4: A Healer's Touch

She slid from his sword and crumpled to the floor.

Bloodied blade falling to his side, Tal watched as the red, killing mist rose from her body. For a moment, the fog formed into a mockery of her figure as it had been in life, and seemed to meet his gaze, accusation clear in its murky eyes. 

Then it turned and descended on their enemies. 

One by one, the unholy revenant dove into the Easterners, streaming in through their mouths, their noses, their eyes. As it entered, their expressions froze in sudden horror. When it eased back out, each man fell, never to rise again.

Only when the mist had murdered all the others in the chamber did it rise in a crimson cloud before Tal again. Still he stood motionless, not moving to protect himself.

From the bloodshade issued forth a voice, aged and nearly unfamiliar with the time that had passed since he’d heard it. Even so, he recognized it as Keeper’s. 

“Damned fool. I died so you could possess my sister’s knowledge. And what have you done with it? What have you done with your Blood?”

Tal fell to his knees, his head bowing. He did not speak.

“You are the Heart’s Blood,” Keeper continued, merciless. “But you are not worthy of it coursing through your veins.”

“I know.”

As she gave him one last accusing look, the dream dissolved, and his eyelids fluttered open.

Even the dim light through the canvas of the wagon pressed painfully on his eyes. Groaning, Tal closed them again and shifted, trying to find a spot where the shuddering wagon beneath him didn’t jolt his wounds so painfully. He didn’t succeed.

A dream—it was only a dream. Yet just as with his dream the night of the attack, it had felt so vivid and real, all of his senses awakened to the scene. He’d smelled the smoke of the fires from the traps triggered in the tower below, felt the sweat beading down his unwashed skin. The metallic tang of blood sat on his tongue.

A bitter smile touched Tal’s lips. “I’m mad,” he murmured. “Even more than I was before.”

Though he recognized the dream as taking place in the Blue Moon Obelisk, a place he’d long ago visited, it had been a parody of the true events. The bloodshade of Keeper, the Nightelf who had maintained the derelict tower, had never spoken. Tal hadn’t just stood still as the shade slaughtered the Easterners, but had fought for his life. Yet it hadn’t stopped his latent guilt from sending him a poignant message.

All I’ve learned, all I’ve striven for—and what has it gained? 

He shifted uncomfortably on his bed of onions as he stewed. He’d hidden away in Hunt’s Hollow, assuring himself it was to translate the tome Keeper had entrusted to him, A Fable of Song and Blood. But when he’d finished, he’d stayed, spinning its words repeatedly in his head. Founts of Blood, Founts of Song—what did it mean? Was any of it real, or the delusions of a Nightelf as devil-touched as himself?

Yet if Tal’s experiences hadn’t proven the truth of Hellexa Yoreseer’s Fable, Garin’s tribulations had. And, for the youth’s sake, he could no longer delay acting.

Delay doing what?

No answer came, and inevitably, he drifted off again. In and out he came from a dreamless slumber, and the light through the wagon’s canvas faded. He only jolted fully awake as the wagon rumbled to a halt.

The flap opened, and Tal squinted through the painful light to see Wren peering in.

“He’s still alive,” she called back.

“Thanks for the wager of confidence,” Tal muttered as she climbed into the wagon and began shifting him around.

“With you reeking of onion, you’ve got enough to thank me for already.”

As Tal grimaced, a Warder he didn’t recognize peered in. “The Prime told me to carry him,” the elf said shortly. 

Wren barely glanced back at him as she gestured to Tal, then moved out of the way. Another Warder joined the first, and between the two of them, they scooped him up in their arms and began moving him out, jostling him and sending fiery, mind-numbing stabs of pain cascading from his side throughout his body.

Tal realized he’d fallen unconscious when he woke again, swaying back and forth, cloth stretching beneath him. Feeling with his clumsy hands around him, he guessed he was on a makeshift pallet. He opened his eyes and saw the forest canopy disappearing before the high boughs of an impossibly large tree. A kintree, he recognized, and despite his pain and weakness, a smile curled his lips.

