“Which is?”
“That you let me send some protection with you.” Karaliene brushed a loose strand of hair from her eyes. “Your father will skin me alive if I don’t do that much. And at least this way I can give him some sort of reassurance.”
Wirr hesitated, then nodded. “Done.”
“Good.” Karaliene released a deep breath. “I think I can manage that much without raising any suspicion. None of the Gifted, mind you—the Desrielites might be a little unhappy if we go back one or two short.” She smirked at the thought. “I can organize someone to be at the northern gate of Thrindar at dawn tomorrow. I assume you won’t be staying longer than necessary.”
“I think that’s a fair guess,” admitted Wirr. “Thank you.”
Karaliene inclined her head. “You know that if you’re caught, you won’t be able to claim any ties to the throne without starting a war?”
“I know.”
They both stood, signaling the end of their conversation. “What should I tell the others?” Wirr wondered aloud.
“That’s the least of your worries.” Karaliene watched him for a moment, then abruptly stepped forward, giving Wirr a long, tight hug. “Be safe, Tor.”
Wirr smiled affectionately. “Thanks, Kara,” he said, returning the embrace.
At that moment the creaking of the door indicated someone had entered. Wirr and Karaliene leaped apart, turning to face the entrance.
The swordsman who had fought in the contest earlier stood in the doorway, hand frozen on the door frame as he stared at them. There was an awkward silence.
“I apologize, Your Highness,” said the young man stiffly, giving a slight bow in Karaliene’s direction. “I should have knocked.”
He spun and vanished, shutting the door behind him.
“Aelric!” The princess’s call came too late; he was gone. She turned to Wirr. “I am going to have to do some explaining later,” she sighed, an exasperated look on her face.
Wirr hesitated. “Is that safe?”
“What?” Karaliene had been staring at the closed door; she waved him away distractedly. “Don’t worry, Aelric is trustworthy. A bit full of himself at times, but eminently trustworthy.” She saw Wirr’s expression. “Oh, very well. I won’t tell him who you are.”
Wirr felt his eyebrows rise a little. “Are you two…”
“No.” Karaliene frowned. “Friends, but not suited to each other like that. I just wish he felt the same.”
They began to walk back through the corridors. “So do any of your friends know who you really are?” asked Karaliene, her tone curious.
Wirr grunted. “If there was one thing Father was exceptionally clear on before I left, it was that no one else was to know.” He saw her surprised expression and scowled. “He said that anyone I told would have to be killed.”
Karaliene grinned, though Wirr didn’t see the humor. “I’m not judging,” she said. They made the last turn, coming back in sight of the guards outside the room where Taeris and the others were waiting.
Karaliene put her hand on Wirr’s shoulder, holding him back for a moment. She looked him in the eye.
“Do you even want to go back to Ilin Illan?” she asked quietly.
Wirr held her gaze for a moment, then glanced away.
“They must be wondering where we are,” he said, gesturing to the door ahead.
Karaliene nodded thoughtfully. “Of course.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence.
* * *
Davian stirred as the door opened and the princess walked in, trailed by a drained, somber-looking Wirr.
The room had been uncomfortably quiet since they’d left, with only Dras and the other members of the princess’s entourage occasionally chatting among themselves, and that at a whisper so that Davian and the others could not overhear. Taeris had made a few polite efforts at conversation, but had been bluntly ignored. He’d stopped trying after the first few minutes.
Everyone rose as Karaliene entered. She looked around to make sure she had everyone’s attention, then spoke directly to Taeris.
“There will be no asylum,” she said in a clear voice. From the corner of his eye, Davian could see Dras beginning to smirk. “Andarra will have nothing to do with helping a murderer, or one who has been accused of such”—she looked with disdain at Caeden, who flushed beneath her gaze—“but neither will we act to turn you over to the mercies of the Gil’shar. Tonight you will stay at the Juggler, an inn near the northern gate. I will send word you are coming; we have friends there and you should be safe. At first light tomorrow, you are to leave Thrindar and not return. You will receive no further aid, and any claim you make to have met with us here today will be denied.”
