Changing the World: All-New Tales of Valdemar

Midwinter parties.”

Lelia pursed her lips. Suddenly, this didn’t sound so bad.

“Discretion would be required,” Talamir said. “Who placed you there would have to remain confidential. This is a potentially volatile situation.”

She nodded. “Discretion. Understood.”

“Do you?” Wil asked, fixing her with a look. His tone caused a flicker of irritation to rise inside her, and when she met him gaze for gaze she saw in his face something she hadn’t anticipated: deep distrust.

Not skeptical, not suspicious—he didn’t trust her.

The joy of reunion died, leaving behind a wealth of annoyance.

“I’ve performed for the queen,” she replied coolly, and had to suppress a smirk when he blinked in obvious surprise. Didn’t know about that, did you? she thought. “M’lord Talamir, would you say I did so with grace?”

“Indeed,” the Queen’s Own murmured.

“Also,” she continued, “it’s been a while since I wore my Rusts, but I’m sure Dean Arissa would vouch for me.” Assuming she’s forgotten about that incident with the chirra and the inkwell.

“Well, Herald,” Talamir said to Wil, “it’s either this or try to get in as a servant.”

Wil massaged his forehead, grimacing. “I guess . . . we’ll try this.”

“Very well.” Talamir rubbed his hands together lightly. “I will make the arrangements. Do you have a handler?”

“Maresa Applegate,” Lelia replied promptly.

“I shall make your arrangements with her, then. I leave you two to the rest.” He walked off abruptly, without further farewell.

When Wil finally bothered to look at Lelia, he did so with a sad, sober expression. It made her own smile fade a little.

“I’m glad to see you,” she said, and hugged him.

Women confused Wil.

He never felt comfortable around them unless they were younger than fifteen or older than dirt. Or married. Or saddled with babies.

None of which described Lelia. When she’d been younger, she’d been—well, manageable didn’t cover it, but it had been different.

Now, though . . .

He patted her back awkwardly as she hugged him and felt relieved when she disengaged. Not that it hadn’t been a nice hug—her coat hung open, and he’d shed his due to the warmth of the heated stables. Her body squished comfortably in the right places. Her height had also put her hair right under his nose, giving him a whiff of honey and cinnamon.

And so it went around the women- who-confused-Wil. They hugged him, or said they were glad to see him, and his response always felt wrong.

He decided to focus on what he knew: being a Herald.

“I’m staying at the Companion’s Bell,” he said, “as Attikas Goldenoak.”

“What else can you tell me about this—whatever it is?”

He briefly thought about explaining it to her. Well, Lelia, I’ve been having stomach-lurching visions of a horrible murder, but there’s no hard evidence aside from a brigand’s confession and a handful of gems. In fact, the only solution the supposedly brilliant Queen’s Own could come up with was dropping me in the lord’s home and “letting my Gift do its work.”

No. No, the only thing worse than this so-called plan was trying to explain it to someone. “The less, the better,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “You won’t pass for an entertainer, you know.”

“That’s just one problem with this plan.”

:It’s not a problem,: Vehs said stubbornly. :You just don’t want to come up with a solution.:

“Assistant?” Wil hazarded, trying to mollify his Companion.

“The Whites might give you away.”

“Conveniently, I wouldn’t be wearing them.”

She widened her eyes innocently. “The Queen lets you take them off?”

Wil felt his cheeks burn. Was she being funny or making fun of him? She was smiling. What did it mean?

She nodded to herself. “I have an idea. You have a weapon?”

He gave her a disgusted look.

“One you can wear to a party without looking like an idiot?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. On that note—”

“Going to tell me why?”

She cocked her head. “Oh, I think the less you know, the better.”

Vehs chuckled gleefully.

:Glad you’re amused,: Wil thought sourly at him.

“I need to collect some things,” she said. “See you at the Bell in the morning?”

“Sure,” he mumbled.

“Have a good night, Herald.” She waved and wandered off, whistling as she went.

Wil directed his attention to Vehs.

:It was funny,: Vehs said.

Wil stalked off in a direction opposite hers. Not the fastest route off the Palace-Collegia complex, but at least it guaranteed he’d be alone.

Vehs drew up beside him.

Mostly alone, Wil thought.

:Talamir thinks she’s capable,: Vehs said. :And Lyle is a Herald.:

:I’d be happier if she were, too.:

:But then she wouldn’t be a Bard. And then you wouldn’t be able to get onto the Count’s grounds.: Vehs’s amusement sparkled like barleywine.

Wil looked in the direction the Bard had gone. :She has matured. I mean, physically. She has—um—:

:Womanly assets.:

Wil flushed, remembering the brief but warm hug. :I wasn’t looking—okay, I was. But that wasn’t—exactly—:

:She’s a woman now.:

:But she’s still Lelia.: He found distinct comfort in that bit of curmudgeonry.

Vehs bumped him from behind. :This is your problem, you know. You only have faith in me and other Heralds.:

:That’s because I like breathing.:

:There are worse things than dying.:

:Like what?:

:Never truly living?:

Wil guffawed. :What philosopher’s memoir did you dredge that from?:

Vehs would not be deterred. :Just because someone doesn’t wear White—:

:I’ll think about it,: Wil replied, annoyed. Vehs went silent.

But Wil knew the Bard, and what she was capable of.

And that worried him.

Wil thought he’d been poleaxed by another vision when the countess swept in. But his gut remained quiescent, and no invisible force drove him to his knees. They were here, now.

“I am Countess Chantil of Tindale,” she said. Three attendants accompanied her: two ladies and the stiff-