The kintrees, rising hundreds of feet high and as thick around as a wealthy merchant’s manor, formed the homes of the Gladelysh nobility, the Highkin. Unless Tal had been unconscious much longer than he knew, this kintree was the provincial estate of a Highkin House. But though he wracked his faint memories of the Gladelysh noble families, he couldn’t remember to whom it might belong.

Four Warders carried him into the shivering shade, all the way to the grand trunk. Then the litter took on an angle as they ascended a long, curving flight of stairs around the kintree. Tal tensed at each jostling step of his escort, but he couldn’t keep the pain from steadily rising and claiming him again.

When he next woke, it was to a blessedly soft surface and suffocating blankets. Groaning, he pushed the quilts off half of his body, then lay panting and reveling in the cool air against his feverish skin. Someone had removed his clothes, and except for the blankets, he was exposed. The curtains had been drawn, but a faint glow escaped through them, golden with the last light of day, or perhaps the next morning. Tal’s stomach rumbled, reminding him how long it had been since he’d eaten.

He heard the bare squeak of a door’s hinge, and he stiffened, listening. His eyes wandered next to him, searching for a knife, or Velori, or anything he might use as a weapon. It didn’t matter that he was among friends. He was vulnerable. It would be far too simple to rid the World of Tal Harrenfel.

A figure with a small, yellow orb of werelight in hand came into view, and Tal half-lidded his eyes and lay prone as he watched them approach the bed. In their other hand hung a heavy bag.

The figure came closer, and Tal knew once again he dreamed. He opened his eyes wide, yet she didn’t disappear.

“Ashelia?” he whispered.

Her eyes, like a storm-riven sea, stared down into his. “Tal.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment. Then she turned away and set the satchel on a small table behind her and began ruffling through it.

Tal stared at her back, at the braids of hair that tumbled down like vines on a tree. Silhouetted, he could only tell that she wore a set of tunic and trousers and not the dresses he’d grown accustomed to seeing her in. It didn’t matter. The sight of her set his heart galloping and his mind soaring far beyond the reach of words.

Ashelia rustled through the bag for several minutes, then turned back. In one hand, she held a small pouch, its ties loose, while the other clutched a short blade. Tucked under an arm was a wooden dowel.

For a moment, Tal grappled with the realization of her intentions. “Don’t you have anything to say first?” he finally managed.

“Put this between your teeth,” Ashelia responded, setting the pouch down on his bed and handing him the dowel. “You’ll need your tongue if we’re to speak later.”

His mouth worked for a moment. His voice came out in a choked whisper. “You’re repairing the runes, aren’t you?”

“Yes. But I must purge the wound again first.”

There was nothing more to say. He accepted the dowel and put it securely between his teeth, his breath rasping around it.

“Kald,” he heard her say, and the hearth across the room erupted into flames. Then she stooped over him and sprinkled a white powder over his side.

Her other arm descended, then she paused. “It will only hurt a moment,” she murmured.

The knife entered the wound, and lightning surged through his veins.

* * *

You’re a coward, Garin told himself once more as he paced back and forth. Only a coward would still be here.

Long after Tal’s screams had stopped, Garin lingered outside his door. He’d said he stayed for Wren, who leaned against the wall next to him, running a coin over her knuckles again and again with a jester’s dexterity. Falcon waited next to his daughter, unconsciously touching the stump of his missing hand, then quickly pulling it away.

Garin said he stayed for Wren. But though he told the lie to others, he couldn’t deceive himself.

An hour had passed, and night was swiftly approaching. Garin paused to stare out from their high view. Another time, he would have marveled over the sights he’d seen since crossing the border into Gladelyl’s woods. The trees grew taller and thicker than any he’d seen, and the East Marsh of Avendor held its share of giants. But none came close to the size of the kintree that housed them. Its furthest boughs stretched half a mile away, keeping them in permanent shade. They’d ascended the winding staircase higher than any tower of the Coral Castle, and his stomach turned every time he looked at the distant ground below.

