by Frank Morin
Connor pushed open the door and stepped through, entering a long, plush waiting room. The floor was tiled in black marble, with several rugs of pure white positioned in strategic locations. Connor avoided walking on the rugs with his dirty boots. Several couches and overstuffed chairs clustered in small groups around the room. A pair of tall windows in the right-hand wall overlooked a snowy courtyard, and a door next to the windows opened onto a narrow balcony. The second doorway across the room was closed, with a white-robed Healer sitting in a comfortable chair, reading a scroll.
She looked up as Connor approached, and her soft blue eyes radiated the gentle confidence of most Healers he had known.
“I’m looking for Verena,” Connor said.
The woman, who was older, but not old, gave him one of those comforting smiles that Healers often used when trying to make people feel comfortable receiving bad news. “She’s resting right now.”
The smile only stoked his impatience. “Has she stirred?”
“I’m not authorized to discuss the specifics of her care with anyone outside of the Lady Marshall’s family without authorization. Are you a relation?”
He wanted to say, “Not yet, but as soon as she wakes up I’d like to talk with her about that.”
He wasn’t sure that was the right way to start the conversation though, so he only said, “I’m a close friend.”
A voice spoke behind them. “Oh let him in Abigail. This is Connor.”
Lady Marshall Saskia stood in the doorway behind him. She was dressed in her noble finery, as if she had just finished a meeting with the ruling council. Her long hair was tied up in a fancy pattern atop her head that probably took four assistants half an hour to weave. She looked regal.
Saskia was a little taller than Verena and her same age. She’d been Verena’s best friend at the Grandurian academy. She was pretty and looked more confident than the last time he’d seen her. She seemed to have really grown into her role as Lady Marshal.
She gave him a warm smile and added, “Just make sure to wipe off those dirty boots first.”
Connor crossed to her and bow over her hands. “Saskia, it’s so good to see you.”
“I’m glad you’re back. She hasn’t moved, but she’s resting well.” Saskia did not bother trying to make one of her lilting limericks, nor did she try to hide her worry.
After he removed his boots, they entered the next chamber together. There he spotted Verena and his heart sang with joy. She lay peacefully on an enormous fourposter bed. The covers were drawn up under her shoulders, with her arms lying on top. Her midnight black hair framed her face, and for a moment Connor just stared. She looked so beautiful and so peaceful, her face turned just a little so he could see the profile of her little button nose and her lips parted slightly while she breathed.
His worries faded away, and a jubilant laugh bubbled in his throat. He wasn’t sure Saskia would approve so he tried to swallow it and ended up coughing instead.
Saskia hit him on the back hard enough to make him stumble. Her slender build concealed a Sapper’s strength. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Thanks.”
Only when he again looked to Verena did the difference in her appearance finally register.
“What happened to her hair?” he exclaimed. He’d always loved Verena’s sandy locks, similar in shade to his own. “Did someone dye it?”
Saskia said, “Her hair changed color on its own. No one knows why.”
She didn’t look like she was joking. He couldn’t imagine anyone playing a practical joke on Verena in a coma. When he glanced at the Healer, she shrugged and nodded. “It is a mystery.”
Connor moved to the bedside and took one of Verena’s hands. As always, her skin was warm to the touch, and he took that as a good sign. He studied her hair and fingered one lock. It felt the same, still soft and slightly curly, but definitely black. He marveled at how something as simple as the color of her hair could make her seem more exotic and alluring than ever. He decided he liked it.
“Verena, can you hear me?” he asked softly, not caring that his voice shook in front of Saskia and Abigail.
He dearly wished Verena’s eyes would pop open and she’d exclaim that she’d only been waiting for his arrival to wake up.
It didn’t happen.
Verena did not move. Connor glanced over at Saskia who had joined him beside the bed. Her eyes glittered, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of unshed tears, or if she was just tapping limestone. He’d seen her make her skin glow, although he hadn’t ever seen her limit it to her eyes.
She spoke softly. “This mattress rests on a framework built out of two healthbeds.”
Abigail the Healer said, “Physically she has recovered extremely well. All of her other wounds are healed. The healthbed maintains her muscle tone. When she awakens she’ll be able to resume normal activities almost immediately.”
“Is her mind . . . ?” Connor couldn’t finish the question, wasn’t sure how to ask it.
Abigail gave him an apologetic smile. “Injuries of the mind are the most difficult. She’s been given everything she needs.”
“And although Abigail arrived only recently in Altkalen, she’s become Verena’s primary care giver,” Saskia added.
Abigail made a tiny bow to acknowledge the compliment. “I am determined to be present when she finally awakens.”
Connor appreciated the woman’s dedication to Verena. “Thank you for taking such good care of her.”
“It is my duty and my pleasure, although for now we can do little more than wait for her to work things out in there and find her way back to the surface.”
Connor squeezed Verena’s hand gently, somehow hoping the contact helped.
Saskia placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Mattias comes in here every day to speak to her and to sing to her.” She hesitated before adding, “You’re welcome to visit as long as you like.”
