Mark faced the Fayit. “Is there any way to know where Aer will send the gift once it goes free?”
Daelan and Storan grew quiet before answering. “No.”
Mark glanced back at Elieve, his face rent by love and doubt. “I don’t know what to do, Eldest.”
Pellin nodded. “Then simply trust that Aer does. If the gift does not come to you, then know that it has gone by Aer’s will to another.”
“And what should I do then?”
Joy filled Pellin’s expression. “Marry Elieve when the time is right and fill your house with love and children.”
Pellin placed his hand on Mark’s head, not in the rite of passage, but in simple blessing ancient beyond reckoning. “May Aer bless you and keep you, always.”
He stepped toward the Fayit. “It’s in your tradition to allow the condemned a last coda, yes?”
At their nod, Pellin turned to give us a wink and extended his arm to Daelan and Storan. “Here is mine. Will you honor it?”
They touched him and nodded to each other, sharing in his smile.
Pellin nodded. “I’m ready now, I think.”
Together the Fayit extended their hands over him. At the moment they touched each other, they disappeared. Pellin collapsed, but his body fell more slowly than it should have, some grace or waning strength working to lay him gently on the ground.
I would have married Gael that very day, fearful as I was that some other calamity would prevent me, but the rulers of the north took it into their heads that a traditional wedding in Bunard would give them the opportunity to plan for an uncertain future. We dispersed the soldiers back to their kingdoms under the command of their captains—with the exception of Rymark, who insisted on gathering those few men of Owmead still able to wield a sword and march to the forest.
“Trust, but verify,” he said. I couldn’t fault his soldier’s wisdom.
Regent Cailin and Toria Deel prevailed upon Gael to allow them to plan our wedding ceremony in Bunard. I tried to make myself scarce as we journeyed north and west through signs of war. There, I took the only stand concerning the wedding that I refused to negotiate. Custos, a priest of the Merum order, would perform the ceremony. We resigned to wait until he could be brought from Cynestol with all speed.
In the interim, Bas-solas came and went. Bunard no longer celebrated the festival, but the eclipse of the sun passed without incident. No one went mad, and most of the citizens made their way to one of the four cathedrals below the tor to pray. I think they might have actually listened to the criers this time. The Clast was nowhere to be found.
Fall had begun to give way to winter, and Custos was still a week from Bunard, when a pounding at my door startled me. Bolt and Rory seldom knocked so loud, and they rarely let others approach me. Despite our victory over Atol, they continued their vigilance, concerned that some dwimor still lived to hunt the Vigil.
I opened the door to see Jeb filling the frame, a blond-haired girl clutching his oversized hand with one of hers. The other held a charcoal pencil and a dirty piece of parchment.
I heard the pop of knuckles and checked the distance between Jeb and my guards. “Cailin refused to let me go fight at the Darkwater,” he growled. “She said she’d have Aellyn taken from me even if I survived.” He shifted, and I took a step back. “You did that.” It wasn’t a question.
I shrugged. “I did. I wanted to make sure we won the peace if we won the war.”
Gael came up to put her arm around me.
“Ha! I heard you were getting married, Dura,” Jeb said. He gave Gael a leering glance. “I’m surprised to find you unoccupied.”
Gael smiled, and her eyes lightened to a startling blue. “What a charming suggestion. Thank you, chief reeve.”
Jeb grinned. “Not anymore. The title and the headaches that go with it belong to Gareth now. I’m just a shopkeeper.” He looked down at Aellyn. “I like not having to use my fists for a living.”
I followed his gaze, preparing myself for sorrow, when Aellyn lifted her head to peer at me. “Who’s this, Poppa?”
Jeb laughed at my expression. “An old friend, little one, and a better one than he knows.”
I knelt, amazed at her focused gaze. I had no wish to intrude on the mystery of her healing, so I didn’t touch her with my bare hands. “My name is Willet.”
She smiled as she turned to bury her face into Jeb’s leg. “She’s still a little shy, especially in crowds,” Jeb said. His gaze grew intense enough that I had to look away. “But I wanted her to know you, Dura.” He shifted on his feet as though he were about to leave when his arms shot out to catch me in a hug that threatened a few of my ribs. “Thank you . . . for both of us.”
Before I could say anything, he turned to Rory. “Watch after him. He’s worth it.” Then he left.
Rory laughed. “Now there’s a miracle right enough, yah?”
The door closed behind Jeb and Aellyn. “And more than one, I think.”
Toria Deel came to see me a few days later. By happenstance or design she found me alone in my rooms. Well, not precisely alone. Bolt and Rory still kept themselves close, playing ficheall while I read The History of Errants. Gael had absented herself with the excuse that she needed time away from me to put some of the finishing touches on our wedding plans.
“It’s just as well she’s not here,” Toria Deel said.
My hackles went up, and I braced myself for a familiar argument.
“Rest easy, Lord Dura. I have no intention of talking you out of your decision, but there are matters that need to be discussed, and the fewer people involved the better.”
“Such as?”
She sighed, still showing signs
