ceremonial staffs held before them, butts planted solidly on the stone floor of the corridor. Neither glanced toward the other.
“Why we’re here. The formality of it. No one is coming down to the inner sanctum today. The Chosen and the others know that. So why send two acolytes? We could be doing something else, something important.”
“Such as?”
“Research. Study. Contemplation.”
“Perhaps that is what we are supposed to be doing now. Contemplating. In silence.”
Thaddaeus fell silent, rebuked. Caera raised her head slightly, stood a fraction straighter.
Then broke the silence five minutes later. “What are you contemplating?”
Before Thaddaeus could answer, a hollow booming sound filled the wide chamber where they stood. Both acolytes stiffened and shot each other terrified glances as the echoes faded down the corridor that stretched out before them.
“I think it came from behind us,” Thaddaeus said, his voice weak and thready.
Caera turned and looked at the massive doors. The two scenes-summer and winter-were split down the center by a border a hand wide. Near chest height, two huge bronze rings had been set into the stone, used to pull the doors open when one of the Sanctuary’s many ceremonies required descending into the mountain depths to Aielan’s Light, or when one of the acolytes required access to the ancient Alvritshai halls for their research.
Thaddaeus reached forward to grasp one of the rings before glancing toward Caera in uncertainty. She shrugged.
The hollow boom echoed again through the corridor and Caera was gratified to see Thaddaeus flinch. Then he pulled on the bronze ring, the counterweighted door opening smoothly but slowly.
From the depths beyond, three members of the Flame stepped forward, two torches raised to ward against the darkness.
The leader’s eyes latched onto Caera and she started.
“I am Vaeren Tir Assoum, caitan of the Order of the Flame. I need to speak to the Chosen immediately.”
As Aeren, Eraeth, Colin, Siobhaen, and Hiroun crested the last ridge before the descent into Artillien, the first of the town’s bells began ringing, announcing their lord’s arrival home.
Aeren shook his head, his face set as a lord’s should be as he contemplated his holdings, the winter sun harsh on the water of the lake, the Rhyssal House banners flapping over his manse, but Colin could see the twitch in his cheek below his eye as he tried to control his relief over being home. If Siobhaen had not been here, he thought the lord might have actually smiled, but her presence had put a strain on their entire journey back through the mountains and to Rhyssal House lands. Neither Aeren nor Eraeth trusted her, so both refused to relax in her presence.
“One of the House towns or outposts must have sent word ahead of us,” Eraeth said, edging his horse ahead of Aeren, “to alert them to our arrival.”
“As they should,” Aeren said stiffly. But then Aeren sighed and let a small smile peek through. “Perhaps they will have a feast waiting for us.”
Eraeth merely grunted, although his horse snorted and stamped the stone roadway as if in anticipation. Hiroun grinned.
“I could use a feast,” Colin said. He shifted in his saddle, trying to relieve the pressure of his wound. He’d wanted to drink from the Well in order to speed up the healing process, but he’d drunk more in the last few weeks than he had in the last few decades and didn’t want to allow the taint of the Well to spread any more than necessary. But the pain had slowed them down. “And a night of complete rest in a real bed.”
“I, as well,” Siobhaen said.
The tension between her and those from Rhyssal tightened as she spoke, but Aeren simply nodded toward Artillien, where more bells had joined the first and they could now see activity within the manse overlooking the lake. “It will be good to see Moiran and Fedaureon,” Aeren murmured, then nudged his horse over the rise.
They rode through the town without halting, shouts rising from those they passed, slowing only as they reached the roadway up to the walls of the manse. The gates were open, Rhyssal House Phalanx waiting to either side to take their horses, but Aeren’s gaze locked onto his wife and son where they stood on the steps of the manse. Colin hung back, beside Siobhaen, as the lord dismounted, Eraeth close behind, younger guardsmen leading their horses away as Aeren strode up to the landing.
“House Rhyssal welcomes home its lord,” Moiran said with a bow of her head. She could not keep the smile from her face, nor the warmth from her voice.
“And its lord is glad to be home,” Aeren said with a broad grin. He nearly laughed, but caught himself. A small crease of concern etched his brow briefly as he gazed at Moiran, and with a closer look Colin realized why. Moiran had aged while they were gone. New wrinkles touched the skin around her eyes and mouth, making her face look drawn and tired.
Fedaureon had aged as well, although in a different way. He stood straighter, shoulders back, his face full of eager vitality.
Moiran’s gaze swept through the remaining three members of the party. “Where are the others-caitan Vaeren and the rest of the Flame?”
Aeren immediately sobered. “Much has happened, none of which we can speak of here.”
Moiran nodded. “I have had a meal prepared. We can discuss everything in the confines of your study. Fedaureon, accompany your father. I’ll see to the rest of the guests.”
She motioned Fedaureon and Aeren forward, Eraeth and Daevon trailing behind, Fedaureon speaking to his father in a hushed voice almost immediately. The last Colin saw of them, Aeren had frowned. Then they were lost to the shadows beneath the portico.
Moiran moved down the steps and clasped Colin’s hands. “It is good to see you return, old friend.” Her gaze slid toward Siobhaen, and Colin suddenly realized that he and Hiroun had positioned themselves to either side of her, as if they were guarding her, hemming her in.
“It’s good to be back, although I won’t be staying for long. I don’t believe you were formally introduced to Siobhaen before.”
Moiran’s hands tightened their hold, “No, but I remember her. Welcome, Siobhaen.”
Siobhaen bowed her head. “Aielan’s Light upon you and your House.”
Moiran caught Colin’s gaze, brow furrowed in consternation. But she had been the Tamaell’s wife for far too long to ask questions she knew he could not answer here.
She led them into the manse, but slowly, and Colin suddenly realized she was giving Fedaureon and Aeren time to talk. They passed through the halls to Aeren’s study, where a table had been set, already laden with trays of fruit and cheese and a decanter of wine. Servants were removing extra place settings, laid out for Vaeren and the others, Colin assumed. Aeren, Eraeth, and Fedaureon were at the massive desk, papers scattered before them, Aeren scanning them with intent. Moiran frowned at them, but motioned Colin, Siobhaen, and Hiroun toward seats, even as the first steaming tray of food arrived.
Aeren looked up as the robust aroma of roasted meat and vegetables filled the room, then dropped the missive he’d been reading. “We can discuss this later,” he said to Fedaureon, even though he remained troubled.
Fedaureon began to protest, but at a look from Daevon, he became silent.
The entire group seated themselves, Moiran and Aeren at each end of the table, as more platters began to arrive. Aeren nodded to Fedaureon to formally bless the food in Aielan’s name, and then the group began serving themselves from the heaping trays.
For a long moment, no one spoke, Moiran’s eyebrows rising in shock as those in the party ate as if ravenous. Colin grunted at his first bite of the roasted pheasant, flavored with a sauce containing rosemary and other herbs. Servants poured wine and hustled to replace empty platters, bowls of a creamy squash soup appearing, with some kind of spice that left a mild burn on the back of the tongue. But as soon as the initial hunger for something besides fire-roasted rabbit eaten with fingers had been slaked, Aeren asked, too casually, “So what has occurred in my absence?”
Colin felt a moment of surprise when Fedaureon straightened in his seat, washing down a bit of meat with a
