Deveren had planned it that way. Some of Braedon's hungry would be fed with what Deveren's gathering did not consume.
Deveren didn't do much talking. Instead, he observed. Castyll was fitting more and more into his father's shoes every day. Damir, his task in Braedon completed, would leave with the king to ride to Kasselton early in the morrow. Deveren knew that Damir was more than eager to see his family again. Vandaris had aged, but he was starting to get a little of his humor back, as was Pedric. Both men, young and old, no longer wore solely black clothing, though neither yet sported vibrant colors.
There was only one uncomfortable moment in the meal, when Vandaris, with a strange gleam in his eye, said, 'I was talking with young Pedric here about your group-or should I perhaps call him Otter?'
Deveren had just brought a goblet of wine to his lips and almost choked. He forced himself to swallow. 'And?' he pressed.
'I was very angry indeed.'
Visions of the stocks, or prison, or perhaps the gallows appeared before Deveren's eyes. With a shadow of his old wicked grin, Pedric said, 'Oh, yes. That we would form a hunting group and not invite Vandaris angered our good head councilman considerably.'
'And how playful, to use animal names for a hunting party,' said Vandaris, draining his own glass. 'Perhaps this coming autumn I shall be able to join you in your, er, fox hunting.' Slowly, Vandaris winked.
Relief made Deveren weak. He knew the explanation Pedric had offered was utterly false, and he was certain that Vandaris knew it, too. But as long as the head councilman pretended to be satisfied, it was enough for Deveren. He managed a weak smile.
Much later, Vandaris had gone home and the young king had retired. Pedric, Deveren, and Damir sat alone, finishing a bottle of extremely potent and extremely fine Mharian liquor. 'I'm going to miss you when you leave tomorrow,' Deveren said honestly to his brother. 'And I you. We do not often get to see each other. And,' he added, 'now might be a good time to say farewell to Pedric, too.'
Startled, Deveren glanced at Pedric. 'You're leaving, too?'
'Guilty as charged,' said Pedric, sipping his drink. 'There's little here for me in Braedon, Dev, other than you and the thieves. And that's not quite enough to counter… counter the memories. Not yet. Your good brother has offered me a position where I can put my skills and talents to good use.'
'A position?' Both Pedric and Damir stared at him. Deveren waved his hand. 'Oh. One of those positions. I'm sure you'll be very useful to my brother, Pedric.' He frowned into his glass, then made up his mind. 'I hadn't wanted to tell you this, not yet. But since you're leaving…'
He drained his glass to work up the nerve, then began. 'I told you about that night… about almost being killed by the thieves.'
Pedric nodded, his brow furrowed. 'Go on.'
'Well, you saw enough that night to believe in miracles, I think. We all did. I… because I had been blessed by Health, I had the gift to see… ghosts.'
He met Pedric's eyes. The young man stiffened. 'Lady Death came that night. It seems the Blessers were right, much as we scoffed at them. I saw the dead come and take the souls of the dying. I saw Kastara, Pedric… and I saw Lorinda.'
Pedric's breath caught. His hand tightened on the goblet, shattered the fragile glass. Red blood mixed with red alcohol but Pedric didn't even notice.
'You're lying,' whispered Pedric.
Deveren's eyes were sad, compassionate. 'I'm not,' he said quietly in a voice so sincere it could not be doubted.
'Why you?' cried Pedric. 'Damn it, why did you get to see Kastara and I couldn't see Lorinda? Just see her for a moment, to know she was all right…!'
'Well,' stammered Deveren, recalling the chaos that had swirled around him that night, 'she was very busy at the time.'
Horrified, he clapped his hand over his mouth. He'd been a little the worse — or better-for the alcohol and the words had just slipped out. They were true, as far as they went, but so flip, so thoughtless …!
'Pedric, I'm sorry, I…'
The young man buried his face in his hands. His shoulders shook. Deveren, stabbed with a thousand knives of remorse, rose and went to his friend, meaning to comfort. Then Pedric turned his handsome face up to Deveren's. Deveren realized with a jolt that the young man was not sobbing- he was laughing!
Then Damir began to chuckle. Finally Deveren, too, relaxed into laughter. 'Oh, Dev,' sighed Pedric at last, knuckling tears of mingled mirth and pain from his eyes, 'I imagine she was busy indeed.' He sighed heavily and wrapped a linen napkin over his bleeding hand. 'I'll miss her till the day I die. Oh, I'll be all right. But she was beautiful, and wise, and kind, and I'll always regret not being able to have her in my life.' He turned to his friend and said sincerely, 'I'm glad you saw her. I wish it could have been me, but… I'm glad to know that there's more to death, after all, then rotting in the earth somewhere.'
He rose. 'I'll take the napkin, if I may. Sorry about your goblet, Dev.'
Deveren saw him to the door. For a moment they stood, then wordlessly reached and embraced each other. Pedric grinned, looking almost like his old self again, punched Deveren playfully in the shoulder, then left. Deveren's heart lifted as the sound of Pedric's whistling reached his ears.
He closed the door. 'You've got a good man there, Damir,' he said to his brother. 'I hope you take care of him. Don't let him run any unnecessary risks.'
'Risk is always necessary in that job,' replied Damir. 'But not in other governmental positions. Deveren, let me ask you something. During this whole dreadful affair, you behaved magnificently. You covered my absence perfectly-'
'— at the cost of an innocent life. I don't call that perfect.'
Damir sobered. 'I understand, and I share your regret. But you saved my life by doing so. And therefore, Castyll's life was saved. And then, you gave the great gift of healing to hundreds on a night when most men ran screaming through the streets. You've done your kingdom a service beyond belief, my brother. When Byrn and Mhar unite, King Castyll will have need of such a subject. You'd make a fine diplomat.'
Deveren shook his head. He thought of Allika, asleep upstairs; of Vervain, warm and soft against him earlier that afternoon. He thought of the kindness in the faces of his thieves, of the things they could do for themselves and the city.
'No, brother. I thank you, but I'm a thief, not a king's man.'
Damir chuckled. 'Say what you will, Dev. But for a brief time, you were both.”
