” Brightstar murmured. “Rest there a moment. You are very drained. Have you the strength to reach our Heartstone?”

Vanyel groaned. “Guess there’s no harm in it. Not like the Goddess doesn’t know I’m here.”

Stef was confused – again – but now didn’t seem like the time to ask. Vanyel was silent for a moment, and then the sucking feeling in Stef’s chest receded.

“Ah.” Slowly and cautiously this time, he straightened up. “I think I can stand now. Gods, that hit me hard.”

So much for Van having the energy to do anything in bed tonight, Stef thought with irritation. “Come lie down,” he said out loud.

Vanyel caught his eye with a grateful smile, then turned to Brightstar. “Could you, um, give me a hand?”

“Of course, Father.” Brightstar scrambled up and offered his arm, and with Stef on his other side, Vanyel levered himself upright. They made it back to the bedroom without incident.

Yet another of the hertasi must have made it in and out without any of their noticing; there was a fresh tray on the table by the window. Stef filled a cup with chilled fruit juice and set it in Van’s hands. An exhausted mage needed sweet liquids, Moondance had said, to replenish their strength.

Vanyel, to his surprise, swallowed half of it in a few gulps. “Ah. That tastes incredible. Gods, I’m ravenous.”

“That’s funny.” His lifebonded tended not to have any appetite right after heavy mage-work; Stef, after one experience dealing with a very cranky Vanyel the next morning, had gotten into the habit of coaxing him to eat anyway.

Relieved, he gave up on his quest to fill one of the little wooden bowls with a semi-balanced meal of snacks, and just lifted the entire tray and set it in the middle of the bed. “There. Go for it.” Brightstar was still hovering by the door, uncertain. “Are you hungry too?” Stef said. “There’s plenty for you too.” 

Brightstar hesitated, then joined them on the bed, folding his long legs under him.

“I wasn’t using node-energy,” Vanyel said, mouth full. “That’s what suppresses the appetite most, more than draining your own reserves.” He chewed and swallowed, washing it down with the rest of the juice and reaching for the jug again. “Brightstar, I did want to finish our conversation from earlier. Oh, and Stef’s here now – that’s good, I wanted his thoughts on it.”

Stef had been starting to wonder if Vanyel had flat-up forgotten that he hadn’t been there all afternoon. I hate missing important conversations. It wasn’t that Van would ever hold anything back deliberately, but he wasn’t very organized about catching Stef up, and dragging it out of him bit by bit got frustrating. In practice, he ended up missing bits and pieces of context for days. I’m tired of playing catch-up.

He would really have preferred some time alone with his lifebonded, but he would take being included in the conversation, if that was what was available to him.

“Of course.” Brightstar glanced meaningfully at the door.

“Oh, right. Can you give us a sound-barrier?” Vanyel grimaced. “Mustn’t give Jisa any more ideas. Thank you. Where were we? Right. I meant to talk a bit about the Cataclysm, and these mage-storms Leareth claims are coming. I’m not sure if your parents mentioned it, but we’re hoping to come up with some theories of our own before I press him on it.” His lips twitched. “And you have an excellent, well, hands-on grasp of extra-planar geometry, which seems quite relevant. Figured I’d bounce some of my thoughts off you and see what falls out.”

Brightstar was practically glowing. “Of course, Father. You had said that you learned from Urtho’s Tower what had caused the Cataclysm?” Awe in his eyes. “I did not think that anybody knew.”

I know this one. Vanyel had his mouth full again, so Stef went ahead and answered for him. “According to Ravenwing’s memory tapestry in Kata’shin’a’in, there were three triggers that combined to set off the Cataclysm – Urtho’s Final Strike and the failsafes on his Tower, a weapon Urtho built that was used in a counterattack against Ma’ar – probably in Predain, around where Lake Evendim is now – and something to do with a Gate being destroyed. The records in the Tower had bit more information on the weapon; it was meant to destabilize and tear apart all spells and release the mage-energy from them, and that energy would hit nearby spells and start a cascade, spreading it further. It made anyone Gifted very ill, but that was probably a side effect, not the main purpose.”

Vanyel’s hand drifted to rest almost possessively against Stef’s ribs, and Stef felt the brush of his mind. :You have the most incredible memory. I gave you that list one time:

Stef didn’t see why it was so impressive – it had been pretty memorable. Still, the pride spilling over in the overtones made him feel warm all over.

Brightstar, oblivious to the silent exchange, stared into a spot in midair. “The Tower,” he said suddenly. “What kind of energy?”

“What – oh. Mostly material energy in our plane, I would think. Heat and light. The entire thing was melted down to slag.” Vanyel frowned. “Come to think of it, though, I think the damned artifact that nearly killed me let out a pulse of mage-energies along with the main explosion. Brief, but very powerful.” He curled his free hand into a fist and released it. Remembering old pain, Stef thought, noting again the faint texture of burn-scars. Van must have done a lot of self-Healing; the much older mage-lightning scars across his chest were still far more visible.

Brightstar was nodding along. “As I thought. All of the planes are connected – any sufficient release of mage-energies in this plane will disturb the others, and the ripples will take some time to stabilize.”

Vanyel’s eyebrows rose. “Hmm. I gather you’ve observed this yourself?”

Brightstar nodded, shy and pleased at the same time.

“You really are remarkable.” Vanyel reached for another of the delicate fruit-rolls, paused with it inches away from his mouth. “Ripples. That’s what Leareth described – he said that ripples from the Cataclysm would echo back to haunt us. That it had destabilized the structure of the world.” He closed his eyes. “He said he saw enough signs at the time, though I don’t know what they were, but he didn’t put together the consequences for many centuries. Knowing what I do about him, I imagine he saw the implication once he had put together his theory of how the various planes work – Brightstar, that’s the one I mentioned to you.”

Brightstar frowned. “But he is either wrong or he did not tell you everything. It is not that every other plane is in a different ‘direction’. They all lie on the other side of the Void from where we are.”

“It’s in the middle?” Stef said.

Vanyel shrugged and spoke over him. “Right. I’d say it’s more likely he didn’t tell me everything – I had enough trouble wrapping my head around what he did say. Brightstar, you might’ve done better. It seems like you have an incredible intuition for, well, the sorts of things I try to think about with lots of maths.”

Brightstar screwed up his face. “Sums? No!”

“Not just arithmetic. Brightstar, there are higher maths that try to describe the…shapes and patterns of things. I can try to teach you later, or maybe just get Yfandes to do it, she’s much better.”

Brightstar seemed dubious, but let it slide. “Echoes,” he said. “If one drops a rock in a trough of water, it makes a wave, and the wave will bounce off the sides and come back to the middle, but it takes a little while. He brightened. “If it were a very big trough – as big as all the space in all the planes – and a tall enough wave, it might take a long time.”

“Two thousand years?” Vanyel said doubtfully. “Do the planes even have edges, for something to ‘bounce off’?”

“I do not know.” Brightstar’s eyes lit up. “I could go look!”

Vanyel had finally noticed Stef’s confused expression. “Stef, Brightstar has been telling me that he knows how to project his mind into various other planes. The Moonpaths are in the spirit world, but he can jump to the Void as well.” He turned back to his son. “Brightstar, that doesn’t sound safe. You told me that the shaman said it was dangerous to travel too far from your body.”

“I would be careful,” Brightstar promised vaguely, distracted. “You said that there was a Gate as well?”

“The Goddess mentioned it. We can assume it was a permanent Gate-threshold, and we believe they can be shut down in a destructive way, releasing all the energies in the set-spell at once. Savil and I obviously haven’t tried that, so we aren’t sure how destructive it would be, but surely not on the level of the Cataclysm. Urtho considered doing it during the war, and it would have destroyed the entire city, but not the kingdom, much less half the world.” A pause. “Actually, Urtho’s Tower shouldn’t have done that much damage either. It doesn’t seem like him at all to build in failsafes that would flatten the rest of his Kingdom if he ever had to use them – he just wanted to keep the Tower itself out of enemy hands. Even the weapon… If he’d known we would still be dealing with the damage today, there’s no way he would have used it.” 

“Maybe setting off all three at once was a lot worse than any one on its own,” Stef offered.

“Must be. Or possibly Urtho didn’t fully understand what the weapon would do to other planes.” Vanyel shook his head. “I mean, it is supposed to be a bad idea to throw around a lot of mage-energies near an active Gate. Urtho would’ve known that, surely, but if whoever he gave the weapon didn’t… Brightstar, do you have any sense of what would happen if this weapon we described went off near an active Gate?”

Brightstar scrunched up his face. “There would be cracks to other planes…the energy released might tear those wider, and leak through. And then…oh!” A visible flinch. “The cascade could spread to other planes as well.”

Vanyel’s eyes widened, and Stef sensed the chill that rose in him through their bond. “That doesn’t sound good.”

Stef had to agree, even though he was only half-following. I wish you would slow down for a second and let me catch up.

Chapter Text

Lissa ran the oiled cloth in her hand up and down the blade that rested in her lap. Not that Need required cleaning, she was polished to a mirror-sheen, but Lissa had started to think of it like grooming her horse. It was soothing for her, and she assumed Need liked it as well.

“You know,” she said out loud, “sometimes I do wish you could talk to me properly. Shavri says I would like your sense of humour.”

Her aunt’s bedroom door creaked open. “I’m pretty sure she could if she really wanted,” Savil said dryly. “Consider yourself lucky she doesn’t. It’s very distracting.”

Lissa regarded the sword for a moment. “Could you? I figure maybe you don’t for the same reason Companions don’t most of the time – it’s extra work.” Yfandes hadn’t actually said that, but it made sense. The blade had no trouble communicating with her when Lissa took her out, but it was mostly via seizing control of her limbs and taking her off in a random direction. Shavri had warned her about that, in tones that made it clear she absolutely hated it. Lissa didn’t mind. It was sort of relaxing, even fun, to let go that fully. Like being drunk, but without the accompanying clumsiness or the headache the next day.

Savil had managed to distract her from the main topic. “Well?” Lissa said impatiently. “Did you do it?”

Savil filled two cups of wine at the sideboard, and carried them over, setting Lissa’s down on the low table before lowering herself into her overstuffed chair with a sigh of relief. “Worked as well as I hoped. I was able to speak to them, and it was only a little more draining than the damned communication-spell.” A smirk. “Van was quite jealous that he hadn’t thought of it first.”

Lissa grinned back. “Neat.” Savil had explained to her that rather than using their communication-spell, which wasn’t secure, she had wanted to try building the tiniest Gate she could, from one of her practice-thresholds – she didn’t have to fit through it – and then shouting. She hadn’t known if it would work, or prove to be any easier, but apparently it had.

Lissa hadn’t heard or felt anything, of course; she wasn’t a mage, and Savil had put up thorough privacy-barriers before trying it.

“Things are fine over there,” Savil added. “Jisa’s having a blast, and her training is coming along quickly.”

Van and the others had been gone a month now, but Lissa hadn’t been briefed on the true nature of Jisa’s ‘injuries’, and the reason for their trip, until a week ago when Savil had sat her down and explained their tentative plan.

“I did ask him about our, er, other plan,” Savil added. “Starwind and Moondance aren’t exactly delighted with the idea, but he doesn’t think they’ve ruled it out.”

“Right.” It was a state secret, known only by the Senior Circle, but Lissa was in on it – Savil had gotten permission to brief her on it along with Jisa’s situation. Lissa had been very disappointed to learn that she didn’t in fact have mage-gift in potential, and so couldn’t offer herself as a test subject. It seemed to her that they were being far too pussy-footed about the whole thing, and someone ought to volunteer to push things ahead.

“He wanted another two months there,” Savil went on, “but after I told him about White Winds, he agreed to cut it down to three weeks or so.”

Lissa lifted an eyebrow. “Figure he wants an excuse to stay there longer?” She set down the cloth and reached for the wine-cup.

“I do wonder if he wants to put off coming home.” Savil shook her head. “He asked me to check with Randi if he can drop by Highjorune before he heads back.”

“Huh. Why does he want to visit Lineas-Baires?” Van got on fine with Herald Tashir, and she knew they exchanged letters, but it wasn’t like they were that close.

“Did he ever mention the Heartstone to you?”

“Briefly.” She had wrestled a not-very-helpful explanation out of him after the disastrous trail of events that had ended in his nearly dying at Father Leren’s hands. “It was a spell to prevent earthquakes?”

“There was a spell tied to it, yes. Lineas is built on a fault-line, and there’s damage from the Mage Wars that makes it unstable. At some point a Tayledras Adept did a very impressive working to hold the bedrock together, and then moved on, leaving it there. It looked fine to Van and I, but neither of us is an expert, so I asked Moondance years back if he could check it at some point.” She frowned. “Now hardly seems like the best time, but it won’t take that long, and it’d be awfully inconvenient if the entire March of Lineas-Baires collapsed in fire and brimstone while we were in the middle of a war. Anyway, he agreed to send Jisa back first, and then Gate in directly when they finish up.”

“How big a delay? I’d hate to miss him if we end up leaving before he gets back.”

“A week or two, and I don’t think we’re in that much of a rush.” Savil smiled. “You know how Shavri feels about the idea. It’s only fair to let her spend some time with her daughter before she disappears for another few months. Besides, we haven’t actually picked which Herald is going with you.”

“Is Siri available?” Lissa said hopefully.

“Siri, Siri…” Savil’s eyes slid out of focus. “Mindspeaker, right? From the cohort that graduated just after the war ended?”

“That’s right. She was in Sunhame with me.”

“Oh, I remember now. That was her first assignment, we couldn’t spare anyone more senior. Threw her right in the deep end. She’s good?”

“Very good. Smart as a whip.” More to the point, Lissa thought to herself, she would be tolerable to share a tent with.

“I’ll check. She would be a good choice for the Rethwellan part, since her first placement was diplomatic…” Savil fell silent.

Lissa leaned back against the sofa, sighing. She had been spending a lot of time in her aunt’s suite, lately, especially since Van’s departure – Savil didn’t go out much anymore, so she was often there, and for some reason Lissa’s own quarters had been feeling awfully lonely. Her days were busy, but she couldn’t spend every evening in the tavern, and she only had the stamina to deal with Mother once or twice a week.

She had other friends in the Guard, of course, but it wasn’t the same anymore. I know what’s coming. They don’t.

She stretched, yawned, and set down the empty wine-glass. “Copper for your thoughts?”

A shadow passed across her aunt’s face. “Lissa, do you ever feel like we’re coming to the end?” Her voice was heavy, incredible weariness in her eyes.

“…Not really,” Lissa admitted. “Well, actually I’m not sure what you mean. I do think things will speed up, now that we’ve told the Council, but who knows which way it’ll go?”

For Vanyel’s sake, she desperately hoped that it wouldn’t come to war – but at the same time, some secret corner of her mind reached for that certainty. I know how to fight a war. In a way, it would be simpler. Clearer.

Savil was still staring into nothing, her face mask-like.

“I am scared,” Lissa admitted. Not something she would ever have said out loud to anyone except her aunt or her brother, but it somehow seemed like it would help. “I’m terrified for Van’s sake. I’m afraid of failing. And I hate not knowing. Just…I guess I’m still hopeful as well.”

Why? She couldn’t say. Van’s face came to mind, flushed with wine and emotion. Liss, everyone’s a light in the world, they deserve to live and be happy. Maybe we can’t ever make that happen, maybe it’s impossible, but shouldn’t someone try? Her little brother, who had enough courage to stare into the face of everything wrong with the world, and enough imagination to dream of fixing it.

Savil was silent for a long time. “Maybe it’s silly,” she murmured finally. “It’s just a feeling. That we’re getting close now. Time’s almost up.” A twitch of one shoulder. “I don’t know how it’ll end either. Just, feels like we’ll find out soon.”

“Are you ready?” Moondance said.

As ready as I’ll ever be. Vanyel let out his breath, and took a final second to center and ground. “Yes.”

They were in the Heartstone-sanctum. Vanyel was still uneasy there, but the Star-Eyed seemed to be leaving him alone on this visit.

“Place your hands here,” Moondance said, taking his wrists and guiding them to the glassy surface, silky, like warm water under his palms. It hummed.

“Good,” Moondance went on. “I will stand behind you, like so…” He nudged Vanyel a step closer, and then slid in behind him, until his chest was against Vanyel’s back, and placed his own hands to either side. “There. Now, all you needs to is Reach, and channel the energy through yourself and back to the Heartstone. Start small to practice?”

“All right.” The Heartstone responded instantly to his touch. Vanyel pulled a wisp of energy into his reserves – no need to filter it through his focus-stone, unlike the turbulent power of a node.

Now to set up a loop. He imagined drawing the power in through one hand, and feeding it back with the other. It wasn’t really his hands that were doing the work, of course, it was all happening in his head via his mage-channels, but the visual helped.

“Good,” Moondance said again. “Steady now. Smoothly. Hold the pattern until it is comfortable.”

He felt off-balance at first, like he was juggling one too many balls at once, but Moondance was right – within a minute or two his mind had the knack of it, and he was able to maintain the thin stream of power through his channels at a constant level. The Heartstone pulsated against his mage-sight, and he had the uncomfortable sense that something was watching him, but it was quiescent.

:Think I’ve got it: he sent, switching to Mindspeech. :This feels like the same power-input from before: Earlier, he had practiced using his mage-gift to support an object of a particular weight in midair, summon a mage-light bright enough to be seen in pitch-darkness from a certain number of paces away, and boil a container of water over a particular time-interval. None of which had been enough to strain him at all, but the purpose was just to calibrate.

:Good. I See the flow. It looks the same to me also: Moondance took a half-step closer; the slight pressure of his chest against Vanyel’s back steadied him. :Hold it while I set up the measurement… There. Now, when you are ready, I wish you to draw as much power as you can manage, as fast as possible, and hold the flow for as long as you can. I will tell you when to stop. Do not worry about exhausting yourself. If you fall, I am here to catch you:

:All right: Still holding the flow, Vanyel took a deep breath, summoning all of his courage.

He and Moondance were about to replicate the standard final testing from the mage-curriculum in the Eastern Empire. For a long time, he had thought it was hopeless. He and Savil had been able to copy the basic measurement-spell, but the Empire had a number of other complex devices, most of which weren’t actually described in the books they had. He had mentioned it offhand to Moondance, though, and the Healing-Adept had pointed out that they didn’t need a ‘controlled energy reservoir’ when they had a Heartstone, and a Healing-Adept who was perfectly in tune with it and knew the measurement-spell.

He was about to test the most fundamental limit of his mage-gift – the ‘depth’ of his channels. And he was very nervous. I wish Stef were here. Given how much power Vanyel was about to throw around, it had seemed safer for him to be on the other side of solid shields, which meant Vanyel couldn’t sense his mind at all.

Center and ground. He closed his eyes, comforted by Moondance’s warm breath on his neck, and then pulled with all of his strength.

The Heartstone responded, offering up its energies to him un-begrudging; it didn’t seem to care that he was feeding them back an instant later. Faster, and faster, and faster... The power buffeted him, and it took every ounce of his strength to control it; it was like trying to swallow a river. White sparks danced against the inside of his eyelids. His awareness of his body was distant, but he could feel his heart pounding under the exertion.

I can do this. Pull harder. More. It hurt, but it was exhilarating as well – he was nothing but a vessel, washed clean, transparent, filled to the brim.

Something was speaking into his mind, but there was no space left for words. No thoughts. Only light. Time meant nothing, there was only a single instant, holding the power–

…The darkness crept up on him, and he pulled back as he felt his control slip. Leaving room for a moment’s confusion, before everything faded.

:Van:

His chest hurt.

:Easy. I have you: Moondance’s mindvoice.

He must have blacked out. Only for a moment; his body was mostly numb, deadweight, but he could feel Moondance supporting under his arms, easing him down to the floor.

:?: He wanted to ask for something, but he couldn’t find words; all he could do was flail at Moondance’s shields.

:Breathe: Moondance sent, soothing.

Right. Breathing was important. He sucked in a deep gulp of air; it cooled the fire in his lungs a little. His pulse hammered painfully in his head and throat.

Where was he – right. The Heartstone sanctum, though he was drawing a blank on why.

:Very good. Van, brother, talk to me:

:Moondance: he sent, too bleary to come up with actual words.

:There: Relief in the overtones. Cool fingers brushed his cheek. :Rest. I am here:

Gods, it felt like he had just surfaced from nearly drowning. Right after sprinting ten miles. While carrying a pack twice as heavy as he was. His entire body was all pins and needles, and he was starting to notice the sweat that had drenched him from head to toe.

There was a cool inflow of strength. Vanyel clung to it, craving it just as desperately as the air he dragged into his lungs; it took far too long to realize that it was Healing-energy, coming from Moondance.

Memory was trickling in; with a start, he remembered what they had come for. :Did the test work?:

:It was going quite smoothly until you collapsed: Moondance’s mindvoice was impressed and disapproving at the same time. :I tried to stop you once it had been a minute, but you were not listening:

:Sorry. Did I do well?:

:Be patient, brother. I will tell you soon: A sigh, somewhere between exasperated and amused. :I suppose it is my fault. I did tell you not to worry about tiring yourself. I did not mean - that - but you are very good at pushing your limits:

The reaction-headache creeping in behind his eyes was warning him just how much he had overextended his Gift, but Vanyel was secretly pleased. Whatever the result, it was better than even Moondance had expected.

His throbbing head was making it hard to think. :Stef: he sent, pleading. Gods, he was getting soft; thanks to Stef’s Wild Gift, he wasn’t used to hurting anymore.

:I am sure your shay’kreth’ashke wishes to see you as well: Moondance chuckled. :I think you ought not try to walk just yet. If you wish, I might carry you to the ekele:

Half a candlemark later, back in the ekele, Moondance finally straightened up from the table. “There. I have done the sums.”

The calculation wasn’t especially complicated. Vanyel had walked him through it earlier without difficulty.

“And?” he said hopefully, lifting his head from the pillow. His voice was still a bit hoarse, but Stef had been pouring sweetened herb-tea into him, as much as his uneasy stomach could take. He had been just as much of a mother-hen as Vanyel had feared, but right now it was nice to be coddled by someone.

“I ought perhaps test myself to be sure. We know the threshold they set for Adept and High Adept, but I am not sure how it compares to what we are used to. However. Vanyel, brother, your greatest power output was about thirteen times higher than their standard for a First-Rank Adept.” The Eastern Empire had an incredibly detailed breakdown of power levels; each of the standard ranks was divided into first and second rank, and then further subdivided by colours. “Your average over the full minute of the test, nine and a half times.” A crooked smile. “Our Wingsister was right. You break their scale.”

“Wow,” Stef breathed.

Vanyel wriggled upright against the pillows. “All right, so we know my power throughput, and we know the size of my reserves from the other test before. Is there anything else you actually need for the Final Strike formula?”

Moondance glanced at him, then away, a shadow passing across his face. “Your size and weight. Also, there is a term for level of control – they believe a well-trained and experienced mage can do better – and for health. I will give you the highest score on both.”

“I think I’m about nine stone right now.” Vanyel rubbed his eyes. “Let me know if you need help with the maths.” Interesting to think that it might matter a lot whether he was in good condition physically at the time. I suppose I’d better take care of myself. He had been down to seven stone during the Karsite war – enough, if he remembered it right, to cut the power of his Final Strike by…how did the formula go again?

:It’s not linear: Yfandes reminded him. :About an eight percent decrease:

:Should I try to gain weight?: It wasn’t that funny, but he couldn’t help smiling to himself.

“This is kind of morbid,” Stef said.

“Sorry.” Vanyel looked over at him; he was holding his shoulders tense. “It’s also important. You see that, right?”

Moondance’s chalk-stick squeaked against the table; k’Treva didn’t have a lot of paper, so Vanyel had taken to drawing on whatever flat surfaces were at hand. “I have it,” the Healing-Adept said finally. “I am not sure how to interpret this number, but…about eighty-five to ninety thousand aellae, depending on exact conditions.”

Vanyel nodded. “That’s their larger unit – one aella is one thousand paellae, and one paella is the power needed to, um, I think to heat their standard-size home cistern of water from ice-chilled to boiling. For reference, a skilled Adept using blood-magic should be able to take between five hundred and a thousand aellae of usable mage-energies from a single death. Er, it’s less efficient than Final Strike.”

Moondance didn’t quite hide his shudder.

The concept of measuring out mage-energies the same way one could bushels of grain was one of the most remarkable insights of the Eastern Empire’s system, Vanyel thought, and it had seemed at the time like exactly the sort of thing Leareth would come up with. Which had later been borne out, once Leareth started putting numbers on the power requirements for his plan, giving them in the same units.

“Oh,” he said. “That’s funny.”

Stef reached for his arm. “What?”

Vanyel hadn’t really meant to speak out loud. “Nothing. Just an odd coincidence.” He didn’t want to go into it right now, and upset Moondance any more.

Leareth had claimed that the initial creation of a god-kernel would require approximately a hundred deaths – but that hadn’t been the unit he had given first.

Eighty-five thousand aellae.

I could fuel that all by myself.

Well, if he were willing to die for it.

“Father?”

Vanyel had been pacing around by himself at the edge of the Vale, lost in thought. He stumbled. “Featherfire, is that you?”

His daughter stepped out from the side path. “I was looking for you.”

Vanyel breathed in and out, resigning himself to the interruption. “Is there something you want to talk about?”

A nod. :Privately: Featherfire added. She wasn’t a strong Mindspeaker, at least not with humans – her Animal Mindspeech was very strong – but she could manage at short range.

:Of course. Shall we sit?:

:I can walk with you:

:If you like: Maybe she had noticed his restlessness. He wasn’t sure where it was coming from, just that he wanted to be moving.

She fell into step with him, not speaking at first. Vanyel watched her from the corner of his eye. She was sixteen now – a small, slender young woman, her ivory skin much paler than the other Tayledras. Her features, if not her colouring or delicate build, took after Snowlight. Like most scouts, her hair was dyed in mottled browns and greens, hiding any streaks of white.

She was probably very pretty, he thought, though she didn’t seem that popular among the boys her age, maybe because she was so quiet.

Featherfire must have sensed his eyes on her; she glanced at him. :Father. Are you well? I came to the ekele yesterday, and Stef said you were sleeping, but it was still daylight:

:Oh, that. I was experimenting with the Heartstone and I overdid it: He smiled reassuringly. :A night’s rest set me right:

Featherfire smiled shyly. :Did you learn anything?:

:I did. It was very useful: He kicked a loose stone out of the path. :What’s on your mind, Featherfire?:

She bit her lip. :I wish to help, as Brightstar has. I am no mage, nor as brave or clever as my brother, but…is there anything I might do?:

His chest clenched. :Featherfire…: Gods, what was he even supposed to say? He was tempted to reassure her that it was all right, this wasn’t her weight to bear – but that was the last thing she wanted to hear. Brightstar actually had been helpful, and it sounded like he had been telling his sister about it. Bragging, even.

Featherfire was an adult by Tayledras standards, and it would wound her deeply to be shut out.

:Listen: he started. :You’re not any less brave than your brother. I’ve heard about your scout work. You’re very talented: He took a breath, searching for words. :How about instead of saying what you aren’t, you tell me some of what you’re good at, and we’ll come up with ideas?:

She squared her thin shoulders. :I can talk to animals – all animals, even Changecreatures, and they listen. I am very good at it: She paused, thinking :I fight well enough with bow and arrow, and I am good at climbing trees: A shrug. :That is all:

:Hmm: Nothing obvious was coming to mind, but he wasn’t going to say that. :Being able to talk to Changecreatures seems very useful. I don’t know that any of the Heralds in Valdemar can. Is it more difficult?:

Featherfire scuffed her bare feet on the path. :It is different. Their minds are…strange. With practice it is easier:

:That makes sense. You’ve encountered a lot more Changecreatures than any Herald: He hesitated. :I heard a story… Is it true you walked right up to a colddrake and told it to go back north, and it did?:

:Not it. Her: Featherfire tugged at the neck of her sleeveless tunic. :I told her this was not a safe place to raise her young, that she would be in danger from those who feared her, and I showed her the way to the closest uninhabited land: A sunny smile lit her face before vanishing. :I hope her babies are well. Have you ever seen a baby colddrake?:

:Can’t say I have: Vanyel felt like he was still three sentences back, trying to catch up. :Featherfire, that’s incredible. I can’t think of any specific problem you can help me with, yet, but… You’ve seen a side of the world that no one else I know has. So keep an eye out. Notice your questions. Maybe you’ll see answers that others can’t:

:You really think so, Father?:

He couldn’t disappoint that hopeful expression. :Yes, I really think so:

Featherfire fell silent, and they kept walking. Vanyel had entirely forgotten whatever he had been thinking about before, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind.

“Father?” she said finally, out loud.

“Yes?”

“Brightstar said that Moondance is sending him to – to High-jo-rune.” She enunciated the foreign word slowly and carefully. “To look at the Heartstone. Might I come too?”

Vanyel stumbled and caught himself. “Why?” It wasn’t for the novelty and adventure – there was no sign of excitement in her eyes, only quiet determination.

Her eyes dropped to the path. “To look for questions.” She cleared her throat. “I – I have never been far from k’Treva. I know so little of the world you live in, and perhaps if I saw more, I might see answers.”

It was a tenuous plan, Vanyel thought, but it wasn’t crazy. All information is worth having. All Featherfire knew right now was that she didn’t know enough; maybe the sanest response to that was to explore in general.

“Ask your mother,” he said. “If she agrees, it would be my pleasure to have you along.”

Standing with her feet planted wide apart and the weight of the earth holding her steady, Jisa held the raw power of the valley-node between her hands, and whooped for sheer exhilaration.

:Easy, now: Moondance sent. :To keep control, you must stay fully centered and grounded, or else the power will control you:

It wasn’t like she needed to be reminded. :I know. I’ve got it: It felt amazing. Like drinking rainbows, or swimming in stars. So much power, and it was hers to command.

She wished Treven was there, and could see what she was doing.

Moondance was still there, watching her. :What now?: she sent.

:I…had not prepared further lessons for today: Moondance admitted. :I did not expect you to master it so easily:

Jisa grinned. :Did I get it faster than Brightstar?:

:Well, yes, though you are older than he was:

:It’s not my fault I wasn’t even a mage until now!: Jisa protested. :Anyway, I don’t want to stop now, I’m not even tired. Is there something I can practice?:

A pause. :The next step, of course, is to augment techniques you already know with node-energy:

That made sense. :Ooh!: Jisa sent. :Can I fight you?: She probably still couldn’t get through his shields, but maybe she could at least make him work for it. It was so irritating that she always ended their lessons in a heap on the floor and with him not even breathing hard.

:Not yet: Moondance was smiling as well. :Perhaps we might start with a barrier-shield, and I will test it with attacks:

Starwind and Moondance both always wanted to start with defensive techniques. Jisa sighed. :All right. Barrier-shield: It was nearly the first thing she had learned, and it came easily now. :What, so I just put more energy in?:

:That is right: He waited. :Ready?:

:I’m ready:

The force-dagger he flung at her was considerably stronger than she was used to, and she felt it ripping into the structure of her shield – but she wasn’t trying to be economical with power, right now, she didn’t need to husband out her reserves to last through the lesson. One mental hand still on the Heartstone, Jisa drew in energy through herself and fed it into the faltering barrier.

:Good: Moondance sent. :Again:

The next attack nearly made it through, because Jisa was distracted by a sudden shimmer in the set-spell, the kind that meant someone was about the enter. She reinforced the shield just in time, and Moondance’s mage-fireball splashed off.

Vanyel appeared. With her ordinary eyes, he seemed to step right through the stone; her mage-sight Saw how the lines of force bent and curved to allow him through.

“There you are, Moondance–” he started to say, and cut off as his eyes focused on her, and his whole face lit up. “Oh. Wow. Jisa, that’s incredible! Look at you!”

“It’s wonderful!” Speaking out loud, she realized that she was slightly out of breath. Using the node was tiring even if it mostly wasn’t her own energy. She switched back to Mindspeech. :Van, would you spar with me?:

He caught Moondance’s eye, and a silent exchange passed between them. :If you’d like, pet: Vanyel sent, smiling.

He would go easy on her, of course. Jisa had no illusions; Vanyel would always be able to flatten her, no matter how hard she practiced. Still, he was used to her weaker attacks. She might have an opportunity to catch him off guard.

Shields, she reminded herself. Strengthen her personal shields as much as she could – which was a lot, with the near-limitless Heartstone right there – and then add layers to the barrier in front of her. She had learned a new type of shield that could absorb attacks rather than deflecting them, but she didn’t think she could manage it while fighting. Better to stay simple.

:Ready: she sent.

Vanyel blurred into motion.

Jisa was gasping for breath inside of thirty seconds. He kept throwing one levinbolt after another, giving her no time at all to recover, and each one tore out multiple layers of her main shield – and the worst part was that he wasn’t using the valley-node at all. Vanyel clearly thought it was only fair for him to fight from reserves alone.

The few fireballs she managed to squeeze out in between didn’t get near him. He wasn’t being very creative, but he didn’t need to be; he had her that far outmatched.

She was going to lose, obviously, but she might be able to stretch it out longer. Think. Through her mage-sight, she saw Vanyel gathering up the power for his next strike – and she attacked. Not fire or lightning, but a gust of wind, just hard enough to knock him off balance.

Too late for him to pull the attack; the levinbolt splashed harmlessly against the shields on the far wall.

Vanyel landed in a wider stance, laughing. :Very good!:

Jisa didn’t answer. The distraction had given her the time she needed to fully repair her shield and add another few layers; she had gotten quite fast at it. Now, she might have time to pre-empt his next attack with one of her own.

Wait until she Saw the energies building again – and Jisa flung mage-lightning at him, as hard as she could.

It was enough to distract him into fumbling the attack; she Saw the half-formed fireball shatter and dissipate harmlessly into the air. Vanyel actually staggered before catching himself.

Jisa threw a fireball, even though she hadn’t recovered from the lightning and the power-drain dimmed her vision around the edges. It wouldn’t get through but it might at least distract him. She started to slip, losing contact with the earth – no. Focus.

Her shields, still at full strength, blocked Van’s next attack, but the outer layers shattered in the process, and she was too slow to catch and repair them before the energy was lost. Frantically, she tried to build in more layers underneath, and wasn’t quite finished when Vanyel threw a wall of force that sent her skidding backwards into the wall, shield and all.

Think think think– Desperate, Jisa squeezed her eyes shut and summoned a mage-light, feeding it power from the Heartstone until the inside of her eyelids blazed pink and she had to lift an arm across her face.

:Creative: Vanyel sent. :I’m impressed: From the hint of distress in the overtones, she thought that she had surprised him, and he hadn’t managed to close his eyes in time; if she was lucky, he would be half-blind for the next few seconds.

Of course, he could still see her with his Othersenses. Jisa heard approaching footsteps, and dropped the mage-light, focusing everything on her shields.

Another force-bolt tore apart everything but the last layer.

Flattened against the wall, Jisa opened her eyes. Vanyel was there, squinting with his eyes visibly watering, already gathering energy for his next and final strike. Her shield couldn’t take anything more.

Jisa was exhausted. Her mage-channels hurt, she was barely holding onto her center, and her concentration was scattered in fragments. The valley-node pulsated in her grasp; she was dangerously close to losing control.

Just yield, the sensible part of her whispered. You held out longer than Brightstar did.

The less-than-sensible part of her wasn’t at all ready to give up.

A dagger of pure energy formed in Vanyel’s hand, and he started to lift his–

:STOP!:

Vanyel froze. His arm fell limply to his side, and he stumbled back, swaying, then sat down with a thud in the middle of the floor.

“Jisa!” Moondance’s voice. “What did you…?”

His voice sounded a long way off; Jisa’s ears rang, the inside of her head still reverberating. She wasn’t sure what had just happened, except that she had definitely pulled from the Heartstone, and now her Mindhealing channels stung as well.

Uh oh. I probably shouldn’t have done that.

She let the tenuous barrier-shield crumble into the air and took a step, a moment before Moondance darted out and dropped to his knees in front of Vanyel, blocking her view. “Brother, talk to me. Are you hurt?”

Jisa stumbled around him and squatted on the stone floor. Vanyel hadn’t answered, or moved; he wasn’t doing anything, just staring ahead. She tried to reach out with a Mindtouch, and bounced off his shields. Ow.

Moondance seized her arm. “Jisa, child, what did you do?” His mouth hardened into a line. “Did you lay a compulsion?”

“No!” Jisa insisted. Tears were springing up in her eyes now. Moondance had never looked at her with anger before, and it was frightening.

“Then what?” His eyes bored into her.

She tried to trace down the split-second decision. “I, um, I think I might’ve accidentally…sort of…used a set-command. I panicked.”

Moondance rocked back on his heels, still gripping her arm hard enough that it hurt. “What is a set-command?”

“It’s a Mindhealing thing.” Her face felt hot now, her throat tight with shame. Why didn’t you just yield? “Melody showed me once. Said it was the safest way for me to defend myself if someone ever tried to harm me, like if I got attacked by bandits.” Or if another assassin ever came after her family. “It shouldn’t’ve hurt him! Set-commands don’t damage anything. Except, um, I think I might’ve done it a lot harder than I meant to…” 

“I see.” Moondance released his grip on her. “I ought have explained before this that you might boost your other Gifts with node-energy. I did not think you would do so instinctively; I underestimate you again. I am sorry.” A breath. “Can you undo it?”

“Obviously I can undo it.” The lump in her throat made it hard to speak. “I just need to use my Sight…” Which she wasn’t really supposed to do without asking, but Vanyel didn’t seem like he could answer her right now.

“Then please do,” Moondance urged, worry in his eyes.

Jisa folded away her mage-sight, and dived into her other, older senses, the world opening like a flower into new shapes and colours.

“Oh,” she breathed. “Oops.” Vanyel’s mind Looked mostly normal – except that there was a something like a heavy plank slammed down across the middle. It reminded her of one of the enormous, age-blackened oak beams that held up the roof in the Palace kitchen, and it was thoroughly blocking off the core of his mind, where his sense of self and the lifebond lived, from the sections that controlled moving and speaking. Its placement wasn’t particularly careful, and she was pretty sure it was interrupting a lot of thought-patterns as well.

Here and there the trapped vines were rippling, straining to pull free, but for the most part his mind was quiescent. Jisa was grateful. She wasn’t sure if it was a side-effect or if he was deliberately trying to stay calm, but it made it a lot easier to See what was going on – and right now the beam didn’t seem to be damaging any underlying structures, it was like Melody had told her, but it was so solid. If he fought it, she wasn’t sure whether it or his mind would break first.

She heard Moondance’s indrawn breath, and a moment later felt his mind reaching for her; she parted her shields for him, letting him in fully to share her Sight, like they had done so many times before.

:I see: he sent. :How do you remove it?:

:I’m not sure: She hadn’t actually done that part with Melody – her teacher had said it was more difficult, and that if Jisa ever had to use it in an emergency, she would be happy to come set things right after.

Needless to say, if she hauled Van back to Haven in this state to make Melody fix it, she wouldn’t ever live it down.

:Let me try…: Very carefully, she Reached in. :Can I just lift the whole – damn, it’s really stuck in there. Maybe I can get it out in pieces: She pushed with her Gift, and was rewarded when the not-plank softened like taffy. :There, if I dig out this bit…:

She could see why Melody hadn’t wanted to bother teaching her. It was fussy, delicate work, much slower than the instantaneous, instinctive moment of setting it, especially difficult when her head was throbbing more and more insistently. She kept being tempted to rush, but that seemed like a good way to damage something else by accident, so she forced herself to go slowly and cautiously.

About halfway through, she must have freed up some major connection; Vanyel’s mind lit up again, and he took a shuddering breath. :…Jisa? Moondance? What–:

:Shush: Moondance sent. :Try to stay in trance a little while longer. I am here with you:

Jisa’s forehead was a solid bar of pain, but she tried her best to push through calm/safety/comfort with her Projective Empathy, waited for his mind to settle into near-stillness again, and kept going.

:I think that’s most of it: she told Moondance, what felt like candlemarks later. :There are some fragments that I should clean up later, but – ow – but I don’t think I can now. I’m really tired:

:Do not worry: Moondance’s hand brushed her cheek. :You did very well. Jisa, child, I am not angry with you. You were startled, and reacted in defence without knowing what would happen. We have all made such a mistake: He turned back to Vanyel. “We are finished, brother. How are you feeling?”

Vanyel blinked, shaking his head. “I…wha…” His eyes re-focused. “Where am I?”

“In the Heartstone sanctum,” Moondance said soothingly. “You and Jisa–”

“I remember.” He closed his eyes for a moment, cupping both hands over his face, then lowered them and turned a sour look at her. “Jisa, I’m fairly sure that was cheating.”

Her face flamed. “I didn’t–” It was only just sinking in that using Mindhealing as a weapon was probably about the most unethical thing that existed.

“I’m not saying you can’t use it in a real fight,” Vanyel said quickly. “If your life is in danger, you cheat as hard as you can. I’ve used Projective Empathy in a fight, as a distraction; hells, I’ve used Healing to kill someone. Your Gift is just as legitimate, and it seems like an excellent trick to keep in reserve for emergencies – but if we’re just sparring for fun, I would really rather you didn’t.”

“It was an accident! I’m sorry!”

“Jisa, shush, hey.” Vanyel reached for her hand. “You know what? You beat me, fair and square. I already knew about your other Gifts, I could’ve tried to develop a shield for it if I’d thought of it, and you still caught me off guard. I’d have been dead meat if we were fighting for real.” A sly smile. “You can quote me on that to Brightstar, if you want.” And he winked.

So he knew about their rivalry. Jisa felt even more ashamed of herself, now – it was easy to say she had panicked, but she had known perfectly well she wasn’t in any real danger. Her desperation had been only because she was competitive, and wanted to show Brightstar up.

…It was occurring to her that, even it if was probably too late at this point to surprise Brightstar with it too, she could tempt him with the puzzle of figuring out how to shield against it. Vanyel had a point, about this not being something any of them had thought to figure out; of course, she hadn’t ever wondered before now whether Mindhealing even could be used offensively that way.

“You know,” Vanyel said, “there’s something to be said for going all-out like that in sparring, like it’s for real. Intent-to-kill, Kayla used to call it.”

Despite herself, Jisa laughed; it came out wet and bubbly, her nose was running. “She still does.”

“And it sounds like it was pure instinct,” he added. “Which means your instincts are very good.” He was smiling now. “The mage-light, too. I’ve used that trick myself.” A pause. “Just out of curiosity, what was that?”

Jisa hiccuped. “A set-command. M-Melody taught me.”

“…Oh, I do see.” His expression had gone blank, controlled. “I suppose it did feel like that, just…more.”

Jisa knuckled at her eye. “You’ve had a set-command on you before?”

“Melody used it once. She, er, thought I was about to do something stupid.” He shrugged. “Years ago. Anyway, I didn’t realize it was the same thing at first, but that’s because yours was about ten times stronger. You boosted with node-energy?”

Jisa nodded. Curiosity was getting the better of guilt, now. “What did it feel like?”

“Bizarre. Hard to describe.” His eyes drifted upward. “It was…everything slowed way down. Like time had stopped. I was still sort of feeling my body, I was even hearing you a bit, but that was all happening somewhere else, and I was…it was like being in a small quiet room with nothing in it. I would start noticing that something was wrong, but I couldn’t hold a chain of thought for longer than a second or two, so I was getting stuck trying to figure it out, losing it and having to start over – and then I realized you and Moondance were there, and you weren’t panicking, so I was safe. I just sort of held onto that thought and waited. It was…kind of peaceful.” He frowned. “Then it was like one of the walls of the room fell in, and I was half-back but nothing was working right. That was a lot scarier, actually. But Moondance told me to stay in trance so I did.”

Jisa hadn’t considered what that would feel like. It did sound very unpleasant. Maybe she should have used her Gift to make him sleep until she was done, though it had been helpful that his mind was reactive.

“Fascinating.” Moondance was at her shoulder again. “How do you feel now?”

“Weird.” Vanyel dragged a hand over his face. “My thoughts are…all gummy.”

“Sorry! I didn’t get all of it, I can–”

“Don’t worry about it right now, pet. Think I just need a nap. You too, by the looks of it.” He was staring vaguely past Moondance. “Stef. I can’t feel him. Where...?” He shook his head, confusedly. “Can he be here?”

“I think it is easier for you to be there,” Moondance said. “Come.”

It was one of those rare moments when absolutely everything was perfect, and Stef never wanted it to end. The sun was sinking down the sky, warm golden rays falling across the covers. Vanyel was in his arms, his breathing slowing. Mine.

It had been a strange afternoon. Van had gone looking for Moondance, and returned with the Healing-Adept nearly two candlemarks later, pale and shaken, with Jisa in tow. Apparently she had been having a practice mage-duel with him and, backed into a corner, had used Mindhealing offensively. Stef hadn’t been able to decide whether to be blisteringly furious with her, or just impressed, and had settled on feeling sorry for her as soon as he realized just how bad a headache she had given herself. Van had immediately fallen into bed, and Stef had crawled in with him for a bit, until he got bored, and then tracked down Jisa and painblocked for her until the worst of the backlash had passed. He had wandered back to their own room just in time to catch Vanyel waking up – and, for the first time in days, in the mood for some erotic exercise. It had been a very pleasant couple of candlemarks.

Before, Stef had never understood why people wanted to hang around and cuddle after bedding someone. It was boring. Now, though, it made sense to him. Any minute now, Van was going to wriggle free and find some work to do, but for the moment, he seemed happy where he was. Exactly how Stef wanted it.

He felt the drowsy, wordless, indescribable brush of Vanyel’s mind, almost more intimate than – oh, that was an intriguing idea, he somehow hadn’t even thought of asking Vanyel to come into his mind during sex.

Come on in, he thought loudly.

:I heard that: Vanyel sent, amused. :Sure, we can try. Might get weird: He lifted and re-settled his head on Stef’s chest. :Don’t let me actually fall asleep like this. I’m not shielding, and I’m coming due for the dream again:

I like it when you don’t shield. Stef could always tell, even though he wasn’t a Thoughtsenser; it just felt like Van was more solid and vibrant and alive, more there.

:I love you: Vanyel sent.

Which Stef already knew, obviously, but it was still nice when he actually said it – frequently at first, but it had trailed off now. I love you too, Van-ashke. He breathed in and out. Copper for your thoughts?

:…Just marvelling at how different my life is with you in it. When something unsettling happens, even just when I’m tired and hurting, it’s you I want first. Before Yfandes. And when you’re there – Stef, it’s like everything makes sense again:

Gods, that felt good to hear. Maybe he should have picked up on it himself, but he had been distracted by the fact that even on vacation, Vanyel had still ended up drained to exhaustion multiple times. Not always his fault, but it did seem like a pattern.

:I’ve known we were lifebonded for six weeks: Vanyel went on, :and I already can’t imagine going back:

Six weeks. It felt like it must have been longer than that – so much had happened. The foundations of everything had shifted sideways.

An immortal mage was plotting to create a new and better god, the current set of gods had been meddling in his life from the very beginning, and Stef himself contained a kernel of Herald-trainee Tylendel. Even more incredibly, all of that was starting to seem normal.

He could get used to strangeness. The part he couldn’t just accept – the part he could still barely think about – was that Vanyel might… No. Don’t.

:Stef?: Vanyel’s arms tightened around him. :Stef, it’s all right:

–Suddenly anger was rising in him, exploding out of nowhere. “It’s not all right!” He pulled away.

Vanyel rolled free as well. The hurt showed in his eyes for only an instant before he smoothed it away, but Stef could still feel it in his chest. “Stef, what’s not all right?”

“The part where you might die!”

“Stef, hey.” Vanyel propped himself up on one elbow, chin resting on his fist. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was bothering you that much.”

“Obviously it’s bothering me!” You goddamned idiot. He slammed his fist down against the mattress, which wasn’t very satisfying at all. “In what world could you possibly expect me to be fine with that?” His throat felt hot – so how did it make sense for the weight in his gut to be so cold? “Van, I love you. You’re mine. You’re not allowed to just die!”

Through their bond, he felt Vanyel flinching away from his anger, wounded surprise and guilt. There was no hint of it in his expression, which only made it worse. “Unfortunately,” Vanyel said wryly, “I don’t think the world cares about what’s allowed.” His lips twitched. “I’ve tried complaining to the gods about it. Never works.”

“It’s not funny!” Stef seized one of the pillows and flung it at Vanyel’s face. “I’m so angry with you right now!” Distracted or not, Vanyel’s reflexes were working fine, and the pillow bounced from an invisible wall inches from his nose. “Don’t just sit there and look at me!” Stef snapped. “Say something!” His voice cracked; he was dangerously close to tears.

“What am I supposed to say?” Vanyel’s voice had gone distant, toneless. “Stef, I don’t understand why you’re upset. I don’t know what I said wrong.” He waited for a few moments, then went on. “I’m sorry, truly. That the world is this way. That I’ve known it for eighteen years, had a chance to get used to it, and you haven’t. It’s awful and it’s not fair, and – and that doesn’t change a goddamned thing. We still have to be able to look at reality.”

His calm voice made it so, so much worse – and Stef had no idea why, or how to fix it, so he just folded his arms, curling into himself.

“Stef.” Vanyel’s voice was pleading, with the raw edge of someone trying hard not to cry. “Stef, can you please just look at me?”

No. I won’t.

But his eyes moved of their own accord. Silver hair, chin-length now, tangled and sticking up wildly on one side, haloed by the slanting reddish light. The familiar angle of his cheekbone. A face that Stef could imagine some sculptor had carved from marble – perfect, inhuman, untouchable.

At odds with the soft look in his silver eyes, the wetness of tears barely held in check, worry-lines at the corners. Those were very human.

“Stef, can you try to tell me what it feels like in your body right now?” Vanyel said gently.

It was such a strange and unexpected question that it jarred his brain loose, and he found himself actually trying to answer it. “Hot and cold at the same time.”

Vanyel waited. “And?” he said eventually.

Stef squirmed. “I don’t know.”

“Really? Even I’m getting more detail than that.” Vanyel closed his eyes, and Stef’s sense of him grew closer and brighter – not a Mindtouch, but the way it felt when Van lowered his shields, only more. “Let me see… Hmm. I think you’re feeling a sort of itchiness in your chest, and restless in your arms, sort of wanting to throw things – and heavy in your stomach. You’re feeling heat in your face and your throat, but it’s like that’s just the outside, and inside there’s this cold, heavy, sinking thing.” His eyes popped open. “Seem right?”

Stef boggled at him. “How did you do that?”

“I can pick up on some of what you’re feeling through the lifebond, and there’s something Melody taught me. Anchor in your body, start there and try to name what you’re feeling. I don’t think I know how to explain the exercise any better than that – and, sorry, we’re getting derailed. I’m trying to understand why you’re hurting, Stef, because you matter to me. Can you talk me through it?”

Stef started to open his mouth and then closed it, shaking his head helplessly. If he tried to speak right now, he was going to cry, and then he wasn’t sure if he would ever stop, and wouldn’t that be embarrassing. Besides, he didn’t have any words for Vanyel. Not ones more useful than ‘what in all hells is wrong with you.’

A sigh. “I’m going to try to guess, then, but you need to tell me if I’m wrong. Stef, I’m imagining that you’re angry, and you’re scared. I can tell a story that you’re angry because…hmm. Maybe because it feels like I’m not listening to you? There’s something you want me to see, and I’m not seeing it. I imagine it feels like I’m not taking it seriously, that there may be a war and I probably wouldn’t survive it. And…I’m guessing the anger is more on the surface, and the fear is underneath. I think you’re afraid of that future, where you lose me.”

Stef couldn’t do anything but stare past Vanyel’s shoulder.

Vanyel’s eyes were fixed on him. “Stef… I do understand. Of course you feel that way.” His eyelids dipped. “I have the sense you want something from me, right now, in this conversation, and…I don’t think it’s a promise I won’t die. Maybe you just want me to listen?” A whispering breath. “I’m listening now. Stef, what do you wish I could hear?”

Stef swallowed hard, and lifted a finger. Just a moment. He took a deep breath, then another, and dug his nails into his palms.

“Take your time,” Vanyel said gently.

Finally, he managed to choke back the lump in his throat enough to leave room for words. “Van, I…please…” He swiped at his eyes. “You’re so goddamned calm about it. Like it’s nothing. I don’t – you – how –” He squeezed his eyes shut, hugging himself. 

“And that bothers you.” Vanyel bowed his head. “Stef, does it feel like I don’t care?”

Obviously. He fumbled out a nod.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” The bedcovers rustled. “Stef, believe me, I’m scared as well. I’m absolutely terrified, it hurts every time I think about it, and I wish it helped to be angry. I wish I could storm off and punch a god in the face. But the entire fate of the world might be depending on me – on us – and that’s bigger than my feelings, so I’m trying really, really hard not be a gibbering puddle.” The slightest hint of a tremor in his voice. “I’m good at hiding when something hurts, I’ve had practice. I imagine it’s jarring sometimes.” An unsteady breath. “But, Stef… I’m wondering if you would feel…less lonely or something, if you saw this was hurting me just as much as it’s hurting for you.”

Stef flinched. It stung, but there was a release as well, like a lute-string snapping in his insides. “I didn’t sign up to make that trade,” he said, the words seeming to sink and land heavily between them. “To choose between the fate of the world and my lifebonded. I don’t owe that to the world. Don’t owe it to anyone.” He opened his eyes, scrubbing away the betraying tears. “Van-ashke, why can’t we just leave? Go start a new life, somewhere better.”

“I wish…” Vanyel’s eyes were locked on him, longing. “I can’t. You know I can’t. Maybe I’m an idiot, but – gods, if I knew how to walk away, I’d have been dead years ago.”

“And you wouldn’t be you,” Stef said thickly. “I know what you are.” Mine. “A goddamned Herald. Duty first.”

Vanyel reached out, letting his hand rest in midair between them. Waiting. “No. Duty is fake. It’s not about what I owe the world. If I ever owed a debt to Valdemar, I’ve paid it back tenfold; I’ve done more for this kingdom than anyone could ask. Doesn’t matter. I’m a pawn of the gods, my whole life is thanks to their schemes, and that’s not the goddamned point either. I certainly don’t owe them anything, and that’s not why I’m staying.” He pressed his other hand to his chest. “If there’s a debt I owe anyone, it’s to myself. I’m a pattern that can’t walk away.”

Stef reached out and took his hand. “I know.” I hate it. And he loved it too, because it was Van. Mine. Always. “Van-ashke, maybe it’s crazy, but can’t we…be sad together for a bit?” It didn’t make sense, but Vanyel had pinned down the vague itchy craving. It would be less lonely. 

“It’s not crazy at all.” Vanyel’s face was in shadow now, the purple twilight behind him, but his eyes glimmered like windows thrown open. “I am a bit worried that if I let myself have feelings about this, I’ll start crying and I might not stop for the next month.”

Stef snorted. “You won’t. You’d get bored.”

“You may underestimate my stamina for being upset.” Vanyel chuckled, without much humour. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” A heavy sigh. “But, well, I have been avoiding it, and that never works in the long run. Might as well get it over with.”

Chapter Text

The meeting-room was unpleasantly hot. Three weeks to go until Midsummer. Jisa was due back any day.

The messenger had just stopped speaking, and Savil’s head was still reeling. What?

“I don’t understand,” Treven said. “What do you mean, it’s not there?”

Herald Nubia, Katha’s agent, bowed her head. “We found Crookback Pass. Confirmed the name with the locals, and the skyline matches the drawing you gave us. There’s nothing there. I mean, there is a path – we followed it all the way up, it’s mostly clear of snow at this time of year, but it’s scarcely more than a goat-track. What there isn’t, is any kind of artificial pass, and the talismans you gave us didn’t light up a bit.”

Savil closed her eyes. No. How? Could Leareth had hidden it somehow, enough that the artifacts they sent the searchers with couldn’t detect it? She can’t think of any way, illusions aren’t that good, but - it’s Leareth…

“Thank you,” Treven said, finding his voice. “I appreciate your thoroughness.”

Herald Nubia nodded. “I’m sorry we didn’t find what you were looking for.”

Treven smiled. “Well, keep up the good work and I’m sure we’ll find it eventually.” He pushed his chair back and rose. “I won’t take any more of your time. You’ve earned a break.”

He walked her to the doorway, bowed, gripped her arm for a moment, and ushered her out, the picture of politeness. It wasn’t until the door was firmly closed on her retreating back that the smile faded from his face.

“He could maybe just conceal it from us,” Savil said. She was suddenly too weary to think about standing. “Or, our information could’ve been wrong

The heir tugged at his blond tail of hair. “Is there any chance they missed it? Maybe Stef got confused about direction, and it’s actually nearby but not exactly at Crookback Pass…” Treven was one of the few others who knew the true source of their information.

“We’ll go through her written report,” Savil said heavily, “but Nubia is very thorough. I expect she sent her people to check for ten miles in both directions.”

Treven sat, dropping his forehead into his hands. “Could the Foresight vision wrong somehow?”

“Wrong, or out of date.” Savil leaned back, groaning. “It’d be ironic if Leareth filled in the original pass and cut a new one somewhere else, once he realized Van would be able to find it.”

“You think he might’ve…” Treven looked up between splayed fingers, his expression sick. “Killed another hundred people for blood-power,” he finished flatly. “He wouldn’t hesitate.”

“We’ve got other parties checking the ranges to either side,” Savil hauled herself to her feet. “If Stef did get turned around in the dream, and it’s actually twenty miles east or something, maybe they can still find it. And - when Van’s back we can ask him to Farsee it, it’s been a while, it’ll be informative if his Farsight has changed. We’ll figure something out.”

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Vanyel said quietly.

Jisa carefully finished fastening her saddlebags, then turned, one hand still on her Companion’s neck. “I can do this.”

That wasn’t what I meant. She had been dawdling all morning on her packing, and it was already close to noon.

Seven weeks, now, that they had been in k’Treva. Jisa could have benefited from longer, of course; Vanyel had spent almost nine months training with Starwind. Though, if he was honest with himself, he had been a much less dedicated student than Jisa was now, and with none of the control she had already honed with her other Gifts. It wasn’t just that he had been grieving, or maybe it had all been a side-effect of that – he remembered being exhausted most of the time, dragging himself through each lesson with sheer force of will and then crawling off to hide where no one would bother him. Not like Jisa, who begged as many candlemarks a day as she could get of lessons and practice with every mage in k’Treva who was willing to work with her, and eagerly worked on her own the rest of the time. Maybe it wasn’t surprising that she had covered the same ground he had and more in a quarter the time.

She had none of the difficulties he did with Gating, and she had demonstrated three short-range Gates the day before. They had run her through the same tests he had done, at her insistence, though Moondance had warned it wouldn’t be representative until she was fully-grown – still, based on that, she ought to be strong enough to reach Haven without difficulty.

I wonder if I could test mages using the Web. That might be something they could add to the graduation tests. Assuming there were ever any new Herald-Mages…

He was only a little nervous about Jisa attempting a solo Gate – at worst, her Enara could boost her, and he and Moondance would be watching closely enough to intervene if she lost control. His hindbrain, however, had a lot more complaints about the idea of letting Stef walk through said Gate.

Stef. Things had felt looser between them, more comfortable, ever since they had stayed up nearly the whole night talking about their future. Or not talking about it, mostly – after a certain point, there had been nothing left to say. Stef had been right; Vanyel had eventually run out of the will to cry, before dawn came, and fallen asleep in Stef’s arms. 

He glanced over at his lifebonded, who was intently studying the leaves of a nearby bush, and felt a surge of temptation. It’s not too late. I could change the plan, bring him to Highjorune after all. They had gone back and forth on it over the last few days, and it was hard to justify – Stef wouldn’t have much to contribute there, and Vanyel had kept him from Randi for long enough. The thought of being separated from Stef made his chest ache, but he wasn’t likely to be in Lineas longer than a week.

I don’t own him, he reminded himself.

Brightstar hovered further back, watching with a smirk. Featherfire wasn’t there yet; she was probably still packing her things.

Jisa was still hesitating, scuffing her feet; it seemed like some part of her didn’t want to go. Not his business to pry, though, unless she wanted to talk about it.

Finally, she turned, taking a step towards him. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll be back in Haven before you know it,” he reassured her. “You’ll be so busy getting settled, you’ll scarcely have time to notice I’m gone.”

She hesitated, and then flung herself at him, hugging him hard. :Father, please be careful:

:Highjorune is hardly dangerous: He tousled her hair. :Try to keep Stef entertained for me, all right?:

She giggled. :I’ll do my best:

:Give Randi and Shavri my greetings: He released her. “Stef?”

His lifebonded had changed back into Bardic scarlets for their return. As usual, they clashed impressively with his hair. “Van,” he said, not moving.

Vanyel sighed and crossed the courtyard to him. No words came to him, so he just held out his arms.

Stef stepped into his embrace, standing stiffly for a moment before lifting his own arms. Vanyel could feel his reluctance through their bond.

“I’m sorry we have to be apart,” Vanyel murmured. Though it might be a useful experiment; he expected it to hurt, but he wasn’t sure how distracting it would be, and it seemed better to know and be prepared, rather than finding out when the stakes were high.

He let go, a long time before he wanted to. “Take care, Stef.”

“You too, Van-ashke.” A quick smile, and then Stef turned away, hefting his own travel-pack and joining Jisa in front of the Gate-archway. Vanyel breathed in and out, rolling his neck. He had considered taking himself to the Heartstone-sanctum and huddling behind its shields, but he owed it to Jisa to see her off.

He felt her power moving, a moment before the stone arch began to glow, and swallowed a whimper. The familiar energy hurt, and just knowing it was because he was tensing up, his own channels betraying him, didn’t make it trivial to relax into it. Gods, he wished Stef was there beside him, holding his hand…

:Steady: Yfandes sent, along with a wash of reassurance. :Breathe through it:

The acid-like pain receded, and he barely flinched when the Gate’s questing tendrils found their destination, the threshold flaring white before resolving into the familiar door of the Heralds’ temple, looking out on the gardens. They had thought about having Jisa try to use the new permanent Gate-threshold, but she didn’t know the location, and they hadn’t been sure whether the set-spells would interfere. Vanyel was confident he could have used it, but he had helped build it.

Jisa’s breath stuttered, but she held steady on her feet. One hand still tangled in Enara’s mane, she stepped across without hesitation.

Stef glanced backward, apprehensive, and then followed, staggering a little as he crossed – well, if Brightstar was right, he had just spent a fraction of a second passing through the Void. No wonder it was disorienting.

Vanyel gritted his teeth against a moan. It didn’t hurt that much, all things considered – it was a million times better than the howling emptiness that had lived in his mind for almost two decades – but it wasn’t comfortable. Something in him was reaching, straining with every fibre, and it took all the willpower he could summon not to sprint across after his partner.

Jisa was leaning on Enara’s flank now, clearly tiring, but she waved sunnily. Seconds later, the Gate collapsed with a sucking feeling, and was gone.

Vanyel stared blankly at the place where it had been. No, come back. Please.

Damn it, Shavri had done this multiple times. If she could cope, so could he.

“Brother?” Moondance’s arm was suddenly around his shoulders. “Come, sit.”

Vanyel let Moondance guide him to a nearby bench, and rub his back while he sat with his head in his hands. He felt like crying, but it wasn’t like that would help. I just have to bear it.

“I’m fine now,” he said after a minute or two. “Caught me off guard.”

A sympathetic nod. “It is more difficult when it is sudden.”

“Well, I’m ready to go.” He stood, suddenly impatient. “Where’s Featherfire?”

Jisa had been waiting for this moment for weeks. Months. And, additionally, all afternoon, because Treven had been busy running an audience, and she had collapsed into bed and slept for five candlemarks, then gotten dragged off to talk to Shallan, the dean of the Heralds’ Collegium, about her class schedule. Her head still felt empty after the Gate, and she would have preferred to be lying down, but the walk had been manageable.

Now she was finally here, and she had no idea why she was suddenly feeling shy, of all things. She stood outside Treven’s door in the student wing – he still had a room there, like a normal Herald-trainee, even though he was halfway to being the King – and she couldn’t bring herself to knock.

Don’t be a coward. She lifted her hand.

The door opened. “Jisa? Is that – oh!” Treven’s face was like the rising sun. His long golden hair was unbound, clinging damply to his face, and he had stripped off his tunic in the heat and wore just his shirt, half-unlaced. “It is you! I didn’t know – I’m so glad you’re home.” He cleared his throat. “Jisa, I, er, may I…” He trailed off, blushing.

“Of course you can, silly.” She stepped forward, reaching for his hands. “I missed you.” The feel of his fingers wrapped around hers, callused and warm, was intoxicating.

He tugged her through the doorway, pulled the door shut, bolted it, and then picked her up and kissed her. Jisa, startled, got out half of a squeak before she forgot the entire thread of her thoughts. Her back was shoved against the door, she could feel the rough grain of the wood through her thin summer gown, his hands were around her middle and her feet dangling in midair. Surely his arms would get tired. She managed to twine her arms around his neck, holding on tight, and then to get her legs up around his waist and hang on, like she was climbing a tree the way Brightstar had taught her.

His hair was tickling her face, getting in her mouth; he grunted and freed one hand to swipe it aside, and then his lips were on hers again. He smelled like home.

Jisa was a lot better at kissing now. She had confided in Brightstar that she wasn’t sure she knew how to do it properly, and he had suggested she practice with one of her friends. Based on the happy noises Treven was making now, it had worked.

Finally, he pulled back and set her down. “I’m sorry. That was – I got carried away.”

Jisa was finding it hard to catch her breath. “Don’t be sorry,” she managed. “I’m the one who should be sorry, Trev. That I had to go away for so long.” She had been nervous about coming back, for some reason, but now she couldn’t remember why. It didn’t seem important.

“I missed you so much.” His voice was husky.

“I thought about you every single day.” Being in the same room as him, finally, after so long – it was like being desperately thirsty on a hot summer day and finally finding water, it didn’t make sense but she wanted to drink in all of him.

He stared at her, as though trying to memorize her face. “Did you learn a lot?”

“I did. Trev, I’ll tell you all about it later.” She was dizzy, lost in his blue eyes – not like her Companion’s eyes at all, really, but she felt like she could fall into them and drown, there was that much in common. “Right now I want you to kiss me again.”

She stepped into his arms, and he stooped way down so his face was level with hers. After a few seconds, Jisa lost patience with trying to make the angle work, and started nudging him over towards the bed. Which was neatly made with all the corners tucked in, because of course it was. Jisa hadn’t made her bed since she was nine and Mother stopped making her.

It was a lot easier to manage when they were lying down; it didn’t matter that he was so much taller.

:Treven: she sent, she wanted to say his name but her mouth was busy. Mindspeech was convenient that way.

:Oh, Jisa…: No words, only her name, but now their minds were touching, and it was so, so…she couldn’t even describe it.

A long time later, he rolled away, extracting her hands from under his shirt. “Need a minute…gods…catch my breath…”

“Sorry, was that too much?” He was breathing hard, and he did seem overwhelmed, pupils dilated until his eyes looked mostly black.

“No…s’wonderful…just…should take our time…” He licked his lips. “Never felt this way about anyone before. Jisa, I – I think I love you.”

She froze.

He blinked, confusion and embarrassment warring with hurt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

Jisa found her voice. “Of course you meant it. I love you too. Obviously.” She swallowed. “Trev, there’s something I should tell you.”

He waited, watching her intently.

“We’re…” Why was it so hard to say? “We’re lifebonded.” She didn’t even have to use her Sight to notice that they were a lot more lifebonded than they had been half a candlemark ago. Like her mind was desperately trying to catch up for missed time.

It was Treven’s turn to go very still. “Oh,” he said faintly.

The new tree inside her had been faintly reaching for him the whole time she was gone, but it had stayed a seedling. Now, she could feel how it was already growing.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Jisa told him. “It’s all right.” She lifted herself on one elbow. “I can step out, if you need some time alone to think about it.” She didn’t want to leave, but it wasn’t like he was going anywhere, or was going to stop being lifebonded to her.

“No, don’t.” He was blinking rapidly again. “How? Why me? Jisa, it’s too good to be true, I don’t deserve–”

“Stop.” Suddenly bold, she put her finger on his lips. “Trev, don’t be stupid. You’re a good person and you deserve everything you need to be happy – and that’s not even the point. I love you.”

He nodded, awed. Then the light of his smile faded. “Jisa. How long have you known?”

“Since right before I went to k’Treva.” She squirmed. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, there…wasn’t really a good time.”

“How long before?” His mouth had gone tight. “Did you already know when…”

“When I did the thing with Need?” She gritted her teeth. “Yes.” It was a very good thing that Enara had been respectfully staying out of her mind the entire time, because she would have been hearing a very loud ‘I told you so.’

The muted anger leaking from him – and echoing deep in her chest, from where her new, stronger sense of him lived – was bad enough, but the hurt and betrayal were worse. “I’m sorry,” she said miserably.

“Sorry doesn’t undo it.” His voice was like stone. “Why, Jisa? Do you have any idea how scared I was? How awful I felt? I thought you were going to die. And I didn’t – it was your life, I don’t control you, you didn’t owe me – but if we’re to be lifebonded, and, and you knew that… Why?” There were tears in his eyes now. “Don’t you think it was my right to have a say in it?”

Jisa didn’t think she could speak. :You would have stopped me: she sent.

:Yes! I would have stopped you! Because you’re too goddamned–: He broke off, flushing. :Sorry. You’re too important to me. And it turned out fine but it might not have, and you never should’ve been the one to take that risk:

She had never heard him swear before, and his embarrassment would have been funny, if she hadn’t been increasingly annoyed. :Why not? I’m going to be a Herald: She glared at him. :You can’t ban me from doing anything interesting just because I’m the King’s daughter!:

:It’s not about whether it’s fair! It’s just the way it is!: He swiped at the tangled sheets between them. :I don’t want to have bodyguards following me when I go outside, either. Doesn’t matter:

Jisa closed her eyes. She’d had a plan of what to say to him, once, how to apologize – she had thought it through so many times, playing the conversation out in her head – and now it was gone.

:Treven, I messed up: There, it was said. :I still think it’s worth it that I’m a mage, but…I shouldn’t’ve done it that way. I should’ve trusted my parents and I should’ve trusted you, and maybe that means I wouldn’t have been the first one to try it, but…but I should’ve believed you at least would help me do what was right for me. It wasn’t fair of me to just assume that you weren’t on my side:

He reached for her hand. :Of course I would have helped you do it. Later. Safely and properly:

:I know: She chuckled wetly. :Treven, I was being selfish. I wanted to prove I could do it all on my own, and I told myself I had to, for Valdemar, but I was wrong: She had done a lot of hard thinking after her conversation with Vanyel, and eventually concluded that he was right about that much at least. :I can’t promise I’ll never do anything stupid again, but…I’ll try to be better, all right?:

:I know: He shuffled in to kiss her forehead. :I forgive you:

That had been a lot easier than she expected, and the relief left her limp. :Thank you. I love you:

:I love you too: Treven sighed, and then sat up. “I should probably let you go home before your mother starts to worry. Don’t want her miffed with me.”

Jisa made a face. “It’s none of her business how late I get home.” There was currently an argument about whether she ought to room in the Heralds’ Wing or stay in Shavri’s quarters, and Jisa was very much hoping it fell out on the former. “Treven… Something else I should tell you.”

He raised his eyebrows, waiting.

“I…might have to travel for a while.” It was incredible how much she didn’t want to, right in this moment. White Winds had seemed exciting before, and it still did, but the last thing she wanted was to leave Treven ever ever again.

His eyes cleared. “Oh, that. I know. Dara told me about the plan.”

“Oh. Right.” Jisa rubbed her eyes. It shouldn’t have been that surprising; Treven wasn’t a normal trainee, of course he would know state secrets.

She swallowed the question she wanted to ask, pushing it down. Do you know about the Problem too? Even if he did, it wasn’t his decision whether to tell her, and it wasn’t fair of her to pressure him.

Enara would probably tell her she was being very mature. Good thing she wasn’t listening, because then Jisa would have to tell her to go jump in a river.

“I hope you slept well,” Tashir said politely. “Were your guest quarters adequate?”

Vanyel rested his elbows on the fine wooden table, hands clasping his tea like a lifeline. “Yes, everything was perfect.” He had barely slept a wink all night, but that wasn’t Tashir’s fault; the guest-bed was very comfortable, the bedroom pleasantly cool despite the early summer heat.

Stef was the only thing missing. Vanyel hadn’t suffered from insomnia so badly in years, and even when he dozed off, he kept waking, disoriented and panicky, reaching for someone who wasn’t there. To make it worse, in those sleep-fuzzed moments, half of the time he was looking for Tylendel, and a moment of desperate grief would pass in between recalling that Tylendel was dead, and remembering Stef. Probably he should have swallowed his pride and gone to the stables, but he hadn’t wanted to wake Yfandes, and he had been self-conscious. Bad enough that he had gotten up to take a bath twice; who knew what the servants though? 

Tashir was sitting across the table from him, looking disconcertingly like a grown-up Tylendel, and he couldn’t even explain to Brightstar and Featherfire, both abominably bright-eyed and eager, why it bothered him. And just to add insult to injury, there wasn’t even any goddamned chava. He had gone without the stuff in k’Treva, mainly because he hadn’t gotten around to packing any, but he could really have used it today.

Moondance was still in bed – it had been evident the night before that the the distance from Starwind was affecting him as well. Gods, I hope this doesn’t take long.

Tashir turned to the two youngsters, switching to fluent Tayledras. “And you?” They were sitting beside Vanyel, both with their bondbirds perched on the backs of their chairs. Featherfire was now bonded to an entire family of ravens, a male and female with two youngsters; they were all lined up in a row, chirping, and she had been feeding them tidbits from her plate. They all had names, which Vanyel felt guilty for not being able to keep track of.

Brightstar had just finished his second helping of sausages, also passing occasional bites to Kalari, his red-tailed hawk. He chewed and swallowed the final bite. “It is amazing! So high, I cannot believe it – I looked out the window and your ekele is as tall as the biggest tree in the Vale! And you live here all the time.”

“Palace, not ekele,” Tashir corrected.

“The baths are not as good as our hot springs,” Brightstar admitted.

A chuckle. “I agree. It must seem very different.”

“It feels different.” Brightstar closed his eyes. “The land is…sleepy.”

“Is it?” Tashir leaned forward, curious. “What does that mean?”

“It was cleansed a long time ago. There is energy here, a great deal, but so tame. Not wild like as the Pelagirs.” His eyes were moving around behind his eyelids. “I See traces of work that was done, a very long time ago. Leylines that were moved. It was well done.”

Tashir beamed, as though taking personal pride in the good condition of the land. “I’m glad. That’s very good to hear.” He turned to Featherfire. “And you?” She hadn’t been speaking much so far, including the night before; Brightstar had greeted Tashir like a long-lost friend, though they had only spent a few weeks together six years ago, but Featherfire had been even quieter than usual.

She ducked her head, hair sliding across one eye. “The mice are happy here,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Tashir looked baffled. “The…mice…?”

“Animal Mindspeech,” Vanyel explained quickly.

“Fascinating.” Tashir really did look interested. “Featherfire, could you tell me more?”

She scratched at the tabletop with one delicate fingernail. “There was a nest behind the wall. With babies. I fed them some crumbs from my supper. They are afraid of the cats, but they are safe as long as they stay in the walls, and it is warm there.” Her voice grew a little bolder “Mice have very simple minds. Not like human beings. They do not exactly think, or make plans – they feel emotion, though it is…less. They remember a little, but very simply.”

“Incredible.” Tashir was watching her with his chin propped on one hand. “Well, I am sorry about the cats – just, the cook doesn’t want mice anywhere near the pantry. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to give them the run of the upper rooms, though…” He brightened. “I’ve a mind to have you talk to all of our animals. I’d hate to think my people were treating them cruelly without my knowing.”

Featherfire nodded, earnest. “I can talk to warm-blooded animals, and birds. I cannot tell you for beetles and such. They do not know happiness as we would recognize it, nor do they truly feel pain.”

Tashir’s brow furrowed. “What’s it like to be an insect, then?”

“They see and hear and smell. Not the way that we do, so it is hard to compare, but I am…practiced at it.” Featherfire was actually blushing now. “They are entirely creatures of instinct. I cannot speak to them, only summon certain instincts, to make them hide or fight.”

Tashir grinned. “Might be useful. Imagine sending a horde of angry wasps after your enemy on the battlefield!” He chuckled.

Featherfire squirmed. “I would not like them to be harmed.”

“Right, of course not. Still, if you had to…”

Vanyel sat back, letting the conversation drift over him. Featherfire was warming to the subject, her eyes shining – well, it probably was a heady thing for an important grownup to be listening to her with such rapt attention. Tashir seemed…gods, he was so relaxed and confident. Happy. Worlds apart from the frightened boy Vanyel had rescued from the gory devastation of the Palace, six years ago.

I should answer his letters more often. Tashir wrote to him every few months – there had been a whole stack accumulated from his time away – and Vanyel had been lucky to manage two replies a year.

“Moondance!” Tashir leapt to his feet, delight in his face. “You are awake. Did you rest well?”

“Well enough.” Moondance didn’t look much happier than Vanyel felt, but he forced a smile.

“Well, have some breakfast, and then we can go ahead and have a look at the Heartstone.”

The sun smarted in her eyes, and the clouds of dust raised by Rolan’s hoofbeats made her nose itch. Even her summer Whites were too hot, clinging to her.

Ahead, a signpost swam out of the haze as the dust settled, almost gilded in the too-bright light. She squinted, trying to make out the lettering.

“I think we’re here,” she heard herself say.

She shouldered her saddlebag, and stroked Rolan’s neck before letting go. “I’m sorry you can’t come with me, love. I promise I’ll be careful.” Soon, she would be outside Valdemar – but this time, without her Companion to aid her.

She glanced back. “Are you coming?”

Karis was brushing the caked dust dust from her riding leathers. In that moment, she looked nothing like a Queen – flushed and sweaty, braids messy from the wind, carrying her own pack, a dagger hooked to her belt – but she held herself like one.

