“Keep trying to reason with him,” Nerti said. “When he’s listening, he’s not attacking Cylinda.”
Miceral wanted to tell Nerti that Farrell wasn’t listening, but an argument with her wouldn’t help. “Farrell, think about it. What makes more sense? What I said, or that Meglar somehow sent me here to attack you?”
The urge to say more fought with the knowledge that he needed to give Farrell time to weigh his words. After a few more heartbeats, he pressed his point.
“Think about it. How long have you been under attack here before we arrived? Yet we haven’t attacked you, have we?”
“Your words mean nothing. Nothing you’ve done so far has hurt me. Having failed, you seek to lull me into thinking I’m safe so I’ll let down my shields.”
The lack of conviction told Miceral he’d made progress. He reached inside his shirt and pulled out his amulet. “Would Meglar know you gave me this on our six-month anniversary and we kissed to activate it? Or that you like farmer’s pie and black coffee? Would he know Lisle loves you like a son and would die for you?”
Farrell blinked several times, and Miceral knew he was getting through. “Farrell, I was there on the mountain where you placed markers for your mother and your old masters. I held your hand as you told her how much you missed her. Would Meglar know that?”
“If he’d captured you, he’d know.”
“Even if Meglar captured me, he couldn’t get past this without you knowing.” He shook the white pendant. “Only the real me could know these things.”
A flicker of recognition sparked in his partner’s eyes. He wanted to fly over and wrap his arms around Farrell, but before he could move, Farrell shook his head. “No! Meglar is trying to trick me. That pirate was no wizard. Nothing Meglar gave him could do what you said.”
“Meglar used a spell he stole from Kel. I don’t understand it all, but he used some of your magic that he captured to create a spell that could get past your shields.”
“Lies!” Despite how loudly he shouted, Farrell’s accusation lacked conviction.
“It’s true.” Miceral’s hope grew with every second Farrell listened to him. “There’s a copy of Kel’s book in the Temple of Honorus. Cylinda and the temple wizards used it to determine the spell Meglar used.”
“Cylinda? How did she get to Dreth?”
“I screamed so loud Klissmor heard me. He . . . he used my eyes so Erstad could open a Door to the Rose, and Cylinda came to help.”
“Cylinda? Why . . . she’s a wizard-healer.”
“Right.” A smile broke across Miceral’s face. “You—”
“Miceral!” The urgency of Nerti’s voice nearly knocked him over. “You must hurry. Farrell’s time is very short. His shield prevents the others from giving him more energy, and he is almost drained.”
“I’m trying!” His frustration nearly had him in tears. “He’s not listening to me.”
“Try harder!” The panic in her voice stifled any response.
Swallowing his fears and the wave of grief that he was about to lose Farrell, Miceral breathed deeply to steady himself.
“Farrell, I need you to listen to me. You’re killing yourself fighting us. In the real world, you’re burning yourself out trying to keep up these shields. You need to stop so I can bring you back.”
“Ha! Just as I thought.” The glow of Farrell’s shield increased, dashing Miceral’s hopes. “If you think—”
“Kill me!” Miceral shouted.
“What?”
“If you think I’m Meglar, then kill me. I won’t stop you.”
“If you die here, you will die in the real world.” Rothdin’s warning barely registered.
“You need to lower your shields or else you will die. I can’t . . . won’t let that happen. Kill me, and once I’m dead you’ll realize I’m not Meglar.”
“Miceral . . .”
“You have to lower your shields. Do it! Now!”
Farrell blinked, and Miceral could see his resolve weaken. The shields, however, never wavered.
Miceral reached for a knife but found his sword belt and weapons missing. Remembering Rothdin’s words, he willed himself to be armed. Pulling a long knife from the belt, he looked back at Farrell.
“I loved you the moment I met you and always will. Remember that, Farrell. Always. Win this war. For me and everyone else.”
He turned the knife inward and stared at it as he pointed the blade right above his heart. “Miceral! No!”
Gold energy surrounded the knife and pried it from his hand. When he looked up, he found Farrell inches away.
