Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar

:Why not sit with the others?: Vehs asked.

:I like being alone.:

Vehs gave a purely mental sigh.

Wil was wiping up a large lump of meat and parsnip with a chunk of crusty bread when someone sat down next to him. A voice purred in his ear, “Heyla, Herald.”

He looked to his left, and into the face of the black-haired Bard-trainee. In Grays.

No. Not uniform Grays. Gray shirt and pants, but not Grays.

“Uh,” he said.

“You can call me Lelia.”

:Did she get Chosen?: he thought at Vehs.

:Suuure. And I sprout gryphon wings in the moonlight.:

“Uh,” Wil repeated.

“Tell me your story, Herald,” she said in a low voice. “That’s all I ask.”

“You’re walking a fine line,” he said, nodding to her gray (but not Gray) clothing.

Her hard eyes remained fixed on him. “One story. Won’t take long. I just want to know what happened to Daryann.”

Wil’s blood boiled at the sound of his sister’s name. He pushed away from the table. “Excuse me.”

She made a grab for his sleeve. “Herald—”

He jerked his head to where Elcarth sat several tables down. “One more word,” Wil growled, “and I tell him what you’re up to. Bardic Immunity or not, I doubt very much the Dean would be pleased to see how you’re behaving.”

Lelia released his sleeve, and Wil slipped out.

Wil sat down on his bed and rubbed his eyes. The effort to calm down after his last encounter with the Bardic Pest had left him exhausted mentally and physically.

That damn girl.

:We might be heading back to circuit sooner than anticipated,: he thought to Vehs.

:Poor Chosen. Poor, poor Chosen.:

:It’s nothing to be amused about.:

:Oh, I disagree. I think it’s hysterical.:

Wil sighed deeply. :She’s defiling Daryann’s memory.:

:By writing a song about her legacy? That’s not really defiling.:

:It’s not her place.:

:But don’t you think it’s time you told someone?:

A cold knot crept up from Wil’s stomach to his throat. Memories welled up, unbidden. The acrid smell of herbs and wine—etched lines around dark eyes—the soft shush of hair sliding over crisp linens as her head turned toward him—the gaunt, pale face, whittled to a wax doll parody by pain—

He shoved the memory rudely aside.

:No,: he replied.

He stretched out on his bed, abstaining the covers. He preferred an old, loose shirt and breeches to smothering layers of bedding. Bit by bit, he drifted toward the borders of dreaming, relaxing gently into sleep’s embrace.

It was strange, just how relaxed he was. And his feet—they were nice and warm and—

His eyes snapped open. Someone was rubbing his feet.

He yanked his legs back and sat up. Belatedly, he realized he’d forgotten to latch the door. There was just enough moon-and starlight coming through his windows that he could see an all-too-familiar fine-boned face at the end of his bed.

“That’s it!” he roared at her, swinging out of bed and bearing down on her. “Get out! Leave me alone! Leave her alone!”

Lelia stared at him, her mouth wide open. “I—” she started to say.

“Out!”

She backed away from the murderous rage in his eyes, turned, and ran.

He heard a faint sob as she fled.

Wil slumped back onto his bed.

“Ah, Lord,” he mumbled, rubbing his forehead. “Ah, hellfires.”

Lelia bolted back to her quarters, half-sobbing the whole way. Wil’s anger had been startling—overwhelming—terrifying. The only thing she could think to do was run from it.

She opened the door to her room, reaching for the laces of the gray shirt—Her twin sat in the chair by her bed, his hands folded in his lap. Lelia froze in place, the heat of embarrassment creeping across her cheeks.

“Heyla,” Lyle said softly.

She shut the door, her hand falling to her side.

“That shirt doesn’t fit, you know,” he said, and then sighed. “What’s wrong, ’Lia?”

She shook her head, sitting down on the bed and not looking at him. “Nothing.”

“I’m worried about you,” he said. “So is Malesa. She and I . . . talked tonight.”

Lelia grimaced at the implications of that.

Lyle sat down next to her, putting his arm around her shoulder. “Thy heart is heavy, little songbird?”

The familiar, comforting sound of her childhood dialect crushed her pitiful attempts to shut him out.

“I think I did a bad thing,” she whispered.

“What could be that bad?”

Her words emerged as halting, half-incoherent sentences. She told him her fear of never finishing the song that would make her a full Bard, her days stalking Wil, and the disastrous consequences of intruding on the Herald in his bedchambers; the frightening display of anger that had sent her scurrying for her room.

When she finished, Lyle sat quietly, mulling over the tale.

“In his bedchambers?” he said at last.

She ducked her head. “I didn’t see anything—”

“You violated his privacy.”

She slumped.

“You should apologize to him,” he said.

“I should apologize to him,” she echoed listlessly.

“And maybe I’ll get him as a circuit mentor, and I can explain to him my crazy Bard-sib.”

The word “circuit” crashed down on her shoulders like a lead church bell. In a fit of recklessness, Lelia blurted the words she’d never dared given breath before, “You’re going to die!”

“What?” He knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his. She Felt his concern and love down the line of their bond so fiercely it startled her. “No, Lelia.”

“You’ll be leaving me, at the very least,” she said, half hysterical, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Gods, Lyle, do you know how many stories I know? Do you know how many times I hear about the Heralds who don’t return from circuit? Do you know what happens to a twin when the other one . . .”

She couldn’t finish it. The growing dread in her heart made her feel like she’d already said too much.

“I’m so selfish,” she said, shaking her head.

“Y . . . eah,” he agreed. When she gave him a startled look, he grinned. “ ’Lia, it’s not a bad thing. I see you as my balance. Given half a chance, I’d beat myself to death to help others. I need you to remind me that, sometimes, it’s okay to help myself.” He touched her shoulder. “I worry about you, too, you know. In a few months you’ll be wandering out there on your own . . . who knows what trouble you’ll run into without me around to balance you out?”

“Why couldn’t you have been a Healer?” she asked, not smiling. “Or a Bard? Why couldn’t you be like me? We’re supposed to be twins!”

He laughed, but there was a brittleness to it.

“Bright Lady. Bright Havens.” She crushed his hand in hers. “How I wish you didn’t have to go.”