“I am ready,” the ruler of Karse said.

Dara started, already halfway to sitting up before she realized she was awake. :Rolan!:

:What is it, Chosen?: He sounded groggy.

:Dream. Foresight: She rubbed her eyes; the predawn dimness around her felt half-unreal, the images from the dream still bright and clear, hanging like a jewel in her thoughts. :Same as before, but more detail: Yet again, her Gift – or some god, somewhere, if that was how Foresight worked – was giving her increasingly insistent hints. :I was with Karis. Alone, she didn’t have any guards with her. I had to leave you behind for some reason, that part felt important. And I don’t know where we were, but it was near the border, and I actually saw the signpost. Couldn’t read all of it, but the first letter was ’S’: Finished with her description, she parted her shields fully, shoving the images directly at him. Maybe he could extract more from them.

She was fully awake now, though it had to be at least an hour before sunrise. Oh well. Getting back to sleep was probably a lost cause–

Beside her, Tran stirred sleepily, reaching out with a wordless, drowsy Mindtouch.

:Go back to sleep: she assured him. :It’s nothing. I’m sorry to wake you:

Something in the overtones must have clued him in that it wasn’t nothing, because he stretched and opened his eyes. :Nightmares?:

:No. Foresight, I think: She hesitated, then reached out to offer him the already-fading memory of it; he was a strong enough Mindspeaker for that kind of sharing.

:Hmm. Sorry, doesn’t mean anything to me: He was still groggy, but he reached for her. :Snuggle?:

She had been planning to just get up, but she didn’t actually have to be anywhere for candlemarks. :All right: She eased herself down, nestling in against his chest. This early, it was still cool enough that the heat of his body felt pleasant.

:I love you: he sent.

:I know: She chuckled. :I love you too:

Chapter Text

Jisa folded her arms. “I know I don’t have to go. I want to.”

Shavri sighed, and lowered herself into an armchair. They were in Randi’s quarters, along with Dara, Savil, and Lissa.

Her daughter had been home for three days. The first day, it had been like nothing had changed. After sleeping off the exhaustion of her first long-range Gate – which, fortunately, not that many people had seen, and Savil said that non-mages wouldn’t have been able to tell that Jisa was doing it rather than Van – she had run off for a meeting at the Collegium, come back just long enough to bolt down her supper while stories of her time in k’Treva spilled out in Mindspeech, and then darted out before Shavri could think to ask her where she was going. She had come home late, answered Shavri’s prodding about where she had been with a mutinous look, but consented to sit down over a cup of warm milk with her mother. Just like any other thirteen-year-old, Shavri thought fondly.

It wasn’t until days later, when she was settled in at the Collegium, that she had brought up the question of the White Winds school. Shavri had dared to hope that she had forgotten – a foolish dream, clearly – and then switched to praying that Jisa’s blossoming whatever-it-was with Treven would grant her a reprieve.

It wasn’t to be.

“You’ll be away for a long time,” Dara reminded her. “Maybe six months. The Comb won’t be passable once the snows start – if you’re not back by Sovvan, then you’ll have to stay over-winter.”

“I understand.” Jisa’s eyes were serious. Not stubborn, exactly. There was no defiance there, only quiet resolve. “Although…actually, I could just Gate home. I can’t Gate there, I don’t have a terminus in Rethwellan, but I could bring us back.”

“That’s very good to know.” Dara reached for her slate, making a note. “Still, it’s going to be hard traveling on the way there. You would be leaving just after Midsummer, so it’s going to be very hot. You’ll be riding ten or twelve candlemarks a day, you’re sure to end up with saddle-sores, and there won’t always be inns, so you’ll be have to sleep in a tent.”

“I can handle it,” Jisa said, unruffled.

“You’ll be in a foreign kingdom, around people who don’t speak Valdemaran,” Dara added. “How good is your Rethwellani?”

“It’s…alright. And I have nearly a month to brush up.”

“They have different customs that might make you uncomfortable,” Dara went on. “And you mustn’t make a scene.”

Jisa sat up straighter. “Are you talking about the thing where they murder people for being shaych? If they try to stone anyone when I’m there, I’m going to rescue them, but I think I’m good enough with illusions to do it without making a scene.”

Shavri clapped a hand to her mouth, stifling a giggle. It wasn’t funny at all, but the image of Jisa riding in with righteousness blazing in her eyes and sneakily disappearing whichever poor soul needed saving, to the bafflement of onlookers…well, it was vivid.

“That and other things,” Dara said smoothly. “They’re different in a number of ways, but our alliance with Rethwellan may end up being very important.”

“So I have to be a lady and bite my tongue.” Jisa nodded solemnly. “I can manage that.”

The awful thing was, she probably could manage it. Why does that thought make me want to cry?

Jisa’s eyes turned to her. “Mother, it’s not actually dangerous. Enara isn’t going to let me do anything stupid. Lissa won’t let any bandits get near me, and besides, I can use my Gifts to defend us if I must.” A flash of pride. “I learned a trick that I won’t feel at all bad about using on bandits.”

Dara took the bait. “Really? Do tell.”

Jisa smirked. “I can boost Mindhealing with node-energy and use a set-command to make someone stop in their tracks. Moondance let me practice on him a bit, to figure out how much energy to use, and I think I could manage it with twenty people at once.” A shrug. “If there’s more than twenty bandits, I guess Lissa would have to help me out.”

“That,” Lissa said weakly, “is terrifying.”

“That’s what Melody said too.” Jisa’s smile faded. “Mother, you know I’m the best person to do this. I’m replaceable, since I’m only a trainee anyway. Nani and Tamara are doing important work here. Besides, they aren’t Adept-potential and they don’t actually want to go. I need more training, and this way I’m not taking up anyone’s time in Haven, and you won’t have to tell anyone I’m a mage. Oh, and if there is an assassin killing mages and they come back, I won’t be here.”

Shavri looked away. She couldn’t bear her daughter’s solemn, too-adult expression.

“If you’re still worried,” Jisa went on, “you could send Need with us. We’d definitely be safe from bandits then.”

“You mean you’d end up fighting every bandit in the mountains regardless of whether they were after you,” Shavri said waspishly. “No. Absolutely not. I want you to stay out of trouble, not get dragged into it.”

“Mother, but I’m strong enough to resist Need, I already proved that–”

“No.”

“What if you gave her to Lissa?” Her daughter’s tone was wheedling now. “Then it wouldn’t be me getting in trouble.”

“I said no. That’s final.” Shavri clasped her hands behind her back to hide her trembling. Never. Well, probably not never – Jisa was growing up, and if she wanted a magic sword and said magic sword wanted her, it wasn’t Shavri’s right to keep that from her forever.

And she was less sure than she had been that Need would be irresponsible with her daughter, after hearing her qualms around awakening Jisa’s mage-gift. She had been half-asleep before, acting on instinct; now, with her full faculties, she was capable of greater care.

But now wasn’t the time. For one thing, Shavri had to admit she was relying heavily on the blade. She tried not to hog her all the time, but lately, Need’s presence – and energy – was the only thing getting her through Randi’s worst days.

“Jisa,” she heard Dara say. “What does your Companion think of this plan?”

“She’s not worried about my safety. She says it’ll keep me busy and out of trouble, and she’ll rest a lot easier once I’m fully trained.” A huff. “There’s some other reason, but she’s being all secretive and not telling me.”

Before she could even think to ask, Dara’s Mindtouch brushed her shields. :Rolan is pointing out that if we do end up at war in the next six months, a reclusive mage-school full of powerful Adepts, in another kingdom, might be the best possible place for Jisa to be:

Oof. Shavri managed to hide her wince, but her chest ached. That…wasn’t false.

“Please,” Jisa said. “Mother, I’m going to be a Herald. That means I serve Valdemar. This could be really helpful, and it’s not even dangerous.”

:Rolan agrees with that: Dara threw in. :And the part about keeping her out of trouble:

Shavri nodded. Time to admit that the rational considerations did point in one direction, and her true objection wasn’t about Jisa’s safety at all. What about me, a voice in her was crying out, a deep-buried whimper. It’s not fair. You’ve taken so much. Don’t take my daughter too. More and more, it felt like Jisa was her one remaining anchor to sanity – the only bright light left to cling to, as the rest of the world faded into stormy grey twilight.

But she could manage. She had Randi, and Melody. Van would be home soon. Besides, it’s not about you. Don’t be selfish.

“All right,” she heard herself say. “You’ve convinced me.”

A younger Jisa would have shrieked for joy, leapt into the air, hugged her; the Jisa in front of her now only nodded. “Thank you, Mother.”

Vanyel leaned heavily against the wall next to the open doorway. The Palace was bringing up more and darker memories than he would have preferred. Six years ago – no, gods, almost seven – Mardic had been the one who found him here, drenched in his own blood, barely holding at bay the awful not-memories that the Star-Eyed had locked away.

Not so long after, not far from here at all, Mardic had died protecting him from Vedric Mavelan, minutes before Donni sacrificed herself to the same cause.

Gods, he wished Stef was there. I miss you, ashke. A moment’s surprise – it was the first time he had used that pet-name towards Stef, even in his own thoughts.

“What do you See?” he heard Moondance say behind him, echoing slightly in the Heartstone-room.

“It is very old.” Brightstar’s voice was toneless, the sound of a mage in trance. “The core is the same, and yet the way the leylines connect… I cannot say what is different, but something.”

“It seems to me it is more orderly,” Moondance said. “Rather than diverting the flows of energy as little as possible, this layout was thoughtfully planned. Do you care to guess why?”

Brightstar was silent for a while. “Da, I do not see it,” he admitted finally.

“Why do we shift the lines as little as we can?”

“…So as not to disturb the local patterns, so that it will be easier to restore when we move on.” A muted breath in. “I understand now. This was never meant to be moved.”

“Yes. It was built to be permanent – not only that, but to last with no mages and no Healing-Adept to maintain it.”

Half-listening, still keeping his back turned, Vanyel let his eyes drift down the corridor. Tashir had done considerable redecorating; this was obviously an area he frequented often, rather than the out-of-the-way corner it had been in his parents’ time, and there were thick rugs on the floor, paintings and tapestries on the wall. Tashir himself had been hovering nearby, listening; he seemed to take a proprietary interest in the Heartstone, and had cancelled his other engagements to watch Moondance’s work, but at some point he must have gotten bored. He was standing with Featherfire now, ten yards further down the corridor, pointing out a tapestry to her. They spoke softly, and Vanyel couldn’t quite make out the words, but Featherfire was smiling, her cheeks pink and her eyes sparkling.

I’m glad someone is having a good time. It had seemed important that he accompany Moondance here, but right now Vanyel felt useless – he wasn’t the expert they needed, that was the whole reason for this trip, and he was just standing here, hundreds of miles away from Stef and for no good reason.

:Hang on, love: Yfandes, listening in, sent a wash of affection. :I know it’s not easy. Honestly, you don’t need to stay longer, now that you’ve made the introductions. Moondance can make his own way home:

:I want to talk with Moondance and Brightstar more: He hadn’t had a chance to follow up on their discussion of the Cataclysm; he was hoping that Brightstar’s fertile intuition might have digested some new insights in the meantime.

:You know: Yfandes sent, :I understand why Moondance is in a rush to go home, but I don’t see why Brightstar can’t accompany you back to Haven:

:What?: He nearly choked on his saliva. :Why?:

:Because he’s itching to spend some time out of the Vale, and he would be delighted at the chance to keep helping you: A pause. :I’d been wondering, actually. He seemed awfully jealous of Jisa getting the chance to go see this White Winds place:

Vanyel grunted. :You’re saying we should send him too? I’m not sure we ought to encourage their sibling rivalry:

Mental laughter. :I think it’s quite healthy, actually. And, well, we don’t know much about their tradition, but we can expect it to be different. Look what he’s already done with a few tidbits from that Shin’a’in shaman. It could be very interesting to see what he makes of an entirely different school of magic:

That was a point. :Will Moondance agree?: Giving up a Healing-Adept for such a long time seemed very costly.

Another chuckle. :I think he’ll be delighted. He’s not Shavri. And Brightstar can be spared; k’Treva is very lucky to have two Healing-Adepts. He would wish to consult Starwind, of course, but I expect using the communication-spell to reach one of the other elders would suffice:

Vanyel let his head fall back against the wall. :I’ll think about it:

His eyes caught on Tashir and Featherfire again. Tashir was laughing, his head thrown back, and Featherfire looked smug. They were standing quite close together, he noticed.

:Are you thinking what I’m thinking?: Yfandes sent.

:What?:

:Well, they seem to be enjoying each other’s company an awful lot:

:You think they’re…: He rubbed his eyes. :Interested in each other? They’re nowhere near the same age!: Feeling her amusement rise, he clamped his lips together. :Don’t say it: It might be true that the age difference between him and Stef was several times greater, but that was different.

Featherfire wasn’t going to be there long, he reminded himself. She couldn’t get herself into too much trouble, surely.

:Look at you, playing the overprotective father: Yfandes teased. :Love, your daughter may be shy, but she is Tayledras. She can handle herself just fine:

Fair enough. If she wanted to indulge in a bit of harmless flirting, well, good for her.

Standing in front of the closed door, shields locked in place, Jisa bit her lip until she tasted blood. It was just after dawn, the fifth day that she had been home, and she had already put off this moment for far too long.

She raised her hand. Do it. Just do it. Enara knew she was here, but her Companion was respectfully staying back, at Jisa’s request. It had felt important to handle this on her own.

The door creaked open. Taut with nerves, Jisa jumped several inches in the air.

“You know,” Melody said, “you may be excellent at shielding, but you still breathe loudly. Come on in. Chava?”

“Yes, p-please,” she stammered out. “Er, if you have sugar.” Shavri didn’t think she was old enough to drink it, but it made her feel grown-up, and anyway, half the Herald-trainees did. Jisa’s current Heraldic mentor, a final-year trainee, had inherited Dara’s potted plant when she graduated, and used the profits from selling its first crop to order seeds of other strains from Rethwellan, which she intended to cross-breed. By now she was on her way to having an entire garden on her windowsill.

Terrill was by the window, his lanky frame folded into one of the chairs and his feet stretched out on a stool. To Jisa’s surprise, Jeren was there as well, currently occupied writing in the day’s schedule with a bit of chalk. He waved to her.

“Jisa!” Terrill saw her, and sat up, smiling broadly. “You’re looking well. Congratulations, by the way. It’s a shame to lose you, but you were practically born to be a Herald.” Jeren bobbed his head in agreement.

“Thank you.” Jisa scuffed her feet on the rug, watching as Melody filled a pottery mug from the pot beside the fire, and stirred in a dollop of cream from the pitcher and a generous spoonful of honey. She took it with her best imitation of a smile.

“Are you coming back?” Jeren said hopefully. “We all miss your tutoring. You’re so hands-on.” He dared a glance at Terrill. “He just makes us write essays.”

“I don’t know.” Jisa fidgeted with the cup. “I’m probably going to be too busy for a while.” She missed it as well, but it seemed very up in the air whether Melody would even let her teach again, after what she’d done.

Silence fell. Terrill was clearly still waking up – he hated mornings – and Jeren was distracted. Melody had refilled her own mug and was going through the notes on the table, deliberately casual.

Jisa gritted her teeth. :Melody: she sent. :Can we talk?:

:Came to clear the air, did you?: Melody still didn’t look at her. :I suppose it’s as good a time as any: She stroked the rim of her cup. “Jeren,” she said out loud. “Jisa and I are going to have a little catch-up. We’ll take room two. Can I leave you and Terrill in charge of sorting out which of our trainees are shadowing with who today? Oh, and please move my second-after-lunch patient to some other time so I can fit in Aber’s urgent request.” She took Jisa’s elbow, guiding her towards one of the smaller doors.

It was the first time she had been back as a mage, and Jisa curiously summoned her mage-sight. The shields against Thoughtsensing were solid, but the permanent sound-barrier was wearing thin. “Just a moment,” Jisa said, setting down her cup on the side table and closing her eyes. She hadn’t mastered the technique, permanent set-spells were tricky, but adding more power to an existing spell was a lot easier.

When she came back to awareness, Melody was watching her with raised eyebrows. “I thought that particular Gift was meant to be a secret.”

Jisa glanced at the closed door. “It’s not like either of them can tell.” She took a deep breath, and lowered herself into one of the cozy upholstered chairs. “Melody, I–” Damn it, she had rehearsed this. Why had all of the words escaped?

Melody waited, patient. Even her hands were still.

Jisa retrieved her chava and took a sip, stalling. Don’t lose your courage now. “I came to apologize,” she said tightly. “I did something unforgivable. Melody, I knew it was bad, but...” Her eyes were stinging now. “I d-didn’t give myself time to think, I j-just rushed into it b-before I could change my mind.” There was a catch in her throat, and she switched to Mindspeech. :I thought about it a lot, and I’ve a better idea of the damage I did, and how much worse it could’ve been if more people found out. I crossed a line; I burned trust. And I had other options. Melody, if I could somehow go back, I…don’t think I would do it again: She wished she could say it with more certainty, but she didn’t want to lie, and she wasn’t actually sure.

Her teacher blinked. “You’ve spoken to Van about it, then? Well, I suppose you did have months with the Hawkbrothers to talk it out. Good.”

Jisa twisted her hands around the cup. “He said it wasn’t his right to forgive me for all of it, but he forgave me for the part where I hurt him.” She still wasn’t sure if she deserved that. “Melody, he said if I’m to be trusted with power, I have to be very good at not justifying doing what I want by telling myself it’s the right thing. That it’s dangerous.” Tears were welling again; she didn’t understand why it was still so painful to think about. “Melody, what if – I don’t know if I can do that. If I’m good enough. And I don’t know where to go from here.”

It was a very strange feeling, not trusting herself. Her very thoughts were suspect, even – especially – the ones that felt the most true. Her entire life, she had never doubted herself like this.

“Hmm.” Melody’s lips were serious, but there was something like pride in her eyes. “Jisa, have you read Seldasen on ethics?”

“No. I think his treatise on tactics is on the curriculum for one of my classes now, but not the ethics one.”

“Well, you should. I can’t claim it’ll make everything clear again, but that’s not something wrong with you – it’s a confusing world out there, Jisa. Uncertainty is the correct response – I’d be a lot more worried if you thought you did understand it. I do think Seldasen will give you the tools to think about it better, so I’d recommend you stew on it awhile, and then speak to Van about it, or me.” Her eyes creased at the corners. “And, of course, if you’re ever trying to make a difficult decision where the stakes are high, it’s always a good idea to run it by someone. Get an outside viewpoint. None of us are perfect, but at least other people will have different biases.”

Jisa nodded. “I understand. Thank you, Melody.”

“You’re welcome.” The Mindhealer leaned back, peering owlishly at her over the rim of her mug. “Oh, and in case you’re wondering – Jisa, you’re always welcome back here. I understand you have other commitments, but even a few candlemarks a week would be much appreciated, if that was something you wanted.”

“Of course!” She had dared to hope, but she hadn’t expected it to feel so good. “I’ll talk to Shallan about my schedule. Maybe I can get one day off a week, since I’ve already taken a lot of the classes with the Blues. Um, I might be traveling for a while though…” She didn’t know how much she was supposed to say.

“I heard. Very exciting. And the official story is that you’re representing us, which is quite the badge of honour. I understand it’s not the real plan, but if you do happen to actually meet any young Mindhealers – or not so young – who would like training, please pass on word that we have an actual school for it now.”

Caught off balance, Jisa could only nod eagerly.

“Well, then.” Melody squinted at the window, gauging the angle of the light. “We have a few minutes. Care to fill me in on your adventures in k’Treva?”

It felt like the Council meeting would never end.

Stef knew it was an illusion; it hadn’t actually been more than a candlemark. Randi, well-supported in his padded chair with arm and foot-rests and Shavri standing behind him, seemed to be holding up fine.

The mood was…complicated. Right now, Lord Withen Ashkevron was yet again holding court on why they absolutely had to wrangle a new treaty with Rethwellan on the upcoming trip, including a mutual defence clause. So far he had pushed hard in favour of every single intervention related to war-preparation.

Stef knew exactly why. While he had been away, Vanyel’s father had learned about Leareth. Not everything – Dara had sat him down and carefully explained exactly which pieces were known and which were still close-held secrets – but enough.

Stef hadn’t yet been back a day when Lord Ashkevron had knocked on the door of his shared room with Medren – not even sending a note, he had walked over in person – and invited him over for ‘a nip of the good brandy.’ Stef hated brandy, but he had accepted the invitation anyway, and sat up late into the night in Withen’s study. Lady Treesa had fluttered in a few times, clucking at them and bringing snacks, but mostly left them alone for their ‘men’s talk.’

He recalled the conversation only vaguely: guard-levies, taxes, the leanings of various lords on the Council, Randi’s health, Treven’s potential as heir, how Dara compared to Tran as Monarch’s Own. All of it tangential, bending around the weight that hung between them. Withen hadn’t said a word about his feelings until the midnight bell had come and gone and his bottle of good brandy was three-quarters gone. Bard, you’re the best thing that’s happened to my son in decades. Damn it but it’s not right to snatch that from him so soon.

Stef, dizzy from the alcohol he had choked down out of politeness, had blinked away tears, squared his shoulders, and informed Van’s father that he didn’t intend to just let that happen, if he had any say in the matter. Withen had gotten very red in the face, muttered ‘I’ll drink to that’, refilled both of their glasses, and then gripped Stef’s arm, silently, for what had felt like five minutes. The whole interaction had been confusing and awkward, but Stef could interpret that part easily enough. A declaration of alliance.

Breda knew. Presumably Dellar had told her after the announcement to the Council. She had dragged Stef into her dim bear’s-den of a suite and gently, over candlemarks, coaxed him to say a great more than he had intended. There might have been tears involved. Fortunately, with the room as dark as Breda preferred it, there had been plausible deniability.

Medren didn’t know. It felt impossible, like the whole world should have been aware, but apparently the request for secrecy had held, and it wasn’t all over the Palace. No real outwardly-visible preparations had been made yet; there was the planned trip to Rethwellan, with a side jaunt to the city of Mournedealth in Jkatha, and Stef knew Jisa’s part in it even if the rest of the Council didn’t. The Lord Marshal had talked his way around instituting a draft for the Guard, which would obviously require some sort of public announcement, but that hadn’t been decided yet.

The announcement about the pass – the failure to find it, rather – had gone over more smoothly than Stef had expected. He had managed to talk to Savil and Randi, giving the impression that the Tayledras had sent scouts to search rather than revealing the kyree’s secrets. Savil had seemed relieved and pleased.

On his part, it was possible that Stef should have been more worried, but he wasn’t. They’ll find it. The certainty was in his bones. If they didn’t, he could deal with that eventuality when it came.

Huddled behind his discreet folding screen in the corner, Stef gulped a quick mouthful of water and stretched his hands before starting the next song. He played as softly as he could, and crooned under his breath, not loud enough to be heard but it let him push through more of his Gift. If he had been feeling more ambitious, he might have tried to loosen some of the tension swimming around in the room, Randi had given him explicit permission to do so, but for now he focused only on the King.

“…We’re going to damned well wish we’d done it when we could…”

Withen’s voice drifted over him. He was a surprisingly good public speaker, Stef thought – not at all in the way Van was, he wasn’t particularly eloquent, but his staccato phrases, punctuated by frequent profanities, certainly drew attention.

Thinking of Vanyel was ill-advised; the strain in his chest redoubled, a lute-string pulled to the breaking point, some part of him frantically reaching across the miles between them. Why aren’t you here? A pointless cry.

Van was fine, he reminded himself. He was perfectly well, spending time with his close friend Moondance and his children, and he would be home soon.

Soon. He had repeated it to himself so many times that it didn’t feel like a real word anymore.

Smiling as brightly as she could, Jisa swung her legs back and forth. “How are you holding up?”

She was in Stef’s room, sitting on the edge of his bed. It was the third time she had come by, and the first she had caught him at home. If she guessed right, he had only just gotten back from the Council meeting that Mother had been at all afternoon.

“Fine.” He didn’t sit like someone who was fine; his arms were pulled up around his knees, his chin tucked in.

“You miss Van?” she guessed.

“Obviously.” A flash of waspishness, quickly suppressed. “I can manage.” He offered her a not-particularly-convincing smile. “It’s not for long.”

“Still, it must be hard.” In the four days since she had been back, the longest block of time she had spent apart from Treven had been eleven and a half candlemarks, and it had felt like about a century, despite the fact that they’d been in Mindspeech range for most of it. For propriety’s sake, and to avoid any rumours getting back to Mother, she had been sleeping in her own shared room at the Collegium, but no one seemed to notice or care how much she visited him.

“I said it’s fine.” A slight edge to his voice.

“Mmm.” Jisa kicked her feet again. “Stef, there’s something I should tell you.” She really did owe him an explanation; she had been holding off on telling anyone else until Treven knew, but Stef was her best friend. And it made her stomach squirm a lot less than the thought of telling Vanyel – or, even worse, Mother and Papa.

“It’s very good news,” she added.

“Oh?”

“I–” Why was it always so incredibly hard to say? “Treven and I are lifebonded.” She couldn’t finish the sentence without a smug grin threatening to split her face open.

His eyebrows rose, mouth falling open into an almost-comical ‘O’ of surprise. Jisa swallowed a giggle.

“That’s wonderful,” he said finally. “You look so happy, Jisa. I’m glad.” A crooked smile. “He seems…very nice.”

The hint of doubt in his voice was the final straw – Jisa felt a laugh burbling up from her belly. “Stef, your face! I know, I know, he’s…” She couldn’t find the right word for it, other than ‘the opposite of you’, which seemed offensive.

“An obedient little puppy?” Stef suggested. “I mean, can’t you just see him trotting along behind Dara with his tail wagging and his tongue hanging out?”

Jisa nearly fell over laughing. The worst part was, she could. He was exactly like one of those hunting-retrievers that some of the noble families bred, down to the golden shade of his hair.

“I’m sure he’ll be very good to you,” Stef said. “Fetch you as many sticks as you want, roll over when you ask…”

Jisa toppled backwards onto the bed. “Stef, stop, I can’t breathe–”

“Always thought he was kind of boring,” Stef mused. “Sickeningly normal. Compared to you, anyway. Maybe that’s for the best. I’m not sure the entire world is big enough for two people like you to be lifebonded to each other.”

“Stef!” she protested, between hiccups. “He’s…not…boring...”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Stef waggled his eyebrows at her. “He’s so tall. Is it true that tall boys have enormous–”

“Stef, don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Jisa sat up, still wheezing and wiping her eyes. “Fine, maybe he is boring, but so’s Medren. Treven is clever and he’s kind to everyone and he’s going to be an amazing King.”

Stef held up both hands in mock-surrender. “I yield! I believe you. Guess a King should be–” Then, finally, she saw realization dawn. “Wait. You’re lifebonded…and you’re Chosen now… Jisa, does that mean what I think it means?”

“I could be Queen.” The silliness fell away, leaving only quiet determination, and a strange sort of clarity.

“Gods.” Stef rubbed his eyes, then blinked at her, as though seeing her for the first time. “You. A Queen. Honestly, the idea is kind of terrifying.”

Jisa threw a pillow at him.

He didn’t even bother to dodge. “A queen,” he said with mock-solemnity, “has to be dignified.”

“No, a Queen gets to decide the rules–”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works!”

Moondance stood by the huge glass window, staring out at the expanse of sky and the buildings far below. It was quite impressive, he had to admit – the Palace wasn’t as large as the one in Haven, but it was a lot weirder, standing like an enormous bond bird bird with its wings mantled to protect the city.

Daria was on his shoulder, and he reached to scratch her head-feathers; she chirruped at him. She was quite elderly now for a bondbird, but had still ventured out and flown above the Palace a few times, sharing her eyes with him so he could enjoy the view.

Brightstar was still examining the Heartstone. Moondance had decided it was safe to leave him to his own devices. It was hard for him to concentrate. Starwind, ashke…

It was their fourth day in Lineas-Baires. Van had knocked on his door late on the second night, haggard and swaying on his feet, and Moondance, who hadn’t been having much more luck falling asleep, had welcomed him in. It hadn’t hurt any less, exactly, when they were huddled up together under the covers, but it had felt a little less lonely. Van had still slept poorly enough that Moondance had urged him to go to Tashir’s apothecary and obtain some kind of herb to help – if he had been thinking ahead, he would have brought such things from k’Treva, but he hadn’t.

“Uncle Moondance?”

He turned. “Featherfire?” She wasn’t usually so formal with him. “What is it?” She looked pale and shaken, and was chewing her lip worriedly.

“I…need advice,” she said finally. “I did something wrong. I think.” A shiver. “I hurt him.”

“Who?”

“T-Tashir.” Her voice caught, and she switched to Mindspeech. :Uncle, I do not understand… We were speaking in the garden, and I thought…it seemed he wanted to hold hands, so I did…it was very good, we were cuddling, and then – and then I kissed him, and he pushed me to the side, he said he was sorry and ran away!:

Oh. Moondance groaned, and resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. Instead, he held out his arms. :I am sorry, ke’chara. That must have been confusing and hurtful:

She gazed up at him. :I am not hurt! I am worried that he is!: She made a face. :I am hardly an expert, yet I am surely not so horrific at kissing as to drive a man into hiding!:

:No, I am sure it was not that: Moondance sighed. Goddess of my mothers, what am I supposed to do? Featherfire didn’t know about Tashir’s particular history. How would she? She had been ten years old when he had come to k’Treva.

He might try to find Jervis, who even then had been something a confidante to Tashir, but he doubted the weaponsmaster would have much skill at giving advice for this particular matter. No – this was something he was better prepared to handle, even if it was the last thing he felt ready for. Besides, it was half his fault, for completely failing to pay attention and letting it proceed to this point without warning Featherfire to be careful. He hadn’t noticed at all…even though, thinking back, the signs had been there for days.

He reached to take her hand, and she let him. :Come: he said. :I think we ought speak to him, and see what is wrong. Do you know where he is now?:

:Stables: Featherfire answered instantly.

It sounded like she had been snooping through the eyes of nearby animals, but it didn’t seem like the time to chide her for it. :Then let us go:

Featherfire had mostly recovered her composure by the time they reached the stable doors. Tashir’s Leshya had his own stall, at the back, specially made with a pull-strap on the latch so that the stallion could let himself in and out. 

He gestured for Featherfire to stay back, and approached. “Tashir? Are you there?” He was, a blot of bundled-up nerves against Moondance’s Thoughtsensing, but it was polite to ask.

“Moondance?” There was a rustling of straw, and a tawny head appeared above the door. Tashir’s eyes were red, but he seemed composed enough now. “Oh. I’m glad.” His shoulders sagged. “I thought – I wanted… Do you have a minute to talk?”

“That is why I came here.” Moondance reached for the latch. “May I?”

“Oh, sorry, of course.” Tashir unfastened the door and nudged it open, took half a step forward, then hesitated. “Do you mind…?” He gestured vaguely at the straw inside, and the Companion stallion curled up against one side. Leshya’s intelligent blue eyes fixed on Moondance, acknowledging him with a nod of that ponderous head.

“Of course.” Moondance slipped through, and squatted down in the straw, holding eye contact, forcing his shoulders to stay relaxed; it was important that he be soothing, now. “Tashir, are you well? It seems my niece is worried that she has frightened you.”

“Oh. Gods.” Tashir clamped both hands over his face, muffling his voice. “That. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I wasn’t thinking… I was awful to her. Is she very angry?”

“No, of course not. Merely concerned that she has caused you pain.”

“No, gods, not at all, it’s not her fault.” Tashir uncovered his eyes, fingers still cupped around his nose. “I should apologize. That was so rude of me. Er, could you…um…help me find her?”

“Easily, if that is what you wish.” Moondance waited for Tashir to nod, then reached out with a Mindtouch. :Featherfire, come here:

Running footsteps, and then she slowed and half-tiptoed to the mouth of the stall, with trepidation. “Tashir? I did not mean to upset you.”

“No, please, it wasn’t you, I’m just terrible with–”

“Stop.” Moondance held up both hands. “Better. Featherfire, come sit.” He nudged the door shut with a breath of mage-energy, then held Tashir’s eyes, taking slow measured breaths until the younger man had unconsciously matched him. “Tashir, do you feel able to explain why this was so difficult for you?”

Tashir gulped. “I guess.” He lowered his hands to his lap. “Featherfire, it really isn’t you. You’re wonderful. Just, I’m…I get scared when people touch me, sometimes. And I’m really bad with, er, girls. Especially if they’re really pretty like you are. Sometimes I panic. I’m a lot better about it now, usually, but…I was having such a nice time, I wasn’t thinking, and then all of a sudden it was too much. I’m sorry I ran away, it was horribly rude.”

Featherfire’s face was shifting through a whole constellation of expressions, confusion and guilt alternating with pleased surprise. Her cheeks had gone bright pink when Tashir said she was pretty.

Tashir squeezed his eyes shut. “Leshya is telling me I should say why. That you won’t…think I’m disgusting. When I was younger–” He reached convulsively for his Companion’s mane. “My mother did…bad things to me. Things one… would do…with a lover.”

Featherfire’s face screwed up. “Ew! Why?”

“I know, it’s gross, I’m sorry–”

“Not you!” Featherfire rose on her heels, eyes flashing. “You. Are not. Gross. At. All.” She subsided, shrinking with embarrassment.

Tashir was blinking hard. Suddenly, with no apparent provocation, he threw a handful of straw at his Companion. “Leshya!”

“What?” Featherfire started.

Tashir sagged back against the wall of the stall. “My Companion is informing me that this is the most progress he’s seen in years. He says, I held hands with a girl I liked for a whole five minutes and I wasn’t panicking even a little – shut up, Leshya’s, that’s not impressive.”

“I think it is,” Featherfire said quietly. Her slender hands twisted together in her lap. “Tashir, do you really…?”

“Do I really what?”

She turned away, hiding her face behind a curtain of hair. “Like me.”

“What? Obviously! You’re beautiful and clever and interesting and…” His face was going crimson. “I’m sorry. I mean, I’d understand if you don’t like me that way, because I’m awful at things, but–”

“I like you,” Featherfire whispered.

“Oh.” A frozen pause. “Really?”

Moondance turned away, trying to hide his smile. I will have to tell Starwind of this. His bondmate would find it very touching.

Chapter Text

Savil cut off mid-sentence, lurching back in her armchair. “Gate,” she said.

Stef hadn’t needed to be told. He couldn’t feel the magic, of course, but the sudden, incredible release of tension told him enough, and he was halfway to his feet before she had even opened her mouth. Van.

Then he remembered where he was, and froze, glancing helplessly at Dara. They were meeting in Randi’s quarters; it was Treven’s weekly session with the King, talking through recent decisions.

Dara rose as well. “Stef, just go. Savil, you too. We’ll wrap up here.”

Stef’s entire body was thrumming with impatience, but he took a deep breath and forced himself to pause, righting the stool he had knocked over and then going to offer Savil his arm. She accepted it was a grateful nod.

“…And it’s down,” she said as they stepped out into the hall. “They’re at the temple. Van is… We should meet them there.”

They were halfway down the hall before Stef realized he had left behind his lute. Oh well. His feet wanted to run, but he held back. Getting to Vanyel thirty seconds earlier wasn’t worth arriving in an undignified, sweaty sprint.

The path from the main Palace wing through the gardens to the Temple to Kernos had never felt so long. There was already a knot of figures there as they approached, as well as the white shapes of several Companions, coats shining in the sun.

Six days. That was how long he and Van had been apart.

He could feel his lifebonded reaching back as well. It was wonderful to be able to feel him again, not as a distant ache, but near and alive, and his eyes immediately snapped to Van, standing with his hand on the pommel of Yfandes’ saddle, speaking to someone.

All he wanted was to dash ahead and fling himself into Vanyel’s arms, but there were a number of other Heralds there, strangers, and Van wouldn’t want their relationship on display. Not here. He already missed k’Treva, where it hadn’t mattered, where they hadn’t needed to hide.

Vanyel nodded to the young woman in Whites who had been speaking to him, then turned. “Bard Stefen.” His tone was polite and impersonal, his smile measured, but the incredible relief and joy he felt through their bond told a different story, and a moment later he felt the brush of his lover’s mind. :Stef, ashke… Oh, gods, love, you have no idea how glad I am to see you:

Vanyel was holding back – his mental voice had the narrow, pinched feeling that meant he was being very careful to avoid reading Stef’s surface thoughts. Which was fine, it was respectful of him; Stef hadn’t given the signal that he was ready for Vanyel to enter his mind more fully; but for some stupid reason it still hurt. Stef forced his breath out, and managed to discreetly raise a hand and tap his temple, under the guise of unnecessarily smoothing his hair. Van-ashke, he thought as loudly as he could. I missed you.

:I missed you too: Vanyel’s eyes were on him, and even though his face was perfectly controlled, a marble mask, the softness in his eyes was unmistakeable. He reached to grip Stef’s arm, holding it for a second or two longer than necessary, and Stef almost whined when he let go.

Vanyel nodded to him again, his smile the carefully measured warmth of a man greeting a respected acquaintance, and then turned to Savil, who Stef had almost forgotten about. “Aunt. It’s good to be home.”

Savil got a hug. That wasn’t fair at all, Stef thought bitterly, wrestling down his disappointment and hurt. He understood why, everyone here knew that they were family, but still.

Now that the high of seeing his lifebonded at all, of touching him if only for a moment, was subsiding, Stef was able to notice what he hadn’t before. There were dark rings around Vanyel’s eyes, and he had stumbled a little when Savil released him. Now his knuckles were white around the pommel of Yfandes saddle, and Stef could feel his exhaustion through their bond, the echoes of a headache.

“Stef?”

He spun around. “…Brightstar? What are you–” He hadn’t even noticed the young Tayledras man, half-hidden behind Yfandes’ bulk.

“I stay in Haven,” Brightstar said in careful Valdemaran. “To...” he frowned, lips moving, “to learn the Web.”

“I think the word you want is ‘study’,” Vanyel said, smiling. “Sorry, everyone, I forgot to introduce Brightstar. He’s visiting for a while.” He glanced at Savil. “Oh, and Featherfire has declared that she’s staying in Highjorune for the next while.”

“What?” the older Herald-Mage said blankly. “Why – oh.”

Something had clearly passed between them in Mindspeech, and Vanyel winked. “She’s finding it educational,” he added out loud, and Savil chuckled. 

Stef couldn’t begin to guess what the inside joke was, but he could worry about that later. Right now, he was worried about Vanyel’s pallor, and the beads of sweat around his hairline that he didn’t think were thanks to the heat.

Savil must have noticed as well. “Ke’chara, let’s not stand around here any longer. Stef and I were about to have lunch. Join us? Brightstar, you can–”

“I think I go with Herald Nubia,” Brightstar said, smiling at the dark-complexioned young woman who was standing nearby. “She show me the stables.”

As far as he knew, there had been no plans for Savil to invite him for lunch, but Stef was grateful for the excuse. Vanyel let go of Yfandes with reluctance, and swayed visibly before Savil took his arm.

Somehow, the walk back to the Heralds’ wing felt even longer. Van was planting his feet carefully, eyes fixed ahead. Stef walked a very appropriate three paces behind, and hummed under his breath – his lifebonded shot him a grateful look, but then went back to mostly ignoring him. They finally reached Savil’s suite, after stopping to greet several Heralds in the hall, Stef gritting his teeth and waiting out the interruptions.

The instant that Savil had bolted the door behind them, Vanyel almost fell into his arms, kissing him with rare urgency and then burying his face in the hollow of Stef’s collarbone. :Stef:

“Do you two need to have a moment?” Savil said with amusement. “I’ll go pick us up some lunch from the dining hall.”

“Van,” Stef said faintly, “please sit down.” Slim as he was, Vanyel was taller and heavier than him, and Stef was finding himself supporting rather a lot of his weight.

A huff of agreement from Savil. “Van, ke’chara, you look like hell.”

“I’m pretty drained,” Vanyel admitted, letting Stef guide him over to the sofa and easing himself down with a groan.

“I can see that. Was the Gate that bad?” She stood over them, briefly reaching to stroke his hair. “I’ll be back.”

The door clicked shut.

“Van-ashke–”

Vanyel had already closed his eyes. “Let’s not talk now,” he murmured. “Can you just hold me?”

“Of course.” Stef held out his arms, then gave into temptation and pulled Van all the way into his lap. “Better?”

The only answer was a contented murmur, as Vanyel settled his head against Stef’s chest. Stef was happy to stay like that for a while, humming softly, even though his legs were slowly losing feeling.

“Van?” he said finally.

“Mmm?”

“Is something wrong? Savil’s right, you look peaky.”

An embarrassed grunt. “M’fine. Just tired.” His breath caught. “Stef, would you mind, um, could you stay over tonight? It’s fine if you don’t–”

“Of course.” It hadn’t occurred to Stef that he wouldn’t be joining Vanyel in his quarters, now that he was home. He already had most of his possessions packed up in a box, ready to carry over.

“Thank you.” He sighed. “Apparently I don’t sleep well when you’re not around.”

Stef had been having more difficulty sleeping than usual as well – not something he had ever experienced before. “Van-ashke, it’s not an imposition. I want to. We’re lifebonded.” It hadn’t seemed like he had to ask, but maybe he ought to. “I was thinking I could bring my things over.”

“Oh.” A surprised breath against his cheek. “I would like that. If you’re sure, I mean, my rooms aren’t that big–”

“Yes, I’m aware of that.” He snorted. “It’s not like I own very much.” Three standard uniforms, one set of formal Scarlets, some tattered and mismatched hand-me-downs to exercise in, and a tiny box of keepsakes accumulated over the years – plus his instruments and sheet-music, of course, which took up another two boxes. “I’ll ask Medren to help me with it tonight, then.”

They lapsed into comfortable silence.

“How was Highjorune?” Stef said finally.

A groan. “Miserable. I missed you, Moondance missed Starwind, I hate the goddamned Heartstone room, Tashir was walking around looking like–” He cut off.

“Looking like who?”

“I forgot you wouldn’t know.” Vanyel sounded embarrassed again. “He, um, resembles Tylendel.”

“Oh.” He had seen Tashir in passing before, at the spring festival two years ago. So that was what Tylendel had looked like. Nothing like me at all.

“And the Heartstone?” he said. “Why don’t you like it?”

“Bad memories,” Vanyel said reluctantly. “I was…having a hard time, when we were last there dealing with the Mavelans. Kept getting these godawful flashbacks, the memories the Star-Eyed gave me, felt like I was losing my mind. And then Sovvan caught me off guard, I was an idiot and went off alone, and I – I tried to hurt myself.” Absently, his hand went up to rub the other wrist, the thin white scar that Stef had noticed but hadn’t gotten around to asking about. “Mardic rescued me.” A shudder. “Then he died a few candlemarks later, holding off Vedric. Donni too.”

What’s wrong with your life? That wasn’t helpful, so Stef just squeezed Vanyel tighter.

“Mardic and Donni,” he dared finally. “You don’t have to talk about it, but…what were they like?” There were half a dozen songs about them, mostly bad, including an overwrought ballad describing their sacrifice in Lineas – not particularly accurately, based on what he had learned later. Second to Van, they were the most famous heroes of the war.

And Tylendel would have known them. The timing matched up; they would have been trainees at the same time.

Vanyel shifted in his arms. “Mardic was one of my best friends. Actually, he was one of the first people to really reach out to me, back when I was a little brat with my nose in the air. I’d just come to Haven, my father was losing patience with me and fobbed me off on Savil, and I was terrified…”

Shavri blinked, rising from her thoughts, as Jisa plopped down on the sofa beside her. “Oh. Thank you.” Her daughter had arrived a half-candlemark ago, early for supper, and had called a page for supper and set the table without even being asked. Which was a blessing. Shavri had been trying and failing to find the energy for it.

“You’re welcome, Mother.” Jisa leaned into her shoulder. “How’s Papa? He seemed well at breakfast.”

“It’s been one of his better days.” She forced a smile. “After he showed his face at the last Council meeting, figure he can afford to miss the next few.”

“Mmm.” Jisa stretched. Shavri could have wished she had worn a finer gown for supper, but at least she had bothered to don one at all, even if it was the same plain brown as her preferred homespun shirt and men’s trews – she didn’t even wear her Heraldic trainee greys except for classes. Lissa set too much of an example for her, Shavri thought, and then nudged it aside, Jisa could of course wear whatever she wanted. At least the earth tones suited her colouring, and she had combed and braided her hair without needing to be nagged.

Two weeks to Midsummer. Shavri had lost the battle, and Jisa would be going to White Winds. At least Brightstar was going as well; he was such a responsible young man, surely he would keep his little sister out of trouble. Gods, what a weird thought, that Jisa had a big brother. He was nicer to her than Shavri’s own older siblings had been to her.

Shavri glanced at the time-candle. “Good. The others should be here in a quarter-candlemark.” It was going to be a quieter affair than their previous dinner parties – Treven was coming, but Dara and Tran had cancelled, leaving just Savil, Van, and Stef. Shavri hoped to invite Kilchas and Sandra again one of these days, but it was still difficult for them to get around.

Jisa hopped up again, with a youngster’s restlessness, and stood in front of the mirror in the corner.

Shavri laughed. “Jisa, are you painting your lips?” She had taught her daughter how to make up her face a year ago; it seemed like something a young woman ought to know, even if Shavri herself rarely bothered, but Jisa had never showed much interest.

Jisa didn’t answer, just went on preening.

“Is all this because Treven is coming?” Shavri teased.

Jisa flashed a very teenage glare over her shoulder.

She stood up with a groan. “Jisa, sweet, are you ever planning to tell your dear mother what’s going on between the two of you?”

She had expected a huff, maybe a snide remark that it wasn’t her business. That wasn’t what she got. Instead, Jisa turned, returning the jar of lip-rouge to her pocket. She opened her mouth, closed it, and then reached out with a Mindtouch. :Mother, I have to tell you... I’ve been trying but I wasn’t brave enough: A gulp. :Treven and I, we’re–:

Shavri reached out and gently took her daughter’s shoulders. It still felt odd, standing eye to eye with her, looking into the face of a young woman and not a child. :You’re lovers. I gathered. I’m not upset, Jisa:

:Not just that: Jisa’s eyes clung to hers, defiant and pleading at the same time. :We’re lifebonded:

Shavri’s knees turned to water under her, her heart double-thumping in her chest. No. Why? Was it a curse she had passed on in her blood, to be lifebonded to a goddamned King? It had never occurred to her to wonder if lifebonds ran in families, if that even made sense, but it was true that both of Jisa’s parents by blood had been–

But her daughter was looking at her with wide-eyed expectation, and the overtones had conveyed exactly how she felt about it. Ecstatic.

She found her breath, and forced herself to smile. :That’s…wonderful, pet. I’m so glad for you: Not a lie, even if it was incomplete. She wasn’t so selfish that she couldn’t find a crumb of joy to share.

Jisa shuffled her feet, her eyes never leaving Shavri’s face. :I know it’s scary for you, Mother. It’s not what you wanted for me:

:But it’s what you want: Shavri blinked back the threatening tears, and reached to caress her hair. :I wouldn’t ever take that from you: She choked back a sob, and pulled her daughter into her arms, their cheeks pressed together. :I love you. I want you to be happy. That’s all that matters:

And keep the rest back, behind her shields – the ugly, selfish, broken part of her that whimpered that it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t time yet, she wasn’t ready for her child to grow up so soon. It felt like moments ago that Jisa had been an infant in her arms. I just want to keep you safe a little longer.

Long before she was ready, she let go. “He’d better be good to you,” she said shakily.

…Memory tugged at her gut. Candlelight in the Heralds’ barn, a very long time ago, and Vanyel’s words to her. Shavri is one of my best friends. You be good to her. It felt like that life had belonged to a different woman entirely. Eager, carefree, grasping with thirsty joy for what each day would bring–

Like her daughter. Her throat ached again. Jisa, please, never let go of it. Not like I did. I want better for you. It was the clearest she had ever formed that thought, and it hung in her mind like a chilled weight, she couldn’t quite look at it head-on but she could mark out the shape of it now.

Jisa grinned. “He’s very good to me.”

That knowing look… “Jisa, are you sleeping with him?” It still felt like Jisa was much too young for that, but realistically, was any amount of parental disapproval going to stop lifebonded teenagers from doing what they wanted? “I know Melody’s spoken to you about contraceptive herbs, but–”

“Mother!” Jisa yelped, taking a step back and folding her arms. “Stop. Ew. It’s none of your business.”

Shavri held up both hands, palms out. “All right, all right. I’ll stop embarrassing you.” Maybe she would drop a word with Melody, make sure Jisa was being careful and getting the advice she needed.

“Come on in,” Vanyel said, offering his best winning smile. I’m not as charming as Stef, but I’ll do my best. And Treven wasn’t a difficult audience. “Here, have a seat. I’m really sorry about the mess.”

He was still wearing slippers and one of his Tayledras robes. Stef had woken him half a candlemark ago, when he was about to leave for a session with Randi, and Yfandes had reminded him about Treven’s visit. There had barely been time to heat water for tea and chava, comb his hair, and put away the more sensitive papers he had left out on his desk. He had cleared enough floorspace to bring the more comfortable chair over from his bedroom, but yesterday he had abandoned his unpacking midway through in order to dash off to supper with Shavri, and it was still at the stage of ‘items strewn everywhere’, though he had mostly confined the explosion to his bedroom. Add in Stef’s belongings, piled on random surfaces for lack of storage space, and it was edging past ‘lived-in’ towards ‘embarrassing’.

It looked especially unkempt compared to the pristine trainee in front of him. At some point when Vanyel hadn’t been paying attention, Treven had done rather a lot of growing up. Tall enough that his head grazed the doorframe, he was still thin, with that stretched look, but his youthful lankiness was starting to fill out. Gods, in a few years he was going to be blindingly handsome– Vanyel gave himself a mental slap, that was not an appropriate thought to be having.

“It’s fine.” Treven smiled brightly, gripping his arm. “I hope you’re feeling rested today?”

“Much better, thank you.” Had it been that obvious the night before? He had squeezed in an actual nap, it turned out he could fall asleep in the daytime just fine if Stef was there singing to him, but he had still been flagging by suppertime.

He hadn’t been so tired that he failed to notice the way his daughter and the young heir looked at each other. That was a conversation he was more comfortable having with Jisa, though. Conveniently, she had invited him for tea in her new trainee quarters later that afternoon.

Vanyel padded over to the sideboard. “Would you like some tea? Or chava?”

“Tea would be lovely.” Treven bobbed his head, still smiling. As usual, he was almost painfully sunny and cheerful. Vanyel had once thought it was a mask over nerves, but now he wasn’t sure – maybe it really was just his personality.

He carried the teapot over on a tray, setting it down on the side table; gods, he hadn’t even known he owned an actual tea set until Stef was digging around in the boxes under his bed, looking for somewhere to put his sheet-music. Based on the flower pattern, it had probably been a gift from Mother.

The formalities done, he sat. “So. You said you wanted to talk?”

“I did. Thank you for making time to meet so promptly.” Treven tugged at his blond tail of hair. “I think you know this, but I should check. Randi briefed me on Leareth. Almost two months ago, so I’ve had time to get used to it. He told me at the time that I ought to form my own opinion, and I could talk to you if I wanted. I read Dara’s summary of your notes from talking to him, and I read the copies of Urtho’s journals that you brought back.” A flash of awe in his eyes. “It’s incredible, by the way. What you did, finding the Tower.”

“Dara had a hand in it too,” Vanyel pointed out.

The boy’s chin bounced up and down. “I was sorry to hear you got hurt. That must have been scary.”

“Thank you. I survived it.” Vanyel hoped his short reply was enough of an indication that he didn’t care to stay on the subject.

“It was very interesting,” Treven said. “The journals and your notes. I learned a lot.”

Vanyel smiled thinly. “Formed an opinion yet?”

“Um, not really.” Treven took a sip of tea, blinking rapidly. “I’ve talked to lots of people about it. Tran, and Savil, and Dara. I wanted to hear your side of things too. Is that all right with you?”

He looked so earnest and hopeful; his blue eyes held no hint of judgement, only respect. You’ve never stopped thinking highly of me. There had been a flavour of hero-worship to it at the beginning, which Vanyel had done his best to dissuade.

Treven could have cooled towards him after the trial, but he hadn’t; he had been one of the rare people who treated him exactly the same.

He cleared his throat. “Of course. Where do you want me to start?”

Wind whistling through a frozen pass.

“Herald Vanyel.”

(To Vanyel’s relief, he was, again, alone at the mouth of the pass. He remembered sending Stef to ride for help, which was a strange feeling – it felt more recent than his actual last memory, of falling asleep with Stef splayed possessively across three-quarters of the bed – but the dream had again skipped that part.)

“Leareth.” He started to walk.

(They had spoken several times in the last few months, mostly on the relatively-neutral subject of Leareth’s theories and studies. Leareth, if he had been thinking about potential ‘compromises’, hadn’t brought it up, and Vanyel hadn’t pressed.)

With the silent, immobile army lined up like toy soldiers behind them, they built their usual wall against the snow, a familiar and almost comforting ritual.

Taking his seat, Leareth smiled faintly. “Your King has been busy.”

Vanyel just watched, keeping his expression neutral.

(He had an idea of what Leareth meant, but it was a habit now to reveal nothing more than he needed to. One that had leaked into the rest of his life more than he had realized; Stef had complained that he was ‘like a statue’ in public, which had taken him aback, it didn’t feel like he was being cold or distant on purpose.)

“I speak of the recent discussion to bring your Council in on your secret,” Leareth said. “A move for which I can blame neither you nor your King. It will place time pressures on us, which is regrettable, but you did warn me, and I am familiar with the constraints any monarch faces.”

(Vanyel had been anticipating this conversation for a while. Two months; was that the current delay in Leareth’s information loop? Or maybe it was misinformation, and Leareth had known for weeks or months already; he had expected Leareth to take measures to shorten the lag, now that they were coming up on the – a stumble in his thoughts – the final stages of their decades-long negotiation. Vanyel would try to draw things out as long as he could, but there was a limit. Months, maybe years, but not many.)

“I notice none of your moves so far are offensive, nor irreversible,” Leareth added. “You have left open the possibility of alliance, set up in your Council’s eyes as success rather than backing down. Additionally, you chose not to reveal the more sensitive aspects of my plan. I will take this as a sign of good faith.”

(Leareth had slipped from referring to the King’s decision to speaking as though it had been Vanyel’s alone, he noticed. Knowing him, it had to be deliberate.)

“Thank you,” he said. “Leareth, I have a lot of appreciation for your point that some of the concepts you’ve shared would be dangerous if they were widely known. I really, really don’t want some petty mage-warlord getting the inspiration to create a godless of his own.”

A fractional nod. Leareth’s eyes rested on him, impassive.

Vanyel waited.

(There wasn’t anything he felt a burning need to ask, since their last technical conversation had hit a natural end-point, and he had gotten very good at patience. Nowhere near Leareth’s level, of course, but he was curious where the man, left to his own devices, would guide tonight’s conversation.)

Finally, Leareth inclined his head briefly, like a swordsmen acknowledging a hit. “I think,” he said, “that perhaps we ought take a step back, and consider what we are trying to accomplish by speaking as we do.”

Vanyel nodded. “Yes.”

(Tension was rising in him – that conversation felt risky

“It is not wrong to call this a negotiation,” Leareth went on, “and yet I think that framing may lead to confusion, particularly now that your Council is involved. You are trained in the standard school of diplomacy, I am sure, and that is what your lords will expect of you.”

“Right.” Vanyel brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. “I see what you’re getting at. A lot of diplomatic norms are adversarial. Concealing information, bluffing, not revealing true interests. There’s a game to it – a competitive game, not a cooperative one – and both sides know that. The guideline I was taught was to present a strong demand and don’t back down, because conciliatory gestures are taken as weakness, even if they’re entirely logical and actually help both sides.”

“There is symbolism in it,” Leareth agreed. “Human beings are predators. Like mountain-cats, we have an eye for weakness, and an instinct to use it to our advantage. Better that this be channeled into games of words rather than wars, I suppose, yet the underlying battle for dominance is still there. Even between the two of us, though we strive for logic and reason, I do not think we can entirely set aside those animal reactions.”

(An uncomfortable thought, and Vanyel wasn’t even sure why it made him so uneasy and eager to shift the topic.)

Vanyel frowned. “I think a lot of diplomatic talks are sort of fake? I mean, not cutting directly towards a solution, and everyone knows it, even if it’s not something you can say openly.”

“Yes. It can be a performance put on for third parties, to justify future moves, or merely a way to stall for time.” Leareth’s expression was like still water, unreadable.

(The unsaid implication was clear – Leareth knew that in part, Vanyel was in fact drawing things out, buying time for Valdemar to prepare.)

“Stalling can be valuable to both sides, I think,” he said. “If you can just keep talking, rather than jumping to aggression, it maintains your options. Re-opening peace talks when you’re already at war is a lot harder.”

“Yes.” Leareth’s black-gloved hands lay still in his lap. “That is one good obtained by gestures of appeasement, I suppose, though at other times they are harmful to both sides. And since diplomats are human, and thus often driven by emotion, there is value in building feelings of rapport and trust even if they are not truly justified. Even if both sides know they are not friends, communication is smoother when there is camaraderie.”

(Vanyel did have some training on that; how to be friendly, pleasant, put people at ease. It wasn’t something he was good at, but Randi was, and it got results – and Treven, he suspected, would be incredible.)

“Making compromises is another standard move,” Vanyel went on. “But, I mean, often they feel more symbolic than real. Saving face, almost a kind of scorekeeping. Or sometimes it’s just about material resources. Trading land and such, or both agreeing to cut back troops stationed in a neutral area. I’m not sure either is going to help us much.”

“I agree.” Leareth leaned back slightly on his ice-stool. “We are not offering concessions to soothe the tempers and wounded pride of two angry kingdoms, so that they may live and let live – in fact, though it would partially accomplish my goals if you were to agree not to interfere in my work if I agreed to carry it out elsewhere, I do not think it would account for your interests at all.”

“No,” Vanyel agreed. “Stepping aside and letting you complete your plan if I thought it was wrong would be monstrous.” Despite himself, he felt his lips twist into a wry smile. “And if I was convinced it was right, the obvious thing is to help you.”

“And so those are the two options we would accept, though your Council might consider others.” Leareth returned the smile, thinly. “Alliance, or a fight to the death.”

(Was it insane of him, to find the statement almost amusing in its surrealness? Vanyel wasn’t sure.)

“We’re working towards trust,” he said. “That’s a prerequisite for working together, because right now a big blocker is that I can’t totally trust you to be telling the truth about your intentions, or to keep your oaths. But it’s like I said before. I want to trust you if and only if that trust is justified.” He paused, as something occurred to him. “Leareth, in some sense I do consider you a friend. I respect you. It’s going to hurt a lot if I end up fighting you – it will feel like a betrayal. But that’s not the point. I have to put the rest of the world first.”

Silence.

Leareth’s mouth was still, but there was a hint of a smile in his black eyes. “I would not wish otherwise,” he said; his voice was level, but held just a hint of approval. “Herald Vanyel, my respect for you is largely because you put your highest values first. Even more importantly, you try to see your own mind clearly, and recognize your biases, including that loyalty which you feel towards me. That self-awareness is a rare and precious thing.” A pause. “It would grieve me deeply to act against you, and yet nonetheless I, too, must put my goals and plans first.”

Vanyel took a breath, steeling himself. “I know. And…I’m glad. This is the sort of thing you definitely wouldn’t say in the usual diplomatic protocols, but can we both agree that between us, we can say things like this, and neither of us considers talking about it in the abstract to be offensive or a betrayal?”

“Of course.” Leareth waited, perfectly calm and still, shoulders relaxed, chest rising and falling steadily.

(His posture gave away so little – but Vanyel had known him for a long, long time, and watching his face felt more like peering through a fogged window than staring at a blank wall. Right now, Leareth was pleased, and curious what Vanyel would say next.)

Vanyel took a deep breath. “I want to say something, and I’m not sure how yet, so bear with me. I notice that we have been asking each other for sort-of-symbolic concessions, and given that we don’t think the usual reasons for compromise apply here, I think we should be clear on what we are trying to do.”

(It felt like he was grasping for something just beyond his reach, trying to pull it into the light. As always, it was unnerving, putting words into the air between them when he didn’t know the conclusion yet – it felt like he could so easily reveal too much, unintended. Show weakness that Leareth would pounce on. And yet. There might be no way to resolve this, ever, without extending an offer of faith.)

“I think there are two sort-of-connected goals,” he went on. “One is pragmatic. We both know that if either of us concludes war is the only solution, it would be in our interest to hide that fact, and then open with a surprise attack. We can both take precautions against that, while agreeing that it’s not a sign of hostility – just a measure that makes a betrayal in either direction more difficult, and thus less likely. Does that make sense?”

“Very much so.” A flicker of…pride? “That is why your Border redeployments do not trouble me. I do not in fact wish to stab you in the back, Herald Vanyel, and so your donning armour does not harm my interests – and may help, if it means we can speak in greater comfort.”

(It made sense, Vanyel thought, but it was also…self-serving wasn’t the word, exactly. Just, it was a statement that would make him think better of Leareth if it were true, which meant it was in Leareth’s interests to say it regardless of whether he meant it, and his read of Leareth’s body language was nowhere near confident enough to declare he was sincere.)

“I also understand the precautions you’re taking,” Vanyel said, “like having spies in Valdemar. It gives you greater security, which I’m glad of, because I don’t want to spook you into attacking. This will go better if we’re both negotiating from a position of strength.” He paused, thinking. “That’s one goal. The other is… Well, you asking that I give up my Companion was an example.”

Nod. “It was not intended as a literal proposal, more a gesture toward the kind of proposal that might work.”

“Right, you were using it as an example of…not a purely symbolic act, quite, but it shows commitment. Like you’ve said before, words are cheap.”

“And actions speak louder,” Leareth finished. “Yes. I would feel more comfortable in stepping out on a limb, not because it would cripple you, but because it is more likely, though not conclusive, that you would pay such a cost to move toward cooperation in worlds where you sincerely wish to work together.”

“Right.” Vanyel reached out, warming his hands over their shared heat-spell. “The trouble is, I don’t have enough justified trust in you. If you made an analogous concession first, then I would feel safe doing, well, not that particular thing, but something equally costly. But that’s just reversing the issue, you may not trust me enough either. If we could both credibly commit to doing it at the same time, then maybe we could pull it off. I’m not sure how to cross that bridge. We’ve come a pretty long way with incremental gestures, small moves where each of us felt secure enough to offer them unilaterally. But…not far enough, and I’m not sure we can.”

A thoughtful nod. “Even if it were possible in theory,” Leareth said, “it is a slow method, and as I said, we are under new time pressures now. We can perhaps no longer afford to wander vaguely in the right direction; rather, if we hope to slice this knot, we much be bold and deliberate.”

(Vanyel should have accepted it already, but his mind skidded around it every time he tried.)

“Above all,” Leareth added, “I do not think we can afford to stall with vagueness, as so many diplomats do. We must be clear in our intentions.” A pause. “And I must know when I am speaking to my friend Herald Vanyel, and when you are acting as a mouthpiece for your Kingdom, because those are different things.”

(When, not if. That was an interesting way to put it, but Vanyel thought it was the more accurate way.)

“Of course,” he said. “For the most part, Randi leaves our conversations up to my judgement. It’s possible that sometimes I’ll have orders to follow, but I’ll try to make that clear.”

(Incremental gestures. Offers of good faith, in places where he was secure enough to take the hit…)

“I can give you an example,” Vanyel said. “The energy-cost for your plan. As horrified as I am, I’m not certain, and it seems just barely possible that given the stakes, it could be the right trade – but it’s still a hard limit. I absolutely cannot accept any agreement that involves you killing ten million people, because I won’t ever be able to get that by the other Heralds. And in this case, I’ll put the judgement of my trusted advisors above my own, because I’m fallible, and there are reasons to think I might be biased.”

Silence, but there was no hostility in it.

Vanyel met Leareth’s gaze, steadily. “I’m very, very eager to help you find an alternative. I’m…even willing to consider versions where you sacrifice ten thousand Adepts with Final Strike instead, because at least in that case it would have to be voluntary. But I should be clear that as long as we fail to find another power-source, the default path is one where sooner or later we go to war.”

A slow nod. “I see. I take no offence, Herald Vanyel. We ought be clear about our starting-place, even if neither of us likes it. Many negotiations, including common border-disputes and even bargaining merchants, would go better if both sides were clear that their initial line was ‘no.’”

(Hmm. Vanyel wasn’t sure he believed that. Maybe he could bring it up with Randi, or one of the other Heralds who had more standard diplomatic experience.)

“There is value also in knowing your alternatives,” Leareth went on, “and understanding which terms of alliance would be worse for one’s goals than outright war. In this case, you have told me that a hypothetical treaty between us, that allows me to proceed with my plan unchanged, would be worse in your eyes than no treaty at all – and even if such a piece of paper lay between us, waiting only on our seals, you would do right to walk away. That is useful for me to know.”

Leareth fell silent, clearly thinking, and Vanyel waited. “I will offer you my example,” he said finally. “An agreement that you would help me, but on the condition that each step of my plan be subject to veto by your Groveborn Companion, is one I would refuse. I would, however, in theory consider an alternative where instead each step required your own, very unusual Companion’s approval to proceed. The difference is that I understand your Monarch’s Own Companion to be tightly bound to a god, whereas your Companion’s fetters are much weaker.”

(That was…surprisingly helpful, actually. It felt like something Vanyel could actually bring to Randi and Tran for discussion, that would be concrete enough to make progress on. And it reminded him that he did, maybe, have an idea for an alternative energy-source – he just wasn’t willing to tell Leareth about Urtho’s weapons. But surely there was a level of trust, a level of cooperation, where he would consider it…)

“That is a beginning,” Leareth said. “From here, I think we ought invent and propose as many ideas as possible, in hopes of landing on one that satisfies both of our concerns. I understand if you wish to do this with your own supporters first, though it would at some point be informative to do it together.” A measured breath. “I do have a proposal. This is not something I would do unilaterally – I would require a concession from you in return – but I know of your struggles in finding this place.” He gestured in the direction of the pass, though it wasn’t visible through the ice-brick wall. “Surely your King would take it as a gesture of faith indeed, if I were to tell you myself, that you might concentrate your Border-fortifications there.”

For a moment, all Vanyel could do was stare.

(It did hint that Leareth wasn’t aware they knew, or thought they might know, of the location already. Or it could be a bluff.)

“I’ll have to think about what I could offer you in return,” he said. “I would want some kind of guarantee – I mean, if we just exchanged letters or something, you could very easily give false directions, while I gave something true in return, and I wouldn’t know until later. Even if I believe your oath that you wouldn’t, my King has no reason to.”

Leareth’s head dipped briefly in acknowledgement.

“So that’s it,” Dara finished quietly to the roomful of youthful faces, laying her hands flat in her lap. “We’re offering all of you the chance to become a mage, but it’s not without risk. Which is why, no matter what you say now, we’re not going to rush any of you into this.”

Seated beside her, Melody nodded. “There will be a three-month waiting period. If you volunteer, I’ll want to see you several times, and talk through any concerns you have. This isn’t something we want anyone doing purely out of a sense of duty, all right? It’s above and beyond what your King has a right to ask of you.” She fussed with her sleeve, eyes darting about the room.

Vanyel said nothing, just kept his eyes on the fireplace. He had been surprised when, just days after his return, Dara invited him to this meeting. I didn’t know we were moving ahead with it. He had thought his words to Savil via the tiny-Gate communication – which was such a goddamned clever idea, he was an idiot not to have thought of it – were noncommittal enough that she would delay. Apparently, though, Randi was willing to lean hard on their relationship with the Tayledras, and so was Savil. He couldn’t even say they were wrong.

Half a dozen youthful faces looked back at him. All familiar, but the only one he knew well was Herald Katri, who had been his test subject for the early trials in distance-work. All were female – that was one of Need’s requirements. Each of them had spent half a candlemark with the blade, so that Need could decide if they had whatever spark she needed to form a bond. She had already ruled out two women on the grounds that they didn’t mesh well.

“Savil?” Dara said.

His aunt sat up straighter. “Right. Speaking of practicalities. If we do end up going through with it, we’ll most likely want to run the tests in k’Treva Vale, with their Healing-Adept at hand. Even with that, it’s likely to be a very unpleasant and painful experience, and you will be ill afterward. We’re hoping we can make it less gruelling by using a lower-energy spell than a Gate, but we’re not sure.”

Vanyel had pointed out earlier, in private, that Brightstar was a Healing-Adept. He didn’t have anywhere near Moondance’s skill and experience, though, and Savil had vetoed asking him to help them. Vanyel was privately relieved. Brightstar would have said yes in a heartbeat, but it didn’t feel right to take advantage of his eagerness to pay back a debt that Vanyel was pretty sure he didn’t owe in the first place.

“Van is here to answer any questions you have about his experience,” Savil said. “As I said, he’s the reason we believe this is possible. He can speak firsthand to what it’s like, having a Gift awakened late and unnaturally. We want all of you to be aware of what you’re getting into.”

Vanyel nodded. That was the story they were going with – no mention of Jisa’s new Gift.

The eyes in front of him were trusting, with no sign of doubt.

Chapter Text

Dara finished speaking, laying her hands down on either side of her slate.

Silence. Savil gritted her teeth, swallowing the utterly inappropriate giggle that tried to leak out. Are the gods playing a joke on us? The timing was unbelievable.

Treven’s face was politely attentive, his shoulders still, but the rustle of cloth under the table made her suspect he was fidgeting where they couldn’t see it. The meeting-room felt weirdly empty; they were still missing Kilchas and Sandra, and Shallan was outside the city on some sort of business. Randi was resting and Shavri was presumably with him.

Keiran was the first to speak. “Well, that’s news. Hardly unexpected. We’ve known the poor old man was fading for years.”

A messenger had arrived a candlemark ago, and Savil had set aside her concert work with Van on the east wing and answered the summons to an urgent Circle meeting. The King of Rethwellan was dead, his heir still undecided, thanks to a bizarre system of government that relied on a magic sword – though, Savil had to admit, it wasn’t any weirder than Companions.

“Agreed,” Dara said. “The question is, what do we do about it?”

“Seems obvious to me.” Tantras. “We’ve got a state visit planned anyway; we’ll need to send an envoy to pay our respects. We’ll renew our alliance with them at the same time, hopefully with a more thorough mutual defence clause than what we have now.”

The last formal treaty had been signed in Elspeth’s time, Savil remembered, when she was a young woman and the late King, new-crowned, was barely a boy. Darvi had been on a state visit once, but she didn’t recall that Randi ever had.

And, unfortunately, it was out of the question for him to go now.

“We can’t put that on Herald Siri,” Dara said. “She doesn’t have the training for it.”

More to the point, Savil thought, it would be taken as an insult to send a relatively inexperienced and low-ranked woman in her early twenties, without even the slimmest connection to the nobility – she hated that it mattered, that Siri had grown up poor in a river-town, but it did.

“Who, then?”

Keiran finished scribbling something on her bit of paper and lifted her head. “Well, since we can’t send Randi, it has to be someone important. Someone they’ll respect, to show we’re taking this seriously. Hmm. Savil, would you–”

“Absolutely not.” She scowled. “You know I’m terrible at politics. Besides, these old bones won’t make it over the Comb.”

Keiran frowned, then brightened. “Vanyel? They’ll take you seriously, and you’re awfully good with treaties.”

Every eye in the room turned to her nephew. Tran looked mutinous, but he said nothing.

“And you were there just recently,” Keiran added. “Personal touch. Whoever ends up taking the throne, I’m sure they remember you.”

Van shifted his weight, his face unreadable. “I’ll go if Randi orders it, of course, but I’m not convinced it should be me. I’m…controversial. Besides, we’re quite behind on mage-work, and other things.” He was silent for a moment, thinking. “Dara was there too. Sending our Monarch’s Own ought to get their attention.”

Dara’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, but–”

“You’d do perfectly,” Vanyel assured her. “You’re better with people than I am.”

“I’m really not–”

Savil lifted her hand. “I think Dara should be a last resort. It’s tenable, since Tran can cover her duties, but a lot of things will get dropped.”

Keiran turned in her chair. “Oh. Tran, you could go. You’re qualified.”

It was his turn to sigh, resignedly. “I’ll go if I must, I suppose, but…I would rather not.”

“Listen,” Keiran snapped, “none of us want to go. Someone has to.”

“Maybe you should go, then,” Katha slipped in.

“Maybe I should!” Keiran rose in her chair, then subsided. “I think someone else would do a better job. I’m not the best with diplomacy.”

True enough, Savil thought with a smirk.

Tran was tapping his finger against the tabletop. “I don’t like it,” he said finally, “but I think Vanyel may be our best option, here. Especially given that you can just Gate there, right?”

Vanyel made a face. “As though a foreign mage Gating in unannounced wouldn’t cause more trouble than it’s worth.”

They lapsed into silence.

Savil reached out with a Mindtouch. :Ke’chara, why don’t you want to go? I would’ve thought you’d be pleased to travel there with Jisa:

His eyes flicked sideways to her. :Savil, have you forgotten how they feel about people like me over there?:

…Yes, apparently she had forgotten. :But there wasn’t any trouble last time:

:Last time I’d been celibate for years. This is different. I’d have to go without Stef – if we let anything slip, if anyone suspected our relationship, he would be in danger. I can’t risk that:

Savil thought he was being overly paranoid, but she let it slide. :I’m sorry, ke’chara. I wasn’t thinking:

Vanyel returned wordless acknowledgement, then dropped the link. “For some reason,” he said, “no one’s proposed the obvious choice. Treven.”

The young heir twitched in his seat. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Vanyel smiled reassuringly, then turned to look around the room. “I don’t see why not. He’s young, but he has the relevant training, and the rank to pull this off. We could send an experienced Herald to support him, but they don’t need to be particularly well-known, so that widens our options considerably. And Jisa will have someone her own age to keep her company on the journey.”

Treven made an odd sound, his ears turning pink.

Awfully suspect. Savil reached out. :Van, ke’chara, is there something I’m missing here?:

:Didn’t you notice at supper last week? They couldn’t keep their eyes off each other:

She hadn’t noticed. Clearly, her improved skill at reading people still had its limits.

:I prodded her a bit about it after: Vanyel went on. :I think you’d best ask her yourself if you want to know more, I don’t want to violate her privacy, but…they’ll both do better if they’re not apart for so long:

“Well, lad?” Keiran said, gruffly but not unkindly. “Are you up for it?”

Treven squirmed. “Do you think I can do it?”

Dara reached for his arm. “I think you’ll do brilliantly, Trev. We’ve still got a week to go before Midsummer; we’re all happy to help you prepare.”

He hesitated, then sat up straighter. “All right. I’ll go.”

“I think we’re here.” She stood with feet planted, one hand still on Rolan’s neck, shading her eyes against the sun and wind and waiting for the dust of their passage to settle.

The signpost faded into view, almost glowing through the haze. She sneezed, eyes watering, and took a step closer.

“Sumpost,” she read off. “Karis, this is it. Are you coming?”

“I am ready.” Karis joined her, leading her horse by the reins. Dust clung to her hair and her riding leathers, and she looked as hot and sweaty as Dara felt, but with her spine erect, head held high, she was still undeniably a Queen.

She patted the sheathed sword at her belt, affectionately running her fingers over the hilt, then unfastened her saddlebag and slung its strap over her shoulder, and flung her arms around Rolan’s neck one last time. “I’m sorry you can’t come with me, love. I promise I’ll be careful.”

Then she turned away from her Companion and took a step, then another, the Queen of Karse at her side. The sky hung blue and clear above them, the midsummer sun blazing into her eyes.

Ahead lay a golden fog. Not dust after all; it shimmered like a soap-bubble, and through it, distorted, she saw how the path suddenly became a road, paved in fine cobbles–

Dara sat up, gasping, her heart pounding in her chest. A sunbeam shone between her curtains, catching motes of dust in midair, and she blinked; for a moment it felt like she was still there, on that hot and dusty road.

The bed next to her was rumpled and empty.

“Dara?” Tran’s voice, drifting through the half-open bedroom door. “I let you sleep in a bit, but we need to be out in half a candlemark for the Gate.”

Oh, hellfires, it’s Midsummer. Tangled up in the remnants of the dream, she had completely forgotten.

“I’m awake!” She knuckled at her eyes; when she closed them, she still saw the sign-post, and the golden fog.

Sumpost.

:Rolan!: she sent, scrambling up. :Rolan, where’s Sumpost?:

He flowed into her mind. :Good morning, my Chosen. Why do you ask?:

:Foresight dream: The most it had given her yet. :I know where we were now. Or, I mean, I don’t, but I saw the signpost, I know we were near place called Sumpost:

A taut pause. :Show me:

She flung the image at him, even as she stumbled to the window and pulled the curtains wide, then skinned out of her sleeping-shirt and reached for the formal Whites she had laid out the night before. Based on the clear, brassy blue sky, she worried that even the light summer fabrics would be too hot for comfort today. Unfortunate, since Karis had arrived the night before, and–

Dara froze. :Karis. The dream: She hadn’t gotten around to mentioning her previous Foresight vision during their brief greeting the night before; to be honest, she had noted it down and then forgotten, caught up in the day-to-day bustle.

“I made tea!” Tran called out, nudging the door open. “If you’re quick, we can make it to the dining hall for breakfast before the first meeting.”

She held up her hand. “Tran. Need a minute.” Tunic still half-laced, she stood by the window. :Rolan, I think this is important:

:I agree, Chosen. Sumpost is a small border-town in the northeast of Valdemar:

:Oh: She had never heard of it.

:It lies at the end of a minor local road that passes through Norflank:

Norflank, Norflank… :North of the Armor Hills region, no? Er, that’s Herald Karra’s circuit: Which wasn’t very helpful. She closed her eyes, tugging at the memory of a long-ago class. :Near the border to–: Her breath caught in her lungs.

