Changes

him with an answer.

Ice and Stone were each wearing a talisman. This did not mean what he thought it meant. To his mind, a talisman was a religious token, something meant to bring one closer to one’s god, and make it easier to reach the god when asking for help. But to the stone, a talisman was an item created by magic to protect, hide, and defend the bearer from attacks that were not physical. Like mental coercion, or magic.

Magic? he thought involuntarily. Protects them from magic?

The reply wasn’t a thought, exactly. It certainly wasn’t framed in words. But his own mind put it into words, somehow.

Of course, magic. Just as the stone protects everything within its influence from magic, from even the thought of magic.

That—don’t make any sense—

It doesn’t have to, not to you.

The reply had come with such... cheerful indifference... that he couldn’t take offense. It would be like taking offense because the leaves were green instead of blue. Well, if the stone knew so much and was answering questions—

So where are they?

Near. Their talismans interfere with the stone. The stone interferes with them. The result is a pattern of confusion. This means the stone cannot locate them

Oh.

Mags drifted a while. The ache in his head ebbed and was soothed as the stone became disturbed by it and moved to rectify the situation.

He came a little more awake—or maybe just aware—when he sensed... conflict. It was nearby. He groaned a little when he realized it was Amily and her father, fighting. Or rather, Amily was fighting; Nikolas was just standing there, helplessly letting the tirade pour over him.

A brief flash told Mags what had triggered it. Nikolas had suggested Amily might be better off leaving Haven for a while. He had been going to suggest that she go with an entire group of her friends—Mags included—and just for the summer until it was cool enough to fix her leg. But she hadn’t let him get that far.

She had worked herself up to the point of hysteria with her terrifying theories anyway. This had just triggered some old, old resentments. “You just want to be rid of me!” The words were distorted by sobbing. “You think I don’t know, that I’ve never figured it out? You’ve always been angry because I lived and mother died! And you’ve always been guilty because you weren’t there! You’ve always resented me because you have to take care of me, and that’s a burden on you that the King’s Own doesn’t need! And you’ve always been disappointed in me because I wasn’t the son you wanted and I was never Chosen!”

And Nikolas wanted to say, no—no—but he couldn’t. Because that would be a lie. Amily had poured out the bitter truth. It wasn’t all the truth, how could it be? He loved his daughter. He was proud of her, prouder than ever after she willingly made bait of herself, even though she was terrified. But every word she said was also true... how could it not be? He had adored his wife, and her loss was an ache inside him that would never heal. How could he not but feel guilt that he was not there? And... at the times when the ache was the worst, how could he not look at Amily and think, why was it you and not her?

As for Amily being a burden—she was. There was nothing she could do about that. There was nothing he could do about the fact that he was not just a Herald, he was the King’s Own, and that brought with it an entire load of additional responsibilities. And he knew, because he winced when he thought about it, that there had been so many times when he had been laden down already and she had needed something, and he had thought, Oh, if only you were not here . . .

As for not being a son... every man wants a son. Every man is filled with fear and unease, along with delight, at being presented with a daughter instead. Daughters belong to that strange, delightful, but incomprehensible woman-tribe, but a son... ah, a son is a member of the man-tribe. A man can understand a son. A man doesn’t have to be afraid for a son . . .

And not being Chosen? Oh, that opened up a world of mingled relief and disappointment—what father doesn’t want the best for his child? And there was nothing better than having that perfect friend, that perfect support, that was a Companion. But relief that she would never know the endless self-sacrifice required of a Herald, never have to look at someone she loved, and think If only you were not here . . .

Mags pulled away from the fight, feeling queasy. That wasn’t anything he wanted to know... and how in hell was Nikolas going to reconcile all of that? How could anyone? Suddenly, Mags felt a lot more sympathy with Jakyr, who fled any hint of connection, much less commitment.

Maybe that was why Nikolas had practically thrown Amily at Mags when he realized the two were attracted to each other. Mags... could take her, take the burden onto himself and leave Nikolas free to only be the King’s Own, and not Amily’s father. Mags could protect her, when Nikolas could not—as Nikolas had not been able to protect her and her mother. Mags would shoulder the burden, and Mags certainly wasn’t disappointed with her . . .

No, Mags didn’t want to know any of this.

Not when he had felt that burden, felt Amily desperately clinging to him, trying to infect him with her crazy theories so that he would make protecting her and being with her his priority.

And he felt the same frantic smothering that Nikolas did. The same desperate bewilderment as he faced two duties with only enough time, energy, and attention for one.

He blocked out the fight. He didn’t want to know any more, didn’t want to hear any more. And somewhere deep inside him a little voice whispered that this might not be so bad... he would miss her company if he used this as an excuse to break off the never-official betrothal... but would he miss the burden?

But in turning away from one quarrel, he was drawn to another.

Lena was sitting in a little wilted heap in the herb garden, talking, while Bear tried to get cuttings. From the