But he couldn’t deny that it was spectacular to behold. The woods smelled rich and earthy, full of life in a way even the wild East Marsh couldn’t match. The trees were in the peak of their autumnal colors, and a tapestry of fiery orange, golden yellow, and apple red spread as far as the eye could reach, swaying and rustling in the constant wind.

He turned away and began pacing again. The platform didn’t creak underfoot as he expected. Like the room Tal occupied, it seemed more grown from the tree than carved or formed of planks. The stairs, too, were like smoothed nubs that had emerged from the trees. According to Falcon, they were shaped by the mages of the Emerald Tower, one of Elendol’s Chromatic Towers, where elves learned to harness their inherent sorcery. 

He’d heard tales of the tree-city of the elves all his life. To be standing now on one of the kintrees themselves would have once filled him with profound wonder and awe. But that had been before the devil had clawed its way into his mind. And before Tal’s confession.

The door behind them opened, and Ashelia stepped out from the rounded opening. Garin had turned toward her with as much rapt attention as Wren and Falcon, but he quickly smoothed his expression.

Ashelia wasn’t looking at him, but at Falcon. From what Garin knew, they’d had little interaction before that day, only once during the Court Bard’s brief visit to Elendol some months before. But each knew what the other meant to Tal.

Garin scowled and turned his gaze over the railing, staring at the shifting sea of fall leaves below.

“He survived,” Ashelia announced. “He should recover swiftly now.”

From the corner of his eye, Garin saw Wren step up next to her father and clasp his hand. Falcon raised his right arm toward Ashelia before jerking it back, once again forgetting that no hand lay at its end. Still, the minstrel recovered his composure and, with a series of flourishes with his other hand, bowed as deeply as he had to King Aldric.

“Thank you, m’lady. I expected nothing less of the prodigious healing hands of my friend’s legendary lover, but all the same, I admit I’m relieved.”

Ashelia’s skin darkened even as her eyes narrowed, and the silvery gray in them whirled. “’The legendary lover’—I have you to thank for that title.”

“Perhaps I had a hand in it once.” He held up his handless arm with a weak smile. “But those days are past me. May we enter to see him?”

Ashelia’s eyes flickered to his stump, perhaps only now realizing the bard had only one hand. Garin’s lips twisted, wondering what she’d think of that story.

“Yes,” she said. “But only briefly. And do not wake him.”

Falcon and Wren moved past her to enter, but Garin remained where he was. Part of him longed to go in and see Tal breathing for himself. The greater part of him wished to flee down the kintree and never look back.

Ashelia neared him. “Will you go to him?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat.

She waited a moment before speaking again. “I don’t know what happened between you two. But from all I’ve heard, Tal had taken you under his wing. Is that right?”

“It was. Now…” Garin shrugged, unable to put words to all he felt.

Ashelia stepped up to the railing next to him, staring over the colorful canopy. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t care for him, and him for you. He almost died keeping you and your friends alive. The least thanks you can give him is to see him now. He need never know.”

He knew that Falcon would tell Tal if he asked. But all the same, he nodded.

Coward, he accused himself as he entered the door behind Ashelia.

The room was dark, the great window on its far side covered with heavy curtains. A fire burned in the hearth, illuminating the room in a faint yellow glow. On the opposite side, a four-poster bed lay with a figure prone in it, partially obscured by Falcon and Wren standing over him. From the corner of his eye, he saw bloodied bandages gathered on a small table in the corner.

A lump in his throat, Garin approached, peering between the minstrel and his daughter to glimpse Tal’s face. His brow creased slightly amid the shallow wrinkles of age and the scars of old battles. His chest rose with steady breathing under the blankets. His hands rested above the covers, bared of his gloves for the first time in weeks.