:Iftel: Rolan confirmed. :In your vision, I believe you saw the shield-wall that guards their kingdom:

“No, I don’t know why,” Dara said. “But I’m sure. We were going to Iftel.”

As usual, the first meeting of the day was with a small set of people – just the members of the Senior Circle who had travelled south, plus Karis’ close advisors. This year, for the first time, Randi was missing it; Karis had met with him earlier, in private, but the heat was affecting him hard, and he had decided at the last minute to save his energy for the full Council meeting later.

Which meant Stef got a break as well. Vanyel wished he was there, it would have made the foreign surroundings less jarring, but it was going to be a very, very long day, and he knew Stef needed to pace himself. At least Savil was there, looking reasonably alert – she had taken care of the Gate, and with the permanent Gate-threshold on the Haven end, she had barely needed to draw on her own reserves at all.

They had, rather at the last minute, decided to bring Brightstar along. Vanyel had filled Savil in on his conversation with Starwind and Moondance about building a Sunhame Gate-terminus, and Brightstar claimed he might be able to tell if the land was ‘receptive’, though his attempt to explain what that meant hadn’t been especially coherent.

Vanyel loosened the laces of his tunic, tugging the fabric of his shirt away from his already-damp skin. As usual, the weather in Sunhame was much hotter, and even with the breeze from the windows flung open, the meeting-room was stifling.

…Wait, why was he sitting here suffering through it? Vanyel rolled his eyes at himself. Are you a mage or not? His reserves were in reasonable shape, he didn’t have any mage-work scheduled for today anyway, and no one was going to complain if he unobtrusively laid a reverse weather-barrier on the room.

They’d had a carefully planned agenda to cover in a candlemark. Unfortunately, Dara had yanked it off course within the first minute.

“Iftel,” Savil said, wonderingly. “Huh. I can’t think why either.”

It seemed obvious enough to Vanyel. Why was no one…oh.

He lifted his hand. I can’t believe I never thought to mention it. “I have a guess. About why Karis was present, anyway. Leareth told me once that he believes Iftel belongs to Vkandis.”

Stunned silence.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Dara said, twisting toward him.

“…I guess I forgot.” Had he really never brought it up? Hellfires, had he neglected to write it down at all? Dara had read all his notes. “He mentioned it offhand once in a conversation years ago.”

Tran frowned at the ceiling. Treven, beside Dara, watched with the composed attentiveness that meant he was off-balance and trying to think of something to say.

“It’s possible he was lying,” Vanyel admitted. “Or just wrong.”

:He tells the truth:

Vanyel wasn’t the only one who jumped when Sola leapt up from Karis’ lap – had she been there the whole time? He hadn’t noticed her.

She twined her way onto the table. :Your Leareth tells the truth: the Suncat repeated. :Iftel lies under the protection of our Sunlord: Her amber eyes seemed to stare right into Vanyel’s mind for a moment; then she licked her paw, stretched, and curled up nose-to-tail directly on top of Karis’ notes, purring.

“Sola, I am using those.” Karis tugged fruitlessly at the papers. “Also. You did not think to tell me sooner?”

:It was not relevant:

No one seemed to know what to say.

“I’ve noticed something about Iftel,” Savil said into the silence. “I mean, noticed and forgotten, and…I never said anything either. Just, it’s odd, right? The whole thing is strange. We’re allies – Elspeth cemented that with her marriage – but she never actually visited. Our envoy isn’t a Herald, and I can’t think of the last time I read one of his reports. Hellfires, they’ve got a goddamned magical barrier protecting the entire land, and no one ever talks about how bizarre that is.” She stroked the tip of her nose. “It’s like everyone is forgetting to be curious. Forgetting to ask the right questions.”

Vanyel blinked. That did seem rather suspicious. What are the questions I’m forgetting to ask? A litany he had been trying to follow for years. Apparently this had been one of them, and it was Savil who had caught onto it, not him – he felt a flicker of pride.

Come to think of it, everyone knew about Elspeth’s state marriage, but he didn’t have the faintest idea who she had married. Some prince? Not their King, since her husband had moved to join her in Valdemar. Did Iftel even have a King? His history classes had involved memorizing a list of monarchs for every neighbouring country – except Iftel.

“Why Dara?” Tran said suddenly. “If Vkandis is in charge over there, I can understand Karis. But Dara, you don’t have any particular connection with Him.”

“No. I don’t understand it either. Figured maybe it’s just because I’m the one with Foresight.” Then Dara jerked back in her chair. “Oh! In the dream, I had Need with me. I was checking on her at one point. I’d forgotten, it wasn’t very surprising in the vision.”

Need wasn’t there. She was either with Shavri or Lissa today, Vanyel wasn’t sure which. “Oh. Did that feel important?”

“I don’t know.” Dara ran her fingers through her cropped hair. “It’s hard to tell which bits matter.”

There was a general shuffling of bodies and papers. Vanyel took the moment to finish laying down his reverse weather-barrier and feed a careful trickle of power into it.

“I want to point out,” Savil said, “that Dara has an excellent track record. Her last vision led her to Urtho’s Tower. If Dara’s Foresight thinks she needs to go to Iftel, even if we don’t know why, I’m inclined to think we should listen.” She turned. “Van, do you have any ideas of why?”

“Well, Leareth said to my face that he can’t operate there,” Vanyel admitted. “I assume he can’t get through their shield-wall.”

“Right,” Tran said, his voice taut. “Yes, we might want an alliance with somewhere we can evacuate to if we’re losing the goddamned war.”

Dara reached for him. “Tran, we’re not even sure there’s going to be–”

The look he turned on her could have fused sand into glass. “We all know there’s going to be a war.”

Savil’s face had gone carefully blank. Vanyel winced. It wasn’t unexpected; he had met with Randi and Tran a few days ago to go over his most recent discussion with Leareth, and Tran had been less than charitable about it. Van, can’t you see he’s just toying with you? The worst part was, there was a lens through which he was right. Damn it, I don’t know what to think.

At least Yfandes had responded with real hope when they debriefed, and Stef had, unsurprisingly, had some insightful comments, and had promised to help come up with ideas for what they might trade in exchange for the location of the pass.

Treven was the first to speak. “I don’t think we should argue about it right now. The thing we need to decide is whether to trust this vision, and what to do about it.”

Karis’ dark eyes rested on him. “Have we not decided? I thought it simple.” She scratched absently behind Sola’s ears, eliciting another rumbling purr. “I will go with Dara, and seek the answers that my Sunlord wishes me to find.”

Stef weaved his way through the crowd, nodding and smiling to the people who acknowledged him, doing his best to answer their greetings in his iffy Karsite. Hard to believe this visit was his…fifth? He had never held a particularly visible role in the proceedings, but most of Karis’ staff knew him by sight now, and apparently so did some of the assorted nobles milling about.

A young servant stood nearby with a tray, and Stef took one of the crystal goblets on display. It was still quite warm, a candlemark after sunset, and his throat was parched. Be careful, he reminded himself, forcing himself to pause after the second gulp. He hadn’t eaten much today, and the wine would go straight to his head. Still, it wasn’t like anyone was helpfully offering him water.

Randi had just retired for the night. It was about a candlemark to midnight, and the festivities were likely to continue into the early hours of the morning.

Gods, it had been a long day. There had been the ghastly noon ritual in the temple – Randi pretty much had to attend, though at least they gave him the dignity of a chair in the shade – then an endless meeting with Karis’ full Council, followed by an even more unending procession through the streets of the city. Stef had spent that part huddled up in the back of the carriage where Karis and Randi rode, under a drape, trying to play the lute in a very uncomfortable position. Then a Court supper, and now a party. Technically, Stef was off the hook now that Randi was in bed, but Vanyel was planning to show his face the entire time, and he wasn’t about to let his lifebonded face that alone.

He passed Savil, deep in conversation with several of the Queen’s advisors, Brightstar glued to her side – he barely spoke ten words of Karsite, and likely she was translating for him in Mindspeech. He was carrying his bondbird on one shoulder.

Savil caught his eye, smiling, and Stef returned her nod, but walked past without trying to join. He understood the language well enough now, at least if people were speaking slowly, and he could manage in simple conversations, but he wouldn’t make a good showing of himself. It was frustrating. Maybe Van would be willing to practice with him before the next trip.

He realized he had been unconsciously spiralling towards his sense-of-Vanyel. Which might not be a good idea; it was surprisingly hard to be near Van in public and treat him like an acquaintance. Stef would have said he was skilled at acting, and it had always been near-effortless to wear the right masks, but in this case he was constantly second-guessing himself – how long was he meant to laugh after a joke? How much could he smile without it being suspicious? It ended up being easier to just avoid eye contact, but he was worried that stood out as well.

Maybe he would just circle by. Exchange respectful nods at a distance, sneak in a discreet signal that Vanyel could read his mind and try to cram as many affectionate thoughts as he could into a five-second burst. Damn it, it wasn’t fair – they weren’t even sharing quarters tonight, and Van had vetoed his suggestion that he retire to his assigned room and then sneak out through the window. On the grounds that Stef would risk falling and breaking his neck, which was fair enough, but it still stung.

Vanyel didn’t seem to be in any of the circles of conversation. Stef found himself following the tug in his chest into the quieter, less populated side of the gardens. He passed an ornamental fountain, followed a series of torches to a bridge over the a miniature landscaped stream that the fountain drained into. Abandoning the empty wine-glass on a large marble block that bore a statue of a man with wings of flame, he paused to trail his fingers along the lettering. His limited knowledge of the Karsite script was enough to guess at the format; it was a list of names. Casualties of the war?

He moved past, through an archway covered in ivy, and found himself in a private little alcove, screened in by wooden trellises that bore even more extravagant climbing-vines, open to the sky. A slim, white-clad form knelt on the woven-grass mat at one end, silver hair shining under the moonlight.

“Van?” he murmured. “What are you doing here?”

Vanyel turned, his expression self-conscious. “Um, just hiding. Hoping it’ll quiet down a bit out there.”

“What are you looking at?”

Van said nothing, just beckoned to him. Stef shrugged and crossed the room, joining his lifebonded in front of the…

It was a shrine. Small, plain, pink-veined marble still rough from the mason’s pick, only a slender inlay of gold around the edges. A lamp burned, its reservoir of oil filled to last the night. The golden flame was steady, casting the planes of Vanyel’s face into sharp relief.

“It’s a memorial,” Vanyel said softly. “An unpopular one, so I figured I’d be left alone here.”

“Oh?” Stef started to reach for Van’s knee, and stopped himself.

“Her name was Amelka,” Vanyel said distantly. “She was on the wrong side of history. Karis had it built anyway.”

Stef sucked in a breath. “She was fighting for Priest-Mage Hanovar.” 

“No. For Vkandis.” Vanyel’s face had gone very still, that shuttered expression that Stef hated. “The priesthood recruited her at thirteen. Trained her as a bloodpath mage. A year later she crossed the border into Valdemar, alone, and tried to kill Randi. She knew it was a suicide mission. She went in anyway.”

“She was an assassin!”

“She was trying to do right by her kingdom,” Vanyel said gently. “And her god – who, I might say, did not deign to give her any instructions. I can’t imagine what kind of faith it took. Karis tells me that other children in her position refused their orders, and some died for it. Of course, they’re the ones lauded as martyrs now.” He shook his head. “I’d like to think I’d have done better, in her place, but…I don’t know that my history bears it out.”

Sometimes I don’t understand you at all. Stef wanted to protest, but he couldn’t find the words, and he wasn’t even sure which part he wanted to argue with.

Vanyel went on. “Sometimes I wonder what side of history I’ll be on, when all this is finally over and our children tell the tale of it and name the heroes and villains. I’m trying to do the right thing, you know? Just, I wonder… So was she.” His voice was level, almost abstracted, and Stef couldn’t pick up any indication through their bond that he was distressed about it. Which almost made it worse.

We’re going to win, and then we’ll write the history ourselves. Stef kept the words to himself, folding them away; some quiet voice in him whispered that they weren’t helpful now.

“I know,” Vanyel said softly. “It’s stupid. Heroes and villains are only in tales. Not real.”

“Words have power,” Stef heard himself say. “It’s not stupid at all.”

A surprised sideways glance, but Vanyel said nothing.

I miss you. It didn’t make any sense; Van was right there.

“Stef?” Silver eyes turned on him. “I want – we should be careful – but no one’s nearby. I’ll feel anyone coming. Can we…?” He held out his hands.

Stef felt a smile creep across his face. “I thought you’d never ask, Van-ashke.”

“Well?” Vanyel said.

It was a couple of candlemarks after dawn, the least busy time to visit the main Temple to Vkandis. A young, nervous-looking priest-acolyte had escorted them into the painfully bright interior. Brightstar had been standing in front of the gold-plated altar for several minutes, and had finally taken a step back, blinking.

“This would be the place,” the young Healing-Adept said finally. “It…feels right. If their Vkandis will allow it, I do not know.”

Vanyel tried to catch Savil’s eye. “Right.” I wish Sola had been a bit more informative. He had finally thought to confront the Suncat directly on the matter, and she had given him a very cagey answer. “How long would it take to test it?”

Brightstar frowned. “This node will need to be strengthened first, before we might try.” A thoughtful pause. “To move the leylines in preparation will take a week, if I were to have both of your aid. Then…three months at least, for power to build up.”

“Oh.” Vanyel managed not to groan out loud. “So we’d have to come back another time.” He had managed to almost-forget that the Heartstone in Haven had taken him years of preparation.

A nod.

“And we’ll need a week, but Randi is leaving tonight.” He grunted. “Stef is not going to like this.” Yet again, he didn’t see that he could justify keeping his lifebonded here any longer, much less how he could explain it to Karis’ court. And, well, it some sense it would be easier. Seeing Stef nearby, close enough to touch, but still beyond his reach… It was hard to bear.

Savil cast him a sympathetic look, but didn’t deny it.

“I would not mind returning to this place,” Brightstar said. “It is very beautiful, and perhaps in time I might learn more of the language.”

Vanyel nodded. “The next state visit is at Midwinter.” He wasn’t sure what the chances were that Brightstar would be back from White Winds, if he really did end up going with Jisa. Their departure had been set for exactly a week after Midsummer, which would be cutting it close. If they wanted to travel home overland, they would likely have to wait for spring, but both Jisa and Brightstar were strong enough mages to Gate the distance back to Haven, so in theory they could depart anytime.

Was it worth setting a hard deadline on the time they could spent at White Winds? If Jisa was able to talk her way in, it might be one of Valdemar’s most valuable opportunities of the last century, and it would be stupid to waste that…

They had to juggle Karis’ departure as well, since she was solidly set on accompanying Dara to Iftel; actually, Vanyel staying behind another week would help, giving her Council and advisors more time to prepare for managing the kingdom in her absence. Hopefully her journey wouldn’t take six months, but they had no idea – and in the meantime, Karse would be vulnerable, and he wasn’t sure they could keep Leareth’s spies from finding out about it. Would Leareth take advantage of that weakness somehow? It wasn’t clear how, Karse was on the opposite side of Valdemar and presumably Vkandis would step in to discourage interference, but still.

In Valdemar, they would be missing Dara as well as Treven, and it was true that they could manage without, but it would slow things down. Delay their preparations, and if they ran out of time–

I hate this. Vanyel had spent half his life counting down the years he had left, but it had been so much more abstract before.

“Welcome, children.”

Vanyel turned, shading his eyes against the searing sunlight that glanced from the golf-leafed walls. The voice was a man’s, creaky with age, speaking Karsite – the word ‘children’ wasn’t an exact translation, and wasn’t as disrespectful as it sounded, though Savil still made a face.

A figure stepped out of the light – short, frail, a shock of hair gone snow-white with age rather than magic, clad in simple robes of plain, un-dyed cloth. “Greetings, Herald Vanyel. Herald Savil.” His lips twitched, eyes twinkling in a sea of wrinkles. “I have not seen you here often outside the formal rites.”

Vanyel bent his head. “Father Albrecht.” He hadn’t recognized the current Son of the Sun immediately without his full ceremonial garb. In their few conversations at formal events, he had been surprised to find that he liked the old man – representative of a god or not, he was pleasant, humble, and had a sly sense of humour.

The Son of the Sun bowed slightly, then turned to Brightstar. “And this one? You are far from home, my child.”

Brightstar did look very exotic, with his richly coloured robe and waist-length silver hair shining in the sun, Kalari perched on his shoulder. He was squinting at the elderly priest, clearly trying to decipher the question.

Vanyel rescued him. “This is Brightstar k’Treva. He is a Healing-Adept of the Tayledras people, and he’s here to help us discover if we can build a Gate-terminus for Queen Karis here.”

The old man nodded solemnly. “Welcome to the Temple of the Sunlord, Brightstar k’Treva.” He managed to pronounce the foreign name almost perfectly.

Brightstar smiled sunnily; Vanyel knew him well enough to guess at the nerves he was hiding. “My greetings, Father Albrecht,” he said, slowly and carefully.

Albrecht returned the smile; it seemed to light up his entire face. He turned back to Vanyel, head tilted to one side. “You seem different,” he said simply. He held out both hands. “May I?”

Vanyel wasn’t exactly sure what he was asking, but it seemed rude to decline, and the old man was so harmless. He would never hurt a fly. He nodded, and closed his eyes as the priest’s hands settled on his forehead. The cool, dry touch of his fingers was surprisingly comforting.

“There is a brightness in you,” the elderly priest said softly. “I am glad to see you happy, Herald Vanyel.”

Despite the heat, Vanyel shivered. Is it that obvious?

“You have found hope.” The man’s voice had changed, dropping into a deeper register, toneless. “You will need it. Darkness lies ahead – darkness that will turn brother against sister, children against parents. Your most beloved friends will slip from your grasp. Trusted allies will face you across enemy ground. You will lose all hope, again and again – and you will find it, in the places you least expect. Remember that which you love, and your path will be clear.”

The Son of the Sun drew in a guttural breath, and took a step back, his hands falling away from Vanyel’s head. “Oh!” His voice was back to normal. “I am so sorry, I must have been…” 

Vanyel caught onto Brightstar’s steadying arm just before his knees gave. “What – I don’t–”

“Your god speaks through you!” Brightstar sounded impressed, and fascinated. “My da has the same thing.”

The old priest boggled at him. “I - my Sunlord - He has never spoken through my lips before…” He seems awed.

Vanyel was still reeling. Darkness lies ahead. It wasn’t particularly original, as prophecies went, if that was what it was – but it wasn’t surprising either.

– a wall of darkness and ice and death across a thousand futures –

Something slipped, and for a moment the shining temple around him felt unreal. Like the material world was only a stage-backdrop in front of the blue place, the silver tangle of threads that showed his future. The awful inevitability – from the very beginning, it had only ever been going to end one way…

The priest seemed to finally notice the shaken, horrified expressions around him. He tugged at his robes, face flickering through a parade of consternation, guilt, and embarrassment that would have been amusing in any other context. Whatever other talents the old man had, hiding his feelings wasn’t one of them.

Savil was reaching for him as well. :Ke’chara, are you all right?: Her mindvoice was unsteady.

:I feel faint: All the blood seemed to have fled his head. Your most beloved friends will slip from your grasp… It couldn’t be true – but Foresight didn’t come only in the form of dreams and visions, and whatever this was, he had the sense it was real. Some greater force had spoken through the old man’s throat.

…Why. He was so confused. And it felt like he didn’t even have enough mental space to catch onto it; like he was still missing the most important aspects, too big to grasp onto.

:Sit down: Some silent communication must have passed between his aunt and Brightstar – a moment later, they pushed him down onto the steps in front of the altar. The darkness around the edges of his vision receded, leaving only the sick horror.

Trusted allies will face you across enemy ground…

:Father?: Brightstar had joined him on the steps, a hand on his shoulder. :Father, the futures that the gods show to us need not always come to pass. We can stop it:

Vanyel resisted the urge to bark back something sharp. Maybe we can’t stop it. Maybe no one can. He could at least try to appreciate the attempt at comfort, even if what he really craved was exactly the thing he couldn’t have – Stef at his side, holding his hand, laughing at the absurdly clichéd lines and then rattling off ten schemes to subvert the gods’ plans.

It wasn’t fair to drag Stef into it now. They probably wouldn’t even have an opportunity to speak privately before his departure. Vanyel would tell him later, of course – keeping secrets was a path he had walked too many times, and he knew exactly where it ended – but he didn’t need to fall into his lover’s arms every time something a little frightening happened. I can cope.

“…Stef?” Medren froze in mid-motion as the door slammed open, one leg poised to slip into his hose. “You’re back? Why aren’t you–”

His roommate tossed his travel pack to the floor, yanked the door shut, flounced to the still-made bed on his near-empty side of the room, and flung himself down. “Van’s still in Sunhame. Seems he doesn’t care to have me around.”

“What?” Medren abandoned the attempt to finish dressing. “Stef, I’m sure it’s not that. Why did he stay behind?”

“It’s a state secret.” Stef rolled over with a grunt, lifting himself on one elbow. “Damn it all to high hells, Medren. You know what? I’m just going to tell you. Not like it’ll stay secret for long. They’re building a permanent Gate-terminus in Sunhame. Or trying to, anyway.”

Medren stumbled to a stop. “Wow! That’s… Wow. That’s incredible.”

Stef rolled his eyes. “Yes. Incredible. Famous Herald-Mage Vanyel Demonsbane changes the world. Again.” His voice dripped sarcasm. “He hardly needs my help.”

What’s eating you? The wrongness felt like tripping over a missing stair. “Stef,” he said, carefully. “What are you upset about?”

“Upset? Me?” Stef waved his hand, airily. “I’m just fine. Doing my part, serving the King, like a good little boy.”

He was in one of those moods again. Fortunately, Medren had years of practice dealing with Stef when he was touchy.

He took a deep breath, and edged over to sit on the side of Stef’s bed. “Hey,” he said quietly. “Stef, it sounds to me like things aren’t fine between you and Van. What’s going on?”

Stef turned his face away, glaring at the window. “None of your goddamned business.”

Medren pulled his legs up under him. “Maybe not, but I’m allowed to care. You’re my best friend.”

Stef glowered into the distance for ten seconds longer, resolutely ignoring him.

“Please,” Medren added.

Finally, his friend’s scowl softened. He turned to Medren, and the naked, lost look in his eyes was almost painful.

“I thought we were all right,” he said dully. “Everything was so good in k’Treva. I thought we’d found a groove…”

“But it’s different here?” Medren guessed.

“He’s different here.” Stef sat up, hugging his knees to his chest. “I hate it, Medren. He treats me like a goddamned stranger in public, and I’m lucky to get one evening a week with him at home. There’s always something more important than me.” He was silent for a moment, jaw working. “I’m being unfair. I knew he’d have competing responsibilities. That he’d want to hide our relationship in public. I said it was fine. I thought…”

“You thought it would be easier,” Medren said, as gently as he could. “I’m sorry, Stef. I know what Uncle Van can be like. He gets so focused on his work.”

“I get why it matters. There’s a lot at stake.” A sigh. “Just, I wish it ever felt like I mattered too.”

“Mmm.” Medren nodded sympathetically. “Feeling a bit taken for granted?”

“Yes – no – I don’t know!” Stef yanked at two fistfuls of hair. “I don’t – I wish – he acts like it’s an imposition asking me to have supper with him. He’s so goddamned apologetic about it, it’s like he assumes I’d rather be out at the tavern.” An irritated huff. Stef lifted his chin. “I mean, I do have my own life. I’m not at his beck and call. Just… Does he think I don’t enjoy his company? I want to know what’s on his mind, but I don’t, because there’s never enough time in private to catch up – I’m trying to help and he’s not letting me!” Stef finally seemed to run out of words, and stopped for breath.

Medren waited for a beat or two in respectful silence, then tentatively reached out and rested a hand on his roommate’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

It was as though that one comforting touch had knocked out the last remaining walls; Stef’s face crumpled, and he leaned into Medren’s chest, his breath hitching, like someone on the edge of tears.

“Shush, hey. It’s alright to cry.” It was strange to notice how small Stef felt in his arms. He managed to take up so much space, like one of those cats that could puff up its fur to look bigger, but after Medren’s final growth spurt, his roommate’s head came just halfway up his chest, and with his delicate build, he probably weighed half what Medren did. It didn’t feel as bizarre as towering over both Lady Trees and Uncle Van did, but it was odd. 

Stef sniffled for a few moments, but didn’t quite give in and weep. Finally, he wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Medren ran a soothing hand down his back, feeling every knob of his spine. “Stef, I know you don’t want to fight about it, but I think you have to tell him how much this is bothering you. He can’t read your mind, and he’s kind of oblivious sometimes – I bet he has no idea.” 

“He literally can read my mind,” Stef said waspishly. “I know, I know, he doesn’t unless I ask him to, because of Ethics, and he’s so oblivious, it’s unbelievable. I should talk to him.” Again that pleading, unguarded look in his eyes, so un-Stef-like that it made Medren’s chest ache. “I don’t know what to say. He’s under so much pressure. I don’t want to make it worse.”

“So you’re trying to tough it out.” Medren squeezed Stef’s narrow shoulders, the sharp wings of his shoulder-blades. “I get it. Still, I think he would want to know that you’re hurting. He loves you, right?”

“I know. Wish he’d say it once in a while, but… I know.” Stef wriggled. “On top of everything else, he never wants to do anything in bed anymore. It’s awful. I’m lucky if he’s in the mood once a week. That’s not normal, right? Gods, I don’t know if it’s something wrong with him or with me.”

Medren felt his cheeks growing hot. “I’m sure it’s not you,” he managed to choke out. “I don’t know, I think maybe it is normal? Once you’ve been with someone a while…” This is so incredibly awkward.

“It gets boring?” Stef looked thoughtful. “He’s not very adventurous. Maybe I should try to spice it up. Hmm, I could ask if he likes–”

“Stef!” Medren’s entire face felt like it was on fire now. “Stef, please don’t finish that sentence. I’m trying really hard to be helpful here, but I’m really not the person to ask for advice on, um, that. In case you’ve forgotten, he’s my uncle. There are some mental images I really don’t need.”

“Sorry.” Stef didn’t sound particularly apologetic.

“Don’t you have anyone else to talk to?” Medren said, a little frantically. “I don’t know, someone you met at that tavern?”

Stef just rolled his eyes. “No.”

“Right. Havens forbid you keep in touch with anyone you’ve bedded.” Medren cast his mind about. “Breda?” He doubted she would thank him for sending Stef in her direction, but at least she could probably manage to talk to Vanyel with a straight face ever again after.

Stef made a face. “She’s so old!”

“So? Just means she has more life experience.” Medren groaned. “Stef, honestly, you should just talk to Van about it. Like an adult. Anyway, can we please change the topic now?”

Chapter Text

After what felt like five minutes of petting his hair and kissing his forehead, Lady Treesa finally took a step back, hands on his shoulders. “Van, sweet, how was your trip?”

“Fine.” I could wish you hadn’t sprung this on me. He was tired – despite being very proactive with sleeping-herbs, with Stef five hundred miles away he had slept poorly, and the goddamned prophecy in the Temple had been haunting his nightmares.

He…wasn’t sure what to think. Brightstar seemed to think it was just, well, a thing that could happen. Savil was just as uneasy as Vanyel about it but kept bouncing away from their conversations. Even Yfandes couldn’t tell him much about how prophecies worked; what it actually meant, how to interpret the fairly cryptic words, how inevitable it was that it would happen.

Most of all he didn’t understand what the god - Vkandis, presumably, given the circumstances - was aiming for here, in giving Vanyel specifically this information. Not that it was even helpful information, really… It was tempting to slide away from it, think about the less-baffling present, but he was still confused and that meant maybe he was missing something.

He had been back in Haven for all of three candlemarks, several of which had been spent in an exhausting debrief with Dara, none at all with Stef, and he had been desperately looking forward to an evening alone with his lifebonded. Apparently it wasn’t to be. Jisa would be leaving for Rethwellan in the morning, along with Brightstar, Lissa, and Treven, plus several experienced Heralds and a large escort of the Guard. His mother had decided to throw a farewell party, which Vanyel had learned of exactly half a candlemark ago.

“Well, I’m delighted you could be here!” Lady Treesa twittered, releasing him. “Bard Stefen! It’s so wonderful to see you…”

Stef submitted to the same treatment with good grace, while Savil smirked at them from her armchair. She had beaten them there, by dint of not bothering to change out of her travel Whites, and from her high colour, she was already on her second or third cup of wine. Medren, sitting next to her, waved and grinned.

“Well, sit down!” With a possessive grip on his elbow, Treesa steered Stef towards the loveseat in the corner. “Van, darling, you too. Ariel! Could you bring your uncle and his special friend something to drink?”

“Of course, Grandmama!” Ariel leapt to her feet, her auburn ponytail bobbing – she had taken to wearing her hair the way a lot of the female Herald-trainees did lately, tied back high on her head, well out of her face for fighting and bouncing with every movement.

Stef caught Vanyel’s eye, grinning. Special friend, he mouthed.

Vanyel smiled back, trying to force his shoulders down from around his ears. He was already on edge, and he had to survive an entire evening of this.

:Relax, love: Yfandes sent.

His mother meant well, Vanyel reminded himself. Being infernally chirpy was her way of saying she loved him. Stef was there, so was Savil, and Lissa would be soon. He was with his family; family was supposed to be safe, and after decades, that ‘supposed to’ was finally approaching reality.

Center and ground. The familiar motion steadied him, but his shoulders still felt tight. An echo of Melody’s voice: anchor in your body. He rolled his neck, trying to loosen taut muscles.

A second later, Stef’s hands were at the base of his skull, fingertips massaging away the stiffness. He thought about nudging him away – Mother was right there, it was one thing for them to sit together and another to have their hands all over each other – but it felt amazing, and besides, a neck-rub was tame enough that surely even his father couldn’t object.

By the time Ariel returned with two brimming wine-glasses, he was feeling a lot more relaxed and present. Enough to notice that Stef’s movements were every so slightly jerky, and that the faint thrumming discomfort that lingered in his chest wasn’t entirely his own.

Rather than trying to hold a whispered conversation, Vanyel reached into the lifebond – they couldn’t pass any words that way, but he could reliably get Stef’s attention – and waited for his lifebonded to make eye contact and signal with a finger brushing his temple, disguised by unnecessarily fixing his hair.

:You all right?: he sent, again relishing the odd rightness of Stef’s unconscious natural shields half-meshing with his. :You seem restless:

Stef held his gaze. Long seconds later, words rose in his surface thoughts. It’s fine now, but…there’s something I want to talk about later.

:Of course: Vanyel tried to quell the sudden surge of nerves. :I missed you, Stef:

A sad smile. I missed you too, Van-ashke. Stef squeezed his knee for a moment, then turned back to the room, smiling brightly as he lifted the wine-cup to his lips.

There was another knock, and Treesa darted over to open the door. “Jisa!” she squealed. “It’s so wonderful to see you. Oh, and you must be Treven. You’ve gotten so tall! And handsome! I hear such good things about you…”

Treven handled his mother’s effusive greeting well, Vanyel thought, despite the slightly gobsmacked look in his eyes. An unexpected dose of Lady Treesa was more than most people could easily swallow.

Finally, he and Jisa were ushered to the sofa, where they proceeded to stare into each other’s eyes. Jisa seemed to think they were being inconspicuous, but it was about as obvious as a mage’s signal-beacon.

Savil’s mind brushed his. :Well, well. I never did manage to ask her, but this does look serious:

Vanyel didn’t bother to answer, just let amusement waft along the link. His conversation with Jisa when she finally admitted to the lifebond had been more than a little surreal – and, eager to drop some juicy gossip, he had been slightly offended to learn that Stef already knew. To be fair, Stef was Jisa’s best friend, and had been available while Vanyel was hundreds of miles away. Jisa had known for months, all the time they were in k’Treva, but she had wanted to tell Treven first. He could understand that.

He ought to have been glad for her, and he was, but unease lurked behind that joy. Maybe it was just that he’d had one too many brushes recently with unwanted predestination. Standing in the Temple, dizzy, the gilt walls like a curtain of tissue-paper barely hiding the awful inevitability of the blue-and-silver threads. From the very beginning, it had only ever been going to end one way…

Vanyel dragged himself back to the present as the door creaked open again. “Mother, Father!” Lissa called out. “Someone here you’ll want to meet!” She nudged Brightstar into the room. “This is Brightstar k’Treva. He’s visiting.”

- We can stop it, Brightstar had said to him, an attempt at comfort, and Vanyel had looked into that youthful optimism and felt only resignation. Maybe we can’t stop it. Maybe no one can.

–He caught himself. Center and ground. Focus on the damned party. It wasn’t the time to ruminate on a terrifying future. 

If Lady Treesa noticed his son’s eyes at all, either she thought nothing of it or she kept it to herself. “Brightstar!” she chirped, managing not to mangle the pronunciation too badly. “What an honour!” She didn’t seem to know what sort of greeting was appropriate; she gripped his outstretched arm for a moment, bobbing her head, then let go and spun to her eldest daughter. “Lissa, darling, it’s delightful to see you to – you never come by! Is that everyone? Why don’t we all sit down? Withen!” She cupped both hands around her mouth. “Withen, dear, come along!”

The study-door banged open. “No need to yell, Treesa, I’m right here.”

By the second course, Vanyel’s senses were rubbed raw. With eleven people, the table was crowded, and loud. His eyes ached with fatigue and he was finding it hard not to yawn.

Mother had started off by prodding Stef for details on their relationship, which Stef, to his eternal gratitude, had skillfully deflected. She had eventually given up and focused on Jisa and Treven. Vanyel had enjoyed watching them finish each other’s sentences – just like Mardic and Donni once had, and there was only a mild sting in that comparison – until Jisa managed to redirect her attention to Brightstar.

“Your hair is so long!” Treesa was cooing now. Brightstar squirmed as she touched his braids, but didn’t protest. “And what a beautiful colour! I never heard of a people that were born with white hair!”

“Not born,” Brightstar said. “Node-magic. See my f– my Uncle Vanyel.”

Vanyel stiffened and then relaxed; Mother didn’t seem to have caught the near-slip. “Oh, I see! Silly me, here thinking it was just the stress!” She giggled. “And you have such a beautiful bird!”

That got a real smile from him. “Her name is Kalari. You could pet her?”

“Ooh, could I really?” Treesa hesitated for a long time, though, looking worriedly at the bondbird’s sharp beak. Finally, Brightstar took her hand and guided it to stroke the feathers on Kalari’s crest.

“So silky!” She beamed at him, then lowered her hand, patted his shoulder, and turned to her niece. “Ariel! You’re looking very well. How are your classes?”

“Very good, Grandmama.”

“Remind me how old you are now, dear?”

Ariel tossed her ponytail. “Fourteen.”

“Fourteen! Bright lady, it seems like only a week ago you were a babe in my Meke’s arms.” Treesa reached for the wine-jug and refilled her glass, then topped up Vanyel’s as well before he could protest. “Well, you’re nearly a grown woman now. Tell me, are there any nice boys in your classes who might be marriage material?”

“Grandmama, Heralds don’t usually get married.” Ariel squirmed in her seat. “There is one boy. He’s not in my Collegium, but we have the same history class.”

“Oh? Do tell!” Treesa clapped her hands, silver eyes sparkling.

The young trainee stared down into her plate. “He’s one of the Blues, technically. I think he’s sort of a special case, he isn’t actually from Valdemar – or it wasn’t Valdemar at the time, anyway, he grew up in Baires. His name is Arkady Mav–”

Jisa choked on a mouthful of cider, spitting it all over the tablecloth.

Medren dived for napkins while Treven patted her on the back. Treesa spun in her chair, consternation in her eyes. “Jisa, dear, are you all right?”

She was still coughing, red-faced. “Fine,” she spluttered, waving her hand. “Just…wrong way…” Treven offered her a handkerchief, and she mopped at the front of her gown.

His mother turned back to her niece. “Arkady. What a lovely name. Well, then, tell me about him?”

Arkady. The name was familiar – oh, right. That Arkady.

Jisa had mostly recovered, but she was still staring at Ariel. Vanyel reached out with a Mindtouch. :Jisa, what was all that about?:

:Nothing, Father: She shared a meaningful look with Treven. Vanyel narrowed his eyes at her, but didn’t press; the tug in his chest told him that Stef was trying to get his attention, and he wasn’t surprised to see his lifebonded discreetly tapping his temple.

:You have a question?: he sent.

Who are they talking about, Stef was thinking.

Trust Stef to want to know all the gossip. :Arkady Mavelan. Yes, from those Mavelans. Born in Baires. His mother grew up there, but her parents were refugees from the Eastern Empire. Anyway, his mage-gift awakened very shortly after all the Baires Adepts died at Valdemar’s hands. Including his parents. He had a bad time of it for a few years. Ended up here eventually, Savil was teaching him in exchange for the grandmother translating some Eastern Empire textbooks – which turned out to be part of how we got permanent Gates, so I suppose it was worthwhile. Savil hasn’t even complained about him much recently:

A fractional nod. How does Jisa know him?

Vanyel wasn’t actually sure. :Probably from her classes with the Blues?: The Mavelan boy was a couple of years older, he thought, but Jisa had always been ahead in her classes.

I wonder what Ariel sees in him. Vanyel had barely met the lad, but Savil hadn’t exactly given a glowing recommendation. It had been a couple of years, though. Maybe he had grown up some.

Under the table, he felt Stef’s hand settle on his knee. He instinctively started to pull away – but it wasn’t like Father could see it from here, and besides, they didn’t actually have to hide.

Smiling, he laced his own fingers with Stef’s. :I love you:

It was after midnight by the time they made their way back to their quarters.

Stef was in a good mood. He had been annoyed at first by the disruption to his evening – and delaying the talk with Vanyel that he had spent days going over in his head – but he actually did like Van’s family, and Lady Treesa might be airheaded but she knew how to host a party. Stef had brought over his lute as well as the gorgeous steel-stringed gittern that Van had picked up at some point and rarely played. Which was a crying shame. Apparently his lifebonded was responsible for introducing Breda to the instrument, and the subsequent purchase of several for use at Bardic. Even with his stipend, Stef didn’t have nearly enough coin to think about buying one for himself – which made it sting all the more that Van had bought his on a whim and didn’t even use it. It shouldn’t have bothered him but it did.

Stef and Medren had traded off on playing for a while, and Van had finally loosened up enough to join in. He wasn’t as good – no wonder, given how rarely he practiced, if anything it felt unfair how well he could play – but Stef doubted his mother could tell the difference. He had been a bit worried that the sheer delight of having three musicians vying to play for her would send Treesa into a fit. Savil had added her own song-requests, and even Withen had stuck around to listen for a time before dragging Lissa off to his study.

A soon as they had pushed through the outer doors into the relative privacy of the Heralds’ Wing, Van reached out and took his hand. Stef glanced over, surprised. Vanyel was smiling broadly. His cheeks were rosy, and the warm flickering light from the hall-torch softened his features, making him look younger.

I think you’re more drunk than you were letting on. Well, no one was around. Giving in to temptation, Stef pulled Vanyel in and kissed him. He made a surprised sound, but didn’t pull away.

You’re mine. It was thrilling to demonstrate it so clearly in a semi-public place, even if no one was awake to see.

The hallway had some disadvantages, though, and the two instrument-cases hooked over his shoulder were heavy and awkward. Stef reluctantly pulled back and half-dragged his lifebonded past a dozen closed doors, fumbling for his key and unlocking the door one-handed without ever letting go of Van’s waist.

Vanyel leaned on the closed door, blinking, as Stef navigated the dark room by memory, returning the two instruments to their places on the wall. “Home,” he breathed. “Stef, it’s so good to–”

“Shush. No talking now.” Stef kicked off his soft boots and padded barefoot across the room, taking Van’s shoulders and pinning him firmly in place. “I’m serious. You’re banned from saying anything for the next, uh, candlemark. So if there’s something you wanted to tell me, you’d better find another way, huh?”

“Stef?”

“Mmm?” It was very late now. Stef had been drifting on the edge of sleep, resisting because Vanyel was curled against him and he didn’t want to let go.

Vanyel cleared his throat. “Am I allowed to talk now?”

It had been considerably longer than a candlemark, and Stef was quite pleased at how clearly his lifebonded had conveyed ‘I miss you’ without any words at all. “Sure.”

“There was something you wanted to speak about?”

Right. That. It felt distant now, incredibly unimportant – Van was here, in his arms, and he could barely remember what he had been upset about. The carefully rehearsed words he had prepared had fled.

And yet, it was still there. Still unresolved, a loose thread dangling at the edge, threatening to catch on some passing obstacle and unravel everything in its wake.

“Stef, love, I can tell something is bothering you.” In the pitchy darkness, Vanyel’s fingertips traced his brow. “Mind if I give us some light?”

“Go ahead.”

The glow of a mage-light sprang to life above them. Vanyel lifted his head. “Stef, talk to me. What’s wrong?” His silver eyes were like wide-open windows, closer to golden in the warm light.

Stef scooted back against the headboard. “Van, I…” Damn it, why is this so hard? He was tempted to give up on it, make up something and get it over with, but his mind was drawing a blank, and besides, that would be the worst kind of cowardice. He closed his eyes; he couldn’t think with Vanyel looking at him like that. “It’s just, ever since we got back from k’Treva, it’s been…weird.”

“What sort of weird?” Nothing but gentle curiosity in Van’s voice.

Don’t be so thoughtful, you’re just making it harder. It felt like winding back his leg to kick a puppy. “I miss you. It feels like you’re, I don’t know, distant.” He dared to crack his eyes open, gauging Van’s expression. Still patiently listening. “I miss talking to you,” he went on. “Gods, I miss being allowed to touch you. You’re right there but you’re out of reach. I’m tired of having to hide how I feel about you all the goddamned time.” He swallowed against the tightness in his throat, and forged ahead. “You went to Highjorune without me and you were a mess when you got back – and they you went and did it again, damn it! Like you don’t think it’s important at all that it makes you miserable.” And me. He balled his hand around a fistful of sheets. “I know it’s silly, but…sometimes it seems like you don’t actually want me around.”

Vanyel never looked away, but something tightened in his eyes, and the pulse of wounded guilt through the lifebond was like a kick to the chest.

“I’m sorry,” Stef said bitterly. “I know how much pressure you’re under, and I don’t want to make that harder. I’m trying to help. But it feels like you’re shutting me out.”

Vanyel blinked. “Stef, I wasn’t–”

“I know it wasn’t on purpose.” Gods, it was exactly like stepping on a puppy. Why did I ever think this conversation was a good idea? He was committed now, though. “Van, I know you care about me. Though it’d be nice to hear it once in a while anyway. And even nicer if you acted like it. You say I matter to you, but I’m sick of mattering less than everything else. Less than your goddamned duty to save the kingdom. Because that’s how it feels, when you just decide you’re staying in Sunhame and I’m going back with Randi, without even asking me.”

He was angry again, the prickly heat rising in his chest, but it felt off-balance. Confused, warring with Van’s hurt leaking through their bond. He didn’t want to be furious, didn’t want to be flinging daggers made of words and feel the wounds they left as though they were in his own body. None of that was the point. I want you back, Van-ashke.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “Van-ashke, I don’t know how long we have. But I feel like I’m losing you now, and the war hasn’t even started.” All right, maybe that was a bit over-dramatic. It was still how he felt.

Vanyel was silent for a long time, not even trying to defend himself. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. His voice was rough, his eyes suspiciously shiny. “Stef, I didn’t mean–” His mouth twisted. “Doesn’t matter. I hurt you, and I am sorry. Truly.” His voice faltered. “I know that d-doesn’t undo it.”

The bitter shame pouring through their bond was making Stef dizzy. He didn’t know what he was feeling – it was all a tangle, his and not-his.

Vanyel must have realized; his eyes widened, and he scrambled up on one elbow. “Gods! I’m leaking, aren’t I? I’m so sorry, I wasn’t – I’ll shield now–”

“Don’t you dare!” Stef surged up, seizing Vanyel by the shoulders and pinning him flat against the mattress. “Don’t. Just don’t. You’re mine.” The vehemence in his own voice caught him by surprise. “Don’t shield the lifebond until we’re done talking.”

Vanyel stared up at him, shocked into silence, lips slightly parted. Looking so confused and helpless that Stef couldn’t hold onto the anger. He bent to kiss Van’s forehead. “Hey, it’s alright. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Van’s eyes clung to him, almost pleading. “Stef, if you ever thought – gods, I do want you around. So much. Everything is so much better when you’re there. I wish we could be together every single second.” He closed his eyes. “I guess I don’t say it out loud often enough, and…I have been putting the mission first. Habit, I guess. I didn’t realize how much I’ve been neglecting you. Stef, I can’t put you first all the time, but I damned well should sometimes. You’re worth it.”

“So are you.” Stef trailed his fingers down the parallel score-marks that a vengeful demon had left on his lover’s chest nearly a decade ago. “Van, it’s not just about what I want. Can’t you ever do what you want?”

Vanyel’s lips twitched. “Yfandes says I generally fail at that.”

“There’s still time to learn.” Stef caught Vanyel’s wrist and lifted it, brushing his lips over the thin white scar there. “You’re mine, all right? I want you to be happy, I’m working really hard over here, and you are not making it easy. Please do better.” He was smiling, though – he wasn’t even sure why, but he felt very light, almost giddy.

“I’ll try.” Vanyel was smiling as well. He wriggled. “Um, Stef, do you realize you’re sitting on me?”

“I’m allowed to sit on you if I want.” Stef grinned down at him. “Maybe I should do it more often. Seems like the only goddamned way to make you stop working.”

That got a laugh, but it faded quickly. “Stef,” Vanyel said. “There’s…a thing I should tell you.”

“Oh?”

“Something weird happened in Sunhame. The afternoon before you left, I – gods, I should have told you right away. I didn’t want to upset you…”

He was tense as a harp-string again, oozing trepidation. “It’s all right,” Stef said. “You’re telling me now.”

Vanyel squeezed his eyes shut. “We were in the temple, and…you remember Father Albrecht, the current Son of the Sun?”

Stef nodded. “Of course. I like him.” The ancient, wrinkled man was completely unlike his not-very-complimentary sense of what a priest ought to be like. He seems like someone who understands living.

“He talked to me, and then, well, something else spoke through him. Presumably Vkandis, though it could have been some other Power.” Vanyel shivered. “Like Foresight, except it was only words. A prophecy.”

Stef felt his jaw fall open. “That’s a thing?” he managed faintly. “Prophecies are real?”

“Foresight is real. And Moondance has a similar thing sometimes – he’s not a Foreseer, but he has dreams about the future, and they seem to think it comes from their Goddess. And - a couple of times he’s said things that he didn’t remember saying. That were probably from Her.” A pause. “Anyway, this is how it went…”

Stef waited until he had finished. It was hard to tell how it made him feel; he was picking up too much of Vanyel’s sick horror from the unshielded bond. Behind it, though, was satisfaction. If a bit of Palace gossip about who was courting whom was an iced cake, sweet and fluffy, this was more like a hank of dried travel-meat. Harder to swallow, but substantial, tempting to dig his teeth into. Stef was very aware of Van’s confusion and uncertainty and flinching-from-it, but he had no urge at all to flinch from his own curiosity.

Best to approach it lightly. Stef licked his lips. “Well, that’s dark. Awfully melodramatic. And overly mysterious. Are prophecies always like that?”

A humourless chuckle. “I don’t know. First time I’ve ever had one addressed to me. The Star-Eyed is just as cryptic, though.” Vanyel’s throat bobbed. “The old man wasn’t faking, unless he’s a far better actor than I ever knew. And, I don’t expect you to believe me, but it felt familiar. I’ve been in the presence of a Power before.”

“I believe you.” Stef reached to brush a tangle of hair back from Van’s forehead. “So. What does this tell us? I don’t know much about how prophecies work, is it like Foresight?”

“Vkandis sees a war.” The words seemed to sink like weights in the air. “And that not all of the people close to us will end up on the same side.”

Us. Despite the gravity of the topic, that one word made Stef feel light again.

Vanyel shifted under him. “I mean, war was always the most likely endpoint. I know that, I’m not stupid. And…it doesn’t have to be set in stone. Foresight never is. The gods see a long way, but even they can be surprised.”

“Speaking from personal experience, huh?” Stef sat back, thinking. “The rest… Huh. What are the gods’ motives when they do prophecies like that? Foresight, long-range dreams like yours at least, are clearly, hmm, ways to get you to do what They want? Meddling. And, Van, it sounds like advice. Find hope in the places you least expect. Remember what you love and the path will be clear. Gods, I mean, it’s the sort of completely useless advice that mysterious weather-witches give the hero in a ballad, it’s not specific like your Foresight dream about Leareth, but still.”

“I’ve been wondering about that. What His agenda is, in sending this. Whichever Power sent me the dream at first probably has an agenda for me to kill Leareth, although that…makes more sense if we posit a different god did the lucid dream part. I don’t know.”

“Seems like outguessing the gods’ schemes is a good way to go mad.” Stef’s eyes drifted to the half-open curtains, a sliver of moonlight falling onto the covers. “He said you’ve found hope. Have you?” Is it because of me?

“Yes.” Vanyel lifted his head, levering up his shoulders on both elbows. “A hundred times over. Gods, Stef – even before the actual prophecy, when it was just him speaking to me, Father Albrecht could tell. He said I seemed different, and he was glad to see me happy.” Wonder in his eyes. “Is it really that obvious?”

I’d damn well hope so. “I’m hardly an unbiased source,” Stef said. “For the moment, does this change our plans?”

“I’m not sure.” Vanyel’s eyes rested on him. “Of the two of us, you’re the plotter. What do you think?”

A burst of warm pride. “Hmm,” Stef said. “I’ll have to chew on it more, and…think about how much we should act on it and risk playing right into some god’s hands.” He doesn’t like the idea of that, even if having information from Them is very shiny to him. “First off, though, I’d say we need contingency-plans. If there’s any possibility we’re going to end up on a different side from the Heraldic Circle, we’ll need our own resources. Other allies.”

Vanyel winced visibly.

“I know, Van-ashke, it feels like a betrayal even to think about.” That’s because you’re a better person than I am. Stef probably ought to feel some kind of scruples about scheming behind the King’s back, but he didn’t.

“No. You’re right.” Vanyel slumped back against the pillow. “Stef, I do want your help with that. Later. Right now, I need to go to sleep or I’ll be useless tomorrow.”

Stef eased himself down as well. “Just cancel your meetings and have a lie-in, love.”

The mage-light winked out. “The problem with getting old,” Van murmured into the darkness, “is that your body stops letting you sleep in.”

“You’re not old.”

A sleepy chuckle. “Haven’t you noticed the crows-feet?”

“Hardly.” Stef snuggled closer. “Just little ones. Adorable baby crows. I like it. Gives you dignity.”

Vanyel stuck out his tongue at him.

Frozen wind, howling past an unmoving army–

“Herald Vanyel.”

(Vanyel twitched to awareness within the dream. It wasn’t the timing he would have preferred for it. He had nothing new to offer; even Stef hadn’t been able to come up with a deal they could trade, much less a way of implementing it that Randi or Tran would accept. Besides which, he still felt unsteady. Teetering-over-an-abyss wasn’t the mood he preferred to be in when he spoke to Leareth. There was no help for it, though.)

“Leareth,” he said, keeping his expression as serene as he could.

Leareth worked with him in silence while they made shelter, but he had noticed something, and as soon as they sat, he went straight to the point. “You are troubled, Herald Vanyel. Is there context I am missing?”

Despite his best efforts, Vanyel laughed. “You always say that.”

(Strange, how rather than appropriately terrifying, it felt almost comforting. Leareth wasn’t an ally – yet, Vanyel inserted – and he was a very odd sort of friend, but he could guess what Vanyel was feeling better than anyone else, even Melody, hellfires, sometimes even better than Yfandes. Which should have been the opposite of reassuring, really, given that they were still by default enemies, and yet.)

“You need not speak of it,” Leareth said.

(Gods, but he wanted to. Not the words of the prophecy, of course, although sharing it was a boon he could offer Leareth. Maybe enough to wrangle the pass’s location out of him, even, but that wasn’t a decision he could make without consulting Randi. Still, his discomfort with the whole thing ran deeper than the information it contained, and he thought Leareth might understand.)

He took a breath, let it out. “Leareth, how do you feel about Foresight? In general, I mean.”

A very slight lift of one thin black brow. “It is occasionally useful, often misleading, and always frustrating.”

That got another chuckle from him, which Vanyel suspected had been Leareth’s aim. “I’m serious,” he pressed. “It’s less about the Gift, and more…I don’t know, what it tells us about reality.”

“Ah. You fear that perhaps our future is predetermined, set by the shape of the world and of our minds, and that the gods use this predictability to make us unwilling pawns in their plans.”

“Yes, that’s exactly right.” Vanyel raked a hand through his hair, restless. “I don’t, just – I mean, I’m not sure whether it’s a question we can answer at all, or what the answer would mean. But I want to do the right thing, and – and if everything I’m ever going to do is something the gods can see from here, and, and use, does any of it even matter?”

(It was more than he had meant to say, both in words and with his face and body; Leareth would be able to see how agitated he was, and Vanyel didn’t know what he would do with that information, except that he would take advantage of it however he could. And yet, he wasn’t sure he regretted the openness. It was abstract enough that he probably wouldn’t leak anything tactically relevant, and…in a way, it was an offer of trust to let Leareth see his naked confusion. Vulnerability sent a signal.)

“You question the concept of freedom,” Leareth said, “and of moral responsibility, and what that means in a world of physical laws. Plenty of scholars have trod this ground before.”

“I know.” Vanyel made a face. “I’ve read some of them.”

(Many of the scholars in question had been religious, focused on trying to square the circle of a loyal, loving god with the observed fact that no godly intervention prevented people from doing very bad things. Those treatises tended to swerve into philosophical digressions on the nature of evil. Often, they took for granted that of course human beings were the sort of entity that could make moral choices – what would be the point of the various Havens and hells described, otherwise?)

A thin smile. “You agree with me that they are confused.”

(Confused, and often horrifying – like the one Karsite scholar he had read who had resolved the contradiction by declaring that such freedom-of-choice didn’t exist; all action was according to a person’s nature, and from their birth, all humans had their nature set in stone, and Vkandis knew from the very beginning who was deserving of His love versus His retribution. It wasn’t a popular view, thankfully, though Vanyel had remembered it when Leareth started describing some of his theories.)

“I think so,” he said quietly. “But…I’m feeling pretty confused myself, right now.”

Leareth was silent for a long time. “I could offer you the answers I have come to for myself,” he said finally, “and yet I do not think I ought.” A flicker of his eyelids. “You do not entirely trust that I have your best interests at heart, in choosing what to tell you. I prefer to tread lightly, and listen as you form your own thoughts.”

Vanyel nodded. “Thank you.”

(Some part of him wished Leareth would just lecture him. He, if anyone could, would be able to slice through that awful contradiction. Still, it was respectful of him, and, well, he had done the same thing with Jisa dozens of times.)

“I’m thinking of what I have read,” Vanyel said. “I mean, some scholars claim that our belief in freedom-of-will is basic – that it’s something all humans universally feel inside, and that’s all the ‘proof’ we need.” He shrugged. “That sounded a lot more compelling when I was nineteen. Now it just feels like it’s dodging the question.”

Leareth waited.

Vanyel rubbed his eyes. “All right, I’ll…try to do the thing you do, and come up with hypotheticals to think about it. All that does is poke my intuitions, which I’m not sure I actually trust, but…” He thought for a moment. “We’ve talked about compulsions before. That’s a good source of hypotheticals.”

(Leareth, in fact, even when asking for concessions, had claimed he wouldn’t want Vanyel to bear a compulsion any more restrictive than a binding oath not to kill Leareth with his own hands. I do not wish to compromise your ability to use your judgement and make decisions, he had said.)

“I’ve got one,” Vanyel said finally. “Imagine I put a compulsion on, say, one of the lords on the Council, to vote in favour of a particular motion. Obviously that’s a dubious thing to do, but does it necessarily mean that the moral responsibility for the results of the vote, good or bad, is on me, and not on the lord in question? I can imagine it works like a lot of long-term compulsions do – it’s silent and does nothing unless the subject approaches a banned action, which triggers it to intervene. In this case, the trigger would be the lord making a decision to vote against – it feels like in that case, when the compulsion kicks in and forces a vote for, the lord definitely isn’t in charge of his actions, and thus isn’t responsible. But if he were to reason it through on his own and independently choose to vote for… I don’t know, it feels like he should be morally responsible then? Since that kind of compulsion isn’t acting on him at all if he’s not triggering it by being about to make a banned decision. Which is bizarre – what does it even mean, if there’s no possible world where he chooses otherwise – but it would imply… Hmm.”

(It was so weird to think about, and not just because compulsions made him uneasy in the first place. Though it was unclear how different they were in principle from a Mindhealer’s redirect – except that the latter generally involved the patient’s consent.)

“I think it would imply that we want to think of someone as morally responsible when they follow their own decision process and reasoning without outside constraint,” he said finally. “I mean, this aligns with some other common intuitions – if a man is locked in gaol, we don’t judge him morally responsible for failing to go to work and feed his children.”

Leareth nods, his eyes impassive. “Generally, no, though he might be judged responsible for actions that led predictably to such an outcome. I do think that the concept of ‘moral responsibility’ is perhaps less coherent as a single concept than scholars of philosophy like to treat it.”

“Right. Hmm. What if… Imagine a man who has difficulty with his temper goes to a Mindhealer, and says, while he’s calm and able to reflect on it, that he would prefer not to beat his wife when he gets angry. The Mindhealer puts in a block, and the next time the man and his wife argue, he calms down and doesn’t hit her. Can we say that he did a morally praiseworthy thing? In the moment, it’s sort-of-not his decision process being run – but it was still him who made a choice, just earlier. Taking measures to avoid giving in to strong emotion seems a bit like when a drunkard decides to throw away all of his wine, so that he won’t succumb to temptation later – and I think most people would say the drunk is responsible for that choice. The man with a temper is involving another person in his commitment-to-his-best-self, but we could imagine a drunkard doing the same, by asking his wife to lock the liquor cupboard and hide the key.”

Leareth leans back slightly on his ice-stool. “Yes, I agree. One could also imagine an intermediate situation, where the Mindhealer is the one who proposes it and convinces the man, or the wife does.”

Nod. “That feels - less morally praiseworthy to me,” Vany says, slowly, “still some if he consented to it, but it’s not as much his decision process upstream of it.”

Leareth briefly inclined his head. “I would claim that this concept of ‘moral responsibility’ is not black-and-white. Humans are complex beings, not perfectly coherent selves, and different facets of our minds are more or less amenable to reason.”

“Right, and the ability to reason freely feels key, even if it’s predictable in advance – I mean, it has to be, or else the man wouldn’t know what to ask the Mindhealer for. The fact that I myself can predict what sort of choices I’ll tend to make shouldn’t make me less free.”

(So why did it feel so different when that prediction came from a prophecy, courtesy of the gods, than when it came from his understanding of his own mind? The prophecy hadn’t actually been surprising, he had pointed that out, and yet.)

“There is a hypothetical we might consider here,” Leareth offers. “Imagine that our world is in fact perfectly predictable, to a sufficiently strong god that sees everything; this is not true of our actual world, in my understanding; and They wish a particular man, Beryl, to be killed in thirty years. Rather than do it Themselves, or send someone a Foresight vision, They create a child, Ava. Since They can perfectly predict all the consequences of every action from the laws of nature, They know that she will grow up and end up choosing to murder Beryl, based on her own decision process, emotions that she does consider part of her, and reasoning from the information she has. That is the only reason They select her to be born; if she would not have done it, They would have arranged for a different child to be born who would. Would you consider Ava blameworthy for that murder, or the gods?” 

Vanyel pressed both hands to his temples. “Ugh. I don’t know, I mean…if the god doesn’t intervene at all once Ava is born, just lets her grow up as she does, that feels…it doesn’t make sense to think of Ava’s entire self as a god-compulsion. I mean, the god plucked her out of the space of hypothetical people, chose that she would exist rather than some other person, but once that happened she’s still a person. If the god created her to be a bad person, we can judge the god for that, but I don’t think it means that we can’t judge her.”

(The concept of hypothetical-spaces-of-things was a very weird one – imagining the world as a single ribbon winding across the far bigger canvas of might-have-been’s – but it felt especially useful here.)

“An argument that she lacks free will proves too much, I think,” Leareth says quietly. “I suppose one could make a case that no one has ever had freedom-of-will, ever, that it is nothing but a comforting illusion…”

“What if Ava found this out?” Vanyel says. “…I guess we’re presupposing that this god knows everything, so They must have predicted that conversation, and that she would still go on to kill Beryl – in fact, it almost implies that the version of the world, the version of Ava, where she learns of it is the best one, for the god’s purposes, one that makes it more rather than less likely she will carry out the plan, or else it wouldn’t exist– oh.”

(The revelation struck like a mule-kick to the chest. Vanyel was dizzy, reeling.)

“You appear to have thought of something disturbing,” Leareth said.

“Yes.” He shuddered. “I’m remembering when we spoke about powerful gods that can predict other beings, because their minds are big enough to hold a ‘picture’ detailed enough. I, just – if the representation is that detailed, is it awake? Does it think and feel?”

(It was such a counterintuitive notion, but really, he knew full well that he wasn’t, really, a specific mind bound to a specific body – he was an aggregate of patterns, and it would be possible to stamp those patterns, or at least an approximation of them, onto a different substrate. That was what Need had done. It was sort of what Leareth did, every time he took over another body.)

“If it were sufficiently detailed,” Leareth said, “I think it is obvious that the answer would be yes.”

Vanyel was shaking. “So, if Ava finds herself learning about her purpose, and choosing to defy it and not to kill Beryl – that makes reality inconsistent, in some sense. She…should consider it evidence that she isn’t the ‘real’ Ava; she’s one of the representations that the god looked at, before deciding which version of Ava to create.” He cupped trembling hands to his face. “Hellfires, that’s one of the most terrifying thoughts I’ve ever had. I feel like with some of your theories of formal decision-processes, if Ava was using them, she would decide to kill Beryl after all because not doing it would be evidence she isn’t the real one. Only, that’s still horrifying… I mean, if Ava is awake in this pretend-world, so is Beryl. Which means killing him is still killing a person.”

(It absolutely hurt his head to think about. And he was going to be worried about sharing it with anyone else, even Shavri – it seemed like the sort of idea that could break a person.)

“All of that would hold in the hypothetical,” Leareth said. “However, the hypothetical posits a pretend-world held in a gods mind that is, if not fully as detailed as ours, at least close to it. When it comes to the actual representations held by the current gods, which are embedded in our world with us and thus limited by it, I do not know, but suspect not. I do think that our world is lawful, if not perfectly predetermined – there seems to be an unavoidable element of chance – but its laws are very, very complicated. The gods are less bound by the passing of seconds than mortals, since they are not fixed in the material plane and instead are much, much larger than it, and so it is not entirely wrong to say that they exist ‘outside of time’, they do exist outside of our mortal sense of time. However, I do not think they can pause its flow, nor entirely step outside of it to do their thinking, for that would require stepping out of the world itself.”

(That was very interesting. For a long time, Vanyel had been under the impression that the gods weren’t bound by time, and could step outside of it. How else did the Shadow-Lover’s realm work? Or the blue place – Yfandes’ experience of the world was one of being partly outside of time. And how could the Star-Eyed have showed him all of those alternate pasts? But, of course a being that was thousands of times ‘larger’ and could think a thousand times faster than a human would, in some sense, experience time as passing a thousand times slower. Was that all that the Shadow-Lover had done? Pulled Vanyel’s mind into a different space, where his own thoughts could run that fast too? It wasn’t like he could have timed the experience from the outside, and he had never spent longer than a subjective several candlemarks there; even divided by a hundred instead of a thousand, that was still only seconds. And the Star-Eyed’s visions – what if they hadn’t been eyes into other worlds that ‘really existed’, like he had imagined at the time, but rather Her own memories of what Foresight had once showed Her as options? If from Her vantage point, She was always ‘seeing’ the possible paths of the future along with the present, and if Her mind was big enough to hold a very large number of memories indeed…)

Leareth’s shoulders rose and fell. “Their minds are larger than we can imagine, but not infinite, and so they must prioritize. Thus, I do not think it would be feasible for them to run perfect representations. In addition, my observations have hinted that while they do know a great deal, they do not know everything, since I can slip some plans past Them.”

(Vanyel agreed; the hypothetical he had invented wasn’t quite an analogy for their actual situation. In the world as it was, it seemed that the gods did lack information – the location of Leareth’s spirit-shelter in the Void, for one, if Brightstar’s theory about his method was right. They hadn’t predicted the Cataclysm sufficiently in advance to stop it. And he had seen the Star-Eyed appear surprised. In short, maybe they were clever enough that he wouldn’t outsmart them, but they weren’t clever enough to win every time by definition. What a relief.)

“Of course,” Leareth went on, “if reality is lawful and thus possible-to-predict, that holds even if no entity is in fact predicting it. Thus, some scholars have wished to deny the existence of such laws – and others have said as you did, that freedom is and has always been a lie. I am curious what you think.”

Vanyel frowned. “That feels off. Like they’re trying to impose a black-and-white framework, or…” His mind spun. “Or trying to propose a question when there isn’t really anything in conflict. I mean, the weak version of a perfectly predictable world is just that our past and present affects our future, which is pretty goddamned obvious.”

A slight nod. “There is a hypothetical I have posed before,” Leareth said. “Imagine that you stood before burning building, knowing that children were trapped inside, and you must decide whether to intervene. That moment, that decision – it is the result of everything in your life to that point, everything that you are. Perhaps your parents raised you to care about doing what is right, taught you that it was right to help others, and that determines your choice to step forward – and perhaps in the different world where they did not teach this lesson, you would instead flee to your own safety. Does that mean that your parents, and not you, bear the moral responsibility for your choice?”

(It was a particularly vivid choice of example, though Leareth couldn’t know why. Jisa’s adventure a couple of years back had instantly flashed to mind. She had run towards rather than away from fire, and it was a testament to her courage, but at the same time, it was a reflection of who her parents were, and what she had learned from them. Surely Vanyel could be proud of Shavri and Randi – and himself, even – for their roles in the person their daughter had grown up to be, but that didn’t need to diminish his pride in Jisa herself. There lay the start of an infinite cycle; were his and Randi and Shavri’s own parents responsible for raising them to be the sort of people who would raise Jisa in turn the way they had? And their parents? It wouldn’t ever stop.)

“No,” he said quietly. “I can say that they did the right thing, raising a child in that way, and that was praiseworthy – but that was their choice, in the past. My choice, in the present, would be my own. That’s not a contradiction.”

(Amazing how obvious it felt, all of a sudden.)

Vanyel felt his shoulders straighten. “And even if my choices, and my parents’ choices, were lawfully predetermined from the very beginning, along with everyone else – that doesn’t mean I know what they are. It doesn’t actually change what it’s like from the inside, to be a person trying to do the right thing. It would still be a difficult choice; it would still be brave to run into the building, and cowardly to flee.” He shook his head. “Maybe this feeling that I have freedom-of-choice, and that it means something – that I could make right or wrong choices by my own standards, and I don’t yet know which is which – maybe that doesn’t have to make a claim about the fundamental nature of reality. It’s just what it’s like from the inside, being the sort of pattern that a person is.” He paused for breath. “I mean, I can imagine different minds, ones that always made the exact same choices by instinct; actually, from what I’ve read, insects are basically that. I wouldn’t say they have moral agency. But if I feel from the inside that I’m weighing my duties, doubting myself, trying to reach toward what I care about – I mean, if it’s possible for this thing called moral responsibility to exist in reality, that’s how.”

Chapter Text

They were about six candlemarks out of Haven, and Jisa’s behind was already sore. She was trying not to complain about it to Enara, to avoid a loud ‘I told you so’.

Still. Why couldn’t we Gate to the border? They couldn’t Gate straight to Petras, the capital of Rethwellan, but Van could easily have transported them to Bakerston. Instead, they would be taking an entire week just to get out of Valdemar.

All right, fine, she understood the justification for not Gating unless it was necessary – it would have left Van too tired to do anything else for the rest of the day, including Web-alarms, and it would have disrupted the local energy-patterns and brought in a storm, requiring extra weather-working from the already overloaded weaker mages to avoid. Besides, they were traveling with an entire platoon of the Guard, extra riding horses since once they left Valdemar they would no longer be able to swap horses at any inn, and a full baggage train of pack mules and donkeys. All the horses hated passing through Gates. So did a lot of their humans.

Treven had admitted, in Mindspeech, to being just as uncomfortable, though he hid it very well. And Brightstar, unused to riding at all, was visibly struggling, trailing at the back of the line. Lissa on the other hand seemed unperturbed, riding in the lead and chattering to Herald Siri. Occasionally she would urge her horse into a gallop and then circle back, apparently just for the fun of it. Their party had spread out and was taking up most of the road for quite a distance; they would move into single file whenever a wagon passed, but this far out of the city, months before the harvest, the wagons were few.

Dara had been right about more than just saddle-sores. It was incredibly hot. Jisa’s riding leathers had been plastered to her skin within minutes, and she had given in and peeled off her tunic at their first stop.

Ahead, the horses and riders were slowing, forming a knot. Thank the gods, Jisa thought – it looked like there was a watering-hole at the side of the road, and they were pausing. Maybe she would have long enough to dig out her bedroll and pad the saddle a little. It had seemed so comfortable before…

Or maybe… :Treven: she sent. :Want to switch Companions for a bit?:

Several dozen paces ahead of her, his Eren paused in mid-step. :What?: Treven sent back, head twisting around.

:Come on, it’ll be fun: She didn’t know where the whim had struck from, but it had her now. :Besides, maybe your saddle will rub in different places:

:Oh, I see: She couldn’t hear his laughter with her ears, above the hoofbeats all around, but she could sense the edges of it.

:You know: Enara sent, :this isn’t really the done thing: A pause. :That’s why you want to do it, isn’t it?:

Maybe a little bit. She was going to enjoy the surprised stares. :Eren has a smoother gait than you: she sent back.

:I take offence at that, Chosen: Enara twisted her head back, pretending to snap her teeth; Jisa dodged, peals of laughter shaking her like a leaf.

Treven had already dismounted by the time she caught up with the group, and he stepped in and gallantly lifted her from the saddle. “My lady, a drink of water?”

Jisa rolled her eyes. “Do I look like a lady right now?” Clad in dust-caked leather trews, her shirt half-unlaced and yellow with sweat and dirt around the collar, and her hair was surely a disaster by now.

“The most beautiful lady I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Treven said, with a completely straight face.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Everyone, no dawdling!” Lissa barked. “Fifteen minutes, then we’re moving on. I’d like us to reach Snake Bends by nightfall.”

That was nearly sixty miles – not too bad for the Companions, though it was starting to feel like another matter for their Chosen, but a brutal pace for the ordinary horses, even switching riders around at every stop. Lissa’s favourite warhorse supposedly had Shin’a’in blood and was tolerating the pace better than any of the others.

Jisa vaguely wished they were going far enough south to visit the Dhorisha Plains. She had always wanted to see a Shin’a’in horse-fair. Then again, the Plains were another two or three weeks’ journey from Petras. They hadn’t even been riding for a day and she was already counting down the miles.

“Here.” Treven offered Jisa her waterskin, freshly filled, and a travel-pie. Jisa nodded her gratitude, too weary for anything else, and watched as he untied his own bedroll and fastened the folded blanket across Eren’s saddle. I didn’t even ask. Sometimes it felt like Treven was too kind and considerate to be real.

She stretched, trying to work free the kinks in her back. The virtuous thing would have been to cushion Enara’s saddle for him in turn, but Treven would do it himself without complaining, and what she wanted to do was stretch her legs a bit and stuff the entire pie into her face at once. Who knew riding would make you so hungry?

I guess I’m just a selfish person. She took a bite, watching Treven work. He had stripped out of his tunic as well, and rolled his sleeves up to the elbows. If it got any hotter, maybe he would resort to taking off his shirt and she would have a chance to ogle him.

Of course, every other woman in the party would be ogling as well, and Jisa wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

Watching him was a good distraction from the ache that threatened to swell up from her gut, unwanted. Jisa was further from home than she had ever been. She wasn’t going to see her parents for months; she missed Mother, and Papa, and Father. Even Melody. At least Treven was with her, but they would be parting ways in Petras, and likely he would go back to Valdemar without her.

She would be strolling into a secretive mage-school that had never heard of her, and couldn’t care less that she was a Herald-trainee or who her father was. She would stand or fall on her own merits. It hadn’t seemed frightening before; from the comfort of her bedroom, it hadn’t truly felt real.

Now it did. What if I fail their tests?

–No. She wasn’t going to fail.

And it was worth it. Worth being apart from her lifebonded, even. She was, after all, going to be a Herald. I can do hard things.

We’re really doing this.

Dara shifted in Rolan’s saddle, adjusting Need’s scabbard to fit more comfortably at her hip. She wouldn’t normally have chosen to ride with a full-length sword on her belt, but Need had flat-out refused to be stuffed into her  saddlebags.

A dusty chuckle. :What fun: Need sent. :Always hoped we’d have another journey together, girl:

Dara patted the hilt, smiling. :No side adventures. We’re on a deadline:

:You Heralds, always in such a damned rush: Need sent sourly. Then she softened. :Wouldn’t want to leave Shavri alone too long:

Dara hadn’t thought of that. :You’re going to miss her?:

:Of course. She’s my bearer: An apologetic mental grunt, and Dara had the sense of someone ruffling her hair. :Well, one of them. I’d miss you if you went away without me too:

:How many people are you bonded to right now?: Dara sent, curiously.

:I don’t need to be bonded to work with someone, now that I’m awake: A snort. :I know, I know, that wasn’t an answer. Three:

:Me, Shavri, and…?: Dara closed her eyes, riffling through her mental list. :Lissa? No? Wait. Jisa?: That couldn’t be right, but the overtones told her it was.

:I should’ve thought it was bloody obvious: Need felt almost offended.

:She’s never actually carried you: Dara pointed out.

:She has. For half a candlemark, and she spent it blackmailing me: A pang of wistfulness, almost longing. :I’ve been waiting for so goddamned long. Hells, I can’t fathom why my…whatever-it-is, that shows me the way to women in trouble and leads me to my next bearer, decided to haul me off to k’Treva when she was seven years old. I’m not complaining – Shavri’s worth it and so are you – but she was the one I came for:

A long pause, more thoughtful than she usually felt from Need. :I don’t even understand why she pulls me so hard. She’s got the spark all right, but – well, I think I’m supposed to be drawn to the girls who need a bit of support and guidance to bring it out. Jisa hardly needs my help: The feel of someone playfully swatting at her ear. :Neither do you, honestly:

Something, that was one of the most flattering compliments Dara had ever heard from anyone; it almost brought tears to her eyes.

:Don’t get sappy on me, girl:

Hoofbeats behind her. “Dara?”

She twisted in the saddle. “Ready to go?”

Karis nodded. She was mounted on a fine chestnut mare; her escort hovered back, a patrol of the Valdemaran Guard and half a dozen of Karis’ personal armsmen. They would be accompanying her only as far as Sumpost; in Dara’s vision, the two of them had been alone, and Karis had been the one pushing to keep that exactly as shown.

Dara wished her Foresight had been more instructive on what to do when they got there. Sumpost, she had learned, was the closest thing to an official border-crossing. There was no Guard-post there, but the Merchants’ Guild had a station. Trade-caravans were allowed through the barrier everyone talked about. Heralds weren’t.

She should have been dying of curiosity. I’ve noticed something about Iftel, Savil had said, and Dara’s mind had stumbled on it, skidding to a halt, because it was true. She couldn’t recall a thing from the diplomatic reports either, though she must have read them – hells, their envoy over there was from the Merchants’ Guild, which was very irregular, and she had never questioned it.

They had an unused suite in the Palace for the envoy from Iftel. Dara vaguely remembered reading that there had been someone there early in Elspeth’s reign, shortly after her alliance-marriage, but it had stood empty for decades, while servants uncomplainingly kept it aired out and ready. Nobody had…said anything…?

Even now, Dara couldn’t muster much interest, and her nerves were muted. The entire journey felt half like a dream.

Treven’s eyes flew to her the moment that Jisa stepped into the hall behind the throne room. :Wow! You look… Wow:

:I feel like one of those horrible wedding-cakes: Jisa was wearing a floor-length gown with multiple cascading layers of lace and silk, in shades of pale violet. Mother, in helping her pack, must have snuck it in – which was good in one sense, because Jisa hadn’t thought to pack a formal gown that was nice enough for an audience with a Queen. She hadn’t known she was supposed to be presented to the Queen of Rethwellan at all.

Jisa didn’t especially want to be there at all, but was still smug that she was going and Brightstar wasn’t. Despite their attempts at lessons on the way here, he barely understood Rethwellani and spoke with a horrific accent. Jisa had no idea how their lessons at White Winds were going to go if it turned out none of the instructors shared a language with him.

:You look stunning: Treven insisted. :Like a spring flower:

:You literally can’t see me under all these stupid frills: Jisa ran a hand nervously over her hair, checking that the ribbons in her braid hadn’t slipped. :Trev, you are not going to say one word about this to anyone. Ever:

A peal of mental laughter, though his face stayed perfectly composed – it was so impressive, she had never met anyone else who could do that. :Wouldn’t dream of it: He winked at her, then bowed formal and offered his arm. “My Lady, may I escort you?”

She curtsied, sneaking in an eye-roll at him, and then took his arm. Lissa was ahead of them, flanked by Herald Siri, Herald Marius, and two other Guards, looking very sharp in formal Guard-blue and riding boots polished to mirror-brightness. Tall and lean and dangerous, like an assassin. It wasn’t fair at all. I want a uniform that makes people wonder if I could kill them in their sleep.

