Fess stood at her side as the crowd milled about, waiting for the signal to take their places. He would never again be the carefree boy Bronwyn had apprenticed. His experiences precluded it, but his eyes were less guarded and he laughed easily now. As usual, he saw too much. Toria attributed this to a temperament of observation, which she found interesting, given that his talent lay so obviously with others.
“You’re not happy,” he said.
She pulled a deep breath of the cool northern air into her lungs and opted for honesty. “I’m conflicted. Lord Dura has obtained something I’ve desired for a hundred years,” she said. “I’m finding it hard not to be jealous.”
He nodded, but in a way that gave her the impression her gambit had failed. His next words confirmed it. “You surprised Pellin with your show of strength.”
“When was that?” she asked and immediately regretted it.
“When you fought for Dura’s mind,” Fess said.
“Pellin should have expected it,” she said. “He’s the one who told me love was the key to Elieve’s deliverance. I delved Lady Gael when we found Lord Dura in the caves beneath Bunard. I had access to her memories and her love, and my own, and that of all those I’d delved.”
Fess’s eyebrows, so blond they were almost invisible, narrowed for a fraction. “Couldn’t Pellin have accomplished as much?”
She groped for words to explain a facet of their gift that she understood only through intuition. “There are mysteries within us, diminished as we are, I think the Fayit for all their power cannot comprehend. We know much about gifts, and nearly as much about talents. Libraries are filled with the ruminations of scholars and theologians about their properties and combinations.”
“But not temperaments?” he asked, noting her omission.
“No, not so much,” she said. “Pellin believed his strongest temperament to be thought, and I think he was correct. He prized learning above all else.”
“But not you.”
A small laugh escaped her as she searched for words to describe the obvious. “No. Anyone who has known me at all would say my strongest temperament is passion.”
“Was it passion that allowed you to free Willet’s mind?”
She took a slow, deep breath. “I’ve wanted love of my own for a long time, Fess. In its absence I’ve collected the memories of love from those I’ve delved and made a habit of visiting them, reliving them as though they were mine.” The confession forced her to look away as she finished her explanation. “Inside Dura’s mind, I released them, relived them all at once until I thought they might burn me to ash where I stood, but they gave me strength I could never have summoned on my own.”
“And this shames you?”
She nodded. “Within the traditions of the Vigil, we regard that practice as a type of theft, a traffic and intrusion on the sanctity of another’s memories.”
He cocked his head to one side, a slight movement that accompanied the narrowing of his eyes. “Is this why you refused the position of Eldest?”
“Only in part.” She nodded and cursed the tears that threatened to betray her. “When I resorted to poisoning the wellsprings of those who took Lelwin against her will, I forfeited any right I might have to lead.”
“How is she?” he asked.
“She sleeps with a light and avoids the shadows to keep Brekana at bay, but we talk for hours each day.”
“What of her vault?”
Toria pulled a deep breath. “It is diminished somewhat. Lelwin’s healing will be long in coming, and I doubt it will ever be complete on this side of eternity, but I made a vow to see her healed, as much as possible. I won’t leave her until I have.” She lifted her head to see him looking at her. “I used her, Fess, and that’s the third reason I deferred the position of Eldest to Lord Dura.” She shook her head, forcing herself to make the admission. “He would never have done such a thing. I’ve used my gift for war and stolen memories. I am unfit to lead.”
He stepped closer as he laughed, and she felt his breath fall across her face like a caress as he brought her into his embrace. “Do not expect any condemnation from me, Toria Deel. I have thieved for most of my life.”
She stiffened at first so that he must have felt her reticence. She lifted her gaze and found it to be true, and wonder filled her. How could an urchin offer such grace? “Please,” she said, stammering and putting her arms around him. “Call me Toria, just Toria.”
He nodded, as she’d known he would, but she hadn’t expected the comprehension that warmed his gaze. “Yes, sister. I would be honored.”
I stood outside the throne room with Gael, waiting for the last of the monarchs before we made our entrance. “Stupid custom,” I said. “We should have fled to the southern continent and paid the first village priest we found to cord us.”
Queen Ulrezia chose that moment to arrive, resplendent in a deep blue gown with her lustrous snow-white hair piled up to look like a crown. “This attitude is unbecoming of you, Lord Dura. The north has been delivered from a threat greater than any in its history. Your marriage is a welcome occasion that allows us to celebrate it.” She looked away as she sighed. “And to plan for the future. I shudder to think of the time it will take to forge a consensus between the nobles, the heads of the church, and the Vigil.” She swept past me with a swirl of blue satin.
The throne room door closed behind her,
