‘Well, hardly as pleased,’ Sandre agrees. ‘Though I do hope he’ll spare his Elena for a small part of the time she’s here. If we are going to change the attitude of this peninsula to magic there’s no better time to start than now, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Oh, certainly,’ Devin says, grinning broadly.
‘She’s not my Elena,’ Baerd murmurs, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the road.
‘She isn’t?’ Sandre asks in mock surprise. ‘Then who’s this Baerd person she keeps using me to relay messages to? Would you know the fellow?’
‘Never heard of him,’ Baerd says laconically. He keeps a straight face for a moment longer, then gives way to laughter. ‘I’m beginning to remember why I preferred keeping to myself. And what about Devin, if you’re on that subject? You don’t think Alais would be sending him messages if she could?’
‘Devin,’ says the Duke airily, ‘is a mere child, far too young and innocent to be getting involved with women, especially the likes of that guileful, experienced creature from Astibar.’ He attempts to look stern and fails; both of the others know his real opinion of Rovigo’s daughter.
‘There are no inexperienced women in Astibar,’ Baerd retorts. ‘And besides, he’s old enough. He even has a battle scar on his ribs to show her.’
‘She’s seen it already,’ Devin says, enjoying this enormously. ‘She taped it up after Rinaldo healed me,’ he adds hastily as both of the others raise their eyebrows. ‘No thrill there.’ He tries and fails to conceive of Alais as guileful and deceptive. The memory of her on the window-ledge in Senzio keeps coming back to him of late though; the particular smile on her face as he stumbled along the outside landing to his own room.
‘They are coming, aren’t they?’ the Duke asks. ‘It occurs to me that I could sail home with Rovigo.’
‘They’ll be here,’ Devin confirms. ‘They had a wedding of their own last week, or they’d have arrived by now.’
‘I see you are intimately versed in their timing,’ Baerd says with a straight face. ‘Just what do you plan to do after the wedding?’
‘Actually,’ Devin says, ‘I wish I knew. There must be ten different things I’ve thought about.’ He evidently sounds more serious than he’d meant to, for both of his friends turn their attention fully to him.
‘Such as?’ Sandre asks.
Devin takes a breath and lets it out. He holds up both hands and starts counting on his fingers. ‘Find my father and help him settle here again. Find Menico di Ferraut and put together the company we should have had before you people sidetracked me. Stay with Alessan and Catriana in Tigana and help them with whatever they have to do. Learn how to handle a ship at sea; don’t ask me why. Stay in Avalle and build a tower with Baerd.’ He hesitates; the others are smiling. He plunges onward: ‘Spend another night with Alienor at Borso. Spend my life with Alais bren Rovigo. Start chasing down the words and music of all the songs we’ve lost. Go over the mountains to Quileia and find the twenty-seven tree in the sacred Grove. Start training for the sprint race in next summer’s Triad Games. Learn how to shoot a bow—which reminds me, you did promise me that, Baerd!’
He stops, because they are laughing now, and so is he, a little breathlessly.
‘You must have gone past ten somewhere in that list,’ Baerd chuckles.
‘There are more,’ Devin says. ‘Do you want them?’
‘I don’t think I could stand it,’ Sandre says. ‘You remind me too painfully of how old I am and how young you are.’
Devin sobers at those words. He shakes his head. ‘Never think that. I don’t think there was a moment last year when I didn’t have to work to keep up with you wherever we went.’ He smiles at a thought. ‘You aren’t old, Sandre, you’re the youngest wizard in the Palm.’
Sandre’s expression is wry. He holds up his left hand; they can clearly see the two missing fingers. ‘There’s truth to that. And I may be the first to break the habit of screening what we are, because I never got into the habit.’
‘You’re serious about dropping the screening?’ Baerd asks.
‘Utterly serious. If we are to survive in this peninsula as a whole nation in the world we are going to need magic to match Barbadior and Ygrath. And Khardhun, come to think of it. And I don’t even know what powers they have in Quileia now; it has been too many years since we dealt with them. We can no longer hide our wizards, or the Carlozzini, we can’t afford to be as ignorant as we’ve always been about how magic is shaped here. Even the Healers, we don’t understand anything about them. We have to learn our magic, value it, search wizards out and train them, find ways to control them too. The Palm has to discover magic, or magic will undo us again one day the way it did twenty years ago.’
‘You think we can do that first thing though?’ Devin asks. ‘Make a nation here, out of the nine we are?’
‘I know we can. And I think we will. I will wager you both right now that Alessan di Tigana is named King of the Palm at the Triad Games next year.’
Devin turns quickly to Baerd, whose colour has suddenly risen. ‘Would he take it?’ he asks. ‘Would he do that, Baerd?’
Baerd looks at Sandre and then slowly back to Devin. ‘Who else could?’ he answers finally. ‘I don’t even think he has a choice. The knitting together of this peninsula has been his life’s cause since he was fifteen years old. He was already on that path when I found him in Quileia. I think . . . I think what he’d really like to do is find Menico with you, Devin, and spend a few years making music with you two, and Erlein, and Catriana, and some dancers, and someone who can play the