Treven had been lightly Mindtouching her, they went around like that most of the time unless there was a good reason to shield, and he picked up on that thought. :Oh, but the most dangerous assassin would never look like that. The sweet young lady who seems completely harmless until she has a knife at your throat is a lot scarier, trust me:

Jisa swallowed a snicker. He had succeeded at making her feel a lot better, though, she didn’t mind wearing a ridiculous gown and ribbons in her hair if it was a disguise.

:It is: Treven sent, amused. :Just think of it as a stage-play. We’re here to play the Very Important Envoys. Just go all-in, play it to the hilt, and the audience will eat it up:

Despite the horrendously mixed metaphors, Jisa smiled, restraining it to an appropriate width; a Very Important Envoy didn’t grin, after all.

Ahead, Lissa barked something that Jisa didn’t quite make out – the hall was very echoey – and then spun on her heels. Treven urged her into motion.

:Lend me your Empathy?: he sent as they crossed under a marble archway into the throne room proper, which was about a thousand times grander than the one in Haven.

It was something they had started doing more and more. Treven was on his way to being one of the strongest Mindspeakers in Valdemar; Van could outpace him briefly, but only because he could boost with node-energy. Jisa had been curious if she could feed Treven extra power. The answer was yes, and he had been able to reach Herald Tantras even from the very top of the Comb, well over three hundred miles apart.

After that, she had worked to teach him the basics of concert-Sight so he could borrow her Gifts. It had taken a while, several nights of stuffing her bedroll with pillows and sneaking into his tent under cover of an illusion. Being a mage was awesome, and being a secret mage was even better.

Jisa opened her shields, merging a deeper layer with his, and then leaned into her Receptive Empathy. Melody, when she asked, had said it wasn’t ethical to probe actively, or to project and change the moods around her in a diplomatic context, but that passively using receptive Gifts was accepted as part of the game.

The woman seated on the ridiculously over-decorated throne leaked very little; mostly, Jisa sensed serene confidence, and a flicker of curiosity. Without probing, Jisa couldn’t tell whether she was actually Gifted, but she had training, and while the un-Gifted could in theory learn basic shielding, it was difficult and rare.

Queen Lythiaren. She had been crowned a fortnight earlier, after the traditional mourning period was over – probably, in fact, at around the time that Jisa had been riding out of Haven, desperately trying to ignore her aching bottom.

She was a slim woman, her long face and sharp, angular features handsome rather than pretty. Dark brown hair, dark eyes, brows like ruler-lines drawn in place. She looked about the same age as Karis, which seemed right – she was thirty-three, Jisa remembered, a year older than Mother and Papa. That sent a pang through her heart. Papa looked about sixty, and these days even Mother was looking worse for wear. Healers in general tended not to show their age, but most Healers weren’t constantly spending their strength to its last dregs, buying time for a dying lifebonded partner.

A stout, elderly man – an advisor of some kind, surely – leapt up from his chair to one side of the throne, oozing pride, though her Empathy told her he was also overheated and bored. “Your Majesty.” He had the sort of booming voice that could fill a room, and she wondered if he had practiced. It really was like a play. “May I present to you the delegation of Valdemar.” A dramatic pause. “General Lissa Ashkevron.”

Lissa bowed deeply, taking her time. Then she took the dress-sword from her belt and, moving as though in a dance, laid it on the floor to one side. Queen Lythiaren acknowledged the bizarre courtesy with a dip of her head.

:Why is she doing that?: Jisa sent, confused.

:It’s the appropriate formal gesture for a foreign military commander greeting the monarch, according to Rethwellani custom. Taken as a symbol, it means she won’t raise her weapons against the Crown:

Treven knew a ridiculous amount about protocol, which wasn’t that surprising. :What am I supposed to do?: Jisa sent, a little frantically. She hadn’t even considered that Rethwellan would have different formalities, and she was bad enough at remembering Valdemaran etiquette.

:There are a few different options, but I would stay simple. Curtsy and kneel, stay there for a count of ten: 

Lissa had stepped to one side, hands clasped behind her back, and the little man was announcing Herald Marius.

:Who is he?: Jisa sent. Treven had an incredible ability to memorize everyone’s names and roles before he had even met them.

:Queen Lythiaren’s seneschal. Well, seneschal to her father, she may replace him once she’s settled in. Lord Stellan:

:Oh: Jisa had been watching Herald Siri, planning how to imitate her elegant transition from curtsying to kneeling – she didn’t want to look like a complete bumpkin – but something else was dragging at her attention.

Then it was her name being called. Lord Stellan had introduced her with some roundabout construction that she was fairly sure meant ‘daughter of the King’s concubine’, though based on what her Empathy was picking up, he didn’t seem to think it was offensive. Jisa decided not to take it personally.

She stepped forward, looking the Queen full in the eye. Like a stage-play. She drew out her best curtsy, then knelt, bowing her head. One…two…

The niggling feeling sharpened, and she reached instinctively for her mage-sight.

Oh. Jisa’s head snapped up, her eyes locking onto the sword that she had barely taken notice of. It rested in a sort of built-in stand, in front of one of the throne-arms, and Queen Lythiaren’s long fingers were curled lazily around the hilt.

To Jisa’s ordinary eyes, it wasn’t a very impressive blade; there were jewels set in the hilt, but the metal itself had a dull, cheap sheen, and it clearly wasn’t sharp enough to actually fight with.

To her mage-sight, though, it shone vibrantly, and seemed to hum. The energies were quiescent, and the Mindtouch she couldn’t quite restrain found nothing like a mind or presence – this sword was just an artifact, not a person.

She had read about this. The Sword that Sings, they called it. The blade that pointed at the right heir.

And she was fairly sure that Lythiaren was a mage, now. The energies of her aura were looped around the sword, swirling with it. Not quite a bond, but the blade knew her.

:Jisa: Treven prompted her.

She rose, half-stumbling and catching herself, and backed away to the side, too stunned to be embarrassed. Queen Lythiaren’s eyes followed her for a moment, but then went to Treven.

He had memorized a different protocol – he bowed, then marked out a rectangle in front of the Queen with his steps, clicking his heels at the corners, ending up kneeling at her feet with hands cupped in front of him. With a slight, approving smile, she rested her bejewelled fingers there, and he kissed the back of her hand, then bent his head. Jisa started counting in her head.

“Rise, young man.” A real smile now. “Let me have a look at you, Heir to Valdemar.” She stood as well, and Jisa saw that she was a very tall woman, nearly matching Treven’s height, and he was unusually tall even for a man. “How old are you, Treven?”

“Fifteen, your Majesty.”

“Young, but so poised.” She rested her hands on his shoulders, and looked into his eyes for what felt like an entire minute. Jisa tried desperately not to fidget, and held back from Mindtouching Treven to ask what was happening – she didn’t want to throw him off.

“Good, good,” Lythiaren said finally. “You’ll do. It is my honour to meet you, Treven. We must speak more later.”

Sprawled on his stomach with papers spread across the covers, Vanyel lifted his head, surprised, as Stef nudged his way into the bedroom. “I thought you were going out with Medren tonight?” It was been one of his partner’s rare evenings off.

“Changed my mind. It’s stinking hot out. Decided I’d rather be in here where it’s cool – ooh, that’s nice.” Stef shrugged his lute-case onto a chair and stretched, then started skinning out of his Scarlets.

Vanyel smirked. He had been maintaining a reverse weather-barrier for the last two candlemarks, and his suite was probably the most comfortable place in the Palace.

Stripped down to his hose and undershirt, Stef balled up his tunic and threw it in the general direction of the wardrobe, then padded over to the bed and, rather than taking his own side, draped himself directly on top of Vanyel.

“Hey,” Vanyel protested, though half-heartedly – Stef’s warm weight was soothing, even if it came with a helping of stickiness. “You’re exactly like a cat, you know.”

“Elegant and mysterious?” Stef imitated a purring sound.

“I was going for incredibly annoying.” Vanyel twisted his head, and determined he could still reach his notes. Writing was going to be awkward, though. “Since you’ve trapped me here, want to help me with this?” He had been poking around with Brightstar’s intuitions regarding the Cataclysm’s effects on other planes, trying to see if he could fit any formal maths to it and mostly failing.

“There’s something I wanted to ask about, actually.”

“Oh?”

“It’s more related to Leareth’s immortality than the Cataclysm,” Stef admitted. “I was just thinking, we know a lot of bits and pieces about what happens to spirits after they die, but I feel like I don’t understand how they fit together. If we put our heads together, maybe we’ve got enough to come up with a proper theory of how the whole thing works – and if we have a theory, we’ll have more to go on for figuring out what Leareth did.”

“Hmm.” Vanyel had been vaguely hoping that Brightstar would wring enough lore out of the White Winds Adepts to figure it out, but that wasn’t guaranteed at all, and wouldn’t pan out for months anyway. “You’re right, it’s worth talking about. What are the pieces you’re thinking of?”

He felt Stef shift. “Here, pass me that paper, I’ll make a list. One. There’s, well, me. We know that Tylendel died, and his spirit went to the Shadow-Lover, and then…went back to the material plane, or got attached to it again, when I was born.” Stef spoke very matter-of-factly, given the subject matter. His pen scratched. “Two. Some Companions, maybe all except the Groveborn, used to be humans. Presumably they died in the usual way, the Shadow-Lover offered a choice, and then they were attached to a horse body instead, only they kept more of their past memories than I did. I don’t understand why–”

“When I spoke to Tylendel’s spirit on the Moonpaths,” Vanyel interjected, “he did seem to remember some things. Not everything, but…hmm, actually about the same amount that Yfandes remembers.” :Does that seem right, love?:

:I think so, yes: No sign of discomfort from her, even though this had to be verging on a taboo topic amongst Companions. She had changed so much.

“So those memories still exist. Sort of.” He could hear the frown in Stef’s voice. “But not properly in my head, or something. I really should keep trying to remember, it could be useful.” A pause. “Do you think I could go to the Moonpaths and talk to…”

“Yourself from a past life?” Vanyel said dryly. “What a weird idea. I don’t know.”

Stef fell silent for a moment, scribbling. “Three. Need. She also died, if not exactly the normal way, and we don’t have any reason to think the Shadow-Lover was involved, but probably a different god was. It sort of looks like she got sent back too, but attached to an object instead of a living body.”

“Very strange,” Vanyel agreed. “I don’t fully understand it, but she does seem slightly less alive than a Companion, or something. When she didn’t have bearers who were Mind-Gifted, it was like she wasn’t fully conscious. She does have memories from her life as a human – hmm, again, I’d have to ask her to be sure, but it’s plausible she remembers about the same amount as Yfandes. A few key events that shaped her. She also has some new memories from when she was already embodied in a sword; she couldn’t have told us about the Mage Wars otherwise. Which implies…” He trailed off, his mind spinning.

“It implies that whatever our brains do to keep memories,” Stef said, “the sword is doing the same thing. With magic, I guess.”

“She did cast a spell of some kind on it, before she…did the rest. Maybe that made the blade similar enough to a body for it to work. Or it could’ve been a miracle of whichever god helped out – if they can create a Groveborn Companion from nothing, presumably they can manage a simple artifact.” Vanyel could feel Stef’s elbow digging into his back as he wrote, and squirmed to evade it.

“Sorry. On reflection, this may not be the ideal position for taking notes.” Stef flopped over and sat up. “Anyway. Four. Whatever the leshy’a Kal’enedral are. We think they’re similar to Companions, but as far as we know they don’t have material bodies – except sometimes they do, maybe, like when one turned up to teach Dara sword-work.” A pause. “What other beings don’t have bodies?”

“Well, the gods.” Vanyel rolled onto his side. “Elemental beings, like vrondi. Ethereal beings – I’ve heard of something called a varir in some books, but I’ve never seen it described. Abyssal demons do have bodies, but not in our plane… Oh!” He sat up. “I can’t believe I never thought to test that.”

“What?” Stef said blankly.

“I’m not sure it’s that important.” His mind was chasing it, though. “They look solid, but they fade away after a week or so in our world. I don’t think they die and rot – I think they just disappear. And summoning them takes a lot of mage-power, more than you’d expect if the mage was just making a link between the planes through the Void, and…you can’t see the cracks, you just see the demons appearing from nowhere. So now I’m wondering if they’re just doing what Brightstar did in reverse. Projecting the…whatever the demon equivalent of a spirit is, and housing it in a construct ‘body’ made of mage-energies.”

“Is that possible?”

“I think so. I mean, if I raise a physical mage-barrier – just on the spot, without some kind of focus to stabilize it – the longest I can get it to last is about a week, which matches.”

“Fascinating. Could you summon a demon and test it?”

“–No. Absolutely not.” Vanyel groaned. “That’s dark magic. Anyway, I don’t know how.” He only knew how to call sandaar, fire-elementals, though he had just used the technique in lessons, it was faster for him to throw mage-fireballs and he was almost never limited on power.

Stef let it slide. “That could be what the leshy’a Kal’enedral do. In which case they must have access to mage-power. Maybe through the Goddess?”

“Seems plausible.” Vanyel found his hand drifting up to touch the claw-marks over his heart. Many years later, he still had no feeling in the skin where the creature had touched him. I hate demons.

Stef noticed the shift in his mood, and reached to squeeze his knee, sending a pulse of reassurance through the lifebond. He was getting a lot better at doing that deliberately; they both were. At this rate, soon we’ll be able to use it to pass messages. An offhand, silly thought – but his mind caught on it. That could actually be very useful.

Stef interrupted his thoughts. “Taking a step back. I’m starting to have the sense that the gods have…you could call it jurisdiction. In Valdemar we’ve got the Shadow-Lover, who sometimes sends spirits back to be Companions. The Shin’a’in and Tayledras have the Star-Eyed, who sometimes turns spirits into leshy’a Kal’enedral. But there’d be lots left over, tons of people die every year and there aren’t that many Companions. The rest…” He lifted his head; there was a strange, wild look in his eyes. “Priests talk about the Havens. I never figured that was real. Still, if people’s spirits keep existing after they die, and they’re not all sent back right away to be Companions, or other people, then the Shadow-Lover has to be putting them somewhere.”

Vanyel found himself nodding. “The Shadow-Lover always gives me a choice. He said…” He clenched his eyes shut, trying to remember. “He said I could find peace in death. That I could be with Tylendel again. So either he was just lying, or there’s a place we would have gone.” Remarkable, how easy it was to speak of now – there was still a pang, saying his name, but there was relief as well. He shook his head. “He only said that the first time, though. It makes me wonder if he hadn’t actually sent Tylendel back, yet, at that point. The timing… It was only a month or two after. Maybe it takes a while. Or maybe he was waiting to see what I would do, first.”

A rush of something nameless flooded him, not grief but somewhere close to it. Did he always know what I would choose? Vanyel had seen the pattern that was himself from the outside, and choosing to go back had been an inevitable consequence – a million times over, he would have done the same thing. If the Shadow-Lover could see those tangled threads, if he already knew, then did the words ‘you have a choice’ mean anything at all?

It made him think of the damned conversation with Leareth, about what free will and choices even meant. He could remember feeling like he had found some clarity, though, but…somehow it was a lot harder to feel that for his future, rather than his past. Wondering uneasily, in the back of his mind, if the choice about Leareth that he had been trying to make for seventeen, gods, nearly eighteen years, had ever really been his choice at all.

Focus. “Brightstar said that the mist beside the Moonpaths is spirits,” Vanyel said. “Don’t know that I believe him, but if it’s true… Hmm. I’m not sure what that means. Anyway, I don’t know that it’s relevant to Leareth’s immortality.” Sigh. “Seems to me that he needs two things for it to work. One, a shelter for his spirit, probably in the Void – a well-hidden one, or else surely the gods would have found and destroyed it, or sent a human mage to do it for them. Two, once he’s there, a way to get back to the material plane. Some kind of link to the body he wants to take over, and he would need power. Only, the Void basically eats mage-power. I can’t think how one would build a stable reservoir of energies there.”

Stef frowned fiercely for long seconds. “Sorry,” he admitted finally. “I can’t help you there.”

Vanyel sighed. “I’ll keep gnawing on it. Thank you, ashke, this was incredibly helpful.”

Stef nodded, a brief smile flashing. but he seemed distracted. Staring at the window, intent on something, and Vanyel didn’t think it was the sunset, pretty as it was.

“Copper for your thoughts?” he said finally.

Stef turned to him. The wild look was back in his eyes. “You’re not going to like it.”

Vanyel slid closer. “I’d rather judge that for myself.”

His lover’s hands twisted together, white-knuckled around the pen he still held. “Van-ashke, please don’t be angry.” The tendons in his neck stood out like cords. “It’s just… I really don’t want to lose you. Never ever ever. And we know…” He looked away. “We know ways of becoming immortal.”

Vanyel recoiled. “What?”

“I’m not saying Leareth’s way!” Stef flung his hands into the air, sending the pen flying. “I agree it’s horrible. But what about Need? If we could find out the spell she used, make some kind of artifact like that, and – and if you have to die fighting him, you could at least still be in the world. Still be in my life. Even if you weren’t human anymore, it’d be worth it.”

Vanyel’s gut was roiling, a bitter taste in his mouth. It wasn’t anger he felt, exactly – the desperation and love in Stef’s voice was too near, washing over him, he felt like he might drown in it.

“No,” he heard himself say. “Stef, I’m sorry, but – just no. I’m not going to use dark magic to wriggle out of dying. That’s not who I want to be.”

Tears shimmered in Stef’s eyes, and hurt echoed through the bond. He pulled his knees into his chest. “I t-told you. You wouldn’t like it.”

“Stef, hey, that’s not it.” Center and ground. Vanyel took a deep breath, trying to quell the strange not-anger. “I’m glad you said it. Stef, it’s a strength you have, being able to think things like that. All information is worth having.”

Head tucked in to his chest, Stef was still avoiding his eyes. Damn it, I put my foot in it again.

“I’m not upset with you.” Vanyel held out his arms. “I love you, and I’m grateful that you care about me enough to consider that option. Truly.”

Stef didn’t move for a long time, but finally shuffled sideways and  leaned into his chest, shivering.

Vanyel pulled him close, kissing the crown of his head. “Stef, listen. I’ll find you again. No matter how long it takes.” 

Stef’s breath caught on a half-sob. “Van, d-don’t.” His voice was choked, barely understandable. “Please don’t try to come back like I – like Tylendel did. Whatever’s on the other side, wait for me there. I can’t imagine living without you. Definitely not for twenty years.” A wet attempt at a chuckle. “Besides, it’d be too goddamned weird if I was the older one. At some point we have to stop leapfrogging like this.”

Stef’s try at humour did nothing to fool Vanyel. He struggled to find words, and couldn’t, so he just cradled his lifebonded as gently as he could. I’m sorry. I don’t want this either.

“Stef,” he murmured finally. “I’m pretty sure this is the spot where I’m supposed to convince you not to kill yourself if I die. I could say a lot of things. But...I don’t think it’s my right to argue with you. So I won’t.”

Stef sniffed, wiping his eyes on the shoulder of Vanyel’s tunic. “Don’t you dare,” he whispered. “If you say one word about how Jisa would feel, I’ll – I’ll push you into the river, I swear.”

“Hardly a punishment. Given the weather, I expect I’d enjoy it.” Vanyel hadn’t been feeding enough energy to his cooling-spell, and the room was starting to feel stuffy. He pushed through a wisp of power, then went on running his fingers through Stef’s hair. “Hey. This conversation got more intense than I expected and it caught me off guard. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings – Stef! Please don’t wipe your nose on my clothing. Just a minute, I’ll get… Here.”

Stef blew his nose with the proffered handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes, then curled up again.

:Chosen: A soothing waft from Yfandes. :You handled that well, I think:

:Not sure I’d go that far, but it wasn’t a disaster: He felt wrung out, but there was relief as well.

It was just like the dream.

Dara stood with feet planted, shading her eyes against the sun, coughing a little at the dust. They had already parted ways with Karis’ guards, and followed the road onward. We must be close now.

They could have gone into Sumpost proper, talked to the Merchants’ Guild, gotten a sense of what to expect – but for some reason the idea had made Dara uneasy. So far they had traveled quietly, but if she walked up in Whites and declared she was about to stroll into Iftel, that would attract a lot of notice.

Karis stepped up beside her. “I am ready.”

Damn it, if only the dust would go away. I can’t see anything. Dara could make out only vague masses of green and brown, that seemed to ripple in the heat, and–

“Oh,” she breathed.

There was something in the air, more than just dust. Not a solid wall – she could see through it, though distorted, as though it were a gauzy curtain. It seemed to move and ripple like water, but it wasn’t water, and it rose as high as she could see.

It bisected the road about two dozen paces ahead.

At her side, she felt Need…shrinking, curling into herself. :So much power: she sent. :It’s a bloody kingdom-sized shield-wall of nothing but raw energy. I’ve never seen anything like it: And, from her mindvoice, she didn’t much like it.

“This is the place,” Karis said, and started briskly walking forwards.

No, wait, stop– Dara stood frozen for a moment, her pulse hammering. I can’t. I can’t walk through that thing. Every part of her was flinching away – it would kill her, surely, Iftel didn’t let Heralds in, she wasn’t meant to be here–

She missed Rolan desperately, but she had already sent him back with the Guards, and she wasn’t going to call for him now.

Karis had paused, one hand outstretched and resting just in front of the shimmering barrier, awe in every line of her posture. No sign of fear.

Dara’s Foresight had brought her here.

…Then again, her goddamned Foresight had also led to her nearly starving to death trapped in Urtho’s Tower, which wasn’t the most ringing endorsement. But she had survived it, and gotten valuable knowledge from it.

:You’ll never know if you don’t try: Need coaxed.

She would be the first Herald in living memory to step into Iftel. That would be a story she could tell her grandchildren – assuming Valdemar survived long enough for her to have children in the first place.

Doing this was a step towards that, Dara reminded herself, and she started to walk. A dozen paces away, at the sight of the barrier stretching up and up and up above her head, her heart quailed again – so she closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and ran at it.

–Something had her in its grip. It had felt for a moment like stepping through a Gate, but there was no other side.

****WHAT****

Not a mindvoice. Not a mind. It was something so much bigger. Dara was an ant to it, no, a speck of dust. Less than that.

****WHO****

She was lost in it; she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, she wasn’t even sure where her body was. Light was all around her, inside her, but she couldn’t see anything. She was transparent to it, awash in a sea of fire that didn’t burn, while it examined her up and down, turning her over – she had the uncanny sense of being turned somehow inside out.

****SEER****

Was that all she was? A seer of visions? Everything had been stripped away; what was left? Not her body. Not her name. She couldn’t remember why she had come. Only a few fragments were left, echoing in the emptiness.

Do the impossible.

Never give up.

Together.

The light seemed to pull back a little, satisfied.

****GUARDIAN****

The light had named her, and now it was asking a question, wordless, and she was nothing, anymore, but she tried to answer yes–

–And it released her, she was falling to her knees, dizzy, her eyes blurring and refocusing on clean cobbles and a row of verdant trees. It was still a hot summer day, but the sky was clear blue, the air free of dust.

Karis was bent over as though in supplication, her hands and forehead pressed to the road.

Experimentally, Dara tried to reach for Rolan. Nothing.

Need. The blade was being suspiciously quiet. :Are you all right?: Dara tried. It felt mildly surprising that Mindspeech wasn’t hurting her head.

She had the sense of someone very slowly uncurling from a tight ball. :By the Twain, that was strange:

:I agree. That’s the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’ve had a literal spirit show up and spar with me. Did it hurt you?:

:Not exactly. It…tried to take me apart: A shudder. :Bloody meddling gods. Anyway, let’s get moving:

Dara stood up, carefully, just as Karis lifted her head. The Queen’s face was… Dara had heard the description of a person having ‘seen the Havens and been turned away’ before, and never understood what it meant, until now.

Dara offered her a hand. Karis stared at it for about ten seconds before finally grasping it and allowing Dara to pull her to her feet.

“Had an encounter with your Sunlord?” Dara said.

Karis just looked at her, like someone who had forgotten what words were. Or like someone who had just had the most intense religious experience of her life. Don’t mock it, Dara told herself.

“Never mind.” She took the Queen’s elbow, and pointed at a distant smear of buildings. “Let’s go over there, and see who’s in charge here who we can talk to.”

It wasn’t until they were halfway down the path that it really fell into place. She was in Iftel. Vkandis, if it was Vkandis, had let her through. She had talked to a god! Well, sort of talked to. She remembered it only vaguely, and it was already fading.

Now, if she could only figure out what they were meant to be doing here.

Chapter Text

I passed I passed I passed I passed I passed–

The jubilant refrain inside Jisa’s head wasn’t stopping anytime soon. For the moment, it didn’t matter at all that she and Treven were seventy miles apart, too far for Mindspeech.

She was sitting cross-legged on the dirt floor of a mud-and-straw hut, wearing the extremely practical, if scratchy, buff-coloured robe they had given her, with Brightstar beside her; he too had passed the initial tests with no difficulty. A fly buzzed nearby.

Treven would have hated it here. Jisa thought it was perfect.

A rangy young man in identical robes, introducing himself as Farlek, explained the basic rules and routines of the school. They would be rooming alongside the other apprentices in two barracks-like buildings, girls and boys separate; Jisa had already been shown her sleeping-mat and the cubby where she could put her things. They would have chores every day – sweeping out the various rooms, drawing water from the well, weeding the gardens, feeding the animals, taking turns helping the cook in the big kitchen-tent. The school was entirely self-sufficient. Jisa was a little bothered that they did raise animals, presumably to eat them, but it hadn’t seemed like the time to bring it up.

They were to practice trance-exercises for two candlemarks every morning, and all the students would work out together before lunch – they believed that mages needed to be physically fit. No fighting with magic was allowed outside of their classes. Blah blah blah. Jisa had started to drift off into daydreams halfway through. It sounded like they wouldn’t have much free time, which was too bad, she and Brightstar had come up with half a dozen ideas to study in their own time. He wanted to figure out if there was a way to reliably shield out Mindhealing; Jisa thought it was mostly out of competitiveness, in case she ever tried to pull it on him while sparring, but it also seemed like a good idea in general. Room-shields against Mindhealing would have stopped her little escapade with Stef years ago, for one, and with the benefit of hindsight, Jisa could notice that would have been a good thing.

Then Farlek told them to wait and stepped out, and now they were waiting, presumably for someone else to come talk to them.

Jisa was a bit disappointed that the tests hadn’t been harder. A different woman, Alethra, had assessed both of them – Jisa was annoyed that everyone here wore either the exact same dun-coloured robes, or else random ordinary clothing, it meant she had no idea what rank anyone was. Still, based on her sneaky perusal of the woman’s aura, she was both powerful and skilled. Strangely for an Adept, though, her abundant honey-brown hair held no traces of white.

Lissa had accompanied them on the three-day ride to the school, after using Dara’s letter of introduction to track down someone in Petras who would act as a guide, and played the Supervising Grownup. She had left as soon as it seemed like their welcome was guaranteed – conveniently, the school was actually on her way, only a day’s journey from the Jkathan Border. Jisa was surprised to find that she missed her presence, and awed at how grateful she was to have Brightstar there. She was such a very, very long way from home.

At least she had Enara. Her Companion was nearby, grazing in a nice meadow with some of the horses that apparently lived at the school. Jisa hadn’t yet found an opportunity to discuss with anyone that Enara wasn’t an ordinary horse and was as intelligent as a person; she hadn’t known if Alethra or Farlek would know what Heralds were.

There was a scuff in the doorway, and Jisa looked up from her lap – and gasped.

Alethra was back, but not alone. She was guiding one of the oldest hertasi that Jisa had ever seen; at least, she assumed that it was age that had bowed and withered his body and bleached his scales to ivory. His proportions were a little strange; his skull was even broader and rounder than most hertasi, bulging almost comically. His eyes were milky; she guessed he was entirely blind. He wore nothing but a sort of apron tied around his middle, with pockets; to Jisa’s bafflement, she saw what looked like an onion-shoot sticking up from one of them.

Jisa had never met a hertasi who was a mage before, much less an Adept, but she could feel his aura brushing hers, shimmering with power.

Now she understood the purpose of the strange leather-padded contraption she had noticed to one side of the hut – it was a seat appropriate for the ancient creature to settle onto, tilted slightly forward and leaning on his belly, bowed legs on either side of a central cushion, with his tail protruding behind. Jisa had never actually seen one of the little creatures sit down. In k’Treva they were always so busy and energetic.

She glanced over at Brightstar. He had gone very still, his face unreadable.

:Children: The mindvoice was as creaky as the hertasi looked, and yet somehow richer than any she had felt before, full of life and wisdom; it made her think of oak shelves full of old leather-bound books. :May I speak to you this way?: The words were in Rethwellani, and Brightstar focusing very hard, head cocked to the side, as he tried to follow the concepts anyway. :In these autumn years, it troubles me less than speech:

:Of course: The hertasi’s age seemed like ‘autumn’ and more like ‘winter’ to Jisa, but she kept that thought to herself. :My friend doesn’t speak Rethwellani very well: she added. :He’s learning, but it’s going to take a bit. He’s Tayledras:

The wrinkled snout turned towards Brightstar, sniffing the air. :I wondered: he sent – switching to Tayledras. :You carry the scent of my old home: A pause. :Would you come closer, children, that I might Look at you?:

Jisa wasn’t happy about being referred to as a child, but coming from a being this venerable, it seemed fair. She scrambled to her feet, seconds ahead of Brightstar, and came to a halt in front of the seat.

A clawed hand rose, then halted; it was obvious the elderly hertasi no longer had full range-of-motion in his ‘shoulder’, and hertasi couldn’t raise their arms above their heads like humans anyway.

Jisa knelt, and the stubby fingers rested on the crown of her head, claws retracted. :You are blessed indeed: he sent. :You have many strong Gifts:

Jisa blinked, not sure whether to be impressed or frightened. She hadn’t felt anything. When Van had Looked into her mind, assessing her Gifts, she had always been able to tell by the way it tickled.

:You are a healer of minds, and a mage also. And your Empathy, so strong! I have not seen such in many years indeed: 

It was hardly unheard of; Lancir had been a Herald-Mage and a Mindhealer, though much weaker than she was on both Gifts. Still, something compelled her to be honest with him. :I wasn’t going to be a mage. I just had the other three. Only, I had the potential, and I wanted it, so I…figured out a way:

A pause. :Ah: he sent. :There is much we have in common, child: Another long pause. :From where do you hail?:

:Valdemar: she answered quickly. :I’m a Herald-Mage. Well, a trainee:

:I see: This time, there was real surprise in the overtones, though it was quickly muted. :I know little of your land in this century, and yet I recall that you have teachers, there. So why do you venture here, so far from your home?:

:…It’s a long story: And one that she didn’t even know all of. They had been talking around it, in the meeting where she convinced Mother that she was walking into this of her own free will. They had a Problem, there was a war coming for reasons unknown, and there were exactly six Herald-Mages left in the entire Kingdom. Only one of whom was much good on a battlefield, and he was her father.

:Yet an important one, I think. Few know of our Order, and it is a rare student who is not personally vouched for. You come with a recommendation of sorts, but a circuitous one:

Interesting. Jisa hadn’t thought to wonder at how Dara had obtained a letter of introduction, her curiosity had been focused on the mysterious journey that had led her to Mournedealth in the first place – but if White Winds was really so reclusive, that seemed like the more impressive and surprising feat.

:The King sent me: she sent. :He was hoping I could pick up different training from what the other Herald-Mages have, and–: She wasn’t sure how to phrase it, she was afraid of causing offence, but she pushed ahead. :And to find allies, who might be willing to come to Valdemar. We’re really short on mages right now:

:That is not the question I ask: The clawed hand, dry and cool but surprisingly soft, moved from her head to under her chin, lifting her head. :Tell me – what fire burns in you, that you wish to harness your Gifts in service of? Why did you seek to awaken a fourth Gift when you had three already?:

Jisa stared into the blind, clouded eyes. :Because the Kingdom needed it: No, that wasn’t quite right. :Because there are problems in the world, and I want to fix things. To be strong enough to help:

A withered thumb-claw caressed her cheek; it felt like autumn leaves blowing against her skin. :And so you sought power. That is a dangerous path, child, even when followed with the best of intentions:

:I know: Six months ago, it would have baffled her, but Jisa was older and wiser now. She could understand why people said that power was corrupting – it gave her so many more opportunities to slide into rationalizations, telling herself it was for the greater good, when in reality she was a bully, abusing her strength just because it was convenient and she could get away with it. Therein lay destruction and disaster.

:I need to be careful: she sent. :I shouldn’t trust myself with that power yet – I need to question my decisions. Not get tangled up between what I want and what I think is morally good. I’ve been studying ethics, I have a very good treatise about it, but I know there’s a lot more to learn: She wondered if the aged hertasi had ever heard of Seldasen. :And maybe I will make mistakes, and hurt people. It is risky. Only, I think it would be even worse not to try:

:I see: The mindvoice was gentle, sympathetic, and there was pride there. :You seek self-mastery, that you might wield your power wisely. Well, child, I think White Winds has much to offer you: A hissing sound, the hertasi equivalent of laughter. :Where are my manners? I ought introduce myself. My name is Gervase. This is my school, and I am delighted to have you:

:And I’m Jisa: she answered brightly. :It’s an honour to meet you, Gervase:

It wasn’t until he had released her and turned to Brightstar, and she was back in her spot on the floor, that Jisa realized it had been a test. One of ethics rather than magic, and one she might have failed even a few months earlier. Well, there was no point having nerves about it now – it seemed she had scraped through.

She crossed her hands in her lap and tried not to fidget, wondering what Gervase was saying to Brightstar now. She was curious, but it didn’t seem right to ask him about it later; her own conversation with him had felt very private.

After a much shorter time, Brightstar straightened and returned to sit next to her.

:Welcome to White Winds: Gervase sent, spreading his stubby hands. :Since you come here knowing little of our ways, I shall tell you something of our philosophy:

Jisa leaned forward, listening eagerly.

:Other schools hold that our Gifts are a tool, to be wielded for worldly gain: Gervase sent. :That is not how we see it, here. We believe our Talents were granted to us for a purpose, and that purpose is for the good of the world – we carry an obligation, a sacred mantle, to protect those who cannot protect themselves:

A sacred mantle. It reminded Jisa of the words from the Herald’s Creed, which she had already memorized in early preparation. It was a funny thought that whenever she graduated into Whites, she would be swearing that oath either to Papa or to Treven. She couldn’t decide which of those would feel weirder – although, gods, she hoped it was Papa. If not, it would be because he died before she went into Whites, and the thought of him not being there to see her graduate felt like a lead weight pressing down on her lungs.

:We tread lightly, taking nothing without permission, and doing the least harm we can; we do not use our Talents to coerce others, or to knowingly abet repression. We do not take on mundane power, nor meddle in the politics of the kingdoms we call home – that is one reason we choose to remain humble and obscure, so that no unscrupulous lord might seek to claim our power for his own devices, and we may save our resources for those who are truly in need. Let other mages have their flashy duels and positions at Court, vying for fame and renown. That is not our way:

Jisa nodded along.

:We hold that self-knowledge and self-mastery is the key to controlling our power: Gervase went on. :First and foremost, a mage must not let fear, hatred, or greed bind him; he must root out and destroy these those negative ties, or else they will control him, and drain his strength towards their own ends: Another hiss. :We are not, however, a school that decries all emotion. Those positive bonds – of lovers, friendship, parent to child – we encourage, for if they flourish, we can draw strength from them:

Jisa frowned. Was that right? Uncontrolled emotional responses could interfere with control – that was poor Arkady Mavelan’s entire problem, and the source of Van’s issue with Gates as well – but she had never heard of them literally draining energy, and she couldn’t see how that would work. Besides, it seemed to her like a very bad idea to block out all negative emotions. Melody would never condone a patient doing that; sometimes a situation was just awful, and fear or anger was the only sane response. And Melody always said that those feelings couldn’t really be gotten rid of just by blocking them out, the result would be having them pop up in other, even more confusing and maybe-damaging ways.

:There are magics that we consider anathema: Gervase went on. :You will learn to use power from outside yourselves, but we do not rob the energy of other living beings by killing or causing pain – we consider this the worst of travesties. We do not deal with the entities of the Abyssal Plane, except to banish them, or destroy them if we can. You will learn the arts of extraplanar proxy – to summon those beings that call the Elemental Planes home, and call on their power – but we never bind or coerce, and rely only on their voluntary cooperation and trading favours: His neck-frill rippled, the hertasi equivalent of a smile. :Some might complain that this is limiting. Yes, it is. However, it is more than merely a matter of respecting all beings, whether they are like us or not. A mage of White Winds need never worry about their deceptions and treachery:

Extraplanar proxy. Jisa had never even heard the term. She knew about the Abyssal Plane – it was where demons came from, and she had no trouble at all with a rule against dealing with them – and she had been vaguely aware that there were other Planes, but she didn’t know anything about them. Oh, except that vrondi were air-spirits. Did that mean they would be learning to work with other sorts of spirits like them? That sounded fascinating.

Gervase’s milky eyes blinked; the nictating membrane that all hertasi had, usually clear, was cloudy on him. :You are both Adept-potential, when it comes to the raw power of your Gifts: he sent. :That does not mean you are Adepts. Perhaps you are already considered such, in your place of origin – but in our school, to be an Adept means a great deal more. You are not Adepts, and will not be for a long time; here, you are students, not yet of any rank:

Jisa blinked. It had never occurred to her to think of it that way, but she sort of liked it. It would probably bother Brightstar more, she guessed, since he had been training for so many years and had already met most of the standards for a Healing-Adept of the Tayledras.

:Nor will you be Adepts when you leave this place: the aged hertasi went on. :Your Gifts are a blessing, to be spread amongst the world, not locked in a tower of study. Most students choose to stay until they have passed their Journeyman trial, but it is not mandatory – we practice self-testing, and you will learn the structure of these trials in your first six months here. The spells will not work until you have achieved the requisite skill, but you may attempt them at any time of your choosing: A pause. :If and when you do reach Adept; this often takes a decade, for those of our students who attain it at all; it is expected that you will either return to teach, or found a school of your own. That is one of the ways we give back to the world around us:

Jisa nodded along. It was a little disappointing that she wouldn’t be able to study for six months and know everything, but it had been silly to expect that, when she had been training with Melody for six years and there was still so much to learn. And it was a relief to hear that she could leave and go back to her duties in Valdemar as soon as she knew the tests and felt ready.

So far, everything about the school was wonderful, except for the part where she maybe wasn’t supposed to ever get angry. That seemed wrong to her.

Still, Gervase seemed very wise. She was prepared to listen.

This city is bizarre.

Lissa wandered about on foot, leading Blossom by the harness. Dara had warned her about that. Apparently the city was so crowded that only nobleborn were allowed to ride inside the walls. Lissa had sighed and paid stable fees to keep her second horse outside the city itself. 

Those walls had been impressive in their own right – like nearly every other structure in the city, they were built of wood, but a full two storeys high, and as sturdy as any made of stone. Lissa had entered through the Strangers’ Gate, been greeted by a very professional sentry, and given her name, origin, and business here to the Gate Guard, to be recorded neatly in his ledger. Mournedealth wasn’t just bigger than anywhere she had seen, it was beautifully organized.

The road was an example. Broad enough for two merchant-carts to pass abreast, paved in brick – even in Haven, most of the side roads weren’t paved at all – and it had channels carved out in the middle and down either side for animal-droppings and rubbish. It smelled, but only a little, clearly someone had the job of cleaning those gutters regularly.

There were more people than Lissa had ever seen in one place. It was exhilarating, even if she did keep having to elbow her way through. No wonder Van hated it here.

The architecture was impressive, even if the whole damned place was a fire-trap. Wooden palisades, wooden walls, wooden buildings, most bleached to silver-grey with age. Riding through the lush forest on the way here, Lissa wasn’t surprised. Wood was the main product and export in this part of Jkatha.

Right now, she was on her way to the inn Dara had recommended, the Broken Sword. She kept getting distracted, though. This district was mostly shops, and artisans were hawking their exotic wares everywhere she could see. A gold-smithery and jeweller’s workshop stood entirely open to the street, guarded by a bored-looking woman in leathers with twin daggers hooked to her belt; Lissa noted the clever wooden shutters that could be unfolded at night to cover the storefront against thieves.

Gods, and for all that it was candlemarks from the Rethwellan border, this place was incredibly different. Those two women leaning against the wall, holding hands, staring affectionately into each other’s eyes… Lissa had felt a bit guilty for liking Rethwellan as much as she did, knowing how they felt about people with her brother’s preferences.

Oh, that must be it!

The sign made her chuckle; rather than lettering, it had the pieces of an actual blade nailed up to a shingle suspended above the road, like a good-luck talisman, marking out a narrow passage through the solid wall of shop-fronts. Lissa forced her way through; Blossom didn’t like the crush much, but she was well-disciplined, and didn’t kick or nip even when people bumped right into her. She dipped under the sign, through the shade of the wood-paneled tunnel-alley into a bright-sunlit, spacious courtyard, blessedly empty. And stood for a moment, head flung back, just enjoying having space.

The stables seemed to be at the rear, with the rest of the inn forming the other three sides, including the part she had just passed under, rising two storeys high all around her. Like everything, it was built of wood, stained to a deep brown, old but in good repair. The broad paving-stones were recently swept, no horse-droppings in sight.

A youngster waved to her from the stables, and Lissa returned the wave, smiling, and led Blossom across the square. The stable was just as well-maintained as the rest, she was pleased to see, with fresh water in the troughs and fragrant hay in the mangers, smelling of clean horse rather than stale dung. Blossom pranced, eying the water eagerly.

The curly-haired urchin who had waved to her – a girl, Lissa thought, though it was hard to tell for sure – grinned, utterly fearless. “How may I serve you, lady?” She spoke in trade-tongue rather than the local language. Maybe she could tell that the cut of Lissa’s clothing was foreign, or maybe this place just got enough foreigners to assume. She had overheard snippets of a dozen different languages in the streets.

“A place to stay,” Lissa said. “Just me and my horse. I’d like to know your price for a week.”

The child nodded, and spun around. “Da!” she shouted.

A man in a leather apron, pleasantly stout, emerged from the shadows. His eyes played over her – riding-leathers, the sword at her hip, dagger-holsters visible in both boots. “Looking for work?”

“Actually, the opposite.” Lissa smiled hopefully at him. “I hear mercenaries frequent this place, and I’m looking to hire some.”

“For what?” His eyebrows rose as he surveyed her minimal saddlebags. “With all due respect, lady, you don’t look like a merchant.”

“I’m not.” Was it time to pull out her identification? She had a letter of authorization directly from Randi, which she had managed to avoid showing at the gate. She was trying not to make waves. “I, er – have you heard of Valdemar?”

“Valdemar? So that’s the accent. Couldn’t place it.” The man took a step back, arms on his hips, and looked her over again. “You’re a soldier. A commander, I’d wager.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re here to recruit.”

“Well, yes.” His round, amiable face had misled her – he was sharp.

“You wouldn’t happen to know…” His eyes went vague. “Young lady in white.” He brightened. “Dara, that was her name.”

“Actually,” Lissa said, “Dara recommended I come. She spoke well of you.” That was a bit of a white lie – Dara hadn’t mentioned the innkeeper at all, or described the place, she had just said that it was favoured by mercenaries and a good place to meet people. In yet another bizarre turn of city law, foreign visitors were only allowed to stay in specific, approved inns, and had to register their names and places of origin there as well. What the point was of having inns that explicitly weren’t for visitors, Lissa had no idea.

“Oh! I wish you had told me that first!” The man clapped his hands. “Welcome. I’m Tadrall. And you are…?”

“General Lissa Ashkevron.” She gripped his offered arm.

“Ashkevron, that rings a bell…” His eyes narrowed. “Dara’s friend. The mage. Wasn’t too friendly, can’t recall his given name for the life of me, but I think he was an Ashkevron.”

“Vanyel. My brother.” Lissa ducked her head. “He didn’t mean to be rude, I’m sure, he’s just a bit shy sometimes.” After spending a day out in that bustle, he had probably wanted nothing but to be left alone in peace.

“Don’t recall they were here long. Couple days.” Tadrall stared past her, scratching behind his ear. “They were passing through. Headed south. Hoped I’d see them on the return, but I never did.”

Likely they had rushed through Mournedealth without staying even one night, Lissa thought. They had been on a tight deadline by then.

“I’m here longer,” she said. “I’ll pay for a week now. Depending how it goes, I may want to stay up to a month.” Randi wanted her back by Sovvan, but it was only a month after Midsummer now. “How much?” The place wasn’t cheap, Dara had warned her, but it was a fair price for what it offered. 

“One trade-silver a night,” Tadrall said, scuffing his foot in the hay. “Tell you what – if you pay the whole week up-front, I’ll give it to you for five. That’ll cover breakfast and supper, use of the bathhouse, and all the grain your lovely mare can eat.”

“Done.” Lissa turned away briefly, reaching for her coin-purse.

“My daughter will get your mare settled,” Tadrall said with a broad smile. “You come with me. I’ll show you to your room, and supper will be out in the taproom in a candlemark.” 

A candlemark later, freshly bathed and wearing clean clothes; the bathhouse had been wonderful, and the characteristic sulfur odor told her it came from hot springs; Lissa was seated in the whitewashed common room. It was as clean and well-maintained as the rest – old, but never shabby.

Another curly-haired youngster had brought her a plate of stew with a hunk of bread, and then, when she requested it, a tankard of ale that he needed both hands to carry. She was savouring both now. The food was plain, but there were recognizably vegetables in the stew, and the bread was fresh. It wasn’t the best ale she had ever tasted, but it was far from the worst.

The room could have comfortably seated fifty at its long trestle-tables, and it was slowly filling. Men of all ages and descriptions, and a smaller but significant number of women, drifted in and took their seats. For the most part they weren’t young, rather in early middle-age, and they radiated competence. Lissa smiled to herself. I could recognize a good soldier anywhere. It seemed mercenaries weren’t too different.

She had made it into the city unmolested, with her coin-purse intact, and had made contact with someone who knew the mercenaries’ scene. Tadrall might even prove to be an ally. So far, so good.

“Stef, it’s good to see you.” Savil greeted him with a weary one-armed hug. “Come, sit. Wine?”

She didn’t seem to think there was anything strange about his being there. Stef had accompanied Van to suppers with his aunt, which tended to happen a few times a week, but this was the first time he had visited of his own accord, alone.

He licked his lips. “I’d prefer tea, if that’s all right.”

“Of course. I’ll be right there.”

Stef turned on the spot for a moment, admiring the Tayledras masks on the wall. Savil’s suite had a comfortable, lived-in feel; according to Van, she had been there for more than fifteen years. The furniture was a little shabby, and the sofa-and-chair arrangement felt crowded, hinting that it had been moved from a larger into a smaller space. Her tiny dining-table was covered in papers, a quartz mage-focus serving as a paperweight, and she had stacked up some books on her sideboard next to the wine. 

Someone’s living space told you a lot about who they were, Stef had always thought, and this was no exception. Savil’s quarters gave off the indefinable impression of someone who worked hard, didn’t pay much attention to their surroundings, and was generally unsentimental with a few key exceptions.

He watched her make tea, using a kettle over the fire rather than heating the water with magic. Van said it was a waste of energy to use magic for day-to-day tasks, but he did it half the time anyway. He was so impatient. And significantly more powerful than even Savil, so it was trivial for him.

She carried the teapot over to the end-table and set an empty cup next to it, then refilled her own wine and settled into her well-loved armchair. “Ah, that’s better. So what brings you here tonight, Stef?” She was smiling, but her eyes narrowed. “I’m flattered that you enjoy my company, but I’ve got a feeling you want something of me. There’s no need to be conniving. Just ask.” 

Stef ducked his head. “I…had a question.”

“Oh?” She lifted her feet one at a time, propping them on the padded stool. “Go on then.”

Stef poured the tea just to give his hands something to do, but he could only stall for so long. Just spit it out. He fixed his eyes on the bridge of her nose. “You knew Tylendel pretty well, right?”

Her face had gone very blank, a controlled mask. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

Savil didn’t know about Stef’s connection to Tylendel. Van had decided against telling her, though it was clear some part of him wanted to. She has her own history with Tylendel, he had said. More than I do, in some ways, since she knew him for longer. Don’t reckon she’d want to look at you and see her dead trainee’s ghost.

“I just want to know what he was like,” he heard himself say. “Van prefers not to talk about it, but…it feels important, you know?”

“Yes, I think I understand.” A sympathetic nod, though he thought she was more shaken than she was letting on. Tylendel had died almost nineteen years ago, but she still carried those wounds.

Stef felt a little guilty, forcing her to remember it, but not very – mostly it was shunted aside by curiosity. This is my history too.

“Guess I’ll start at the beginning.” Savil sipped her wine, looking past him to the Tayledras masks. “He was my student for three years before he and Van met. He’d had a difficult time of it, with his Gifts awakening early, and his brother…”

Stef leaned forward, listening.

:Brightstar k’Treva?:

Brightstar lifted his head, startled out of a pleasant half-daze. He had been busy sweeping the packed-dirt floor of the kitchen-tent, his first assigned chore of the day. The land around him wasn’t home, but it was healthy, vibrant, brimming with life. He could relax his shields, a relief like stripping off sweat-stained clothing at the end of a long day of scouting, and bathe in the ambient energy as though it were a hot spring.

“Gervase?” he said politely. The ancient hertasi was sitting back on his haunches, withered tail resting on the dirt. Brightstar hadn’t even heard him come into the tent.

Milky eyes greeted him. :I wondered if we might speak: Gervase spoke the Hawkbrother language fluently enough, but Brightstar had noticed that the diction was odd. :Privately: the hertasi added, :but we might do that here in Mindspeech, if you are willing:

Brightstar nodded warily. The two other students on morning chores with him were busy chopping mushrooms and shelling nuts to go with the oat-porridge currently cooking over an open fire.

:I had a question for you: Gervase’s snout moved, nostrils flaring.

:Yes?: Brightstar thought he had a good sense of what. Be careful, he reminded himself.

:Your arrival here is an unusual situation: Gervase sent. :K’Treva is distant. You are fully-trained, you have no difficulties with control, and you are a Healing-Adept. I know how deep the need is for your work, and the sacrifice it must be for your Vale to spare you. It is rare that your people ever leave the Pelagirs. That you have come such a very long way… I have cause to wonder why:

Of course. When his father had proposed the plan, Brightstar had scarcely dared to hope that his da and pa would allow it, and he still wasn’t sure why they had. It was such an unprecedented thing, and it would take him away from k’Treva for a very long time. If his da fell ill or was injured, it could be quite serious not having a second Healing-Adept, though Moondance had pointed out that they could probably contact him in an emergency; even if k’Treva itself was too far for the communication-spell, they could relay via Vanyel, or Savil could Gate south and try from there.

His da had stared into the distance with a very odd expression, in the minutes after he spoke to Starwind an they agreed on it. Brightstar knew that face. He sees something. It matched his own vague dreams of paths through the darkness. There was something he needed to do – something that perhaps his Goddess thought only he could accomplish – and coming here, to this place, was key. Learning that the High Adept of their order was a hertasi mage had been one more confirmation.

Brightstar thought for a moment. :What did Jisa tell you?:

:Little enough. I gather there is a threat of some kind, but I do not think she knows everything of it:

He nodded, realizing a moment later that he was as good as confirming Gervase’s speculations. Well, and what of it? They were here to ask for help, and if he couldn’t trust a hertasi mage from a school renowned for its ethics – his pa had confirmed having heard of White Winds’ reputation – then what was left to him?

:She doesn’t: he sent. :She is very young, and not entirely trusted with secrets:

A slow nod. :I see: Nictating membranes flicked across those blind eyes. :You, I gather, are trusted with such:

:Yes: Brightstar felt a flowering of pride in his chest.

:Would you trust me with it? I will not be offended if you do not. I am still a stranger to you. However, I give you my word that I will keep your secret:

Brightstar bent his head. :It is not my choice alone to tell you everything, I think, but…there is perhaps to be a war coming. If Valdemar loses this war, it will doom many other kingdoms. We do not know, yet, if this will come to pass…:

:Yet you seek aid for such an eventuality: Gervase sent. :Greater training, that you might surprise your enemy, and also allies and friends. Jisa said as much when pressed:

Brightstar nodded mutely. Of course Jisa had found a way to say it outright – and to guess her papa’s intentions, even though no one had told her.

Gervase cocked his head to one side, forked tongue darting out. :Jisa. She is more than a friend to you, I think:

Was it that obvious? Brightstar licked his lips. :Please keep this secret also, but…she is my half-sister: He didn’t say anything more. Let Gervase wonder whether the King of Valdemar had inexplicably fathered a bastard with a Tayledras woman.

Gervase hissed, the hertasi equivalent of laughter. :I see. She is lucky to have your protection, I think:

Brightstar chuckled as well. :Do not let her hear such. She would not like anyone to think that she needs protection:

:No, of course not: Gervase rose, joints creaking audibly. :Thank you, Brightstar. My mind will rest easier tonight, knowing of your purpose here:

Brightstar nodded, and went back to sweeping. He kept his thoughts to himself. You would not rest easier at all if you knew the full truth.

Still, he was hopeful. It seemed he had found an ally.

Chapter Text

“Slowly, slowly!” Alethra chided her. “You are not to shape the power yet, child. Gather and hold it, that is all. No, not like so! Gently. You are not a bird digging for earthworms!” 

Jisa forced her face to smooth before the scowl could break out fully. Almost a week into their time at White Winds, and she hadn’t done anything yet. Not any magic, at least, just candlemarks and candlemarks a day of trance-exercises. Honing her will, the instructor said. It was much, much harder than she expected, especially given how badly she missed Treven, though she was getting better at not being distracted by that. Naming the feeling and setting it aside. It was something Melody had talked about a lot, and Jisa had thought she had mastered it, until now.

She had finally given in to the inevitable and put in a few redirects on herself, so that she wouldn’t miss Treven quite so intensely or think about him so constantly. It felt kind of wrong to do that, almost dirty, but she was supposed to be learning things here, not daydreaming about his golden hair and sky-blue eyes and the way his lips– Stop it. Focus.

Jisa was sitting cross-legged in a meadow, sweating in the hot summer sun. Alethra sat beside her. A bee buzzed. There was a leyline nearby – a tame, boring one, barely a trickle compared to the power of a Heartstone she had held in her hands. When Alethra asked her to pull in energy from her surroundings, she had immediately reached for it, and been told off with a sharp mental slap. Patience, child.

:You can do this: Enara sent, quietly reassuring.

It took her minutes in trance, sinking deep into her Sight, just to notice the smaller rivulets of energy in her surroundings, which combined and flowed together to eventually feed the leyline, and further off, the node it fed into. This is the power created by living things, one of the other instructors had said, rather like a fire throws off light merely by being a fire. And then, to her shock: one must have the Talent to sense it, but not to make use of it. Her White Winds teachers seemed to think that anyone, Gifted or not, could wield the energy released by blood-magic. Jisa had never heard of that before, but her attempts to ask questions had been firmly discouraged.

Brightstar was much, much better than she was at Seeing the smaller local energy-currents. Unfairly so. He claimed it was part of a Healing-Adept’s training, which made her feel a little better about it – he had been training with Moondance for eight years, just about – but it made her even more determined to practice on her own until she could do it just as quickly. All the determination in the world didn’t make it any less tedious, though. Drawing on a node was like holding a cup under a waterfall; all she had to do was touch it, and the energy would rush into her. Collecting the ambient threads of power was like licking dew from a window-pane. Incredibly frustrating, when there was a waterfall right there.

“Very good,” Alethra said finally, measured approval in her voice. “Now, tell me, what is a mage’s most essential tool?”

Jisa looked steadily into her eyes. “Her will.” That was the official answer here, anyway, even if she thought it was a bit silly.

“Yes.” Alethra nodded, serene. “The energy that you hold now – it is not anything, yet. It is raw possibility. A potter shapes the unformed clay with his hands, but mage-energy, you cannot touch with your hands, only your mind. You must impose your will, directly, and convince it to be something else. For example, a wall.”

It wasn’t actually different from a potter working with clay, Jisa thought – a potter would use his hands like she would use her Gift, wielding it as a tool, but a potter’s skill, and his image of the pot he was trying to make, was in his mind just the same. If Jisa Looked, she would be able to See those patterns directly…

Still, she nodded. “A wall.” Fixing her eyes on a spot just in front of her, she raised her hands–

Alethra took her wrists. “You need not use gestures. To do so is a crutch.”

Jisa made a face. She knew it wasn’t really her hands that were manipulating the energy, it was her mage-channels, off in some strange other-space that wasn’t quite the material world. Still, it made it easier to picture what she wanted.

“You need not even imagine moving your hands,” Alethra coaxed. “You are not struggling against its nature. Simply know that the energy is already a wall, and it will become one.”

That made her head hurt, but Jisa tried it anyway. Forget her body. Just stare at the empty air, and believe that there was a wall there…

Like molten wax filling a mold, the power she held flowed, filling that negative-space that she was somehow holding open. A hazy shield-barrier formed in the air.

“Exactly,” Alethra said, pleased. She tossed a pebble; it bounced. “Very good.”

Jisa smiled, the praise warming her. The feel of the technique was still vivid and near in her mind, like the bubbles left by trailing her hand through water; quickly, she pushed with her Mindhealing Gift, etching that new pathway deeper. Alethra might say that was cheating, but it wasn’t like she could tell if Jisa was doing it, and besides, it had the exact same effects as practicing the technique a few dozen times, just faster.

If your life is in danger, Van had said, you cheat as hard as you can. Maybe she wasn’t in danger right this second, but Jisa thought the principle was the same. Valdemar was in danger – she knew that, even if she didn’t know the details – and it might make all the difference if she could master the White Winds curriculum more quickly, and be home sooner…

She was falling into a rhythm. Two candlemarks a morning of sitting in trance had felt like an eternity the first time, but she was getting better at it, and she had to admit it did seem to help with her magic. The group exercises before lunch, to her surprise, hadn’t included any sparring, with weapons or not – they would run once around the perimeter of the school, then stand in a field together and copy one of the teachers, moving through a strange sort of dance that included movements sort of like kicking and punching, only in slow motion. It was harder than it looked, and Jisa had woken up the next morning aching in places she hadn’t known she had, but she was getting fitter. She had some free time, and had been spending most of it riding Enara – her Companion was coping fairly well with her separation from the herd, but she still got lonely.

The chores were fun. Jisa had especially enjoyed picking enough beans from the trellises to make supper for the entire school, currently about forty people, and she loved milking the cows. It hadn’t been until supper on the second day that it had clicked – they had milk and eggs with many of the meals, but never meat. Daring to ask, she had learned from the cook that they in fact didn’t slaughter the animals that they kept. They are living creatures, he had said, and it is not right to steal from them for our own gain. To feed and care for them in exchange for taking that which does not harm them is a relationship that benefits both parties.

She had wanted to kiss the gruff old man for sheer gratitude – it was the first time she had ever met a group of people who were sane about it. Maybe she could use that as ammunition to finally convince people back home.

This country is very strange.

Dara and Karis had been in Iftel for two days, and were now en route to the nearest major city, a place called Kav’a’la, with an escort. Dara would have preferred not to be flashy, and just have gotten directions and dealt with the authorities in the city. She hadn’t wanted to lie outright when the sentry at the Border-checkpoint had asked what their business was, though, and the non-committal answer of ‘a diplomatic mission from Valdemar and Karse’ earned her a blank stare and a dozen more questions. They ended up spending the rest of the afternoon there, with increasingly senior, increasingly baffled officials showing up to question them.

There was no real hostility; the officials seemed to take for granted that no enemy could have crossed the Barrier. They just couldn’t see why anyone would bother to enter Iftel for a purpose other than trade. Her recounting of the Foresight vision did little to clear it up, and neither did the diplomatic letter she carried with the King’s seal, nor the fact that Karis was literally Queen of a nearby kingdom.

Dara wondered if half the problem was that they didn’t know what box to check in their paperwork.

Karis had been oddly tight-lipped the whole time. It wasn’t because of a language barrier; the sentry started off addressing them in the regional trade-tongue common to Valdemar, Hardorn, and Rethwellan as well as Karse, and proved to know quite a lot of Valdemaran once she gauged Dara’s origins.

In any case, by late afternoon they were on the road, riding borrowed horses and accompanied by half a dozen very polite guards, and Dara wasn’t entirely sure if they were honoured guests or prisoners. She had longed to get Karis alone and talk through their observations, but there hadn’t been an opportunity yet.

They had to be getting close now. Cultivated fields and fenced-in pastures had replaced the patches of forest alternating with open grazing-land – crops that looked like wheat and barley shone green-gold under the sun, but they were also passing quite a lot of what she recognized as vineyards, endless rows of lush green vines trained on trellises, and even from the road she could see the bunches of grapes hanging. The road was busier every minute, carts and pack-mules and laden farmers on foot, making quite a clatter on the cobbles. And–

“What,” Dara said out loud, “is that?”

Karis was lost in silent thought again, trailing a little behind Dara and letting her horse follow its herdmates, but she twitched to awareness. “–Oh.”

Dara had seen hertasi before, with the delegation from k’Treva, and recognized a resemblance, but the intelligent lizards were rarely tall enough to reach an adult’s shoulder. This creature was taller than most grown men, and much stockier, with an impressive spiny neck-frill and wicked-looking claws. It seemed to be wearing…war-paint? Surely those vivid reds and blues weren’t the natural colour of its scales. The bandolier of arrows it wore over one shoulder was very un-hertasi-like as well. Weren’t they supposed to be peaceful?

Wasn’t the entire country of Iftel supposed to be peaceful?

Something else tugged at Dara’s peripheral vision, and she turned in the saddle – and nearly fell off her horse in sheer shock.

The creature paused at the side of the road, half again the height of a man, seemed at first glance to be a giant bird, but that wasn’t right – it had enormous wings, currently folded, and an eagle-like head with a huge beak, but its body, though feathered, was more like that of a mountain cat standing on its hind legs, though the powerfully muscled front limbs ended in long fingerlike claws, somewhere uncannily in between a human hand and a raptor’s talons. Whether or not they could grip like hands, they looked capable of disemboweling her in a single swipe, and she didn’t much like the idea of that sharp beak near her either.

That thing can’t possibly fly. With muscles like that, surely it was too big, too heavy, and Dara couldn’t imagine how even those massive wings could lift it from the ground.

As though sensing her gaze, beady yellow eyes turned on her, full of intelligence and curiosity. She saw that the creature wore, not quite clothing, but a sort of leather harness with multiple pockets.

“That’s a gryphon.” She had read the descriptions from Urtho’s translated notes. “Karis, that’s a goddamned gryphon. How?”

Karis didn’t answer, her face a mask carved of marble.

Fed up, her sheer confusion giving her courage, Dara spun toward one of their escorts. “Um, I’ve noticed you have gryphons here. Do you, er, have they always lived here?”

The young woman blinked at her. “Since the founding.”

“I see.” Dara tried to point at the oversized hertasi–like creature, but it was gone. “What about the, er, lizard thing?” she said. Oh gods that was probably offensive. “The one that looked like a hertasi, but bigger.”

“Tyrill,” the woman explained.

“And – oh, gods above, what are those?” A pack of what looked like white-furred deer bounded past, streaming through the gap between two wagons. Rather than antlers, they had long, spiralled horns, like certain breeds of sheep. Dara squinted – their skulls were broader and rounder than deer as well, and their eyes were front-facing, reminiscent of the difference between a Companion and an ordinary horse.

“Dyheli,” the guard explained. She was smiling now, maybe enjoying Dara’s discomfort. “This way.”

Dara had been so busy staring at the gryphons and other non-humans sharing the road that she hadn’t noticed the city come into view. It wasn’t as un-city-like as Kata’shin’a’in, but it didn’t match her mental image of a city either. There were buildings visible, some with multiple storeys, but they were mixed in with a surprising number of trees and meadows, the occasional glint of water peeking through the foliage.

Ahead, the road split as they approached, not exactly a city wall, but a sort of low rope-fence, more marker than barrier. There was a wide passage for carts and carriages, with a team of what seemed to be inspectors; not all of them were human, there were several normal-sized hertasi, two of them now climbing and leaping around on a cart filled with melons. The pack-mules and riders were using a different gate, with a separate inspection team, and yet another entry-point seemed to be reserved for gryphons in particular. The gate-guard was a gryphon, and in addition to its harness wore a sort of neck-collar with visible insignia, a stylized sun above a bow loaded with an arrow ready to shoot.

Dara’s guide pointed them toward a fourth gate. Unlike the others, it was currently closed, at least symbolically, the rope hung across it wouldn’t actually have stopped anyone who wanted to get past. The other gates had gazebo-like shade structures for the inspection teams, but this one had an actual walled hut.

Following the lead of their guards, Dara dismounted, carefully keeping her hands away from Need’s hilt; it wouldn’t do to seem aggressive. The sword, like Karis, had been worryingly quiet ever since they had passed the Barrier.

Karis followed her lead, still moving like a woman in a dream.

Dara felt strangely calm as well. Guardian, the Power inside the Barrier had named her; she didn’t remember much of the experience anymore, but she had held onto that part. The force had seen her for what she was, and granted her its seal of approval. It would have made the whole thing considerably less awkward if the Power had passed on to the Border-guards exactly why it had approved their passage – or at least given her some keywords that would get them through faster to someone with authority – but you couldn’t have everything.

They were ushered inside the hut, and offered comfortable padded seats. Dara was already so stunned by the strangeness that when a hertasi wearing an apron offered her water, she accepted with a grateful smile, not even able to muster surprise.

The guard who had escorted them was talking to one of the human sentries now, no longer in the trade-tongue, but speaking rapidly in a language Dara didn’t recognize. It felt familiar…

Karis’ narrowed eyes were what made it click. It wasn’t Karsite that they were speaking – she didn’t recognize more than one word in three, and some of the words sounded a lot closer to what she knew of the Tayledras language – but the similarity was there.

Finally, the sentry turned to them. He was in late middle age, dark-haired and dark-eyed, and his tunic bore a similar symbol to the gryphon guard’s collar. An awful lot like the Sun-in-Glory. The gold braid and decorations suggested he was more senior in whatever hierarchy governed Iftel than any of the other officials they had spoken to.

Just like the other guards they had spoken to, his manner was polite but confused, though he did a better job of hiding the latter. He made a formal gesture of greeting that Dara did her best to copy.

“You are unusual visitors,” he said. “The Holy Sun has allowed you here, and yet I confess, I do not know why.”

“Neither do we,” Dara admitted. “I’m the King’s Own, I speak for the King of Valdemar, and, er, I do have a letter from King Randale as well. The actual reason we’re here is that I had a…future-vision.” The trade-tongue didn’t have a word for ‘Foresight’, and she wasn’t sure if he would know the Valdemaran term.

“I heard.”

Dara shot a helpless glance at Karis. You could really be more helpful here. “We want to speak to someone in authority,” she said. “There’s, um… We have a guess about why my future-sight wanted us to come here, but it’s sort of sensitive.” The same line she had been repeating over and over. No one had actually read Randi’s letter, even though Dara kept trying to shove it at them. “It’s probably related to our alliance with your country.” And to a certain relationship between Iftel and Karse, but that seemed like Karis’ court, and she wasn’t taking the ball.

A nod. “It seems the Holy Sun wishes that we speak to you. I apologize for the confusion and delay. This is an irregular situation and we do not have protocols.”

Dara almost laughed. “No, please. I’m the one who’s sorry to throw this at you. We can wait.”

“Your patience is appreciated.” The man was silent for a long moment, then turned to one of the hertasi. “Please, Lyam, arrange that our visitors should have accommodation suitable to their stature. And perhaps a tour of the city?” His eyes flashed to the two of them. “Unless you are tired from your journey, of course.”

Dara looked over at Karis, who gave no cue. “I would like a tour,” she said. “We rested well last night, and the city is very interesting.” That wasn’t even a polite lie.

The man looked thoughtful, then lit up. “Oh! The Games are tonight. Lyam, perhaps we might offer them front seating?”

“Indeed!” Lyam’s voice was squeaky, with a background hiss, but easy enough to understand. “Well! Honoured guests, please come with me.”

Dara leaned back in her seat, which was just as front-row as the hertasi had promised, looking directly out onto the center of the huge arena and certainly luxurious enough to suit a Queen and a King’s Own. They had an entire raised box to themselves, with a roof against the sun, reclining couches padded in velvet, and one of the hertasi hovering at the back and plying them with snacks. The drink in Dara’s hand, a chilled, sweet rose-coloured wine that tasted delightfully floral, was very welcome after a long, hot afternoon in the sun, but she was trying to pace herself.

I’ve never seen anything like this place. The architecture was spectacular, tiered rows of seats – made for humans and other races – and standing-balconies rising in a semicircle that overlooked a perfectly flat field made of a substance she didn’t recognize; it wasn’t stone, but it wasn’t grass either, and from the lack of dust it couldn’t be sand. Currently, a parade of the deer-creatures – dyheli, she reminded herself – were doing some sort of acrobatic performance, leaping over each other, to the rhythm of an out-of-sight drum. Their spiralled horns had been decorated with coloured varnish and trailing ribbons.

:I’ve seen the like: Need sent. :In Seejay, I think, and further to the southeast. Usually for blood-sports: A mental shudder. :A practice I’m very glad you Valdemarans have stayed away from:

Dara blinked. :What, like bull-fighting?:

:Not exactly, though in Seejay they would bring in animals as a warm-up act. No, these were human warriors. Well, most often slaves, but wonderfully skilled. Very impressive, except for the death and gore, and some would say that made for more entertainment:

:Oh: Dara winced, and tried to hide it by sipping her drink. She was here as a diplomat; it wouldn’t do to be offended by their customs. The little hertasi was bobbing at her elbow again, offering a silver bowl of raisins. She took a handful, smiling her thanks, and wishing she knew more about the etiquette of this place. According to Van, the hertasi in Vales were very service-oriented, if not exactly servile – he thought it was a trait bred into their entire race, and clearly found the idea as uncomfortable as Dara did.

:It might be something else: Need sent. :Haven’t seen any other signs they keep slaves here: A mental shudder. :Another bloody practice you Valdemarans have the right attitude about. Disgusting:

:I fully agree with you:

The dyheli were winding off the stage now, and a human announcer had appeared. Since spending all afternoon with their hertasi guide helpfully translating conversations, Dara was starting to pick up the tongue a little more. It was very similar to Karsite; the pronunciation was different, which had thrown her off, but the root-words were there.

She still missed a lot, she was sure – it sounded like a flowery speech, with a number of flourishes that she occasionally recognized as references to the ‘Holy Sun’ – but she was picking up the gist. This was the final-stage local tournament, determining who of Kav’a’la would go on to represent their city and compete with the other city-champions in the Games for the – hrradurr, she didn’t recognize the word but it might mean ‘region’ – of…the translation seemed to be ‘Vineyards of Glory’. I was right, this is wine-country. Karis, she decided, was missing out – the Queen had continued to refuse the alcoholic beverages, and was drinking water.

Up first, the hertasi.

A round dozen filed out onto the staging-area. Dara had never seen any of the intelligent lizards look quite so…warlike. They too wore paint on their snouts and neck-frills, and leather armour. They carried what were undoubtedly weapons; about half had small curved bows, the rest carried sturdy barbed spears in both hands, more like fishing-spears than the lances and pikes used in the Valdemaran Guard. All had sickle-shaped daggers hooked to their belts.

After a ritualized-looking dance, again to the beat of a hidden drum, the line split in two, facing off; they wore different colours, she realized, yellow versus blue armbands marking the two teams. Someone shouted a word that Dara didn’t understand – and to her surprise, a shimmering, transparent barrier suddenly appeared just in front of the box, visibly curving all the way around the arena.

Utter silence – then a brilliant flare lit the air, the crowd cheered, and the fight began.

It was very exciting, Dara had to admit. The fighters were skilled and graceful, and they had the best teamwork she had ever seen, moving as though with one body. They didn’t use shields at all, but of the first volley of arrows, none found its mark. She found herself leaning forward in her seat, cheering along with the rest – and then flinched as one of the arrows did land, slipping through the gap between the chest-armour and arm-guards on one of the yellow-team hertasi and sinking in deep.

They didn’t pause even for an instant; two of the poor creature’s teammates swept in, lifting it – she couldn’t tell the gender – and moving it to the side, while the remaining three swarmed in with their spears.

It seemed to go on forever, though in reality it must have been only minutes. The weakened yellow team rallied, and equalled the ground when one of their archers managed to wound a blue-team fighter – and then the battle moved to closer ground, spears darting out, daggers winking in the sun. Dara, teeth gritted, was torn between watching intently and squeezing her eyes shut. Neither team was holding back at all; it was a Game, supposedly, but it looked like a real fight to her.

They’re going to slaughter each other.

Yellow lost another two members, respectively an arrow to the belly – ouch, that looked like a serious wound – and a hard blow to the head from a blue warrior’s armoured tail. They moved their casualties to one side, and the other team left them alone, but no one came in to tend to the injured.

Three against five, they held out for longer than she had expected – but with no particular warning, one of them suddenly cried out a word, and all three dropped to the ground, tearing off their coloured armbands and flinging them aside.

A roar from the crowd drowned out the blue team’s response, but they were visibly ecstatic, leaping about, tails swinging. Others were already racing onto the field, humans and hertasi in green robes – apparently green stood for Healers here as well, because they immediately rushed to the wounded, efficiently moving them onto fold-out litters and carrying them off the field.

Some sort of signal passed, and the winning blue team immediately stilled. The three uninjured survivors of the losing team climbed to their feet, and faced the victors. Dara couldn’t hear any of what they were saying, but from the respectful head-bobs and clasped arms, congratulations were being exchanged.

Dara almost missed seeing their hertasi creep in to refill her cup.

“That was exciting,” she said, trying her best to make conversation. “Who were you rooting for?”

The creature ducked its – no, her, Dara decided – head, nostrils flaring. “My cousssin is yellow.” Her voice, like that of all hertasi, was squeaky and especially sibilant, but she spoke the trade-tongue well.

“Oh. I’m sorry – were they hurt?”

“Merely a flesh wound.” Her tail flicked about. “Thisss iss not sso exciting. Only thiss city. You musst ssee the hrradurr-level Games. Will be obssstacles, ssspecial challenges, mixed teamssss...”

“I’m sure. It sounds very impressive.” It sounded, Dara thought, absolutely awful. “Er, do – do people ever die in these Games?” She hoped it wasn’t horribly rude to ask.

“Oh yesss. But rarely. For Kav’a’la local, not in many yearsss. More often at higher levelss.”

Dara nodded, unsure what else to say. Why, she wanted to ask, but it didn’t seem like the time or place.

Lissa accepted the delicate porcelain cup Tadrall had poured for her with a smile. “Thank you.”

The innkeeper lifted his own cup, filled from a dusty bottle of darkened-glass. “A toast to successful business dealings.”

Lissa raised the cup as well, and drank. The fortified wine was less sweet than she had expected, with an astringent bite that made her mouth pucker, but it was very interesting. And strong.

Lissa had been in Mournedealth for six days, and her ‘business dealings’ had been very successful. She had wined and dined her way to private meetings with the commanders of half a dozen highly-regarded mercenary companies. She had just given Tadrall another five silvers for a second week.

Tadrall seemed to enjoy Lissa’s company; this was the third time he had invited her for drinks in his private study. At first she had worried that his intentions might be more than friendly, especially once she learned that his wife had died of a flux two years earlier. On one level she wouldn’t have minded, he was attractive enough despite the paunch, but she avoided mixing business with bed-play, and turning him down would have sorely tried her self-control. When he hadn’t made any further move after the second invitation, though, she had concluded he really was just being amicable.

“Who are your best prospects, right now?” he said.

“The Silver Dragons and the Icefoxes,” Lissa said instantly. It wasn’t just because she liked their names, either – all the companies had monikers like that, some of them even more over-dramatic.

“They’re good,” Tadrall agreed, approval in his gaze. “For what they are, which is specialized and expensive. Are you sure that’s the market you want to be in?”

“For now, yes.” Lissa took another sip from her cup, sighing happily. “I’m hoping to make connections with some of the more standard groups, but right now we’ll get more benefit from elites.”

Tadrall’s eyebrow twitched. “You need a platoon specializing in winter reconnaissance?”

“Er, yes.” The Icefoxes were exactly what she had hoped for, in fact. Numbering just thirty-six at full strength – which they weren’t, right now, they were at twenty-nine and actively recruiting – they had six mages, and they offered a rather unusual set of backgrounds and skills, including a Shin’a’in Swordsworn. Better yet, at least half of their fighters had grown up in the frozen, treacherous eastern reaches of the Comb Mountains, which Lissa had crossed at the western end. They could handle cold and difficult terrain. So could their horses; they would come equipped with a herd of mountain-ponies, and they had the innovation of using trained mountain-goats rather than pack-mules. 

In short, they would make the best possible spies up north.

“Well, in that case, I can’t recommend anyone more highly.” Tadrall sniffed his wine, smiling blissfully. “Issa is an excellent captain.”

“I like her too.” The dark-haired woman’s tiny frame was misleading – she had beaten Lissa fair and square in a playful sparring-match, and then matched her cup for cup at a nearby tavern.

“And the Silver Dragons,” Tadrall went on. “Don’t know their commander so well, but I’ve heard good things. They’ve just about cornered the market for, well, honourable groups willing to fight in dishonourable ways.”

Lissa threw back her head and laughed. “That’s a way of putting it.” As she had quickly learned, most of the conventional mercenary groups followed strict rules of engagement, set by the Jkathan Mercenaries’ Guild. It made sense, since they might end up fighting one another if they were hired by opposite sides in a local skirmish. One could hire sell-swords, and sometimes even organized troops, who would disregard said rules – but they were usually operating outside of the Guild entirely, and far from reliable.

