“Kiral’s song will be our guide,” he replied. “She speaks with the Mahlessa’s blessing, I know you trust her word.”
“I trust the Mahlessa to act only in the interests of the Lonak. If it suited her purpose to set us on a fool’s errand, I’ve no doubt she would do so.” Her frown softened and she reached for a piece of parchment on the desk, holding it up to the light. He recognised it as Alornis’s work—the lines were too precise and perfect for another hand—but the subject was new, a semicircular design of some sort, the shape formed from an intricate pattern of straight lines.
“Your sister proposes a radical departure from traditional methods of ship construction,” Lyrna said. “An inner hull formed of interconnected short beams describing a curve, essentially a practical application of Lervial’s concept of tangential arcs, though she claims never to have read it. If we adopt her approach, unskilled hands can be put to work crafting thousands of straight beams, saving months of skilled labour.”
“Then why not do so?”
“Because it’s never been done before. No ship has ever been built along such lines. Just as, insofar as I can recall from any history I have ever read, no explorer has successfully journeyed across the ice floes, not even in the height of summer.”
“Kiral trusts her song, and I trust her.”
“This man Erlin is so important?”
“I believe so. One so long-lived will possess knowledge far more valuable than anything in Harlick’s scrolls. And the legend says he was denied the Beyond, which may mean he has glimpsed it, as I have. But perhaps he saw more than I did.”
Lyrna’s brow furrowed once more in remembrance. “Arendil once told me a story about Kerlis, claiming his uncle had met him years ago. He said he had been cursed to live forever for refusing to join with the Departed. So he spent his endless days circling the earth in search of one who has the means to kill him, one who would be born to the Gifted of this land.” She sighed a weary laugh. “All just tales, Vaelin. You can’t expect me to sanction this course, to send my Battle Lord to die in the frozen wastes, on the basis of legend.”
“To our cost, we have both learned not all legends are bereft of truth.” He straightened, drawing breath to speak in formal tones but she held up a hand to stop him.
“Spare me the offer of resignation, please. I may command every other soul in this Realm, but I’ll not pretend to do so with you.”
“My thanks, Highness. I propose Count Marven be appointed Battle Lord in my place.”
“Very well. How many troops will you take?”
“None. Just myself and Kiral.”
She shook her head. “That is unacceptable. The Gifted from the Reaches and Lord Orven’s company will escort you.”
“Orven’s wife is with child. I’ll not ask him to follow such a hazardous course . . .”
“But I will, my lord. Orven is a soldier and knows his duty, happy news or no.”
He saw the implacable set of her face and nodded. “As you wish, Highness. The other matter we discussed?”
Her hands twitched on the desk as her face hardened yet further. “You ask much of me, Vaelin.”
“He was not responsible . . .”
“I know. But the sight of my brother’s murder does not easily fade.”
“If it’s punishment you desire, it seems the course I have proposed should provide it in ample measure.”
She met his gaze, the pale lines on her forehead standing out in the firelight, her voice flat with certainty. “I desire but one thing, my lord; a secure future for this Realm. I’ll send your brother across the ocean to be the harbinger of my coming, but do not ask me to forgive. I find such sentiment no longer within my grasp.”
Had Janus had his way, we would be married now, Vaelin reflected. He had taken leave of the others and climbed to the top of the tower, cloak wrapped tight and breath misting as he stared at the pregnant darkness beyond the pass. Would our children have been beautiful or terrible? Or both, like her.
There was a faint shift in the wind gusting across the tower, carrying a slight scent: mingled woodsmoke and sweat. “I know you’re there,” Vaelin said, not turning from the view.
Lorkan gave a wry laugh as he appeared at his side, unruly hair tumbling across his frost-pale face. “My lord’s gift has returned then?”
“There are other senses than sight.” He let Lorkan’s hesitant fidgeting continue for several moments before speaking again. “I assume you come with a request?”
“Indeed, my lord.” Lorkan rubbed his hands together, eyes averted, attempting a jovial tone. “It, ah, seems to me, my lord, this grand crusade of ours has provided all the excitement I could wish for. Proud as I am of my service, which I think you would agree, has been valuable, the time has come for me to seek adventure in warmer climes.”
“You wish to be released.”
Lorkan inclined his head with a smile. “I do.”
“Very well. Given your gift I could hardly compel you to come in any case.”