And Ealdor was dead. If Boclar was to live, it would only be through the will of Aer.
Pressure. I felt pressure on my leg.
In horror, I looked down to see a thick tentacle of black wrapped around my thigh. Gagging in panic and revulsion, I reached out with my mind to throw it from me, slashing with my thoughts. More of them came for me, but under the influence of phos-fire they were too slow.
I paused, standing there in the dark of the king’s mind to say the antidon for Boclar. His vault was nothing more than parchment. My merest thoughts tore it, destroying the withering snakes that tried to reach out. With every stroke of domere, more of Boclar died. I slashed over and again with my gift until nothing remained, not even dust.
It was finished.
I stood in the empty ruin of his mind, the vault gone, the river gone. With a last act of will, I envisioned myself letting go of Boclar’s hand in the real world.
Light from torches surrounded me as the last of the solas powder flared and winked out. Boclar stared, his mouth gaping. Next to him, Erendella stood, her gaze trying to find purchase, now looking at me, now at her father, now at her hands. Before she could refuse or react, I brushed my fingers along the back of her hand, just long enough to confirm her mind was her own. No sign of a vault existed beneath her memories.
Then I stepped back, knowing my danger. I’d reduced Boclar to idiocy, his mind ruined by the vault he’d kept at bay, but ruined nonetheless. Erendella—queen now—would be grief-stricken beyond reckoning and angry enough to kill the man responsible.
But the rage I expected never came. Instead, she ordered the guards to escort me back. Bolt, Gael and the rest were waiting for me, but the king’s death had used me up. Explanations could wait. I groped my way to bed.
Sunlight, warm and yellow, came through the nearest window to show luxurious furnishings that still managed functionality. Figures stirred, but the first person I noted in my vision wasn’t Gael—it was Mirren. Only then did I look down and notice she held my arm.
“Boclar is dead,” I said. My voice cracked with disuse.
“We managed to figure that out,” Bolt said from somewhere behind me. “Pellin’s going to want to have a long conversation with you about the way you use your gift. You’re picking up some bad habits.”
“He had a vault. Doesn’t that fall under our authority?”
I still couldn’t see him, but I heard him snort. “You understand people, Dura, but you have no idea how to deal with them. How is that possible?”
My body felt fine, but my mind still screamed with fatigue. Even this limited conversation tired me. “How long have I been asleep?”
“A day and a half,” Mirren said.
“We have to leave for the forest.”
“We’re leaving this morning,” Bolt said. “Mirren arranged it.”
He came into view and gave my apprentice—the thought struck me oddly—an inscrutable look.
She nodded. “The rest of the monarchs are on their way as well.”
I managed enough strength to look around the room. “Where are Gael and Rory?”
“Rory’s guarding the door,” Bolt said. “Gael is probably with Erendella.”
“Why?”
“Because the guards were ordered to alert her the moment you woke.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” I said.
“That’s because it’s not.”
The door opened before I could think of anything clever to say. Outside, Erendella stood, flanked by Gael and six guards who carried enough meat on their frames to pass for livestock. Nobody looked happy to see me.
“Willet Dura,” Queen Erendella said. “Time, as your apprentice keeps telling me, weighs heavily upon us. You will ride with me today and offer such defense as you may for the death of my father. We will leave within the hour.”
Relief flooded through me, but I’d learned to be distrustful of good news in any guise. “Why the change of mind, Your Majesty?”
Erendella gave me a look accompanied by a slow blink of annoyance. She’d been queen for all of a day and a half, but that was enough for her to don her royal demeanor. She wasn’t happy to have her orders questioned. “Your apprentice showed me the memories you were given from Ealdor.”
“I don’t understand.”
Erendella sighed. “Obviously not. Suffice it to say, Lord Dura, that you could not have contrived those memories. They were filled with wonders for which you have no reference or imagination.”
It took me a moment to figure out that the queen had just called me stupid. She gave me a thin smile. “I mean no offense.” She shrugged. “Or very little of it. My point is that no one could have created those memories. They are too far removed from our existence.”
Chapter 55
Well after the sun had burned off the morning mist, Toria felt as much as heard Pellin calling her through the scrying stone she carried. With a nod to Fess, they made for a nearby copse of trees that would shield them from observation. Lelwin remained silent on her horse, her eyes uncovered, her head bowed. Fess positioned her in a pool of light, despite the fact that the shade of the trees was weak. Then they held their stones before them.
“Hear me, Toria Deel,” Pellin called from the stone, but his voice wavered, becoming louder and then indistinct through the call.
“I hear you, Eldest, but your voice is—”
“There was an accident,” he said. “My stone was damaged. Praise Aer I can reach you at all.”
“I am here as well,” Brid Teorian’s voice announced. “Where have you been, Eldest? I have half the Servants on the continent searching for you.”
“Then it should come as no surprise that I’ve been on the southern continent,” Pellin said. “We’re about to land in Cynestol.”
A stream of invectives poured from the stone, and Fess’s brows rose in appreciation. “I haven’t heard some of those insults since I left the urchins. The
