“I think that’s his secret, Your Majesty,” Bolt said. “He looks so ordinary it never occurs to you that he could cause so much trouble.”
The woman I assumed to be Queen Ulrezia nodded, her expression serious, as though my guard hadn’t been jesting. I looked around. Nobody smiled except Gael. I listened for the clamor of fighting, but the walls of the counting house, built to confound thieves and burglars, blocked all sound.
I took the opportunity to introduce the newest member of the Vigil to Toria Deel and Fess. “This is Mirren, my apprentice.” Toria Deel jerked and I nodded. “One of the bishops in Cynestol had certain ambitions we needed to curtail. You can get the memories from her.” Toria Deel and Fess were removing their gloves as I turned away.
Silence fell again, grating on me. I saw Herregina and Erendella making the acquaintance of their fellow rulers and decided to make my way to the street in front of the counting house. The sounds of battle set my nerves on edge, but the fear I might be taken unaware lessened. I stood behind the last barricade and waited for dawn with a desperation that surpassed any hunger. Bolt, Gael, and Rory flanked me.
I stared east, willing the sun to rise. When the sky lightened from black to charcoal, the sounds of fighting stopped. “Thank Aer,” I breathed. I don’t know if I’d ever meant it more. Another hour passed before Rymark and Ellias approached the counting house, leaning toward each other with their heads bowed, the way men do when they’re in conference.
Both kings were free of injury, but they wore the look of men who might drop at any moment. “Well, Lord Dura,” Rymark said, “you’ve got your gathering.” Without saying anything more, they walked into the counting house, and the rest of us followed.
“Is there some sort of ceremony that comes with this calling, Lord Dura?” Ulrezia asked when we rejoined the rest of the monarchs.
Maybe it was because she ruled a kingdom even farther north than Collum, but Ulrezia was as cold as her castle. “No,” I said. “All that’s required is the presence of six perfect gifts and the name of the one being called.” I didn’t tell them that the only Fayit whose name I had was dead. I prayed Toria Deel could help me.
“And it’s your belief the gift of kings satisfies that requirement?” Ulrezia asked. I doubted whether snow would melt in her mouth.
“Give over, Ulrezia,” Rymark said. “Of course he believes it, or we wouldn’t be here.”
“I do,” I said. “The Fayit are our ancestors. They parceled out their gifts, talents, and temperaments among their descendants, among us.”
“That’s probably as close to blasphemy as anyone has dared to come in my presence,” Brid Teorian said.
I bowed in her direction. “It’s only blasphemy if it’s not true. Against the day we might need to call them, the Fayit created the gift of kings, a perfect alloy of all six gifts that couldn’t be divided.”
Ulrezia had a way of raising one eyebrow without speaking that called my sanity into question. “And do you want us to hold hands and chant the children’s song?”
“Maybe,” I shot back. “The fact that you’re here means you’ve given at least some credence to the idea.”
Her expression turned colder, if that was possible. “Let’s try it without the singsong,” she said. “If that doesn’t work, you can strip us of the rest of our dignity.”
“If you don’t mind,” Rymark said, “I’d like to get on with this. Lord Dura. We won’t last another night. I’ve sent messages to every commander along the outer cordon telling them to get here with all haste. None of them have replied.”
Queen Ulrezia noticed my hesitation. “You can do what you’ve claimed, can’t you, Lord Dura?”
I nodded, but inside I felt sick. “Toria Deel, I need the names of the other Fayit.”
Her eyes widened. “I don’t have them, Lord Dura. That is not the task I was given.”
I tried to smile but I couldn’t get my face to cooperate. I tapped my head. “They’re in here. Inside my vault. Ealdor told me.”
She backed away from me. “I don’t know how to free you from your vault. We have to wait for Pellin. He’s still a day away.”
“Didn’t you hear me?” Rymark’s face flushed with anger. “I said we can’t hold. For the love of Aer, I’ve ordered the dead to be propped up on the wall to make it look as if we have more men than we do.”
Toria Deel spun to face him. “If I try to pull the information from his vault, I’ll destroy his mind in the process. He’ll die.”
“We cannot hold for another night,” Rymark said. “The attempt must be made or you doom us all to die here.”
Toria Deel thrust out her hand to point at me. “Hear me, King Rymark. Only Pellin knows how to cure a vault. The knowledge we require is inside it. If I break Dura’s vault we will die.”
“Fool man, you’ve brought us to our doom.” Ulrezia turned to her guards. “We’re leaving now, while it’s light. King Rymark, if we combine our forces we stand a better chance of fighting our way clear of the siege.”
“No!” I pleaded, reaching toward the queen. “If you leave we can’t call them.”
“A token,” Ulrezia demanded. “Show me some measure of proof that what you say is true.”
The kings and queens of the north—all six that held the gift of kings—looked at me, all of them wearing expressions of expectation, even Herregina and Erendella. Ulrezia’s demand had taken hold. “Form a circle,” I said. “Hold hands.”
Chapter 66
They joined together. Of all those assembled, only Cailin—standing behind Brod, where he held hands with Ellias and Herregina—gave me a nod of