And glimmering on one finger was a Binding Ring.

His heart hammering, Garin turned to find Ashelia behind him. They stared silently at each other for a long moment. He wondered if she knew what that crystal band meant. Falcon and Wren might not—there’d been little reason to mention it back in Halenhol, and even less since they’d freed Falcon from his long entombment.

“I’ve seen enough,” he whispered, and headed for the door.

He breathed in the fresh air outside, a fine change from the warm, stuffy air within the chamber. One question plagued him, spinning around and around in his head.

Who bound him?

It wasn’t long before the other three joined him outside. He longed to ask Wren about it, but knowing he should question her alone first, he reluctantly let the thought go. 

“Now that he’s stable, I need to greet our benefactors,” Ashelia said. “The Lathnieli are not known for excusing lapses in courtesy.”

Falcon glanced down at himself. “Perhaps I should get changed into something more suitable?”

The Warder visibly winced. “I’m sorry, Falcon Sunstring. But you and your daughter won’t be able to join us.”

“Why not?” The thin tendrils of gold in Wren’s green eyes suddenly spun. “Because we’re kolfash?”

To her credit, Ashelia met Wren’s glare. “Except for being Sympathists, the Lathnieli are traditional in most ways. Which means they hold to the exiling of all those of partial elven blood. Out of respect for my House, they’ve given you hospitality, but they will not admit you within their presence.”

“How kind of them,” Wren sneered.

“Wren,” Falcon said warningly, then nodded his head to the Warder. “We understand, Ashelia Starkissed. You have my word that we won’t cause any trouble.”

She nodded, her expression still uncertain, as she looked to Garin. “You, however, ought to come with me.”

“Me?” He glanced at Wren and, at her continued glare, stiffened his jaw. “Why should I go when they’re not allowed?”

Ashelia gave him a crooked smile. “Your loyalty is admirable. But again, it is our customs that reign supreme here. Prominent guests must come before their hosts and thank them. And despite our best efforts, you, Garin Dunford, are already well-known here.”

His stomach tightened like a stone sat on it. “Why? I’m just part of the Dancing Feathers.”

But she shook her head. “All the Highkin know better. Every family has contacts within the Coral Castle, and Tal made little secret of you being his protege there. Though your true purpose in being here remains secret, that you are close to Aristhol is common knowledge, and enough reason to be of interest.”

“Aristhol?”

Ashelia cocked her head to one side. “It translates to ‘Thorn Puller’ in Reachtongue, though that doesn’t quite capture the meaning. It has a much grander feel in Gladelyshi.”

He felt the ropes tightening around him. “Fine,” he relented wearily.

“Good. Now, come along—they’ll already be sitting down to dine, and it’s better to be timely than well-dressed.” Beckoning him over, she glanced at Falcon and Wren. “I’ll make sure they send food to your rooms.”

“Don’t worry over us, m’lady,” Falcon said with another bow, while Wren glared coldly back.

Ashelia only turned away. “This way, Garin.”

They walked down the endless stairs, descending until they were level with the forest surrounding the peripheries of the kintree’s furthest branches. A silence had fallen between them, but to Garin’s surprise, it was not altogether uncomfortable.

Halfway down the tree, Ashelia spoke. “I know I should ask you of your ailment. I am to be your healer, you know.”

The pit in his stomach that had been growing with anticipation of the dinner suddenly became heavier. Yet he also found himself relieved. “If it has to be anyone, I’m glad it’s you,” he replied, surprised that he meant it.

“As am I. But I won’t ask questions about that now.” Her eyes briefly alighted on him, then darted away. “I just have one I hope you’ll answer.”

Despite her statement, she didn’t speak again for a long stretch. Garin wondered if he should ask, even as part of him dreaded to know.

“When you traveled together,” she finally said, “before whatever schism came between you. Did he…?”

She trailed off, seeming to struggle to find the words. Garin avoided her gaze, his face flushing. He’d never thought to see this confident woman reduced to stammering and didn’t much enjoy witnessing it.

