To Light A Candle

more than a practice rapier. And his speed—

Cilarnen had never seen anyone move that fast in his life—not even the Centaur warriors. He’d barely taken two steps into Kellen’s tent before he’d been seized and flung to the floor, feeling something cold and sharp at his throat, and when Kellen had lit the lanterns—by magic, Wild Magic—he’d seen that Kellen was holding that monstrous blade to his throat, glaring down at him with a face like Death Itself.

And now he was making tea.

“My news is urgent,” Cilarnen said. “It concerns the good of the City.”

“It can wait until the tea is ready,” Kellen said maddeningly. “Or, of course, it can wait until the morning. I really don’t like being woken up in the middle of the night.”

“You’re still thinking only of yourself,” Cilarnen said bitterly. “But then, you always did.”

“Have you always been an idiot,” Kellen asked pleasantly, “or did frost-burn addle your brains? You don’t know anything about me, you’ve come halfway across the world to ask for my help, and now you’re insulting me. What would your father say?”

“He’s dead,” Cilarnen said bleakly. “I killed him.”

—«♦»—

“WHAT?” Oh, good going, Kellen, you’ve really put your foot in it this time. What was it about Cilarnen that sent him back three seasons in his manners? As if the Elves hadn’t taught him better by now. Leaf and Star—if he’d thought about it, the most annoying thing he could have done was to have been completely polite, and if he hadn’t, then he wouldn’t have put himself in the wrong. “Cilarnen, I—”

“You don’t care.” Cilarnen’s voice was flat. “Why should you? Your father and mine were enemies.”

“My father condemned me to death, actually,” Kellen replied slowly. “He wanted me dead so badly he sent three packs of the Scouring Hunt after me. When he found out I was still alive, living outside City Lands, he expanded the Boundaries so he could try to hunt me down again. Whatever our fathers are— were—to each other, we are not enemies. Or at least, we shouldn’t be.”

As he said it, he felt a sense of Presence.

A price to pay.

Forgive an enemy.

Yes, Cilarnen had been his enemy. Perhaps not for what he had done— though Kellen had certainly suffered enough from his youthful tormenting—but simply for what he was—the symbol of what Kellen could have been, as much so as the Other Kellen he had confronted at the Black Cairn.

Cilarnen had been—and still was—his enemy.

Forgive an enemy.

Forgive—forget—it was time to pay the price of Gesade’s healing.

Kellen swallowed hard. He’d thought then it was a small price, a light price.

I forgive you, Cilarnen. I think it will be the hardest price I have ever paid, but… I forgive you. I think you were as much a victim of the City as I was.

He got up to reach out to Cilarnen.

“No,” Kardus said quietly. “The touch of a Wildmage is… uncomfortable to him.”

Kellen settled back and concentrated on preparing tea, saying nothing. This was no simple price, over and done with in hours or days. He would be paying this price for moonturns to come. Perhaps for the rest of his life.

I can try, he thought desperately. I can only try my best.

“Was that why Lycaelon wanted to expand the City Bounds?” Cilarnen asked in horrified wonder.

Kellen took a deep breath, and forced himself to sound calm. He could act as if