“It’s no shame, to be considered the illegitimate child of a dynast lord, even when it isn’t true.” Lord Ross stood, but he didn’t seem to be offended, or in a hurry. “That’s the assumption people will make, and you’ll have to let it stand. Are you prepared to do that?”
Nic realized he had taken a fighting stance, as if he could actually strike another man—especially this man—and remain on his feet. He relaxed his arms and tried to seem more respectful himself.
Lord Ross came to stand next to him by the fire, and when he gazed down at Nic, he seemed more like a father and grandfather than a fearsome and legendary dynast lord. “Have you discussed this plan of yours with my granddaughter?”
Nic’s throat went dry, but he managed to whisper, “Plan?”
Lord Ross sighed. “Have you asked Dari to be your true and honorable band-mate, until fate cleaves the chevilles that will bind you together?”
“I—no. I can’t—I haven’t.” Nic folded his arms to keep his hands from shaking. “She’s invested in Aron, and in Stormbreaker. She doesn’t even know I—she doesn’t see me that way, Lord Ross.”
“I think she does.” Lord Ross’s dark eyes danced with life, as Dari’s did when something amused her. “I think she’s waiting for you to speak and put an end to her confusion.”
Nic struggled to form a response, but found nothing at all in his mind. He felt obliterated, yet rebuilt, but completely uncertain about what to say or do next.
Lord Ross put his hand on Nic’s shoulder, and the weight of his grip threatened to drive Nic to his knees.
“I’m taking you both to war in a matter of days, Nic. Were I you, I wouldn’t wait too long.”
CHAPTER SIXTY
ARON
Aron felt hot and undeserving in his new, thick gray robe.
Sweat gathered along his neck as he stood in the main chamber in the House of the Judged, a large stone room with a packed dirt floor. He was surrounded by Stone Brothers and Stone Sisters, all of whom seemed more worthy than he did. There was Stormbreaker on his left, and Snakekiller on his right, their benedets glowing a deep black in the ample candlelight. Windblown behind him seemed steady and comfortable, as did countless other guild members Aron couldn’t even name. Gathered together like this, they formed a smooth sea of gray, down to their matching colorless chevilles.
He was a part of them. That much Aron felt in his blood, in his heart and bones, yet he stood separate from them in ways he couldn’t name or explain. His trial had marked him, and he couldn’t accept his own actions as easily as Lord Baldric and Stormbreaker. Aron had often dreamed of returning from the Ruined Keep as a vested member of the Guild. He had imagined this would finally set him at ease and fill him with the peace he so often lacked.
Instead, he felt more insignificant and unsettled than ever, a fraud amongst fellows who had better earned their station at Triune.
Lord Baldric stood in front of the crowd, and he held up a simple cloth bag that looked much older than the Lord Provost. The bag’s sides were threadbare, and the runes marking the cloth had worn down to patches of darker coloration. Even the strings gathering the bag’s neck were frayed, and it seemed to strain beneath the weight of the stones contained within its depths.
Aron had expected a speech and a lengthy ceremony—something to match the formality and pageantry of Judgment Day—but Lord Baldric’s next words dismissed that assumption.
“Here we are again, to do our sacred duty for the land of Eyrie. Even if Eyrie abandons us or treats us poorly, we’ll maintain our responsibility.”
A murmur of assent rippled through the room, and Aron heard himself agreeing. His stomach twisted as he tried to accept the fact he would be leaving at sunrise, that he might never find his way back to this place, or see many of these people, his family in name and deed, again.
“Reach in, Brothers and Sisters.” Lord Baldric moved to the first Stone Brother in Aron’s line. “Choose quickly, and choose well.”
The Stone Brother, a man Aron didn’t know, thrust his hand in the bag and drew out a white pebble marked with delicate runes.
“Fate favors the just and the strong,” Lord Baldric said, then waited as the Brother examined his stone, repeated the name he read quietly, then placed the stone in his pouch.
