“That’s right. And neither did your crew.”
“They won’t say anything unless I tell them to. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried,” Gaven said. “How long will you stay in port here?”
Jordhan’s blue eyes scanned the towers that rose above the harbor, and he scratched his chin. “Not long, I think. This is the one place it’s hard for a freelancer like me to find work. Why? You think you’ll need a way out of here?”
“I hope not, but I don’t really know what’s next. I just thought it would be good to know my options in case I do need to leave in a hurry.”
Jordhan shook his head. “Think you can stay out of trouble?”
“No way,” Gaven said with a laugh.
Jordhan embraced Gaven, then turned to Rienne. Without a word, Rienne threw her arms around him and held him tight for a long moment.
“Stick to him, Ree,” he said with a nod to Gaven. “You two should be together.”
“I plan to,” Rienne said. She took Gaven’s hand and stood back.
“Thank you again, Jordhan,” Gaven said.
“I still owe you my life,” Jordhan replied. “At least once or twice.”
“But who’s counting?”
“Sovereigns keep you,” Jordhan said.
“Winds’ favor,” Gaven replied. Holding Rienne’s hand, he strode off the Sea Tiger and into the city.
Rienne had been right: in a city full of half-elves, Gaven felt far less conspicuous, almost as though he belonged there. It helped that he knew the streets and buildings of Stormhome far better than any other city in Khorvaire. He found himself confused a few times by newer buildings that had altered the course of streetways, but overall the city had changed little while he was in Dreadhold. From time to time he was almost able to convince himself that it was still 970, that he’d never found the Heart of Khyber, never done the things that earned him his imprisonment, never been to Dreadhold. He even felt younger.
Rienne corrected him at each wrong turn, and soon they stood looking up at the three-spired tower where Gaven had spent his childhood, his father’s house.
“Do you want me to wait?” Rienne asked. He gave her a puzzled frown. “I thought you might want a chance to talk to your father alone.”
“Is there any reason he wouldn’t be delighted to see you?”
“No, not that I know of.”
“Well then, you’re coming in.” He took her hand and squeezed it, then he knocked on the door. It swung open immediately. Gaven didn’t recognize the young man who stood in the door, but Rienne did.
“Good afternoon, Jettik, we’re here to see the elder Master Lyrandar.”
From the look on young Jettik’s face, Gaven assumed that the boy guessed who he was. He gritted his teeth, planning how to keep the boy quiet-or, if all else failed, how to escape to a safe hiding place. Then he realized that Jettik’s eyes were fixed on Rienne, his white lips quivered, and his eyes were red as though he had been crying.
What is going on? he thought.
“I–I’m sorry, Lady Alastra,” Jettik stammered. The act of speaking seemed to break a floodgate, and fresh tears sprang to his eyes. “The master…” He wiped his nose on his sleeve and tried to draw a steady breath. A dread gripped Gaven’s stomach, and he put a hand on the door frame. He already knew what the boy was trying to say.
Jettik started again. “The master passed away this morning.”
“Oh no,” Rienne breathed, squeezing Gaven’s hand. Gaven heard the words and felt the squeeze, but both seemed distant, as though he looked down on the whole scene from a mile in the air.
“Th-th-the younger Master Lyrandar is upstairs, Lady, if you want to…” Jettik trailed off.
Gaven only vaguely realized that Rienne was looking to him for direction. Did he want to see his brother? Some part of his mind thought that Jettik’s words should have stung-he should have been the younger Master Lyrandar, not his younger brother-but he was too numb to feel the sting. It was impossible: he had been cut off from his family for so many years, and he had come hours too late to see his father one last time. Hours. Did he want to see Thordren?
Rienne led him forward into the entry, clutching his arm and looking up at him with eyes full of concern. She had evidently made the decision for him, or made her own. They were going to see Thordren.
His brother had been a headstrong adolescent when Gaven saw him last, barely more than a child. The two brothers had never been close, had never really been anything more than casual acquaintances who happened to live under the same roof. Now Thordren ran the household in their father’s illness-no, he had just inherited the household. He could throw Gaven out of the house if he wanted to, he-
Holy Host, Gaven thought, he could have me arrested in no time. What are we doing here?
“Rienne.” A rich tenor voice came from the staircase that curved upward along the opposite wall. Rienne wrenched her eyes from Gaven’s face and looked up at Thordren.
“Thordren, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know-”
“Of course,” Thordren said. “It’s good to see you anyway, though of course I wish the circumstances could be other than they are. But do I know your companion?”
Gaven had his back to the stairs, but now he turned to face his brother.
“Gaven,” Thordren said, his raised eyebrows the only indication of his surprise. “This is unexpected.”
“Hello, Thordren.”
Gaven watched a series of emotions work themselves out on his brother’s face, surprise and rage and grief and regret prominent among them. The silence stretched until it was awkward, with Rienne looking back and forth between them as if waiting for one of them to spring at the other.
“I’m sorry,” Rienne sobbed at last, when the silence had become unbearable. “We shouldn’t have come.”
“No,” Thordren said. He started down the stairs again. “It’s good that you’re here. I apologize for being ungracious.”
Thordren had reached the bottom of the stairs and crossed the room to stand by them. He threw his arms around Gaven, clinging to him with desperate fierceness. Gaven stood awkwardly for a moment, then returned his brother’s embrace. When Thordren finally pulled away, his face was wet with tears, and he gave an embarrassed laugh.
“You will always be my brother,” Thordren said.
Gaven pulled him close again.
CHAPTER 39
The Aundairian ambassador looked as though he had been dragged from bed and brought before the Cardinals-which, Vauren supposed, was not far from the truth.
Silver Flame, he thought, I feel much the same way.
Vauren’s path away from the Whisper Woods had led him to the border of Thrane, Aundair’s neighbor to the east and south. He’d been far enough ahead of Haldren’s marching armies that he had little trouble slipping across the border without papers. Within three weeks of leaving Haldren’s camp, he’d found his way to the city of Thaliost, where he managed to secure identification and traveling papers for his new identity. He had also used a contact in Thaliost to get a message back to Fairhaven, though he didn’t expect any kind of response.
Armed with a letter of introduction provided by the same contact, he had made his way to Flamekeep and found his way into the livery of a Knight of the Flame, which made him distinctly uncomfortable. On the one hand, he knew he was by no means the first foreign spy to infiltrate this chamber and this supposedly holy order. On the other hand, it shaped Vauren’s personality in unfamiliar ways. He wasn’t accustomed to piety, but he was becoming pious. He had even started cursing like a Thrane. He feared it would interfere with his work.