Connor appreciated the fact that she was not trying to block his access. He wasn’t sure how she felt about him dating Verena, or the fact that Mattias was trying so hard to win Verena back. Saskia had seemed friendly when he was first introduced to her as Verena’s boyfriend, but maybe her attitude was changing. She was Mattias’s sister after all.
“Thank you.”
Saskia and Abigail retreated and closed the door gently behind them. Connor pulled a stool close to the side of the bed. It was probably the same one that Mattias used. He sat for a long moment simply holding Verena’s hand, staring at her face, and enjoying her presence. That tiny contact eased his worries and calmed his heart. She looked so perfect, so healthy, he couldn’t doubt she would eventually awaken.
At one point he leaned closer, brushed her cheek with his fingers, and breathed the gentle, clean scent of her. He was tempted to kiss her lips, but didn’t feel right about it. He needed to wait until she woke up, until they talked through things and she settled the question of him or Mattias.
He desperately hoped they could find a way to reconcile. He could not imagine what his life might become if she chose Mattias. The thought filled him with panic, but what more could he do about it?
So he sat with her and just talked. He told her about everything that had happened since her injury. He described the terrifying night saving everyone from Alasdair as the mountains collapsed behind them. He described Hamish’s efforts to help everyone settle in Emmerich, and how grateful he felt knowing Hamish was there to help them.
He discussed the peace accord and his hopes that the fighting would end and that they could find a way to deal with the queen, and that maybe she wouldn’t be so bad after all. He described the crazy winter storm and his run north, related Jean’s efforts to help oversee the rebuilding effort and the new school, and his hopes for how much she would accomplish.
After that, he just talked, speaking whatever came to mind. He shared his concerns about the responsibilities being placed on him by Kilian, the possibility of having to help fig
ht the dreaded queen. He described the wonder of discovering new abilities since his ascension.
He admitted, “I doubt he’s told me everything. Kilian keeps secrets better than Aifric. He’s hinted there are other hazards I have to understand. I wish you were there to help me figure it out.”
When she still didn’t react, he shared with her his worries that he wouldn’t be able to live up to all the high expectations people had about Blood of the Tallan, and his desire to just be left alone for a while, even though he knew that would probably not happen.
Eventually his words ran out, but just sitting beside her helped him feel at peace in a way that he had not for a while.
Finally, he tapped the profound power of his sandstone pendant and poured a flood of warm healing into her. He sensed no lingering injuries, but could not see into her mind, so he filled it with healing. She was receiving excellent care, but he felt better knowing he was giving her everything he possibly could.
Then he kissed her forehead and whispered, “I love you, Verena. Come back to me.”
Abigail was waiting patiently in the sitting room. Connor promised that he’d return every day.
He wasn’t sure where to go next, and needed a moment to gather his thoughts. So after he retrieved his boots, he stepped through the outer door to that narrow balcony overlooking a courtyard piled with drifts of snow. The air was cool and he breathed deep.
Then the door to the balcony banged open and a boy rushed out. He zipped along the balcony with Wingrunner speed.
It was Nicklaus, the little boy whose capture the year before by Dougal’s men had sparked all of the battles of Alasdair and Connor’s first meeting with Shona and with Verena. In a flash, Nicklaus reached the end of the balcony beside him and leaped over the railing without slowing.
He waved and laughed as he started the long fall.
Connor didn’t even have time to try to catch him. They were several stories above the little courtyard, and even with all the deep snow, Nicklaus was probably going to at least break his legs.
As Nicklaus fell toward the snowy garden below, he laughed again, the loud clear pealing of childish joy.
Connor had not realized he was insane.
Nicklaus raised his hands above his head, clasped together, and a jet of air erupted from between them. The air whooshed down over him, whipping his hair in every direction, flapping his clothing on his little body, and arrested his fall. Nicklaus hung there, three stories above the ground, in a perfect hover. It took Connor a couple of astonished seconds to realize what he was seeing.
Nicklaus had just activated quartzite. Not as a Petralist, but as a Builder. He had also run with Wingrunner speed.
Verena had said the Nicklaus showed the potential for a unique gift, but she had never explained what that was. Now Connor understood why Dougal had risked so much to kidnap the little boy.
He was a Petralist and a Builder.
A harried-looking woman rushed out onto the balcony, moving fast enough that she also had to have affinity with basalt. She leaned over the rails, caught sight of Nicklaus who was now slowly drifting toward the ground, and shouted in an exasperated tone.
“Master Nicklaus! You promised.”
She glanced at Connor and he said, “Chasing kids off balconies wasn’t in the job description, was it?”
“He’s such a good boy, but sometimes . . . ” She made a wringing gesture with her hands.
Connor laughed, thinking of his younger brother, Wallace. “I think I could find some chains.”
She sighed. “I tried that once, but he got his hands on some marble and burned right through them.”
Connor wanted to ask more, but she continued, “He’s not much of a flier yet, but thankfully he hovers pretty well. He’s so eager to train with Verena that he insisted on coming to Altkalen for the winter.”
Connor said, “We’re all hoping Verena wakes up soon.”
“Excuse me, my lord, I have to find a way down there before he escapes again. He loves hiding in the citadel.”
Connor pulled a vial of soapstone mixture out of his belt pouch, downed it in a single gulp, and said, “I’ll try to slow him down for you.”
