“A fine day for a journey,” he said.
The saddlebag slipped from Stephen’s hands, falling to the ground. Stephen whirled around and stared at Devlin, his mouth open. At that moment he bore a striking resemblance to the carved wooden fish that had given the tavern its name.
Devlin reached down and picked up the saddlebag, then began to tie it to the rings on the saddle.
Stephen finally found his voice. “What are you doing here?”
“I have come to see you off, and wish you well. Is that not what friends do?”
“But how did you know?”
Devlin finished the last tie, then tugged the bag, testing to make sure that it would not shift as Stephen rode.
“I’ve been expecting this for some time now,” he said. “And then last night, I knew you were saying good-bye.”
“But I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t need to.”
It had been obvious to any who knew him well that Stephen was not happy in Kingsholm. Yet he had stayed, as winter passed and turned to spring. He had stood witness at the quiet ceremony that bound Devlin and his sister Solveig in marriage. He had been proud as his father was named councilor, watching as those who had once scorned Lord Brynjolf now paid heed to his words and asked his advice. But the games of politics had never interested Stephen, and as his family was cast into greater prominence, Stephen more and more often sought the shadows.
Still he had stayed until he was certain that Devlin no longer needed him. The coming of spring had seen the arrival of a new ambassador from Selvarat, one who offered Empress Thania’s regrets for the recent misunderstandings. Those flowery sentiments were accompanied by a complete capitulation to Devlin’s demands, as the Selvarat troops who had survived the winter embarked upon ships and sailed back to their homelands. Lady Gemma of Esker and her daughter Madrene had journeyed with the ambassador, and Stephen’s pleasure in seeing his family reunited had kept him in Kingsholm weeks after Devlin had thought he would leave.
But now, as summer drew near, he had decided to go.
“Where are you bound?” Devlin asked.
Stephen shrugged. “I will wander where the roads take me. You will hear from me from time to time. Or perhaps you will hear one of my songs.”
He would be glad indeed to hear one of Stephen’s songs. Music had always been a part of Stephen, so much so that Devlin had taken it for granted, until the day he realized that Stephen no longer played at the campfire at night, nor did he quiz strangers trying to learn new songs from them. Devlin had cast his mind back, and had realized that sometime during the rebellion, Stephen’s voice had grown silent and his hands had gone still. He had asked about it once, but Stephen had said only that he had no heart for playing. His tone had been so bleak that Devlin had not asked again.
It was ironic. Once he had forbidden Stephen to make any songs about the Chosen One, feeling that it was somehow indecent that strangers would sing of his struggles and despair. Yet now Devlin would be well pleased even to hear the atrocious ballad of his battle with the lake monster. Anything that would put the light of enthusiasm back in Stephen’s face.
Stephen’s had been the greatest innocence, so perhaps it was no wonder that he was the most scarred by what they had seen and done. Still there was a part of Devlin that wished he had been able to protect him. If he had been a better friend to Stephen, he would have never let him accompany him on his adventures.
“I promised that you could sing whatever you pleased, if we both survived this,” Devlin said, trying for a light tone.
Stephen smiled, and this time it nearly reached his eyes. “And what would you have me sing of you?”
“Say that I ruled well, and retired to live a peaceful life, surrounded by my friends,” Devlin said.
“If that is what you wish,” he said. “Though I think they would rather hear about the Sword—”
Devlin pulled Stephen into a rough embrace, cutting off his musings. “Remember, there is a place for you whenever you wish to return. No matter what happens, you will always be my friend.”
He released Stephen from his grasp. A small part of him wanted to tell Stephen to wait, that Devlin would find a horse and join him, traveling the roads together as they had done in the early days of their friendship. But duty bound Devlin to this place. He could not leave, and he was not selfish enough to keep Stephen here.
“Safe journey, Stephen of Esker,” he said.
“I’ve trusted you with my sister and my kingdom,” Stephen said. “Take care of them both, Devlin of Duncaer.”
“That I will,” he vowed. “That I will.”
About the Author
Patricia Bray inherited her love of books from her parents, both of whom were fine storytellers in the Irish tradition. She has always enjoyed spinning tales, and turned to writing as a chance to share her stories with a wider audience. Patricia holds a masters degree in Information Technology, and combines her writing with a full-time career as an I-T Project Manager. Patricia began her career as an author of historical romances, and currently has six novels out with Kensington Zebra (A London Season, October 1997; An Unlikely Alliance, October 1998; Lord Freddie’s First Love, September 1999; The Irish Earl, March 2000; A Most Suitable Duchess, December 2001; The Wrong Mr. Wright, March 2002.) She resides in upstate New York. For more information on her books, visit her website at: www.sff.net/people/patriciabray.
Also by Patricia Bray
Devlin’s Luck
Devlin’s Honor
DEVLIN’S JUSTICE
A Bantam Spectra Book / April 2004
Published by Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2004 by Patricia Bray
Map by James Sinclair
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eISBN 0-553-89857-4
Published simultaneously in Canada
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