“To guard the forest,” I said. “We know more of its nature now, but what did we accomplish?”
She cocked her head at me. “Our world was a hairsbreadth from being destroyed, Lord Dura. Atol’s prison is intact, the forest has receded to its original boundaries, and for the first time in over a year we can say that no one in the north has a vault.”
“But all we’ve done is hold,” I said. “Is there no way to achieve victory?”
“You might as well ask if you can eradicate evil from the world,” she said. “Be careful, Lord Dura. Cesla’s thoughts ran in such directions as he grew older, and you have much in common with him already.”
She turned away before I could object to the comparison. “However, I must admit,” she continued, “that there are more problems coming out of our victory than I’d hoped. There is still the matter of the missing gift we’ve yet to find, and then there’s our larger concern.”
“The Fayit,” I said.
Toria nodded. “Our newfound ability to call them will certainly awaken ambitions among the kings and queens, if not with those we have now, then certainly with their descendents. On top of that, we still have the problem of the forest itself. The rumors of gold Cesla planted made deep roots, and we have exactly one sentinel.” Where Pellin would have paced the room, Toria simply stood and faced me. “The world is changing faster than we can manage it, Lord Dura.” Her gaze became painfully direct. “How do you wish to proceed?”
My unease grew until realization hit, then it changed to horror. “You want me to be Eldest?” I couldn’t seem to stop shaking my head. “Have you lost your mind?”
She tossed her wealth of dark hair and regarded me, her stare inscrutable. “That’s an interesting question, considering the source, but no, I don’t think I have. By tradition the most experienced member of the Vigil takes the title of Eldest, but there have been exceptions. I won’t elaborate on the reasons for my decision to refuse leadership. If you accept the title, you will, of course, have the right to know them, but not change them.”
“Let someone else do it,” I said.
She laughed at me. “You would place this burden on one of the others? They’re far too young.”
I gaped. “I’m thirty.”
“You have acquired centuries of experience,” Toria said.
I shook my head. “Well, aren’t I a lucky guy?” I ignored the barks of laughter that came from the ficheall board. “I don’t want it.”
Toria Deel blinked. “That is beside the point. You never wanted any of this.”
“There’s another reason,” I said.
Her expression said plainly that she thought I was stalling.
“I went for a walk last night.”
Her eyebrows communicated the depth of her unconcern. “What of it?”
I waited until she made the connection.
“Is this true?” she asked Bolt.
My guard nodded. “I followed him. We ended up near Braben’s. A merchant had a pointed disagreement with a footpad. The point found its way into his chest. By the time we got there, the city watch was already on the way.”
Toria Deel shrugged away my objection. “Then it’s part of who you are and has nothing to do with your vault.”
“I refuse.”
Rory laughed. “Ha! Refusing won’t do you much good if people bow and scrape while they call you Eldest and stand around waiting for you to tell them what to do.”
Toria Deel allowed herself to join Rory’s amusement. “He’s right, you know.”
In the end, I was beaten, though I did manage to wring a few concessions from her—the most important of which was to order Bolt to remain in my service until he’d trained guards for each of us. He tried to refuse, but I got the impression he objected more out of form than conviction.
When Toria turned to leave, I pulled a deep breath and called her name. “Before you go, there’s something I need to show you. A promise I made to . . . a friend.” The title didn’t quite fit, but I didn’t know what else to say. I held out my arm.
Toria looked at my bare skin, suspicious. “Is this a command, Eldest?”
I nodded, but just before she touched me I spoke again. “I’m sorry.”
Her gaze narrowed, but she reached out and rested her fingers on the back of my hand. I opened the door where I’d stored Volsk’s last memories and let them flow through the delve, watching as her eyes welled with the knowledge of what he’d done. She pulled her hand away, blinking tears.
“You called him friend,” she accused.
“He saved Custos’s life,” I said. “That’s good enough for me.”
She nodded. “Perhaps I was hasty, comparing you to Cesla. It was more in Pellin’s nature to grant mercy and forgiveness to his enemies.” She curtsied, lingering before she rose and left.
A knot of distrust I’d been carrying for months loosened and disappeared. I turned from the door and made preparations for my wedding.
Toria Deel stood next to Fess, wishing she were someplace else. According to custom, the reception would be held before the ceremony. The throne room in Bunard was filled with too many people for her taste—and too many of the insincere—but the heads of the church had accompanied the kings to Bunard. Too many of the Vigil had fallen too quickly for the rulers of the clergy to feel comfortable. They needed a familiar face in which to find comfort, and Lord Dura, while familiar, rarely made those around him comfortable. Knots of red, brown, blue, and white marked the different orders of the church where they stood in the throne room, each leader with their personal attendants.
Even the new head of the Merum had come, leaving the basilica in Cynestol in a rare gesture of humility. Archbishop Serius stood in rich red robes next to Brid Teorian of the Servants, who
