“Nevertheless, my petition stands, and I request your answer.”
She turned to Iltis, handing him the cup and requesting he leave them alone. “You will require a new commander for the North Guard,” she said when the Lord Protector had withdrawn. “Lord Adal has petitioned to be released from your service.”
Vaelin nodded in grim acceptance. Imparting news of Dahrena’s death to Adal had been a hard trial, made worse by the man’s rigid composure and clipped response to every question. Though the accusation on his face as he bowed and withdrew was plain enough. She would have lived if she had loved him instead.
“I trust you will find him suitable employment,” he told the queen.
“Indeed. I’m minded to create an East Guard for my new dominions. War has left us with many able hands to fill the ranks and who better to command them?”
“A fine choice, Highness. I would request Lord Orven as his replacement.”
“As you wish, subject to his agreement. I believe he has earned the right to choose his commands.”
Lyrna rose once again and went to the window. Council-man Arklev’s home stood on a hill offering a fine view of the harbour, still crowded with the fleet, though somewhat diminished now. The Shield had sailed away two days after the city’s fall, taking with him perhaps a tenth of the Meldeneans. There were rumours of a fractious dispute with the Fleet Lord, of challenges made and sabres drawn, though Lord Ell-Nurin seemed unhurt when Vaelin next saw him, bowing low to the queen as she gave him a sword, and a grant of land on the south Asraelin coast.
“Do you remember the night we met?” she asked.
“You surprised me, I threw a knife at you.”
“Yes.” She smiled. “I kept it. It saved my life in fact.”
“I’m glad.”
“There was a question I asked you then, one I won’t ask you again, since both question and answer are now redundant. But, I’ve always been curious, did you ever regret saying no?”
Her hair was fully grown now, he saw, longer than it had ever been, a golden cascade in the light from the window. And her face, the porcelain perfection enhanced by the few small lines of experience and the keen intellect shining from her eyes, no longer subject to any constraint.
“Of course,” he lied. “What man wouldn’t?”
? ? ?
Weaver stood among the Politai, speaking in low but earnest tones as they clustered around. They were more animated than Vaelin had seen them before, many speaking up to interrupt, faces betraying distinct emotions, ranging from sadness to anger. The more recently freed stood on the fringes, frowning in bafflement but keeping close to their brothers. Frentis said it was always the way with them, an inability to be alone or tolerate the company of those not of their kind.
Did we free something? Vaelin wondered. Or unleash it?
After more than an hour of discussion Weaver finally called a halt and the Politai began to disperse back to the surrounding houses they occupied. This district had been thoroughly depopulated by the Arisai, leaving copious empty dwellings, although the former Varitai chose to live a dozen or more to each house.
“They didn’t seem happy,” Vaelin observed as Weaver came to take a seat on the bench next to him.
“They know there are other Varitai still in bondage in some places,” the healer replied. “Freeing all of their brothers has become something of a sacred mission.”
“One the queen has given her word to complete.”
“Without me.”
“Her reasoning is sound . . .”
“And I don’t dispute it. The Ally’s gift is a terrible thing.”
Vaelin’s gaze tracked over Weaver’s sturdy frame, knowing he now looked upon possibly the most powerful being in the world. He found some comfort from his expression, as open and free of calculation as he had ever been. “Have you used it?” he asked. “Since the arena.”
Weaver shook his head. “I feel it though, roiling away inside me like a simmering pool.”
“And Erlin’s gift?”
“Time alone will tell. What accommodations has the queen arranged for me in the Realm?”
“The war left many estates vacant, you will have a wide selection to choose from.”
“An honour indeed, to choose one’s own prison.”
Vaelin said nothing, unwilling to voice a lie. “The ship leaves with the morning tide,” he said, getting to his feet and offering his hand. Weaver blinked in surprise. Since the Arena, few who knew of the events there had been willing to talk to him, and certainly not risk his touch. His expression remained unchanged, but his voice held a new edge of certainty as he took the hand and shook it.
“I won’t be there to meet it, my lord. As I suspect you know, since you chose to come here alone with no guards to enforce the Queen’s Word.”
Vaelin gripped his hand tighter, holding it for a moment longer before letting go. “Where will you go?”
“There are a few corners of the world Erlin never visited. And I’ve a yen to hear the song of the Jade Princess with my own ears.”