“You crazy, muscle-bound oaf.” A real smile split Farrell’s face as tears ran down each cheek. “I believe you.”
Miceral reached forward, but Farrell’s smile died as his eyes rolled back. Before Miceral could grab him, Farrell plummeted toward the ground.
“No!” Miceral watched in horror as the man he loved plunged. Paralyzed by the moment, his scream of anguish died as he saw Rothdin swoop down. The peregrine’s broad back impossibly settled under Farrell’s body and cradled the stricken wizard.
“He is not dead.” Rothdin flew closer. “But we must wait until he wakes to bring him back.”
“Why?”
“He needs to be awake to follow us back.”
“Oh.”
“You did well, mate of my son. I am proud of you.”
Miceral tried to thank the peregrine but couldn’t form the words. The relief he expected wouldn’t come until Farrell woke up. Seeing the unconscious body resting on Rothdin’s back, he couldn’t shake the feeling Farrell still might not survive.
“It was a near thing, but Cylinda and the healers reached him in time.” Nerti sounded relieved, almost giddy. “They are restoring his energy—slowly.”
“So he’ll wake up soon?”
Nerti didn’t answer immediately. When the silence dragged on for more than a few heartbeats, his sense of dread reawakened. Before full panic set in, Nerti’s mind touched his again.
“The healers say his body is telling his mind he’s exhausted. What you see is a subconscious manifestation of that belief. The healers are working as fast as they can without risking harm. Fear not. He will wake soon.”
Fearing the answer, he didn’t ask the unicorn for her definition of soon. Instead, he drifted closer and touched Farrell’s hand.
“Soon.”
MICERAL ENTERED the small room the temple had set aside for Farrell’s recovery. A novice healer hovered over Farrell, offering him a silver cup.
“It’s just water, m’lord.” The teen’s pale-green robe looked new, and he was barely old enough to shave.
Standing in the doorway, Miceral smiled when he saw Farrell stare into the cup. “After I drugged him the last time he injured himself, he checks every cup that comes from a healer.”
The teen turned quickly, nearly pulling the cup from Farrell’s hand in the process. “M’lord . . .”
Farrell laughed. “Ignore him. He’s just teasing me—again.”
His mouth still open, the novice turned from Farrell to Miceral and back. Miceral walked over to the bed. “I almost lost my chance to do it, so I need to tease you as much as I can now.”
Instead of the smile Miceral expected, Farrell turned away.
Miceral retrieved the still-full cup from his partner and put the water on the small table to the right of Farrell’s head. “Can you leave us?”
Indecision clouded the novice’s face. “I’ve not . . . I just arrived. I need to do an exam first.”
“Tell your master I threw you out on the threat of harm, and if that’s a problem she can come see me herself.” Miceral said without any humor.
“I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” Bowing as he walked backward, the healer left the room.
“You didn’t need to threaten him.” Farrell didn’t look over.
“He needed a reason to disobey his instructions.” Miceral shrugged and sat on the edge of the bed. Running his f
ingers under Farrell’s, he collected his partner’s hand and rubbed it gently. “Besides, I want some time alone with you.”
“The master healer will be here soon to see what happened.”
“And I’ll send her away, too.” He kissed Farrell’s fingers. When Farrell didn’t move, Miceral caressed the skin on the back of the hand in his.
Farrell’s face twitched twice during the period of silence. Whatever debate he had with himself, he didn’t share, and Miceral didn’t press him to speak. Finally, he turned toward Miceral.
“You came for me.” A thin smile stretched his still-too-thin lips. “You risked everything to save me.”
Returning the smile, Miceral squeezed a bit tighter. “I had help.”
Farrell’s smile disappeared. “If it hadn’t worked, you would have died.”
“I know. Rothdin told me.”
Using his free hand, Farrell sat up a bit straighter. His eyes narrowed and he shook his head slightly. “Don’t do that again. Ever.”
“I had no choice,” Miceral whispered.
