Sun in Glory and Other Tales of Valdemar

'They have failed, all of them.'

'And the Empaths?'

'Two of them were my closest friends,' Gisel said. She walked back to the tall window and stood in its frame, looking out. 'The bells have tolled for the youngest.'

'But-'

'But?'

'I don't understand.'

'That much is clear. Ask, and ask quickly.'

'If the Empaths couldn't help him, why have you been waiting for me?'

'I don't know.'

'P-pardon?'

Gisel turned; the light was harsh; it made her face look like broken stone. 'I don't know.

I don't know what it was that Magda-that Margaret-Merton might have done to save him. I was there when Sasha fell. I was there when Michael joined her. I've been all over the city looking at the sleepers who are just waiting to join the dead. And I can hear what they think, when their terror has any words at all. It's my belief that if Gregori died, they would wake.'

Kayla listened as Gisel spoke.

:Darius.:

:Kayla?:

:It is-the King's son-he is-:

:Yes.:

:The dragon.:

'You're wrong,' she heard herself say.

Gisel raised a brow.

'If you killed him, he'd take them all with him when he went. All of them.'

Gisel closed her eyes. Her turn. But she snapped them open quickly enough. 'And you know this how?'

Helpless, Kayla shrugged. 'I don't know. But...I'd bet my life on it.'

'Well that's good, because you will be. Go and get a bath, get food, settle into your room. We'll come for you.'

Kayla nodded. 'Can I have-'

'What?'

'Darius. Can I have Darius with me?'

Gisel hesitated. It was a cold hesitation. 'It would be...better...if you did not.'

* * *

In her room-and it really was a single room-she found Daniel perched on the edge of her bed. He started when he saw her, and leaped up from the bed's edge, shortening the distance with his flight of steps. She caught him in her arms and held him tightly, seeing another child in his stead.

'You need a bath,' she told him gently.

He said very little, but she managed to ask for water, hot and cold, and she tended him first. She had spent most of her life taking care of the children of Riverend, and this one was no different.

Or so she told herself.

:Darius,: she said, as she worked, soap adding to tangles of hair and the murk of what had been clear water, :What was Gregori doing when Rodri died?:

:He was at the Border,: Darius replied.

It was strange, that she could speak to him from such a distance, and that it could feel so natural. :During the skirmishing?:

:Yes.:

:Why?:

:He was a Herald.:

:That's not enough of an answer. If he was so sensitive...Gisel spoke of training. Was he trained?:

:He had better teachers than you, if that's what you meant.:

:But he-:

:He was very, very powerful, Kayla.:

:Then why did it take so long to figure out what he was?:

:He let no one know. No one but Rodri.:

:He was in the middle of battle.:

:Yes.:

:Constantly?:

:Not...physically. But there is evidence that he was aware of it. He could sense the movement of our enemies well before any others could. War breeds fear and hatred.: She pulled her son-no, this child, this stranger's son-from the bath water and set him in the towel in her lap.

:Darius. I need the truth.:

:I have not lied to you, Bright Heart. Between us, there can be no lie.:

:Could he use his Gift as a weapon?:

Darius did not answer.

Answer enough.

* * *

She did not sleep that night. She knew that sleep, in this place, was death. Close her eyes, and she could see the black spread of dragon wings, the lift and curl of air beneath their span. Close her eyes, and she could hear those borne aloft by that terrible flight; the screaming and the terror of those who had not yet realized they were dead.

Kayla, her mother said, from the distance of years, from the safety of death, people make weapons out of anything. It's important that you understand this.

Her mother's voice, sad but firm, was all that remained her. She could not see her face in the darkness. In the hands of the wrong men, guilt is a weapon. Love is a weapon. Hope is a weapon.

You have the ability to make weapons far sharper, far harsher, than others can. And the only person who can choose how those weapons are wielded is you.

She hadn't understood what her mother meant, then. She had been younger.

Young Caroline makes a weapon of desire every time she wanders past the boys at the mine. She understands this, but she wants only the power of their adoration.

Others are not so kind.

You cannot be Caroline.

I'm not beautiful enough.

Hush. You are far, far more beautiful. To me. But that's not the point, and I won't let you distract me tonight. There is a difference between manipulation and motivation.

Sometimes desire is good, sometimes it is bad; she will discover that in her time.

You must understand it now. You understand love as a young girl does, and not as an old woman, like me. You must let it come to you; you must never force it upon another.

But-

I've seen you. I've seen you make Caroline cry because you're jealous of her. I've