At length, Ashelia sighed. “Never mind. I shouldn’t involve you.”

Not wanting to leave her disappointed, Garin tried to think of a response that wouldn’t further embarrass them both. He couldn’t deny that tendrils of anger seeded through his chest that Tal had put him in this position at all. But Ashelia had been nothing but kind to him. Whatever his issues with his former mentor, he wouldn’t do anything to harm her.

“He never spoke of you.” As Ashelia’s eyes grew hard at his words, he continued quickly, “But that he didn’t speak of you said enough.”

She didn’t answer, but stared ahead. Yet Garin saw the corner of her mouth crimping in a smile.

They continued the descent in silence once more. It wasn’t long after that she stopped their walk with a gesture. 

“The banquet hall is just below—see how the trunk bulges outward and the platform extends? A hundred could be seated within. But don’t worry—this is no feast night, but only a small gathering of our party and whatever few guests Houselord Lathniel is already hosting.”

Garin nodded, wondering if it wasn’t too late to plead ill. But that was the boy’s way out, and he knew he had a lot to prove if he was to continue to call himself a man.

The banquet hall opened up before them as the stairs curved around to its landing. He’d seen it on the way up, but distracted by following Tal’s entourage, he’d barely given it more than a glance. Now, he craned his neck back to take in the grand chamber. An entire wall was open to the outside so they could see all the way to the windows in the back. The windows extended nearly from the floor to the domed ceiling. Even as he wondered how it could be comfortable with the late autumn winds blowing in, they stepped under the overhanging roof. A chill rushed over him like a door opening in the dead of winter, followed by an enveloping warmth and deadening of the wind. Trying not to shudder at the clamminess that clung to his skin, he found Ashelia smiling at him, a hint of amusement swirling in her stormy eyes.

“Magic?” he queried softly, and she nodded.

Tables lined either side of the grand, carpeted walk that they trod on. The carpet was formed of no fabric Garin had ever witnessed, but felt soft beneath his feet. It was dyed the same colors as the fall-painted forest that the hall overlooked and swirled in figures and shapes that were exaggerated and foreign in their features, with eyes unnaturally angled and noses fit for giants. The surrounding walls were decorated with tapestries and paintings boasting a variety of styles and mediums, one even appearing to be little more than a slab of bark. All matched the hues of the season.

Even more enthralling were the lights that hovered all around him, suspended in midair. Werelights, he recognized them, though they were unlike any he’d seen before. Each hovered over what appeared to be lamps hanging from the ceiling, as if the lamps had conjured the lights themselves. These lights, too, shone in the spectrum of fall colors, wreathing the hall in a gentle, warm glow that shifted as they moved through it. A harp’s resonating music added to the ethereal aspect. It was enough for Garin to entertain the fantasy that he walked the Quiet Havens before his time.

As they approached the far end of the room, Garin shifted his focus to the figures seated at the table upon the dais. Houselord Jondual Lathniel looked over at them as they neared. His hair was black and cascaded in oily curls down his back, and as with all the elves he’d seen, his chin was smooth and free of facial hair, revealing severely thin, pale lips. He was as tall as Helnor, who sat by his side, though willowy in the billowing red robes around him.

Prime Helnor sat on his left. Though he’d discarded his armor, the Warder’s oft-jovial expression had been replaced by flinty eyes Garin had previously seen as he interacted with his sister, as if he were preparing himself for battle.

To Helnor’s left sat Aelyn, scowling even more than usual as he watched their approach. From the little Garin had gathered, Aelyn and his “House-brother” did not get along well at the best of times. He doubted the present situation would improve their friendship.

Further to the left sat a young woman who looked slightly older than Garin and a boy, both elves by their pointed ears and lively eyes. They waited demurely with their hands in their laps, though the boy fidgeted and watched them with open interest.

