Exile's Honor

wish to tell you—'

'And all of them can wait. A good cleanup for you, and then your own bed,' Dethor told him firmly. 'That's why I came here to get you. Falling on your nose won't honor Sendar or help his daughter, and besides, she's got all of the Collegium and every Herald that could get here to keep an eye on her tonight.'

He felt compelled to protest weakly. 'But—duties I have—'

'Which are in Talamir's hands, at least as far as Selenay is concerned. Do him good.' Dethor gave him a little push to send him on the path down toward the salle. 'As for your duties as Weaponsmaster, the Court and Collegia are in a week of official mourning. No Council meetings unless there's an emergency, no Court functions, no classes, no lessons. The only thing on anyone's plate is planning the coronation, and that is for the Seneschal and Bardic Collegium, not us. Not even Selenay, actually; all she has to do is go through what they plan out for her. For you lot, this is a week of rest.'

'Ah.' He absorbed that with relief—when something that Dethor had said at the beginning of the explanation struck him as odd. 'Dethor—Weaponsmaster's Second, I am, not Weaponsmaster—'

'Not as of today, you're not,' Dethor said smugly. 'With the Dean's approval, I just retired, and you are Weaponsmaster.'

'Ah—' he said. It was all he could say. He felt completely stunned and utterly blindsided. This, he had not expected!

'Glad you agree,' said Dethor with satisfaction. 'Which is just as well, since it's too late for you to back out. Come along. It's a shower bath for you, and then bed. Worry about whatever it is you're going to worry about tomorrow.'

:You might as well surrender now,: Kantor said sleepily. :He still outranks you. Retired Weaponsmaster outranks the current Weaponsmaster.:

And in fact, there was a sweet relief in doing just that, surrendering and letting someone else give the orders. He had never thought he would be comfortable in doing that—but he had never trusted anyone the way he now trusted these friends—these brothers—his fellow Heralds. As they trusted turn; had trusted him with the safety and life of their Queen, and their own.

As they had trusted him to go home to Karse—and come out again.

'In your hands, I put myself,' he said, and gave in gracefully to the inevitable.

«»

'I find it somewhat ironic,' Selenay said, a good two weeks and a bit later, as Alberich stood beside her, on her left. 'That one of the first things I do is ask you to keep to your shadow-Grays, and yet circumstances keep forcing you into Whites.'

They stood outside the doors of the Great Hall, and from the other side came a hum of voices and a sense of expectation. On her right was Talamir, in that same set of Formal Whites Alberich recalled from the first moment he'd actually seen the Queen's Own. Now he wore a set of Whites every bit as elaborate as Talamir's, and very uncomfortable he felt in them, too. It wasn't as if they were ill-fitting; quite the contrary, they fit him better than any clothing he'd ever worn. They should. It had taken two cobblers, three tailors, and five fittings to ensure that they did, and the wonder was, it had all been done in just under a fortnight. No, it was that same reaction he'd had to Talamir's Whites; this was a set of clothing for a highborn courtier, not a common man like him.

:I believe at the time you were thinking, 'a foppish highborn courtier,' or something of the sort,: Kantor observed.

:So I was. I still think so. And the moment all this is over, I am changing out of these ridiculous garments as quickly as humanly possible:

He refrained from tugging at his high collar. It wasn't tight; he only felt as if it should be. 'Only for one day, it is,' he replied. 'Tomorrow, Alberich the Grim I shall again be.' He did not add how much it would take to induce him back into the cursed Whites.

'Is that what the Trainees call you?' Talamir asked with interest. Talamir's health had improved vastly, and continued to do so, but there was still something that was other-worldly about him—more so at some times than others—as if only part of him was still here, among the living. And it wasn't as if he was absentminded, or that his mind wandered; actually, he was, if anything, sharper than ever. He noticed everything but said very little. Perhaps that was part of it; he stood aside from life, an observer rather than a participant. The things that irritated and annoyed other people, Talamir did not even comment upon; Alberich wondered if there was even anything he was afraid of anymore.

There were times when he seemed so distant and remote that he didn't quite seem human....

Fortunately, today he was very much in the moment, and the most like his old self that he'd been since before the last battle.