Lord Baldric moved down the line toward Aron, watching as each Brother or Sister in the front lines collected their new assignments, and repeating his benediction each time a selection was made. Stormbreaker had told Aron that each guild member had a sense for how many Judged they could hunt or fight, and they drew stones when instinct and fate compelled them, or when the number of stones in their pouch dropped below what they could manage. Stormbreaker would not be collecting the name of a new target this night. He was here only to see Aron draw his first stone.
When Aron’s turn came, he wouldn’t let himself hesitate. As quickly as his peers had done, he slid his hand into the aged bag, feeling pebbles slide past his fingers. One slipped into his palm, and he closed his hand around the stone and drew it out.
“Fate favors the just and the strong,” Lord Baldric said, then paused as Aron lifted his stone and studied the runes etched into the pale white surface. It took him a moment to spell out the name waiting for him in the Language of Kings, but when he did, he read it again, several times, to be certain he had not made a mistake.
With a pleased smile, Lord Baldric moved on down the line, then to the lines behind Aron, and Aron couldn’t stop reading and rereading the tiny runes placed on the smooth white pebble by masons with a talent for jewel-crafting and finely detailed work.
“Hold your stone tightly,” Stormbreaker murmured from beside him, ever the teacher, even if Aron was no longer his apprentice. “Feel it. Let its energy flow through every level of your essence, every aspect of your personality and existence. This is your stone, your new destiny, and the destiny of your Judged.”
Many of the Judged were already in residence in nearby cells, awaiting Judgment Day tomorrow, but some were like Aron’s, convicted in their absence, since they had not been captured, and they had failed to turn themselves in to Stone of their own volition. Sometime after sunrise tomorrow, when the bells rang to announce the flight of the hunted, those judged In Absence would be considered no different than any criminal who had chosen to leave Triune and take their chances with fate.
Aron read the name again, then showed the stone to Stormbreaker, since no rule prevented him from doing so.
Stormbreaker’s low whistle surprised him, and when he met the man’s bright green eyes, Stormbreaker was regarding him with both reverence and pride. “Fate has given you the proof your heart seeks, Aron. You have earned your place at Triune. You are one with us, and we are one with you.”
Aron didn’t argue with him, or even reject Stormbreaker’s assertion in his mind. He was too taken aback by what he had drawn from the bag. Snakekiller leaned over and examined Aron’s stone, and Aron showed it to Windblown, who had edged up behind him. The pebble was so light, yet infinitely heavy. He gazed at it so long that he memorized each line and mark, each of its hues and scratches. He didn’t put it away until Lord Baldric returned to the front of the room, held up his empty bag, and pronounced, “A night of sleep, then as always, on the morrow, we do the work of Stones.”
Aron lowered his pebble at last, then slipped it into the pouch tied to his belt. It was the only stone he possessed, where Stormbreaker and Snakekiller and Windblown probably had fifteen, even twenty.
Yet none of their stones bore the etched runes announcing the name of Canus the Bandit. That honor and burden was Aron’s, and Aron’s alone. Just the thought of it set his heart to a fast race and sent a jangle of fear through his entire body.
He had been given a fresh chance to prove his abilities, to himself if no one else. If he could complete this hunt, Aron knew he would believe that he should be wearing the robes Stormbreaker had given him.
Snakekiller put her hand on her brother’s
elbow as the group of gathered guild members began to disperse. “Come. Let’s return to the Den. We have much planning and packing to do.”
As they left the House of the Judged, she said, “Aron, I’ve asked Raaf to ready your talon on the morning. Tek will be going with us, if you’re amenable—though Raaf and Zed will remain behind with Windblown to help in Triune’s defense.”
Aron glanced over at Windblown, who gave no indication of emotion about his assignment. Aron felt a twist of oddness that Windblown wouldn’t be traveling with him, though his discomfort at being separated from Zed and Raaf was no surprise at all. Was he, Aron, taking Windblown’s place next to Stormbreaker—or was Stone simply dividing its High Masters, as Stormbreaker had indicated earlier?
Moments later, Aron sensed Iko walking along behind them, joined so completely with the darkness that Aron couldn’t even see him. This prompted Aron to ask Snakekiller a very important question. “Can Sabor fly talons?”