To their host’s right, two seats remained open—their seats, he suspected, with an uncomfortable squirm. Sure enough, as they neared the dais, an elf, shorter than the others he’d seen and dressed in a plain brown dress, bowed with her hands working in strange swirling motions, then murmured for them to follow her.

“Peer Ashelia Venaliel,” their host said, his voice deeper and richer than Garin would have expected. “You grace House Lathniel with your presence.”

“You do me honor, Lord Jondual. Forgive our state of undress—our journey has not allowed for the finer requirements of society.”

Lord Jondual waved a hand, the gesture slow and measured instead of casual. “It matters not. Society seems to be doing away with much these days.”

A shadow crossed Ashelia’s face, but her expression smoothed as servants seated her and Garin. He sat with the movement of the chair being pushed in and hoped it hadn’t looked as awkward as it felt.

“And welcome to your companion. Garin Dunford of Avendor, I believe?”

Garin looked up to find their host’s eyes on him. His gray eyes were laced with a light lavender that swirled slowly as he beheld him.

He tried to speak and found his throat had closed. Clearing it as softly as he could, he answered in a half-strangled voice, “Yes, that’s right. A pleasure to meet you, Lord Lathniel.”

The elf lord’s lips curled, but the smile didn’t touch his eyes. “The pleasure is all mine, I’m sure.”

Wondering if he’d misspoken, Garin let his gaze fall to the empty plate before him. The sooner they ate, the sooner this uncomfortable affair would be over. Or so he hoped.

But more dismay met him as he studied the implements surrounding the plate. Two knives lay at the top, but where forks and spoons should have been there were only two pairs of what appeared to be shapely sticks. He desperately hoped they weren’t supposed to be their utensils.

Jondual Graybark introduced everyone at the table, the young woman apparently being his daughter and the boy his “House-son,” which Garin understood to mean that this was the son of another House whom the Lathnieli were looking after.

With the introductions made, only the music from the harpist filled the great hall. Then Lord Jondual turned and gave a sharp nod, and the entire staff of servants seemed to blossom from nowhere, all bearing brimming ewers of colorful liquids and full platters of food Garin could scarcely describe. Fragrant spices filled his nose, some burning with their intensity, others soothing and sweet, all strange to perceive. He watched wordlessly as one elven servant poured a dark orange liquid into his glass.

Ashelia leaned slightly toward him. “Bakala—pumpkin wine. It’s a traditional fall drink.”

At her prompting, Garin took a sip and tried to hide his wince. The wine was thick and musty, and the strength of the alcohol made his eyes water.

Before he’d recovered, the food was being served. One by one, servants approached and silently proffered their dish, and at Ashelia’s prompting, Garin accepted a little of each. When his plate was overflowing with food, most of it unidentifiable and pungent, he pretended to be politely waiting for the others to be served as he eyed his dining companions. 

The elven boy didn’t hesitate, but immediately picked up two of the sticks in one hand and began manipulating them in a way that seemed an impossible feat of dexterity. Trying to imitate the boy’s crimping position with his own hand, Garin attempted to coax a piece of what he thought was chicken between the sticks. The sauce-covered meat defied his best efforts. He thought he saw Ashelia look askance at him and was whole-heartedly glad that Wren wasn’t there to witness it.

“I must admit,” Lord Jondual broke the silence of their party, “I was surprised when a Prime Warder begged hospitality of me.”

Helnor didn’t bother hiding his frown. “As I informed you before, Lord Jondual, it’s on account of an attacked caravan. One was killed and more injured, and we had need of a place to heal them.”

The elf lord’s gaze slid over to Ashelia. “Then it is fortunate that you have a renowned healer masquerading as a Warder in your party.”

Ashelia didn’t appear to feel what Garin understood to be a slight. “Yet another reason women should be more commonly accepted as Warders, don’t you think, Lord Jondual?” she said evenly.

Their host’s expression tightened as he took a delicate bite from his meal.