Captain Toomrik and his Silver Dragons were different. They were Guild-certified, which made one question how they could advertise services like poisoning the enemy’s wells. The answer turned out to be that they were extremely selective in what contracts they would accept – and that once they had taken on a job, they did it entirely on their own terms. The only orders Captain Toomrik would accept were broad objectives like ‘re-capture that fortress’, given in writing in a signed contract; the implementation was his decision, and he shrugged off any attempt at close direction. That was probably how, in fifteen years of operating, he hadn’t once offended the sensibilities of the Mercenaries’ Guild enough to be kicked off their roster. Needless to say, his prices were high, but Lissa had to assume his company had trouble finding contracts, and a two-year one – the most she had the authority to offer – would be a juicy plum indeed.

“You know something?” Tadrall spoke mildly, but something in his eyes made Lissa twitch to full attention. “A man’s got to wonder. Exactly what sort of war are you expecting to fight?” His eyelids flickered. “It’s more than a little confusing. I hadn’t heard your kingdom was at war at all, and in my business one tends to hear these things. I don’t buy your little story about training your own troops. I know how much gold it’ll cost you to secure either of those groups, let alone both. No one pays that just to train their Guard in peacetime.”

He spoke quietly, but the words themselves might as well have been a battle-alert. Lissa’s blood sang in her ears, the room around her sharpening to crystal-clarity. Think, girl. Don’t screw this one up. She had been half-expecting him to call her out at some point – Tadrall hid a steel-trap mind behind that round, amiable face.

“You’re very perceptive,” she said, matching his casual tone. “And you’re right, and wrong. King Randale is willing to pay a lot of gold to train our troops, because we are at peace right now – but we expect that might change. We’ve had…warning. Can’t say more.”

“I see.” He returned her smile, thin and knowing. “A man has to wonder, for a King in that position, how much might it be worth to have reinforcements conveniently available if and when the signal-flag does go up?”

Lissa kept her expression very neutral. “Are you offering me a business proposition?”

“Perhaps.” His smile widened. “Every mercenary captain in Jkatha knows old Tadrall – and knows that the rest of the bunch send little birds to whisper in his ear.” He tapped the side of his nose. “Sometimes those whispers are relevant to old Tadrall’s friends, but no one expects a man to compromise his sources.”

Lissa focused on the wood-grain of the table, ignoring the urge to fidget; her hands were fine where they were. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Tadrall said, “that if I were to put out word that a big job was on the horizon, and I might be able to arrange first pickings for any captain who could promptly answer an urgent message if and when the time were to come, I might get more than a few companies available on short notice. If I were to have, say, a week’s warning… Valdemar’s a good hike away, but you’ve got mages of your own, including one who’s been down this way – who’s sat in my own taproom – and who might put up one of them Gate-thingies.” He leaned back in his chair. “Of course, I’d be taking a risk. If I play them false, and some of my friends turn down year-contracts in hopes of catching the big one – well, they might be rather miffed. So I’d want some insurance.”

Lissa grinned. She couldn’t help it. “You want a bribe.”

“Not a bribe!” He glared at her in mock-offence. “What do you think I am? Just a little…compensation. For my time and effort, and the risk to my reputation.”

“And if I were to give you some ‘compensation’,” Lissa said slowly, “and then, say, a Herald-courier were to show up on your doorstep – you’re saying a week later you’d have some available companies camped out ready to walk through a Gate into Valdemar?”

His only answer was a satisfied smirk.

Lissa drained the rest of her wine, set down the cup, and folded her arms. “It’d only be worth our while for more than a thousand men. It’s not the bribe that’s the problem, it’s the Gate – awfully far for my poor brother, I wouldn’t want him tiring himself out for a paltry hundred foot-soldiers.” Actually, five hundred had been the number set midway through the Karsite war, for when it was worthwhile to move their troops by Gate, but the trick to bargaining was to start high.

A snort. “You must not think much of me, if you don’t think I could wrestle up a thousand men for you in a week.” He sat forward. “I’d want a completion-bonus for a feat like that, though.”

“An understandable desire.” Lissa was thinking quickly. She had only the coin-purse she had brought – but Herald Siri, a week’s ride away in Petras, had a couple of blank promissory notes already stamped with the King’s seal, that could be redeemed for gold at the Valdemaran border. It wasn’t usual to write in conditions for such bonds, but nothing about this situation was usual.

Tadrall hadn’t yet specified the amount for his bribe. If she managed to negotiate a contract with either of the companies she was courting right now, her purse wouldn’t have much to spare – but she didn’t need much, she could camp on the side of the road and scrounge for berries and squirrels until she got back to Petras. If she offered him a smallish up-front sum, along with a bond in the King’s name that could be fulfilled at any point after a thousand-plus Jkathan mercenaries had Gated into Haven…

She smiled. “Let’s talk. I have a proposal for you…”

Dara was dizzy with fatigue, slightly tipsy from the wine, and the sheer beauty – and horror – of the Games lingered with her. No one had died onstage, thankfully, though some of the wounds had looked like the kind that meant early retirement for a soldier.

The gryphons’ display had been spectacular. Ungainly on the ground, the creatures were studies in elegance when airborne. They made brutal, vicious midair fighting look like a dance. A terrifying dance that foretold death and destruction. If I so much saw one of their shadows on a battlefield, I’d run away screaming.

Stumbling out in a daze, they had been greeted once again by Lyam, the hertasi official who had arranged their earlier tour. Dara had lied shamelessly when asked if they were too tired for a meeting tonight, and then spent the moonlit carriage-ride through the city hiding her yawns. If Karis was equally exhausted, she gave no sign.

Now they were in a large, sumptuous sitting-room. If it were in Valdemar, Dara would have said it was obviously for greeting foreign dignitaries, but since Iftel approximately never let foreign dignitaries in, she wasn’t sure of its usual purpose. Another hertasi who hadn’t introduced herself had brought them both cups of a sour, astringent drink that Dara suspected contained some kind of mild stimulant; her head had cleared considerably by the third sip.

Lyam had left them waiting in silent comfort, and was now returning, ushering in three newcomers. They took their seats, well, the human among them did. The gryphon settled onto a sort of mattress-nest that Dara’s eyes had slid past without registering, and the third member of the party was a tawny-furred creature that reminded Dara of a mountain-cat, with the same differences that marked the dyheli apart from ordinary deer, namely a much larger domed skull and larger, humanlike eyes full of obvious intelligence. The species were called ratha, she had learned when several of them paired off to fight in the Games.

:I’ve encountered them before: Need tossed in.

The human woman wore gilt-embroidered robes, the cloth dyed in an expensive-looking shade of deep crimson. Her headpiece bore the same sun-like insignia as the official who had greeted them at the city gates, but larger and more elaborate. In fact, Dara thought, her garb resembled that of a Sunpriest, though were were stylistic differences – her decorative cloak was shorter, falling only to the backs of her knees, and the robes were split into panels at the front and sides.

The gryphon wore a sort of harness, like those worn for practicality by the other gryphons they had seen, but this one was ornamental, made of fine leather polished to a rich red-brown, with polished brass fittings. She – based on a quick glance, Dara was finally sure the gryphon was female – also wore a sort of collar with a decorative hanging chest piece, reminiscent of armour, with the same imagery of a rayed sun over a bow-and-arrow. The cat-like creature – ratha, she corrected herself – bore a similar collar, though the Sun-in-Glory analogue was much smaller and the bow-and-arrow device correspondingly larger and more detailed.

Silence. Three pairs of eyes rested on them.

Dara, unsure of the protocol here, stood up and bowed to each of them in turn before retaking her seat, fingers brushing Need’s hilt.

Karis rose and curtsied to the ratha and the gryphon, then turned to the woman in Sunpriest-like robes – and, to Dara’s surprise, knelt and bowed her head.

The woman chuckled. “I am the one who ought bow before you, your Majesty.”

Dara blinked, startled. Whatever language she was speaking, it was much closer to Karsite, though it sounded more like the archaic priestly rites that she had sat through at Midsummer and Midwinter then like the current vernacular.

Karis lifted her head. “In a foreign land, one pays respect to the locals.” Her voice had more life in it than Dara had heard since before crossing the barrier.

“Then consider your respects paid, Queen Karis of Karse, Speaker for your People, blessed and anointed by the Holy Sun.” The priestess – Dara was almost certain that was her role, now – straightened her headpiece. “Now it is time to sit as equals, and speak as allies. Am I right?”

“You are not wrong.” Karis sat, a wryly smile twisting her mouth. “I do not know what my Sunlord wills of His daughter…except that I do think He wishes me to be here. So we ought speak, I suppose.” She ducked her head. “I am sorry, but you have the advantage of me. You know something of my kingdom, and I know nothing at all of yours.”

A wider smile. “Of course. To begin, we are not exactly a kingdom.” The woman glanced from side to side. “I am Priestess of the Holy Light Allara, Speaker for He Who Brings The Barrier here in Kav’a’la.” She gestured to the cat.

:I am Taryn: The voice in Dara’s head was easy to understand, a warm tenor that felt male. :I am the Chosen Speaker for the Assembly of Peoples of Kav’a’la: A deep purr seemed to vibrate the floor, and Dara somehow knew it indicated amusement. :Or you might call me the mayor. It is less of a mouthful: His piercing blue eyes turned to the gryphon.

She finished preening her neck-feathers with her beak, and lifted her head, piercing yellow eyes fixing on Karis. “I am Skatashan, who flies to represent Vineyards of Glory in the bahathyrrr.” Her speech was a little strange, the ’S’s sibilant and the ‘R’s guttural, but not too hard to understand. “Though we shall see if this year’s contestants are to unseat me and take my place.”

A jolt of recognition. “Oh!” Dara breathed. “You were in the Games tonight. The second-to-last round.” She had looked so different in the air, a being of exquisite grace. “You were very good – you absolutely trounced the others. I’m sure you’ll keep your place.” She could feel her face threatening to blush; it didn’t make sense how breathlessly exciting it felt to actually meet one of those imposing warriors of the air.

“Why, thank you.” Skatashan’s feather ruffled up all over. “I hope the competition is better for the hrradurr-level Games. May the best of us win.” The final sentence had a rote feeling to it, like something quoted many, many times.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Dara said. “Um, and both of you too.” She nodded to Allara and Taryn. “I’m Herald Dara, Monarch’s Own to King Randale.”

Taryn’s ears twitched up, nostrils flaring. Skatashan’s neck-feathers stuck straight up.

Priestess Allara was the only one who showed no reaction. “Our introductions are complete,” she said, steepling her hands together in front of her. “You are here by the will of the Holy Sun, that much is clear. Perhaps I wish He might have warned us, that we could have offered you a smoother welcome, but His ways are mysterious to mortals. In any case, it is done now.” Her eyes were mainly on Karis, but she was glancing frequently at Dara as well, including her. “I think our first order is to give you a brief history of this country.”

Dara leaned forward despite herself, eagerness thrilling.

“A very long time ago,” the priestess said, “there lived a man who was called Urtho, the Mage of Silence.”

“We’ve heard of him,” Dara said quickly. “We know about the war and the evacuation.” The curiosity she had suppressed before rose in a flood. “Are you descended from Clan k’Leshya?” Vanyel, returning from k’Treva, had told her about the Lost Clan. Being imprisoned inside a country-sized mage-barrier might well explain why they had never reconnected with the other clans that had survived to become the Tayledras and Shin’a’in.

“No,” Allara said, eyebrows rising. “Our histories speak of the Kaled’a’in people, but we have no relation to them.”

“Oh,” Dara said, subsiding. “Sorry.” Well, even if Clan k’Leshya had in fact been lost, at least she could tell Vanyel that some of Urtho’s gryphons had survived. He’s going to be so happy about it. She didn’t totally understand why the gryphons were so important to Vanyel, but she was looking forward to being the bearer of good news.

Allara resettled herself. “Our ancestors were of Urtho’s Third Army. They served the god Vykaendys, the Holy Sun. Vykaendys decreed that those gifted with magic were to be priests, so no mages had joined. Our ancestors were not troubled by working with those of other faiths, however, and Urtho assigned them a company of his mages, as well as a wing of gryphons and their trondi'irn, a charge of dyheli, a pack of kyree, a surge of ratha, and a knot of tyrill.”

Dara had already managed to pick up that trondi’irn were gryphon attendants – sometimes Healers, sometimes not, but they took care of the needs that gryphons couldn’t due to lack of hands. Kyree was a new one – there must not have been any competing in this year’s Games – but now didn’t seem like the time to ask.

“During the retreat,” Allara went on, “the Third Army was cut off from the rest – and from the priests of their homeland, who had remained behind with the common people. The mages from Urtho’s academy decided to use a Gate to escape, hoping to wait out the destruction and then return to their homeland – but there were few Adepts, little power left, and nowhere safe to go. They had only one option – an army mage who had once been a barbarian shaman in the North, and knew of a terminus there.” She paused, glancing between them. “Then came the Cataclysm, and it was no longer possible to use Gates, or any great magic. To make matters worse, our ancestors encountered a surviving contingent of Ma’ar’s army. All looked hopeless. The humans prayed to their god, the Holy Sun, and the others joined in desperation – and Vykaendys answered their prayers. He erected the Barrier that you crossed, that has stood and protected our country for millennia.” She bent her head. “Such protection always comes with a price. The Assembly of Peoples is bound to this land, to Vykaendys, and here we shall stay until He decrees otherwise.”

She was silent for a long moment, then looked to the gryphon. “Skatashan?”

The gryphon rose on the mat. “As you know, we do not make war on other nations, and He Who Made The Barrier does not allow them to attack us. However, that does not mean that we are complacent. We prepare ourselves for the day that war will come to us.” Her ear-tufts flicked up and back. “All my life, all the life of my mother, and her mother, and so on, back nearly two thousand years – all that time, we have been preparing. We train and contest, we pit our strength against one another in the Games, that we will be ready. I have trained my whole life to fly in the bahathyrrr, and if war does not come in my lifetime, then my daughters and sons will train in turn. So it has been, and so it shall be, until the day that our Holy Sun Vykaendys has need of His children.”

You’re Vkandis Sunlord’s secret army. Dara managed, barely, to bite her tongue on the words. It was fascinating to learn that just as the Star-Eyed Goddess had extracted a pact from Her people in exchange for protecting them from the aftermath of the Mage Wars, Vkandis had arranged a little contract of His own – and now had an entire country of warriors that no one knew anything about, at His beck and call.

It suddenly made a huge amount of sense why her Foresight had sent them here.

“I think,” Karis said, very slowly and carefully, “that perhaps your time has come.”

The priestess went very still. Taryn, the mayor – it was still a weird thought that the mayor was a cat, intelligent or not – licked one paw, in what struck Dara as a nervous fidget. Skatashan showed the greatest transformation; her leathery nostrils went wide, wings mantling and feathers puffing up, and she rose to her full height. It was hard to read her expressions, but Dara thought it was excitement in her eyes, not fear or anger. Excitement, and bloodthirst. Well, her whole life had been lived in preparation for a war – and, if they were right, the gryphons had been bred by Urtho as warriors in the first place. She craves it. It was mildly disturbing.

“Our Holy Sun has not given us a sign,” the priestess said finally.

Seriously? “He let us through the Barrier,” Dara pointed out. “That’s a pretty big sign.”

“Perhaps.”

“Priestess.” Karis spoke quietly, but with intensity. “I speak to you as one Daughter of Vkandis to another. If what we are fearing comes to pass, and we cannot stop it, then your country also will be in danger. There are threats that even a god cannot hold off.”

Taryn’s ears flattened to his head, lips pulling back from sharp-looking canines. Dara flinched despite herself.

Karis settled back. “It may not come to pass. We are not asking for your aid now, simply offering a warning.” Her eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, though her mouth was serious. “If and when the time comes, I believe your Holy Sun will give you a sign, and there will be no doubt. He simply might not think to warn you beforehand.”

“Forewarned is prepared.” Priestess Allara ducked her head. “Thank you.” Her eyes went to Dara. “I do not suppose you might tell us more of this threat?”

Dara froze, wishing with every fibre of being that Rolan was there to advise her. Karis wasn’t offering any help, just watching in silence. She was on her own.

You can do this. She swallowed, and sat up straight. “We have warning from a Foresight vision of a mage preparing an army in the north. He wants Valdemar as the center of a new empire he intends to build. We’re negotiating with him, and he’s, um, amenable to reason in some ways, so it’s possible we can avoid war. But he’s very, very powerful and skilled, so if we do end up at war, I don’t think it’s one we can win alone.”

Her voice only shook a little on the last sentence, and if the others noticed, they pretended not to.

“You are our allies.” Dara wasn’t sure if it was too bold of her to say that, but the words had slipped out anyway.

“True.” Allara frowned past her. “I am sorry. It is not in my authority to make promises. We will see.” She closed her eyes. “Yet, in my heart, I think perhaps you are right.”

Skatashan reared up to her full height again. “I will give you my word now, Herald Dara of Valdemar. If you send word, Skatashan pral Kav’a’la will be there, and I would bring all who would follow me!”

Allara looked sideways at her, eyes unreadable.

The gryphon subsided. “I do not command the forces of Iftel. That honour goes to Rusalki pral Skyshaen, a great warrior indeed, who has earned his place to lead the twenty hrradurr in the Wing. I do not know what he will say – but he is a gryphon, and it is not in our spirits to abandon those in need. Never.”

Taryn’s shoulders twitched. :I do not command warriors, girl, nor do I speak for the Holy Sun. I am merely the elected official in charge of city governance, and I do not think my clerks and stonemasons would be of much use to you. Nonetheless – if the need is great, if the time of war is indeed approaching, and our armies cross the Barrier, I will send all the aid I can spare:

Dara forced her hands to stop fidgeting and relax in her lap. “Do you have to wait for a sign?” she said. “Or, I mean, can you petition Vykaendys now and ask him about it?”

Dead silence.

Chapter Text

Shavri hurt.

It wasn’t, really, a physical pain, though that was present as well, her neck was tight and a headache squeezed behind her eyes. It wasn’t any kind of specific emotion; she wasn’t sad, or angry, or scared. She was tired, but fatigue alone couldn’t explain the ache deep inside.

She missed Jisa. Her daughter had been gone a month – which meant she might have reached White Winds a week or two ago. No possible way she would be back for months and months. At least they would probably have heard by now if Jisa and Brightstar had been turned away; no news was good news. I’m sure she’s happy, Shavri told herself firmly. She’s exactly where she wants to be.

It was strange and uncomfortable having so many simultaneous important journeys happening, and being out of the loop on all of them. Lissa would be in Jkatha by now, making deals with mercenaries; Shavri had no idea how that was going. Treven was still in the capital of Rethwellan, hopefully making progress on a treaty, but even he couldn’t easily send updates home. And then, of course, Karis and Dara. It was a lot less clear what success would even look like for their mission, since Dara’s Foresight had been so unhelpfully vague.

In the meantime, there were a thousand things to be done. With Dara gone, Shavri found herself taking on large chunks of Tran’s workload again, jumping in where she could. Van had helped more in the past, but he and Savil were so swamped just keeping up with mage-work. She didn’t remember it being so bad before – but they had had Kilchas and Sandra before, and there hadn’t been an endless list of Border-fortification work.

Still no word of the pass, though hopefully the Tayledras’ help would pan out – damn it, why couldn’t Van have thought to ask them sooner? They had moved around all the troops that they reasonably could with their current numbers, spreading them evenly across the entire northern Border. Guard-volunteers were adding up; it was apparently a glamorous career path right now. Randi had floated the idea of a draft, but it would require a public announcement, and that was even touchier than bringing the Council in.

There were some strange rumours floating around, but overall, the secret was holding better than she had expected. Maybe Shavri had been selling those hidebound old lords short. Based on Lord Ashkevron’s face in some of the meetings, and some odd sideways looks, she wondered if he had been making the rounds and threatening ruin to anyone who let it slip.

She was in the office of the King’s Own, reviewing some kind of contract with the Painters’ Guild. I didn’t even know there was a Painters’ Guild until today. It seemed so banal. But, apparently, new buildings still had to get painted – in particular, the Guard was lobbying for new barracks and training-areas to support their recruitment – and that meant someone had to fuss with contracts. Tran was having one of his thankfully rare bad days, and Van was busy casting trap-spells at a distance, so today that someone was her.

Randi was taking a meeting from his padded sofa at home. Her mind tried to reach for him, and once in a while she would sense him reaching back, but she hadn’t seen him since morning. He had Stef all day, though; today, he wasn’t in pain. I should be grateful for that much.

She couldn’t muster even a mote of gratitude. It’s not enough. Never enough. Randi was dwindling, ruling Valdemar took up all the limited energy he had and then some, and for what? King or peasant, it’s all the same when we die. They would bury him alone in the cold earth, after he scarified the best years of his life – and hers – to a hungry maw that would never give anything back.

The work was real enough, she reminded herself. She had guided her partner’s trembling hand to stamp his seal on pieces of paper that sent grain to hungry families in the north. That gave their children Healers, schools, the chance at a better life–

And it would mean nothing, in the end, if Leareth marched his army through. He would undo all the precarious gains they had made.

Maybe not. Maybe Van could stop it, but it was all on his shoulders. A frustrated Healer, out of her depth for so long that she’d forgotten what solid ground was, forcing herself to read through abstruse clauses about shift-times and extra fees for urgent work, wasn’t helping that cause at all.

Stop it. She was helping, she reminded herself, however indirectly. If she wasn’t here, then someone else would have been handed this, probably Van, and he would be wasting time he couldn’t spare on trivialities. Better that she waste that time instead.

I can’t go on this way.

And yet she would. She had no choice. Van was the one who had named it, all those years ago. You can’t see something wrong in the world, know that you and only you can fix it, and turn away.

A curse she had unwittingly passed on to her daughter. Please, Jisa, don’t let it break you. She needed her child whole and happy, needed it so, so badly. I have so little left. It was already too late for her. Not even if it breaks me, she had said to Van – and it had broken her, over and over and over. Once upon a time, a different girl whose mother had named her Shavri had been more like Jisa than she cared to remember.

Sometimes it felt like she was acting out a slow-motion version of a mage’s Final Strike. Burning her own life, her hopes and dreams and love, as fuel to keep going for one more day.

We can be broken together, Van had said to her once, an awful yet real comfort. But now, for the first time in almost twenty years, he was well and happy. Only a horrible, irredeemably selfish person would be secretly resentful of that. I guess I’m just that awful. He deserved that happiness, after all this time – but that thought led to pain as well. He might – no, probably would – still die fighting Leareth. Doing to Stef exactly what Tylendel had done to him. It wasn’t fair.

Somewhere beyond the fabric of the sky, a distant Power had turned its gaze on the future, and seen that if it moved the pieces just so… Nevermind the cost, in lives and suffering.

I’m tired of it. Tired of being a piece on a god’s game board, especially when the player didn’t seem to mind destroying its gamepieces in the process. They would grind her away until there was nothing left, and then produce another piece to take her place…

If that’s true, I don’t want to be in this world.

Stop. She was caught in a loop, broken, pointless. This isn’t productive. Focus. Shavri bent her head over the page–

:Shavri:

The mindvoice belonged to Savil. :What?: she sent, keeping her directional shields tight – no need to give Savil a helping of her awful mood.

:Dara just Mindtouched me. They’re a candlemark out. She’s not saying much, but she wants to meet right away. I’m arranging it now:

:All right. Thank you: She would have to move a different meeting forward, but that was fine, it wasn’t that important and she had an opening in the morning tomorrow.

Gods, I hope this is good news.

Vanyel paused to adjust his tunic before forging into the meeting-room. Stef was already there, seated behind Randi and cradling his lute; his head didn’t move, but Vanyel felt him reaching through their bond, affection and excitement mixed.

He sat, and briefly closed his eyes; he had been up too late again, which was mainly Stef’s fault for having an unnatural amount of energy even when they both got home after midnight.

:You: Yfandes sent, amused, :do not get to blame Stef for this one. You had fun, and if you hadn’t been up before the sun to spar with Tran, you’d have gotten plenty of rest:

:Sparring is important: It was so hard to find time to stay in shape, lately.

A mental snort. :For your vanity, maybe:

The door creaked open. “Sorry we’re late!” Dara nudged through, running a hand through her still-damp hair. Karis followed, also looking freshly bathed.

:Good: Yfandes sent approvingly. :There was really no need for them to head straight to this meeting without washing off the road-dust, but I was worried Dara might:

The door fell shut. “That’s everyone,” Randi said. He sounds like an old man lately. “Dara. Report.”

The King’s Own glanced around. “Um, can we get extra shields? This is really, really sensitive.”

“Van?”

Vanyel had already raised his hands, weaving an extra privacy-barrier inside the existing permanent shields.

“So,” Randi said. “Iftel. Do tell.” He was doing a lot of speaking in monosyllables today, Vanyel had noticed; maybe he was particularly tired. Shavri, sitting beside him, looked as worn as he had ever seen her.

“They’re Vkandis’ secret army,” Dara said.

Vanyel stared at her. Vkandis. Secret. Army. It was a perfectly cogent sentence, but it wasn’t quite coming together in his head.

“By which she means,” Karis said, “that it seems they have a pact with the Sunlord.”

Dara nodded along. “He gave them the Barrier shortly after the Mage Wars, and in exchange, their entire country is built around battle training in the form of games, well, blood-sports. They invited us to the district-level competition for the Vineyards of Glory – it was a diplomatic honour, we couldn’t say no – and someone died in it. It was awful.”

“Soldiers die in war,” Karis said simply. “It would not do for the preparations to be too unlike the real thing.”

“They certainly try to make it realistic.” Dara shuddered. “Apparently when they do the annual competition between all the champions of the different counties – it’s not in the capital, they don’t have a capital, they just rotate who hosts the Games – they build an actual battlefield for it. The regional one just had an obstacle course.” She blinked, refocusing. “Anyway. The point is, they’ve got an army – the entire place is an army, practically. Oh!” Her head spun around, eyes fixing on him. “Van, they’ve got gryphons! They’re not k’Leshya but they are descended from Urtho’s evacuees, and they had some of the gryphons! There are thousands of them now.”

Dara looked so delighted and eager, like she had personally arranged the gryphons’ survival, and Vanyel couldn’t help but return her grin.

“They’re a weird country,” she went on. “Not a kingdom. They have sort of a mayor of the whole country, who’s voted on every ten years – literally everyone votes, I mean, not just a Council or the nobility. Takes them months to count it up. Oh, and they’ve got the priesthood to Vkandis, but their Son of the Sun – we met him, he was nice – doesn’t really do day-to-day governance, it’s more communing with Vkandis and interpreting the Writ. They’ve got a third hierarchy sort of like our Guard, except it’s based on who wins their damned Games.” Her face was animated, expressions flashing past. “Oh, and get this – it’s how they allocate taxes at the end of the year! Based on which cities and regions did well in their blood-sports! Isn’t that bizarre? The winners are really famous, too, everyone recognizes them in the streets.”

Vanyel rubbed his eyes. It was a lot to think about. I wonder what Leareth – no, he definitely couldn’t tell Leareth about Iftel. If their millennia-long information blackout, and whatever weird magic Vkandis had set in place to suppress outsiders’ curiosity, really had kept him from ferreting out their secrets, it was a very good idea to keep it that way. An opportunity to catch him by surprise.

Though Vanyel did remember reading some history books that mentioned nations choosing their leader by vote of the populace. Maybe he could dig that up, and raise the broader topic with Leareth. Food for thought.

Randi pinched the bridge of his nose. “What does this mean for us?”

Her grin faded, shoulders straightening. “They didn’t want to make any promises about sending us troops, but from what they said… Randi, if he’s marching on us and we send word, I think they’ll come. Vkandis does not want us to lose this war – right, Karis?”

The Queen sat very erect in her chair, her face unreadable. “I cannot speak for the Sunlord’s desires.”

:Neither can I, technically, but I can wager a guess: Sola leapt up onto the table, apparently from nowhere. :King Randale, if the need is desperate, Iftel’s forces will come. Note, I do not say they will be yours to command. They will fight on the Holy Sun’s terms:

An important distinction. Randi had caught the significance of it as well, Vanyel thought.

We don’t call them unless we’re damned sure we want Leareth destroyed.

Finally.

Every nerve in Jisa’s body sang. She had been at White Winds for three weeks, now, and nearly all of it had been spent in…she hesitated to call it ‘theory’, there was a lot of practice, it was just…preparatory. Basics. She was getting very good at the basics, better than she could have imagined before coming here, but still. 

Jisa stood in the shade of a simple hut, with three brick walls and the fourth left open, and finished sweeping the paving-stones bricks that made up the floor. It was one of the only buildings in the whole school that had a real floor, and it was because the bricks, like those in the walls as well as the roof-shingles, were inscribed with dormant spells of protection, ready to flare into life at Alethra’s touch. Not to mention, they were fireproof.

She set the broom aside, and twisted her new belt-pouch to the front, unfastening the ties. She readied her will.

Draw the circle.

The White Winds mages had a whole thing about circles. Many of the trance-exercises that were led by a teacher had parts where the students were supposed to visualize casting a circle around themselves, or around imaginary scenes and people. Even their weird daily workout had moves based on drawing circles.

This was why.

Summoning extra-planar entities was one of the most fundamental techniques at White Winds, and they had a deep writ against ever letting those beings come to harm. Which made sense, Jisa thought – if the elementals could talk to each other, and a White Winds mage harmed one of them accidentally or deliberately, word would spread quickly and soon they wouldn’t come willingly for anyone. That trust was a sort of shared resource, a more literal type of sacred trust.

Jisa could cast a circle entirely from her mind, without moving a muscle, but for once they were letting her use a physical component for the spell. Even Alethra conceded that ‘crutches’ could be useful, as long as one didn’t rely upon them too heavily, and this one was standard.

She turned on the spot, tracing a perfect freehand circle with her toe – she must have practiced that a hundred times before Alethra conceded the result was round enough. Then she reached into the pouch and sprinkled several different powders, chanting softly. Alethra had given her a mantra to use, but she said the words didn’t actually matter, it was the intent behind them and the concentration-aid they provided, so Jisa repeated six different Tayledras words for various types of soil under her breath. It sounded a lot more mysterious and magical than the annoying little Rethwellani rhyme for summoning earth-spirits.

Each of the powders was a different kind of earth, from various places. Dried river-clay, red ochre from a nearby hillside, sparkly sand she had found.

All the while, Jisa fed her own energy into the pattern, a sphere that wrapped her above and below. She added layer after layer, weaving the power like a basket, until it was impenetrable. You’ll be safe here. Nothing will harm you.

Finished, she settled down cross-legged just outside the sphere of energy, a barely-visible shimmer to her ordinary senses, glowing crystal-clear in her mage-sight.

She closed her eyes, and chanted some different words – again, several different Tayledras terms that were roughly equivalent to ‘open the door’. Pull aside the curtain. Roll up the screen. Send down the ladder. And she held the form in her mind – not exactly a curtained doorway, but metaphorically like one in some nameless way. The words were, again, merely a concentration-aid; she wouldn’t be able to use mantras for more complex rituals, but for this, she could make it easier.

She felt when it worked; the air was thinner, somehow, more permeable. She had opened a pathway out of the material plane.

Now for the simplest – and hardest – part. Jisa gathered herself up, and Called.

It took a great deal of energy to attract the attention of a friendly other-Planar being. Especially for Jisa, because this was the first time she would be making contact. Experienced White Wind mages had dozens of alliances, and could call on various beings by ‘name’. Jisa could only shout a broad summoning, sending out her power like a beacon, and hope something answered.

It felt like a very long time that she sat, the strength slowly draining out of her. Alethra had warned her that it might not work on her first try, if she was unlucky and all the nearby earth-plane spirits were busy. There was no shame it in; she would simply have to drop the Call before she ran out of reserves, dismantle her circle, and try again the next day.

Finally, though, something shifted.

Jisa’s eyes flew open. The sphere was now filling with…mist? Mist that glowed in her mage-sight. It began to collect in the center, spinning like a whirlpool, and gradually formed a shape, that became clearer and clearer.

A figure appeared. It was about as tall as Jisa’s arm was long, and vaguely resembled a lizard, but no real lizard’s scales had ever been so brilliantly jewel-coloured, ruby and topaz, and lizards didn’t have such large, domed heads. It reminded her a bit of a hertasi, actually, and she wondered vaguely if the wizard who had made them once upon a time had heard of the khamsin. Or had it gone in the other direction, with the khamsin learning to imitate the hertasi?

The khamsin were the most common, and most intelligent and biddable, of the gnomes, the common term for earth-plane spirits. It wasn’t really a lizard; the Elemental Planes were completely different environments from the material realm, but she had gifted it energy to create a physical form for itself, a mage-construct body, which was only polite. You wouldn’t like being a disembodied spirit either, Alethra had said, which had made Jisa laugh.

The pattern of shapes and colours above its eyes was the closest equivalent it had to a name. If the being departed on friendly terms, Jisa ought to be able to call it again later by visualizing that while she sent out the summoning-beacon. She focused her eyes on it, and pushed a tiny bit with her Mindhealing Gift, fixing the image permanently in her mind; she had learned not to overuse that trick, having a perfect memory for everything she saw wasn’t worth the bizarre dreams and distracting flashbacks it gave her, but it was a useful sometimes.

“Sa’asartha, n’hellan?” it said, looking around in all directions. It had a squeaky, lisping voice, like a toddler.

Thanks to the work of some previous mage, the more intelligent and humanlike extra-planar beings ‘spoke’ a common tongue, and Jisa was learning it. It was a very simple language, limited, but it was easier than Mindtouching the being; Alethra had warned her that its ‘mind’ would be very strange and difficult to interpret, and the touch might be taken as a threat. Better to remain respectfully at arms’ length and show it a familiar ritual of hospitality.

Where am I, the creature had said, roughly. Who are you?

“Vede sa’asarth,” Jisa said. You are in the material plane. “S’challa Jisa.” I am a mage called Jisa. “Tsalka?” Friend?

“Tsalka!” It seemed delighted, spinning in a circle. “Stenya?” Food?

Jisa nodded, and produced an apple from behind her, which she carefully rolled into the circle, briefly parting the protective weave and re-forming it.

The khamsin delightedly ate the apple. It was pulling in the usable mage-energies associated with the still-living fruit, Jisa knew, rather than taking sustenance from the flesh – but the apple would still be gone when she took down the circle, an uncanny thought. Where did it go?

“Rak’sha?” the creature said. “Sad’har?” Do you need help? Do you need information?

“Na rak’sha,” Jisa said quickly. I don’t need help now. “Sad’har ala.” General information. Alethra said elementals who had been summoned by White Winds mages before were generally very eager to help their summoner. Maybe it knew she was sitting on another two apples.

She let the khamsin chatter on about things that mostly weren’t very meaningful to her, but gave it another apple when it warned her – cryptically, the creatures had different senses and were extremely literal-minded, but she deciphered it without too much trouble – that she wouldn’t find food if she looked on the riverbank, all the good tubers had been dug up already. The khamsin couldn’t ‘see’ goings-on in the material plane very well, but energy-currents touched the juncture between the planes, and harvesting living plants left a minute disturbance in those tiny, local patterns. Complex to interpret, but earth-spirits tended to be very good at it, just as air-spirits and water-spirits tended to have useful advance information about weather.

Maintaining the protective circle took a constant inflow of energy, and Jisa was tiring. She rolled the last apple across. “Sa’asarthnan,” she said, reluctantly. You can go home.

She held the circle until the khamsin’s mage-construct body had faded entirely, then focussed on the ‘thin’ spot in the air. Heal. Close. Roll down the screen. Pull up the ladder. It was a bad idea to leave such passages open and unattended.

Finally, she started taking down the circle, drawing the energy back into herself. Much of it had been lost, but she felt steadier by the time she was done.

Alethra had stayed silent and out of the way the entire time, but she approached now, helping Jisa to her feet. “Good!” she said. “Very good. A flawless first summoning. Are you tired?”

Jisa nodded. There was a empty feeling in her head, and she longed for a Heartstone nearby, or even just a normal node, but the leyline was too small to really replenish her reserves, and it was meant to be for everybody, not just her.

It was good practice, she reminded herself. Someday she might have to fight in an area where there weren’t any nodes, and she would need to be able to conserve her strength.

:Chosen, I’m so proud of you: Enara’s mind brushed hers, wafting love. :I didn’t want to distract you, but I watched the whole time:

:I miss you: Jisa was swaying on her feet as she followed Alethra along the path back – the hut was on the far edge, because advanced students would practice summoning beings that were a lot more dangerous than khamsin.

:Come sit with me: A flash of a meadow. :I love you:

:I love you too:

Now that the distraction was past, the loneliness surged in her again. Treven. She could still feel him, a tiny bit, but he was so far away. Too far. Wrong wrong wrong.

:You are bearing it well: Enara reassured her. :I know it’s hard. Hopefully, this is the last time you’ll ever need to be apart for so long:

Jisa doubted that. Monarchs had to travel sometimes. Even Mother and Papa had been separated more than she liked to remember.

A soothing mental caress. :The last time in a good long while, then:

Snow sweeping a storm-dimmed sky–

“Herald Vanyel.”

“Leareth.”

They moved through the formalities in comfortable silence.

(It had been almost a month since the last dream, and their weird discussion of what freedom really meant. The new sense of clarity had stayed with him, even if he hadn’t really been able to explain it to anyone else. Savil had just been baffled, and he hadn’t managed to pin Shavri down, he wasn’t sure if the Healer was avoiding him on purpose or just that busy. Stef had followed and seemed to find it interesting, but it hadn’t struck him in the same way – maybe, Vanyel had mused, because he was innately sensible. He cared about pragmatic implications for his plans, not nebulous philosophical questions.)

“There’s something I wanted to ask you about,” Vanyel said. “It’s not directly related to your, well, build-a-god plan, but it is related to the more general project.”

(Ever Karis and Dara’s return and the ensuing conversations, he had been thinking a lot about Iftel. Specifically, about their method of government. His slippery memories of early classes had been accurate – and, chasing down reference texts in the library, he had stumbled on a rare treatise by a certain traveling scholar who had eventually settled in Seejay, about two hundred years before Valdemar’s founding. It was a thorough, careful description of all the known nations that had practiced any variant of what he called representative governance, for which he had coined the term ‘republic’, a word Vanyel had brushed paths with a few times but never seen defined. It was also written in a very familiar style.)

Leareth only waited, his face still and composed.

“I just finished reading ‘A Treatise on Representation of the People’,” he said calmly. “Very interesting. Do you still agree with what you wrote?”

That got a faint smile. “I will neither confirm nor deny that I was the author of such a book,” Leareth said. “In any case, I am happy to discuss the content. What did you find most intriguing?”

(Mostly, Vanyel was a bit upset with himself that he hadn’t thought of it himself. When the question of how to choose an heir had come up, he had been one of the people pushing back on whether said heir really needed to be Randi’s close relative, but he had never even considered the idea of putting it to a vote. The Council had voted on it, of course, but that felt like a different thing – less than thirty men representing the various regions of Valdemar, and it wasn’t like any of them had been chosen by the local populace to speak for their interests. Wealthy nobles, born of families that had held land for many generations. Vanyel couldn’t count the conversations he had sat through about their biases. The Heralds strived to be less biased, to remember the interests of the common people and especially those vulnerable groups that couldn’t advocate for themselves – but even so, it had never occurred to him to give them a say directly.)

“From one lens, it’s obvious,” he said. “From another, I’m surprised it was ever implemented. It doesn’t seem like anyone already in power would have an incentive to switch to it.”

(Stef, when Vanyel brought it up, had been dubious of the whole endeavour. That wasn’t actually how power worked, he said, and Vanyel couldn’t actually rebut that, especially not when his lifebonded proceeded to rattle off a list of all the ‘obvious’ ways such a setup would fail. He was guessing that Leareth would share that cynical worldview.)

A nod. “The origins in ancient times were often gradual, and initially took a form not so different from your own Council. Both Oris and Thurbrigard, to your east and south, have had periods of direct rule-by-the-people, but their definition of ‘the people’ was rather narrow.”

“I remember. They left out women, slaves, and anyone who didn’t hold land.”

(Which would have been more exclusive there than in Valdemar, actually – his kingdom had a rather high population of smallholders, farmers who often held less than twenty acres, but that land was theirs. Farmers who worked land that belonged to a major noble family were, not quite the exception rather than the rule, but accounted for no more than a third. And, of course, Valdemar had outlawed slavery from the Founding – and didn’t make nearly as much use of loopholes as the Eastern Empire did, with its workforce of criminal convicts assigned to hard labour.)

“Thus,” Leareth said, “a mere quarter or less of the population qualified for the vote. The precise motivations of the baron who pushed for such a system are of course lost to time, but I imagine he did not see it as such a huge change.” A pause. “Such restrictive measures of citizenship were perhaps necessary, given the unwieldy nature of early voting.”

(That was a good point. Secrets ballots were feasible in a meeting of fifty, when they could be gathered up in a single swoop and it took a clerk only minutes to tally them up, but using the same process in a nation of a hundred thousand people was a lot more logistically complicated.)

“Given that,” Leareth said, “it is not surprising that those early methods evolved to a more indirect form – all citizens would vote, but only at intervals, to choose those figures who would go on to speak for them for a period of time. In fact, rather often a body of such representatives has been used in the place of a Council of lords, but still under the rule of a monarch, with varying balances of power enshrined in law.”

Vanyel nodded. “Right, and that’s what Oris ended up with. But Thurbrigard is different.”

“Yes. To this day, they elect not just their local representatives, but also their high leader. This system has sometimes faltered, and has always contained some corruption, but their Laws claim all people are equal, and that is not entirely a polite lie.”

(Valdemar’s written Laws also called for fairness and equality, Vanyel thought; in practice, it wasn’t completely untrue, but it was far from perfectly applied. It was just a fact that the highborn would face lesser punishment for the same offence – it had made his blood boil, before, but he had never thought to call it ‘corruption’ rather than straightforward political reality.)

“It is perhaps feasible because they are a small and tight-knit nation, with few cultural differences within their citizenry,” Leareth acknowledged. “I do not know if such a process would go as smoothly in your Valdemar, even if the Companions were to allow it.”

(So Leareth suspected the Companions wouldn’t allow it. Vanyel, to tell the truth, hadn’t even thought about the feasibility of bringing representative governance to Valdemar, though he almost couldn’t wait to float the idea with Jisa – she would go wild for it.)

“There are upsides,” Leareth said. “Such a system, if truly stable, does mitigate the downsides of a selfish and power-hungry ruler, though such surety relies on more than a public vote. There is an ideology behind it, one that pushes for power to be contained and divided. For example, in Thurbrigard, the elected leadership is forbidden from meddling with the function of the Courts. In Oris, the King has final jurisdiction and right-to-veto for many matters, but not two – the elected Council alone must pass all Treasury proposals, and all motions towards war. I have heard of other nations where a representative leadership exists alongside a priesthood, and they segment responsibilities in various ways – this is no longer the case now, but until five hundred years ago, in Brendan the priesthood ran both the Courts and all education, while an elected board of ten Speakers handled taxes.”

(Interesting. Iftel had its own strange splitting-of-powers, Vanyel thought. There was the civic leadership, chosen by vote, and alongside that setup, the priesthood to Vkandis, as well as their sort-of-army – in which the leaders were chosen by direct combat. He hadn’t thought to ask how they divided responsibilities.)

“There are also downsides,” Leareth went on when he said nothing. “It relates to a concept we have spoken of before – the danger of using a proxy measurement to select our best options. A test is not the same thing as a student’s knowledge, though it is correlated – likewise, a potential leader’s appeal to the people is not exactly the same thing as their skill at ruling. It provides a different set of incentives from those of a hereditary monarchy, and there is value in it – a leader will know they cannot take paths that harm their citizens, or else they will surely lose in the next public vote. However, such incentives can also distort the true needs of the nation.”

“I think I can see that.” Vanyel shook a lock of hair out of his eyes. “Some things will always be unpopular, like instituting a draft if there’s a war – I mean, no King likes to do that either, but if a leader was more worried about losing the vote than about the long-term safety of the nation, they might make a short-sighted decision.”

“Yes, and–”

Vanyel lifted his hand. “Let me finish. Other things… Well, it would bias in favour of making proposals that have obvious near-term benefits, maybe at the cost of less visible investments in long-term stability. And, hmm… I think it might make propaganda, even outright deception, very appealing. I mean, all monarchs use propaganda to some extent, but they usually have ethical reasons to minimize it, in addition to the fact that misleading the people is risky in the long run. But if the leader is chosen by popular vote, it becomes sort of like a market, where all the merchants have to display their shiniest stock to get attention. Sometimes charlatans can make a large profit just because they’re willing to make exaggerated or flat-out false claims about their wares, whereas the ethical merchants who don’t mislead their customers sound less impressive. And then, I mean, even if there are ethical politicians, maybe they’re just less likely to win the votes, and the whole setup is actively leading away from leaders with principles.”

(Little of it was original to him – all were examples that Stef had come up with in about a minute. Still, if he could impress Leareth with his insight, he would take that.)

“Exactly.” A hint of approval in Leareth’s black eyes. “In fact, exactly because people can be misled, one can claim that a sufficiently wise and selfless monarch can do better than an elected leader. They are not subject to such pressures, and so in a way, they have more freedom and incentive, not less, to do what is right.”

Vanyel couldn’t help but chuckle. “That has obvious implications for your plan.”

“…Yes, and I am curious to hear your thoughts, but actually I was thinking of Valdemar’s system. That is, in a way, Valdemar’s entire premise; that a ruler chosen by a semi-divine being for their virtue can better uphold their citizens’ rights than any elected leader.”

“Huh.” Vanyel blinked, unsure what to think. “Anyway, I was thinking – your theory is that an ethical god, a being with more absolute power than any mortal monarch, by definition, could do a better job advocating for everyone’s interests than the people could do for themselves if they were picking it? I mean, maybe, but it seems like a risky strategy to aim for.”

(He wasn’t sure how much he believed the argument at all. Not because he could find a particular flaw, yet, but just because it was so self-serving for Leareth to make it.)

“I recognize the risk,” Leareth said. “And it is not the only style I consider. It would also be possible for such a god to implement truly representative governance, more so than any current nation.” A pause. “Again, this relates to something I have spoken of before.”

“I see it,” Vanyel said quickly. “The one where the god defines ‘good’ as what all the people currently alive would want, if they had all the information, time to reflect on it, and perfect self-awareness. I see how that’s sort of analogous to governing-by-vote. It wouldn’t be a literal vote, exactly, but…I mean, the voting is already just an imperfect implementation of the thing these nations actually want, which is for everyone to be equal and have a say.”

That earned him another slight smile.

Chapter Text

Savil had been sitting in her favourite chair, sipping tea and enjoying the rays of morning light falling across the floor, when several things happened in very quick succession.

:Chosen: Kellan’s mindvoice was sharp, not quite panicky but urgent. :You need to go to the courtyard behind the Collegium. Now: A flashed memory showed her exactly the place he meant – it was by the new cluster that was all classrooms, not sleeping-quarters, and shared by the Blues as well as the Bardic, Heraldic, and Healing students.

:What?: She scrambled up, wincing as her hips twinged. :Kellan, why–:

She felt the out-of-control surge of magic, like a fire blazing too close to her skin, and jumped, spilling tea all down her front. No time to worry about it; she was already in motion, at the closest her knees could manage to a dead run.

The inevitable Web-alarm sang at her a second later. Savil spared an instant’s focus to dismiss it.

:Aunt Savil!: The mindvoice belonged to Ariel, and wavered in and out – her grand-niece wasn’t a strong Mindspeaker, the girl’s main Gift was Farsight. :Aunt Savil, please help, something really bad–:

:Shush, girl, I’m on my way: She was already out the door, knees throbbing as her slippered feet slapped against the sun-heated path, robe flapping around her legs. She could have wished she was wearing her Whites for this, but at least she had already been decent.

:Savil, did you–: Van. He felt a bit dazed; he had been scheduled for Web-work this morning, she remembered, and the alarm had probably yanked him out of trance.

:I’m on my way: He had to have sensed the same magical discharge. :Meet me there: Savil was starting to have a very, very bad feeling. :Actually, can you get Melody?: She had recognized the flavour of that outburst of magic.

:Melody? Why–:

:No time: She broke the connection and focused on sucking air in and out of her lungs. I’m too goddamned old for this.

The sinking feeling intensified as she approached the cluster of buildings around the aforementioned courtyard. Even from a distance, she could see the flames.

She wasn’t the first Herald on the scene, but the young man she passed was hanging back for some reason. “What’s going on?” she barked.

“Mage…out of control…”

Damn it, Arkady. He had been doing so well in their lessons lately – relatively speaking, she would never have tolerated his sloppiness from someone like Van but it was worlds of progress for him – and Ariel seemed genuinely fond of the boy. Obviously he had some redeeming qualities he had been keeping to himself.

“Stay back!” Savil snapped at the terrified Herald between gasps for air. “I’ve got this. Deal with the fire.” Thank the gods the buildings were mainly brick and stone, not that flammable.

She was still strong enough to hold shields against Arkady, even when he hadn’t just exhausted himself setting half the Collegium on fire. It was part of why she hadn’t even tried teaching him to use nodes; why give him the power to match her until she absolutely had to? If it came to war, she could give him a crash course and send him out there to wreak mayhem. One damned thing he was good at.

Raising both hands, she used Van’s technique, pulling the heat from the nearby air and sending it into an overpowered weather-barrier that she set high in the air, and shoved away just as the over-stretched threads of power snapped. The fireball bloomed for an instant in midair, yellow against the blue sky, but the flames on the ground dimmed.

She was starting to catch her breath now, even though the pall of smoke was making her cough. “Arkady!” Savil called out. “Arkady Mavelan, I know that was you. Where are you?” Standing in the approximate center of the destruction, she turned on the spot.

–She saw the two bodies first, and bile rose in her throat.

One, no, two other students were still alive, huddled against the wall behind a potted tree. A blast of force had shattered one side of the pot, spilling soil everywhere, and the tree was snapped in half and still slightly on fire, but better a dead plant than dead children.

:Kellan: she sent, along with the image. :Get someone in here to pull them out, please. And call for a Healer:

:Already done, they’re on their way:

“Arkady!” Ariel’s voice, high and shrill, pierced Savil’s thoughts. A second later, her niece was tearing past, barefoot, half-dressed in hose and an unlaced shirt. “Arkady, there’s help coming – oh.” She stumbled to a halt, the colour draining from her face. “Oh, gods. Arkady! Are you hurt? Where are you?”

“He’s right there.” Savil had been searching the area with Thoughtsensing, and the young mage was huddled at the very back of the courtyard, in the shadows. “Ariel, stay back.”

“No, but–”

“Stay. Back.” Savil marched ahead, raising her hand and flinging a mage-light ahead. Damn it, Van, where are you?

The light fell on tawny hair, but Arkady didn’t lift his head, or stir from the tight ball he had curled into. Right now, he looked anything but dangerous; he leaked misery, guilt, and raw terror.

Still several yards away, Savil dropped to her knees. “Arkady, hey. Calm down. I don’t know what just happened, but I’m not going to hurt you.”

No answer.

Without rising, she approached slowly. “Arkady, it’s me. Herald-Mage Savil.”

He must have heard her, but he let her get close enough to touch without moving. Savil hesitated, then rested her hands on the crown of his head and wove the tightest external shield she could, adding layer after layer.

She must have been very distracted, because it wasn’t until she was nearly done that she noticed the vrondi still clustered nearby, and the fact that Arkady wasn’t wearing his talisman. A five-second hunt found it nearby, shattered on the paving-stones.

Savil focused on the little air-elementals, putting a little more effort into dismissing them. Nothing to see here. They trailed off, and she thought Arkady relaxed just a hair.

She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. :Kellan, help. Where’s Van?:

:On his way with Melody. Yfandes says he physically dragged her out of a session with some patient and she’s spitting mad, but they’ll be here soon:

:What should I–:

:Well, it wouldn’t hurt to let your grand-niece comfort him. Should be safe enough now that you’ve taken precautions:

Savil twisted back over her shoulder. “Ariel!”

When her nephew arrived with Melody, several minutes later, she was sitting nearby, ready to reinforce her shield at any sign of trouble. Ariel was holding Arkady tightly, almost in her lap, while he whimpered quietly into her shirt.

When Ariel had coaxed him to uncurl and stop hiding his face, Savil had finally noticed the bruises and blood. Whatever had happened, she doubted Arkady had done that to himself.

“Oh, dear.” As always, Melody spoke mildly. She switched to private Mindspeech. :Savil. Please tell me what in all hells happened here:

:I’m still piecing it together: None of the Heralds had been close enough to actually see; one of the Companions must have noticed the altercation, and passed the message on to Kellan and to Ariel’s Darvena as well as the others, but not in time to intervene. :At a guess, some of the Blues were bullying him, and…it got out of control. He did, rather:

:I see. Seems like a case of terminal stupidity to me, hassling a mage with known difficulty controlling his temper: Her eyebrow twitched. :I’m sorry. That was a horrible thing to say:

Savil, taut with nerves, had just barely managed not to laugh out loud. :It’s fine. Please just, um, deal with it:

:It looks rather dealt with to me: Melody shook her head irritably. :Sorry. I’ll see what I can do:

“Arkady, please lie still,” Andrel said for the tenth time. “I know you’re uncomfortable, but every time you wiggle I have to start over.”

They were in the shielded room at Healers’. Vanyel hovered by the door, feeling useless – he was ostensibly meant to be shielding and guarding Andy, in case the young mage decided to toss any fireballs at the Healer, but that seemed about as likely as pigs falling out of the sky.

Poor boy. They were still puzzling out what had happened – Arkady wasn’t talking and neither were the two Blues currently being treated elsewhere in the House of Healing – but Vanyel’s sympathies were drifting more and more towards the young mage, each time that Andrel started working on a new injury. He had already scrubbed off the blood and done what he could for the lad’s broken nose, but the swelling and spectacular black eyes were still visible. He had splinted Arkady’s fractured wrist rather than trying to Heal it in one go, confirmed that his ankle was only sprained, and was currently focusing on Healing a cracked rib. The boy’s torso was one solid bruise, still darkening as the minutes passed, but at least Andy had been able to rule out serious internal bleeding.

Vanyel couldn’t, quite, say that the Blues had had it coming, not when Arkady had flattened two of them into burnt smears on the ground, but nonetheless.

Hovering anxiously at his bedside, Ariel tightened her grip on Arkady’s uninjured hand. “Shush, hey, just listen to the Healer. It’ll feel a lot better when he’s done.”

“I’m tryi– ow!” A whimper, and he twisted away again. “Ari, it hurts.” His voice was hoarse and nasal.

“I’m sorry,” Andrel said gently. “Quick-Healing does tend to hurt.” :Van, any way we could get him some painblocking for this? I can’t do it reliably, much less at the same time as the rest:

:Sorry, Stef’s busy. I can see if Gemma’s awake?: Almost certainly not – it was the middle of day shift. Unfortunately, relatively few Healers had mastered the technique. Shavri was one of them, but she looked so exhausted lately; even this wasn’t important enough to drag her in for. :Can’t you give him painkillers?:

:I was told not to give him anything strong, they want to question him once he’s patched up. Can’t risk willowbark given the bleeding. That limits my options:

A valid point.

Andy turned back to the youngster. “I’m nearly done. How about I give you a break, you can get yourself centered again, and then we’ll finish up?”

“Do your trance-exercise,” Ariel prompted.

Arkady made a face, but he obediently closed his eyes.

Ten minutes later, Savil and Melody had rejoined him in the room, along with Dara.

“Arkady,” Dara said. “We’re going to ask you some questions under Truth Spell, all right?”

A mumble.

“What’s that?”

“…Can Ariel stay?”

Vanyel glanced at his niece, whose desperate eyes were on him already. “Please?” she breathed.

Dara shrugged. “Fine with me. This isn’t very formal. Van, second-stage Truth spell, please.”

Vanyel nodded and focused on the rhyme. Arkady was anxiously watching him without actually moving his head, out of the eye that wasn’t swollen shut. “Ready.”

“Good. Arkady, I want you to start at the beginning, and tell us what happened, in order.”

“I was walking to class, and Coby and Ruval–” Arkady coughed. He cleared his throat. “Can I have water?”

“Of course.”

Getting him propped up to drink took a couple of minutes, and then Dara resumed. “Go on. When you’re ready.”

Arkady’s tongue darted out, exploring his swollen lip. “Coby and Ruval and their friends. Don’t remember their names. They’re in my History class. They…said some bad words about me. That I was s-scum and they weren’t going to let me d-defile a nice nobleborn girl.” Fearful eyes flicked to Ariel. “I wasn’t – I did what Jisa taught me. Said some insults back. Coby just laughed, said I was a useless c-coward with no friends to d-defend me, and he knew I wasn’t allowed to use magic. Then Ruval and the other one g-grabbed me. I t-tried to get away, but I didn’t want to hurt them…d-didn’t want to get in trouble…and there were four… Coby said they’d t-teach me a lesson…” He squeezed his good eye shut. “Didn’t have physical shields up, b-because…” Another hesitation, but the Truth Spell dragged it out of him. “Because I was with Ariel before. And they took my talisman. B-broke it. I – I c-can’t do shields without it, the vrondi–”

A shuddering breath. “I t-tried to scream so someone would come. Ruval choked me.” He coughed again, reaching for his throat. Vanyel hadn’t even noticed the handprint-shaped bruises there. “I d-didn’t mean to hurt them, I swear. I s-stopped fighting back. Thought they’d get b-bored and then I could run away. But they were hurting me, I was scared – I d-don’t remember – everything was g-going red. I told them to back off, I b-begged them. Didn’t want…to lose control. But they wouldn’t stop. I th-thought they would k-kill me. No one was coming…no one c-cared…” A muffled sob. “No one ever cares!”

“Hey!” Ariel said sharply. “Arkady Percival Mavelan, I heard that, and I’m right here. You know I care.” Her face crumpled. “I’m sorry I didn’t walk with you to class.”

“Keep going,” Dara said, gently but firmly.

“I panicked.” Arkady curled into himself. “Lost my temper. It was b-bad…I didn’t mean…I’m sorry…Ari, I’m sorry, please…” He turned his face away into the pillow, and when he spoke again, Vanyel thought no one had ever sounded so defeated. “You’re going to send someone to burn out my Gift. Fine. Get it over with. I just want it to g-go away.” A sniffle. “Wish I’d let them kill me. Then it’d be over.”

“I don’t!” Ariel snatched his hand again. “If you say that again, I’ll smack you from here to Baires.”

Dead silence. Dara opened and closed her mouth a few times, clearly lost for words.

Melody was the first one to speak. “Arkady, we’re certainly not going to shut down your mage-gift here and now. There’s a process. That being said, I can temporarily block Gifts – in your place, I imagine that might be a relief right now, knowing that you can’t lose control no matter what happens. But only if you want.”

Vanyel could read the indecision in the boy’s face. “Can Ariel stay?” Arkady said finally. “I don’t want – I’m scared. If they c-come back and I don’t have any…”

“Please let me stay!” Ariel leaned forward, hands pressed together.

“I understand,” Melody said. “Ariel, I’m fine with you staying. Arkady, we won’t let anyone in without asking you, all right? Your grandmother will be here any minute, I imagine she’ll want to stay, and if you call for help someone will answer right away.” Something dark flickered across her face. “I promise.”

Arkady watched her for a long moment, then closed his eyes again. “Do it. Please.”

“No,” Randi said dully. “I don’t especially want to send this to the Courts. That’s a mess we don’t need. I would much rather negotiate something in private – but the two dead students are nobleborn, and their parents will be out for blood.”

They were meeting in the King’s suite, with Randi comfortably ensconced in his padded sofa, and Shavri had heard all the sides of it now, a dozen times. She was painblocking, one hand on his shoulder, but it came instinctively enough now that she could participate in the conversation without losing it.

“Randi,” she said coolly, “they tortured him. We have proof of it. From both sides.” They had interrogated the surviving Blues and gotten an even more detailed list of all the ways they had ‘taught him a lesson.’

“And we’re going to expel them,” her lifebonded said flatly. “No matter what their parents threaten, I’m sticking to that. But he murdered two children. Provoked or not, that’s not something we can let slide.”

“Randi, anyone in that position would have snapped–”

“Arkady seems to end up in that position more frequently than most people,” Savil said dryly.

Shavri whirled on her. “Are you blaming him?”

“No. Just pointing out a pattern.” The older Herald-Mage shrugged. “We all know it’s not his fault, he’s had a bad time of it, but this isn’t the first trouble we’ve had. Honestly, if I had to keep teaching him after this – well, it’s going to destroy his trust in himself, and control relies on that. We’d be starting at the beginning.” She winced. “He was doing rather well before this. Can’t think what my grand-niece sees in him, but she was a good influence.”

Van hadn’t spoken much so far – he was withdrawn even for him – but he leaned in. “We wouldn’t expel a Herald-trainee for what he did, or shut down their Gifts.”

“He’s not a Herald-trainee,” Randi said sharply. “Things would be quite different if he was.”

For one, Shavri thought, it wouldn’t have gotten to that point. Arkady would have been able to call for help, despite not having a lick of Mindspeech, and certain stuck-up nobleborn boys wouldn’t have dared bother a future Herald. No – it was the troubled, unpopular nobody who had a target painted on his back.

Randi might be correct about the political realities here, but did he think it was fair or right? The thought made her blood boil.

“He didn’t dare defend himself,” Melody said. She had been quiet as well, her face very controlled, but Shavri could guess she was upset. The Mindhealer’s hands tugged at her collar. “I mean, I could wish Jisa had coached him on how to de-escalate rather than shouting insults back, but I do understand where the advice was coming from.”

Jisa? Clearly Shavri was missing something.

“The worst part is,” Melody added, “after all our lectures and warnings, he was more afraid of getting in trouble with the Collegium than he was of being beaten to a pulp.” She shifted in her chair, restless. “Honestly, I wish he’d pulled out his Gift sooner, while he still had some control. Damn it, I wish he’d been shielding! He used to go around all the time with a defensive physical shield in place. That’s on me – I’ve spent the last year trying to convince him he was being too paranoid. And look what happened.”

“They took his talisman,” Savil added. “His control goes to pieces without that thing – he knows it’s not rational, but the vrondi scare the piss out of him.”

Melody’s eyes were darting around, everywhere but Randi’s face. “The worst part is, he was goddamned right to be afraid. If he had managed a non-lethal response, we would have punished him for it, self-defence or no. He must have been terrified of what his sweetheart would think if he got himself expelled.”

Based on Ariel Ashkevron’s response to what had happened, Shavri thought, expulsion wouldn’t have fazed her in the least.

“If you want to burn out his Gift,” Melody said, very mildly, “you will need to follow the process. Get consensus from every senior Healer in Haven – and most of them saw the bruises.”

The part she wasn’t saying, Shavri thought, was that most of the Healers were lowborn. As trainees, many would have faced, if not the same extent of bullying, at least disrespect from nobleborn with their heads up their asses. Shavri certainly had. Given the body count, not all of their sympathies would be with Arkady, but still.

“I know,” Randi said softly. “One could make a case that under our Laws, he acted in self-defence – hells, if he’d done it with a sword instead of magic, we probably would conclude that. Still, given the pragmatics of the situation, I’m not sure what else to do. We need to show that we’re taking this seriously – we absolutely can’t afford to make the Court uncomfortable with having foreign mages on our soil.” A shrug. “Exile him, I suppose. Or send him back to Baires and let Tashir deal with it.”

Neither of which was much better, but then again, he had murdered two children with his Gift–

You killed a man with your Gift once, she reminded herself. You lost your temper. That wasn’t Need. It was you. Without even the excuse of self-defence – the best case she could have made for herself under the Laws was that it had been an impulse murder, ‘in the heat of provocation’ as they said.

She had walked away with no punishment at all, nothing more than a lecture from Van. Randi hadn’t even been angry with her, just worried for her safety.

How was it fair that Arkady, having found himself in a situation with far fewer options, was going to lose everything?

“There’s another option.” Melody’s fingers tapped against her collarbone. “I’ve temporarily blocked his Gift. That was for damage control, but we could just leave it. We know it’ll hold at least a year, and if I keep seeing him, I can maintain it as needed. The effects will be the same as shutting it down permanently, but it’s a lot less drastic, and you won’t need to get it by the Healers.”

Oh. A breath of hope – and, Shavri thought, they would still have the option of removing the block if Valdemar ended up at war. We can’t afford to give up a combat-trained mage. Sane or not – and for all that she’d heard about Arkady’s problems, she happened to think that this time, he had showed admirable restraint, right up until the moment that he…hadn’t.

“So that’s my suggestion,” Melody said. “Offer him a choice – exile, or staying here with his Gift blocked.”

Randi pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’ll have to convince the other boys’ families to agree to that settlement rather than bringing to the Courts. Figure I can if I reduce the punishment for their children, and remind them that the Courts might not be so lenient.”

Another bubble of rage threatened to rise in Shavri’s throat – it wasn’t fair, damn it – but she pushed it down.

Savil scraped her chair back. “Are we done here? I’ve got work to do.”

“Reckon so.” Randi sighed heavily. “I think Keiran’s meeting me here in half a candlemark, so we’d better wrap up. Shavri, Stef is coming for it, so I don’t need you.” He rubbed his eyes. “I wish to high hells this hadn’t happened now, but there’s nothing to be done.”

Shavri stood up, hiding a wince at the brief dizziness; she had been sending Randi energy throughout. “Savil, we should talk about the negotiations with the Fishermen’s Guild.”

“In a half-candlemark? I’d like to bathe and properly get dressed.” Savil was still in a robe rather than Whites.

:Shavri: Melody’s mindvoice brushed her shields. :Walk with me?: There was an odd note in the overtones.

:All right: Shavri dropped the link, and bent to kiss Randi’s forehead. :I love you: she sent. Which was the truth, even if she was rather miffed with him.

:I love you too: He reached to touch her cheek, hand trembling. :Shavri, I’m sorry about this. I know it seems unfair:

:I understand: The worst part was, she did.

Out in the hallway with Melody, she glanced over at the Mindhealer. :What do you need?:

Melody blinked owlishly. :I don’t need anything. Shavri, I want to talk about you:

She stumbled, catching herself. :What about me?:

:Are you doing all right?: Melody reached for her arm. :I’m a little worried about you:

Shavri shook off her touch. :I’m fine:

:Really?: A raised eyebrow. :Because you’ve seemed awfully not-fine recently:

Shavri slowed to a halt, leaning against the wall and breathing out through her nose. She’s just trying to help, she reminded herself. Probably the best approach was to be honest; trying to hide feelings from Melody never worked.

:It’s hard: she admitted. :I’m exhausted and Randi’s hurting and there’s always too much to do. I miss Jisa. I’m scared for the future – I hate not knowing if we’ll end up at war with Leareth. Sometimes it gets to me. But I’m managing as best I can: That was all any of them could do, right now.

:Mmm: Melody reached for her hands, and this time, Shavri let her. :I know: she sent. :It gets to me too, honestly. Only a fool wouldn’t be afraid: Her grip was cool and dry, soothing. :I’m here to talk anytime you need to, all right? And please do make sure to pace yourself. I know how much pressure you’re under, and things get to us more when we’re tired:

:I know: Shavri smiled weakly. :I’m trying very hard to get enough sleep: It was the responsible thing – her reserves depended on it, which meant Randi did, and so she dutifully made sure she was in bed every night before midnight. Not the she ever woke feeling rested, anymore, but that couldn’t be helped.

:Good, good: Melody stepped back. :Hey. Want to come by my rooms tonight for a cup of tea and a chat? For once I would love to catch up with my good friend Shavri. Talking to honorary-King’s-Own Shavri about my Collegium isn’t the same:

:That would be nice: Her suite was awfully lonely after dark, without Jisa there. :I’ll have to see if I’m free, though:

“So those are your options,” Dara finished.

Arkady licked his still-puffy lips, his good eye flickering to his grandmother, then to Ariel. He was a hideous sight, Savil thought – a day later, his entire face was turning interesting shades of green and purple. He was up and about, or at least sitting in a chair, trying to move as little as possible. Savil, who had suffered broken ribs before, was sympathetic.

Natti Ermane looked like someone who hadn’t slept a wink all night. So did Ariel. Arkady had been moved out of the shielded room – after Melody finished blocking his Gift, that precaution was hardly necessary – but Gemma had declared he needed to stay at Healers’ another day.

Ariel seemed to be holding her breath.

Finally, Arkady’s indecisive expression cleared. “I want to stay in Haven.”

A brief smile lit up Ariel’s face, but quickly faded. She stepped forward, resting a protective hand on Arkady’s shoulder.

“You’ll need to keep seeing me,” Melody said. “Every week.”

“I want to keep seeing you.” Arkady fidgeted with the splint on his broken wrist. “Melody, I’m really sorry. I messed up, I disappointed you–”

“No, I’m sorry.” Melody tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “We failed you. Nothing else to be done now, but…I want you to know that.” Her voice was smaller than Savil had ever heard from her.

Arkady opened his mouth, then closed it, tilting his head back to look at Ariel before closing his eyes.

So that’s it. A faster resolution than Savil had dared to hope for, and they had navigated it without anything really going public. Thank the gods. People were nervous enough about the adult mages from Baires.

If any of the current missions panned out, they would want to bring a lot more foreign mages onto Valdemaran soil; they needed it so badly. A scandal might have jeopardized their ability to get that vote past the Council.

Damn it, Arkady. But there wasn’t much heat in the thought. She had used up her anger and frustration.

Maybe there was a silver lining here. She wouldn’t have to teach him anymore. That would give her back those two candlemarks a week.

Late summer was among Lissa’s favourite times of year. Riding past crops ripening in the fields, she could almost taste the abundance in the air. A good harvest on its way; a winter of plenty. Harvestfest had always been her favourite high holiday, when she was a child, until certain events changed that forever.

Maybe it would have shifted anyway as she got older; it was a two-pronged festival, after all. Gratitude and celebration for the bounty of the fields and pastures, but also recognition of the coming winter. Shortening days, each passing night longer and colder, the light slipping away. Loss and grieving. At eighteen, there had been only a single candle in her roster – for Grandmama, the senior Lady Ashkevron, who had lived a long and full life, passing on the gift of her wisdom to her children and grandchildren, before slipping away peacefully in her sleep. Since then, Lissa had lost more people than she cared to think about on any other day of the year. Men and women under her command, their lives violently snuffed from the world.

Sovvan was still over a month away. For now, at least this far south, she could still call the season summer rather than autumn; the darkness was encroaching, but they had time.

Hopefully. Wow, that got metaphorical.

She had just finished arranging accommodations in Petras for nearly eighty warm bodies, the two mercenary companies she was taking back to Valdemar with her. She had nabbed the Icefoxes, but another buyer had snatched the Silver Dragons from unde her nose; Captain Toomrik had been apologetic, and promised that he would check in at the Broken Sword as soon as their current year-contract was over. Instead, Lissa had hired a more conventional skirmisher company, the Mountainbirds. They were a lot cheaper, but Lissa thought she was getting a bargain; they were newish, with a relatively inexperienced commander, but most of the fighters had come in with decades’ field-experience under their belt.

The coin she had saved by not hiring the Silver Dragons meant she had been able to put them up in inns at least every third or fourth night. Both groups came with all the supplies they needed to make camp, of course, but offering them the luxury of hot meals and baths would earn their loyalty that much faster. As much loyalty as she could expect from mercenaries, anyway. They fought for the highest bidder; that was the entire point.

Now, she was on the hunt for Treven. He’d had almost six weeks in Petras, and she very much hoped he had already drafted a new treaty in that time; if not, she didn’t have much choice but to stick around and wait. While paying for room and board for two companies on Valdemar’s purse.

She wouldn’t be waiting around for Jisa or Brightstar; she had stopped by the White Winds school on the way back up from Jkatha, leaving the mercenaries in a nearby town and sneaking off alone. Two two youngsters were settled in and seemed happy and healthy, so at least she could report that much to Shavri, but they were nowhere near ready to leave. Jisa had reminded her that they were both strong mages, more than capable of Gating to the Valdemaran border or even directly to Haven.

The city of Petras was nice enough, especially picturesque on a warm summer night with the street-torches lit, but Lissa already missed Mournedealth. Admit it, girl, what you really miss is their shaych tavern. Gods, if they survived the next couple of years, she was going to drag Van and Stef down there for a holiday.

Being allowed to ride in the streets again was awfully nice. She had gotten very fit, trekking everywhere on foot.

There, that’s the place. Rather than guest-accommodations in the Palace itself, Treven and his escort had been given rooms in a nearby inn; their main business seemed to be hosting foreign dignitaries. The old king’s death had been a windfall for them. Lissa had bumped into envoys from Ruvan, Seejay, and even Velvar, which lay to the south of Jkatha.

Deep in thought, she drifted through getting Blossom settled in the stables, giving her a good rub-down before moving on. She owed the mare that much. At fourteen years old, Blossom was getting a bit long in the tooth for a warhorse, but her Shin’a’in blood was showing; she still had the stamina to put away forty miles a day for weeks on end, and the heart to do anything for her mistress. She had gotten a bit round during Lissa’s month in Mournedealth, not enough exercise and Tadrall’s daughters fighting over the privilege of feeding her carrots and apples, but she had been eager and willing to return to the road.

No sign of Treven in the taproom, but Herald Marius was there, currently talking to one of the serving-girls. He was always so popular at inns; Lissa wasn’t sure whether to attribute it to his witty repartee or his fair good looks, but he had both in plenty.

She sidled up, and waited patiently for him to notice her presence.

It took seconds. “Lissa!” He spun to her, his face lighting. “I’m sorry, Challa, let’s catch up later. This is General Lissa Ashkevron, who I told you about.”

Challa bobbed her head. She was very pretty, Lissa noticed with a stab of jealousy that she quickly suppressed. You’ve been over this, girl. You need a beautiful face like a fish needs saddlebags. Pretty women rarely made good commanders.

“So?” he said, once the girl had moved on. “How did it go?”

“Quite successfully. I’ll tell you the rest later.” Once they were in private. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Valdemar was hiring mercenaries, but she wasn’t shouting to the rooftops either, and the inn that hosted all the diplomats was a ripe ground for spies. “And Treven?”

“Remarkably well.” A rueful smile. “Reckon I sold the boy short. He’s young, and he looks harmless, but he’s wily.”

“I know what you mean.” Treven was always so earnest, agonizingly courteous; he didn’t give the impression of guile. Intelligence, sure, but the sort one would expect from a scholar rather than a monarch-in-training.

Lissa had already figured out that appearances were misleading.

“Your timing is excellent,” Marius added. “I figure we need another few days to finalize things, and having you here and speaking for the Guard will add some weight.”

“I’ll do my best.” Damned diplomacy. She had hated politics back when they made her deal with the Lineas-Baires fallout, seven years ago, and she still hated it now.

“Is he around?” Lissa said. It wasn’t that late.

“No, I’m afraid he’s retired for the night.” Marius’ lip twitched. “He’s an early riser.”

“How virtuous.” Lissa rolled her eyes. “I’ll wager he makes his bed every morning too.”

Marius chuckled. “He does.”

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow, then.” Lissa glanced around. “Seems we have an evening free. May I take you out to the Stones and Hearts?” A nearby tavern, more to her tastes than the sedate taproom. “Celebrating our respective missions. Drinks are on me.” She couldn’t really let loose – no fights, and definitely no kissing women – but she could damned well show Marius a good time.

The next morning, her feelings about the previous night’s decisions were mixed. It had been a lot of fun, but now her head ached. She was getting too old to stay up half the night drinking and then rise with the dawn.

At least the inn had chava, and plenty of it.

Treven had invited them to take breakfast in his rather opulent suite; he had a whole dining-room, a table big enough to seat six with a crystal chandelier. He had already finished his breakfast, devouring the eggs and porridge with exquisite manners. Lissa was nibbling halfheartedly on a buttered piece of bread.

Herald Siri was holding the prospective treaty-draft, reading bits of it out loud. It was quite an impressive feat, Lissa thought, from a lad who wasn’t quite sixteen. Treven wasn’t sure he could push through the strongest version of the mutual defence clause, but even the weaker compromise would bind Rethwellan to send one quarter of their active-duty soldiers to assist Valdemar in any war, unless they were already at war themselves, in which case it was a weaselly ‘as many as can reasonably be spared.’ Rethwellan was on peaceful terms with all of its neighbours, though, and it seemed unlikely to apply in the upcoming war – the potential war, Lissa reminded herself, it wasn’t for certain. I wonder how Van’s getting on.

Perhaps more importantly, the treaty agreed to provide generous aid in the form of gold and grain, ‘as much as was needed’, up to a third of their total harvest-taxes. Surely Lythiaren had been willing to accept it because Rethwellan was a very prosperous kingdom, with plenty of mages trained in weather-working serving the Crown; they hadn’t had a bad harvest in decades.

Another commander might have considered that clause an afterthought, but to Lissa it was a massive relief. One of the biggest challenges immediately after the Karsite war had been dealing with the fallout from years of poor harvests. The resulting hunger and disease had killed more civilians than the war itself, and might have claimed more soldiers as well, though she was less sure of that, and they would never really know – too many of the casualty-records had been lost in the upheaval after the coup. For all the destruction on the southern stretches, Valdemar had been in better shape than Karse overall, and aid had flowed only south. Hardorn, ravaged by wizard-weather the entire length of the war, had been in no position to support either of their neighbours through the aftermath; in fact, King Festil had been begging aid from Randi, and they had eventually sent a few caravans just to stay on good terms. The common people in Valdemar hadn’t been starving outright, but several lean winters in a row always had a price, weakening children and old folk until ordinary illnesses finished the job.

That wasn’t going to happen again. Rethwellani harvest-taxes in peacetime were set at one-quarter of the yield per landholding, and then take a third of that – one-twelfth didn’t seem like much, but when it came from the entire annual harvest of a large kingdom… This time, they won’t starve. No one will.

“I’m impressed,” she said, once Herald Siri had fallen silent. “Treven, I never dreamed you could wring that much out of Lythiaren. She’s strong-willed.” Lissa hadn’t spent long with the new Queen, but she hadn’t needed to.

