* * *
“To Odger.” Arun raised his mug to Wardin, who returned the salute. “I miss him still, but I’m glad he was wrong.”
“Wrong about what?” Wardin asked.
“You, of course. Dain was the traitor.”
Erietta reached up in a familiar gesture, as though she meant to twist her braid. But as her hair was piled atop her head in what Wardin supposed was a more sophisticated style for the occasion, her fingers came up empty, and she curled them on the small table again. “Do you think so?”
Arun spread his hands. “Isn’t it obvious? The whole prediction was meant to clarify War’s trip to Heathbire. Then the Baron of Heathbire himself betrayed us. Yet here we are, victorious in spite of it. Triumph and blood, just like Odger said.”
Wardin leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I thought the same, after Corghest, though I was less sure about the triumph part. But perhaps it’s not so simple. I committed some treacheries of my own along the way. Including betraying Odger.”
“You didn’t betray him,” Erietta said quietly.
“I didn’t help him.” Wardin ran a hand over his face. “I’ll always regret his death. And Corbin’s, too. He didn’t deserve to die like that.”
“I tried to kill Tobin,” Erietta blurted, eyes darting from Wardin to Arun and back again. “That’s what I was doing in the castle, when I found Rora. After how furious you both were when I tried to kill Bramwell, I still came back here to take revenge on Tobin. I didn’t, obviously, in the end, but still.” She bit her lip. “Perhaps I’m the traitor.”
Wardin sat up straight and gaped at her, trying—with only partial success—not to get angry at this revelation. Tonight was not a night for anger.
She met his eye and whispered, “You didn’t see Jasper die.”
“No.” He clenched the handle of his silver mug. “But I saw a great many others die. Do you think you feel it more deeply than I do? Because I can assure you, you don’t.”
Stop. Not tonight.
Erietta lifted her chin, eyes beginning to ignite, but before she could speak Wardin reached over and squeezed her hand. “Honestly, we’ve all been idiots at some point during this war, wouldn’t you say?”
She offered him a wobbly smile. “I would.”
“I haven’t,” Arun said.
Wardin and Erietta both snorted at the same time.
They talked of happier things for a while, until Pate came barging into the shadowed alcove they’d tucked themselves away in.
Arun grimaced and muttered something under his breath. Though he seemed to have revised his opinion of Corbin since the conductor’s death, that respect did not extend to Corbin’s father. He and Pate disliked each other as much as ever.
“Wardin, there are guests you must see to,” Pate said in a clipped voice, without bothering to greet the other two. “Some have come a long way. You can’t insult them.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Wardin stood, trying not to look like a boy who’d just been chastised by his nursery maid, and smirked at his friends. “Responsibilities. I am the king, you know.”
Arun snickered. “Yes, I think I heard something about that.”
“Be courteous to Lira’s brother, please,” said Pate.
Wardin raised a brow at him. “Did you think me likely to be rude to the King of Tarnarven?”
“Particularly courteous, then,” Pate said. “The way a future son might be. He’s got a daughter of marriageable age. We ought to at least consider her.”
“That’s right.” Arun scratched his chin. “We ought to consider potential brides. You know.” He gave Wardin a pointed look. “Now that the war is over.”
“We aren’t going to consider anything.” Wardin turned to Pate, never looking at Erietta and hoping the alcove was dim enough to hide the flush creeping up his neck. “Kindly allow me to finish my coronation before you begin planning my wedding.”
Pate shrugged. “As you wish. I suppose we’ve got some time now, before we have to choose. I’m told Rora had some interesting things to say to you today?”
“I’m not about to marry Rora, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”
“Certainly not.” Pate’s face darkened, and Wardin instantly regretted his careless words.
“I’m sorry—”
“No matter.” Pate cut him off with a hard look as well as the interruption. There was no discussing his niece with him—or his son. He rarely even mentioned Corbin’s name. “I meant about Bramwell, of course. It changes our timeline, wouldn’t you say?”
“What timeline is that?” Erietta asked.
Pate flicked an impatient glance at her before directing his answer to Wardin alone. “Tobin will obviously be the easier foe to beat. If Bramwell isn’t long for the world anyway, we might as well wait.”
Wardin shook his head, growing impatient. This was meant to be a celebration. Would there be no relief from politics, ever, from now on? “Wait for what?”
“To strike, of course,” said Pate. “You’re a Rath. That makes you a guardian of magic as much as a guardian of Eyrdon. It’s your duty, born and sworn.”
“Magic is just fine now,” Arun said. “At least, it was when I left Pendralyn, and I doubt Conrad has botched it much since.”
“Dain of Heathbire is a treacherous whoreson, and believe me when I say I hope he’s lying dead at the bottom of a ravine somewhere, after many long hours of suffering.” Despite the venomous words, Pate’s face remained impassive. “But he was right about one thing: it is our duty to bring magic back. To all of Cairdarin, not just Eyrdon. Lira agrees with me on this, I’ll have you know. We want all the magisteries back.”
“And how do you propose to do that?” Wardin asked, knowing full well he would not like the answer.
“The same way we brought magic back to Eyrdon. By taking control. One way or the other, by diplomacy or, if it comes to it again, by war.”
“War?” Wardin crossed his arms. “Surely you don’t imagine I’m going to become some sort of conqueror now.”
Pate smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “This is just the beginning, son. You’re going to rule all of Cairdarin, by the time I’m finished with you.”
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