“There’s always a choice.” Farrell freed his hand and reached for the cup. He swallowed half the contents, then locked gazes with Miceral. “It would have destroyed me.”
“I’m not as important as you.”
“You are to me!” His body quivered, and he spilled some of the water on his blanket. “By the Eight Gates!” He flicked his hand over the wet spot and the blanket dried.
“Are you supposed to do magic?” Miceral pried the drink from Farrell’s hand. “I thought—”
“I’m fine. There are no lasting physical injuries.”
The master healer arrived just before Miceral could ask about nonphysical effects.
“Chosen.” The elderly woman cast a withering glare at Miceral that he ignored. No doubt he’d get a lecture when he left. “You should be resting.”
Farrell took a deep breath. “I’m fine.”
“If you had let the healer I sent to check on you do his job, I’d better know the truth of that statement.” She pointed a bony finger at Miceral. “You need to leave. And if you dare threaten me, prince or not, I’ll have the holy father remove you from the temple.”
“I’ll be back as soon as she leaves.” He leaned over and kissed Farrell on the forehead. “I love you.”
He didn’t wait for an answer as the healer all but pushed him aside.
Farrell looked around the woman. “I love you, too.”
Chapter Twenty
FARRELL STRETCHED and ran his hands along his torso. He’d lost all the muscle he’d added training with Miceral and then some. Feeling how prominently his ribs stuck out caused him to quickly grab his tunic from the chair by his bed.
Even four days later, he couldn’t fully grasp the implications of how Meglar defeated him. The spell—Kel’s spell—was both brilliant and brutal. History talked about Kel’s brilliance, his use of magic to help ordinary people, and his vision for his kingdom. Nothing hinted at the ruthless mind that had created such spells.
Worse, if Meglar had access to Kel’s works, what else could he use against Farrell? Given how easily he’d been defeated on the Rose, Farrell prayed Kel survived all these centuries.
From the window of his room, Farrell saw the ocean just over the city walls. The sight and smell of the sea reminded him how much he’d given up living inside a mountain. They also dredged up memories of a place he no longer called home.
A gentle breeze brushed over his skin, leaving goosebumps across his body.
“You should put on your shirt, Prince Halloran,” Father Gedrin said.
Farrell continued to watch the water for a few moments longer, then turned to find the high priest propped against the doorframe. Gedrin wore his public, formal robes. Leaning slightly on the gold crosier, the man could easily be mistaken for a gaudy, tasteless wizard instead of Honorus’s high cleric.
Slipping the beige tunic over his head, Farrell tucked it in as Gedrin entered the room. “I hadn’t expected the breeze to be that cool.” He bowed politely to Honorus’s prelate.
“Dreth’s temperature can be deceiving at this time of the year.” He placed his crosier against the small table by the door. “Honorus and Lenore have truly blessed Dumbarten in many ways.”
Farrell laughed. “Spoken like a true son of Dumbarten.”
The priest inclined his head slightly and smiled pleasantly. “Guilty of the accusation.” An instant later, Gedrin’s face lost all humor. “Are you sure you’re up for this?” Gedrin’s voice seemed harsh. “We can delay this further if need be.”
“No.” Farrell tried not to sound as eager as he felt. “Time is not an ally in this war. Finding Kel is my priority.”
“Your convictions and the indication in your book notwithstanding, we don’t know for certain that he still lives.”
“All the more reason not to delay things. If he does not, it will certainly change what I do next.” That and Farrell wanted to resume his mission. “And if you are concerned about my health, you need not worry. The days spent in recovery have restored me fully.”
“Excuse my bluntness, but you seem far too gaunt.”
“I’ve always been skinny.” Farrell could see Gedrin didn’t accept his answer. “Part of it can be called my birthright, but most of it comes from being a grand master. I burn through a lot of energy, and a lot of it comes from me.”
“You are not the first grand master I’ve met.”
Chuckling, Farrell sat on the bed to pull on his boots. “Now it’s my turn to be blunt. You’ve never met anyone like me.”