“Stubborn and clever,” Treven agreed. He glanced around. “She’s…suspicious. Of things.”

He was being cryptic on purpose – the walls had ears, and they had no mages to cast privacy-spells. Theoretically the suite came with shields, and Jisa had confirmed as much six weeks ago, but a mage working for the Crown might have done all sorts of things in the interim.

“I see,” Lissa said. “How specific are those suspicions?”

“Not.” Treven set down his fork, wiped his hands on the napkin, and  then ran his blond queue nervously between his fingers. “She’s guessing I know something she doesn’t, but it is just a guess, and I’m being very careful about what I say. Figure she’ll squeeze me a bit more before she signs the treaty. I’ll be on guard.” His eyes went to the ceiling. “Right now, I think she suspects our alliance with our, er, eastern friends is on shaky ground, and might come apart when Randi dies.”

Hardorn, he meant. From what Lissa knew, the alliance, such as it was, really was doubtful, but Hardorn wasn’t in a strong position right now. They wouldn’t push too hard; they couldn’t afford it.

“She’s not expecting you to be an open book,” Marius said. “The game of diplomacy is all about plausible deniability. As long as you’re playing by rules she understands, you’ll be fine.”

“I know. I’ll dance the dance.” A flash of wistfulness. “I’m just glad Jisa’s not here. She hates that sort of thing.”

She would, Lissa thought. You’re like me, Jisa, you hate lies and politics. It was reassuring, in a way, though she wasn’t sure she could explain why.

Chapter Text

“Liss. It’s good to see you.” Vanyel firmly closed the door to Savil’s suite behind him, and immediately turned to hug her. It was the first moment they’d had in private.

“I missed you too.” She returned the embrace, then lifted him right off the ground and swung him around. “You’re managing all right?”

Sovvan was in about three weeks. The days seemed to rush by so quickly, turning to months before he could catch his breath. Already it had been almost six months since Sandra’s accident, their rising suspicions, Jisa’s scheme, and their decision to start preparing in earnest for war.

Since Stef.

Are we prepared? Not really. They were in a much better position, though. A solid treaty with Rethwellan, mercenaries on contract, and Lissa had smugly revealed her little arrangement with the innkeeper at the Broken Sword – and then there was Iftel. If everything fell apart tomorrow, Valdemar had a lot more allies to call on.

They were still waiting on Jisa and Brightstar. It was good to hear from Lissa that all was well, and Jisa had promised to send a letter the next time a messenger left the school. The pair of them had been at White Winds for nearly two months now. Learning, he hoped, the keys to unravel some of their current dilemmas. In particular, it sounded like the curriculum focused heavily on extra-planar work. Maybe Brightstar would find the key insight that would let him untangle the secret of Leareth’s immortality.

He let his breath out. “We’re doing fine. Savil should be here any minute with supper – she can’t wait to hear everything.” His aunt had missed the initial debrief meeting; it was her day on Web-work.

Lissa’s smile broadened to a grin. “Good, because oh, do I have stories for you…” She had wandered over to the sideboard and was helping herself to wine. “My people are good. Really good. The Icefoxes in particular, if we can get approval to send them scouting in the north…”

“Could be risky,” Vanyel pointed out.

A shrug. “Then we’ll offer them hazard-pay. They’re mercenaries, Van. A sellsword’s life is a constant series of calculated risks and rewards. It’s in their interest to be damned good at surviving to collect their coin.”

A weird way to think about it, but it made sense.

“How are you and him getting along?” Lissa said.

“Stef? Fine. Um, we fought after I got back from Sunhame – that was right before you left – but things were better afterward.” Vanyel had been trying hard to be present and available; it was a constant battle against the relentless pressures on both of them, and more often than he liked, their time alone together was carved out of the candlemarks after midnight.

Lissa nodded. “I’m very glad. Actually, though, I meant your, er, dream-partner.”

“Oh. Right.” He blinked. “Nothing much to report. He’ll toss in an aside once in a while, letting me know he’s noticed our preparations – he’s heard word of the negotiations with Rethwellan, for one – but he hasn’t mentioned Iftel or White Winds. Though it’s very possible he knows and is holding it back.”

He hoped not. Both missions had been carried out with the utmost secrecy, known by barely anyone outside the Senior Circle. Karis’ guards were the main possible source of leaks regarding Iftel – none of them had been briefed on the true purpose of her journey, but it was fairly obvious.

“Anyway. Other than that, we’re still mostly talking theory.” He wasn’t sure how productive it was, at this point – they weren’t going to have time for him to fully learn every aspect of Leareth’s plan, and it was unclear whether the additional details he was picking up would change any of his decisions – but it was, ironically, one of the safer and more comfortable topics. That and ancient history. It was too bad that Leareth had lost so many memories of his earliest lives – his stories of the world a thousand years ago were invariably fascinating, but in a sense Vanyel knew more about Urtho than he did.

“How does he seem towards you?” Lissa lounged against the wall, wine in hand. “I mean, how do you think he’s feeling about the whole thing?”

“Who knows?” Vanyel finally thought to wander over to the sofa and sit. “He’s nearly impossible to read. I don’t think he’s given up on me, though.” I hope he still considers me a friend. The thought rose, and he prodded at it, curious, and then let it drift past.

Lissa joined him. She sat in silence for a moment, hands around her cup, then reached for his shoulder. “Well, I wish you luck.”

He said nothing, just leaned into her shoulder. I’m going to need all the luck I can find.

:Stef:

The voice in his mind startled him, and Stef nearly fell over. Which would have been unfortunate, because he was on the path beside the river, on his way to Bardic. He had a few candlemarks free, and had been planning to join Medren for lunch.

He staggered, but righted himself without slipping. It had been drizzling all morning, and the path was slick with mud. At least he was warm and dry, thanks to the enchantments Van had laid on his cloak. There were some advantages to being partnered to a mage.

The dry, husky mindvoice was familiar, but it was so unexpected that his brain skittered for a while before making the connection. Aroon. What in all hells–

Oh. He had nearly forgotten about their attempt to pass a message to Hot Springs Clan – it had been so many months ago now. Now, his heart was in his throat, thrilling with anticipation.

:We must speak: The voice was gentle but firm. :I would prefer to remain unseen. Might you come to the caves by the river? I will wait here:

Stef couldn’t answer, of course. He tried to think yes very loudly, and immediately turned around. He would be late for lunch, but Medren would forgive him, and this was more important.

Unfortunately, the grass was very wet, as he discovered when he peeled off the main path. His short boots did little to protect his trews from it, and he was soaked to the knees in seconds. Then, to make things worse, halfway down the hillside he lost his footing and landed hard on his rump, sliding several yards before he managed to stop himself with his feet. Ow. He had learned not to catch himself with his hands when he slipped; it was an excellent way to sprain a wrist and end up unable to play for days while it healed. His bottom was less essential for music.

Safely at the bottom, he followed the narrow, muddy trail. The area was deserted, unsurprisingly – it wasn’t the best of weather for romantic trysts outdoors.

A mind-whisper pulled his head around. Aroon was hunched in the shelter of one of the larger caves, fur plastered down by the rain, looking about half the size Stef remembered. He glanced around, then tiptoed over.

:Stay back a moment: Aroon planted its four paws, and then shook itself, sending droplets of water flying. :There, better. Come in:

“How did you get this far without being seen?” Stef hissed, creeping in to join the neuter.

:I stayed among trees when I could, and swam some distance in the river: Aroon answered. :I am a FarRanger – I know the ways of stealth. I will leave by cover of darkness tonight:

Stef nodded. “Right.” Looking into Aroon’s large, oddly humanlike golden eyes, he felt a surge of gratitude. “It’s good to see you again.” He hesitated, then stepped forward and sank his hands into the ruff around Aroon’s neck, scratching. “It’s been a long time.”

:Likewise. I am glad to see you, Singer: Aroon’s eyes half-closed with pleasure. :Your human hands are so very good at reaching the spots I cannot. Down a little…?:

Stef spent about a minute tending to the itchy spots, before his curiosity got the better of him. “Um, so… News?”

:I have news, yes: Aroon’s eyes returned to full alertness, fixing on him. :We have found your pass:

“Oh.” The breath sighed out of him. For a moment, Stef couldn’t feel anything but relief; the release made him dizzy, and he sat abruptly on the floor of the grotto. “Good. I mean, um…” His mind was refusing to offer words, an unusual state for him.

Aroon seemed to be enjoying his stunned response; it sat back on its haunches and waited, licking mud from one leg, radiating smug satisfaction.

Stef caught his breath. “Was it, er, near where we’d expected?”

:It was exactly where you said to look: Aroon confirmed.

That made no sense. “I don’t – but the King sent agents, and they couldn’t find it…”

Aroon yawned, showing a terrifying number of teeth. :That is not their fault. It is well-concealed by mage-craft. A type of illusion that even your Herald-Mages would have difficulty penetrating. However, our magic is very different, and even this Leareth would not know many of our tools:

“Right.” Stef rubbed his eyes, still half-numb with shock. Gratitude was creeping in now, mixed with…fear? Horror? It’s there. It’s real.

:We will stand guard: Aroon sent. :You are a friend to us, Singer, and we would do this as a favour to you even if it did not concern us – and it does concern us, very much. This pass lies too close for comfort to our territory, and that its construction passed unseen by our mages… This Leareth must be very skilled indeed, to hide blood-magic at such short range:

Stef nodded. “He is skilled. He, um…we didn’t tell the scouts from White Rock Clan this–” Vanyel hadn’t fully trusted the clan, and hadn’t wanted to risk sensitive information leaking, “–but he’s immortal.”

It was Aroon’s turn to go limp with surprise. :How can this be?: Its tail thumped the floor of the cave. :I have never heard of such a thing:

“We don’t know,” Stef admitted, “but we have compelling proof of it. He’s planning to invade Valdemar, or was at some point. And he wants to do something ambitious and terrifying, I’m not sure if I can say what without…” Without asking Van, he had been about to finish, before remembering that his time at Hot Springs Clan predated their relationship. “Aroon?” he said instead. “I…have news for you.”

:I thought you might: The neuter cocked its head to one side, tail flicking back and forth. :You wear your skin more lightly than when you last met:

Wear your skin lightly – it sounded a bit creepy, Stef thought, but poetic. He liked it. Fodder for song-lyrics. He had done very little composing since his Master-work, he was so goddamned busy, but he missed it. “I…met someone,” he started. “Or, I mean, we’d already met, but not…” Stay on track. He didn’t have time to explain the last five years of his history with Van. “I’m lifebonded. To Herald-Mage Vanyel, if that name means anything to you.”

:It does: Aroon sat back, pupils narrowing. :Congratulations are in order. A lifebond is a rare and blessed thing:

“Do your people ever have lifebonds?” Stef asked curiously.

:Sometimes:

Stef bit back the next question, which was ‘do lifebonds ever happen between different species’? It was an awkward and disturbing concept, and a digression. Focus. “I told him,” he said. “About your clan. I took it really seriously, keeping our secret – I haven’t even told the King, he thinks I just met some locals. And I’m, er, not planning to tell him it was you who found the pass. We’ve been saying the scouts from k’Treva were helping us search. But Van knows, and so do a couple of our Tayledras friends. Starwind and Moondance. And Herald-Mage Savil knows. She’s Vanyel’s aunt.” Vanyel had gone back and forth endlessly on whether to tell her; Stef had pushed against, pointing out that the kyree were one of their few allies that Leareth couldn’t possibly know about, and it was worth the secrecy to keep it that way. Vanyel had eventually overridden him. I’ve learned to be suspicious of my desire to keep secrets, he had said, and reminded Stef that she was a Wingsister of k’Treva and might end up learning of it from Starwind and Moondance, unless they specifically asked the Tayledras to hold it back from her.

Savil had greeted the news with a lack of curiosity that Stef had found remarkable, maybe because it had been at the end of the long day and she hadn’t had the energy to mull over implications. She had agreed with their plan to keep that particular detail from Randi.

Which, really, the fact that Randi was in the dark offered some intriguing possibilities. Stef really hadn’t been trying to scheme, when he made that decision – he had been focused on keeping his promise – but he and Van had talked in the abstract about contingency plans. Making preparations for the case where they ended up breaking with the Heraldic Circle. Van hadn’t wanted to talk about it again, steering away from the subject whenever Stef tried to broach it, but Stef had been chewing on it alone.

He didn’t think his lifebonded would mind. You’re the plotter, Van had said.

“Aroon,” he said. “I think I’d like you to meet Vanyel.”

Two weeks to Sovvan. For the first time in decades, Vanyel felt only minimal trepidation. The grief would still come, he expected, and it was going to feel very strange, burning a candle for Tylendel with Stef there – but worlds better than doing it alone.

Swinging by his rooms, he had bee surprised to find a note from Melody. They had been speaking regularly; Melody would come by to ask his advice on Collegium-related matters, and sneak in a few discreet prods on how he was doing; but they hadn’t had a full session since shortly after his return from k’Treva.

He did have some time free, but unfortunately he was very distracted. Stef, earlier in the afternoon, had pulled him away from the Web-focus room, dragged him down to the river without explaining, and introduced him to his kyree friend Aroon. Vanyel’s head was still spinning from the revelation. Several revelations.

Stef hadn’t brought it fully into the open, but Vanyel could read between the lines; his lifebonded was tallying up their allies and resources, and Hot Springs Clan was one. The kyree were a peaceful people, he knew from Starwind and Moondance, and they had never intervened in wars near their territory, preferring to remain out of the way – but for a threat like Leareth, they might make an exception.

Even better, Aroon had been amenable to his argument that Leareth might not be a threat. It is always better to resolve our conflicts with words and not weapons, the neuter had said.

After a candlemark of vacillating while they talked about various matters, Vanyel had decided to reveal the basics of Leareth’s true plan. Stef trusted the kyree, or at least the specific clan he had befriended, and Vanyel had sensed nothing in the FarRanger’s mind to indicate duplicity. He had still hesitated – each time he shared it was one more opportunity for the information to do unexpected harm – but in the end, he had fallen back on an older heuristic. Think twice before keeping secrets.

And Aroon’s reaction had been very informative, more thoughtful than horrified. Ambitious indeed, it had said finally, but not, I think, the plot of an insane man. And then, after a long silence: this is for Hyrryl’s mind only. Hyrryl, Vanyel had gathered, was a mage, and shaman to the Hot Springs Clan.

And that was it. They had allies in the north. He had to tell Randi and the others of the pass’s location and concealment, of course, but he was still mulling over how to do it without revealing the kyree involvement; Aroon had thanked Stef for holding the secret so close, and expressed a preference, though not a demand, that he continue doing so.

Vanyel’s current idea was to say that Starwind and Moondance had reached him, maybe using a tiny Gate, since the communication spell was known to be possible to intercept, and passed on the report from their longe-range scouts. Savil was the only one who’d be able to falsify the story, and she had agreed previously to help him, well, really Stef, with this one small deception. The kyree are a secretive people, she had agreed. I would prefer not to disrespect them.

Stef had been so adamantly against telling even Savil. Vanyel understood the principle, but he couldn’t not tell his aunt.

…Though, come to think of it, he ought to consider whether to advise Randi not to tell the rest of the Senior Circle. The fact that it hadn’t been the Heralds who found the pass meant that very plausibly, Leareth didn’t know they knew. The kyree had ways of moving unseen, and based on the fact that Leareth’s illusion-spells hadn’t fooled them, he might not be able to counter their concealment either. And, hopefully, his spies had observed Herald Nubia’s party fail to penetrate the illusion-coverage, and leave disappointed – or, if not, heard second-hand of their announcement to the Council.

It could be worth a lot to keep that key bit of knowledge in reserve, and they didn’t think Leareth had a spy on the Senior Circle, but that wasn’t known for sure.

Of course, if they wanted to keep the veneer of ignorance, they couldn’t move the troops on the Border to cover that area in particular. But maybe that was for the better. It was still possible that Leareth had carved another pass elsewhere, or had some other plan for catching them by surprise.

Oh. There was another option: tell Leareth upfront about their discovery. Choosing to reveal this would be correctly taken as a major sign of good faith, and the man’s reaction would be informative, difficult to read or no.

It wasn’t a decision to make hastily, though.

:Chosen: A gentle prod from Yfandes.

:What?: Lost in thought, it took him a moment to realize he had reached his destination, and had fallen into pacing the hall outside the Mindhealers’ Collegium. He felt a lot less self-conscious about coming here now that people could assume he was helping Melody design policies rather than having to see a Mindhealer himself.

:You’re ridiculous: Yfandes felt amused rather than sharp, though. Vanyel knocked.

Senior Trainee Jeren was the one who answered. “Looking for Melody? She’ll be out in five minutes.” He fidgeted. “Oh, um, and…I had a question actually. About an ethics thing.”

Yfandes’ laughter rang in his head. :Your reputation is getting a little out of hand:

Vanyel couldn’t help but smile. He perched on one of the stools. “Go on.”

“It’s about when someone should feel guilty for breaking a rule-for-themselves they decided on beforehand…”

Melody emerged closer to ten minutes later, politely ushered her patient out the door, and joined them, waiting for Vanyel to finish his sentence before interrupting. “Jeren, did you finish your notes from earlier? I wanted to review them with you before you go. After.” She turned to him. “Van, let’s talk.”

Vanyel let her prod him into the room she had just vacated, and sat, watching her through narrowed eyes. “Melody, is this an ‘I’m worried about you’ conversation or a ‘I have a question about ethics?’ conversation?” He couldn’t think what she could be worried about.

“Neither, exactly. Chava?”

“I’d better not, or I won’t sleep tonight.” It was nearly sunset. “I’ll take tea.” There was a pot of it on the sideboard, set on an iron stand, kept warm over a tiny candle-flame.

Melody brought him a cup, and sat. “So. I’m thinking about taking leave next week and traveling down to Kettlesmith. My daughter’s been inviting to visit for Harvestfest every year – she helps organize the festivities, I think she’s eager to show off – and I haven’t been since, gods, since before the war.”

Because of me. Even when he hadn’t spent Sovvan in Haven, she must not have felt she could risk being away.

“My eldest granddaughter is turning thirteen a couple days before,” Melody added. “I’ve never made it down to celebrate her name day.”

Melody had a granddaughter who was thirteen? What an odd thought. You can’t possibly be old enough. “What’s her name?” he asked instead.

A fond smile. “Clara. I’ve got eight now, but Clara was the first.”

Vanyel nodded. “I don’t mean to pry, but…were you married?”

“For ten years.” Melody’s face was hard to read. “Not the best decision I ever made, marrying at nineteen, but it seemed like the done thing. He died of a fever in seven eighty-three.”

Vanyel ducked his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” A shrug. “To be honest, we never did have much in common, though he seemed very glamorous when I was a girl. He was a drinker and a gambler, and terrible with money. I made the best of it, and there were some good times – some very good times – but I figure we’d have ended up parting ways once the children were grown.” She tugged her sleeve straight. “It’s always a tragedy when someone dies young; I’m not so selfish as to say otherwise. Still, I grieve for his loss more than my own.” 

It was such a strange statement to hear from Melody. Vanyel must have made some kind of face, because her eyebrows rose. “You’re surprised I made a bad choice?” Her voice was wry, more amusement than pain. “I’m human too, you know. I was young and stupid once.” She shook her head. “Back to my question. I haven’t confirmed yet, because I wanted to run it by you. Check that you’re comfortable with it, and to make sure you have a plan.” He started to open his mouth, and she cut him off. “No, don’t just tell me it’s fine without thinking about it first.”

Melody knew him too well. He closed his eyes. :’Fandes?:

:Hmm: He could feel her thinking.

:I’ll manage fine: He was fairly confident of that. :Melody deserves a chance to see her family: He hadn’t even known what she was giving up all these years.

:I agree – not on the part where you feel guilty for the past, but for this year: A pause. :She’s right, though. I’ll be a lot more comfortable if you talk it through with her now:

He opened his eyes. “You should go, Melody. I’m excited for you to see your grandchildren. But…if you’ve got time now, I would appreciate discussing it.”

Her eyes went to the time-candle. “I’ve got a few minutes, and we can schedule a time later this week if you need longer. First things. Have you spoken to Stef about it?”

“Er, no.” Vanyel squirmed. “I mean, I’m sure he can guess–”

“Let’s not make him play that game. Van, I really, really don’t want you to spring anything on him unexpected. I’d like you to sit down and tell him exactly what Sovvan has been like for you in the past – don’t make that face at me, we’re both hoping it won’t be so bad this year, but nonetheless, I’d rather he gets a pleasant rather than a nasty surprise.”

“Right.” He rubbed his eyes. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Good. And I want you to take the next day off, like you have in previous years.”

Vanyel felt the protest rising, and stopped himself. Why not? It wasn’t an unreasonable ask, and Stef would be delighted.

“You’re not even arguing with me.” Melody was smiling broadly. “I’m not sure what changed, but I like it.”

Stef. Stef was what had changed.

“Anyone who’s been there for you in other years hardly needs to be warned,” Melody added. “Still, I think you should give Stef a list. Who to talk to if you’re struggling and he feels out of his depth.” Her head tilted to the side. “Another thing. I wouldn’t be surprised if this brings up some weird feelings for both of you, given, well, background. Is there anyone else who has that context?”

“Not in Haven,” Vanyel admitted. “I told Moondance.” Who had presumably confided in Starwind, but even Savil didn’t know.

“Fair enough. I can see why you’d want to keep it private. Just, I want you to be patient with yourself, all right? You’re allowed to have feelings, even if they’re silly, and so is Stef.”

“Mmm.” It wasn’t a comfortable topic.

“If anything really difficult comes up,” she added, “I’ll be back three or four days after Harvestfest.”

He frowned. “You don’t need to rush back–”

“It’s not because of you.” She smiled thinly. “To be honest, I don’t trust Terrill to stay on top of things.”

A wintery grey sky, the sun concealed behind blowing snow…

“Herald Vanyel.”

“Leareth.”

(Vanyel was unsurprised to find himself within the dream. It had been a very eventful few days. Lissa’s mercenaries had been set up in Haven, and the Senior Circle was in deliberations over what to do with them. Their discovery of the pass been shared with the whole Senior Circle, including Treven, but no one outside it, and only Randi and Savil knew the actual location. Treven had been the one to point out that it might be safer for them not to know, if they were intending not to move troops in response – it was difficult for people to truly imitate ignorance, and if a Herald in charge of circuit deployments knew, their decisions might unconsciously reflect it.)

They built their shelter in silence, and sat.

“I ought congratulate the heir to your throne,” Leareth said, “on a very fine treaty.”

(Interesting. He had expected Leareth to find out, but he hadn’t been sure whether or not the man would choose to reveal that fact, and how soon. Had he only just learned of it now?)

“I’ll pass that on,” he said, smiling. “Something else I thought I would mention. Randi decided to explore hiring mercenaries to supplement our Border security.”

(It wasn’t much of a cost to reveal it now; Leareth might not know yet, since Lissa’s return journey had been discreet, but the Council was aware and he was likely to know very soon.)

Leareth’s head moved in a fractional nod, his black eyes never leaving Vanyel’s face. “An understandable move.”

Vanyel met his eyes, unblinking. “Just to warn you, Randi may want to do additional reconnaissance north of our official border. That being said, I can commit now that we aren’t planning to camp troops in number or set up fortifications outside Valdemar. I hope you can take that the way we intend it – as a deliberate choice not to escalate.”

(Negotiations with the Council were ongoing on how much oversight they would need for ‘troop movements’ when the troops in question were two forty-person mercenary companies; they were going to push for a say in deployments, Randi would point out the importance of secrecy, and Vanyel still wasn’t sure how it would fall out. Their likely plans were the same, though. Sending the Icefoxes north of the border, Vanyel thought, still counted as ‘reconnaissance’ rather than massing troops against an invasion. The plan was not to tell them of the pass’s location, and merely to have them scout the terrain – and, maybe, find any additional entry-points.)

“I understand. This decision bears a cost for you, and so it is fair to interpret your withholding from it as a sign of ongoing good faith.”

Vanyel nodded. “Speaking of that. I wanted to see if you had other ideas about ways to build trust, or work around our current obstacles. I have a few.”

Leareth’s black eyes were unreadable. “I will let you go first, then.”

“Right.” He paused, steeling himself. “Have you ever heard of an artifact called a teleson?”

(It had taken him a very long time to think of it, as something he could reveal to Leareth if he wanted to exchange information. Telling him came at some real cost to Valdemar, if he hadn’t already known, which was reasonably likely – they were giving up the chance to use it and catch Leareth off guard. It was only a moderate sacrifice, though; they hadn’t found any use for the thing so far, except as a template for Sandra to experiment with as she worked on designing a magically secured version. Vanyel could have held out for an information-trade, but this was a case where he could afford to unilaterally take the hit – and he might be wrong, but he suspected Leareth would feel moved to reciprocate anyway.)

Leareth’s expression was unruffled, his black-gloved hands still in his lap, but his eyes widened very slightly. “I have. You possess one?”

“We found one, yes. It’s potentially very useful, of course, and we could have kept it secret – but I decided against.” He took a deep breath. “Leareth, if you wanted us to have a way of communicating more frequently than through these dreams, I could send a messenger north. Probably not until spring, but we do have people with the mountaineering skill to get across.”

(He was thinking of the Icefoxes, but it would include the northern hill-folk as well – and the Guard already had plenty of volunteers from that population, the toughest young men and women that the newly included north had to offer. He had overheard Lord Marshal Reven extolling their stamina and nimbleness.)

Leareth’s face and body had settled into an even deeper stillness; it was the only visible reaction, but it told Vanyel plenty.

“I appreciate such an offer,” the man said finally. “As you know, the device is not secure, and relying on a one-time code we agree on now would limit the message length. However. If you wish to convey an urgent report, too complex to explain in a letter, and of a nature such that the teleson’s lack of security is acceptable, I would accept such a messenger, un-Gifted and unarmed, as a neutral rather than hostile act.”

(They had already agreed, in a previous conversation, that if something time-sensitive came up and the dream wasn’t cooperating, either of them could send an un-Gifted messenger with a particular pass-phrase and a magically-sealed letter. They had a verbal agreement not to kill said messenger. Randi was dubious that Leareth would stick to that, but Vanyel leaned towards thinking he would – it wasn’t like murdering them would gain him much.)

“Noted,” Vanyel said.

Leareth watched, a faint smile flicking briefly across his lips. “I ought share information of similar value in turn.” He readjusted his position on the ice-stool, moving slowly and deliberately, and straightened his cloak. “I offer this. Among my army, I have many creatures born of magic. Their creation has long been a pastime of mine. You know of my makaar, I imagine?”

Vanyel nodded. “Not much, but I know the name.”

(It had never occurred to him to wonder if the makaar, the result of Ma’ar’s rushed Great Working to give him a way of holding his own against Urtho’s gryphons, had survived the Mage Wars. Certainly he had never heard of them, whereas gryphons had at least been mentioned in legend.)

Leareth answered his silent question a moment later. “My makaar did not survive, as I controlled their reproduction – they were created for violence, and I judged it would be ill for the world if they were to breed wild. However, since then, I have begun afresh, and created the nalaar.”

He raised his hand, and a false-illusion appeared against the wall. It was a creature clearly based on a bird – a pigeon, perhaps, but it gave the impression of being lengthened and stretched, and its feathers were as black as Leareth’s clothing.

Leareth turned the image from side to side, and Vanyel saw that the creature’s claws were stubby, sharp enough to grip bark but not to tear flesh. Its beak, also, looked more like that of an insect-eating songbird.

“The nalaar are not aggressive,” Leareth said. “In fact, they are somewhat fragile, and unsuited to combat. They have speed and endurance on their side, however, and while they do not equal you or me in intelligence, they possess rudimentary Mindspeech and are as clever as a four-year-old human child, and can learn messages of considerable length in addition to conveying ordinary written messages. I believe one could reach your Haven in two days’ flight.” Leareth’s chin dipped slightly. “I tell you this now that I may ask that you would receive one of my nalaar as a peaceful messenger. If you swear that you will not harm them, and neither will any of your Heralds, I will consider that I could pass critical news in this way.”

(There was the message contained in Leareth’s words, Vanyel thought, and there was the unspoken part – Leareth was choosing, very deliberately, to reveal that he had the ability to engineer animal species. His army might, no, almost certainly did contain others that were better-suited to combat. Revealing it was a gesture of trust, but there was an implicit threat as well.)

“I’ll think about it,” Vanyel said. “I would need my King’s agreement, obviously. Anyway, speaking of sending messengers. You’ve more than once invited me to come north and speak to you directly.”

(Possibly he ought to argue the point with Randi again, Vanyel thought. The King had vetoed it without a pause the first time he mentioned it, and had been slightly more willing to consider it the second time.)

“Why haven’t you ever offered to do the same?” he went on.

Silence.

“If you’re thinking that it’s a bigger risk on your part,” Vanyel pressed, “I don’t think that’s true. Your spies have penetration of Valdemar; you know exactly what you’re walking into. I don’t have the faintest idea what’s north of the Ice Wall Mountains – for all I know, you might have an army of fifty thousand and a platoon of colddrakes waiting to take me out.”

(All willing, they might know more soon, if the Icefoxes were in fact able to infiltrate the mountains unseen. The kyree had offered to do the same. Nonetheless. He had wondered more than once if it made sense to do it anyway – a high-risk, high-reward move that could be the only way to end their impasse. Hellfires, he probably would have been pushing for it, if not for Stef. There were certain risks he was much less willing to take, now.)

A thin smile. “That is not why. My forces are entirely under my command, and I can give you my word of safe passage. I do not think that you speak for all of your fellow Heralds, much less the other Powers that have influence within Valdemar but not the northern reach.”

(That was a fair point. If Leareth came onto Valdemaran soil, alone and vulnerable, a number of people might be clamouring to attack him while they could. Probably no one but Vanyel could take him out in combat, even alone, but he didn’t know that for sure.)

“I will make another offer,” Leareth said. “You will not like it, but it does perhaps place you in a position of less vulnerability than to come north yourself.” A pause. His black eyes were like still pools, impenetrable. “If you were to send your Companion north, even while staying in safety yourself, I would not merely take it as neutral, I would consider it outright friendly, and I will swear to you now that I would grant her safe passage and would not harm her.”

For a moment, all Vanyel could do was stare at him.

(It was a significant jump from Leareth asking him to give up his bond with Yfandes, because he didn’t trust her not to be acting as an agent of the gods. What had changed? Or did Leareth just feel secure enough to make the offer even if Yfandes might turn on him? He supposed it was similar in a way; it would be costly for him, and thus a strong sign of commitment – and Leareth might even see it as stronger than it was. Not knowing about Stef, he might assume that Vanyel couldn’t survive losing her. He wasn’t sure that he could survive it even with Stef, if he was honest with himself, but…maybe.)

He rubbed his eyes. “I appreciate you bringing it up. I’ll – consider it.”

(Another point: Yfandes might not be able to cross the mountains in two days, like Leareth’s supposed nalaar, but she could ride much faster without Vanyel’s weight on her back. Could he imagine circumstances where that might make a difference?)

“There is a way that we might agree to do this together,” Leareth went on, “rather than unilaterally taking on the risk. If we were to send spokespeople to a neutral location – the pass, if we can arrange a trade such that I tell you of its location, or merely an agreed-upon landmark in the mountains – each could verify that the other was present before crossing.”

(Did Leareth suspect that Vanyel knew where the pass was? If so, he wasn’t forcing it into the open. Exchanging mouthpieces, who as a side-note were also hostages, at a neutral location, wasn’t actually a bad plan.)

He nodded his acknowledgement.

“Furthermore,” Leareth said, “we might extend this by trading weak mages, not strong enough to pose a threat to either of our nations, but strong enough to place a simple compulsion-spell. If we both agreed to allow the other’s Thoughtsenser’s to verify the representative’s intentions, and then to accept a minimal compulsion against harming the other, we might then be able to meet face to face.”

(It was the closest they had come to an actual, implementable plan that might in theory lead all the way to genuine trust, Vanyel thought with wonder. He ought not to assume out of hand that Randi would reject it – in some ways, it was a very reasonable proposal – but he wasn’t hopeful.)

They lapsed into silence.

“Herald Vanyel.” When Leareth spoke again, a long time later, his voice was still level, but somehow softer. “Your night of vigil for the dead approaches. I would offer you my condolences.”

Vanyel blinked, startled. “Um, thank you.”

(Hopefully Leareth would think his expression was a mask over pain, rather than real surprise. He hadn’t been thinking about Sovvan at all.)

Still holding her arm, Brightstar paused under the shelter of a large cherry-tree. “Here will do. Jisa, there is something I wish to show you.”

It was autumn. The time had flown past, Jisa thought ruefully – they had been at White Winds for three months. Harvestfest was in a week. The festival was observed on the same date in Rethwellan as in Valdemar, unlike Karse, where they marked the autumn equinox weeks earlier. She was very curious how White Winds would celebrate it.

Three months. Treven must have finished his talks with Queen Lythiaren – weeks ago, Jisa had first noticed the strain in the back of her mind growing, and known he was on the road back to Valdemar, further from her every day. She had missed him already, but had almost gotten used to it, somehow.

It was especially hard to bear when she knew she was strong enough to Gate back to Valdemar. Van had taught her the more directed version of the spell that Savil had designed – he wasn’t good at it himself, even now his control for Gates was too shaky, but Jisa had been practicing. She could make that distance, probably, but not easily or without cost – she would need all of her reserves, which she couldn’t replenish from node-energy here, and it would still exhaust her for days. The much shorter-range Gate home from k’Treva had been gruelling enough; she had been on her feet later that day, but her mage-gift had taken almost a week to recover fully. Savil said that was normal for someone her age; she wouldn’t reach her full adult strength for years.

And she wasn’t ready to give up, not when she was learning so much.

Overall, she was keeping up with Brightstar; he was better at some things, true, but worse at others. Jisa had been surprised to discover that she had a strong affinity for fire-spirits – confusingly, ‘salamander’ was both the blanket term and the name for a specific variety, the most intelligent and willful of them. She remembered Vanyel talking about summoning sandaar, or more precisely mentioned having fought mages who did. It was the only other time she had heard of mages near Valdemar relying on extra-planar proxy, and Vanyel hadn’t mentioned anyone trying to build alliances and goodwill with them. The sandaar, like the vrondi, were rather stupid – Alethra tactfully called them ‘simple beings’ – and thus relatively straightforward to work with. Jisa liked them anyway, they were cute, but she preferred the true salamanders, which were intelligent enough to have a conversation with.

Brightstar was far better than she was at wrangling earth-spirits, and all the variants seemed to adore him. It was probably because he was a Healing-Adept. He had a Gift called ‘earthsense’ that, to their surprise, the White Winds Adepts had heard of. Alethra said the Rethwellani royal family had the same Gift in their blood, and used an ancient ritual known as ‘earth-binding’, performed by certain priests, before each monarch was crowned. A similar rite was used in Hardorn – Jisa remembered learning in her History classes about a ‘magic spell’ that was involved, but no details.

It somehow made it so the monarch couldn’t do anything that harmed their kingdom without harming themselves. Brightstar had been fascinated by the idea and pressed for all the details he could extract – not as much as he liked, because the priests of the old ways, who worshipped the Earth-father and Sky-mother, were, outside of their role in the coronation, an obscure and secretive cult. Her brother had eventually speculated that he was automatically bound to the land around k’Treva, via the Heartstone. It feels different here, he had admitted. I sense the land, yet not as though it is my own body.

Lythiaren must have undergone the ritual a few weeks before their meeting. I wonder what it feels like? Jisa was so curious it ached.

Gervase, later, had dropped the even more fascinating tidbit that he himself had earth-sense, though he certainly wasn’t a Healing-Adept.

All very interesting, but she suspected Brightstar had dragged her out here to talk about something else entirely. They had both finished their evening chores just in time before sunset, and the dusk was coming on fast now, stars appearing in the sky. The moon was rising, just barely peeking over the horizon.

“What is it?” Jisa said.

“We ought sit.” Brightstar knelt and settled down cross-legged on the mossy ground, pulling Jisa down with him. “There. Are you comfortable?”

Jisa wriggled until the stone under her stopped digging into her bottom. “Yes.”

He hesitated. “I am thinking on whether it is simpler to explain, or simply to take you there so you might see yourself.”

Take me where? Jisa felt a thrill of anticipation. “You don’t have to explain first.”

“If you are sure.” His eyes shone pale in the moonlight. “This may feel strange. Are you ready?” Jisa nodded. “It will be more comfortable if you are in trance,” he added, and she closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. It was distracting, being so curious about what he was going to show her, but she knew how to let go of that, letting her thoughts drift until her mind was like still water…

A strange pull, a twisting feeling, and suddenly she was somewhere else. No longer sitting; she found herself on her feet, and the ‘ground’ under her wasn’t ground at all, only a ribbon of light, the exact colour of the moon she had been looking at a moment before.

The sky was dark, but not totally black; there were points of light like stars, and dusty violet trails, and a sort of silver-gold mist hung on either side of them.

Jisa took a step. The path held her weight. She turned to Brightstar – he was there as well, still holding her hand. He looked like himself, if anything more like himself than usual, as though something in him had been purified. His silver hair floated around his head like someone underwater.

…It wasn’t his real body she was looking at, she realized, and it wasn’t her real legs she stood on. Physically, they must still be under the cherry-three. This was a mind-projection, analogous to the various elemental spirits projecting themselves into the material plane.

“Where are we?” she breathed.

“The Moonpaths, sister.” Brightstar looked extremely pleased with himself. “This is the spirit-realm.”

Jisa frowned. “Is that the same thing as the Ethereal Plane? I always get it mixed up. Do varir come from here?” They were a fifth type of spirit, supposedly more powerful than the other elementals, and not bound to a specific element.

“I have not seen one,” Brightstar admitted. “When we reach that point in our studies, perhaps I can explore and find out.” He screwed up his face. “I am not sure that the lore of White Winds is entirely accurate when it comes to inter-planar geometry.”

Jisa was still looking around. “Brightstar, this isn’t from our lessons.” If one of the Adepts had taught him but not her, she was going to hide slimy potato peelings in his boots the next chance she had.

“No. A shaman of the Shin’a’in taught me, some time ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I did not think you had the control to come here safely. It made Father ill, the first time I tried to show him.” Brightstar shrugged. “Had I told you then, you would have been jealous and tried alone before you were ready.”

Jisa rolled her eyes. “You’re such a mother-hen sometimes.” Still, it warmed her to the toes, that he thought she was ready now.

“The Moonpaths are quite safe,” Brightstar added. “To leave the path, less so, but I have been practicing. I can ward both of us from roaming spirits.” His smile broadened to a mischievous grin, and he took a step away from her. “Catch me if you can, little sister!” And he dived headfirst off the path, into the glimmering fog.

Jisa’s mind had still been working on the ‘less safe’ part, but her legs were already in motion. She flung herself after him.

–It was very disorienting. Off the path, there was suddenly no sense of up or down. She wasn’t falling, exactly, but she had gone into a sort of tumble, and it was making her dizzy.

Not her real body, she reminded herself. Focus. Surely her mind was in control here.

She stretched out her arms, willing herself to stop spinning, and found herself hovering in mid– not midair, exactly, but amongst the dusty purple trails. Brightstar was a distance off; she wasn’t sure how far, space was behaving oddly here; and watching with a proprietary smirk.

I’ll get you, Jisa thought, and reached for him, willing herself forward. Brightstar dodged, his laughter echoing all around her. Jisa chased him, giggling as well; odd, it didn’t seem like she needed to breathe here. She thought she had been doing it anyway out of habit, in her body-projection, but it wasn’t like there was real air.

She was clumsy at first, and Brightstar danced circles around her, but following her instincts, she found she was catching on quickly. She feinted to one side, prompting him to dodge, then dived–

Suddenly, he wasn’t a human boy anymore. It was undeniably still Brightstar, but he had somehow taken the form of a hawk, only made of starlight, and he raced ahead of her.

“Not fair!” Jisa cried out after him. “How did you do that?”

–He circled back, and paused in front of her, shifting to his normal form. His grin stretched from ear to ear. “I take on the aspect of my bondbird. The shaman told me this was possible, and then I practiced. It allows me to travel here more safely.”

“I don’t have a bondbird,” Jisa complained.

“I will think on what you might do instead,” Brightstar allowed. He reached for her hand. “I wish to show you something else. It is more dangerous, but if you are with me, you will not come to harm.”

Jisa made a face. “Do your parents know you’re wandering around other planes by yourself?”

“I…did not mention the Void to my da or pa,” Brightstar admitted. “I did tell Father. He was pleased.”

“The Void.” Jisa could feel her eyes becoming saucers. “You can go there?” The White Winds teachers talked about the Void-between-Gates with some frequency, though they called it the Nether Plane. It was part of the cycle of magical energy, they said – more precisely, it lay at one end of that cycle. All waste-energy ended up in the Void, just as all water eventually ran downhill to the ocean and then evaporated into the clouds, and from there it fell back into the world like rain. Jisa wasn’t sure she had completely followed the explanation, or entirely believed it.

“In mind, at least. Perhaps in body as well, but I do not care to risk it.” Brightstar tightened his grip on her. “No matter what, stay with me.”

Another twist, less like a pull and more like falling.

Oh.

Jisa had always thought of the Void as empty – and it was, in a sense, it felt like falling forever into a bottomless well. But they weren’t falling entirely alone. There were swirling colours all around them. Mage-energies, draining through the planes, finally coming to rest here. An endless cycle.

She couldn’t speak; she didn’t seem to have a body at all.

:Stay with me: Brightstar’s mindvoice, close and reassuring. :Everything is all right:

Everything was chaos. No ground; no sky; nothing material at all. Jisa wasn’t even sure that time meant anything here. There was only the sucking emptiness at the end of all things, that drew all it touched into its maw.

It’s so beautiful, she thought wonderingly.

:Jisa: Brightstar sent, a strange intensity in his mindvoice. :Do you See any patterns? Any structures?:

:No: But she started trying to actually look, straining her – not her eyes, she had no eyes, but her mind. :Still no: she admitted finally.

:There is something here that I wish to find: Brightstar sent. :Unfortunately, I do not know what to look for, and…I cannot tell you its purpose. It would resemble a shelter of some kind, that is all I know:

:Oh: How could any kind of structure exist here? There was nothing to build it on. :I’ll help you look: It was very irritating that he wouldn’t say why, but it wouldn’t help her cause to press him. Trust was something she had to earn, and Brightstar would tell her more things in general if she was respectful and didn’t pry.

:Not now: She had the sense of arms wrapping more tightly around her, though purely mental. :It is your first journey here, and I do not wish to exhaust you:

Another twist – and she was back in her body, panting, feeling like she’d run a footrace. Candlemarks must have passed; the moon was high in the sky. Her head felt very empty, like someone had scooped out the insides.

“Ouch,” she said weakly.

Brightstar was there in an instant, supporting her as she sagged. “You did very well,” he said, and there was genuine pride in his voice.

Chapter Text

She was in her room at the Collegium. A private room of her own, that much was a concession to her rank, but small and sparely furnished.

She was making her bed. Not something she had done willingly in years, but it was the rule here, and she wasn’t so spoiled that she would claim special privileges to ignore it.

(Some quiet part of Jisa’s mind stumbled – something was strange, it didn’t fit and she had forgotten a piece…)

She tucked in the corners of the bedspread, neatly, and then straightened up and adjusted her Greys. There were candles burning in the sconces now. She couldn’t remember if they had been there before.

There was a knock on the door.

Suddenly light with joy, Jisa skipped over and unlocked it. “Treven!”

He stepped inside, nudging the door shut with his hip; both his hands were already on her shoulders, pulling her close, and then he picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his middle and held on. His lips were warm and his hair smelled like sun-baked grass, he was there and close and real, and the strain in her chest was gone–

(Another stumble. It didn’t make sense – she wasn’t supposed to be in Haven at all. In fact, she remembered going to sleep on her mat in the White Winds longhouse.)

“Trev, I think this is a dream,” she said out loud.

(But it felt real. It felt so real. She could even sense the flavour of his mind against hers.)

“Oh.” He pulled back, blinking, eyes round with surprise. “I… You’re not meant to be here, are you?”

“I don’t think I am. I think I’m still in Rethwellan.” Gripping his hand, she didn’t want to ever let go, Jisa pulled Treven over to the window and flung the shutters wide.

Dusty purple rays greeted them, mixing oddly with the candlelight. A black canvas, studded with a million distant points of light, and silvery-gold mist hovered closer at hand.

“I was right,” she heard herself say. “This isn’t my room at all. We’re, I don’t know, somewhere in the spirit world.”

“Oh.” Treven was staring out the window, his blue eyes dark in the strange light.

“But we’re both really here. I can feel you.” It was amazing. “Treven, I think Van mentioned something once. That lifebonded people with strong Mind-Gifts can sometimes share dreams.”

Treven took her hands between his. “Why didn’t it happen until now? I’ve missed you so much.”

“I don’t know. Except maybe… I just learned how to project my mind into other planes. Brightstar taught me. Maybe I had to have done that.”

“Oh.” Treven, still wide-eyed, tugged her over to the bed and then sat, pulling her into his lap. “Incredible! What else are you learning?”

“A lot of things.” She tucked her head under his chin, revelling in the warmth. “Trev, I don’t know that I want to spend the whole dream telling you.”

She could hear the frown in his voice. “Is it strat–”

“Strategically relevant?” she finished. “I’m not sure yet. Given that no one will actually tell me what our problem is.” Jisa winced; she hadn’t meant for her voice to be so sharp and bitter. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m sorry – I wish I could tell you everything.” Treven squeezed her close. “I understand why your father thinks you’re too young, but I think that’s horseshit.”

He cursed so rarely, Jisa had to giggle. And then stopped, because she had just realized that of course Treven didn’t know who her real father by blood was. There would have been no reason to tell him, even if he knew all the other secrets.

She decided, for the moment, that she didn’t feel like telling him. Somehow it seemed like it ought to be up to Vanyel, not her.

“We should have a way of testing that this was real, later,” she said. “It feels like it is, but you can’t always trust that. How about I tell you a sentence, and you remember it? I’ll ask you when I get back.”

Treven’s fingers played through her hair. “You’re so clever, Jisa.”

She thought for a moment. “The cat flew to the mountain at midday and ate the moon.” There, suitably bizarre – no one would ever think of that phrase by accident.

“Ha. I’ll remember it.” He fell silent.

Jisa wriggled around in his lap until her eyes faced his. “Trev, we can do all the talking and catching up later, in real life. Right now, can we just…be done with talking?”

The midnight bell finally tolled.

Finally. It felt like the Court reception had lasted about a century. Stef would have enjoyed himself a lot more if he hadn’t been so worried about Van. Not that he was really here to have fun; he had a job to do.

He had gotten regular breaks at least. After that disastrous first spring festival, they had always made sure that he traded off with the other Healers who knew how to painblock. He and Shavri were still the only ones who could do it reliably while Randi was in a conversation, rather than in trance, but arguably that was for the better – it meant the King got mandatory breaks as well.

Behind his screen, Stef had eavesdropped on all manner of private discussions, and until thirty seconds ago he had been doing his best to be charming at one of the Karsite councillors, but his heart wasn’t in it. He could barely hear the man over the dull roar of voices filling the vault-ceilinged hall, and even with his tunic half-unlaced, he was getting very overheated. Why does anyone think the best time for side-channel politics is at an abominably crowded party?

Probably for that exact reason, he finished to himself – it was very difficult to overhear anyone unless you were right in their faces. Not to mention the added lubricant of rather a lot of wine; a man in his cups might be willing to say more than usual, with plausible deniability that it had been a drunken slip of the tongue. Alternatively, one could pretend to be more tipsy than the reality and coax some of the more suspicious members to let down their guard.

Vanyel had been shielding hard all day. If he had been wound up this tightly at any other time, Stef would have tried to do something about it, maybe like that one time he had prompted Van to read his mind and then played through his most inappropriate fantasies as ‘loudly’ as he could. That had shocked him into relaxing.

Tonight was different. It was Sovvan, and Stef wasn’t sure what that meant – except that nineteen years ago, on this day, a trainee Herald-Mage called Tylendel had shoved his lifebonded partner through a hasty Gate, turned his back, and killed himself in the most destructive possible way. Setting in motion all of the rest.

And Vanyel had been set on following him, and had nearly succeeded despite the best efforts of, it sounded like, half the Heralds in Haven at the time. Van both hadn’t wanted to talk about it, and had admitted that he didn’t remember that stretch of time very well, so Stef, armed with a particularly fine wine he had won in a bet and stashed away years ago, had coaxed the tale out of Savil.

Nothing like that could happen again, she had said at the end. Even if it did, the aftermath wouldn’t be so messy. We’ve got protocols now. For one, there’s an actual process for urgently requesting a Mindhealer, and I happen to know their criteria for prioritizing cases – we’d have been at the top of their list in a candlemark.

Her unfocused, wistful gaze said she was remembering just how different things had been then. Stef had managed to forget about some of the changes, even ones that had been in motion during his early years at Bardic, like the Heralds’ Collegium. In Tylendel’s time, they had still been operating under the apprenticeship model. Savil had been solely responsible for three mage-students as well as her nephew, in addition to all her other duties in Queen Elspeth’s government.

Every once in a while, Stef felt like he was catching on to the edge of a memory, though it felt like recalling dreams, rather than his own life. He swore he remembered a grove of trees in Companions’ Field that definitely wasn’t there anymore; he had gone and checked.

Focus on the present. Stef excused himself as gracefully as he could, and dodged through the crowd, following the indescribable tug that was his sense of Vanyel. No one else was moving to leave. The festivities would go until the early hours of the morning, but Randi was leaving at midnight, and that had been his and Van’s plan as well.

–Oh, right, his lute was still back in the smaller side-room where Randi had spent the evening. Stef started to turn, then decided against going back for it; for once, his beloved instrument wasn’t his top priority. I can get it tomorrow.

When he finally found Van, Savil was most of the way through extracting him from a large discussion between half a dozen lords and several of the senior Heralds. One of them was diving in, asking Vanyel some question that Stef couldn’t quite hear over the buzz of other conversations, but that judging by the man’s body language, he considered to be of the highest urgency.

He got close enough in time to hear Savil interrupting Vanyel’s attempt to answer. “I’m sorry, but we really must go. Vanyel, the King’s Own is waiting for you.”

Stef assumed that was a made-up excuse, or at least he hoped so – if Dara really did want to nab Vanyel for an after-midnight debrief, she had less tact than he’d thought. Van didn’t seem to have noticed him yet; he was shielding so tightly, Stef could barely feel him at all, and though his cheeks were flushed with the heat, his face could have been an artist’s marble-carved study in polite illegibility.

Finally, Savil saw him, and waved, pasting a bright smile on her face and speaking a few tones higher than usual. “Bard Stefen! Just the man I hoped to see. Care to join us for a nightcap? I do hope you have a song or two left in you…”

Seeing Savil put on the impression of the vapid noblewoman, pulling rank to steal the King’s personal Bard, was almost more than Stef could take with a straight face. “I would be honoured, my lady.”

He was glad of her help as they escaped, because he had a feeling that getting Vanyel to move under his own power would have been a challenge, and Stef couldn’t have gotten away with steering him by the arm. Van’s expression was still perfectly composed, but it was like there was no one behind it. Wherever he had gone, Stef didn’t think he was seeing the room around them.

The corridor outside the banquet-hall was quieter, but there were still knots of people there, spilling out from the main space. Dara saw them and caught Savil’s eye; some silent message passed between them, and Savil shook her head with a forced smile.

It wasn’t until they were outside, in the chill autumn night, that Stef realized he had forgotten his cloak as well. Oh well. He would survive.

Van still hadn’t said a word. Stef had seen in one of his silent, withdrawn moods before, but this was something else. If they hadn’t discussed it in advance, he would have worried that Vanyel was ignoring him on purpose, and didn’t want him there at all.

Approximately a year later, they reached the Heralds’ wing. With the main doors fallen shut, the hallway deserted, Vanyel finally turned his head to look at Stef, reaching out.

Stef took his lifebonded’s hand. “Van-ashke, do you want to visit Savil for a bit, or would you rather just go to our room?” He was assuming that the offer was a real one, even if it had been said out loud as an excuse. “I mean, or we could still make it to the vigil at the Temple of Kernos, if you wanted to go after all…?” He very much doubted it. 

Vanyel hesitated for a long time, then glanced pleadingly in his aunt’s direction.

Stef was surprised to note that he felt relieved. Well, Savil had been with Van on Sovvan before. They had established patterns. It felt like that would make things easier.

Savil nodded curtly, and set off towards her door. Inside her suite with the door firmly bolted behind them, Vanyel headed straight for the sofa, dragging Stef in his wake, and half-collapsed against the cushions, closing his eyes.

Stef gave him a minute or two. “Van?” he dared finally. “What do you need right now?”

Vanyel didn’t answer, just pulled his arm free and hunched over, covering his face with both hands.

Stef hesitated, then rested a hand on his back. “Van, please, can you tell me what’s going on for you?”

No answer.

“Or shield less?” Stef offered. “I can just be here with you, you don’t have to talk about it, but I’d like to know what you’re feeling.”

:It’s stupid: Vanyel’s mindvoice was tightly shielded as well, but held a hint of…embarrassment? :I’m not that upset or anything, just, my stomach is misbehaving. Thought it was just nerves, but now I’m wondering if I ate something ill-advised: He hesitated. :I can stop shielding the lifebond, but I’d rather not make you queasy too:

“Oh.” Stef’s brain struggled to switch keys. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. Is there anything I can get you?”

:Maybe some water:

“Stef?” Savil’s voice. “Are you–”

“We’re fine,” Stef said quickly. “Van just has an upset stomach. I was going to get him something to drink.”

“I can do that.” Savil reached to briefly stroke Vanyel’s hair. “Van, ke’chara, did you eat the fish? Keiran passed on that she did and she’s sick to her stomach too.”

:Ah. Wonderful: Vanyel lifted his head, and groaned. :Too hot. Stef, help…?: He plucked at his clothing.

“Sure. Let’s get some layers off. Being overheated never helps.” Stef did his best to be cheerful and soothing as he helped Van peel out of his sweat-dampened tunic.

“Why didn’t you leave sooner?” Savil prodded.

:I was managing: Vanyel nudged at Stef with his elbow. :I think I want to lie down and not move for a bit. Can you…?:

“Oh, sorry.” Stef moved out of the way, watching with concern as Vanyel stretched out, grimacing. Once he had settled himself, he reached for Stef’s hand again.

“Hey, I’m here.” Stef knelt next to the sofa. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Vanyel groaned again. :Ugh. This is awful. Feels so disrespectful:

“Because it’s Sovvan?” Stef couldn’t help but snort. “Van, it’s so incredibly not your fault that you’re sick. I’m sure you’ll feel better at some point and we can burn some candles then. But just try to relax now, all right?”

It was a perfect night. The crisp autumn air carried the scent of woodsmoke and baked apples across White Winds. The school had been getting more and more crowded and festive all week; apparently quite a lot of graduates would come ‘home’ for festivals, if their wanderings had brought them nearby. One of the visiting Journeymen was a rather good minstrel, and was playing a song for them. Dry leaves crunched underfoot as Jisa danced.

Here, there was no one to tell Jisa that she had to go to bed, and no one to tell her that she couldn’t drink wine. Her head was buzzing pleasantly. She could dance all night if she wanted to; she probably wouldn’t, because she did have chores and lessons tomorrow, but she could.

Brightstar seemed to be having a good time, every time she glanced over. Three months in, he finally spoke passable Rethwellani, and was spending more time with the other students in the current cohort. Jisa had made a few friends as well; they had enjoyed spending their weekly afternoon off exploring the nearby woods, and playing the occasional prank on their teachers. One of the boys had seemed interested in her, and Jisa had had to dissuade him as gently as she could; the whole thing had been a lot more uncomfortable than she would have expected back when no boys had fancied her.

She was getting overheated. When the song came to an end, she ducked out to take a break, leaning against a tree and letting the sweat dry from her skin.

“Jisa!”

She turned. Brightstar was ambling towards her, speaking with his mouth full; he had a pastry-roll in one hand. He never stops eating.

“Walk with me?” he said in Tayledras, offering his hand. Smiling, Jisa hooked her arm through his.

They walked a little ways apart from the crowd, Brightstar scuffing his bare feet in the leaves. The Tayledras tended to wear shoes when they were scouting, a necessity to protect against various nasty Pelagirs plants and wildlife, but no one wore them at home in the Vale.

Coming to a fallen log under the shadow of a large oak-tree, Brightstar sat, pulling her down with him. His eyes were fixed on the clear sky. This far from the bonfire, the stars were very bright.

“Copper for your thoughts?” Jisa said.

He turned, silver eyes reflecting the starlight. “Lights in the world,” he said softly. “I look at the stars and I think of all the people, everywhere. The ones we try to protect. And yet we cannot save them all.” There was an odd, rote quality to his voice, as though he were quoting a poem.

“Oh, Brightstar.” Jisa blinked away unexpected tears, and impulsively threw her arms around his neck. You see it, she thought, you understand.

Lights in the world. What a beautiful phrase, like something out of a ballad. Hadn’t she heard Van put it that way before?

Brightstar rested his head on her shoulder. :I am glad you are here, sister:

She squeezed him closer. :You’re homesick, aren’t you?:

:…A little: Surprise in his mindvoice. :I did not think it so obvious:

:I know you, silly: She released him. “Can I braid your hair?” she said out loud.

“If you wish.” He always put on an air of indulgent patience when she asked, but she knew he secretly liked it. He was actually quite vain. And his hair was very good for braiding, waist-length and silky. Jisa had always wished her hair was straight – it would have been so wonderful to have hair like Vanyel – or, failing that, in proper ringlets like Mother, instead of halfheartedly wavy.

She was homesick too. Right now, Shavri was probably burning candles alone. It was the first time Jisa had ever spent Harvestfest without her.

Still, she couldn’t be too lonely when Brightstar was there. Her big brother. That had been so weird at first, but now Jisa couldn’t remember why. He was the best brother anyone could have.

A rustle in the leaves. :Children, may I join you?: The creaky mindvoice was unmistakeable.

“Gervase!” Jisa abandoned the half-finished braid and jumped to her feet. “Of course, please!” She liked the ancient hertasi a great deal. He didn’t come out that much; he could only get around with the aid of two canes, and spent most of his time sunning outside his little cabin, or puttering in his garden. Jisa thought that was entirely fair.

He had made it out to them without a guide; mage-sight was enough for him to navigate if he knew an area well. Jisa, curious, had tried walking around with her eyes closed and only using her Othersenses for an entire day. She had tripped and fallen on her face about twenty times, so there was some skill involved.

“Here, I think if we pile up some leaves like this…” Jisa helped Gervase ease down so that his arms and head were resting on the log, his belly supported by a sort of ramp made out of dead leaves. “Are you comfortable?”

:Very. Thank you, child: Gervase rested his snout on the peeling bark, sighing contentedly. :And how are you both this fine evening?:

“Very good, thank you!” Jisa retook her seat. “And you? Do you like parties?”

:I confess I find them rather tiring in my dotage: Gervase’s tail thumped against the earth. :I much prefer a quiet evening with friends, and so I must thank you for obliging me:

“I don’t mind at all,” Jisa assured him. “I like you.”

:Why, thank you very much: Gervase was silent for a long moment. :The earth sleeps restlessly tonight: he sent finally.

“What?” Brightstar sounded surprised. “Are you sure? I do not feel it.”

:Ah. Perhaps it is not the earth, then, and it is simply in my blood:

Jisa wasn’t sure what that meant, but she was curious. “Do you get hunches?” she said. “Maybe you have very weak Foresight. I’ve heard that’s a thing that happens.”

:Perhaps, or perhaps I am jumping at shadows: A pause. :They say the veil between the worlds of living and dead is thinner, on this night:

“That is not true,” Brightstar interjected, with the patient exasperation of someone who had made that correction several times already. “If by the world of the dead you mean the spirit-realm, it is no easier to reach than usual. It is not even a full moon tonight.”

:I know it is not literally true: An amused hiss. :I am perhaps just a sentimental old fool, seeing meaning where there is none:

Jisa had never dared ask before, but Gervase seemed to be in a rare talkative mood. “How old are you?” she said. “Um, if that’s not a rude question.”

:It is not rude at all: Gervase blinked, dictating membranes sweeping his milky-white eyes. :I do not know the year I was born. I spent a time living alone, deep in the Pelagirs, before I became a mage, and I knew of no calendars then. However, I do remember that your King Valdemar was still alive at the time I first wandered your land:

“You’ve been to–” Jisa broke off. “You’re eight hundred years old? That’s impossible!”

“Hertasi live a very long time,” Brightstar said, “and mages are long-lived also. I have not met a hertasi mage before, yet I would expect they would live even longer.” He turned, curious. “You were in the untamed land?”

:Yes:

“Perhaps that is why. The wild magic of the un-cleared land is damaging to many living things – it twists them, and yet sometimes it will change them such that they become stronger.” His mouth tightened. “That is why the creatures I must fight or drive off are so dangerous.”

:You do difficult and necessary work: A waft of approval.

Brightstar just nodded shortly. “You were not a mage then?” he said.

:Not yet, no:

“How did you activate your potential?” Jisa said hopefully.

:I crossed paths with an Adept of White Winds: Gervase sent, :and it came about that I saved his life, and he owed me a great favour indeed. And, you see, I had dreamed my whole life of being a man and a mage, that I could have the power to heal the sick and wounded, to stop wars with a single wave of my hand. But I did not:

Jisa, for the second time, found herself wiping tears from her eyes. There is much we have in common, Gervase had said before. She wanted very badly to hug him as well, but she wasn’t sure if it was appropriate.

:There was enough wild magic in the tree I called home to do one of these things: Gervase went on, :but not both, and in the end, I chose my Gift: He stretched out stubby claws. :I thought that surely I could find one mage, somewhere, who would teach me – and I was right. The Adept welcomed me to his school. His name was Cinsley, and he was to become my very good friend: Another blink, this one slower. :I miss him still:

Jisa stared, still caught on the phrase in the middle. “He could have turned you into a human? How is that possible?”

Gervase lifted his snout. :And was my race not created by an Adept, millennia ago? It is not efficient, to change the shape of a living creature by magic, but it is possible: Another hiss. :He could not have given me the insides of a man, but he could have made my outsides close enough to pass as one:

“Oh.” That was something to chew on. Brightstar, judging by his expression, wasn’t nearly as surprised as she was. “I’m sorry about your friend,” she said. “If you want… I don’t know if you do it here, but in Valdemar, on Sovvan we light candles for people who’ve died. People who we miss. To remember them.” She blinked hard again, swallowing. “I was going to do it by myself before I go to bed. You could join us. If you want.”

:That is a very kind offer, child: Gervase stirred. :It is good to speak of him, and yet still, I find myself restless. I wonder, every year, if my time will come to be Called – and yet, I think, it is not to be this year. There is something still that this world wishes of me:

He sounded so calm. “You’re not scared of dying?” Jisa said.

:Scared? No. I do not wish to leave this world, when there are still gardens to till and children to teach, and yet fear would not aid me. Fear, like anger, can only tear down my dreams and drain my strength. I choose to be at peace with the world instead:

“Mmm.” Jisa kicked at the drift of leaves. How could Gervase be at peace with the world, when he had dreamed of stopping wars and healing the sick, and there were still wars and sick people in the world? Melody would probably say it was a healthy way of relating to it, but it still made Jisa itch.

A long time later, interrupting the companionable silence, Gervase suddenly went rigid, the breath hissing from his nostrils.

“Gervase!” Jisa leapt to her feet, alarmed. Was he having some kind of fit? “Gervase, talk to us, are you–”

Brightstar was already up, cupping the hertasi’s snout between his hands. “He is in some sort of trance–” he started.

:Children: It was Gervase’s mindvoice, and it wasn’t; it was distant, toneless. :Sister and brother. Precious children, born of power, raised in love. Darkness is coming. You will lose that which you need most. You will open a door to find only betrayal and pain; you will stand at a crossroads, and find one another on opposite sides. And yet, if it is all to end in fire and sacrifice, do not despair. Carry the light that your parents bestowed on you, and always remember what you are:

The aged hertasi shuddered, drawing in a racking breath, and then went limp.

What? Jisa’s mind was gibbering, even as she dragged her frozen body into motion, scrambling over to help Brightstar. What? How?

Words had meanings. This…meant something. But her mind wouldn’t fix onto that, not right now.

They lifted the hertasi down from the log, laying him flat in the dead leaves. “Tell your Companion to seek help,” Brighstar said, his voice forcedly calm.

Right. That was a good idea. Jisa had been stuck trying to remember who was a Mindspeaker. :Enara!: she sent. :Gervase is ill, we need help:

:On my way: Her Companion must have sensed that her distress wasn’t just about that, but she let it slide.

Brightstar was gently rubbing the side of his snout. “Gervase, wake up.”

Cloudy membranes slid back from blind eyes. :Where…?:

“You are safe,” Brightstar said, stroking his neck-frill. “Be calm.”

:I feel terrible: Gervase tried to lift his head, giving up when Brightstar held him down. :What happened?:

Jisa was still trying to figure that out.

“A Messenger spoke through you,” Brightstar said. “You said words of prophecy. Has that ever happened to you before?”

Oh. Right. That made more sense. Gervase surely didn’t know that she and Brightstar were related – at least, she assumed he still thought Randi was her father by blood.

:Oh, was it merely that?: Gervase relaxed visibly. :Yes: Stirring curiosity. :What did I say?:

“Do not worry about it now,” Brightstar said quickly. “We will tell you later, when you are well.”

Jisa didn’t think she would ever forget the words. They were burned into her mind.

It was late enough that it might have made more sense to call it morning. Given how early she had risen to start preparing for the Queen’s autumn visit, Shavri might well have been awake for a full day and night. She felt like a doll that had lost its stuffing.

It didn’t help that she had given Need to Dara for the evening; what with her her inevitable black mood today, she hadn’t wanted to force the blade to share her mind, and Dara was better placed to work together with the sword and keep an eye out for trouble. The hall was well-guarded, but anytime the monarchs and entourages of two Kingdoms were all crammed into one building, it was worth taking precautions.

Finally alone, Shavri knelt in her silent, empty quarters, an array of candles in front of her. It felt wrong not having Jisa there beside her, like she had for the last few years. In fact, it was the first time ever that she had spent Harvestfest entirely without her daughter, and that was so much worse. She usually managed to start her private ceremony earlier, too, but Randi had toughed it out at the reception until midnight, and ushering him home and to bed had taken another candlemark. By then, she had been summoned to deal with the fact that a number of the Heralds, as well as some of the other courtiers, were ill with a mysterious stomach ailment. Including poor Van, which seemed very unfair.

Savil had been the only one paranoid enough to propose out loud that it might be a poisoning attempt, but Shavri had already been thinking it.

It hadn’t taken very much investigation to narrow down the source, and it was nothing so exciting, just a bad batch of fish at the Court supper. Shavri had sent a sternly worded note to the kitchens – probably she had been harsher than was really necessarily, but it had been about four candlemarks after midnight by then, already closer to morning, and her feet hurt from crisscrossing the Heralds’ Wing, checking on everyone.

She wouldn’t put it past their hypothetical assassin to mask a genuine poisoning or two behind something innocent, which was the only reason she hadn’t delegated the task to one of the night shift Healers and gone to bed. There wasn’t much a Healer could do about food-illnesses, other than make sure the patient was as comfortable as possible and reassure them that the symptoms would pass, but she could at least Look and make sure it was nothing more than that.

In any case. Her feet ached, her Gift-channels even more so, and the sun would be up in a couple of candlemarks. She wasn’t even sure she had time for her entire Sovvan-night ritual, damn it – and even if she had, tonight it somehow wasn’t falling together. She had everything in front of her, but it felt fake. Pointless.

What’s wrong with me? She thought about Kevran, her first death, and she felt nothing at all.

Maybe she had forgotten how to feel, after so long holding her emotions forcibly at bay. When was the last time she had let herself cry, not for selfish frustration and loneliness, but for someone else’s child? It was different kind of pain: not guilt, not shame, it wasn’t about her. Just the raw clean grief, as pure as a mountain spring. I can’t save everyone, she had said to her daughter. No one can. It’s still awful and a tragedy.

There was a sacredness in staring into that. Seeing its true face. Van had understood it. Maybe the world is broken, and you can’t look straight at it and not have it break you as well. Seems like it might break you anyway if you tried to care less.

And so, year after year, she had wasted what was now a truly stupendous number of candles. A hundred and twenty-one names – only five new ones in the last two years, she worked so rarely at the House of Healing now.

She had to make room for it now, in what was left of the night; she needed this, to hang onto what was left of her sanity, and there might not be another time until next year. If we’re even still alive in a year. A dark, familiar thought, but even that brought no particular emotion, only weariness. 

She had been trying so hard, for so long. Because it was her duty, because it was the right thing to do, because it was worth it – but so often lately, those words felt empty, an ever-receding mirage. When she couldn’t manage to care about Valdemar and its people, she could at least hold onto those anchors still within her reach. Her friends. Her lifebonded. Her daughter.

…It wasn’t enough. Tonight, she thought about their faces, and still felt nothing at all.

Randi was dying. And Jisa wasn’t there. She had as good as grown up – far too soon, but she had flown the nest, and she was living the life she wanted now. Far, far away.

Who could blame her? Her mother’s suite hadn’t been a very happy place in recent years.

I told myself it was all for you, Shavri had said to her daughter, weeping, almost three years ago.  I cheated you out of having a mother, and I thought it was worth it, but it wasn’t.

She should have felt something, staring into the depths of that sacrifice, but the numbness had crept in even there.

And Randi. When had she last been fully there with him, not distracted by a thousand upcoming deadlines? Hells, they hadn’t done more in bed than cuddle in…a year, at least.

He still loved her. And she loved him, obviously, but in the moment, staring at an unlit candle in her hands, she couldn’t remember what love was supposed to feel like. Surely it wasn’t meant to feel like chains…

They had each other, and that was almost enough. It should have been enough. But it wasn’t. She wasn’t enough – she never had been, not since the day Tantras had laid a crown on Randi’s brow.

I can’t. I can’t do this anymore.

Just seconds ago, she had been wondering if they had even another year – but right now, a year felt impossible. The worst kind of race, and Shavri, not Valdemar, was the one losing it.

Why can’t it end?

For so long, she had been eking out one more day at a time, wringing out the last drops of herself. Spending her childhood dreams to buy another step forward. Praying, deep in some secret corner of her, that outside circumstances would intervene and take the choice from her hands.

I want to be allowed to give up.

At this point, this far down that road, she was pretty sure that the only time she would be able to rest was in the Shadow-Lover’s arms.

–A stumble in her thoughts. Stop it. Don’t be morbid.

But could she really say it was false? The war hadn’t even started, and she had already lost. Determination had held her together longer than she could have imagined. She wasn’t meant for this, she couldn’t be what Randi needed – and so, step by agonizing step, she had built the shell of the person she needed to be, the right shape to fill that void. She had torn apart her deepest self as raw material, until there was nothing left of who she really was.

Maybe it had been worth it. Maybe it would, in the end, be for nothing.

Either way, it was too late for her. I’m already dead. The thought drifted past, and she felt no surprise, and no pain. The girl called Shavri had died a long time ago. Her body just hadn’t realized it yet.

It would be so much easier if she could finish the job, go to sleep and never wake up…

–Another stumble. Where did that come from?

She sat back on her heels, the unburned candle slipping from numb hands. Listen to yourself, damn it. From an outside perspective, that was an incredibly worrying thought to be having. Shavri couldn’t muster actual worry, or anything other than exhaustion, but nonetheless.

I don’t mean it – no, some part of her did mean it. Why else did she keep circling back to it, over and over? No matter how reasonable it seemed from the inside, right now, it wasn’t normal. You’re not thinking clearly.

There was probably something she was supposed to do about that – it was stupid to keep doing the same thing over and over and expect something to change – but she was so tired, her head felt gluey, and she couldn’t come up with anything other than ‘talk to Melody’, which was impossible, or ‘talk to Van’, which was the worst idea. I can’t put this on him. Not tonight of all nights.

Surely if she got some sleep, that would help. She could wait until Melody got back from Kettlesmith. It wasn’t that urgent; it wasn’t like she was actually going to try to kill herself–

Stop. Another stumble. Don’t try to brush this off. Maybe she could trust herself not to go jump in the river, but her schooling had taught her about certain other risks. No Gifts were fully under conscious control, and a powerful Healer who wanted to be dead badly enough was likely to find a way. And I’m one of the strongest Healers in Valdemar. Not a reassuring combination.

Even that thought wasn’t enough to raise any real alarm through the fog. Still, she knew that ignoring how she was feeling was risky.

…There must have been something wrong with her, that her first thought hadn’t been to go to Randi. It was the obvious thing, and she was sure he would want her to, but even so, she balked at the idea. I can’t.

Well, the second-most-obvious thing was to go to Healers’ and ask Gemma for advice. That sounded a lot less terrifying, and besides, it was a shorter walk.

Still, it took a long time for Shavri to prod herself into motion.

…Even now, stepping into the candlelit Healers’ station felt a little bit like coming home. Gemma was sitting at the central station with her feet propped up on the table, talking to a yawning trainee. Though the window, the stars were just beginning to fade as the horizon lightened.

“Shavri?” Gemma swung her legs down. “What are you–” She broke off, standing and ducking around the desk. :Shavri, are you all right?:

:No: Weaving on her feet with sheer exhaustion, Shavri was distantly relieved when Gemma caught onto her hands. :I’m really not:

:Hey: Gemma’s arm was suddenly around her waist, supporting her as she sagged. :Shavri, hey. I’ve got you. Let’s get you sitting down, and we’ll figure out what’s wrong:

The rising sun found them still in Savil’s suite. Van was lying on the sofa with his head in Stef’s lap, watching through slitted eyelids as the last of the candles they had melted at the bases and stuck to to Savil’s poor end-table guttered out. The one they had lit for Tylendel had burned down candlemarks ago.

Stories had been told back and forth all night; there had been tears, hugs, and occasional breaks when Vanyel needed to be sick. Van had made a couple of halfhearted attempts to send Stef to bed. You don’t need to see this, he had said, clearly embarrassed, until Stef wanted to smack him. Of course he wanted to be there, even if this wasn’t exactly how he had hoped the night would go. He was glad that Savil was there too, and very glad that Shavri had swung by and confirmed that they were doing all the right things.

So many candles. So many people he had never had a chance to know, at least not in this life.

Queen Elspeth, called Peacemaker; she had always felt like a historical figure to Stef, but Van had sworn his first Herald’s oath to her, and served under her for eight years. She was Savil’s contemporary, hard to imagine as that was.

Queen’s Own Lancir, who had worked at Savil’s side for decades, been the glue that held the Heraldic Circle together through a dozen crises, helped Van rebuild his life, and died in his bed among friends.

Jaysen, the Seneschal’s Herald before Joshel – and, Stef had just learned, Savil’s on-and-off lover for many years – who had given up his life saving Shavri and Jisa from a demonic trap-spell.

Savil’s once-colleagues Justen and Deedre, who had done groundbreaking mage-work in their time – Deedre, in fact, was the one who had discovered the vrondi.

Herald-Mage Dominick, who had once been Savil’s student, and had died on the northern border, a death that they had only attributed to ‘Master Dark’ years later – gods, Stef could never listen to that nickname with a straight face. Does Leareth know they call him that?

Captain Jonne, who had been Vanyel’s lover during the war. Weirdly, Stef wasn’t jealous; he hadn’t been there, after all, he would have been seven or eight years old at the time. It had been a moment of much-needed brightness in a dark time, and he couldn’t begrudge Vanyel that. They had read over one of Jonne’s letters, that Van had salvaged from the Border and kept all this time. Ascott has adopted a little mongrel puppy, he had written. She has named him Acorn, after his favourite food. Stef still didn’t understand why that banal story brought tears to his eyes.

Herald Efrem, who had helped Vanyel train his Farsight, taken him river-rafting once – I nearly drowned, Vanyel had claimed, it was a disaster – and then died fighting on the Border.

Herald Umbria, a Mindspeaker who had worked with Vanyel. She was the best tactician I ever met, he had said wistfully.

Herald-Mage Arina, Vanyel’s first student, who at nineteen years old had called down Final Strike on a battlefield, covering Mardic and Donni’s retreat.

Mardic and Donni, of course. Stef had heard snippets about them before, but tonight there had been dozens of stories. At Van’s request, he had even gone over to their room and dug around under the bed for an old wooden box of Donni’s ink and charcoal sketches. The pictures were faded now, the paper yellow and brittle with the passing of time, but it had nonetheless felt like a precious gift to see those rough sketches of Vanyel and Tylendel together.

Taver, the Monarch’s Own Companion before Rolan, who had died defending Tantras in Horn during the Battle of Sunhame.

Stef had finally found the courage to burn a candle of his own for Berte. She hadn’t been his mother, but he could see now that she had cared for him to the best of her abilities, and in a strange way, he had loved her.

To his surprise, Vanyel had gone on to light candles for a number of people who had tried their very best to kill him. Father Leren. Vedric Mavelan. Priest-Mage Jaral, the Karsite Adept who had claimed so many Valdemaran lives until Vanyel had crossed the border and ambushed him. I murdered him in cold blood, Vanyel had said, speaking to the air, and I didn’t know it then, but he was an honourable man.

Van had even burned a candle for Amelka, the Karsite child-soldier who had wielded blood-power in an assassination attempt that had failed to reach its primary target, but had still killed Taver. Van-ashke, I’ll never understand you.

A thin ray of dawn light fell across Vanyel’s face. He stirred, licking dry lips. :Stef, I’m thirsty: Like he had been all night, he was defaulting to Mindspeech, but including both Stef and Savil.

Stef shifted, helping Vanyel ease his shoulders up enough to drink. “Just a sip. Take it slowly.”