Then he jumped over the rail.
9
Optimism Is Sometimes the Best Defense
Shona stepped from her open-topped carriage in the center of Merkland Township, barely giving General Rory a chance to scramble out ahead of her and offer his hand.
“Thank you, General,” she said with a nod as she looked around.
The township was packed to bursting with people. Soldiers in uniforms of every realm crowded around cook fires and steel drums full of hot coals for warmth. Wagoneers cursed loudly as they drove their teams through the press, pulling wagons piled high with crates of foodstuffs and winter supplies. The air was laden with thousands of voices and the clatter and din of a city-sized population squeezed into the confines of the small township.
The sounds echoed back from the high walls of snow, piled to the east from the Spitters after the recent blizzard. The cobbled streets were clear, and thankfully the temperature had risen to almost above freezing.
Shona wore a thick, snowy white, ermine fur coat with no hood. She never covered her head when visiting her troops. They needed to see their leaders to fully enjoy the moment.
Even Rory wore a wool greatcoat over his battle leathers, although otherwise he seemed impervious to the cold. As Lord Nevan followed Shona out of the carriage, Rory said in an approving tone, “Settlement of the troops is progressing better than I’d feared.”
Officers and merchants were gathered nearby to give reports and no doubt petition for more aid. Shona would let Nevan and Rory handle the specifics. She needed to be present to see the troops and to be seen of them. Rory and Nevan would ensure the twenty thousand troops that had descended upon Merkland for the winter were well cared for.
Nevan sniffed, his long nose already red from the chill air. He wore a black nuall fur coat, draped with the gold chains of his office. “Certainly you could have received the reports in your father’s office, Lady Shona.” He was a brilliant administrator, but preferred working from the warmth of the main palace, across the river.
Shona glanced in that direction, between a couple of stately homes of some of the wealthier merchants who oversaw operations in the township. On the far western back of the Macantact River, a high bluff rose in steep cliffs for over fifty feet, with the famous white walls of Merkland City rearing another twenty feet higher still. The turrets and towers of her palace home seemed to pierce the sky beyond.
“Nonsense, Nevan,” she told him with a smile. “My duty is clear. With the army returned from the border, we must see to their needs.”
Rory grunted, “Would be simpler if the Sentries could raise barracks like normal.”
He didn’t usually complain, but many of his soldiers had suffered from exposure during the recent blizzard, and that made Rory grumpy. With the land so unstable, Sentries could only work at a tentative pace, if at all. Most of the Petralists were housed in the city, but not even Merkland could absorb the many thousands of regulars too.
“We’ll get it sorted, Rory,” Shona promised as she swept past toward the group waiting to greet them. She spent a few minutes listening to their needs, assuring them support was coming, and offering words of encouragement.
The reports were better than she’d feared. Several large warehouses had already been converted into barracks, and more would be available in the coming days. Luckily warehouse space was readily available since the vast quantities of supplies that had been stockpiled in them through the summer had been shipped to the front during the invasion.
Morale seemed to be pretty good, and as Shona toured the town with the local officials, troops greeted her with smart salutes and great respect.
They cheered Rory.
She felt an unexpected flash of irritation at that. Rory walked among his troops, shaking hands, gripping shoulder
s, greeting an astonishing number of men and women by name and asking with obvious concern about their well being. Soldiers responded with enthusiasm, and when he promised more aid soon, they believed him. And not just troops from her realm, either. Many who wore the uniform of other realms seemed just as loyal to Rory as his own Fast Rollers.
Shona considered that as they followed the single main road through the center of town, along the gently curving course of the river. Her father had appointed Rory general primarily to counter the threat posed by Kilian and Connor, but had he understood how brilliant that decision really was? Rory was a well-respected tactician and legendary warrior, but he was proving an inspired leader, a man the troops could rally behind.
With Rory doing such a fantastic job encouraging the troops, the merchants pulled Shona and Nevan aside to complain about interruption of the river trade. Much freight passed through the realm by ship and barge up the wide Macantact. Moving all that freight in and out of the city was the primary responsibility of the township, with its many docks and extensive warehouse facilities here in the accessible lowlands across the river. When Shona pointed out that trade would continue briskly through the winter this year and Nevan promised to restore their warehouses as soon as new barracks could be built, they seemed pleased.
After Rory finished discussed specifics of troop barracks assignments and training schedules, he pulled Nevan and Shona to one side. “Lady Shona, have you considered spreading troops out through the nearby towns to help lessen the pressure on Merkland?”
“Impossible, General. Not with the current situation in Donleavy.”
Rory frowned. “How does that affect us here? I’ve seen the latest reports. Queen Dreokt is turning everything upside down in Donleavy, but we’re talking about winter quarters for my troops.”
“You heard that she’s actually executed many officials, and even some lords and ladies?” Nevan asked.
Shona grimaced. The news out of Donleavy was growing increasingly dire. The queen insisted on interviewing everyone at court, and the number of people who did not survive those interviews was growing at an alarming rate. The woman seemed intent on a full cleanse of the political quagmire of the capital. Such barbaric heavy-handedness was rocking the nation.