“Yes,” she said, “though I can’t say the talons enjoy it. We have some elixir that will ease Tek for her journey, and we’ll mix it in her goat meat on the road, the day the Sabor take us into the skies.”
Aron couldn’t quite imagine his big talon sweeping through the air. Though Tek had grown to her full size with the feed and tending available at Triune, her wings had remained pitiful and tiny. They would never support her weight, even in a quick battle-leap. This charge into the heart of a war would be her only opportunity to fly, and he hoped she might be awake enough to realize that, and enjoy it if she could.
Zed and Raaf joined Aron and his companions at the door of the Den, and Raaf immediately began chattering about all he had done to prepare them for their departure. Zed whispered his question to Aron, about which stone he had drawn, then went wide-eyed when he heard the answer.
Raaf, however, was oblivious to this. Aron realized that the boy seemed to think they were heading out on some great adventure, not making themselves bait and targets for three different hostile dynast armies.
By the time they reached Dari’s door, Aron’s ears were as tired as his mind. He led the column, with Stormbreaker behind him, trying not to think about the first time he had come to this door, running and foolish.
And naked.
He shook his head at that humiliating memory as he knocked on Dari’s door, which was slightly ajar. When she didn’t answer, he pushed the door open and walked inside to call out to her—
But she was there.
Right there in front of her hearth, locked in Nic’s arms, kissing him as if the world might end before morning.
Heat flashed through Aron. Anger, embarrassment, surprise—he couldn’t sort the emotions fast enough. Behind him, Stormbreaker’s silence seemed to expand and take on menace.
At Raaf’s laughing squeal, Nic and Dari broke apart, and Dari’s hand drifted to her chest as she saw the crowd at the entrance to her room.
“I—I’m sorry.” She sounded breathless, then looked frustrated as her gaze moved from Aron to Stormbreaker, and back to Aron. “I was going to talk to both of you, but there hasn’t been time, and it’s been so sudden, these feelings. I didn’t know—I mean, I—he—”
She stopped. Took a breath.
Raaf kept laughing until Zed popped him in the back of the head. A blue arm shot out from behind a nearby abutment, and Raaf got dragged out of sight, no doubt to enjoy Iko’s stern supervision for a few long minutes. Someone else was laughing, and Aron thought it might be Windblown. He wished Iko would grab him, too, but knew that couldn’t happen.
Snakekiller said nothing, and Stormbreaker’s hostile silence stretched to fill all available space. Aron felt glad he couldn’t see the man’s face, and mildly surprised that he heard no thunder, either distant or near.
“Nic’s asked me to be his band-mate,” Dari said, and then Aron wished he could be the one to make thunder. A big, heart-crushing clap of it.
Knowing he would lose Dari and watching it happen were two separate experiences. The joy on Dari’s face tore Aron into pieces inside, yet it pleased him at the same time. It worried him, too, because of what they would face come morning.
“She’s agreed.” Nic sounded giddy. “I came to my senses only tonight and made my intentions known to her—or I would have discussed it with you before I acted, Aron. I would have spoken to you, too, Stormbreaker.”
Aron could only nod to Nic. He couldn’t hate Nic, and he still couldn’t be angry with him. Though anger might have been a welcome shield against the drumming ache in his chest, in that place where his heart should be.
Nic and Dari joined hands, and Aron saw the mythical heartwood in his mind, towering above all of Eyrie, strong and endless and eternal, radiating a power that couldn’t be denied. It was a beautiful thing, that tree. And the simple, complete happiness in Dari’s eyes—just as beautiful, though bittersweet, because she had never looked so content in the time Aron had spent with her.
This was right.
He knew it was, and he had known it for some time now, and dealt with it as his truth-seeking legacy demanded. Yet the reality of their union was easier to accept. Aron tried to give some gesture, or at least make himself smile so they would know he was pleased for them. That he would grow accustomed to this loss, as he had the many others in his life—but how?
How could he just… let Dari go?
