I nodded. “I have, and did for years without knowing it. The Fayit are the wardens of the Darkwater Forest, and they always have been. Cesla broke the first commandment, not to delve the deep places of the earth. He used his gift in the forest and by so doing he left himself open to evil. There is a prison beneath the forest, Your Majesty.”
“What evil is in this prison?”
“The losing side of a Fayit war that destroyed their world.”
Boclar made a show of looking around his audience chamber. “And where are the victors, Lord Dura?”
I lifted one arm. “We’re right here, Your Majesty. Most of the Fayit who survived the war surrendered their immortality, willingly becoming less than what they were. Aer told them to split their gifts, talents, and temperaments with each succeeding generation. Their diminishment forged a closer dependence on Him, and we became incapable of the evils they’d perpetrated.” Ealdor hadn’t shown us the sort of evils that had plagued his world. I didn’t really want to know.
The king drew a deep breath and released it slowly. The light in the room dimmed slightly and Boclar glanced at the bowl before he brought his gaze back to mine, squinting. “Lord Dura, you come to me with myths and fables and claim to be the sole person on the face of the earth who comprehends the nature of the forest.” He leaned forward. “How would you regard such a man in my place?”
“I’d think he was insane,” I said, “but the fact that you haven’t rejected my story out of hand says much.”
Boclar’s thoughts might have been running in the same direction. “Just how is it that these captives are able to reach beyond their prison to infect those who go to the Darkwater, Lord Dura?”
Everything in Boclar’s demeanor told me I’d failed to persuade him. “I don’t really know, Your Majesty. When Ealdor, one of the last Fayit, gave me his memories, I saw wonders and terrors, but I didn’t see everything the Fayit were capable of. Their prison is made of pure aurium. Months ago, I saw an alchemist test a sliver from the forest with the strings of a harp.”
The king jerked. I’d finally said something that surprised him. “Can you verify this?” he asked Bolt. “Is there aurium in the forest?”
My guard nodded. “Years ago, before Lord Dura came into his gift, Elwin recovered a sliver of the metal from a dead blacksmith who had entered the Darkwater.”
He pointed at me. “Is there any possibility that this is a false memory implanted by Lord Dura to convince you?”
Bolt shrugged. “Anything is possible, Your Majesty, but he would have had to implant it in all the rest of the Vigil. He’s never delved Pellin or Toria Deel, and they’ve both referenced the metal. I don’t have the gift, but I’ve heard those I’ve guarded speak to this. Implanting memories is far harder than destroying them. Unless the new memory fits seamlessly with all the rest, the mind rejects it.”
Boclar’s expression settled somewhere between a smile and a grimace. “There is a universal law the liturgy never mentions. ‘Destruction is but a moment while creation takes a lifetime.’” Then he settled back into his chair, gazing through us as though we’d become nothing more than mist. Rory fidgeted. The rest of us waited, but time had stopped for the king of Caisel.
“Father,” Erendella said, “you’re considering this?”
He nodded. “I am. When you become queen, my daughter, you will find two tests of your ability to rule. The first is being able to withstand the tedium of your responsibilities day after day and still give your duties the best of your talent and attention. The second is harder. You must decide how to administer extreme circumstances with wisdom. Lord Dura’s tale is fantastic in the most literal sense of the word, but can I afford to ignore it?” He glanced at the polished brazier that lit the room. “How much time is left?”
“Possibly five minutes,” Helioma said. “No more.”
Boclar, his gaze still sharp and focused, settled himself and waved us to silence, during which he stared off into the space above our heads. Four minutes later, he spoke, his voice breaking the silence like stone hitting glass. “I’m sure you’re fatigued from your journey. I will have you conducted to quarters where you can refresh yourselves. I’ll have clothing brought to you while yours is cleaned. Now, I would have you depart. I have no wish for you to see my peculiar malady reassert itself.”
Erendella guided us firmly toward the door as the light in Boclar’s room faded. I didn’t look back.
“Is he sick?” Rory asked once we were behind closed doors.
I nodded. “There’s nothing about royalty that makes you immune to the human condition, but I don’t think he’s sick in the normal way.” I didn’t voice my suspicion. I needed Boclar, but now it appeared I needed Erendella as well.
Three hours later a dozen soldiers came with orders to conduct us to the king. The sunlight had faded, and we walked through the palace to the brilliance of lamps and candles. We bypassed court and continued east through the citadel. The guards had left us our weapons but provided no hint as to why. We were escorted down a slightly smaller hallway that ended in a pair of heavy doors. Men tall and broad enough to have stepped from legend stood watch. The soldiers escorting us stopped, and we were motioned forward into the king’s presence.
We entered into a circular room dominated by a huge round table in the center. Bookcases lined the walls, but they held fewer books than I would have suspected for any