With a final grim glance at Wirr, she spun and strode from the room, her entourage trailing after her. Dras lingered a moment in the doorway, shooting Wirr a long, curious look before following the others.
They were escorted from the stadium by a couple of soldiers; once they were outside, the men vanished, leaving Wirr, Davian, Taeris, and Caeden facing the milling crowds once again. There was a moment of silence as they all looked at Wirr.
Wirr returned their looks levelly.
“I suppose we should go and find this inn,” he said.
Without anything further, he started off northward.
Davian exchanged glances with his other two companions, then sighed and set off after his friend.
Wirr had a lot of explaining to do.
* * *
The room was quiet.
Faintly from below, the boisterous sounds of laughter and men clapping to a musician’s beat filtered through the floorboards, but from within the room there was only an awkward silence. They had eaten their meal in the common room in a similar silence; with the patronage the inn was seeing this evening, it had not seemed prudent to discuss their situation until they could do so in private.
Finally Davian took a deep breath and turned to Wirr, recognizing that his friend was not about to volunteer anything. “Well?”
Wirr looked at the floor, grimacing. “Well what?”
“Come on, Wirr!” Davian burst out in exasperation. “The princess knew you; she picked you out and you had a private conversation with her—at the end of which she told us that there would be no help from her! I’ve been patient with you for a long time about your past, and especially so since the El-cursed sha’teth, but… I think we’re owed the truth now. We’ve come too long a way to have our plans fail like that without an explanation.”
Wirr shook his head, still staring at the floorboards as if he could see through them and were watching something in the room below. “I want to,” he said, desperation filling his voice, “but I don’t know if it’s a good idea.” He looked up at Davian, his expression serious. “In fact, I’m fairly sure it’s not. Otherwise I would have told you earlier. Years ago, Dav. I swear it.”
Davian gaped at his friend. “I think the time for you deciding what’s best has passed, Wirr,” he said, his tone harder than he meant it to be. “Tell us, and we’ll decide for ourselves.”
Taeris, who had been watching Wirr closely, gently interjected. “Perhaps Caeden and I can go downstairs and get a drink,” he suggested.
Wirr thought for a few moments, then nodded, his face clearing. “If you’re thirsty anyway…”
“Parched.” Taeris looked at Caeden, inclining his head toward the door. “Shall we?”
Caeden followed Taeris out the door. When it was shut, Wirr allowed his shoulders to slump, and he sat heavily on one of the beds. “I’ve made some mistakes, Dav,” he admitted. “Perhaps one of them was not telling you the whole truth from the very start.” He gestured, a resigned motion. “Ask your questions, use your ability. I will answer everything, complete and honest.”
Davian felt some of his anger fade as he watched the forlorn figure of his friend. “Thank you, Wirr,” he said quietly. He tapped his lips with a finger. “How do you know the prince
ss?”
“She’s my cousin,” said Wirr, without a trace of humor.
Davian gave a disbelieving laugh, but his smile faded when Wirr’s expression didn’t change. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” Despite his obviously downcast mood, the corners of Wirr’s mouth twitched upward as he watched Davian’s reaction.
Davian felt his brow furrow as he tried to grasp this information. “So… you’re…”
“Torin Wirrander Andras, son of Northwarden Elocien Andras. Third in line for the throne of Andarra, behind Karaliene and my father.”
Davian shook his head, dazed. Wirr had to be making a joke… and yet there had been no black smoke from his mouth.
Davian just looked at his friend in stunned silence for a few seconds, feeling as though he were really seeing him for the first time. Wirr had always had natural bearing and presence; suddenly that made sense, was put into context. His polite avoidances of potential romances at the school were his being cautious rather than picky. And the way he’d never wanted to talk about what the future held for him at the Tol…
“You were never going to Tol Athian after you’d passed your Trials,” realized Davian aloud, accusation in his voice.