It seemed like half his life had been consumed by loving her, and he felt as naked and small as he did all those nights before, when he tumbled to the floor outside her door. This time, there was no tunic he could pull over his head to hide his emotions. He was forced to stand before his newly betrothed friends, more naked than ever, failing at every attempt to wish them well.
In the end, it was Aron’s former teacher and mentor who stepped forward to lead the way once more. Though Aron could see the lightning playing in his former guild master’s eyes, Stormbreaker offered Dari and Nic a polite bow.
“My congratulations to you both,” he said in a low but well-controlled voice. “Will you take your vows before we depart? If so, dawn is most beautiful along Triune’s east wall, and a wedding on Judgment Day would be most opportune for our purposes.”
“Yes,” Snakekiller agreed as she, too, came into the chamber to stand beside Aron. “And Stone keeps bands at the ready, though they might not be as fine as those you would receive at a dynast castle.”
“Tomorrow,” Dari said, her voice so slight Aron barely heard the word—but her excitement was unmistakable. So was Nic’s. Neither of them wished to wait, now that they had come to this decision.
“Let me speak to my grandfather and Lord Baldric,” Dari said, but Aron knew that was a formality.
This was it.
This was really it.
When he walked out of Dari’s chamber tonight, the next time he would see her, she would be a bride—a lovely, perfect bride, pledging her life to someone else.
“Let’s give them some privacy,” Snakekiller said to both Aron and Stormbreaker, and Aron realized that for all of Stormbreaker’s self-possession, he was having as much trouble walking out that chamber door as Aron.
Snakekiller took them both by the elbow, and when Aron felt her tug at him, he finally moved. Stormbreaker moved with him, and moments later—moments that felt endless and as painful as straight razors dragged across vulnerable skin—Dari’s chamber door swung shut behind them.
Outside in the hallway, Windblown waited with Zed and Raaf and Iko, who had Raaf in a headlock, with his big blue hand over Raaf’s mouth. Blath was there as well.
“At dawn?” she asked, directing the question to Snakekiller.
“Yes,” Snakekiller said, letting go of Aron and Stormbreaker. “And make sure the festivities last until after the bulk of the Judgment crowd arrives.”
Zed seemed to take that as a cue, and he took Raaf from Iko’s control and led the boy away, with Windblown following quietly behind. Blath and Snakekiller set off in a different direction, murmuring
to each other as if they might be discussing what just happened.
Aron, Stormbreaker, and Iko stood for a time, until Iko inclined his head toward the stairwell. “With preparations for Judgment Day and now a wedding, the main kitchen will have a surplus of ale and roast tonight.”
Aron didn’t stop to wonder if the kitchens would serve them so late, and neither did Stormbreaker.
For once, Iko led the way instead of following, and Aron didn’t mind at all.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
DARI
How strange it was, to have traveled so far in body, mind, and heart that home seemed like a dream from someone else’s thoughts, and the words “family” and “people” had gained enough meanings to record on a long, rolled scroll.
Dari held out her arms for Blath to drape a Sabor wedding shawl across her shoulders and forearms and tried once more to grasp that today she would take a band-mate, a partner to stand beside her for the rest of her life. The reality of it made her breath come in flickers like the small torches in the sconces of the preparation tent near Triune’s east wall.
The shawl’s golden lace tickled her neck, stirring up a light musk of amberwood and heather from the lotions Blath had used to enhance the natural glow of Dari’s skin. Dari’s hair had been pulled back and oiled into hundreds of ringlets, then braided into a pattern as intricate as the shawl. Dari felt softer and more beautiful than ever in her life, yet infinitely stronger.
Blath finished the shawl’s draping, then stood back and folded her powerful blue arms. Her golden eyes appraised Dari, from the small silver diadem at her forehead with the Ross crest of the rising gryphon to the gauzy peridot gown Blath had borrowed from one of the sheltered. Dari’s feet and ankles were bare save for the false cheville at her left ankle, as both Fae and Fury tradition demanded, and she almost dug her toes into the soft dirt as she awaited Blath’s opinion.
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