:I feel a lot better: Vanyel insisted, halfheartedly reaching after the cup as Stef pulled it away. :I was doing some self-Healing:

Savil, slumped back in her armchair, yawned and stretched. “Van, ke’chara, are you sure that’s a good idea? Shavri was worried about masking symptoms–”

:Savil, I wasn’t poisoned: Vanyel grimaced. :Or, I mean, I sort of was, but only by some useless cook’s assistant. I’ve been checking with Healing-Sight. Even if Shavri somehow missed it, I’d know by now if it was anything more serious:

“If you’re sure.” Savil swung her legs down from the stool where she had propped them and sat up, groaning. “Well. What a night. Might be the first time I’ve properly done the full vigil until sunrise, if we can call it that.” She yawned again. “I have to say, not something I think I’ll make a habit of.”

:That was the worst Sovvan I’ve had in a couple of years: Vanyel agreed, :and completely not for the reason I was expecting:

Damn it, it was contagious; Stef was fighting back a yawn as well. “Savil, you should go to bed,” he forced out.

“I’m thinking about it.” She leaned forward over her knees. “We all should. Van, can you make it back to your suite, or would you rather sleep in my spare-room? I don’t mind.”

:Can I just stay here?:

“You’ll be more comfortable in an actual bed,” Stef urged.

“Hnng.” Vanyel dragged an arm over his eyes.

“Come on, it’s not far.” Stef tugged at his shoulders. “Van, please. I’m not strong enough to actually carry–”

There was a crisp double-knock on the door. All three of them twitched.

“I’ll get it.” Savil levered herself up with a grunt.

Stef was still struggling to think who could possibly think it was a good idea to bang on Savil’s door at the crack of dawn the morning after Sovvan when she opened the door. “Oh. Dara. What is it?” She spoke flatly, with no real attempt at courtesy; Stef couldn’t blame her.

Dara, abominably bright-eyed and awake, ducked around Savil. “Van, how are you feeling?”

:A lot better: As before, Van included Stef in the link as well. :How are the others?:

“Poor Joshe is at the House of Healing – he was pretty dehydrated and his Companion was getting worried. Everyone else is sleeping it off.” She sounded distracted, Stef thought; her eyes weren’t quite focusing on them.

“That’s what we’re planning on next,” Stef said. “Van’s just putting off relocating to bed.”

“I can help you out.” Dara forged into the room. “Here, if you can just hold on…”

Dara wasn’t an especially tall woman, or as visibly muscular as Lissa, but she was in excellent condition; she lifted him in her arms with a grunt of exertion, but without faltering. Vanyel, to Stef’s surprise, didn’t seem at all embarrassed or self-conscious as she laid him down on the bed and hovered, fluffing the pillows.

“See, not so bad?” Stef said brightly.

Vanyel had already closed his eyes, and so missed the silent exchange that followed – Savil standing in the doorway, Dara turning to look at him, their eyes locking.

Savil took a half-step back, horror in her eyes.

“Van-ashke, I’ll be right back. I’m just, um, getting the water jug.” Stef followed Dara out of the bedroom, tugged the door mostly-closed, and pinned her down with an urgent whisper. “What’s going on?”

Dara glanced at Savil again.

“I’m guessing you don’t want to worry Van,” Stef pressed, “but I can tell something’s wrong.”

A long hesitation. “Shavri is…having a bad time,” Dara admitted finally, keeping her voice low as well. “She’s at the House of Healing.”

“Oh,” Stef said weakly. His mind was already moving, but sluggishly, like each thought was pushing against a wall of fog.

Dara patted his shoulder. “Stef, this doesn’t mean anything for you today – honestly, I don’t think any work is happening today. Tomorrow, we may need to ask for more of your time, but don’t worry about it yet. Get some sleep.”

Chapter Text

Treven, for once, was visibly fidgeting. He had been tugging at his blond tail of hair until he finally caught himself and sat on his hands.

“What do we do?” he said, blue eyes wide.

The sun was only a few handspans above the horizon. Dara had already been awake for candlemarks, and she hadn’t made it to her bed until well after midnight; the fatigue was a dull buzz behind her eyes, but several cups of tea had perked her up.

“We need to tell Randi,” Tran said, his voice heavy. “Once his Sondra passes on that he’s awake.”

Dara had had decided against dragging the King out of bed; Randi was going to be quite miffed with her when he found out, but at least he would have gotten a full night’s sleep. He needed that. Especially if he was going to be doing without Shavri for however long it took to sort this out.

Dara glanced over at Terrill. “What do you think?”

The lanky young man swung around in his chair. “First thing, she needs a goddamned break. We can start with a week – not a week of light duties, I mean a week of nothing. No ‘just one question’. Leave. Her. Alone.” He yanked at a handful of curly hair. “She thinks the entire Kingdom is going to come tumbling down if she so much as takes a day off; she’s got herself tied in knots about it. I spent half a candlemark convincing her otherwise. Please, please, don’t undo all that work, or I swear to all the gods, I will kick you from here to the tanner’s district.”

Dara had never seen Terrill so visibly angry. “What’s wrong?” she dared.

“What’s wrong?” He stood up, leaning over the table. “Well, for one, the fact that nobody, nobody, noticed that she’s been slowly falling apart for months. Or, you know, that you crazy people thought it was just fine for her to be taking on as much as she was. No wonder she’s a wreck.” He folded his arms. “Something has to change. Now.”

“I’m sorry.” Dara should have noticed that something was wrong. You’re the King’s Own. That’s your job. The trouble was, it had always felt like Shavri was at least as deserving of the King’s Own title as she was.

And, gods, it wasn’t obvious to her that the Kingdom wouldn’t fall apart without Shavri’s support.

Dara caught at the thread of thought. You can’t think that way. No one person could be indispensable – she knew that. And  they had managed without Shavri before; she had gone to k’Treva for weeks on several occasions.

Things had been different then. Randi’s illness had been less advanced, and they hadn’t yet known just how serious the threat of Leareth’s army in the north was…

No. Stop. It didn’t matter what the pressures were; it was her job to find a way.

Terrill sank back into his chair, dragging a hand over his face. “No, I’m sorry for shouting.” A crooked smile. “I’m not a morning person, and our babe doesn’t sleep through the night yet. Being dragged out of my bed before sun-up makes me snappy.”

“I’m sorry about that too,” Dara said. “Um, can we get you chava or something?”

Terrill made a face. “If I have any more chava I’ll be bouncing off the walls. Let’s focus here. I’ve got trainees waiting on me.”

“Sorry,” Dara said again; it seemed to be the only word she could manage right now.

Tran rescued her. “We’ll figure out how to manage. Awfully inconvenient timing for the cooks to screw up and knock out a third of our senior Heralds.” He sighed, rubbing his temple. “I can reschedule all the meetings she was supposed to cover, and I suppose we’ll have to steal Stef from whatever else he was meant to be doing. Any chance we could rotate Gemma off night shifts and freeing her up for painblocking? She’s the only other one who can manage it without his being in trance.”

Terrill scowled. “Don’t know how you expect me to know that. I don’t handle staffing at Healers’.” His breath whuffed out. “Sounds like you have to fix your own goddamned staffing, if you can’t keep on top of your affairs without Shavri running meetings. Why? She’s a Healer, not a diplomat.”

Dara wasn’t actually sure.

“We, um, got into the habit when circumstances were tough and never got out of it,” Tran admitted, flushing.

Terrill rolled his eyes. “Bloody Heralds. Bad enough that you do this to yourselves constantly, without doing it to your friends and family too.”

I’m sorry. Dara bit back the reflexive apology; it was probably just annoying by now. :Tran?: she sent instead. :What’s eating you?: He was avoiding everyone’s eyes.

:Shavri covered for me when I was having a bad time: His shoulders tensed. :Randi was down south negotiating the alliance with Karse, Keiran too, Van and Savil were still in Sunhame, poor Joshe was holding down everything on his own and he’d been in his role about a week. She stepped in and picked up the pieces: There was genuine shame in his mindvoice. :And look how I repaid her for it:

:Tran, it wasn’t your fault: Breaking her own rule, she reached under the table and squeezed his hand.

Treven had given in and was running his blond queue between his fingers again. “Terrill, will she be all right?” More than just nervous – he looked terrified.

Right. He’s sweet on Jisa. Of course he would be especially upset.

Terrill softened. “I think so, lad. Well, in the near term anyway. Can’t speak to what’ll happen when Randi kicks the bucket.”

Dara winced despite herself. You just had to say that out loud.

“What, are you all in denial about it?” Terrill cast his eyes around the room. “Her lifebonded partner is dying. It really is something you ought to be thinking about.”

Treven was blinking hard, his face reddening. He looks like he’s going to cry. Dara instinctively reached for his mind, not with words – she didn’t have any to offer him – but with silent reassurance. He gulped, and seemed to regain a measure of control.

“She handled it remarkably well,” Terrill said, smiling crookedly. “Went straight to Gemma the second she realized she was seriously thinking about ending her life. That takes courage. I mean, I could wish she’d realized that being miserable was reason enough to get help, rather than suffering through until it got to this point, but we can’t have everything.”

Dara closed her eyes. Shavri had courage in spades. Of course she did. That was why she was Need’s favourite, even now–

“Oh,” she said. “I didn’t even think of this, but would it be helpful if she had Need with her?” She had dumped the blade with one of Lissa’s Guardswomen to take out for the night before going to bed last night. Did Need even know something was wrong?

Terrill’s nose wrinkled. “That’s the talking magic sword that picks fights with everyone and everything? Let me think about that. Not today, I think. Right now she needs to rest.”

“Morning, sleepyhead.” A pause. “Evening, I should say.”

Vanyel groaned and rolled over. Stef was sitting on the side of the bed, legs swinging. A thin sliver of orange-gold light filtered through the curtains – right, he was in Savil’s spare-room, after spending all of Sovvan being abominably ill.

He cleared his throat. “Did I sleep all day?” His voice emerged as a frog-like croak, and he grimaced and switched to Mindspeech. :Stef, I’m really sorry about last night:

“Would you please stop apologizing? The first five times were plenty.” Stef reached to tousle his hair. “I like taking care of you. How are you feeling?”

:Better: His guts were still a bit uneasy, and his abdominal muscles were sore – apparently vomiting counted as strenuous exercise – but he no longer felt particularly ill. :I’m thirsty:

“Good. I brought you some broth.” Stef reached to help him sit up, and Vanyel let him, even though he didn’t really need it. It was pleasant to be coddled.

Stef seemed distracted, though. His eyes kept drifting to the door.

“What?” Vanyel said, taking a break after his third spoonful of broth; it tasted wonderful, but his belly was cramping. “Stef, what’s going on?”

Stef squirmed.

“Tell me.”

“…It’s Shavri.”

“What about Shavri?”

“…She had some sort of breakdown. She’s at the House of Healing. Everyone’s pretty worried.” Stef saw his alarmed expression, and quickly held up both hands. “Don’t panic! She’s safe and she’s seeing a Mindhealer.”

“Gods.” He slumped back against the pillows. “Shavri. Oh, no. I should have known something was wrong.” Playing over recent days – and weeks, and months – he did remember her increasingly bleak exhaustion. Why hadn’t he tried to do anything about it?

I failed you. She was one of his best friends, and he had been too caught up in his own life and troubles to notice that she needed help.

“That’s what everyone said, but she wasn’t making it easy.” Stef shook his head. “I know you’re going to feel guilty anyway.”

“I want to see her.” He sat forward, started to swing his legs over the side of the bed. Damn it, he had been asleep all day. She’s going to think I don’t care.

“Van-ashke, slow down.” Stef pinned his shoulders back. “Finish your broth. You’re still dehydrated – no! Don’t rush it. Do you want to make yourself sick again?”

“No,” Vanyel admitted.

“Well, then.” Stef leaned in to kiss his forehead. “You stay here, and I’ll go find out if she can have visitors tonight.” 

Shavri opened her eyes to candlelight.

Where…? The ceiling above her wasn’t right. Neither was the bed, the mattress was too firm and the blankets were scratchy.

What am I doing in the House of Healing?

She closed her eyes again; they ached. It took an embarrassingly long time for memory to catch up. Oh, gods. She had stumbled in here and accosted Gemma, hadn’t she?

She remembered enduring the conversation with dull resignation, interrupted only by a vague sense that she was wasting everyone’s time. Now, she could feel a faint note of gratitude at how efficiently Gemma had handled it. She had very calmly brought Shavri to one of the private rooms and dragged the story out of her in about three minutes, at which point she had just as calmly summoned a trainee to wake Terrill, and stayed glued at Shavri’s side until he arrived, occupying the time by making light chatter about her day – well, night.

Shavri, who knew the prioritization system for Mindhealers’ because she had helped Melody design it, wasn’t actually sure that she met the criteria for dragging someone out of bed in the middle of the night, but she supposed it had been only a candlemark before dawn at that point, so she hadn’t cost him that much sleep.

To tell the truth, Shavri hadn’t had the best impression of Terrill’s competence before this, as relayed through Jisa, but she had been pleasantly surprised – not at the time, her emotions had still been on leave, but she was now. He had somehow managed to come across as very respectful, despite asking her a series of extremely invasive questions. At the end of it, he had coaxed her to take something to sleep.

–The rest of the night before finally caught up with her, and her eyes flew open again as she sat up. Way too fast; the room spun.

“Healer Shavri?” A polite, very young-sounding voice. “Are you all right?”

She twisted around. The trainee sitting in the chair beside her bed, a book open in his lap, looked about twelve years old. She recognized him, but the name evaded her.

“Tandry,” she remembered finally. She cleared her throat; her mouth felt cottony. “I, um…” He probably wouldn’t know about the incident with the bad fish. “Is Gemma on yet?”

“She’s taking shift report.” The trainee put his book down on the floor under the chair. “Do you want something to eat?”

She didn’t feel especially hungry, but that was a good idea on principle; she nodded.

“All right. I’ll be right back.”

He left the door wide-open, facing a section of the hallway near the central station. Shavri felt a surge of irritation at the lack of privacy, but she supposed she couldn’t really blame them. She flopped back down onto the narrow cot; somehow, she felt more tired than she had when she went to sleep.

Randi. The guilt rose. She had left him unsupported all day. Surely he knew by now that something was wrong; she remembered Terrill gently asking for her permission to tell some of the people close to her what was going on. Agreeing had felt like the path of least resistance.

Randi would be so hurt that she hadn’t gone to him first. What if he was angry? Her chest ached. I should want to see him. What was wrong with her, that she couldn’t face the thought of speaking to her own lifebonded partner?

Tears pricked at her eyes. He would know how weak she was. Everyone would know, now.

Damn it, they didn’t have time for this. There was a war coming, and here she was, falling apart on them. On Randi. Why am I so useless?

Footsteps. “Shavri?” Gemma’s voice. “May I come in?”

“Mmm.” She rolled over, blinking hard. “Gemma, I’m sorry about taking up a whole room–”

“Cut it out,” the Healer said firmly, nudging the door shut with her hip and balancing the tray she was carrying across the trainee’s abandoned chair. “We’ve got space for you.”

Shavri rubbed her stinging eyes. “Gemma, are the Heralds…?” Panic was rising, squeezing her chest. What if she had missed something, and it had been a deliberate poisoning? She hadn’t checked in all day, and she hadn’t delegated it to anyone else either.

“You’re talking about the disaster with the fish at the banquet?” Gemma smiled. “The kitchen staff are very apologetic. And everyone’s fine. Well, poor Joshel was hit pretty hard, Dara dragged him in here this morning, but he’s recovering at home now – he just needed someone to sit on him for a few candlemarks and coerce him into getting some fluids down.”

“I told him,” Shavri muttered, petulance creeping into her voice despite himself.

“Yes, well, we all know some people are terrible patients.”

Speaking of terrible patients… Shavri dragged herself into a sitting position again, more carefully this time. “Van?”

“Doing fine. Stef swung by a few minutes ago and said they both want to visit tonight, if that’s all right with you.”

“Of course.” Shavri’s throat was getting tight again. “Randi…” she choked out.

“Would like to see you as well,” Gemma finished. “Whenever you’re rea – Shavri, hey, what’s wrong?”

Shavri swiped at the betraying tears. :Gemma, I’m scared. He’s going to be so angry:

“What?” Gemma hesitated, and then pushed Shavri’s pillow out of the way and sat down next to her on the cot. “Shavri, why in the world do you think that?”

:I didn’t tell him:

“Of course he’s not angry about that. Shavri, listen – right now your mind is telling you things that are straight-up not true. Randi loves you to pieces. He’s very worried, of course, and he feels guilty that he didn’t do a better job of supporting you, but he’s not upset with you at all.”

That only made it worse; a sob tore loose from her throat. :It’s not his fault:

“I agree. He’s got burdens of his own, and I understand why you tried so hard not to add any more. So does he.” Gemma rested a hand on her back. “Hey. I get it, all right? You’re a Healer through and through. We never want to burden anyone else with our troubles. Melody’s called me out on that enough times.”

A wet giggle escaped.

Gemma chuckled as well. “She told me I was an insufferable martyr once. All right, we were twenty-one at the time and we were having a fight.”

That was certainly a memorable image. Shavri leaned into Gemma’s shoulder. :She’s just as bad:

“I agree. I’m sorry, Melody, but you can’t work twelve candlemarks a day and then tell your friends off for not remembering that they’re human.”

Shavri snorted. It hurt, and she wasn’t sure whether she was laughing or crying – but Gemma had, as usually, skillfully distracted her. She dabbed at her eyes. “Sorry,” she managed.

“Oh, stop it.” Gemma went on rubbing her back. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for. Listen, I’ve brought you supper, and Terrill will be by in a few minutes. After that, if you’re not too tired, we can let your friends in before they beat down the door.”

Some indeterminate time later, Shavri was sitting up in the chair, working her way through the meat-pie Gemma had brought her. Having washed her face, combed her hair, and put on a clean robe, she felt…no, definitely not her normal self, but less like a stuffing-less, hollow doll doing an unconvincing job of pretending to be a person.

Gemma had set up camp in her room, and a stream of trainees were coming in, asking questions. No one was looking at Shavri oddly, or acting like anything was out of the ordinary.

“May I interrupt?”

Shavri lifted her head. Terrill’s lanky frame was draped against the doorway. She waited for Gemma to answer, but the older Healer just raised her eyebrows.

Shavri sighed. “Come in. I’m sorry to make you work late.”

“Don’t be. I put my little ones to bed and came back.” He glanced around. “I’d like to speak with you alone this time, if that’s all right.”

Before, he had asked if she wanted Gemma to stay, and she had agreed.

“It’s fine,” she said dully.

Gemma stood. “I’ll be here all night, Shavri.”

And then they were alone. Shavri swallowed the last bite of pastry, blinking and trying to muster any energy at all.

Terrill took Gemma’s stool, and settled himself comfortably, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee. He rested his hands in his lap, and raised his eyes to hers. “First off, how are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

“Shavri, please. I want the real answer, not the polite one.” He said it solemnly, but with warmth, and in a way that wasn’t snippy at all. How does he do that? He had the impressive ability to make her feel safe just by looking at her in that particular way.

She closed her eyes. “I’m tired. And, I don’t know, I keep crying for no reason.” Even just admitting it was enough to make her throat tighten up again. “I feel so…stupid. Like I’m wasting everyone time. Because I’m a failure and I’m not strong enough to cope with reality. And…I’m scared to see Randi. Gemma said he’s not angry that I hid this from him, but I know I hurt him.”

“Mmm.” Terrill waited until she had blinked her vision clear. “You feel like you aren’t good enough?”

“Y-yes.” She swallowed. “I know I’m not thinking straight right now. Just…” She scrubbed at her eyes, suddenly angry. “What’s wrong with me? That I can’t do this anymore?”

“It’s all right if it hurts,” Terrill said softly. “It’s all right to cry, Shavri. You don’t have to hold it all inside you.”

A fake, pointless platitude – so how in all hells could he make her feel like it was true? She cupped her hands over her face and wept. I can’t. I can’t I can’t I can’t–

Terrill’s hand brushed her shoulder. He was a weak Mindspeaker, but he could manage if they were touching.  :Shavri, what are you feeling?:

:I can’t do this anymore: There, it was said. :I can’t. It’s too hard: Fate of the world at stake or no. Maybe that made her a coward, but she couldn’t pretend otherwise anymore.

He squeezed her arm. :I agree:

That startled her enough to stop the tears mid-stream. :What?: She opened her eyes, wiping them on her sleeve. :Terrill, I’m pretty sure that’s the opposite of the advice you’re supposed to give me:

His eyes creased at the corners. “You’ll note,” he said out loud, “that I’m not saying you’re a failure, or weak, and I’m definitely not saying that your only way out is to stop being alive. I’m just agreeing with you that the situation you’re in is, by any reasonable definition, too hard.”

Shavri swallowed. :Maybe you’re right. There’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t yell at reality to be different:

“There are things we can’t change,” Terrill admitted. “Things I very much wish I could fix for you, and can’t. None of us have the power to undo Randi’s illness. I’m sorry, truly. It’s awful and it’s unfair and no human being should ever have to deal with that, much less have to stare it in the face for years and years as it slowly comes nearer.” His eyes were intent on her. “However. There are other things about your situation that we very much can fix. Like the fact that you’re apparently in charge of negotiating our contract with the Painter’s Guild, and in general you’re doing about half of Dara’s job. There’s no goddamned reason to put that on you on top of everything else. In fact, I’ve taken the liberties of doing some yelling on your behalf, and that part at least will change.”

:But–: A wave of protest rose.

“I know. You want to help – you always have – and you’re seeing the very true fact that the Heraldic Circle is stretched right now, and the situation really is dire.” There was sorrow in his eyes. “Dara briefed me earlier today on the nature of the, er, threat facing us. I imagine that’s where a lot of the pressure is coming from.”

Dara had told Terrill about Leareth? Shavri blinked. She didn’t have the space to absorb that revelation right now, except to be relieved that she didn’t need to talk around it. :I’m scared: she sent.

“Anyone would be. It’s terrifying.” He released her shoulder, and reached to take both of her hands between his. “That being said, I think you can bear one or two bottomless pits of horror. Every Healer does.”

Her chest clenched. :I couldn’t even cry for him:

“For who?”

:Kevran. And all the rest: She forced a breath in and out. :The patients I lost. I light a candle for all of them every Sovvan. To remember that it’s not right: The tears were threatening now, but somehow cleaner than crying for her own pain. Like the cold of a mountain-spring, bitter but pure. :That it’s not my fault, that I couldn’t save them, but it’s still a tragedy:

“That’s very touching.” Terrill’s voice was soft. “And very healthy, I think. Last night, it sounds like you were too numb to open yourself to those feelings?”

That was it exactly. :I couldn’t care anymore. I wasn’t – I didn’t have anything left, I burned it all as fuel. The person I used to be. It felt like I was already dead. Like the person I was meant to be died a long time ago: Another sob wracked her. :Terrill, I was thinking that I’d already lost. The war hasn’t even come, and – and even if we win, it’s too late for me. Randi’s going to die. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I work… It felt so goddamned pointless. Like I might as well just die and get it over with: She shuddered. :But that’s not right, is it? That’s a monstrous way to think. It’s not about me. I don’t know how I could be that selfish:

“Hey, hey.” Terrill squeezed her hands, then let go and dug in his pocket, drawing out a handkerchief. “Here. Shavri, I want you to take some deep breaths, and center and ground properly. Then I’m going to say some things.” A pause. “Can I get you some water or something?”

She nodded, and blew her nose. Focus. The cup of chilled water that Terrill placed in her hands a moment later helped.

“Is it all right if I use my Gift?” Terrill said. “I’m not going to do anything in particular, I just want to make it easier for you to listen.”

She thought about it, and then nodded again.

The corners of the room softened just a little.

“You feel trapped right now,” Terrill said. “Between your ethics, your sense of what’s right and good, and the realities of being a human being. Deep down, I think you feel you need to be a certain way, live up to a certain standard, in order for your existence to be worthwhile – but you can’t meet that impossible line, and no amount of beating yourself up is helping. You don’t feel like there’s any way to resolve it, so you’re left hating yourself for not being good enough. You’re feeling, right now, like that makes you useless. A failure.” He took a slow breath. “Shavri, I look at you, and I see one of the bravest and toughest women I’ve ever had the privilege to know. Every single time you’ve faced a choice between doing the easy thing and doing what’s right, you’ve chosen the latter. If you think you’re being selfish, well, I think you’ve just damned the rest of us.” A pause. “Tell me – have you ever done anything just because you wanted it? Even if it was inconvenient for others?”

Shavri shivered. Her eyes were leaking again, but her chest felt looser then it had in months. “My daughter,” she heard herself say. “I wanted a child. So badly. A child of my own. That was for me.” And it had been…yes, inconvenient was a good word. For Van in particular.

“Ha.” Terrill smiled. “Leave it to you to take the act of motherhood, generally regarded as one of the more selfless things a person can do, and turn it into something that’s ‘all for you.’ But, good. Shavri, tell me, what did that feel like? Did it feel wrong?”

“…No.” Something fluttered in her chest. “It felt good. Right.”

“I’m glad. Because it was. Shavri, the things we do for ourselves – because they feed us, because they add fuel to our fire rather than burning it away – those are precious. Oh, I’m not saying that people don’t have base desires, or do awful things in the name of getting what they want. And I’m not saying that the other side of the coin doesn’t matter. Putting our principles first, reasoning our way to answers even when they’re inconvenient for us – that’s a deeply human trait, and there’s beauty in it too. I wouldn’t ever ask you to abandon that part of yourself.”

He paused, waiting until she had blinked away the tears and could focus on his face again. “But, in order to be able to carry on the deeply human act of trying to do the right thing, you need to be a person. Honour yourself. Tend your own light. Remember what it felt like to declare to the world that you were going to be a mother, and you didn’t care if tongues wagged or your own babe distracted you from the selfless work of Healing other people’s children. That was you drawing a bright line, and saying that you matter too – and even now, you remember that it was good and right.”

He folded his hands over his knees. “I know it feels like you’ve lost her, the woman who made that choice. But you haven’t. No one can ever take that from you, except yourself, and I would like you to stop doing that. Because when we tally up our moral obligations and conclude that with us on one side of the scale, and the whole world on the other, our weight adds up to approximately nothing – Shavri, when we do that, we make ourselves slaves. Doesn’t matter if we don the chains ourselves, we’re still betraying what it means to be people. Do you really want to live in a world where that’s what it means to do the right thing?” His eyes were like open windows, staring into hers. “Do you want that world for your daughter?”

“No!” The word burst out of her. “No. I want better for her. I want her to have the life I couldn’t. And it’s not too late for her. Yet.” She whimpered despite herself. “I don’t want her to lose it. That joy. Drinking in the whole world. She lights everything. I don’t want her to ever have to let go of that.” Not like I did.

Terrill’s smile could have lit a dark room. “You want her to be happy. That feels good and right?”

“Yes.” Of course. Obviously. How could any mother think otherwise?

“Even if it means she gets slightly less important work done?”

Despite herself, Shavri giggled. “Good luck with that. You’d need a fifty-foot wall to get between Jisa and trying to save the world, and she would still try to climb it.” Her heart sank. “Terrill, I’m scared. That I taught her the wrong lesson. What if she thinks she does have to give it up?”

“You don’t want that.” Terrill’s eyes were very serious. “It feels wrong.”

“Yes.”

“It wouldn’t be worth it.”

“No.”

Terrill held her gaze for ten seconds, as thought waiting for something, and then threw up his hands. “You’re not seeing it. The gods save me from Heralds and Healers who are incapable of moral consistency.” He sighed. “Shavri, you’re someone’s child. If it’s good and right for Jisa to be happy, can you agree that it’s good and right for you to be happy too?”

Shavri rolled her eyes at him. “I know, I’m not stupid. I didn’t want my life to go this way either. I didn’t want to end up this bitter.” When had she become the sort of person who thought that loving her lifebonded partner was like being in chains?

“I know. You’ve had the stakes raised on you over and over, and it never felt like you had a choice.” He reached for her hands again. “The world put you in one impossible situation after another, and you’ve always risen to that challenge. Every single time. Even now. Shavri, you came to us the second you realized how serious a problem you had. I don’t know if you realize how rare that is. You tell me that you can’t keep going, but that looks to me like someone who isn’t nearly ready to give up.”

He breathed in slowly, let it out, and unconsciously she found herself matching his breath. “I know how hard it is to shift our thinking-patterns,” he went on. “How we relate to the world and ourselves, when we’ve been in a certain frame for years, but you’ve never flinched away from difficult changes. I want you to take some of that admirable courage, and do the right thing. Honour the woman you remember being – she’s still you, she’s just gone into hiding – and set the example you want your daughter to follow.”

He held her eyes for a long moment, and then sat back. The corners of the room snapped back into clarity.

Shavri took a shaky breath. “I see it,” she said shakily. “Terrill, I…I don’t know how.”

A crooked smile. “The general advice for when one finds oneself six feet deep in a hole, is to stop digging. Not saying it’ll be easy. Your mind is sick, Shavri, just the same as if you’d given yourself pneumonia by overworking. You’re not thinking clearly – you’ve entrenched some very negative patterns, and that’s not going to go away overnight. You will feel hopeless sometimes. That doesn’t mean that reality is hopeless.” He waited for her to nod. “In terms of plans, I’d like you to stay here for the rest of the week. Not because I think you’re a danger to yourself – I don’t – but I suspect you’ll benefit a lot from a change of context. After that, we’ll see how things are going.”

Shavri opened her mouth to protest that it really wasn’t worth taking up a room here for an entire week, and then closed it. She knew exactly what she would be yelling at Van if their positions were reversed.

Ten minutes later, she was back in the cot.

Randi was there. One of the Healing-trainees had helped him maneuver his wheeled chair right next to the bed, and he was holding her hand and stroking her hair.

She couldn’t seem to stop crying. Not violent sobs; her eyes were just incessantly dripping all over the pillow. The aftereffects of Terrill’s Gift, gentle as it had been, had left her head feeling almost gooey, like tallow melting in the sun on a hot day.

:Shh: His mindvoice whispered against her shields. :Shavri, I’m here. I love you: It was about the twentieth time he had said it.

:I love you too: No matter what else was wrong with the world, that much was true.

Chapter Text

“Oh. It’s you. Come in.” Melody pulled the door wide so that Savil could step through, then immediately turned to Terrill. “Did you randomize her?” 

“Are you kidding?” Terrill was sprawled in a chair with his feet up on the meeting-table. “Of course I wasn’t going to flip a coin for this! I don’t give a fish’s arse about your process.” 

Savil blinked. What in all hells are they talking about? “Did I miss something?”

“We’re running tests,” Melody said, as if that clarified anything.

“Melody,” Terrill said, “has declared that the best way to find out how well the damned herb we got from Seejay works is to have a trainee flip a coin, and either the patient gets the actual thing or they get a random different mix that shouldn’t do anything, and the trainee doesn’t tell them – or us – which one it is.”

“Oh.” Something that bizarre could only have one source. “This is Van’s, er, friend’s idea?” 

Melody blinked at her. “How did you guess? Anyway, Terrill decided to exempt Shavri.” She turned on him again. “Terrill, how are we ever going to get good figures on this if you keep not following the protocol?” 

“It’s against my ethics,” Terrill said. “Besides, it’s bloody obvious who’s getting the real thing – they’re the ones with godawful side-effects for a week.” 

“Terrill, we’ve been over that.” Melody sighed, and dropped into a chair. “Nevermind. Too late now. Is it helping?” 

A frown. “She’s not getting nearly as strong an effect as what Vanyel described, but I’m inclined to think it’s making a difference. Too early to tell for sure. She says the side-effects are tolerable now, so she’s willing to give it a month.” 

“Hmm.” Melody fell silent, fingers tapping her collarbone. 

“Morning, everybody.” Dara popped through the open door, Tran and Treven in her wake. She pulled the door shut, and plopped into a chair. “Van is covering the Web, so this is everyone. Where are we at?” 

Melody glanced at Terrill. “This is your case. What do you think?”

“She needs more time.” He ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end. “She’s doing better, but she’s not well. I don’t know what else to say.”

“We understand,” Dara said. “It’s not convenient, but I’m not going to fight you on it.” She looked over at Savil. “We need to figure out better ways of covering the gap, though. Asking Stef to be on duty from dawn to dusk every single day isn’t going to be sustainable.” 

“You’re kidding me.” Terrill dragged a hand over his face; Savil needed no great skill to read the frustration in his body language. “What is wrong with you people?”

“Terrill,” Melody said. “Not helping.” 

He scowled at her, but subsided.

Why are you looking at me? Savil rubbed her eyes. “We need to delegate more. We already have trained clerks helping us; we should take advantage of that.” 

Dara leaned forward. “Why don’t we add another Herald?” 

Savil could only blink at her. “What?” 

“To the Senior Circle. Assign someone to Haven and give them all the political work Shavri was doing. Hells, maybe we should add two people. We can get someone more junior to shadow Randi and just take notes in all the meetings.” She steepled her hands together. “I used to, but I run half the meetings now, so I can’t, and Shavri ended up doing it half the time. Trading it off between us isn’t ideal, it means sometimes it just gets dropped.” 

“We already don’t have enough Heralds to cover all our circuits,” Savil pointed out.

“We can make do. Cut our numbers on the southern and eastern borders, and in the interior. We can weather that for a few years until our next big cohort graduates. We’re the heart of the Kingdom. Staying on top of things here is a higher priority.” 

We’re going to lose people. Savil kept those words to herself. Dara knew that; it was one of the unspoken weights that hung between them in every meeting, rarely acknowledged out loud. 

Not a sure thing, she reminded herself for the thousandth time. Maybe they could still manage this. Maybe there won’t be a war. 

But that reassurance felt thinner and thinner. She hadn’t forgotten the words in the Temple to Vkandis, the Power speaking through the old priest’s throat. Darkness lies ahead. Trusted allies will face you across enemy ground.

The silence stretched out. 

“We’ve got another question to answer,” Terrill said finally. “I can’t justify keeping her in the House of Healing much longer, and it’s not the ideal environment anyway, but I’m reluctant to just send her home unless she has someone else staying with her, and much as I hate to put it this way, I really don’t want her staying with Randi. That’s too much pressure. I’ve prodded her a bit on what she wants, but it’s a hard question for her to answer right now.” He rubbed his shoulder. “There’s no chance of calling Jisa back from her mission?” 

Savil stiffened before forcing herself to relax. Terrill knew only the cover story, that Jisa was busy hunting for Rethwellani Mindhealers.

“Not urgently,” Dara said, in a tone that bespoke no further questions. 

Silence. 

Treven tentatively lifted a hand. “Um, why don’t we ask Randi? He knows Shavri better than anyone.” 

Savil had just been thinking that Van would have been a much more useful addition to this meeting than she was, on the grounds that he knew Shavri better. Not that she had an excuse, aside from being bad with people; she had known the Healer just as long, and worked closely with her for, gods, almost a decade.

“Well?” Terrill said. “Dara, why aren’t we?” 

The King’s Own squirmed. “He’s resting. We’re trying not to give him anything scheduled before noon. Treven’s right, though, he may have ideas. I’ll have Rolan check with his Companion.” Her expression flattened. “He’s awake,” she went on. “He’s not up for leaving his suite, but we could move over there.” 

Terrill was already on his feet. “Then what are we waiting for?”

Melody rose as well. “Terrill, if it’s fine with you, I’m going to peel off now. You’re the one taking charge on this, and I think that’s right – it’s arguably a conflict of interest for me to be involved. I’ve got unpacking to do, and I need to get our new student settled–”

“New student?” Savil said blankly.

“My granddaughter Clara.” Melody smiled. “That makes five trainees now, and we’re up to ten in the un-Gifted stream.”

“That’s wonderful,” Dara said brightly. “Thank you, Melody.”

Twenty minutes later, they were arranged in Randi’s sitting-room. The King was resting on his padded sofa, the draft treasury-budget he had been reviewing resting across his knees. Stef was already there, sprawled diagonally in an armchair with one leg hooked over the side, lute in his arms, eyes closed. As usual, it was impossible to tell whether or not the young Bard was listening, but Savil assumed he was. He wouldn’t miss a snippet of gossip for all the gold in the world.

Randi looked better than she had expected, given the extra strain. He looked back and forth between them. 

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “Much as I want her with me, I worry that I’m part of the problem right now – I’m a reminder of the work she’s not doing. I almost wish she had family to go stay with, get a change of scenery, but she’s not close with them, and she didn’t have any ideas.” His eyes widened. “Oh!” 

“What?” Dara said hopefully. 

“What about k’Treva? I mean, we’ve always sent Van there when he needed recovery time, and she’s a Wingsister too. She’s come back happier every time she’s gone.” He ran a hand over his hair. “I don’t know if she’ll want to go, but I can ask.” 

Savil resisted the urge to slap her own forehead. Why didn’t I think of that?

“It’s a thought,” Dara said. “Savil?” 

“Seems like a good idea,” she agreed. “We should check with them beforehand, though, I worry that we’ve abused their willingness to help by dropping in with no warning. They’re not going to turn her away, but it’s polite to ask.”

“Of course.” Dara was looking suspiciously thoughtful. “Er, if you’re going to do that anyway, do you think we could kill two birds with one stone?” 

“What?” Savil had no idea what she was talking about. 

The King’s Own glanced around. :Our prospective mages: she sent. :It’s been three months now. Have you checked in lately?: 

:Oh. Right: Savil kept her expression controlled; Terrill wasn’t briefed on this part. “We should talk about that separately,” she said out loud. :Dara, I’m afraid I haven’t stayed up to date: There had been so much else on her plate, and Need’s discomfort with the plan had left a bad taste. :I can ask Melody if she’s willing to give the go-ahead for any of them – but you should know, Starwind and Moondance weren’t delighted about the idea. I’m worried they think it’s against nature or something: 

:Will they do it, though? If you ask?: 

Savil closed her eyes. :I think so: She hated to pressure them with it; it really did feel like they had already asked too much. They had taken far more than they had given back in recent years. What if she was burning goodwill that they might need later–

No matter how much strain they put on the friendship, she reminded herself, Starwind and Moondance would be there. You just don’t like being a burden. 

:Kellan: she sent. :What do you think?: 

He had been listening in, and he flowed into her mind in a heartbeat. :Hmm. I know it feels bad to lean on their friendship this hard, but they will forgive you for it. I don’t think they’re tallying up favours exchanged – that’s not at all how they see it: 

No, of course not. She was the only one doing that. 

Terrill looked mildly confused, but not irritated, and he wasn’t prodding with any questions. 

“I think it’s a good plan,” Dara said out loud. “Obviously we should ask Shavri first, though.”

Vanyel straightened up from his desk as the door clattered shut. “You’re home, love.” About time. Sunset had been three candlemarks ago. 

“Finally.” Stef sounded a little hoarse, and he stumbled as he returned his lute-case to its peg, one-handed; his right hand was curled against his chest.

Abandoning the treasury-budget draft, Vanyel crossed the room and caught Stef under the arms. “Why did Randi keep you so long?” Stef’s face was starkly pale against his red hair and Scarlets, almost grey with exhaustion. His eyes weren’t quite focusing, and his cheekbones stood out even more sharply than usual.

“Evening meeting. M’fine…” 

“You’re asleep on your feet.” Vanyel started nudging his lifebonded toward the bedroom, then shrugged and scooped Stef into his arms. He was almost too light a burden – he had lost weight that he didn’t have to spare. It had been a long week, and Stef hadn’t complained at all about his days suddenly being twice as long, but it was wearing him down.

“Hey…I can walk…”

“Don’t argue.” Vanyel nudged the covers aside with his knee, and set Stef down gently against the pillows. “Let me see your hands.” His partner had already made an abortive attempt to hide them under the blankets. “Just like I thought,” he murmured. “That was too many candlemarks of playing, even for you.” His fingertips weren’t quite raw enough to bleed, but the lute-strings had left angry red marks, dented deep into his calluses. “And you’re all cramped up.” He unfolded Stef’s right hand as gently as he could, feeling the tendons like wires under the skin, and massaged his palm until he felt the muscle-knot start to unwind. 

“Mmm,” Stef sighed. “Feels nice.” 

“Good. I’ll get you some liniment – I picked up a new one, you’ll like it.” Well, he had cheated, and sent Lissa on a mission to find ‘something special’. Stef had been coming home with sore hands all week. “You’ve strained your voice too. I’ll make you some tea with honey for your throat. Have you had supper?” 

“Mmm-hmm.” 

“I’m getting you something to eat anyway. You’re burning a lot of energy when you use your Gift.” With his shields relaxed, he could feel the hollowness inside Stef, the emptiness of his reserves, and how his own energy tried to flow downhill towards it. Rather than fighting it, he reached out with mental hands for the nearest leyline, filtering the power through his focus-stone and keying it to himself before pushing it through the hazy boundary between himself and Stef. He was relieved and pleased to see some of the colour return to his lover’s face.

:’Fandes: he sent, rising. :This is unacceptable. Stef can’t keep up this pace: He sent her the image of his lifebonded sprawled on the bed, pale and still. 

A waft of affection and reassurance. :Fortunately, Terrill already did some arguing. They’ve found someone to replace Gemma as the senior Healer on nights, so she’s swapping in tomorrow. Stef will have the morning off: 

:’Fandes, he needs the whole day off. He’s down to the dregs:

He could tell that his Companion thought he was overreacting, but she let it slide. :I’ll pass that on to Rolan:

Food, food… Fortunately, he had a hunk of cheese and an apple in his drawer, and honey in the cabinet. He poured water from the jug and heated it with magic, then dug around for the new liniment. 

Stef was sitting up against the headboard when he returned. His eyes were focusing better now. “You’re sending me energy,” he said, half-accusingly.

“It’s not mine.” The nodes nearby weren’t much, but they were enough for this purpose. “Here. Drink that, and eat some of this.” 

Stef rolled his eyes. “You’re being such a mother-hen.” 

“It’s my turn.” He unscrewed the little jar of ointment, and laid out a role of gauze bandage. “I’ll start on this hand while you’re eating.” 

“Smells good,” Stef said. 

“I know, right? It’s got marigold in it.” 

“Mmm.” 

Vanyel focused a touch of Healing-energy on the reddened skin as he rubbed the balm into each fingertip before wrapping it in gauze. Stef had munched his way through the apple and finished most of the sweetened herb-tea by the time he finished and moved to the other hand. 

“Better?” he said finally. 

“Mmm.” Stef smiled beatifically. 

That just isn’t fair. His expression seemed to warm the whole room, and Vanyel in particular. Certain parts of him more than others. 

He set the jar aside, wiped his hands, and then climbed onto the bed. “I love you so much.” He wove his fingers into Stef’s hair and leaned in to kiss him. 

Stef relaxed into it, but when Vanyel started to slide a hand under his shirt, he pulled away. “Van, I’m sorry, I really don’t have the energy tonight.” A crooked smile. “I know. Not like me at all.” 

“Hey, it’s all right.” Vanyel hoped he was doing a reasonable job of hiding his disappointment. “You’ve had a long day.” And I’ve been sitting here missing you for half of it. It felt unfair, but it was what it was. He planted a chaste kiss on Stef’s forehead. “At least let me undress you. You can’t sleep in your clothes.”

It was a rare late-autumn day, sunny and dry. The air was chilly, but with extra layers, and a weather-barrier around their picnic blanket, Randi was comfortable enough. 

I remember when we used to do this every week. A decade ago, and it felt like several lifetimes.

Van and Stef had helped carry out cushions, and he was comfortably leaning on a pile of them. Shavri nested against him, her head on his chest. Van was nearby, lying on his back with his head pillowed on his folded hands. The notes of Stef’s lute trailed through the air, keeping his pain at bay.

Just over a week had passed since the morning that Dara had sat down next to his bed and knocked his life sideways. It was hard to tell if Shavri was any better. She was still sleeping at the House of Healing; during the day, she could be coaxed into activities like this one, but she didn’t have much energy. 

It would be their last afternoon together for a long time. Tonight, in a few candlemarks, Savil would be raising a Gate to k’Treva, and sending his lifebonded there, along with Need and the two Heralds who had volunteered to be first to test their idea. Savil had already spoken to Starwind and Moondance and obtained their permission for both. 

:Of course I’m going to miss you: he sent. :But I want this for you, love: 

:I know: Shavri stirred, lifting her eyes to his. :You’re so much more than I deserve, Randi: 

:Stop it: He ran his fingers through her tight curls, closer to grey now than their original sable shade. When had that happened? 

They were both thirty-two this year. The image of her in his mind was still ten years younger, and maybe it always would be, but she was still beautiful. More so, even; she had smiled so rarely in recent years, the change gradual enough that he had barely noticed it, but when she did smile, the lines around her eyes and mouth made it seem so much deeper and richer. A mother, not a maiden. 

Maybe we won’t grow old together, but at least we grew together at all. 

He still didn’t know what to say to her; finding the right words felt like walking through a field of mine-spells. She seemed so fragile in his arms, and sometimes it felt like the slightest thing could push her to tears. I don’t want to hurt you. Not ever again. 

Terrill had told her not to treat her too delicately, though. 

:I’m being selfish here: he sent. :I want your smiles. Your laugh. I want to see you dance again, even if we can’t dance together: He cupped her cheek in his hand. :I’ve appreciated you writing my meeting-agendas, trust me, but others can do that. What they can’t do is be you. I need you, Shavri: 

She stiffened. :What if I can’t be me either? I don’t know who I am anymore:

Yet again, he had said the wrong thing, but all he could do was move forward. :I do: He kissed the crown of her head, breathing in the smell of her hair. :You’re curious and clever and brave. You’re the one who saved Van’s life when you’d only been learning Healing for three months. You’re the mother of my daughter. I could go on: 

Shavri shifted against him, her breath catching. 

He traced his fingers down the knobs of her spine . :What are you feeling guilty about this time?: 

:Randi, I have mage-gift in potential: Her eyes lifted to him again, almost pleading. :If I wasn’t such a coward…: 

:Shavri, no: He pulled her closer. :Absolutely no one is asking that of you. You’ve never wanted to be a mage: He didn’t understand. Through everything, all the pressures she had given in too, she had held firm to that. 

:Maybe I should: 

:There’s no should about it: He stared into her eyes, willing her to see just how thoroughly he meant it. :Shavri, Melody would never clear you for it, and you helped design her standards for the others. Have some moral consistency, please:

:Moondance would still help if I asked, and so would Need: She subsided, though. :I know. My mind is just looking for reasons why I’m bad. Just…don’t you think I’m choosing to be helpless on purpose?: 

:No. Not in a million years. You’re choosing the life you want. You’re allowed to do that, love – in fact, it’s good and right. Do you believe me?: 

A watery smile. :I’ll try:

Bitter cold soaking through the walls of their shelter, fragments of ice hissing on the blocks–

(It had been only a fortnight since the last dream, an unusually short interval. Vanyel was still somewhat preoccupied, struggling to focus, but it would have been a lot worse if it had come a few days ago.) 

“I have thought further on methods of forging trust between us,” Leareth said. “Have you?”

(Not especially. He had been distracted, first by preparations for the Harvestfest meetings, then by the worst stomach ailment he had suffered in years – it had taken him three days to feel fully back to normal – and, of course, by Shavri’s situation. At least she was in k’Treva now, resting in one of the most pleasant places he knew; she would be all right. Surely.) 

He nodded, though. “I talked Randi through all of our proposals. He agrees that sending envoys to a neutral location is a possibility, but he isn’t willing to sign off on it yet. He says that he will if you reveal the location of the pass first.” 

A thin smile. “How magnanimous of your King. I am not yet ready to give you this with no guarantee of anything in return, yet I think I might become willing with a few more incremental steps.” 

A gust of wind crept in through a crack between the blocks, ruffling their clothing. Leareth lifted one black-gloved hand, slowly and deliberately, and sealed the gap with a pulse of false-magic, then smoothed back a loose thread of hair before returning his hands to his lap. Vanyel leaned in closer to the mock heat-spell between them, warming his chilled hands. 

“What we need,” Leareth said, “is a position of moderate vulnerability between us – enough to be meaningful, yet not such that abusing it would be ruinous on either side. Let us say, perhaps, that you take a risk upon yourself, that will bring benefit to me. Imagine that your Valdemaran allies could ensure your safety if necessary, but with a great deal of costly effort, and I might do the same, at a lower but not trivial price. Thus, the risk you take on is only one of losing resources, and not of death – and yet, if I were to exert this effort to save your life, I think you and your allies would take it as a strong sign indeed.”

(That was a weird idea, deliberately putting himself in danger to do Leareth a favour, but maybe it wasn’t so different from the other offers.) 

“Hmm.” He let his eyes drift past Leareth, thinking. “I could propose the same. Come south, alone, and I’ll use the full extent of my power to keep you safe. In fact, it’s actually a more reasonable risk for you to take, because even if you mis-calibrate, you can’t actually die. I can.” 

(It was an off-the-cuff plan that he only mentioned because he didn’t expect Leareth to take him up. He had the raw magical power to protect Leareth against the entire rest of Valdemar if necessary, but to do so would burn a lot of bridges.) 

A corner of Leareth’s mouth tugged very slightly. “The death of my body, at this time, would be highly inconvenient, and is not something I would choose to risk.”

“Fair enough. Just thought I’d say it.” Vanyel fell silent. 

(An idea had just occurred to him, one he was far from ready to share, but he wasn’t sure why it had never come to him before. He knew, currently, of a way to non-invasively and temporarily shut down Gifts. If he and Leareth could negotiate exchanging hostages who weren’t mages but rather Mindhealers, could he convince the man to let his own mage-gift be blocked so that they could meet in person without posing a threat to each other? Maybe if they used the teleson to ensure that both Mindhealers began exactly at the same time?) 

“I had not meant that either of us would step into the other’s territory,” Leareth went on. “I had imagined a neutral mission.” 

(The Mindhealers plan didn’t really work, Vanyel decided – there were just too many ways that an un-Gifted man could still serve as an assassin. Most weapons were easy to detect, but it might be possible to sneak a very small vial of poison, in a body-cavity, or by swallowing it in a sealed package; Katha had mentioned that horrifying idea to him once. And, besides, he wasn’t sure he wanted to tell Leareth about their little Gift-blocking trick yet - assuming Leareth didn’t already know, which was a dubious assumption.) 

“In fact,” Leareth said, “it need not provide benefit to me; it could be to benefit your Valdemar. Perhaps, say, I might tell you of a place in the mountains between us where precious gems can be mined.”

(Vanyel’s mind had darted right to another bizarre plot, which he definitely wasn’t going to say out loud. The remains of Ma’ar’s Citadel were, most likely, buried under Lake Evendim. Which was currently officially part of Valdemar, since the lake-folk who fished it were Valdemaran citizens, and thus it was covered by the Web. Until recently it would have been solidly Pelagirs territory, under the grip of the Star-Eyed. He doubted Leareth had found a way to mine the bottom of what was really an inland sea, two hundred miles across, to see if any of his old artifacts or mementos of his first life were retrievable. If Vanyel could offer him some basic protection to do so… He wasn’t going to; he didn’t have the faintest idea what was down there, and he really wasn’t ready to give Leareth access to the power he had once wielded as Ma’ar.) 

Leareth’s black eyes settled on him, unreadable. “There is something on your mind.” 

Vanyel did his best to smile. “There generally is. I have a very distracting life. I’m sorry, though, I’ll try to pay better attention.” He lifted a hand to rub his eyes. “Gem-mining. Hmm. It might be worth coming up with some specifics of how we would do that, so I can bring it to my King.”

They sat together on her bed, baleful purple light shining through the glass window. Treven held both of her hands, looking into her eyes. 

“I should go,” Jisa said. “I can probably Gate to k’Treva from here–”

“Don’t.” Treven’s gaze was intent, his voice firm. “Jisa, she wouldn’t want you to. Not when you’re learning important things and having a good time.” 

She had been having a good time, right up until the moment she learned that Mother wasn’t. “But she needs me.” 

“She has Moondance,” Treven pressed. “And Need. Jisa, everything will be all right. Besides, if you show up in k’Treva, everyone is going to want to know why.” 

“And?” Jisa said blankly. “I’ll tell them.” 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” There was an odd tightness in Treven’s voice. “I think maybe we shouldn’t tell anyone about these dreams.” 

“Why not? I told Brightstar.” Brightstar had gotten a very odd look on his face, and then asked her a number of strange questions. “He said it’s happened to his da and pa before, though only once or twice.” 

“That’s fine. You trust him.” Treven frowned, lips moving as he searched for words. 

“Trev, I don’t like keeping secrets,” she said plaintively. 

“I know. Jisa, just…” His eyes had gone unfocused, looking past her at something only he could see. “I’ve been thinking a lot about secrets lately. It’s very important in war, you know. Deception, catching the enemy by surprise. It even makes sense to keep secrets from your allies, sometimes, because every person who’s in on it, means another opportunity to leak it, even by accident. Generals will hold back from acting on knowledge they have, so the enemy doesn’t suspect they know, but…it’s hard to do that well. A clever enemy can guess things just from a general’s choice of where to place sentries, say. Sometimes it’s best to keep the information compartmentalized.” 

Jisa made a face.

“I know. Jisa, sweet, you’re the most honest person I know, and I love that about you. It’s just, this is a useful power we have. Being able to speak to each other in secrecy, even when we’re hundreds of miles apart. Having that in reserve…” 

Jisa closed her eyes. “You think we’ll need it.” 

“We might.” 

It was so unfair. She understood it, but it was still horrible. “Treven, I know you can’t tell me, but. I hate not knowing. I hate it!” 

“I’m sorry.” He squeezed her hands, hard. “When you come home, I’m going to press Randi on telling you everything. I promise.” 

She opened her mouth to ask why he couldn’t push Papa on it now, and then closed it. Of course it would be suspicious, when he was supposed to have no way of talking to her. 

“All right,” she said quietly. “I’ll do the responsible thing. I’ll stay here until I pass my Journeyman trial.” She wasn’t too far off. Maybe another month, Alethra thought.

…She had almost forgotten the other thing. It had been on the tip of her tongue, and then Treven had interrupted with the news about Shavri and it had fled her mind. 

“Trev, there’s something I need to tell you,” she said. “A…prophecy we heard, me and Brightstar. I know it sounds insane, but it was real.” 

His blue eyes were naked and trusting, no doubt at all in them. “What did it say?”

She closed her eyes again and repeated the words that she would never forget. 

“Oh.” Treven’s expression had gone slack. “I…Jisa…” Finally, he just pulled her wordlessly into his arms. 

He believed her, she thought, and he was afraid.

Still, it was hard to hang onto her own fear when he was right there, warm and alive and real. She relaxed in his strong grasp for a moment longer, then shifted, reaching to cup the back of his head with one hand and pull herself in for a kiss, her other hand groping for the laces on his tunic. 

Treven stiffened for a moment, then returned the kiss, hungrily. 

He held back less in the dream than in real life, Jisa thought. Before, he had never really let himself get carried away with her. Maybe he felt like the dream wasn’t real and so didn’t count, but it was real enough for her, and she was going to enjoy it for all it was worth.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure you are ready?” Moondance said, his voice very gentle.

“Yes.” Herald Katri’s voice faltered only a little. “I won’t say I’m not afraid, but I’m ready.” She turned her head. “Shavri, will you stay with me?”

“Of course.” Shavri reached out and gripped her hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The young woman’s eyes flicked to her Companion, standing back in the leafy clearing, and she must have received reassurance in Mindspeech; some of the tension in her eased away.

They had been in k’Treva for over a month already, which left just three weeks until Midwinter. Starwind and Moondance might have agreed to host the two Heralds and help with their test – reluctantly, Shavri suspected – but once there, Moondance had wanted to take his time preparing. Fortunately, and rather surprisingly, Need was willing to work with him. She seemed to like him. Shavri wondered if it was because he was shaych, or just because he was himself.

:Need: she sent, along a private link. The blade was in Katri’s hand, her grip white-knuckled on the hilt, but Shavri had a close enough rapport with the sword to speak to her anyway. :Are you ready?:

:Might as well jump off the bloody cliff and get it over with: Need sent gruffly. :Since we’ve already decided to be idiots:

:I’ll take that as a yes:

The young Herald was already comfortably stretched in a hammock, in case she lost consciousness, and Riverstorm was standing by as a backup Healer. Katri was going first, because she had the most experience doing concert-work with Van; she had been his first test subject. If all went well, Herald Nubia would be trying it tomorrow.

“Center and ground,” Moondance said. “Good. Need, any time.”

Shavri leaned into Healing-Sight, diving in on Katri’s body, ready to intervene in a heartbeat. In terms of the raw strength of her Healing-Gift, she had both Moondance and Riverstorm outmatched, and she was the only one who could painblock; the Tayledras Healers didn’t have the same foundations of fine control in their training. She had practiced it with Katri in particular, getting used to her patterns.

She couldn’t directly sense the energy building, of course, but as open as she was, she felt the undercurrents of it as a rising tension behind her breastbone. Even a dormant mage-gift gave her a slight sensitivity, Moondance said – it was the same method by which a different Valdemaran Healer had recognized Vanyel’s use of blood-magic.

Moondance had tested the technique with Need. It wouldn’t do anything to him, of course, but he had the training to directly observe just how much energy overflowed when Need set up a concert-spell with him and then collapsed it on themselves. He had given himself backlash repeatedly in the process; Shavri had sat with him and soothed his reaction-headaches a dozen times.

That was the most ‘work’ she was allowed to do. For weeks, she had spent her days lazing about, resting in the pools or walking the trails. Moondance had discreetly made sure that she had plenty of company; she hadn’t realized just how popular he was in the Vale. Or how well-known she was. Dozens of people were eager to visit his ekele and talk to the exotic foreign Healer who had saved Starwind’s life. It had been difficult to enjoy the attention at first, when she felt slow and thickheaded and entirely incapable of being an interesting conversation-partner, but after a month of consistent sleep, her energy was finally starting to come back.

Moondance, after dozens of trials, had finally concluded that a simple barrier-shield, even an overpowered one, wasn’t enough, but he still thought even a miniature Gate was overkill. They had tried a dozen other spells, traps and mage-lights and more complex shield variants, and settled on a distance-scrying spell, of all things. It was high-power, and needed a constant inflow of energy to maintain, which meant there was a natural ‘channel’ leading back to the mage feeding it.

A shimmering silver circle appeared in midair, like a window – the inside was milky at first, then cleared. Since they had to point it somewhere, ideally a few hundred miles away, Moondance had aimed it at a spot next to the Terilee River. Shavri watched the high, foaming water, snow lining the banks, and felt a distant pang in her chest. Home.

Randi.

She missed him, and yet. I don’t want to go back. Not yet. Haven was duty and traps and a thousand responsibilities weighing her down – and she knew that wasn’t rational, Terrill was right, it was a burden she had foisted on herself and could set down anytime she chose. Still. Just the thought felt like chains tightening around her. I’m not ready.

“Katri,” Moondance said. “Are you well?”

“Yes.” She spoke with the tonelessness of trance.

Moondance lifted his hand. “Need, on my mark.”

A hushed silence fell, and then Moondance brought his arm down, and the world flashed white.

Ouch. Shavri winced in sympathy as Katri cried out, her back arching. Focus, Healer. It took her longer than she liked to find Katri’s center – the young woman’s body was already in a shock-reaction, her heart racing as she gasped for breath.

There.

Katri’s sobs trailed off to moans, then shaky breaths. Her eyes were clamped shut, sweat beading her brow, but she was conscious. Her personal shields were down, though, and she was an Empath; she was projecting confusion and distress.

Her Companion was already there, wedging her white bulk next to Moondance and snuffling at her Chosen’s hair. One of the reasons they had done this outside, rather than in Moondance’s ekele, was so that the mare could stay at Katri’s side.

“Need,” Moondance said. “Shields.”

Shavri felt the opaque shield snap into place, and the tide of feelings that weren’t her own cut off. It had a dual purpose; if it had worked, Katri’s newly opened mage-channels would be raw and fragile, and her other Gifts would be affected as well.

“Moondance,” she breathed. “Did it…?”

“It worked.” He was kneeling next to the young Herald, concern in his ice-blue eyes, but there was a smile on his lips. “Katri, do you hear that? It worked.”

“It did?” Her voice was slurred but understandable. “Must be why…m’so tired…”

“Then sleep.” Shavri squeezed her hand. “That was the hard part.”

“It hurt.” A whimper. “Doesn’t now…thank you…”

“You were so brave.” Shavri took her handkerchief and dabbed the sweat from Katri’s brow. “No more pain, now, I promise. Just rest.”

Jisa danced through the Void.

She was searching for patterns.

Well, she was searching for something, but Brightstar couldn’t be any more specific about what it was. It had seemed impossible at first; even if there was something here, the Void was so big, and chaotic. She had tried anyway, as soon as Brightstar finished teaching her how to guard herself so that her spirit would be safe here. For weeks, she had stepped into the Void every night before going to sleep.

Eventually, something that Vanyel had once showed her had risen to mind. For some reason, he had been talking about ‘true randomness’ – it had been in a supper-table conversation about war-tactics, she remembered vaguely, and on some of the bizarre Karsite rituals around battle, like reading the omens in bird entrails.

The Void, unlike human minds, was truly random. It had no constant structure, no repeating patterns. Which meant that if she could see a pattern, that might point the way to something that had been artificially built into it.

For the thousandth time, it felt like she had almost seen something. A line of energy, almost lost in the background churn, but it seemed more cohesive than the rest – and then it was gone. Maybe she had imagined it, seeing patterns where there were none. Van said that was another thing that people tended to do.

She had been drifting around the general ‘area’ for a long time, but hadn’t caught another glimpse of it. Time to call it a day, and try again later.

Returning to her body, she lay still on her back for a long time, blinking and catching her breath. Wandering about the Void still tired her, even if it was just her mind and not her body that traveled there.

She sat up on her sleeping mat, glancing around. The long hut where the other girl students slept was empty. It was only about noon – normally she did her Void-searching before bed, but today she had been able to start in the morning, because she didn’t have lessons or homework anymore. The day before, she had passed her Journeyman trial, calling the Lesser Winds of the Stable Elements, Fire and Earth, to her hands, and unlocking a vast reservoir of power. It had been exhilarating. The ‘wind’ had come out of the south, which Alethra said was a good omen, and whirled about her three times, leaving her almost glowing with raw energy, far more power than had taken to call it.

White Winds used such funny names for things – it wasn’t really wind at all, it was mage-energy, and Jisa still thought it was silly that fire was called a ‘stable element’ and water was a ‘mutable element’, it seemed backward to her. Though the names were sort of made-up in the first place; the Elemental Plane of Fire wasn’t really made out of the same sort of fire that existed in the material plane, and certainly wasn’t the source of all fire, like the ancients had theorized once.

Brightstar was doing his own testing today. Right now, in fact. She was pretty sure he was going to pass effortlessly, but she was still smug about having done it first, even if it was just because they had drawn straws for what order to go in. It hadn’t been guaranteed that either of them would pass; of the other three students in their cohort, both of whom had started training months earlier than them, two had failed and would be staying another three months before trying again.

Five months. It was just a week before Midwinter, now, and there would have been no hope of making it home in time, except that Jisa was already intending to Gate. She had been practicing Gating a lot. It wasn’t a technique they focused on at White Winds, but after their first three months, they had been encouraged to carve out time for personal study.

Jisa had started out by trying to figure out Gating in a way that didn’t disrupt the weather as much, because having to clean up with weather-working was just as big a cost as tiring out the mage who raised the Gate in the first place. Bad weather came from distortions in the local energy-flows, and Jisa was pretty sure that came from…not sloppiness, exactly, but imprecision, the spell leaking more power than it needed to. If she built a Gate that was neat and self-contained enough, it ought not to leave such a mess.

Theory was one thing, though, and practice was another. At least she had gotten very, very good at miniature Gates, by dint of spending candlemarks a day building one after another, and ‘cheating’ by using Mindhealing to reinforce the pattern in her mind when she got something right. She could finish one in about ten seconds now, if the range was short.

She wondered if spending so much time exploring the Void was making it easier for her to Gate.

Doing two candlemarks of trance-exercises every single day was helping more than she wanted to admit, because she still hated it – but she was training her will, just like Alethra had said, and Gates, at least temporary ones like this, were all about will.

All about will…

Why did you need a doorway in the first place? It didn’t need to be a special doorway, like a permanent Gate-threshold; any hole in a wall would do. In fact, a closed door would work. The mage wasn’t so much using the door’s structure as copying it, like a sewing-template.

Could she hold the structure in her mind alone, and build a Gate-threshold on an ordinary wall? Or in midair? After all, you could build a shield in midair, even a very complex one; mages didn’t carry around wooden practice-shields to use as a base.

Jisa was suddenly wide-awake, thrilling with excitement. She could scarcely wait to test out her theory – but she was drained, and she probably ought to eat lunch first.

When Brightstar finally found her, many candlemarks later, she was sitting under her favourite cherry-tree, bundled up in her warmest cloak, grinning in delight as she dipped her hand in and out of the small, round Gate she had built on the hard-packed dirt, and watching in awe as it emerged, pointing upward, from the other terminus, two feet away. Uncanny. In fact, if she sat just right, she could see herself, from below, through the other opening.

It had been about a hundred times harder than an ordinary Gate, and for the first candlemark she had thought it was impossible. Somehow, though, she had kept trying, shoving her mind at the barrier over and over. There’s no reason for it not to work. And, eventually, it had.

It was harder to maintain; the structure felt less stable, she had to keep holding the shape of it firm. If not for the skill she had gained in controlling her attention and keeping her mind clear, she didn’t think she could have done it at all.

One might have expected that someone who had just done a very difficult test would be tired, but Brightstar wasn’t, any more than she had been; he was bouncing, practically glowing with energy. “Sister, what are you doing?”

“Gates. Obviously.” Jisa tossed a pebble into one, and watched it bounce up out of the other with satisfaction – though, she noticed, it came out moving more slowly. Interesting, but she was getting a headache. “I’m going to drop it now.” And clean up after herself, because the White Winds Adepts frowned on leaving spell-messes around. “How was your Journeyman trial?”

“I passed. It was interesting.” Brightstar scuffed at the dead grass, then squatted down on his heels next to her. He was still going barefoot, even though it was solidly into winter now. Southern Rethwellan wasn’t as cold as Valdemar; it had snowed a couple of times, but only a sprinkling.

“How so?” Jisa let her Othersenses expand into her surroundings, assessing the ripples in the ambient energy around her.

“I did not understand until now how it worked.” Neither had she, Jisa thought; as usual, the explanation had been cryptic and mystical. “I think one is opening two summoning-doorways and tethering the two Planes together,” her brother added, “and making oneself a conduit between them. Since the Plane of Fire is ‘hotter’ than the Plane of Earth, there is an energy-difference, a sort of pressure. Just as water flows downhill, the energy ‘wants’ to move from one to the other – but there is a mage in the way.”

“And then you can intercept that energy-flow,” Jisa finished for him. “I wondered. I didn’t know how it worked at all, just that it felt like a summoning, and then all of a sudden I had all of this power. Do you know how the other tests work, then?” They had already learned the rituals to follow for the Master and Adept self-testing. Alethra and the other teachers had said some cryptic and mystical words about how it worked, the mage becoming one with the Planes, which Jisa hadn’t really believed.

“Perhaps.” Brightstar ran a length of hair between his fingers and started braiding it. “The Elemental Planes of Air and Water are more…distant, one might say, from our own. The barrier is thicker. One cannot pierce it by the power of reserves alone, and it would be impossible to use a node – the spell is too complex, and takes one’s full concentration.” He looked thoughtful. “The power from the Journeyman spell is not like node-energy. It is…more like blood-magic. I do not like the comparison, but blood-power is sticky, one might say. It clings to the mage who channeled it, and if not, to the place where it was spilled. Even if it does not all fit into your reserves, the rest is still there.”

Jisa hadn’t quite named that observation herself, but he was right. “It’s like it has a mind of its own, and follows you around.”

Brightstar nodded. “In any case, it must be as our teachers said, and the power to fuel the Master spell is supplied by the Journeyman spell. As for the final Adept test, I am not yet sure.” A pause. “When you were learning it, what did you think of the final step?”

She closed her eyes, thinking back. “It felt a bit like a Gate. Not quite, but it had the same feeling.” They had practiced the Adept spell ‘empty’, with minimal power behind it, sort of like no-contact sparring in the salle – it wouldn’t actually do anything, but it allowed them to learn the forms, so that they would be ready for the self-testing.

“I wondered.” Brightstar tied off the end of his braid, and started on another; still almost vibrating with energy, he seemed to need something to do with his hands. “A Gate-threshold is perhaps a little like a summoning, in a way, though we do not think of it as such. The threshold is opening a pathway, and the searching is a sort of Call. And yet the Void has nothing to be summoned, save for that which lies on the other side. The destination.”

Jisa had never thought of it that way, but she saw it now. “Brightstar, how are you so clever?”

He screwed up his face. “I am not clever.”

“You are, though. I mean, you don’t learn from books as well as I do, but the way you pick up new magic…” Jisa had always thought she was good at working from her intuitions, but Brightstar put her to shame.

He had turned pink, but he was smiling. “What did I see you working on?” he said, changing the subject.

“I figured out how to make a Gate without an actual doorway.” Jisa couldn’t help grinning. “Isn’t that amazing? I could Gate from anywhere, without needing to find a good threshold. I could use it to escape if enemies were chasing me, even.” Her smile faded. “Well, except that it’s really hard. It took me ages, and I’m probably better at Gates than anyone in Valdemar except Savil.”

“Then you ought keep practicing.” Brightstar returned her grin. “Sister, that is wonderful! Might you teach me also? Your parents and mine will be so–”

“Brightstar.” She lifted her hand. “Listen, I…” How to say it? “I think maybe we shouldn’t tell our parents about this.”

A blank stare. “Why ever not?”

“It’s like the dream I have with Treven.” Jisa pressed her hands against her folded knees until her knuckles turned white. “It’s a secret power, right now. I don’t like secrets in general, but…it’s like I told you. Treven is really scared.” She looked away from him, unable to meet his eyes. “And you know as well. How bad the Problem is. What if having this as a surprise makes the difference between our side winning or losing?” Not that she had the faintest idea what the two sides were, yet.

Enara had been dubious at first, but had settled on agreeing with Treven. The boy has good judgement, Chosen.

Brightstar seemed startled. He sat back, blinking. “I mislike it,” he said finally. “We must work together. When there are secrets between friends and allies, there are cracks.”

“I thought that too, but maybe it’s worth it.” Jisa shrugged. “I was going to tell Treven. I trust him. If he says we ought not tell anyone else, do you trust him too?”

Brightstar was still for a long time, but finally nodded.

Jisa sat in silence, brooding, until the rest finally sank in. “Brightstar. We both passed.”

A fresh smile lit his face. The power still hung like a halo around him. “Yes. We did.”

“We can go home.” She turned, and flung her arms around his neck. :Brightstar, I’m glad you were here with me. It would have been so much harder alone:

It’s beautiful, Stef thought.

:Isn’t it?: Vanyel’s mindvoice floated into his thoughts. Stef carefully didn’t look over at his lifebonded, and kept his eyes facing straight ahead. It wasn’t the first year Stef had attended the Midwinter temple ritual in Sunhame, but somehow it felt realer now. It was the first time he had been here with Vanyel. Even if they weren’t standing side by side, they were together.

It might be our last.

Vanyel picked up on that thought; he was close in Stef’s mind. :Maybe: he allowed. :So we make it count:

Son of the Sun Albrecht – who Stef couldn’t look at the same way at all, knowing that a Power had spoken a prophecy through him, a horrifying one to boot – had just finished ritually extinguishing the altar-flame, chanting in Ancient Karsite, while a small army of priest-acolytes took care of snuffing out every candle and torch, tossing sand into every fireplace, and smothering each brazier of coals. Stef’s nose and ears were already going numb, but thanks to the heat-spell Vanyel had laid unasked on his cloak, his torso was quite cozy.

Over the last candlemark, every fireplace in the nation had been extinguished; now they awaited the sun. Here, and in every temple in every city. It had always seemed like a giant make-work project to Stef.

And yet.

Somewhere off in the distance, a noon bell chimed. The first of many – like in any city, they weren’t quite in rapport.

A thin ray of light started to form, slanting through the air, catching motes of dust. All around him, there was a rustling sigh of indrawn breaths.

Stef dared a glance at the very top of the wall. Every Temple to Vkandis, from the grandest one of all, the central Temple in Sunhame where they now stood, to the meanest rural chapel, had a special window. It was called the Eye, made of a single, thick pane of glass ground into a shape like a telescope’s lens, and it was set such that on this one day of the year, at high noon, the sunlight would fall directly onto the altar, hot enough to light a flame in the fluff and kindling that the Son of the Sun had lovingly set in place.

The Lance of Hope, it was called. On the shortest day of the year, Vkandis would bring back the fire, an omen of the returning sun. The flames would be shared out, each worshipper carrying a brand up to the altar, to carry home and re-light their own hearthfires.

It was kind of silly, Stef thought – there was no magic or miracle involved, just ordinary concentrated sunlight. It would work whether or not Vkandis was paying any attention.

And yet. 

People need stories. Every Bard knew that. Stef wasn’t sure how he had failed to make the connection for this long. The old priest was intoning something in Karsite, his voice rising and falling, his face rapturous.

People need hope. It wasn’t stupid at all.

He watched intently as the tinder on the altar began to smoke, then blacken and curl. Remembered being a small boy, lighting fires from cattail-fluff. He had learned to use a flint-and-steel when he was small, to nourish its tiny spark with his own breath between cupped hands, because Berte when she had taken dreamerie couldn’t be trusted anywhere near a fire.

How different would the world have seemed to him, if they could have stood in a temple like this, among friends, re-lighting their fire from that common flame? Stef wasn’t usually inclined to poetic sentimentality, unless he was writing the kind of sappy song that made Lady Trees swoon – and yet there was a kind of sacred trust here, and he couldn’t quite make it clear in his mind, but it tugged at him. He wanted to name it, pin it down where everyone could see.

Van would understand, he thought.

:Stef: A breath in his ear; a brush of love. :I’m glad you’re here:

So am I. It took a massive effort to keep his face appropriately solemn, and not smile brightly enough to light the fire all by himself.

:I’m glad you’re staying: Vanyel added. :You’ve no idea how badly I don’t want us to be parted again:

It had been a much-discussed matter. Vanyel, Savil, and Brightstar were all going to be remaining in Sunhame to attempt a Heartstone-ritual, and then, if it worked, staying as long as it took to build a Gate-terminus. And Vanyel had put his foot down about Stef going back without him. Stef still felt warm inside every time he thought about it.

Somehow, the final conclusion had been that Randi would stay as well, for some longer, un-pressured meetings with Karis; it was natural for his personal Bard and pain-soother to stay as well. Treven would be going back with the rest of the Heralds, as a test of just how well he could manage on his own. He would do fine, Stef suspected, for all that he wasn’t quite sixteen.

Jisa and Brightstar had Gated home only three days ago, and both were here in Sunhame, crammed somewhere in the Temple. Stef hadn’t had a chance to speak with either of them in private. Jisa in particular seemed different, but he couldn’t put his finger on what had changed, and he wouldn’t have a chance to find out until later; she was going back with Treven. He couldn’t begrudge her that. It was hard to imagine what it must have been like for her, being apart from him for almost six months. And before that, k’Treva. Nearly the entire time they had known of their lifebond, they had been in different places. How is that fair?

Well, at least they didn’t have a countdown on it. They had the rest of our lives – and right now, watching the first curl of flame rise on the altar, Stef could be unreservedly joyful for them instead of bitter.

Nine months. That was how long since he and Van had acknowledged their lifebond. It wasn’t enough, he could drink from that spring for a thousand years and never be sated, and yet. Every moment they had was snatched from nothing. Somehow, in between the machinations of the gods, they had found this. Maybe they can steal our future, but they can’t take away our now.

I love you, he thought, as loudly as he could.

It was a moonless night. Every torch and lantern had been extinguished.

Shavri stood in the warm shadow of the Vale, looking up at the inky sky. So many stars – like someone had spilled diamonds across the sky.

Eight years ago, waking in the depths of the night from a dream of ice and armies, weary and ragged from years on the Border alone, Vanyel had nonetheless found the strength to dig out pen and paper and write down Leareth’s words verbatim. I look at the stars, and I remember that there are so many lights in the world, who are worth saving, and we cannot save all of them – from the very beginning, it was too late to save all of them – but we can still save some. Three years ago, Shavri had read those words, sitting in the office of the King’s Own with a cup of tea cooling in her hand, and turned to face the wall to hide her tears.

The year was 809. Coming on twenty years since the start of it all – the day she had run toward the screams for help rather than away, and dragged Van back to life by sheer effort of will. The first step of a long, twisting journey that had finally brought her here.

Katri and Nubia were somewhere nearby. Their Gift-awakenings and training had gone as smoothly as could be expected; the more cautious protocol had left their mage-channels less damaged, so that it took Moondance and Shavri in concert only a few days to Heal them, and aside from the first moments, the process had been almost painless. Shavri needed to sleep sometimes, but Need could keep them unconscious while she took a break; it was what she had done with Vanyel after his injuries in the Tower.

Both of them were going to be Master-level mages when they were fully trained. As Moondance had hoped, the initial backlash of energy had ripped their dormant channels only partway open, which made their initial training much easier. It had still cost weeks of his time, and Starwind was still talking to the other elders, working out exactly how much k’Treva was willing to spare for them. The two Heralds were pulling their weight now, riding out with scout-missions, but they wouldn’t be staying long enough to entirely pay back that debt.

Starwind, his voice clear and unhesitating, had just finishing recounting a list of all of the deaths that year. Ten of them. For all that k’Treva sometimes seemed like the Havens on earth, the Hawkbrothers hardly lived safe or easy lives.

Just like Heralds. They so rarely lived long enough to die in their beds among friends.

Snowlight sang, leading each verse of a song that every throat in the Vale repeated after her. She had a beautiful voice, Shavri thought, a little like Breda’s. Rich and creamy.