Wirr shook his head. “I would have been taken to Ilin Illan separately, avoiding Athian altogether. I was meant to integrate into court life, keeping my abilities hidden. Ceasing all contact with the Tol and anyone associated with it.” He hesitated. “The thing is, Dav—wherever the Vessel that created the Tenets came from, it’s tied to the line of Tel’Andras. Tied to my bloodline. It was meant to be a way of ensuring that the Gifted would need to earn the trust of the royal family before the Tenets could be changed, but…”
Davian went cold as he processed the implications. He stared at Wirr in disbelief.
“You can change the Tenets? By yourself?” he asked, voice little more than a whisper.
Wirr held up a hand. “Not yet—hopefully not for some time, to be honest. My father and uncle were the ones tied to it. When Uncle dies, his connection will pass to Karaliene. And when my father dies, his will pass to me.” He looked at Davian nervously. “So… you see why I didn’t tell you?”
“Yes. Fates, yes, of course,” said Davian, shaking his head. The burden of responsibility Wirr must have been living with, these past few years, was beyond anything Davian could imagine. He felt a chill run through him. “But if you remove the Tenets, wouldn’t it mean another war?”
Wirr shook his head. “I have no intention of annulling the Tenets—I want to amend them, so there’s a balance. Remember our discussion a couple of weeks ago? I’m not just Gifted, Dav. I’m my father’s son. He and my uncle both know about me; they’re the ones who put this plan into motion. The Treaty won’t continue to be a tool of oppression, but I’m not going to allow the Gifted the absolute power they once had, either.” Wirr’s tone was quiet, but laced with a heavy seriousness and certainty that Davian had never heard from his friend before.
He digested what Wirr had said in silence for a while, still reeling over the revelations.
“So… your father knows about you—sent you to Caladel to learn how to use the Gift,” he said eventually. “But he created the Tenets. Does he really want you to alter them?” The idea went against everything he knew about the Northwarden. Davian knew not to put too much stock in rumors, but over the years he’d heard so many about Elocien Andras that he’d assumed there had to be some truth to them.
Wirr hesitated. “Growing up, he hated the Gifted as much as anyone I’ve ever met,” he conceded after a moment. “But when he found out I was one of them…” He shrugged, looking awkward. “I think it changed him. Changed the way he looks at us. He regrets making the Tenets the way they are, but he can’t do anything about it now—he’s already used his connection to the Vessel. That link can’t be used again until it passes to me.”
Davian frowned; it was still difficult to imagine the Northwarden’s being sympathetic toward the Gifted, but Wirr wasn’t lying. “What about your uncle, then? If he’s in favor of this, why doesn’t he just find one of the Gifted and amend the Tenets himself?”
“He and my father may agree that the Tenets should be changed, but neither of them trust the Tols, either,” admitted Wirr. “It’s the Gifted’s role to actually say the oath once the Vessel is activated—all it would take is for them to change my uncle’s wording on the spot, and there would be nothing anyone could do about it.” He sighed. “I’m hoping he’ll use me when I return, to be honest. I was too young, had no control over my abilities when all this was explained to me. But now…”
Davian nodded, dizzy at the thought. “So who else knows?”
“To the best of my knowledge, there was only a very small group who knew the whole truth—my father and uncle, the Council at Tol Athian. Talean and the Elders at Caladel.” Pain flashed across his features at the last for some reason. “It feels good to finally tell you, though.”
Davian inclined his head. “It can’t have been easy, not being able to talk about it.” He gave his friend a considering look. “So why didn’t Karaliene give us asylum? Did you… pull her hair when you were children or something?”
Wirr grunted. “I did, but that wasn’t the reason she said no. She figured she couldn’t hide us, and the Desrielites would take it amiss if they found out she was trying to.” He waved his hand vaguely. “Said it would start a war or something.”
Davian grinned. “Just the man to be rewriting the Tenets.”
Wirr smiled wryly, though the expression was still tinged with sadness. “Any other questions?”
Davian shrugged. “No doubt there will be more, but for now…” He brightened. “Oh, one very important one.”
Wirr raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
“Should I call you ‘Your Grace’ now?”
