Thealos felt the weight of the cloak as it slid down his arms and he stared down at it. It was dyed the darkest of colors, fine woven and soft. He raised it, examining the fringe, and noted the excellent stitchwork and care. A beautiful garment by Silvan stitchmarking standards, yet the color was quite unfashionable. The Shae rarely wore black. After bringing it around behind him, he fastened it and felt its warmth seep into his shoulders. It did not make him feel like a Sleepwalker though. Unless they usually felt abandoned, sad, and lonely. The thought darted through his mind—to break is to be broken.
Climbing to his feet, he stared around the gardens as the first blush of dawn greeted them. A tall stone wall with ironwork along the top boxed in the area and vine ivy swarmed it. The grounds were large and paved with square stone tiles forming intricate circles and pathways. The manor house rose off to his left, past stout hedges wreathed with flagstones and rising above tall flowering plum trees full of purple leaves. The manor house itself was over a thousand years old and the stone showed it—splotches of white, crumbling along the casement ridges and bartizans. From afar, Silverborne palace glittered like a jewel. But up close, in the rear gardens blocked in and sheltered, the palace looked decayed.
Thealos stared down at the dirt and mud caked in his fingers and seams and wandered a short way to the tall fountain splashing nearby. The waters were frigid and shocked him with cold, but he scrubbed his hands and face and wished he had a sliver of soap. All of his possessions were gone, save the clothes he had been wearing for a week and they were fit to be burned. He looked down at the tunic and vest he had purchased in Sol and snorted bitterly. His favorite hunting bow, his Silvan weapon, even the hoppit doll that Arielle had bequeathed to him—all of these things were gone and the thought of his sister sent another sharp pang right into his heart. If he climbed the wall, he would be able to see the roof of his parents’ home on a ridge far away. The temptation to climb was horrible.
Not only were his possessions missing, but his only friends as well. Jaerod, who came and went like a wraith—he was used to that by now. But what of Ticastasy and Allavin Devers? They were safe, Jaerod had said, but he missed them fiercely. Especially Stasy. Images of her had haunted him during his bondage with the Wolfsmen. He had persuaded her to leave Sol and follow him to Landmoor. And there she had lost her best friend—one of Thealos’ only friends, a Drugaen named Flent Shago. Anger and loss wrestled inside him. What of Sturnin Goff, the knight from Owen Draw? He had also given his life that Thealos could escape the dangerous tunnels beneath Landmoor. Both Flent and Sturnin had chosen their fates. But remembering the Warder Shae made the memories too painful to dwell on. How many times had Justin tried to convince him to return to Avisahn instead? Now the poor fellow was trapped in a dungeon in a time he did not remember and surrounded by people speaking a language he did not understand. The guilt Thealos felt was a poison inside him. He had buried the thoughts to keep that poison from sickening him. He had to do so again.
Voices.
Thealos looked towards the sound as it came from beyond the hedgerow, causing a stab of panic in his heart. Jaerod was gone—he knew that by the emptiness he felt. But would he come back soon? Did he want Thealos to hide and wait for him? For how long? How would he eat? One did not simply walk into Silverborne palace and ask for a crust of bread.
“…And what of news from the watchpost Citadellian? We’ve expected the alerion for days now. Any news?” It was a woman’s voice. Thealos felt waves of dread and excitement battle inside him. He knew that voice.
“None. They’re overdue. That’s all I know. Now…what would you like me to tell Nordain’s servant?” The voice was soft and friendly. These were two people used to speaking openly with each other. Thealos’ mind snatched at a memory—Abtalion. The king’s chancellor. He had heard that softspoken voice as well.
“What do you think I should tell Nordain’s servant?”
“You realize what he’s trying to do, Laisha?”
Thealos was a little shocked at the gentleman using her given name. In a moment they would round the hedge and see him at the fountain. He wondered if he should hide and listen or if that would make it seem worse. This was a chance though—an opportunity to speak to Laisha before the Sunedrion had condemned him. Perhaps Jaerod had realized that as well.
“He doesn’t want me to talk to the Quickfellow boy. He wants a verdict reached in the Sunedrion and not in my High Council. He’s gambling that I don’t have the time or interest to participate in his proceedings and will trust the judgment of the Council Elders. Is that enough or do I need to go into the dozen implications as well?”
A gentle laugh. “Oh, I didn’t doubt you could see through Nordain. The implications here are deeper than that and he knows it. The Council Elders are watching you closely to see how you handle this. Thealos Quickfellow is your age, Laisha. If you forgive his treason, you open a startling prececent that will make the Sunedrion quite uncomfortable.”