Garin finally secured the piece of meat and levered it toward his lips. As he chewed, a sudden, searing pain shot through his mouth. It was all he could do not to spit it back out as he fumbled for his glass and drained it. But no matter how much pumpkin wine he drank, his mouth grew no cooler.

Now he was certain a smile tweaked at the corner of Ashelia’s mouth.

“I heard,” Lord Jondual began again, “that one of your patients was a human of very particular renown. One whom you’ve known in the past in a rather… intimate way.”

Ashelia’s smile disappeared. Through his watering eyes, Garin saw her exchange a glance with Helnor and Aelyn before finally meeting Lord Jondual’s eyes.

“Most already knew Tal Harrenfel was returning to Elendol,” she said coolly. “Your prescience is not as great as you believe.”

The elf lord gave her a wintry smile. “If that were the extent of it, perhaps.”

“But if I were you, Lord Jondual, I’d extend your scrying in a different direction. It isn’t who’s come to your House that should concern you, but who attacked them along the road.”

“Imperials, I heard.”

“Yes. No doubt the same Easterners your bond allowed in through the Sun Gate, now attacking travelers on the High Road.”

“Ashelia,” Helnor said warningly.

Lord Jondual waved his free hand slightly. “We have no proof they did not sneak down from Avendor. Besides, Her Eminence has not suffered Venators to enter within Gladelysh borders, and from your brother’s fearsome reports, these Imperials, armed and battle-trained, could be nothing else.”

Venators—Garin had heard the term used by the Warders on their way to House Lathniel. He knew the famed Easterner headhunters by their Reach-name, Ravagers. As a child, his mother had told him stories of the Ravagers, how they snatched naughty children from their beds. But even after he outgrew such tales, the soldiers who fought along the Fringes told truer stories of their deadliness.

And now he’d seen it for himself.

“They were Venators,” Aelyn spoke up. “Undoubtedly.”

“Ah, yes, Emissary Aelyn. I forget that you fought them. And yet your party suffered such losses. Perhaps your training at the Onyx Tower has grown faint in your mind.”

Aelyn’s scowl deepened, but before he could speak, Helnor broke in. “Aelyn is still a Peer of the Realm, lest you’ve forgotten, Lord Jondual. You shall address him as such.”

The elf lord’s smile disappeared. “Of course. A Peer keeps her or his title, even if they are long absent from the court and their House consists of one member.”

To Garin’s surprise, Aelyn suddenly stood, his features even paler than before. “And who,” he nearly shouted, “is responsible for that, I wonder?”

Lord Jondual didn’t rise to meet the challenge, but only held Aelyn’s gaze. Garin’s heart thumped in his chest, and not only from the spice still burning his mouth.

“Justice, I believe, was served for that terrible crime against your family, Peer Aelyn. Was not the man who committed it caught and executed? It certainly doesn’t call for shouting in my hall.”

His words did little, for Aelyn remained as taut as a drawn bow. Before he could speak again, though, Helnor rose and put a hand on his adopted brother’s shoulder. “Calm now,” he said in a soft rumble.

The mage angrily shrugged off his hand and strode away, and everyone at the table remained silent as Aelyn walked down the carpet toward the entrance. At the great opening, he paused and flicked a hand up. All the werelights turned an ominous violet.

Frowning, Lord Jondual muttered something as he waved his own hand over the feast hall, and the lights resumed their previous colors. But Aelyn had already gone.

Helnor still stood, and at a look from Ashelia, Garin stood as well.

“I’m afraid we are quite tired from our journey,” Ashelia said coolly. “You’ll excuse us if we take the rest of our dinner in our rooms, I’m sure.”

Lord Jondual remained seated, as did his daughter and House-son. The Lathniel daughter glared openly at all of them, while the House-son watched the proceedings with wide eyes.

“Of course,” their host said at length.

As Garin followed the Warders out from the feast hall, he’d never been so happy to leave dinner with an empty belly.