Wirr snorted. “No, no. Of course not. That’s my father.” He paused. “It’s ‘Your Highness.’ Or ‘My Prince,’ if you prefer.”
Davian laughed, but quickly sobered. “It goes without saying that I won’t tell anyone, Wirr, but I think you should tell Taeris, too. He’s risked his life to get us this far. He deserves to know.”
Wirr grimaced. “I would have agreed a few hours ago, but… Karaliene was at his trial, Dav. She says the evidence against him was stronger than he told us. Witnesses that heard people screaming. And the men he killed, he supposedly tortured them. Disfigured them.”
Davian listened in silence. “I cannot believe that,” he said eventually. “Administration wouldn’t have had any shortage of willing ‘witnesses,’ I’m sure. Still… what do you think?”
Wirr shook his head slowly. “We know why he killed those men. He certainly doesn’t strike me as the type to take pleasure in killing, so if I had to guess whether the mutilation part was truth or an exaggeration… they could have been referring to knife wounds from the fight, for all we know.” He shrugged. “He saved us. That’s good enough for me.”
Davian smiled, relieved. “Agreed.”
Neither boy spoke for a few moments, and Wirr’s face fell. “Dav, there’s something else. Something big.” Davian was unsure why, but from Wirr’s expression he suddenly felt a wave of dread. As if, as awkward as the past few minutes had obviously been for Wirr, this was what his friend had actually been avoiding.
“What is it?”
Wirr tried to hold his gaze, but eventually looked away.
“I have some terrible news,” he said quietly.
Chapter 19
Asha stared out the window, still trying to come to grips with everything Elocien had just told her.
“And Wirr—Torin—could change the Tenets. By himself,” she repeated, dazed.
“Only once I die, so hopefully not too soon,” said Elocien wryly. “But yes. We suspect that’s why these attacks have been happening—whoever was searching for him must have known he was at a school, but not which one. The first two attacks were probably to flush him out.” He shook hi
s head, expression rueful. “Which we knew at the time, and did everything we could to bring him home quietly… but it looks like we still obliged whoever was looking for him.”
Asha nodded slowly, taking a moment to compose herself, to digest what the duke had revealed over the past few minutes. Wirr, the Northwarden’s son. It was almost too ludicrous to contemplate… and yet she knew Elocien was telling her the truth. Now that she really looked, she could even see the physical resemblance between the two.
She closed her eyes, trying to sort through her churning emotions. Wirr was the reason Caladel had been attacked. Why Davian and her other friends had died. Her stomach burned with a flash of irrational, white-hot anger, which, thankfully, faded just as quickly. It was tempting to blame Elocien for bringing that danger to their doorstep, but it wasn’t his fault—nor Wirr’s, nor the Tol’s. It was the fault of whoever had attacked. Whoever had targeted her friend in the first place.
“Who would even have known about his situation?” she asked eventually, trying to keep her voice steady. “It can’t have been a big list.”
Elocien shrugged. “Bigger than you would think—the entire Athian Council, for a start. Nashrel made it a condition of helping me. Said he wouldn’t go behind their backs.” He rubbed his forehead. “He knew Torin was at Caladel, but everyone else was kept in the dark about the specific location. That’s one of the reasons I’ve been reluctant to exchange information with them.”
“You think it’s one of them?”
Elocien sighed. “Maybe. Truth be told, someone could just as easily have slipped up. A stray word near the wrong ear… it wouldn’t have taken much.”
Asha responded with an absent nod, still lost in thought. According to Elocien, Wirr’s body hadn’t been among the dead at Caladel, which meant that he might still be alive. It was wonderful news, of course… but even so she found herself frowning a little, the expression fortunately hidden from the duke’s view as she gazed out the window.
It had been only an hour since she’d arrived at the palace, and yet as far as she could tell, Elocien had told her everything. Everything. She’d hoped he would be forthcoming, of course, but this much trust so soon after meeting her for the first time felt… strange. She couldn’t say why, but the entire situation was making her uneasy.
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