Sun / sailing away / I don’t know where / I don’t know why

Sky / darkening grey / Wishing there weren’t / so many goodbyes

Shavri didn’t know the song, but she sang along as well as she could, reaching for the highest harmonies. They seemed to hang in the air like bells. She had forgotten what it felt like to sing.

She had never celebrated Midwinter in k’Treva before. It had been a festive day, games and food and wrestling in the snow outside the Vale. Shavri had sat with Snowlight by one of the pools, trailing their feet in the water, and commiserated with her on how much they missed their daughters. Featherfire had been gone for six months now, and her last letter home had hinted that she might want to stay in Highjorune permanently – supervising the Heartstone, representing her people in a region they had long abandoned, but the true reason was Tashir. Who would have thought? It was a very good thing for her and the young man both, Shavri hoped, but her chest ached when she imagined herself in Snowlight’s shoes.

Another elder read a list of that year’s births. Twelve of them. With each name, one of the torches around the courtyard flared to life. By magic, Shavri assumed, because nothing and no one else moved.

Another song began. It was a happier one, call-and-response, and Shavri was quickly lost as the harmonies grew and spread. People were laughing around her, twirling, already starting to dance. One of the hertasi, for once not trying to stay hidden, offered her a spiced drink. She was pretty sure it had something in it other than alcohol, but right now that was fine with her, and she gulped it down.

Some of the hertasi were dancing too, which made Shavri grin; she had never seen that before! Others were moving about, lighting all of the other torches and lanterns until the entire Vale glowed. There were mage-lights as well, in many colours. Moondance had already warned her that the festivities would go until sunrise, and she would have to make her escape if she wanted to go to bed before that.

She wasn’t sure that she did. I remember how we used to stay up all night and dance. She had been so young, then – but she was hardly an old woman now. Thirty-three. Savil, at her age, wouldn’t have hesitated to party through the night.

Then someone was offering his arm, and she recognized Summertree. :Dance with me?:

:Of course: Grinning, laughing, she took his hand.

He found her attractive; she hardly needed the Mindspeech overtones to notice that. She wasn’t sure that she reciprocated his interest, he wasn’t Randi, but she had to admit that she liked the attention.

You shouldn’t feel bad, Randi had said to her before she left. I can’t satisfy your desires the way I could once. If you’re moved to bed some beautiful Hawkbrother scout, please do – and tell me all the juicy details later.

She had thrown a pillow at his face. I don’t want someone else. At the time, lost in grey haze, it had been hard to imagine wanting that with anyone at all.

Now, she still wasn’t sure how far she wanted this to go – but if dancing led to some kissing and snuggling, she wasn’t going to complain. Who knew when, or if, she would have another chance? This life is all I have. Words that might have seemed like a curse, before, but now there was a release in it. Freedom, almost. This is mine.

Two-and-some months, and she was finally, tentatively, starting to think about going back. Haven was a thousand unwanted duties, the crushing weight of a Kingdom to hold – but it was also everything that she loved most. My home. My people.

Randi.

Pain waited for her there, but it was finally, tentatively, starting to seem like it might be worth it.

Chapter Text

Leaning back against the pillows in the giant four-poster bed in the Karsite Palace royal suite, wishing the room would stop lazily spinning around him, Randi met the earnest blue eyes of the boy in front of him. “Treven, listen to me. I do understand, truly. I’m afraid I still have to say no.”

It hurt, watching the lad’s expression fall, the disappointment showing for only an instant before he smoothed it away behind a polite nod. “Thank you,” the sixteen-year-old heir said. “I understand. I do hope you’ll reconsider soon, but I will respect your wishes.”

It was the morning after Midwinter Day and its endless parade of festivities and meetings. Randi was exhausted, and Treven had asked to see him first thing this morning. Assuming he had a question about ongoing Kingdom governance – he was headed back to handle things alone for weeks, after all – Randi had made time for it.

Instead, Treven had sat down, fidgeted for a minute, and then blurted out his request. I want your permission to tell Jisa everything.

He had made a fairly good case for it. They were lifebonded. Jisa was a Herald-trainee. They had trusted her enough to send her on an actually-quite-sensitive mission to White Winds – and she had managed to pass the Journeyman tests for a notoriously strict school, which indicated maturity.

Randi ached to say yes.

And he couldn’t. This wasn’t a decision to be made in a day, certainly not when he was this groggy. His right thigh ached, deep in the bone, and no amount of shifting position had helped. On top of that, he was stupidly dizzy, and quite nauseated. The poppy-syrup he took every night now to sleep blocked up his innards at the best of times, and none of the other Healers could combat it as well as Shavri. This morning, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to swallow anything except tea and his morning painkillers, which, of course, only made it worse – he wasn’t supposed to take them on an empty stomach.

Focus. He had to think of something to tell Treven.

The issue wasn’t precisely that he didn’t trust Jisa. Even in the little time he had spent with her since her return, he could see she had done a lot of growing up. Still, she wasn’t even fourteen. Most fourteen-year-olds couldn’t reliably keep secrets. Surely that was the reasonable outside perspective.

Above all, he couldn’t afford to be biased, and separately, he had to avoid the rest of the Heraldic Circle thinking that Jisa was getting special treatment by dint of being his daughter.

:Sondra: he sent. :What do you think?:

His Companion was in her straw-lined indoor stall a few yards away, munching away at her hay. :Chosen, Enara does say that she showed great maturity at White Winds. Still, I don’t think it would be unreasonable to say that you want to take some time and observe that yourself. It was a different environment, one that rarely tempted her to indiscretion:

That made sense. Randi swallowed. “Treven, I will keep thinking about it. I’m glad you brought this to my attention, and I do understand how hard it is to keep something from your lifebonded. It’s just. I would rather take my time making a decision that significant, and I need the rest of the Senior Circle on board.”

Randi closed his eyes, drawing a slow breath in through his nose and focusing as hard as he could on his feet; it was the trick Shavri had taught him to ease nausea. It wasn’t helping much today.

“Of course,” Treven answered. A pause. “Are you all right? You look pale.”

Randi forced his eyes open, blinking until the spots cleared, and tried for a smile. “I’m pretty tired from yesterday. Um, if that was your main question, could we take the rest up later?” I hate this goddamned illness. Everyone kept telling him not to be embarrassed, that they understood, but still.

Treven’s eyes creased with concern. “Should I get one of the Healers?”

“…That’s probably a good idea,” Randi admitted. Stef was going it be in soon, but that wouldn’t solve this particular issue.

And Shavri was still gone – just thinking about her, the strain in his chest redoubled, the part of him that was twined around her stretched near to the breaking point.

I love you. I need you. Please come home.

But Randi couldn’t ask it of her any sooner than she was ready. Putting that pressure on her was exactly what had caused the problem in the first place.

Savil lowered her hands, swayed on her feet for a moment, and then sat down abruptly on the floor. “We did it.”

“We did it.” Sitting down was a good plan, Vanyel decided, and joined her.

Brightstar stayed on his feet a moment longer, reaching out with mental hands and just touching the new, pulsating light of the Heartstone in front of them.

Even though he was drained to the dregs, Vanyel didn’t follow suit. He had no particular desire to feel the alien touch of a god-fragment’s not-quite-mind, and he definitely didn’t want to attract any more of the Star-Eyed’s attention.

It had been an incredibly difficult working. Three wasn’t considered a stable configuration for concert-work, but they had no other mages who were strong or well-trained enough to help; Jisa would have been, but they were still keeping her Gift concealed, and besides, asking her to stay back would have meant separating her from Treven. All three of them were very comfortable with concert-work, which was the only way they had pulled it off at all.

They were currently in a small antechamber behind the altar; it had previously served for storing ritual artifacts, but Son of the Sun Albrecht had approved their repurposing it. The three of them had spent yesterday laying thorough permanent shields on it, since they had no wish to turn all of the priest-acolytes’ hair white by exposing them to the ambient energy of a Heartstone.

It had worked. Vanyel still wasn’t sure whether he ought to be surprised, or what information it gave him, that Vkandis had allowed the Star-Eyed to leave behind a part of Herself in His realm.

“I could sleep for a week,” Savil said shakily. “Can anyone else get the door? I’m…not sure I should try to get up, yet.”

“I will.” Brightstar, who had settled down on his haunches against the wall, rose and unbolted the heavy oak door. “Father Albrecht?” he called out in stilted Karsite. “It is done.”

A muffled acknowledgement. Thirty seconds or so later, the elderly man puttered into the room. “Oh!” He pressed a hand to his chest. “I feel… Incredible. You really did it.”

:What is he saying?: Brightstar sent helplessly. His Karsite was still very iffy.

:He’s praising your work: Vanyel confirmed.

The priest clapped Brightstar on the shoulder, then shared an almost mischievous smile with Savil and Vanyel. “If our forefathers could see this… How heretical. Two Powers joining hands. I rather think they might be proud.” He rubbed his hands together, gleeful. “You must be tired. Rest here awhile, if you wish; I will call for an acolyte to bring you refreshments.”

Vanyel couldn’t help smiling. It was hard not to like the old man, even if his face was an incessant reminder of the unwanted words of prophecy. He didn’t mind the idea of sitting down a bit longer, either.

:Brightstar: he sent. He hadn’t wanted to distract their preparations by asking, earlier, but he was very confused. :Your aura…?: Even after completing one of the most difficult workings known to the Tayledras, his son still didn’t seem especially tired. Giddy, yes.

:You can see it?: A sly smile. :It is a ritual of White Winds. The Journeyman spell. It is a very difficult working, but it leaves one with far more energy than it takes:

:Oh: That was a strange concept. The only thing Vanyel had ever heard of with that property was the bizarre Tayledras sex ritual, which for obvious reasons he had never actually tried. :How does it–: He broke off, reconsidering. :Is it something you’re allowed to talk about with outsiders?:

:Not ordinarily, but I would not keep it from you, Father, no matter what my teachers there advised: A waft of warmth. :Unfortunately, I lack the skill to teach it. It is greatly different from both the magic of my people, and it requires many months of groundwork. It takes far more than fine control – it requires perfect mastery of one’s will and emotions:

That was even more interesting. Vanyel wondered if it explained some of the changes he had noticed in Jisa, during the too-brief time he had spent with his daughter. She seemed relaxed and happy, but…no, ‘controlled’ wasn’t quite the word. Unflappable was closer. It wasn’t that she was clamping down on herself, her surface was as open as before, and yet he had the sense of a newly immovable foundation. Now that he was paying attention, he could see some of the same shift in Brightstar, though it was less drastic a change from before.

A polite knock on the half-open door interrupted them, and several of the apprentice priests filed in, carrying cushions and a tray of tea and snacks. Vanyel murmured his thanks to one of them, and got a nervous smile in return.

Once they had left, he pulled Savil into the link as well. :Brightstar, what else did you learn?: There hadn’t been time to go over it yet.

:A great many things: Settling cross-legged on a cushion, his son regarded both of them solemnly. :Father, Wingsister… There is a question I would ask you:

:Go on:

Brightstar’s hands knotted in his lap. :Regarding information, and secrets. There is a thing that Treven advised to Jisa, and I wish to hear your thoughts too:

Savil’s face had gone very still, controlled. Vanyel nodded for Brightstar to keep going.

:There are things we have learned: Brightstar went on slowly, :that may be of aid if it comes to war: From the overtones, he didn’t think there was much ‘if’ about it. :Critical, perhaps. Treven says that sometimes it is wisely-done to keep knowledge contained, even between friends and allies. If your Leareth is an enemy, he will use everything he can as a weapon against us, and if that is true, it would be very dangerous for him to know these things:

Vanyel grimaced. I wish people would stop calling him ‘my’ Leareth.

:And Treven says: Brightstar added, :that knowing a fact, it is difficult to truly act as one would if still ignorant and let nothing slip. You say that Leareth is very perceptive: His shoulders rose and fell, heavy. :Father, I do not wish to keep things from you. It pains me, and yet. My question is – if we know things of great importance, and it might harm our cause if Leareth were to know that we knew, would you prefer that I say these things to you in full openness, or keep some back?:

Vanyel blinked. It was one of the longer and more abstract speeches he had heard from Brightstar. Impressive, even if he had to assume that Jisa had coached him on the words.

He couldn’t reach Yfandes through the room-shields, and he did want her opinion, but for now, he had a ready answer.

:Secrets can’t be taken back: he sent. :Brightstar, I trust you. With my life. I want to think about it, and I may want to know the details later, but…for now, I do think it would be wise to wait. To talk about it, ideally with Randi, and make the decision in a principled way:

Savil looked doubtful. :I know: he sent, catching her eye. :Every time I’ve kept a secret, I’ve regretted it. Just… I think maybe there’s a way to over-apply that lesson. Keeping secrets because it’s the path of least resistance is different from making a deliberate choice, and…I think we have to be willing to make that choice sometimes, for the reasons you gave:

There was something floating around the edge of Vanyel’s awareness, slippery. He searched for words. :Not because we don’t trust each other, but because we DO trust each other. This kind of deliberate compartmentalized is a valuable tactic that can only be used between friends and allies: 

Vanyel wasn’t sure he had done a good job of capturing it, it was still vague in his head, but Savil was nodding.

Brightstar nodded as well. :There is one part I wish to tell you, because I do not think I can go any further on my own. I have seen some things in the structure of the other Planes, and I think I might understand the Cataclysm–:

:Stop: Vanyel interrupted. :Brightstar, I’m sorry, but I am way too tired to have that conversation right now. Have some mercy on your old father, please:

Brightstar screwed up his face – gods, the expression was so like Moondance. :You are not old:

“Stef,” Vanyel said, sharper than the last three times.

His lifebonded, sitting backward on his chair with his head bent over the desk, barely twitched. “Oh?” he said vaguely.

Vanyel forced down a surge of irritation. “Stef, I know you’re busy writing a song, but I really do need your help cleaning up. They’re going to be here any minute.”

They had arrived back in Haven the night before, a full two weeks after Midwinter, and Vanyel had spent all day with Savil, catching up on neglected mage-work. Stef, damn him, had gotten a break while Gemma took over accompanying Randi. Vanyel was trying not to be too frustrated that he had spent all of it composing rather than, say, finishing their unpacking. The floor of their bedroom was still strewn with items from their respective travel-bags, and they couldn’t even quarantine it by closing the door; Jisa and Treven were both coming over for supper, and their quarters just weren’t big enough to fit four people without making use of that space. It felt even more crowded since he had requisitioned a new desk for Stef.

Maybe we ought to move somewhere bigger. But the new Heralds’ Wing – not exactly new anymore, it predated his arrival in Haven by several years – had finally filled up, and there weren’t any two-bedroom suites open.

Besides, he had lived here for almost twenty years. Settling in somewhere new didn’t appeal at all.

Stef sighed gustily. “Fine,” he muttered without enthusiasm – and didn’t move.

Vanyel counted to ten. Still nothing, and he was running out of patience.

“Stef!” he snapped. “Can you please stop acting like a child and–”

Stef went rigid in the chair, a bolt of hurt washing through into Vanyel’s chest before he cut it off. Slowly, he swung around, not quite meeting Vanyel’s eyes. “Someone’s pissy today,” he said, no expression at all in his voice. “That was a low blow, Van.”

“I didn’t–” Vanyel cut himself off. Center and ground. He swallowed. “Stef. I’m sorry.”

“Are you.”

“Yes.” The wounded pride behind his eyes made Vanyel’s chest ache, and the complete lack of feeling it through their lifebond was even worse. I didn’t know Stef could shield like that. “I didn’t mean it, I was just–”

“You meant it a little,” Stef said icily. “You wouldn’t say that to Savil.”

She would eat me alive if I tried. Saying that out loud would do the opposite of help.

“Is that what you think of me, deep down?” Stef’s gaze was fixed somewhere around his hairline, his expression cold and shuttered. “As soon as I’m not perfectly helpful, I’m being immature?”

Suddenly unsteady, Vanyel looked helplessly at him for a moment longer, and then sat down on the floor. “No.” His chest was tight; it was hard to speak. How did I put my foot in it so badly? “Stef, I swear, I don’t think of you as a child.” He remembered exactly how defensive Moondance had been about the same thing with Starwind. “Honestly,” he forced out, “I completely forget about your age most of the time. I was just being an ass.”

Stef huffed, and didn’t answer.

Vanyel opened his mouth again, but words refused to come. Miserably, he put his head down on his knees. Damn it, Stef, I can’t deal with this right now. He was exhausted, his head hurt, and in about ten minutes he had to put on a brave face for his daughter and the future King.

“Damned right you were.” Stef’s voice was still cold. “Van, I don’t know if you’re expecting me to meekly take that from you just because I’m half your age and have a quarter your fame, but I won’t.”

That’s not– Vanyel’s thoughts were trailing off into helpless circles. Did some part of him believe he could get away with harsh words to Stef because of his higher position? If so, that was fairly awful of him.

Finally, he heard the chair creak as Stef rose, then footsteps. “At least you’re admitting it,” his lifebonded murmured, standing above him. “Apology accepted. Just don’t be such an ass in the future, all right? And, seriously, you don’t need to be this upset about it. It’s making me feel like I’m the bad guy here.”

Oh, gods. He pushed more energy into his shields. :Sorry: he sent, keeping the Mindtouch as tight as he could manage and carefully averting his mental eyes from Stef’s surface thoughts.

“I know.” Stef knelt, his Scarlets rustling, and put his hands on Vanyel’s shoulders, leaning in to kiss his forehead. “I forgive you. You had a long day, you’re worn out and cranky, and I’ll admit I was being annoying. Now, can you get up and help me tidy up?”

Vanyel let Stef pull him to his feet, but then extracted his hands and stepped back against the wall, closing his eyes again and bringing both hands to his face. “Sorry. I need a minute.” His pulse was still racing, a bitter taste in his mouth.  :’Fandes?: he sent. :Can you…?: He trailed off; he wasn’t sure what he was asking.

:I was listening: she acknowledged. :Chosen, you were cruel to him. Still, I know it wasn’t deliberate, and it’s hard to be your best self when you’re tired: She sent a wash of reassurance. :I didn’t realize how frazzled you were, love. You should have excused yourself a candlemark ago and taken a break:

:I lost track of time: he admitted. :You’re right, though, it was stupid of me: He really was trying to be better at that kind of thing. I can’t afford to have my thinking impaired.

Mindtouching her had helped him find his balance, the lump in his throat subsiding. “Sorry,” he said again, opening his eyes and managing a lopsided smile. “Let’s get this place presentable.”

It was closer to fifteen minutes later that he heard the knock on the door, and sensed the familiar flavour of Jisa’s mind. Stef’s desk, which had taken the place of his tiny side-table, had been cleared of papers, and now bore the supper-tray that had arrived with one of the Palace pages. Vanyel’s desk held plates, silverware, and an open bottle of wine. He had cheated by shoving some of his dirty Whites under the bed to take down to the laundry later, but the bedroom floor was nonetheless clear.

“Van, welcome home.” :Father, I missed you: Jisa greeted him with a warm hug, then turned to embrace Stef as well, while Vanyel gripped Treven’s arm and exchanged a nod.

They made an attractive couple, Vanyel thought as he lifted the cover from the tray, breathing in the scented steam of baked fish. Treven’s golden fairness contrasted pleasingly with Jisa’s dark brown hair and eyes, and their matching Greys flattered both of them. They both had the colouring to look good in Whites as well, much more than Vanyel did, and certainly they were better off than Stef, who was doomed to have his tunic clash violently with his hair. His lifebonded would look a lot better in Greens, but it seemed Gifts weren’t allocated on the basis of which uniform would suit.

Vanyel served out plates while Stef poured the wine and ushered their guests to the bedroom. Stef had complained that he wanted to be able to have people over rather than always borrowing Savil’s suite, and rather than finding space to store a proper dining-table and chairs of their own, his lover had gone hunting in the market with Lissa and found a clever low folding table that could be set out in the middle of the bed, and fit underneath it when not in use. It was the right height to sit or kneel around, and offered a place to set plates and wine-cups, while still feeling cozy and informal, almost reminiscent of k’Treva – and a lot more comfortable than awkwardly sitting in a circle with plates on their laps, Vanyel’s previous strategy.

They ate and drank in silence for a few minutes. Vanyel finished his first cup of wine and refilled it; maybe it would help with his goddamned tension-headache. What he really wanted was a neckrub from Stef, but that felt awkward to request in front of guests.

Treven ate with impeccable manners, and his example seemed to have accomplished what years of Shavri nagging her daughter hadn’t. He remembered how Jisa used to shove food into her mouth with gusto and chatter the entire time, shifting seamlessly between Mindspeech and talking with her mouth full. I almost miss it.

The wine did seem to be helping him relax; the band of pain between his eyes had faded. He hadn’t considered that Jisa wasn’t quite fourteen, a bit young for drinking wine, but she seemed to be pacing herself.

He finished his fish and sat back. “Jisa, you look well. How was White Winds?” At her worried sideways glance: “We can speak openly here. I’ve got permanent privacy-barriers.”

Jisa nodded vigorously. “It was really, really good. They’re a lot more different than even Tayledras versus traditional Herald-Mage training are from each other – they focus heavily on extra-planar proxy, working with elementals and suchlike. The initial training was more about developing really good control in general, rather than learning lots of different spells…”

He watched her, smiling. With her strong-boned, triangular face and visibly muscled forearms, she could have passed for several years older than her true age. Again, despite her animated gestures, pride and delight in every motion, he had the sense of some new bedrock under the surface, untouchable serenity behind her eyes. You’ve done some growing up, pet.

“I can teach you some of them,” she was saying. “I learned to build a jesto-vath, which is like a weather-barrier but more advanced. Oh, and they have a spell called a Pool of Imaging – imagine you combined scrying with your communication-spell, you can use it to contact another mage if you both know the spell. It’s quite draining and takes a lot of focus to set up and maintain, and it’s like a beacon to any other mage nearby, so it’s not safe to use in combat – but the really interesting part is that a bystander can only detect the spell itself, not listen in on the message, unless they’re close enough to actually overhear one of the mages speaking. We think it must route through other Planes. Not just the Void, but through several.”

Vanyel felt his eyes widen. “It’s secure? That’s incredible!”

Jisa nodded proudly. “I did wonder,” she added. “If Sandra could make an artifact to build a permanent set-spell version of it on, that was more contained and didn’t leak so much energy. That could be more useful.”

“That’s a good thought. You should talk to her.” He ought to pay Sandra and Kilchas a visit. They were living on their own again, though with daily help from a graduate of the program at Healers’ for un-Gifted trainees. They hadn’t moved back into Sandra’s old quarters; it was bigger than they needed, and he suspected it held too many negative associations. In fact, it had been one of the suites that was open when he explored moving with Stef, but he didn’t particularly want to live there again.

Jisa bobbed her head. “I will. And I’ll teach it to you and Savil.” Then her eyes lit up. “Oh! Van, Van, let me show you something.”

“Of course, pet.” The old nickname escaped before he could stop it, but she didn’t seem to mind. She closed her eyes, her face slipping into the stillness of trance. He waited, taking the opportunity to pick at his remaining greens.

“Van,” she said finally. “Look at my Gifts with your Sight.”

Baffled, he obeyed. Most of the way through his second cup of wine, his head was buzzing enough that it took him a few seconds to focus his Othersenses. He dived inward, centering in on Jisa’s aura, then the curl of her channels ‘behind’ it–

“Oh.” His breath puffed out. “Jisa. How?” He could See the channels corresponding to her Empathy and Mindhealing, both impressively broad and deep, and the somewhat narrower channel for Mindspeech – but he couldn’t See her mage-gift. Or, no, the channel was there, just…clamped shut. If he hadn’t known better, he would have assumed she still carried the Gift in potential only.

He returned to his ordinary senses just in time to catch Jisa’s ear-to-ear grin. “Isn’t that neat?” she said, bouncing with eagerness. “I thought to try it a week ago, once I was back here and hiding my Gift again. We did a lot of trance-work at White Winds, with visualization, and one of the exercises was to imagine casting and practice controlling our channels without actually putting any energy through. I know ordinary Heralds can’t test Gifts, and all the Companions know about me anyway, but one of the foreign mages might be able to tell, and I wondered if I could hide it.” She shrugged. “A Mindhealer would be able to Look directly at the part of my mind that controls that Gift, and it’s obvious it’s been used. So Terrill could figure it out in theory, but he doesn’t use his Sight on anyone without permission, and the trainees who practice with me don’t know what to Look for yet.”

Vanyel licked his lips. “That’s incredible.” He moistened his throat with the last of his wine, and reached absently for the bottle. “Jisa, you’re a wonder.”

She blushed. A moment later, though, her smile faded. “Van…”

“What is it?”

“…Savil told me what happened with Arkady.” She stared down at her hands. “Van, I don’t – do you – it feels like it’s my fault.”

“What? Jisa, how could it possibly be your fault?”

She had tensed visibly, the tendons standing out in her neck. “I don’t think I ever told you, but I was his Mindhealer for a while. Terrill dumped him on me when Melody was away. She was really angry when she got back – she ended up giving me back most of my patients, but not him. Van, what if I did something wrong?”

Vanyel blinked hard, trying to clear his head. He was too tipsy for this. “Jisa, I don’t know. It’s not my area of expertise. You should ask Melody.” He swallowed. “For what it’s worth, though, I really don’t think it was on you. Or him, honestly. It was just incredibly unlucky circumstances.”

His daughter didn’t look convinced, but she must have noticed how not-ready he was to have that conversation; he could almost feel the forcible effort she made to relax. “Thank you, Van,” she said quietly. “There’s more I wanted to talk about. The way they think about ethics at White Winds. I’m not sure it’s right, but it’s interesting. Different.”

A much safer topic. He nodded, grateful. “Go on.”

“You know how Seldasen distinguishes different schools of ethics, that focus on consequences of actions, versus following rules, versus embodying virtues? Theirs is…I guess it’s closest to virtue, but it’s not exactly that. They think the most important thing is autonomy. That freedom is everyone’s birthright, but in order to fully claim it, you need complete self-understanding and self-mastery – they think that’s necessary to be a fully-realized person, which in their eyes is practically the same thing as being good. It’s like they take for granted that once someone deeply knows themselves, they’ll automatically want the same freedom for everyone – that you’ll see all people as ends in themselves, not means to your ends, and honouring that will come naturally.” Her lips moved silently for a moment. “Not just people. They think that all living beings that experience and feel have a right to freedom, to the extent they can claim it – that’s why they don’t eat animals at the school.” A flash of smugness. “They’re against any kind of coercion. They think inner conflict is a type of coercion applied to yourself, that happens inevitably when you don’t have full self-awareness, and if someone doesn’t have the inner clarity to avoid it with themselves, they can’t help unwittingly doing it to others as well. Which doesn’t make someone a monster. They’re actually very compassionate to criminals and people who do bad things. They think it’s important to be able to love your enemies – the thing they mean isn’t exactly the Valdemaran word ‘love’, it’s not about feeling a particular way, so much as…recognizing. Acknowledging that their flourishing is good and their suffering is bad, no matter what they’ve done.”

“Seeing them as a light in the world,” Vanyel breathed. I wonder what Leareth would think.

“Yes, exactly.” The blankets rustled as Jisa shifted her weight. “Because of all that, they lean toward minimal interventions. Treading lightly on the world to avoid taking away anyone’s autonomy more than necessary. They’ll fight if they must, even kill, but only in service of preserving freedom – in a concrete, specific way, not something vague or speculative – and only if they’re no other way. And they say killing in anger is never acceptable. They’re against doing anything because of negative emotions, actually. Or having negative emotions at all. They say that acting from fear or hate or anger, or even grief, means giving up your own freedom. That you have to be able to see awful things and accept them with equanimity, or else you’re making yourself a slave to them.” A pause. “I don’t like that part. It feels really, really wrong to say that you can’t be upset about things that are bad, and it feels like it conflicts where the part where you have to accept all of yourself. But, I don’t know. What do you think?”

He rubbed his eyes. I think I’ve always been a slave. “Jisa, it sounds like a coherent and well-grounded ethical system. I’m not sure it captures everything, but then again, I doubt any one school of ethics does.”

Jisa nodded. “I think… Hmm. If you followed just this, maybe you would almost never cause harm by your actions, but failing to do a good thing is basically causing harm by inaction, and…I want to say that’s still a choice and it still counts. And, I don’t know, I think it’s important that you can do maths, and sometimes take gamble, risk causing harm, if the upside is big enough. I mean, maybe they’re right that it’s easy to do that for the wrong reasons, and so it can be better to set a bright line, but…it still feels like losing something to say it’s never justified.”

Vanyel blinked, wondering. You’ve grown up so much, pet. “I think that’s an astute observation,” he said, glancing over. “Stef? What do you think?”

An icy wind blew, flinging ice-crystals into his face–

“Herald Vanyel.”

“Leareth.”

(It had been over a month since the last dream. Vanyel wasn’t sure if there was really a pattern there, that they were coming more rarely, or if he had been imagining it.)

They moved through the familiar setting-up ritual, and sat.

(The best that could be said of the last few months, he thought, was that they were still talking. It had been, hells, it was coming on a year since their first yearlong deadline had lapsed, and that had already followed a year’s official truce. Three years had passed since Leareth had revealed his full plan, and the current state of affairs was better than he could have imagined, then, but he wasn’t at all sure it would be enough.)

Leareth smiled thinly. “Congratulations, Herald Vanyel.”

Vanyel just raised his eyebrows, and waited.

(He had a guess what the praise was for. They had completed the Sunhame Gate in ten days, significantly less time than the original prototype – Brightstar’s training and powerful Gift had helped considerably – and it was now a month past Midwinter, so enough time had elapsed now that Leareth could reasonably have heard about it. It wasn’t public knowledge that Valdemar had permanent Gates, but Randi, after days of going back and forth on it, had decided to make the announcement to the Council.)

Leareth confirmed it seconds later. “You have created a permanent Gate prototype. I am very impressed.”

“It wasn’t all me,” Vanyel said, ducking his head.

(He could have taken the credit – Leareth seemed very ready to assume that he was capable of such incredible works on his own – but he had a general policy against. It seemed valuable to remind the man that there were other intelligent and competent mages in Valdemar, that Vanyel wasn’t the only one worthy of his respect, and it was a relatively low-stakes place to make a show of honesty.)

“I’m aware that this strengthens our position,” Vanyel added. “I’ve spoken to the King, and…as a gesture of non-escalation, I give you my word that we won’t build a terminus north of our capital.”

(There had been a long debate. Vanyel had pointed out that a Gate-terminus very close to the pass would be a giveaway that they knew of its location, and one at a random location on the northern Border would be less useful. Building one at all was very costly, in time and magic, and once it existed, the terminus would be a vulnerability as well as a strength. They had keys, like Urtho’s setup supposedly had, but they had to assume Leareth could break that security, and it would be very awkward if he could Gate his troops directly to Haven just by capturing the northern terminus.)

A slight nod.

Vanyel took a deep breath. “There’s another conversation I want to have with you. Namely, we never really did follow up on the Cataclysm, and the ‘storms’ that you’re worried about. I decided to have a go at making some theories, and I’d like to share mine with you and see if they match.”

(He had followed up on Brightstar’s words to him, sitting down with Randi, and the King had agreed that it might be best for Vanyel to stay in the dark, though Randi had asked that he be told about generalities, at least, and make the decision on what Vanyel needed to know. In conclusion, the discussion of the Cataclysm and inter-planar geometry was the only piece he knew in full. And one of the safest things to share with Leareth, since he had to assume the immortal mage had traced the same steps on his own, probably millennia ago.)

“First,” he said, raising his hand to draw an illusion-sketch on the wall. “I have a guess at why the original Cataclysm was so much worse than Urtho expected. One. His Final Strike and the failsafes on his Tower would have released enough mage-energies to weaken the barriers between Planes for candlemarks to days. Two. He gave a weapon to some of his people, to kill, well, you. I have little information on what it did, but I can guess somewhat from the effects.”

(He knew more than he wanted Leareth to realize, since nearly everything they had learned about the weapon came from Urtho’s Tower. If Leareth pressed, he intended to handwave it by claiming Need remembered the event. Which was true, just not the real source of much of their knowledge.)

“Three,” he said. “In the Shin’a’in records, they claim the destruction of a Gate was involved in causing the Cataclysm. My current theory is that the party sent to kill Ma’ar used a Gate, most likely from Tantara, near Urtho’s Tower, to Predain. If the Gate was active at the time that the weapon was set off, there would have been both a direct pathway to Urtho’s Tower, where the inter-planar geometry was already disturbed, and cracks to all of the other Planes. If my guess is right, and the weapon’s effect was to break apart all magical structures and release chaotic mage-energies in a self-perpetuating reaction, then it could have gotten into all of the Planes. Urtho wouldn’t have predicted it, since all Adepts know it’s a terrible idea to cast major destructive spells near a live Gate-threshold – he wouldn’t have expected anyone would do it, but it seems plausible that no one in the party he actually sent knew the risk, or else they were desperate and did it anyway.” He paused. “Does that line up with what you thought?”

A brief silence.

“Yes.” Leareth’s face was impassive, but a hint of respect showed in his voice. “I do not remember my first death, nor the events that preceded it; when I first came back into the world, I was focused on survival rather than documenting my memories. However, I did later try to fit the pieces together, and my explanation was similar.”

Vanyel smiled despite himself. “So that’s the initial Cataclysm. It would have sent out…something like a wave, as though you dropped a pebble into a water-trough, except the ‘water’ was the fabric of the Planes themselves. Now, in a water-trough, those waves bump into the edges and sort of bounce. They come back across, but scattered – they don’t re-converge on the center, it’s more a general turbulence. Even if they did – in a round wash-tub, say – it would be a massive coincidence if the ‘pebble’ in this case had fallen in the exact center, and besides, there were two pebbles in our case. Still.” He paused, gathering his thoughts.

(The next part was all on Brightstar, and he was still impressed by his son’s flash of brilliance. And felt guilty claiming credit for it, but for now, he preferred that Leareth not find out any more about the young Healing-Adept’s capabilities.) 

“If the world we’re in has an ‘edge’,” he went on, “that’s what we might expect to see. And if not, if the fabric of reality goes on forever in all directions, though, we wouldn’t – the waves would just keep going, getting weaker and weaker.”

He lifted his hand again, flinging a new illusion onto the wall. “I don’t think either of those holds. I have a suspicion that – all right, this is very weird to think about, but ever since you shared your theories, I’ve imagined the various Planes like sheets of paper in a stack. What if they weren’t ‘flat’ sheets at all, but curved? Specifically, curved in the shape of a ball, where our Plane is the ‘skin’ of the ball. If you imagine being an ant on the skin, there’s no edge, but it’s not infinite either. If you go far enough, you just end up back at your starting place.”

(Yfandes had grasped it instantly, her mind darting ahead to lay out maths that captured it, but he wouldn’t have derived it himself in a thousand years. Somehow he could much more easily imagine a flat sheet as representing the three-dimensional world, than a round one.)

“If that’s true,” he went on, “then every point is the ‘center’ in some sense. A ripple will move all the way around the sphere, getting weaker until it reaches the widest point, then re-convening on the opposite ‘side ‘of the Plane and spreading out again. It might lose some energy, if there’s ‘resistance’ as it propagates, but it would still be plenty once it re-converged on its place of origin.”

(Brightstar had pointed out that, if said resistance was low, it could cross over and wrap around multiple times before the energy was entirely diluted. In fact, he had wondered if some of the Planes might be different ‘sizes’, and thus have different cycle-lengths – and, in a fit of foolhardy brilliance, he had decided to go look.)

“I’ve done my best attempt to estimate the curvature of our Plane,” Vanyel went on. “I can’t tell you how, because it was a joint effort, but I can tell you the result.”

(‘Joint effort’ was giving Vanyel too much credit – it had been mostly Brightstar’s work, a wild intuitive guess coming out of his random explorations, and Vanyel still didn’t entirely grasp what he had done, but Yfandes had, enough to pin it down with maths.)

“Anyway,” he finished, “I’m not very certain, but based on the result, and some small-scale tests of magical ‘ripples’, the original wave of the Cataclysm ought to cycle back and hit us again somewhere between twenty-two hundred and twenty-six hundred years after the initial event. Given that we’re now about eighteen hundred years, and your estimate was in four or five centuries, that checks out.”

(It had been his strongest indication that their theory was anywhere near on the right track. He had no idea if Leareth had approached it via a similar method, but however he had come to his answer, Vanyel trusted him to have verified it as much as possible.)

Leareth’s body was still, his expression level, but the slight crease at the corners of his eyes might as well have been a beaming smile. “Yes. I have done successive measurements to narrow it further, but that was also my initial range of certainty.”

(Brightstar had actually guessed that the cycle would have a different length in some of the other Planes – specifically, the Abyssal Plane was both smaller and much ‘denser’, and he estimated that the waves of the Cataclysm would return to the corresponding ‘locations’, however that worked there, approximately every two hundred years. They had actual evidence that this was true; he said it made sense of some confusing things his teachers had brought up at White Winds. Vanyel wasn’t going to mention either thing to Leareth; their contact with the reclusive school might be one of the few things that the man’s spies didn’t know about.)

“I’m curious what you want to do about it,” Vanyel said. “And, honestly, why you think it’s a civilization-level threat. Humanity – and all the other races – survived the first Cataclysm.”

“With the aid of the gods, yes.”

Vanyel raised his eyebrows. “Why don’t you consider that evidence that the gods do care about humans? And that they’ll intervene again the next time?”

(It was a question that had drifted under the surface of his thoughts for a long time. The Star-Eyed had done a rather large intervention to save ‘her’ peoples – it must have been costly, even to a goddess. Vkandis’ move with Iftel might have been even more so.)

Leareth’s black eyes were still on him, but had somehow gone distant. “It is a valid question you ask. I have never denied that the gods care about intelligent beings in some fashion; given their actions, it seems they do work for our continued existence. However, I do not think that they seek our flourishing. The Star-Eyed uses Her tribes as tools, to accomplish ends that I imagine are beneficial to Her stability and resources. She preserved them, but in exchange for a permanent binding agreement that they would serve Her ends. I consider that coercive, and monstrous.”

(Vkandis had done the same, Vanyel thought; Dara’s description of Iftel as His secret army was one that rang true. Maybe the pacts in question were intended benevolently, the best tradeoff to keep the world stable enough that human flourishing was possible at all, but Leareth was right; that wasn’t obvious. And, come to think of it, the Star-Eyed had required multiple human sacrifices from Her people before even showing up. Not exactly the act of a purely humanitarian deity.)

“I have no doubt,” Leareth went on, “that the gods of this world would step in again, and yet I do not wish to give Them a chance to forevermore chain the peoples of the world even more tightly to Their will.” His shoulders rose and fell, a slow deliberate shrug. “If all the mortals of the world could come together in service of survival, I do think that we could face this threat without divine intervention – but I fear it is not in the interest of the current gods to let us do so.”

(That was a particularly suspicious and paranoid lens, Vanyel thought, but it was unfortunately plausible. The gods seemed not to care when their respective peoples went to war against each other. Not until their side was losing, at least, that was his best interpretation of Vkandis’ delay in trying to stop the Karsite war with Valdemar.)

“I see,” he said.

(Which wasn’t the same thing as agreeing, he needed to think this over more, but yet again, it wasn’t obvious that Leareth was wrong.)

“If you’re willing,” he said, “I do want to hear more about your theories. First, though, there’s something else I want to warn you about.” He took a breath, let it out. “The King is considering instituting a draft, to increase our Guard and improve the overall security of our position.”

(Leareth would find out sooner or later, inevitably – they would need a fully public announcement for this, cried out by Mindspeech-relay and carried by Heralds on circuit to every major settlement in Valdemar. Better to tell him up-front, Vanyel had argued, and avoid spooking him.)

Leareth only watched, his face showing nothing of his reaction.

“I know this is a more aggressive move than we’ve taken so far,” Vanyel said. “I want you to understand that it’s purely defensive.”

(Well, almost. There were several members of the Senior Circle, Tran and Keiran among them, who had floated the idea of a preemptive attack. Still, he doubted that would ever happen. Valdemar’s policy against invading-and-conquering carried a lot of weight, and Randi still trusted Vanyel enough to take his vehement reluctance seriously.)

“As a gesture towards that,” he said, “we’re not planning to increase numbers on the northern border at all.”

(There had, again, been considerable debate on that matter, which Vanyel hadn’t been privy to; he was still mostly ignorant on the details of northern deployments, a concession to Tran that he honestly agreed with, and Savil took the majority of the Web-work for that region, though Vanyel still picked up some emergency alarms when she wasn’t available.)

“The announcement we make will be minimal,” he added, “Just that we’ve learned of a potential threat north of the Ice Walls Mountains, and want to protect our new citizens in the Northern March.” He breathed in and out, keeping his eyes fixed on Leareth’s face. “I know this could put more time pressure on us, but Randi is going to try very hard to avoid making a war seem anywhere close too inevitable.”

Leareth was still for a long moment, then inclined his head in a minimal nod. “I understand. You are right that this is an escalation, yet I appreciate your attempts to minimize it, and the courtesy of telling me now.”

Chapter Text

“Well,” Dara said, patting the chair next to hers. “Have a seat and let’s talk.”

Jisa nodded, and sat. I wonder what this is about.

She had arrived home with perfect timing for the spring session at the Heralds’ Collegium, but there were only about three classes in the standard Heraldic curriculum that she hadn’t already taken with the Blues, and the Law one was arguable. She already had training in the Gifts that her teachers knew about, as well as the one they didn’t. There were some practical lessons that she still needed, of course, but nothing that would take more than a year to cover.

As far as she knew, no one had ever gone into Whites younger than sixteen. Maybe this wasn’t a very mature motivation, but if she could manage it before she technically turned fifteen – next Midwinter, say – she was never going to stop feeling smug about it.

“So,” Dara said. “It occurs to me – and I’m not sure anyone else brought this up, before, things were rushed, but. You’re lifebonded to Treven, right.”

“…Right.”

“I’m guessing you haven’t thought much about, well, whether you want to get married. You’re both so young. But…it’s a possibility worth preparing for.”

Oh, was that where Dara was going with this. Jisa blinked. “I – didn’t think you’d want us to? Randi and Shavri never married.”

Dara shook her head. “Honestly, I think they should’ve considered it more than they did. But, anyway, it’s not clear if Treven will have the same constraints. It’s a big decision, obviously, not one to rush. Just, I think you ought to have the right preparation for it.”

Jisa blinked again. “Like what?”

“Education in statecraft. We don’t know for sure if you’ll end up being a Queen, but – honestly, Treven would benefit from you having that training either way, even if it’s just an advisor. Your mother didn’t want to do that, and…we shouldn’t have asked as much of her as we did, but knowing you, I don’t reckon you’d mind the idea.”

Jisa licked her lips. It was a lot to absorb on the spot, but… “No. I wouldn’t mind that. And – I would like to be Queen. If it worked out that way.”

“Good.” Dara rubbed her hands together, then flattened them on the table. “Then let’s figure out how to fit that curriculum in between all your other responsibilities, all right?”

“I’m home.”

Shavri stood in the doorway. Randi had felt her coming for ten minutes, ever since the wash of incredible relief warned him of her arrival even before Sondra announced the Gate, and it had been all he could do not to forge out to meet her. Never mind that he couldn’t walk that far anymore. He would have crawled.

He hadn’t seen her in over three months.

Looking at her, Randi had an odd sense of double vision. It was as though, for the first time in years, he was seeing her truly from the outside. A small woman in a Tayledras robe, not old by any means, but past the first bloom of youth. A dark tumble of curls combed through with streaks of white. Lines etched on her brow and around her eyes and mouth.

Ordinary.

And yet, hers was the most beautiful face he had ever seen. The entire world fell into alignment with her smile. Steel in the core of her, and fire.

Her hand rested possessively on the hilt of a sword, slightly too big for her to wield one-handed – and he knew that she wielded it all the same.

“Shavri,” he breathed.

She took a step forward and then halted, almost shyly.

“I’m s–” he began.

“Stop.” She cut him off mid-word, her voice soft but still granite, and crossed the room in four paces, stopping just inches shy of the sofa. “Randi. Don’t. Don’t apologize.” Her shoulders rose and fell with a deep, steadying breath. “I’m not going to. Things happened, and some of them weren’t ideal, but I don’t think either of us has anything to be sorry for. You were doing your best. So was I. That’s all we can ever do.”

He licked his lips, and found the strength to raise his hands, trembling, and rest them on her hips; his aching shoulders wouldn’t let him reach any higher. “Shavri.” Her name on his lips tasted like the world’s finest wine. Not sweet, but heady.

Stef, he noticed distantly, was still playing, but had discreetly taken himself behind his screen, offering some imitation of privacy. He didn’t usually bother to stay concealed during informal meetings; Randi had pointed out that the armchairs were much more comfortable that his cramped stool.

“You look well,” he said. You look ten years younger probably wasn’t something any woman wanted to hear.

“Thank you.” She reached to take his hands, her touch warm and silky against the tender, sore skin of his wrists. She looked him in the eye for a long time, a faint secretive smile playing about her lips, and then lowered herself and knelt at his feet.

“You look like hell,” she said.

“You could be more tactful.” He was smiling, though; the joy was irrepressible, bubbling out of him.

“No one’s got time for that.” She brought his knuckles to her lips, then laid her forehead down on his knees. :I love you:

The touch of her mind was indescribable. So much hung in the overtones between them. Decades of memory; it hadn’t felt like it at the time, but they had been children, really, when they met.

How had he ever taken that precious gift for granted?

He rested his hands on her shoulders, feeling firm muscle through the fabric. :I love you too:

They stayed like that for a long time. Not speaking, with mouth or mind; there was no need. All I need is you.

Finally, she lifted her head. “Do you have anything else tonight?”

“No.” He had immediately asked Sondra to cancel all of his engagements.

“Then let’s go somewhere more comfortable, if you don’t mind.” She stood, moving with a bounce that he hadn’t seen in years. “Stef?” she called.

He rose, ducking out from behind the screen, lute still in his arms; his fingers never paused as he answered. “Welcome home, Shavri. Er, do you want me to give you some privacy? I don’t mind staying, I was planning to be here until after supper, but…”

Shavri smiled warmly. “If you don’t mind being very bored, I would appreciate you staying.” :Randi, is that all right with you? I’d like to pay you my full attention, and I can’t if I’m painblocking too:

:No, of course:

Stef bowed, somehow without interrupting the song at all. “My Lady, I’m never bored when there’s music to be played.”

Shavri nodded, then glanced around. “Randi, love, can you walk to the bedroom or should I find your chair?”

He winced. When she had left, he had still been able to manage that many paces. Now it was hit-or-miss. When one of the husky young Healing-trainees was attending him, he usually risked it, but if his legs gave out on him halfway like they had yesterday, Shavri wouldn’t be strong enough to catch him. “Chair, I think. It’s over there.”

She supported him as he stood, and let him take his time, but his vision still blacked out for several seconds before clearing. Shavri noticed, despite his attempt to hide the weakness; she made a soft, disapproving sound as she eased him down into the wheeled chair. In the bedroom, still lightheaded, it took two attempts before his knees agreed to bear his weight. Still, he swatted Shavri’s hand away when she reached lift his legs into the bed. I can still do this much. Please let me.

She tugged the blankets over him, then shed her outer robe and crawled in with him. :Randi, love, when was your last Healing-Meld?:

:Two months ago: he admitted. The sessions did help, but they exhausted him as well; the day or two afterward was too gruelling to handle without Shavri there. It wasn’t even her energy he needed, so much as her comforting presence.

:Well, I’m scheduling one for tomorrow: She snuggled up against him.

:There’s a Council meeting–: he started to protest.

She rolled over him. :Randi, there’s something important every single goddamned day. Let Treven handle this one:

Randi started to protest, and then gave in, closing his eyes. :All right: It wasn’t like he particularly wanted to spend three or four candlemarks in a draft, loud hall, and lately he usually let Treven do most of the talking anyway. The youngster needed the practice, and the crustier old lords needed to get into the habit of taking him seriously.

:What’s on the agenda?: Shavri sent. No reluctance at all in her mindvoice, only curiosity.

He stiffened despite himself. :We’re voting on a draft for the Guard:

:Oh: A whispered indrawn breath. :That’s sooner than I expected:

:I know: And he still wasn’t sure it was the right call. :But we have the momentum for it now, and I don’t know that it’ll be as easy if we wait:

:Mmm. Politics: The distaste in her mindvoice made him smile. Not uncomfortable, just disapproving. Which seemed very healthy to him.

:What else is new?: she added.

He wriggled, trying to find a more comfortable position. :Is that what you want to talk about?: It seemed wrong to make this conversation all about him.

:Yes: Love and sincerity. :I’ve missed knowing what’s on your mind. I’ll tell you all my stories from k’Treva as well, but we can take turns:

He turned over, laying his cheek against her shoulder. :What about the mages? No one’s given me a full briefing on that yet:

:Oh, right: He felt her lips brush the crown of his head, lifting a few strands of hair. :It went smoothly enough. Katri and Nubia are both Master-level. It was a bit rocky for them to learn control, probably due to their age, but the Tayledras have very good teachers:

Randi gritted his teeth, and asked the mandatory next question. :Are they willing to do it for us again?:

A sigh. :I knew you’d ask. They didn’t say no, but please don’t push it. This put a lot of strain on their resources, and especially on Moondance: Her breath whispered in his ear. :They’ll have a chance to get caught up, since Brightstar wanted to spend some time back home, but he’s intending to come back here at some point, so they’ll be back down to one Healing-Adept:

Randi blinked. :He’s coming back to Valdemar?: He had been vaguely surprised that Brightstar had stayed as long as he had, but he hadn’t really been keeping track.

:Seems so. He still wants to help Van:

Which made sense. Randi sighed. :You’re saying we should hold off:

:I think so. Let them get caught up. Maybe after Midsummer? That tends to be their calmest time of year:

Five months away. It didn’t feel like time they had to spare – but, he reminded himself, they had two new Herald-Mages at all. It didn’t seem wise to strain their alliance with k’Treva, or to risk attracting the ire of the Star-Eyed.

What other news did he have? :We built a Gate-terminus in Sunhame. Keiran wants to add one in the west, since we’re still getting a lot of Pelagirs-beasties harassing our border folk, and it would be useful if we could Gate our mages in and out quickly. We might stage it at Forst Reach, in fact:

:Wow: Her hand drifted down his shoulder blade to rest on his spine. :That’s big: A pause. :Randi, do you realize we’ve pushed through more reforms in the last decade than anyone has since, oh, maybe the first King Valdemar?:

We, she had said, not you. He felt a smile creep across his lips. :Odd, isn’t it?:

They lapsed into silence.

:How is Jisa?: Shavri sent finally.

:Well. Happy: Then the other part caught up with him, and he tensed. :Shavri, I need to make a decision:

:Oh?:

He leaned into her warmth. :Treven wants to tell her about Leareth. He asked me at Midwinter. I said not yet. But they are lifebonded, and…:

She said nothing for a moment, just wrapped her arms around him. :I know: she sent finally. :Love, we can’t keep it from her forever. For one, if the draft passes, we’ll need to make some kind of public announcement. And, the gods forbid, it would be worse to spring it on her from nowhere when the stakes are high. We don’t know how long we have:

Randi closed his eyes against the ache of tears. He had avoided staring straight into that contradiction; his daughter wouldn’t be of age for another four years, and no matter what comforting lies he told himself, his actions said clearly that he didn’t think they had another four years left.

Shavri had gone very still. :Randi: she sent. :Jisa is lifebonded to the heir. And she’s a Herald. Have you spoken at all to her about what that means…?:

Like a dagger of ice through his belly.

:I don’t think they should marry: he sent. :For the same reason we didn’t:

Shavri’s fingertips stroked his back. :Randi, there were two reasons. One was to leave you free for an alliance marriage. The second was because I didn’t want me or my children anywhere near the throne. Jisa feels differently:

He clenched his eyes shut. :You think she would choose to be his co-consort:

:I think she wants to be Queen: He felt her tense under him, and the slow deliberate breath she took, trying to unwind. :And Treven needs her support. At the very least, he needs to be able to confide in her. You know how much pressure we’re putting on him: A pause. :I’m not sure what the right choice is, love, but we need to be advising her on it. Advising both of them. Not avoiding the topic because it hurts:

The pain was there, lurking in the overtones, but she was unbudging in the face of it. It wasn’t exactly the grim determination he had felt in her so many times; this was brighter, cleaner, with some of the ringing steel of a Companion’s mindvoice.

:I know: And, damn it, if Shavri could be brave enough to face it head-on, how could he let her down?

Nothing – and everything – had changed.

Jisa’s room had only one chair, which she had offered to Mother while she sat on the bed; for once, she had made it properly. She had even wiped her desk with a cloth, swept the floor, and shaken the dust out of the rug. There were no servants to help clean in the Heralds’ Collegium, and Jisa had never realized how quickly things got dirty. Apparently I was sheltered. That wasn’t an oversight that, say, Dara would have suffered.

A month since her return, and she was settling into a routine. She had managed to consolidate her regular classroom work into two mornings a week, and since she was already at the advanced level for weapons-work, she just had to fit in sparring when she felt like it; for now, she planned to go at dawn on the mornings she had class anyway, and in the evenings on the other days. Her private tutoring in statecraft was flexible and she usually did it in the afternoons after class. That means she had two whole days each week to work with Melody at the Mindhealers’ Collegium, seeing patients, and running tutoring with the new students. She was still technically a senior trainee, but even Melody seemed to consider it more of a formality at this point.

Last week she had gone to the city market with Treven on her day off, and picked up a nice tea-set. It felt very adult to be inviting her mother to her very own room and pouring tea for her.

And yet, that seemed less real than it once had. Looking like a grownup wasn’t the point of anything, anymore.

Shavri wore Healer Greens, Need belted overtop. Her curls, still damp from the bathhouse, were slowly tightening. There was more white in her hair than Jisa remembered; she wasn’t sure whether that was age, stress, or all the time she had spent in k’Treva near their Heartstone.

She looks like the portrait of the Mother. The temple to Astera had a big bas-relief wall painting with depictions of their goddess in Her various aspects – maiden, mother, and crone. Shavri had the same dimpled cheeks and smile-creases. The same dark, knowing eyes.

Six months. It was the longest they had ever been apart. There were so many things Jisa wanted to say that they tangled together.

“You look well,” she said finally.

“So do you.” Shavri accepted the teacup, stirring in her lump of sugar. “You’re enjoying your studies here?”

“So much.” Jisa pulled her legs up under her. “Mother, I–” There was something her mind grasped toward, and she wasn’t sure what. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” she settled on.

“Don’t be.” Mother’s eyes flashed, steel and fire. “Don’t apologize to me for living your life, Jisa.” Her voice softened. “Was it what you hoped for?”

That was the wrong question. “I have no idea what I was hoping for. I’m glad I went. It was…something I needed.”

“Good.” Shavri shifted in her seat. “Jisa, there are some things I want to say to you. Apologies I should make.”

“Mother, no–”

Shavri lifted her hand. “Let me finish. Jisa, sweet, I don’t think I did wrong by you, overall. You’ve been the brightest star in my life since the day you were born. I love you to pieces, I always have, and I think I showed you that. I like to think that’s the most important thing. But…there are things I would do differently, if I were to live my life over.” She set her teacup down on the floor and laced her fingers over her knee. “Jisa, when I decided I wanted you, that was exactly it. I wanted you. Terrill says that having a child is the only really selfish decision I’ve made in my life. And…I don’t regret that. The gods know it’s better than doing it out of duty. But I let it get so tangled up in my head. I made your childhood about me, far more than it should have been. I treated you like a part of myself, not your own person – and I was caught up thinking that spending time with you instead of helping Randi was selfish, just because it made me happy. So I neglected it. I couldn’t see that loving you was good and right and important too, just as much as Valdemar, and I let my own confusion spill onto you. You didn’t deserve that.”

Jisa’s eyes burned. “Mother…” She gulped. “I can do maths. Valdemar was more important. Is.”

“No.” Granite in her voice. “Jisa, that doesn’t make it right.” Her eyes flickered downward. “But…I’m glad you don’t resent it.”

“Never.” Jisa’s fingers clenched around the teacup. “Mother, you’re right. You’ve always given me your love, and that was enough. More than enough.” The tears were welling up faster than she could blink them away, blurring the room into a sheen of rainbows. “I missed you,” she choked out. “I…don’t regret going…but I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too.” Shavri leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Still, I’m glad you had some space to be your own person – to figure out who that person is – without all our expectations on you, good and bad. I did an awful lot of growing up the year I left my family and came to Haven.” She shook her head, wondering. “It’s so much easier to look at you now and see how you’ve changed.”

It was such a good way of putting it. Looking back on the year before her departure, Jisa had felt like a plant too big for its pot. There was so much advice she had only been able to truly hear when it came from someone other than her parents.

“Mother,” she said. “I have an apology too.” She closed her eyes; it hurt to say it out loud, but it felt right as well. “I…wasn’t always good to you, when I was littler. I used my Gifts on you even after you told me not to. I hid things from you. I took your rules as a game to work around, not – not you trying your best to advise me. I didn’t respect your personhood, that was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

Shavri blinked. She lifted a hand to her forehead. “Jisa, gods, you were a child. You needn’t apologize for not knowing better.”

I knew better. Only she hadn’t, really, not deep in her bones. Did she really know better now? Maybe. Partly. She had gained enough self-awareness to know exactly how far she was from self-mastery.

She hadn’t thought of herself as a child, before. I thought I was right about everything, and that the adults were insane. Jisa wasn’t ready to say that had been completely false, but she had suffered from a number of blind spots.

Probably she still did.

Maybe she would always miss that certainty, and yet. Better accurate confusion than false confidence.

“I’m sorry.” Shavri uncrossed her legs and sat back. “That was disrespectful of me. One of the things I haven’t always been good at remembering is that children are people too. Capable of deciding right from wrong. So – yes, you made mistakes. I’m glad you’re acknowledging it now, and I forgive you.”

What a strange conversation to be having with her own mother. It’s like I’ve never seen her before. Neither an all-knowing fount of wisdom, nor a stuffy adult whose only purpose was to nag her about manners. Just a human being, trying her best.

Maybe grown-ups were never real. There was a stinging pain in it, but clarity as well.

Jisa drained her half-cooled tea and set the empty cup down. “Mother, I…” I want to be safe in your arms. I want you to make the world right again. “I love you.” Almost a whimper. “I know I’m too old to cuddle, but–”

“Jisa, pet, no one is ever too old to snuggle with their mother.” Shavri patted her lap. “Come here.”

“Congratulations, Trev.” Dara smiled over the bottle of distilled barley-spirits as she filled one of the fine crystal cups and slid it across the desk. “You handled that flawlessly.”

Treven’s eyebrows rose. “Is that why we’re getting drunk?”

“No. We’re getting drunk because we just committed to a public war-warning.” Dara filled her own cup. “I really, really hoped it wouldn’t come this far.”

“You weren’t pushing against it,” Treven pointed out.

“No. Randi was right. We have to be prepared for the worst.” She tipped back a mouthful of the amber liquor. It burned, but there was relief in it. “Even if it makes the worst more likely.”

There were so many choices they had made in that direction. Like sending the Icefoxes north to scout. They could try to frame it otherwise, but it was an escalation.

Treven sipped as well, and spluttered slightly, but smoothed it over quickly enough. “This is potent.”

She grinned. “Right?” She could still feel the warmth of its passage, all the way down her gullet. “It’s made near my hometown, you know. Aged for twenty years.”

“Oh.” A polite head-bob. “I’m honoured that you’re sharing it with me.”

Damn his facade of sunny courtesy. Treven, just once, I want to hear you raise your voice. There was a person behind those blue eyes – a boy three years younger than her, dragged into the midst of a terrifying stage-play and with no one giving his lines – but you would never know it from his face. For someone so friendly and pleasant, he was remarkably difficult to get to know.

Coaxing him to open up with leading questions and encouraging faces had failed. Maybe if she let loose, first, he would follow suit.

She leaned back in her chair, swirling the spirits in her cup. “Treven, I’m proud of you.”

That got a reaction – his eyes widened, and he tugged on his tail of hair. “Why?”

“Because you know exactly what you’re getting into, and you never once considered trying to back out.” She stared him in the eye, unblinking, and he was the first to look away. “Treven, we snatched you up when you were eleven years old and handed you the future of our Kingdom. That can’t have been what you were expecting from your life.”

Treven fidgeted, his cheeks turning pink under her steady gaze. “I couldn’t’ve said no. Not when my Eren believed in me.”

Dara smirked despite herself. It’s too delicious, making him squirm. “Exactly my point. Treven, you seem not to realize how remarkable you are.”

He blinked down at his hands. “Figured it must have been for a reason, right? That he Chose me. Even if I didn’t understand why, I couldn’t…it would’ve been disrespectful to, to what Companions are, to say he was wrong and I wasn’t good enough.”

The awe in his eyes was so familiar. “Wasn’t it wonderful?” Dara said. “I remember when Rolan walked up to me in the market, and I couldn’t believe it was real. I’d never known anyone who was Chosen, and when he told me he was the Monarch’s Own Companion to boot, it didn’t seem possible. I couldn’t be that special. Only, I knew Companions couldn’t lie, and I could already feel that he loved me…” She shook her head. “Took me weeks to really believe it, but I never did consider turning it down. Even when I thought it had be a dream, well, it was the best dream I’d ever had.”

Treven’s slow, face-lighting smile grew until it seemed to flood the room. “That’s exactly how it felt for me too.”

Dara tore her eyes away. Down, girl. Treven was breathtakingly handsome, but he was sixteen, and besides, he was taken.

His lifebonded. She would be a window into him.

“How are things with you and Jisa?” she said, leaning in to top up his glass.

“Wonderful.” The smile shifted – even more captivating, but somehow turned inward, almost secretive. A face to melt any girl’s heart, but it wasn’t for her. He sighed happily. “All the ballads talk about girls being like roses, but that’s not Jisa at all. She’s…a shooting star. Kilchas took me up to his tower to see one once, you know. Well, he said it was called a comet. Said it was the only thing in the sky that was traveling in a straight line. The planets go in circles, forever, but a comet just slices through. No hesitation. No doubt.”

Dara chuckled. “Sounds accurate. She’s always been a force of nature.” She slouched back in the chair, splaying her legs comfortably. “She’s exactly what you need, isn’t she? At least, that’s how the songs say lifebonds are meant to be.”

“I think so.” Treven gazed dreamily into the distance, absently sipping and stifling a cough again. “She’s stubborn and willful and – and all the things ladies aren’t meant to be. But I don’t want a pretty noble girl to say nice things about me. I need her. Someone who won’t budge.” He played with the rim of his glass. “I’m…not always brave like that. I don’t like upsetting people; I don’t like thinking badly of anyone. Jisa said I need everyone to like me all the time, and…I mean, it’s true. It’s what I’m good at. But, you know, sometimes you have to stick up for what’s right, even if it,” he smirked, “makes some crusty old lord piss his nappy.”

Dara, midway through drinking, snorted barley-spirits out her nose. Ow. “Treven!” she coughed.

He blushed even redder. “That’s, er, Jisa’s words.”

Dara dug for her handkerchief. “Trev, I reckon she needs you too. Someone to rein her in. Point all that righteous fire in a direction that’ll accomplish something, and tell her when to bite her tongue.”

He scowled. “I hate doing it. I had to talk her out of going after Lord Kraftar’s son. It felt dirty, telling her we couldn’t afford to offend him, but… Well, we did need his vote.”

“Lord Kraftar… Oh.” Her gut sank. “The lad was expelled from the Blues, wasn’t he. The whole mess with the Mavelan lad. I didn’t know he was still in Haven.”

“He’s not. His father sent him away in disgrace – he’s living with his spinster-aunt in the Hall keep. It was that or go to a monastery. Jisa pointed out that she and Enara could ride in and out in a night.” Treven looked like someone torn between horror and pride. “She said she can do a pretty good illusion now – that he wouldn’t ever know it was her. I told her we have to pick our battles.”

Dara swallowed a very inappropriate giggle. “That was probably right. I’m not happy at how lightly the students got off, but that doesn’t make it acceptable for any of us to take justice into our own hands. Randi kept it out of the Courts for a reason.”

“I know.” Treven seemed to droop in the chair. “Jisa admitted she was getting carried away. That feeling guilty wasn’t a good reason to go after revenge, and beating him senseless wouldn’t undo the harm that was done.”

“Sounds like maturity.” Our little Palace whirlwind, all grown up. Dara had noticed the change already in a dozen ways. The White Winds training had apparently taught the girl to think before she acted.

“Mmm.” Treven shifted in the chair, and tossed back the rest of his drink in a single gulp.

Dara watched him silently for a while. “Copper for your thoughts?” she said finally.

“Randi’s still thinking on whether to tell her.” Treven licked his lips. “I know he’s afraid of showing favouritism, but…it hurts, Dara. The both of us knowing I have secrets from her. She’s so respectful about it, she’s not pushing at all, but – gods, Dara, sometimes it hits me when I wake up in the middle of the night and I can’t stop shaking. And all I want is to talk to her, but I can’t.”

The crack in his voice, the glint of tears welling in his eyes – she had never seen him so unguarded before. Getting him drunk had been the right plan.

“I’m sorry. That must be hard.” Words that came by rote, while Dara tried to think. “Trev, listen, you’re allowed to wake me anytime, if you need an ear. Still, I know that’s not the same. I’ll talk to Randi, all right?”

The tightness in her chest had been growing for the last candlemark. Shavri rolled her shoulders, making a deliberate effort to relax. She rested her hand on Randi’s shoulder, pushing through a waft of Healing-energy. :Love, are you sure?:

Need interrupted before he could answer with an irritated mental snort. :By the Twain, you can’t be thinking of backing out now. Bloody hells, woman:

Randi, fortunately, had the grace to laugh rather than take offence. :No, Need. We’re going to do this: He laid his own hand over Shavri’s fingers.

A knock at the door.

Shavri ignored her suddenly-racing heart. “Come in.”

The door opened. Treven and Jisa came in together, holding hands. Behind them, Van, and Stef on his heels. The Bard greeted her with a nod, already swinging his lute-case down from his shoulder. Shavri let out a muted sigh of relief. She had been maintaining a painblocking loop since her lifebonded woke up, and as comfortable as she had gotten with it, it still distracted her.

Treven was nervous. She could tell by his bland, sunny expression, a mask over his true feelings that would deceive almost everyone. Jisa’s curiosity and anticipation were less well-hidden, her face had always been an open window and Shavri was secretly glad that even White Winds hadn’t changed that, but underneath, that new serenity was still there.

They both wore trainee Greys. What a pretty picture they make, Shavri thought, apropos of nothing.

Her daughter had celebrated her fourteenth name-day the night before. Not a little girl anymore.

“Treven,” Randi said. “Jisa. Thank you for coming. Go on, make yourselves comfortable.”

Treven ushered Jisa to the loveseat and sat next to her, but neither of them looked comfortable, exactly. Vanyel took the armchair next to Stef, who was quietly tuning his lute.

Randi, as usual, went straight to the point. “We had a discussion yesterday with the Senior Circle, and everyone agreed that it’s past time that you were included. So – I’m going to give you the tale, and we’ve got until the noon bell for questions.”

Jisa didn’t seem surprised. She nodded, eyes intent on Randi’s face. Trusting. Like a lamb to the slaughter. Shavri nudged that thought aside.

Randi closed his eyes for a moment, his fingers tightening around Shavri’s. “It’s a story that starts almost twenty years ago,” he began. “Or, well, two thousand years ago, depending on how we tell it. Before the Mage Wars, there was a young man called Ma’ar…”

Shavri barely listened to the words. She had heard it told so many times. The important part was her daughter’s reaction.

Unlike Treven, who had taken the whole thing with quiet stoicism, Jisa made a lot of faces. Very expressive ones. She didn’t interrupt once, though, and her eyes never left Randi’s face.

At the end, Randi finally let go of Shavri’s hand, and clasped one wrist with the other. “That’s the summary.”

Jisa blinked. She glanced sideways at Van, who was carefully studying the arm of his chair, then turned to Treven, some silent exchange passing between the two of them. Her shock was already folding away, shifting to calculation. Tallying up years’ worth of confusing hints, Shavri imagined.

“Thank you, Papa.” Her daughter shifted, pulling one knee in to her chest. “That’s…really scary.” She didn’t look afraid, though. Or angry. There was pain there, close to grief, and determination under it. “I don’t think I have questions yet,” she admitted. “I need to think about it.”

“We all needed that,” Randi said, in his best attempt at a reassuring voice. “We’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

Jisa nodded, her eyes dropping to the floor.

Randi gave her a minute or two of respectful silence. :Shavri?: he sent finally. :Love, are you ready?:

She had almost forgotten. The wordless refusal rose in her, a wall of no, but hard as it had been, her decision was made. She reached to grip Need’s hilt. :As ready as I’ll ever be:

“Jisa.” Randi leaned in, palms on his knees. “There’s one more thing. I know this is probably a bit unexpected, but…” He trailed off and turned to Shavri.

Perfect, you leave the hard part to me. Shavri straightened up, steeling herself. “Jisa, we recognize that you’re not a child anymore. I still wish you didn’t need to grow up quite so fast, but you’ve always been ahead of your years. So.” She reached to unbuckle the sword-belt. “I have something that’s yours.”

Jisa’s eyes had gone very round.

Shavri crossed the room, and squatted down. She laid the sheathed sword, belt and all, across her daughter’s lap. “Need chose you.” I don’t know how or why, but she did. “I was only ever holding her in trust.”

A grumble, addressed only to her. :Don’t sell yourself short, woman: Then she felt Need withdraw a little from her mind, not all the the way, and pull her daughter in as well. :Jisa. I haven’t done it this way before, but I’ve learned a thing or two about manners. And the importance of consent. So. Would you like to be my bearer?:

Seven-year-old Jisa would have squealed and bounced up and down. A year or two ago, deep in that inevitable youthful phase of longing to be taken seriously, she would have held it in, maybe nodded solemnly.

Now, her smile unfolded like a flower, splitting her face; not entirely carried away by it, there was an unmoved core of her, but she didn’t hide any of her joy. “Yes!” She clasped the sheathed blade to her chest. “Mother, thank you.” She stood, fastened the belt around her waist – it looked a lot more natural next to her Greys than it did over Shavri’s Healers’ robes – then took Shavri’s hands, pulled her to her feet, and hugged her hard. :Thank you so much: she sent, delight spilling over in the overtones. :I’m so happy. This is wonderful. Thank you thank you thank you–:

Shavri found herself laughing, though her eyes burned at the same time. :You’re welcome:

Jisa spun her around, actually lifting her toes off the ground for a moment – gods, the girl was strong – and then took a pace back, hands on Shavri’s shoulders. :I don’t think I should hog her all the time: she sent, privately. :I know she helps you with Papa, and…it’s probably better that she’s with someone else when I’m in class. And she mustn’t be there when I see patients – Need, sorry, but people have a right to privacy:

That was a picture; Shavri couldn’t help but snort. :She would say something snarky at the worst possible time: Need huffed but let the comment slide.

Such a measured response from her daughter, and it still surprised her, but she ought to know better. Have patience with your old mother, pet, I’m still learning my way around who you are.

:Now, just to be clear: Need jumped in again, :don’t expect me to coddle you. Unless it’s a dire emergency, I’ll only help you when you can’t help yourself – which, for you, really means just Healing, since you’re a mage and quite skilled with a blade already:

Jisa nodded solemnly. :I’m not sure why you picked me: she admitted finally, to both of them. :If you’re looking for someone who needs your help… I don’t know that I do, anymore:

Fresh surprise, that Jisa would say anything that might result in Need not choosing her.

Wordless acknowledgement from the sword. :And yet, something calls me to you: A scoff. :Maybe I’m finally foraying into politics. I was hardly systematic, before – honestly, I went about it like a blind idiot. You’re going to have a great deal of power. Enough to make sweeping changes across the Kingdom:

Jisa shuffled her feet. :Need, I don’t know if Treven and I should get married. Rolan seemed to think it’s a good idea, but…what if he needs to make an alliance-marriage later?:

Shavri closed her eyes, trying to hold back the messy tide of feelings that rose. She had thought she knew what she wanted for Jisa, but not anymore – and it didn’t matter anyway, because it wasn’t her life.

It was very weird feeling the purely mental sense of Need ruffling someone else’s hair. :You’re fourteen, girl. No need to rush something as significant as marriage: A chuckle. :Besides, it’s not like you need a man to provide for you:

“Is now a good time to talk?” Jisa stood in the doorway, her winter cloak draped over one arm.

Vanyel had been expecting her visit for a couple of days now. “Now’s fine. Come in.” Stef was attending Randi tonight, and wouldn’t be home until late.

It must have been one of her days at Mindhealers’ – Jisa wore trainee robes, a paler shade than the standard Healers’ Greens, and trimmed in yellow, Melody’s new concession to distinguishing her Collegium from the rest of the House of Healing. Her aura had the empty feel of someone who had been using her Gift hard all day. Having spent his own afternoon doing intensive Web-work with Savil, Vanyel sympathized. She didn’t have Need with her.

Jisa followed him in and proceeded to make herself at home, sticking her head in his cabinet and emerging with his tea-set in hand, then filling his kettle from the water-urn and hanging it over the hearth. Either of them could have used magic to heat the water, of course, but it took less energy to use the mundane method, and it seemed Jisa had settled on practicality rather than showing off.

His daughter pulled Stef’s chair out from the desk and plopped down into it, her eyes going vague for a moment; probably she was checking his privacy-spells.

He sat as well. “I’m guessing you want to talk about Leareth.”

“Mmm.” Jisa pulled her knees in, resting her chin between them. “I’ve already talked with Treven and the others about the preparations we’re making. And some of what Brightstar and I were working on is relevant, but Trev says you didn’t want to know the details.” 

“Yes, we’ve spoken about it.” Looking into her steady brown eyes, remembering recent conversations with Treven and Brightstar and even Dara, he had the strangest feeling of dreamlike familiarity. I’ve seen this before. From the other side. Eleven years ago, Queen Elspeth’s death, and Randi’s subsequent decision to promote him to the Senior Circle, had pulled him into the heart of Valdemar’s government. A new generation, slowly replacing the old. We were so damned young. Randi had been twenty-two when he was crowned.

Still older than the new crop, though. Dara was nineteen. Brightstar’s eighteenth name day would fall in a few weeks. Treven was sixteen. It seemed unfair, but it was what it was.

Jisa’s inclusion was the final brick, sliding into place. A certain finality in it. I wish I knew what we were building up to.

“You think he might be right,” Jisa said suddenly.

“…Yes.” He had been dreading this part. What would she think of him?

“And everyone I’ve talked to said you might have a point.” Jisa shoved back the sleeve of her robe, scratching a scab on her arm. “Even Tran. So…I don’t know. Some of what he’s done sounds awful, and some of it sounds pretty reasonable, honestly. He’s done a lot of awful things, but also a lot of good for the world. I don’t know what to think.” She lifted her eyes again. “It makes me feel less crazy, that neither does anyone else. So. Which parts are you still confused about?”

For a moment he could only blink at her, lost for words.

The kettle burbled, and Jisa rose, moving with the fluid ease of the young and very fit, a body unmarred by years’ worth of old injuries. Standing by the hearth, she glanced over her shoulder at him. “Father, please stop looking at me like I’m going to bite you. I’m not upset with you for talking to him. If it doesn’t make sense to me yet, well, surely I’m the one missing something.”

You shouldn’t have to reassure me. Vanyel offered her his best imitation of a smile, and then focused on breathing in and out, trying to relax. Center and ground.

“I’ve got a few open questions,” he said. “One is just whether he’s telling the truth about his motivations at all. The second is whether his methods are correct, and his plan to make a friendly god will work and not backfire. And the third is whether he’s gotten ethics right enough that he’s the person we want imprinting his values on a god in the first place.” He breathed in and out, gathering his thoughts. “I’m actually quite confident he’s telling the truth, just not enough to gamble the fate of the world on it. The second – well, I’m not sure, but if I were certain enough of one and three, I wouldn’t be as worried. His competence is pretty undeniable. It’s the third question that’s still tripping me up. He’s done monstrous things. He’s willing to burn ten million lives for fuel. Maybe that should be reason enough to destroy him, but…just, he’s the only option.” His voice caught. “The only one who saw that the way things are is unacceptable, and declared that someone ought to change it no matter the cost.”

Jisa was hovering with the tea tray in her hands, listening.

Vanyel closed his eyes. “He said to me that he hopes future generations will call him a monster, because it would mean they lived in a better world, but he’s not sure we have that luxury now – he doesn’t think we can ever get from here to there if we stay within conventional morality. He believes either it’ll be done by someone like him, or by no one at all.” He shuddered. “And I don’t know that he’s right, but I can’t say for sure he’s wrong.”

A soft breath. “I understand. I mean, it’s the complete opposite of how they think at White Winds, but I see it.”

I should have known you would. Had he been selling her short with all his nerves around this conversation? Jisa wasn’t stupid, and she had the very Leareth-like trait of taking her beliefs and values seriously, carrying them to their natural conclusion.

Which had been awfully problematic at times in her youth, and suddenly made him wonder, intensely, what Ma’ar must have been like. He would have just been reaching Urtho’s Tower at the age Jisa was now…

Jisa set down the tray on Stef’s desk, on top of a mess of loose papers, and carefully poured out two cups. “So you think he’s probably telling you honestly what his ethics are, but you don’t know if they account for everything? That makes sense. Most of what I’ve learned in the last year amounts to ‘ethics is really really hard.’”

He snorted. “Seems about right. Lancir told me once that anyone who claims not to be confused about ethics is a fool. He didn’t think much of Leareth. Called him an idealist – the dangerous kind, he meant.”

Jisa made a face. “Because he’s willing to pick a course and follow it? It’s risky, you can do a lot of harm if you gamble wrong, just…I don’t think it’s right to resolve that by never committing to doing big things. Inaction is still a choice, right?”

The relief was like a ray of light falling into a dark room. You understand.