“Another Circuit? So soon?”
“No,” Wil replied. “I have to go deliver bad news to Herald Elene’s family.”
Lelia tilted her head to one side. “She died a fortnight ago, near Callcreek, yes?”
“Yes.” He gave her a curious look. “You knew her?”
“No, but I make a practice of knowing for whom the Death Bell tolls.”
“Ah.” He lifted his brows sympathetically. “Right. Lyle.”
Lelia smiled. Her twin brother was a Herald; he had, in fact, been Wil’s internee.
Every time it rings, she has to wonder, he thought. Even if sometimes it’s a little more than I want, at least I know.
“I was near Callcreek when she died,” he said. “On my way back from the Border, actually. I did the footwork of finding out where, when, why, and how.”
“No ‘who’?”
“She drowned on a rescue mission. No one’s fault.” His chest twinged as he said it though, and he remembered the crushing pain from his Vision. “Her family needs to know. So I’ll be heading to Boarsden shortly.”
Her eyes lit up. “Boarsden, eh? That’s near Winefold.”
Wil knew the map of Valdemar the way parents knew the faces of their children. “Correct.”
“Would you like me to go with you?”
He blinked. “What?”
“Me. Go with you. I admit in advance I have ulterior motives.”
He swallowed around a suddenly dry throat. “Such as?”
“My family travels to Winefold around this time of year. There’s a festival to bless the fields—it’s at least a week long. Good work for traveling entertainers. I’d love to see them, and once you’re done at Elene’s you could view it as—” She cocked head again. “Brace yourself, Wil. I’m going to use a strange word on you.” She shaped it slowly. “Hol-i-day.”
:The Bard is wise.:
Vehs’s interjection startled Wil. It was the first thing the Companion had said since Wil had awakened and eased his shields.
Lelia took his silence for disapproval. “No?”
“Let me think about it.”
“Oh. Well. Do.” She drained her cup and set it next to the pot. “You’d be doing me a favor. I’m a frail little Bard, getting on in her years.” She draped her arm across her forehead and slumped. “And I surely would love the company.” She straightened and winked. “My destrier and I can be ready to go either day.”
After leaving her, he headed to the Collegium common room for supper. Trainees chattered earnestly around him as he ate and contemplated the bitter work ahead.
:You know,: Vehs said, somewhat unexpectedly, :she’s unattached. Unbridled. Available.:
Wil furrowed his brow, wiping up the last of his stew with a crust of bread. :Who?:
:Lelia.:
:What does that have to do with anything? And how do you know that?:
Vehs ignored the second question. :You liked her once.:
Wil wiped his mouth and collected his empty plates. :It’s been a while, Vehs.:
:Oh, yes, it’s been a while, Wil.:
:Ha ha.:
:She wouldn’t have invited you to her quarters, or herself along on your journey, if she didn’t still like you on some level.: Vehs hesitated. :I think there’s a very real chance she’d like to play Stefen to your Vanyel.:
If Wil had been drinking, he’d have choked. :Thanks for waiting until I was done with dinner before planting that on me,: he thought.
:Just pointing out the blindingly obvious to the obviously blind.
Wil looked around. “Where’s your destrier?”
Lelia patted the neck of the slender-legged chestnut palfrey waiting beside her. “Right here. Wil and Vehs, meet my horse. Destrier.”
Wil and Vehs exchanged a look.
:Forget what I said,: Vehs said. :This one’s crazy.:
“You named a palfrey ‘Destrier’?”
Lelia grinned. “I always said I wanted one.” She cocked her head. “Exit through the Haymarket Gate?”
“Haymarket Gate,” he agreed, and helped her mount her . . .Destrier.
He’d left the question of bringing her along to Kyril. The Seneschal’s Herald had spent the better part of the evening explaining the art of breaking bad news to good people, and he had provided a small box of Elene’s personal items. According to Kyril, Elene had no living family except for her mother, Kaylene.
When Wil had asked about letting Lelia accompany him, Kyril gave him a thoughtful look and then said, “Having a Master Bard along might not be a bad idea.”
“Assuming she’s discreet,” Wil had said.
“Oh, she is,” Kyril said knowingly. “But I’ll want a full report on how it works out when you get back. Perhaps it’ll be an improvement on the process.”
Perhaps, Wil thought, taking a sidelong glance at Lelia as they rode. She sat straight in the saddle, eyes ahead, reins loose in her hands.
Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “You pack light.”
“I used to do this on foot,” she replied, smiling. “I learned to get by with very little.”
“No gittern?” he asked.
She shrugged from within her voluminous scarlet cloak. “Takes up space.”
Wil frowned. “Won’t your family want to hear your music?”
“I don’t need a gittern to sing, Herald.”
You’ve plenty of room, he thought, but he let it slide. Lelia seemed focused elsewhere, as if listening to something Wil could not hear. Even when they finally got free of Haven’s crowds and the open road spread before them, she remained silent, her gaze soft.
The silence gave Wil time to mull over what he was going to say to Kaylene. Kyril had given suggestions, but they all sounded so . . . formal. But then, what could one say that was “right” in this situation?
Nothing. But “nothing” wasn’t an option, either. He would have to say something.
They stopped for the night at an inn where the owner greeted Lelia personally. People, Wil reflected, remembered a good Bard. After making sure his things (and Elene’s) were secure in his room, he joined Lelia in the common area for a simple but tasty meal. They capped the evening with hot drinks—he with wine, she with her personal tea blend, which she had packed much of for the journey. They nursed their drinks in companionable silence, stretched out on comfortable chairs and settles near a hearth. Despite the heat, Lelia remained wrapped in her cloak, nothing emerging from it but her head and hands.
“You must be sweltering,” Wil said.
She smiled drowsily at him. “I’m quite comfortable, thank you.”
The wood in the hearth popped loudly, showering sparks. A moment later, it resumed its gentle murmur of crackles and pops.
“Such a lovely ditty,” Lelia murmured. “Practically singing me to sleep.”
Wil started to nod, but the phrasing caught his fancy. “Can you do that?”
Alertness crept into her gaze. “Do what?”
“Sing someone to sleep. With your Gift.”
“I have, on occasion. Why?”
Because I haven’t slept in over a week, and I’m going mad drowning in a cold river every night, he thought, but as usual, the actual words became stuck in his throat. “Just curious,” he said.
She studied him, then drained her mug and set it aside. “Goodnight, Herald.” She patted him on the shoulder before disappearing up the stairs.
Wil could feel Vehs in his head. His Companion wanted to say something . . . but, ultimately, did not.
In that, they were similar.