Father Gedrin raised an eyebrow and peered down his nose. Irked, Farrell yanked on his left boot and stamped it down to quell his annoyance.
“Don’t look at me like that, Father. It’s not hubris. It’s a fact. From the time I was seven, Heminaltose and Sanduval trained me like someone ten or fifteen years older. On my sixteenth birthday, they deemed me ready to take an active role in the war. At the age of twenty, I assumed the role of leader of the opposition to Meglar. Since then, I’ve prepared Haven for his attack, maintained Haven with the help of supporting wizards, and fought in at least ten different campaigns. Can you really say you’ve met any grand master who’s done that, let alone before their thirtieth year?”
He hadn’t meant it to come out so angrily, but his recovery, separated from Miceral at the healers’ order, had worn his patience to a nub. Having done the deed, he stared at the priest, daring him to challenge his words. Father Gedrin met his gaze. Finally, the older man broke the link.
“Perhaps I misspoke. I’ll trust you know your limitations best.”
The smile was genuine, but Farrell understood the nature of politicians—and high priests.
“Thank you.” Farrell stepped into his right boot with far less energy. He toyed with offering an apology for his tone, but since Gedrin didn’t offer one, he opted to move on. “You seem dressed for a high mass. Should I change into something more formal?”
“If you do, King Markus will be disappointed.” Gedrin retrieve his crosier. “He dislikes formal occasions.”
“In that we share a common ground.” He smiled at his guest, but it faded quickly. “Are you expecting trouble?”
“Trouble?” The priest scanned the rest of the room. “What do you mean?”
“Your robes. They surround you with several layers of protection.”
Gedrin studied him as if looking into his soul. The man’s knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on the golden staff. If he had been somewhere other than the High Temple of Honorus, Farrell might have engaged his defenses. But here, only his curiosity was aroused.
“Interesting.” Gedrin’s hold on his crosier relaxed, and he cocked his head slightly. “Only a cleric should be able to see the divine protection in these vestments.” He laid his staff gently on the bed and raised both hands, palms outward, toward Farrell. “With your permission, Chosen?”
Farrell nodded and without further
words, the high priest laid both hands on Farrell’s face. Energy rushed into him. His body tingled, and it felt as though a thousand pins pricked his skin. The sensation barred his ability to measure how much time had passed. Just when he started to feel relief, his vision went black, then gray, then nothing.
Farrell tamped down his panic. If Meglar’s spell had been reactivated, he didn’t want to forget his situation. Before he could analyze his surroundings, his vision was restored and he found himself back in his room with Gedrin standing inches away from him.
Gedrin blinked, then rubbed his chin. “That Honorus’s hand is found on His Chosen is not surprising, but I also felt the presence of Arritisa, Lenore, Khron, and Seritia. Though none is as strong as that of the Sky Father, They are easily detected.”
“According to my adoptive father, I am the Servant of Honorus. Lenore, Arritisa, and Khron made me Their Chosen, but I’ve never had contact with Seritia. It seems unlikely I could be Her Chosen.”
The older man retrieved his staff and smiled. “Often have I spoken with my sister, the high priestess of Seritia, about the power of her Lady. Any who find true love, that which transcends lust or admiration or duty, a love that binds you to another on a level so deep it will last beyond time, they are chosen by the Goddess of Love. You are indeed blessed, son. Seritia’s blessing is more sought after than any other, even more than Khron’s.”
Given his status, Farrell expected Seritia would one day choose him. Part of him was relieved She hadn’t done it in person like Khron or Arritisa, but he didn’t appreciate the stealthy way She’d chosen him.
Gedrin squeezed Farrell’s shoulder. “Fret not, Chosen. There are far worse things in life than being the Chosen of the Goddess of Love.”
He bit back the urge to explain to a cleric why there were few things worse than being chosen. Instead he pasted his best fake smile onto his face. “Well said, Father.”
“Come along.” The priest motioned toward the door. “There is much to do before we begin today.”
Gedrin barely cleared the doorway when he began speaking.
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