Circuit. He didn’t bother with gloves or pokers anymore, just shoved the lit wood around until the configuration pleased him, ignoring the sparks and splinters.
:Healers—: Vehs started.
:The Healers want me to drink sleep tinctures,: Wil shot back. :And not the cute stuff made with hops and shamile. The mean stuff you give to a bull when you need to geld him.:
:No one is gelding you, Chosen.:
Wil snorted.
But Vehs wouldn’t let it die. :If it’s what you need to sleep . . .:
What Vehs was nattering on about was that the Vision didn’t just intrude on his waking thoughts. It had become a recurring nightmare, one he couldn’t seem to shake. Wil hadn’t slept—really slept—in a week.
His sleep-debt had been growing even before Elene’s death, thanks to nights on the Karse Border. Now that debt was coming due, with interest. Hallucinations, jittery nerves, the acute, fleeting sense that he was being watched (when he wasn’t).
It was nothing he hadn’t dealt with before. The Vision would fade eventually. He’d endure until then.
:I’d rather deal with the nightmare.: Wil rolled his right shoulder, wincing. Spring had been damp and chilly, and his joints protested the chill. He shucked off his Whites, the cold air making his skin and scars prickle. Under the bedcovers it felt even colder.
Not for long, he thought, his eyes drifting shut. Warm . . . no time.
He slept. And in his dreams, Elene died again.
—in the water—
Freezing, all the way up to her neck. A hard shock of cold as she allowed the current and rope tied to Alrek carry her to the child clinging to an outcropping of rock. She practically blanketed him with her body, getting a good hold.
She turned to look back at the shore, Alrek’s white form blazing like a guiding star.
Then she reached, her Gift struggling with the child’s weight and mass, struggling with the distance, struggling as she struggled against the current.
The boy vanished beneath her. She saw a dark figure appear near Alrek, heard the shore crew cheer. For a moment, her heart soared—
The log came—
—out of nowhere—
—and dragged her down, her body pinned beneath the wooden anchor and the tangled lead rope. Everything became a confusion of sound and sensation, so dark and cold, and all she could think was, Ah, gods—mother, I’m so sorry.
:Elene!: Her Companion’s voice, pleading in her mind.
:So sorry, Alrek.:
She felt him and the villagers straining to drag her in. The rope jerked, and her chest blazed with pain as ribs cracked. Her Companion’s mindless panic threatened to overwhelm her.
:No! Alrek—:
She fumbled with something at her belt—
Wil shot up out of bed, fighting his own blankets, spilling out onto the floor with a scream in his throat. He sat, panting, until his heartbeat settled.
Am I missing something? he thought. When will I stop dreaming about you, Elene? She had been a yearmate, an infrequent lover, a fellow Circuit rider. She could be in his head another day, week, month . . .
:Year,: Vehs said adamantly. :And in the meantime, you aren’t sleeping. Go do something about it already!:
Wil pushed a hand through his close-cropped hair, smearing sweat across his scalp. :I’d rather you sang me a lullaby.:
:Chosen—:
:No tinctures, Vehs.:
:Stubborn—bull-headed—:
But Wil’s annoyance at his Companion’s meddling had reached its breaking point—he snapped down his shields, cutting off Vehs’s rant. Not that he could block him completely. Just enough to muffle the chatter.
He curled up on his side in his bed, and sometime around midnight he finally eased into a half-waking doze that lasted until dawn.
Food and a bath briefly revitalized him, but by the time he took the stairs back to his quarters, he found his steps dragging. He flopped onto his bed and settled his eyes shut.
In the water—
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Wil jolted up and for a moment sensed something nearby, watching—
The feeling vanished. Someone was knocking on his door, but he was alone in his bedroom.
Wil lurched over to the door, yanking it open. A red-haired girl in the orange-red of a Bard Trainee waited in the hall.
“Hi!” she said brightly. “I’m Amelie!”
“Hello,” he replied, fighting the instinct to close the door again. Bard Trainees were, in his experience, never a good omen.
“Milady Lelia would like to see you.” Amelie smiled brightly. “Is now a good time?”
Wil raised a brow. “ ‘Milady’ Lelia?”
Amelie maintained her blazing smile and nodded.
Wil glanced back at the bed, then back to her. He forced himself to smile. “Now’s a fine time,” he said.
They didn’t have far to go. Wil hadn’t seen Lelia in years, so he didn’t know how the Bard had managed to win a Palace wing apartment from one of Selenay’s distant relatives, but she’d done it.
What surprised Wil was not that she had finagled it but that she had chosen to settle down. Lelia seemed the type of Bard who would wander Valdemar until her shoes wore away and her toes fell off.
Amelie led him in, and if the woman waiting for him was barefoot, he couldn’t tell because she was bundled up in a red velvet blanket.
“Wil,” Lelia said, with enough warmth to make his heart swell. She remained unvarnished loveliness, albeit with an air of fragility he did not remember seeing before.
Aging, just like me, he thought. Only with a little more grace and flair.
“Milady.” He bowed.
She rolled her eyes at his airs, pushing out of the chair to hug him. The sudden, friendly movement pushed away the melancholy he’d felt a moment before. He returned the gesture, smiling.
“I’d have given you a full day to rest and recuperate, but the last two times I did that you were gone before I could gain an audience.” She sat back down. “You just love to go, don’t you?”
I could say the same about you, he thought. He took a seat on a couch as Amelie plied him with tea, cream cakes, and other snacks. He waved them off politely.
“My protege,” Lelia said, nodding toward Amelie as she swept out of the room. “She’s all sorts of mischief.”
“You seem to be doing well.”
She stretched her smile so wide he thought her face would crack. “You’ve no idea. How’ve you been? Stopped any assassination plots lately?”
He shrugged. “It’s been a slow year or two. Mostly citizens irate over taxation, property lines, and who owes whom for what.”
“Assassination plots sound more fun.”
“Same amount of paperwork, too.” His lips twisted in a grim smile.
She sipped tea as they talked. He gradually grew at ease with the sumptuous setting. No one disturbed them, though judging by the number of chairs, settles, and low tables, Lelia was accustomed to entertaining groups.
“When do you head out next?” she asked, topping off her cup from a nearby pot.
“Tomorrow,” Wil said. “Probably. Maybe the day after.”
